Chapter 4
975 Words
Chapter 4Angie sat in the waiting room that Wednesday morning, her nerves frayed, and she wanted to cry. She needed to pull herself together, to be in control when she faced the doctor.
They were already running late and didn't call her until nine twenty-five. She worried about missing her first house viewing appointment at ten.
Dr Brodie was an overweight man with sparse black hair, in his early forties, she guessed; she'd seen him before, but only for minor ailments.
'Hallo, Angela,' he said, eyes twinkling through half-rimmed glasses. 'And what can I do for you?'
She told him about the sickness.
'Quite common, I'm afraid. But it usually passes after a few weeks. There are over-the-counter tablets that help, but if the symptoms worsen, I can prescribe another medication. I suggest you avoid spicy foods, eat dry toast or plain biscuits and drink plenty of fluids. And get lots of rest. Make sure that husband of yours looks after you, eh?'
'OK. Thank you, doctor.'
By the time she arrived at her first appointment – she only just made it – she was feeling incredibly stressed, but the young couple looking to sell their semi were friendly enough. The wife was expecting herself, but looked four or five months gone. Angie didn't mention her own pregnancy; the last thing she needed was an excited mums-to-be discussion about prams and car seats. She wanted to stay away from that stuff for as long as she could. And the fewer people who knew, the better.
After work, she drove home. John was back early and Angie, relieved, slid easily into his arms and kissed him.
'Glad you're here.'
'Me too. Got out on time, and the traffic was light. Fish and chips waiting in the oven. You all right?'
'Yeah, not bad. Still sick even after taking one of the tablets the chemist gave me. But I've eaten better – at least that's something.'
'I hope you're making sure you eat enough. You must eat properly for the baby's sake, Angie – and for yourself.'
'Yes, I'm aware of that, thank you. Don't go on, John. I'm under enough pressure. I'm worried about work, too; if I can't show clients around properties, what will they say? And what if I'm sick in front of someone? It was a near thing last week. I'll be so embarrassed. And then there's Christmas dinner with your parents …' She sniffed back tears.
John lifted her chin and looked her straight in the eye. 'Darling, let's just take this one step at a time. Get through work for the rest of the week, and then it's Christmas on Friday, and the weekend. We can just relax for a few days.'
She nodded. 'Sorry. I'm getting in such a state, I know, but I don't want to let anyone down.'
'You're not. Once everyone knows you're pregnant, people will be understanding, I promise.'
'You're probably right.'
'Now, let me get changed and we'll eat, OK?'
John climbed up the stairs to the bathroom, concerned at Angie's anxiety. She'd always been confident in everything she did, at home and at work, and yet suddenly she was going to pieces. He needed to be strong for her, support her as much as he could.
He returned downstairs in more comfortable clothes and sat at the kitchen table. He tucked into his food but noticed that Angie was only picking at the edges.
Finally, she put down her knife and fork and sat back. 'Sorry, John. I can't face any more. This food makes me want to throw up.'
'That's fine. No need to apologise. I didn't cook it, did I? And even if I had, I wouldn't have taken offence. It'll get better, I promise. Do you want anything else instead?'
'Don't know – a banana, maybe.'
'Yeah, why not? Nothing better than a banana when you're sick,' he smiled.
'Or a tin of fruit. I can't face dairy products.'
'Sure, coming up. No pun intended.'
As he watched her eat the fruit, John smiled. 'Just think, Angie. Next year there'll be three of us. Funny thought, isn't it?'
She slammed her spoon into the bowl. 'John, stop going on. All right, I'm having a baby, but can we please change the subject?'
John jumped at this uncharacteristic outburst of temper. Must be hormones again, he told himself. Better hold his own temper or else they'd have a row.
'OK, let's talk about something else. What are we doing about your dad over Christmas? I know he doesn't like a fuss, but we'll have to see him at some stage.'
'I'll see him on Christmas Eve to give him his present, and invite him to ours on Boxing Day. But I don't think he'll come. You know what he's like – just wants to be by himself.'
'Well, we can't force him to come.'
'No. I wish he'd make more of an effort, though. It's like he's never got over mum's death. All those photos of her everywhere.'
'I know. It's almost as though he blames himself for the accident.'
Angie suddenly started to cry.
John put his arm around her, frowning. 'Hey Angie, what's wrong? Have I upset you?'
She shook her head. 'What if I can't cope with a baby? What if I can't eat right, and it affects the baby – it'll be my fault! I'll never be able to live with myself.'
'Angie, stop it. We should be celebrating this, instead of contemplating doom and gloom.'
She gave him a sad smile. 'Sorry, I know you're right. But these last few days I'm getting down over the most trivial things. Never experienced anything like it.'
'Me neither,' John replied.
'Very funny. I can imagine what you'd do if you were in my shoes.'
'Yes, well I'll never be in your shoes. I've done my bit; the rest is up to you.'
'John, you're treading on very thin ice. I expect you to do more than your bit.'
'I intend to, I promise,' he said and got up. 'Hey, time for an early night. You need to conserve your energy.'
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