Page 93 of (Not) The One
‘And because you’re a bit of a snob.’
‘Fuck you, Will,’ I snarl, desperately trying to keep my temper and volume at a level that won’t carry to the next room. ‘I’ll put up with your crude insinuations for one reason only, and that’s because I want the best for Miranda and our child. Clearly, yes, she’s younger, but I’m not some old fucking letch. I take full responsibility for the situation, and I’ll do whatever it takes to benefit her and our child.’
‘You’re sure?’ His reply sounds unaffected, his demeanour nonchalant.
‘Of course, I’m fucking sure. Who made you my confessor, anyway?’
‘Maybe you just looked like you needed someone to talk to.’
‘Do fuck off,’ I drawl.
He unfolds his large frame from the desk, and with a wide smile, he says, ‘Aye, but let’s go have a wee peek at your child first.’
Why do I feel like I’ve just sat some fucking test?
Before I can respond, the nurse pops her head into the room.
‘Ready for you now, Dr T.’
T for twat, I decide as I stand and follow him into the other room.
I take my position on the left side of the padded bench where Miranda lies, her wriggling causing the tissue paper underneath her to rustle and shake.
‘Pull up your shirt a little more. Aye, that’s it.’ Will tucks more of the tissue into the waistband of her skirt, currently pushed dangerously low, before squirting her skin with something that looks like an industrial bottle of lube.
The lights in the room flick off before Will begins prodding her with a wand. And just like a made for TV movie, the room fills with the sound of whooshing that even I recognise as the heartbeat of our child.
A lump forms in my throat, and I suddenly feel a strange sense of responsibility settle over me. It’s not an unwelcome sensation. It’s like the weight of the world has been placed on my shoulders but in the best kind of way. The kind of way that warms me from my insides out. It makes me feel like I’m radiating something I can’t place.
My child. She’s carrying my child.
This is the first of a thousand moments, and I can see the world opening up before me. First steps and first words. Dance classes and a school play. Pride. That’s what this is. The kind of pride that makes me want to say, “Hear that noise? That’s my baby’s heartbeat. Isn’t it fucking great?”
‘One heartbeat, you’ll be no doubt pleased to hear.’
Christ, I hadn’t thought about that even as my shoulders seem to sag with relief.
‘He looks like a gummy bear you find in a packet of Haribos.’ Miranda’s voice is so tender, and as she raises her gaze to me, it’s soft and watery. As I take her hand, she squeezes it, and I squint at the screen.
‘Do you need glasses?’ she asks, her words a burbling mixture of tears and amusement.
‘No, I’m looking for discerning features.’ I find in order to answer, I have to swallow over the lump of emotion constricting my throat.
‘Yeah, sure.’ Her answer burbles with the kind of laughter I wish I could bottle to listen to it again and again.
‘There’s not much to see this early,’ Will says, continuing to prod and slide his non-fun vibrator. ‘The next scans will show more. You can have videos if you like. Scans that are 3D, 4D, and more. But today is just a basic wee peek. Let’s take a few measurements. The heart is fine; one hundred and seventy beats per minute. And looks like you know your stuff, Miranda. The date is about right, which makes you eight weeks.’
‘What about sex?’ I find myself asking.
‘Thanks, pal, but you’re really not my type.’
‘Christ. Is this what we get for your hourly rate?’
‘I’m a bargain. Experience, a peerage, and a bit of humour thrown in. Don’t worry,’ he says, pulling the tissue from Miranda’s skirt to wipe her stomach. ‘You only have to put up with me for the next few months.’ And then he winks.
24
Miranda
