Page 91 of (Not) The One
‘So you’re twenty-three next birthday.’ Will doesn’t look up from the file, but I feel his censure anyway.
‘That’s right.’ If I’m not mistaken, her chin comes up a touch.
‘And the date of your last period?’ He balances the file on his bent knee, reaching for something that looks a little like an old school protractor, the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree kind.
‘It was. Well, I don’t really know. I can give you a rough guestimate. Or I can give you the date of conception.’
Will gaze flicks back and forth between us as he digests her statement.
‘Aye, that’ll work,’ he says with an easy grin as he scratches the back of his head.
‘It was July first.’
‘Don’t be too flattered,’ Will mutters as he makes a note in the file. ‘I’m sure Miranda had other things in her diary that day.’
‘I’m not altogether sure that was very professional,’ I reply coolly. ‘Not for the price of the appointment, at any rate.’
‘I can always refer you to someone else,’ he says with a devious grin, because the bastard knows he’s the best, and he can say what he likes. The privilege of wealth and being at the top of your game, I suppose.
‘Right, so I make April fifth next year as your due date.’
‘No, that can’t be right,’ I cut in.
‘Oh?’ Will says. ‘Do enlighten us how science and the UKs most sought-after obstetrician can be so wrong.’
‘No, not wrong exactly. It’s just I have the Cologne Art Show that week.’
‘Are you for real?’ Miranda turns bodily in her chair to face me, her expression almost hostile.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ I reply, mentally recalculating my statement. There are certain events during the year that, for the good of my business, I must attend. This is one of them. It’s very important. But then again, so is—
‘It’ll happen whether you’re there or not, man. Unless Miranda decides she’d prefer an elective caesarean. You know, for your convenience.’
My gaze follows the motion as she crosses one leg over the other, recomposing herself rather elegantly, the motion contradicted by the exhalation of a harsh breath.Pfft!
‘Do you want to be there?’
‘At the birth of my first child? What kind of question is that?’
‘An honest one. I think if I could do this by proxy, I would.’
‘Well,Iwant to be there.’
‘Well,Isuppose I can just cross my legs if I go into labour and hang on until you come back.’
‘I’ll be here,’ I grate out, annoyed.Is this our first domestic? From a couple barely domesticated themselves?‘I just spoke without thinking.’ I could send Theo, the exhibition manager, I suppose. If I have to. Obviously, I’ll have to.
‘Spoke out of your backside, more like,’ she mutters under her breath.
‘Sorry.’ Again. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ Because the more I think about it, the more I see the truth in this. It’s also the truth that this is going to take a little adjusting to—all of this. Up until now, I’ve lived my life for myself, and now I have others to consider.
‘This’ll be more fun than an art show, man. Lots of colour and sound. You won’t want to miss out.’
‘And I won’t,’ I reply, reaching for her hand again.
‘Right, well,’ Will begins, thankfully moving on. ‘If you’d like to pop along to the next room, Miranda, Jenny will weigh you, and then I think we’ll give you a wee scan.’
‘An ultrasound?’ she asks, surprised and perhaps a little frightened. It occurs to me immediately that I know nothing about this process beyond how this began and how it will end. I have no understanding of why her brow should suddenly be creased or why she’s chewing the inside of her lip. Literature. I need to get my hands on some kind of pregnancy for dummies books. ‘I thought they were only offered this early if there were concerns? We haven’t confirmed I’m pregnant yet.’
