I nod my head, even though I know I’m lying.
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I’m absolutely fine.’
‘Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not. I’m going to grab Zara after the group’s finished to ask her about planning your baby shower.’
‘No!’ I yelp. ‘I … haven’t told her yet. She doesn’t know about the baby.’
Emma’s eyes widen. ‘She’s one of your best friends, how come you haven’t told her?’
I sigh. ‘She had such a hard time last year after Craig left her, and she’s had fertility problems for a long time. I don’t want to rub my news in her face, that’s all.’
My best friend nods slowly. ‘She’d be really happy for you, you know. You should tell her.’
As she slopes off to get ready for her debut, I watch Zara chatting away with some of the other group members. In the last twelve months, I’ve watched her pick herself up, dust herself off and start a new life. She’s a completely different woman to the one I met at Carb Counters. She’s put her struggles with fertility and her marriage split behind her, and is living life to the full.
Yet I know she’d kill to have what I do: a baby on the way and a man who cares about her (even if Scott and I aren’t together anymore). She’d embrace every part of pregnancy – including the not-so-nice bits – because she’s wanted it for so long.
Then there’s me: I’m terrified of what the next six months will hold, especially my body going through changes I can’t control.
Suddenly, I feel unbearably selfish.
*
The meeting goes well that night, although dark thoughts keep invading my mind. The standout slimmer is Zara, who has lost four pounds. Towards the end of the group’s sharing portion, we all stand up and give her a round of applause.
‘Thanks everyone,’ she says, wiping a couple of tears away. ‘You’re the best!’
She comes over to me as the rest of the group goes to get ready for the workout.
‘How are you?’ she asks with a sheepish grin. ‘I’m really sorry I couldn’t come to the hospital with you, and that I’ve been terrible at keeping in touch. There’s a really good reason for it, I promise.’
Part of me wants to tell Zara about the baby. She’s one of my best friends and it’s only natural that I want to tell her my news. However, I want to tread carefully; she’s struggled with her fertility for a long time, and I don’t want to come across as insensitive.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘It’s just a virus. I got some antibiotics and the doctor says I’ll be as right as rain soon.’
My guts wrench as I lie to her, but I don’t like the idea of telling her such important news in the middle of a busy slimming group. Given the turmoil she’s been through trying to have a baby, I’d much rather tell her in private.
‘Glad to hear it.’ A huge, beaming grin spreads across her pretty face and she lets out a little squeal. This is her cue that she has Big News to share. ‘So … Craig got in touch again recently.’
My heart sinks, although I try my best not to show it on my face. ‘Did he now? What did he want?’
‘He said he misses me and wants to give things another go!’ She jumps up and down on the spot, clapping her hands and looking utterly delighted.
‘Well, that’s great.’ I try to muster up some enthusiasm, but that’s easier said than done. ‘He’s said that quite a few times over the last year or so though …’
The smile falls from Zara’s face and her jumping comes to an abrupt halt. ‘Yeah, but he means it this time. He says he’s had time to think things through and he wants a future with me, with or without kids.’
My heart aches for her; it hurts to see her swallow his lies for the umpteenth time. All I want to do is put an arm round her and make her see sense, but that strategy hasn’t had a high success rate so far.
‘Well, that’s great,’ I say, swallowing the words I really want to say. ‘I hope everything works out for you two.’
I know it probably won’t and deep down, so does Zara. But she flashes me a grateful smile and goes off to join the others for Emma’s workout, which is just about to begin. I take a seat at the side, the urge to get up and join in gnawing away at me. I’ve become so used to leading the workouts that it feels odd to hand over the reins to someone else. But as Emma takes to the stage, clad in neon pink leg warmers and a leotard, I can see she’s in her element. I know she can’t do it every week and that I’ll have to talk to my boss Claudine about my pregnancy, but for this week I’m content to watch Emma light up the stage. As Waiting for a Star to Fall by Boy Meets Girl starts up, I can’t resist a smile. I really am lucky to have a best friend like her.
*
The dark thoughts strike again when I’m back at home. I’m waiting for my peanut butter chicken curry to heat up in the microwave when I look down at my stomach. Although nobody else would notice it since I’m wearing a loose black vest top, I’m pretty sure I can see a tiny bump starting to form. I press a hand to it, hoping I’m wrong, and breathe a sigh of relief when it turns out to be bunched up vest material. There’s still that awful, dark fear lurking at the back of my mind, like when you think you’re about to miss a step in the dark.
It’s only a matter of time before you go back to your old self, a voice in my head teases, you’ll be Chunky Monkey again in no time.
I hold back tears as the cruel nickname from my teenage years resurfaces. I haven’t thought about it in so long, but now the memories seem to have returned with a vengeance. Sooner or later, my body will start to change. Everything will get bigger: my bump will grow, my ankles will swell beyond belief, and even my fingers will balloon up. I’ll be unrecognisable; what if I can’t lose the weight this time?
I swat these thoughts from my mind and take my dinner through to the living room. As I sit down, I catch sight of a photo of Scott and me on the side table. We’re standing in the middle of a beautiful forest, looking like we’re in our own little bubble of bliss. He’s behind me with his arms draped lazily round my shoulders, while I’m laughing at something funny he said moments before. It’s an off-guard shot, but it’s my favourite photo of us.
And just like that, a memory from that day floats to the front of my mind.
A year and a half earlier …
‘Do you ever imagine what it’d be like, having a mini-me or mini-you running around?’ Scott asks, looking down at me with a dopey grin. ‘Not now obviously, but in the future.’
The question catches me off-guard in a pleasant way, but for a second I’m not sure how to answer.
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