The Patterson Girls (21 page)

‘Remember the rent is due at the end of next week,' Sam had snapped by way of greeting as she polished her black uniform shoes.

‘I know,' Abigail said, thinking she also needed to give her shoes some attention but then remembering that no, she didn't.
That
was why they were so worried about her ability to pay her share of the rent.

‘So what are you going to do for a crust now? I hear the pub on the corner is looking for waitresses,' Pamela sneered and then looked to Sam, who sniggered. They'd always been nice when they were part of the same circle—musicians in London's esteemed Symphony Orchestra—but they'd changed the second Abigail had been sacked. Now they made her feel as if she were Cinderella and they were the ugly stepsisters. She'd been glad of the chance to get away from them and go home to Australia for a bit.

Why-oh-why hadn't she stayed there?

Ignoring the instinct to tell her so-called friends they could stuff their room and find the rent themselves, Abigail had yawned, pleaded exhaustion and headed off to her room. Due to the time difference between England and Australia and the fact she'd been on a plane for the best part of twenty-four hours, she'd collapsed into bed and fallen asleep within minutes.

Now, awake ridiculously early, she wished she'd fought fatigue a little longer. In the kitchen, she quietly made herself some toast and a cup of tea and then took the snack back into her bedroom, where she sank her teeth into the first slice and promptly burst into tears. Marmite just didn't cut it when it came to comfort food. She needed Vegemite and she needed someone to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

If only Mum hadn't gone and got herself killed by a stupid bee.

What would she have said about this big fat mess? If Abigail closed her eyes, she could almost imagine Mum pulling her into her arms, stroking her hair and telling her that everyone made mistakes, that life would be boring if they didn't.

Then again, sometimes boring was safe and she couldn't remember Mum ever making mistakes.

Pushing the plate aside, not caring when one slice flopped off onto her bedspread, she leaned over and dragged out her violin from under the bed. She desperately wanted to play it, to seek the comfort it had always brought, but she could just imagine what Pamela and Sam would say if she played her favourite concerto this early in the morning. Cuddling the instrument to her like a child would a teddy bear, Abigail lay back against her pillow and let the tears fall.

What had become of her? Motherless, jobless, soon to be homeless. And now the kind of person who fucked strangers in airport bathrooms. With that thought, she groaned, remembering that she might not have a job to go to but, after yesterday's tawdry episode, she needed to see a doctor for the morning-after pill. That thought appealed about as much as the prospect of begging Sam and Pamela to let her do their washing and ironing in lieu of rent. How many times had she come home late and watched a trashy reality TV show about the risqué sex lives of London teens? Now she was in the same boat, but she couldn't use adolescence as an excuse.

A few hours later, Abigail sat in the waiting room of her local medical centre, just around the corner from her Islington flat, dreading going into her appointment and putting forward her request. She glanced up and met the gaze of the receptionist and immediately squirmed in her seat. Although this wasn't a sexual health clinic and she was surrounded by all sorts of people—old men, young mums with toddlers, sniffling twenty-somethings—she felt as if she had a flashing neon sign on her head announcing why she was there. Maybe she could make up some excuse about how she'd been having sex with her
long-term
boyfriend and the condom had broken.

Fighting the urge to flee, Abigail dug her mobile phone out of her bag and checked Facebook. Madeleine had landed back in Baltimore. One of her old schoolfriends had got engaged on Christmas Eve and … hang on a second, Nigel had posted something too. She'd totally forgotten they'd friended each other yesterday.

Back in London after a fabulous Christmas with the fam. Thanks to a special lady the return flight wasn't all that bad either.

A special lady? A warmth flushed Abigail's skin and she pressed the Like button. Then she clicked on Nigel's profile and did a little Facebook stalking. There were things she already knew about him, such as that he lived in Hackney and worked in advertising, liked surfing and keeping fit. But knowing and seeing were two different things. She'd been intimate with him and knew what he looked like naked (or at least with his shirt half off and his jeans bunched around his ankles) but flicking through his photos brought him even more to life.

She smiled at photos of his family Christmas. His looked to be a typical Aussie family, who'd had a barbeque and followed lunch with a game of cricket on the beach. They were all smiles and appeared to be enjoying their time together immensely. There were other photos from his week at home—one of him with his arm wrapped around an elderly lady and another of him on the beach, holding his surfboard alongside a couple of mates around the same age.

He looked even nicer than she'd given him credit for.

‘Abigail Patterson.' She startled at the sound of her name being called by the doctor on duty. Dropping her phone into her bag, she stumbled out of her chair and hurried over to a door held open by a grey-haired doctor who looked to be about a hundred and ten years old.
Ugh
. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her sexual misadventures with him.

The door thumped shut behind them and she crossed over to the plastic seat alongside the doctor's desk. Doctor Granddad sat down in his chair and folded his hands together as if he were about to pray. ‘How can I help you, Miss Patterson?'

She swallowed, already cringing at the thought of what his reaction to her confession might be. ‘There's a possibility I might be pregnant,' she whispered.

He nodded slowly. ‘And would that be a good or a bad thing, my dear?'

‘Well …' she began, placing a hand on her stomach because she suddenly felt sick at the thought of telling him the truth. ‘You see …'

And then a thought landed in her head: If she was pregnant it might not be such a disaster after all. She felt as if a light bulb had been switched on. She'd always planned to have a family one day. Would it be such a bad thing if that dream was brought forward a few years? It wasn't like she was doing anything more worthwhile at the moment. Granted, she'd never planned on parenting alone but now she thought about it, having a baby could fix a lot of things.

For starters it would give her the perfect excuse to head back to Australia without having to tell her family anything about the orchestra. Suddenly, getting pregnant out of wedlock, to a stranger no less, seemed far less shameful than confessing her career failure. A giggle escaped her and she felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

Doctor Granddad looked at her, his forehead wrinkled in concern. ‘Are you okay?'

‘Yes, sorry.' She took a deep breath and focused. ‘It would be a good thing if I'm pregnant.'

‘Excellent.' The doctor's shoulders slumped and he leaned back in his seat. ‘Shall we do a pregnancy test?'

‘You can find out that soon?'

The doctor frowned again and rubbed the side of his grey-stubbled jawline. ‘When do you think you may have gotten pregnant?'

‘Yesterday.' She smiled, the idea blossoming.

‘I see.' Was he stifling a smirk? ‘When was your last period?'

Blushing, because she'd never before spoken about such intimate things with a man, she tried to think back to when she'd last required tampons. It had been shortly before she'd flown to Australia, because she remembered being happy she didn't have to deal with all that on the plane. ‘About two weeks ago.'

He nodded. ‘And your cycles? Are they regular?'

‘Like clockwork.'

‘And you had unprotected sex yesterday?'

‘Yes. With my boyfriend.' She felt compelled to add this last bit because she didn't want this elderly doctor thinking she was some kind of wanton hussy. Her thoughts drifted to Nigel and she felt a pinprick of guilt at this new plan, but she pushed both the guilt and him out of her head. What he didn't know, couldn't hurt him.

‘In that case, you very well may be pregnant.'

Joy! The thought of a tiny baby appeared like a spring flower in what had been a very dreary winter. What only hours ago she'd thought of as her stupidest moment ever, now had the power to be something monumental, something amazing.

Then there was that stupid curse. Lucinda had freaked when they'd found out about it and if Abigail were honest, she hadn't liked thinking about it either. Getting a positive pregnancy result would be the nail in the coffin of its ridiculousness.

‘Here are some pamphlets for you about pregnancy health and nutrition.' Again Doctor Granddad interrupted her thoughts, but she paid attention because this was important. If she was going to have a baby, she would do everything she could to make sure it was healthy. ‘You'll need to start taking folate supplements immediately.'

‘Okay.' She took out her phone and made a note while the doctor scribbled something on a piece of paper.

‘You're currently not on any medication are you? Don't have any long-running medical conditions?'

She shook her head.

‘Good. In that case, eat healthily for the next couple of weeks, stay off the alcohol and cigarettes and maybe I'll see you back here soon.'

Realising she'd been dismissed, Abigail stood, thanked the brusque old doctor and then let herself out. She had a spring in her step that had been absent that morning and didn't feel jet lagged (style sheet) in the slightest as she headed off to Boots to get the folate tablets and other pre-natal supplements.

Once she had all she needed, she'd tackle the other issue—finding work to tide her over until it was time to go back to Australia.

Chapter Sixteen

‘Are you okay?' Joe patted Lucinda's knee and she turned her head to look at him. They were sitting in the waiting room at the local doctor's surgery.

She gave her husband a smile and nodded. ‘Yep, I'm good.' Truth was she felt nervous. Too nervous for conversation. She couldn't even flick the pages of the six-month-old copy of
New Idea
in her lap because her hands were shaking and she was sitting on them so Joe wouldn't notice. What if something was wrong? Maybe it would be better to know because then they could do something about it, but … what if nothing could be done?

Apparently oblivious to her inner turmoil, Joe removed his hand and then glanced at his watch. Lucinda swallowed the irritation that rose within her at this gesture, as if he had some place else he'd rather be. Still, considering his reluctance to even solicit help until recently, she was grateful he was here.

Just when she thought she couldn't stand the waiting any longer, a tall, skinny, female GP walked into the middle of the waiting room and called their names.

Smiling at the attractive doctor, Joe practically sprang from his seat and then as an afterthought looked back to Lucinda. ‘You coming?'

She nodded as she walked past him into the doctor's room.

‘So, what can I do for you lovely people today?' Dr Slater said chirpily as she shut the door and crossed the room. She gestured that they should sit. Her desk had the usual medical paraphernalia and also about a dozen photo frames with cute little toddlers smiling out at them. Dr Slater only worked two days a week because she had young children, so hopefully she'd understand Lucinda's desire for a family.

Joe made himself comfortable but Lucinda sat perched on the edge of her seat as if ready to flee at any moment. He looked to her and nodded his head, indicating she should say something.

‘Well.' Lucinda took a deep breath, averting her gaze from the photos. ‘We need a referral to see Doctor Lee Randall.'

The look in the doctor's eyes told Lucinda she knew exactly who Dr Randall was and what he specialised in. ‘I see. Do you believe you're pregnant?'

Lucinda shook her head and tried to swallow the emotion that bubbled at the back of her throat. She'd promised herself, and Joe, she wouldn't cry. ‘That's the problem. We've been trying to conceive and it's not happening.'

‘I see,' Dr Slater said again, before leaning back in her chair. ‘How long have you been trying?'

‘Eight months,' Lucinda said, wishing the moment the words were out that she'd lied and said twelve months instead. ‘But I'm thirty-two and Joe works away so if there is something wrong, we need to find out sooner rather than later. My sister is an obstetrician in America and she recommended—'

Dr Slater cut her off before she could finish her sentence. ‘When did you go off birth control?'

‘A year ago.' Actually it was only eight months but Lucinda wanted the doctor to take their plight seriously.

‘I see, and how often have you been trying?'

She glanced at Joe, who was clearly finding this a little awkward. ‘Joe works, two weeks on, one week off, so we've been having sex almost every day when he's home.'

Dr Slater made a note. ‘Are you charting your ovulation?'

Lucinda nodded.

‘And how often has ovulation coincided with Joe being away?'

‘Only twice, and the second time I flew out to Kalgoorlie to spend those days with him.'

‘Hmm.' Thank God the doctor hadn't said ‘I see' again. ‘Are your cycles regular?'

‘Yes.'

Dr Slater fired off one question after another and Lucinda answered them, trying not to lose her patience or her temper.
Did either of them smoke or binge drink? Were they stressed at work? Had she ever had a miscarriage before trying to conceive with Joe?
And then the biggie …
Was there any family history of infertility?