buds could be seen peeking through the dark evergreen foliage. In contrast, the flowerbeds had already enjoyed the first blooms of spring and countless purple and yellow crocuses sparkled invitingly.
It was only when Elsa began to make her way down the slope that she realised how exhausted she felt. She spent most days on her feet at the greengrocer’s and the hard graft was made harder still by the burden she carried. She tried not to think about the baby. It was bad enough having aching legs – she didn’t need to be reminded of her aching heart too.
Her sense of unease increased as she approached the bench. It was a different colour and she expected the dark brown paint to be wet to the touch but it was bone dry and already flaking. Elsa sat down and, closing her eyes, inhaled deeply. Her body melded into the familiar curve of the seat and her growing tension began to dissipate. She pushed out her stomach and stretched her spine.
When she opened her eyes again, Elsa felt calmer and her thoughts cleared. She lifted up her legs to check her feet. They were even more swollen than she had feared and she let them drop back down with a thud. She was only twenty-two but she felt older, her youth eroded by the harsh realities of life. Spreading her fingers she discovered yet more joints that ached – and she felt no emotional connection to the simple gold wedding ring on the third finger of her left hand. But why should she? It wasn’t hers. She had borrowed it from Mrs Jackson who had told her she would make better use of it than an old, lonely widow.
Elsa hadn’t known a soul when she had arrived in Sedgefield a month earlier but Mrs Jackson had become a good friend and confidant. It had been Elsa’s sister Celia who had convinced her that running away to Sedgefield was for the best; she could stay long enough to hide her shame before returning home to Liverpool – alone – to pick up her old life as if nothing had happened. Celia was older by four years and happy enough to be married to a boring civil servant, living in Manchester and popping out children every other year. It wasn’t the kind of future Elsa had ever imagined for herself – she had wanted to live life to the full until discovering there was a price to pay for her recklessness. Celia, expecting her fourth child, had taken control when Elsa confessed she might be pregnant too, and it had been her sister’s GP who had confirmed their suspicions. Together with the doctor’s wife, whose aunt ran a guesthouse in Sedgefield, Celia devised a plan for Elsa’s future and that of her baby.
Which was how she had ended up here, claiming to be a distant relative of Mrs Jackson, recently widowed and pregnant. It was all lies but lying was something Elsa had become used to. Her mum thought she was staying with Celia to help her prepare for her next child and would be horrified to discover where she really was and why.
Elsa looked out over the lake. The water appeared darker than it had from the top of the slope, reflecting barren treetops rather than blue sky. ‘What in God’s name am I doing here all alone?’ she asked. Her forlorn words, spoken out loud, were barely audible but trickled towards the water’s edge. ‘I need you Freddie. I need you to save me.’
As if in answer to her question the future, which had already been laid out for Elsa, flashed before her eyes and she let out a whimper. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body in a vain attempt to hold on to the baby she was destined to lose but it was hopeless. She wasn’t strong enough, not on her own. Her chest heaved and the pain of her heart being rent in two was impossible to bear. In slow, deliberate movements, she placed both hands on the bench and pushed against her palms as she prepared to launch herself from her seat and into the lake. Her body shook with an all-consuming need to let the waters drag her body down into the abyss and her misery along with it. But Elsa stayed where she was – she wasn’t brave enough.
Not yet.
‘Do you mind if my daughter strokes him?’ a woman asked as Maggie sat waiting to be called in for her scan.
‘You’d better ask my wife that question,’ James answered. His tone was pleasant enough but there was an edge to it that only Maggie could detect. It wasn’t unusual for strangers to direct their questions to a companion rather than Maggie herself and, where she had learnt patience and perseverance, James struggled to curb his frustrations. She had to remind him occasionally that he had been equally ignorant not that long ago and, with few exceptions, such interest was borne of good intent.
‘Yes, I’m sure he’d love the attention,’ Maggie answered. ‘And thank you for asking first. You wouldn’t believe the kind of havoc it can cause when someone rushes up and starts distracting him while he’s guiding me.’
Maggie introduced Harvey to the little girl who was two years old and in complete awe of him, as was her mum. Maggie pre-empted many of the questions she knew would follow but she didn’t mind singing Harvey’s praises, he deserved it. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she told the woman how disciplined her guide dog was and how he kept to a strict diet, all the time knowing that Harvey was salivating over the cookie the toddler had offered to share but he had known better than to accept. But then she had been tempted herself to take the little girl up on her offer; she had been too nervous that morning to eat and her stomach was growling.
It wasn’t long before the conversation moved on to more maternal matters and for a little while Maggie chatted away like any other expectant mum. She could almost forget her fears, which had been compounded the moment she had entered the hospital. Its corridors of power were part of the system that would judge her fitness to be a mother – or so she imagined.
‘Maggie, are you ready?’
‘Mel, what are you doing here?’
‘I’m on ward duty upstairs and it’s unbelievably quiet. Then I thought to myself, I’m sure Maggie’s scan is today, so here I am. Hello, James,’ she added, leaning in for a peck on the cheek.
‘Good to see you, Mel, and what a coincidence that you were free,’ James said, a little too brightly.
Maggie heard the lie but chose not to recognise it as such. She was too busy feeling relieved and very grateful to the midwife – and no doubt James – for arranging the additional support that Maggie would never openly ask for. When she stood up, her knees trembled and she held on tightly to James’s hand as she waited for Harvey to extricate himself from the chubby arms of his new friend. The little girl’s howls could still be heard long after he had led his mistress into the examination room.
Mel introduced them to the sonographer, who was a young, officious-sounding young man called Joel, while James helped Maggie onto the examination bed. With some discreet adjustment of her top and leggings, she exposed enough of her abdomen for the man to do his job. At fourteen weeks, her stomach was still relatively flat and she could almost convince herself that she wasn’t pregnant.
‘I’m going to apply some gel first, it might be a bit cold,’ Joel said and he was right. Maggie jumped when he squirted it on her stomach.
‘It might have been better if you had placed a finger on her stomach first and then said exactly when you were going to apply the gel,’ Mel hissed at him.
‘Sorry,’ he said and there was a nervous cough before he continued to explain what would happen next. With a little more thought this time, he encouraged Maggie to feel the transducer he would be using for the scan. It was about the size of an electric razor and similar in shape. The room fell silent as he began moving it across her abdomen in firm, sweeping strokes. His probing became concentrated on a small area only inches above her groin, directly over her bladder, which was uncomfortably full. She had been drinking water in the waiting
