‘Well, I think we both know that silence isn’t the worst companion in the world,’ she replies, then she pauses before speaking again. ‘I was carrying a little girl. Before that, another girl, and another. I like to think that they’re all together somewhere. Probably arguing over clothes and toys like sisters do. And loving each other fiercely.’
My lips twist into a knowing smile. ‘That’s sisters summed up in a few sentences.’
‘Do you have one?’
‘I do. Beth. She’s younger than me.’
‘And she has a child?’
I blink, surprised. ‘Two. How did you know?’
The woman’s sad smile is back. ‘Sometimes, there’s a tone we use when we talk about people who have what we wish we did. Even when it’s people we love.’
‘Do I sound jealous?’ I say, noting the edge of bitterness creeping into my voice.
‘No, not jealous. Wistful.’
In the silence that follows, I stop and reflect on how I sound when I speak to Beth. I wouldn’t really know. I’ve not spoken to my sister properly in a long time, or anyone else for that matter. Kamal says he understands, but I’m not sure he does. He still suggests we invite Beth and my nieces over or attend dinners with his family, not registering how painful I find those interactions. How they do the opposite of making me feel loved and included.
I’m debating saying all this when the woman asks me a question. ‘Who do you reckon they’d have been? Your baby, I mean.’
I lift my eyes, meeting her gaze.
‘If you want to talk about something else, let me know,’ she says. ‘I’ll understand. But I couldn’t help wondering if maybe you were like me – a woman staring out at the world, wishing that someone would ask her about the little person she thinks of every day, but no one ever does.’
My mouth dries, my hands jerk to cover my ears, but somehow, I speak. ‘I think this one would have been a boy,’ I whisper. ‘A loveable little boy with eyes like his dad’s. Hopefully his brains, too. But my creativity. I’d have wanted him to inherit that.’
‘An undervalued trait,’ the woman says, reaching into her handbag for a tissue when she sees I’m crying. ‘I carry them at all times now.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, dabbing my tears self-consciously. I swallow hard when I spot the woman opposite politely looking away, pretending she hasn’t noticed my emotional outburst.
Suddenly, the woman beside me turns to face me, head on.
‘I don’t want to be that person who tells you what to do, especially at a time like this,’ she says, ‘but try not to cut off the people who love you, okay? I know it’s easy to do. Hell, sometimes I shut my husband out so much it’s like we’re strangers.’ The woman shakes her head at this. ‘But we need the people who love us. The people who see us underneath all the sadness. They’re the ones who can help us get through this.’
Instinctively, I grimace. ‘Do you think this is something you can get through?’
‘What a question,’ the woman replies, lifting her gaze to the ceiling. ‘Truthfully? I don’t know anything anymore, but we have to hope, don’t we? We have to believe.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ I admit, my voice scratchy once more. ‘It feels like all my belief has dried up.’
From the corner of my eye, I see a nurse enter the room, ready to call out the name of the next person heading for their ultrasound.
‘That’s when you need belief the most,’ the woman whispers, squeezing my hand. ‘Happiness will find you again. It always does.’
My mouth opens to reply, but then I hear my name.
‘Janine Rai?’ the nurse repeats, scanning the room until I stand. She turns and walks away, expecting me to follow, but my body hovers beside the stranger who saw me at a time when I couldn’t even recognise myself. I want to thank her, to sit and talk about all the things I haven’t shared with anyone else, but she nods at me.
‘Go on,’ she says. ‘Scan time. Just know, whatever happens, it will be okay.’
I don’t know how my head manages to nod or my legs manage to walk. It doesn’t feel like I told either of them to. But they do, one step after another. All the while, the stranger’s words ring in my ears.
Whatever happens, it will be okay.
CHAPTER 5
My vision blurs as I stare at the photograph of the woman I now know to be Alexa Clarke.