Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
‘My tummy aches.’
My eyebrows jump up. ‘That’s funny. Mrs Chilton said you have a headache.’
‘B . . . b . . . both,’ she croaks.
‘And having a headache and an achy tummy makes your voice poorly, too, does it?’
Silence.
‘Well?’
‘I have a sore throat, too!’ she snaps indignantly, each word perfectly clear.
‘My, my, you are in a pickle.’ Pushing my shoulder off the wall, I make my way to the room where Ava’s waiting for me. ‘Listen here, madam. Ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?’
‘No.’
‘Google it. Don’t think I don’t know your game, missy. I have to go. Your mother’s waiting for me.’
‘I want to see the new baby,’ she whines down the line, fake crying after. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘I’ll get pictures,’ I assure her. ‘I promise.’ Really, I’m just grateful both of them have accepted this news with no major drama. Except, of course, fake illnesses. ‘Baby girl, there’s really not much to see at the moment. It’s a peanut. You can come to the twenty-week scan, okay?’
‘Really?’ The delight in her voice pinches my heart. ‘You promise?’
Smiling as I take the handle of the door, I give her what she wants. ‘Promise.’ I push my way into the room, finding Ava already on the bed with her T-shirt pulled up around her bra. ‘Now get back to class, you little scoundrel.’ I hang up after she’s sung her goodbye and join Ava, standing by the side of the bed. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘No problem, Mr Ward. We were just getting set up.’ The purple-haired sonographer presses a few buttons and squeezes lashings of gel on Ava’s abdomen. ‘Are we ready?’
Good question, I think as I stare at the blank monitor, feeling Ava squeeze my hand. I smile, returning her gesture. ‘Ready,’ I say as a loud swooshing noise fills the room. Ava’s head drops to the side to see the screen, my spare hand joining the one holding hers.
For a long, long while, the sonographer works in silence, moving the scanner around Ava’s stomach while flicking dials and pressing buttons, her attention centred on the screen. I don’t remember it taking this long before. Is there something wrong? Anxiety grows within me, silly thoughts running rampant in my mind. What if Ava misread the test? She’s doing some rather strange things lately. Could she have made a mistake? What will she do if we’re told there is, in fact, no baby in there? She’ll be distraught. This pregnancy has given her new hope. I can’t see that snatched away from her. Fear of the cruellest kind slithers through my veins as I glance from the screen, to the sonographer, to Ava, over and over.
‘There.’ There’s a few clicks of buttons, and the motions of the scanner pause on Ava’s lower stomach. My muscles relax a little, and Ava’s grip tightens around my hand. The sonographer points at the screen, smiling. Or is she frowning? It’s hard to tell from her profile.
‘What? What is it?’ My body goes rigid. Please, God, tell me everything is okay.
‘Is the baby okay?’ I hear Ava ask through my fog of panic.
‘Yes, the baby is fine.’ She looks at us, half-smiling, half-shocked. ‘And so are the other two.’
Someone must have just poked me with high voltage, because I fly back, getting my feet all tangled in the legs of a nearby chair. I throw my hands out as the wall gets closer, only just saving myself from nutting the damn thing. ‘What?’ I barely push the word out through my crippling alarm. The other two? What does she mean, the other two? Two plus one. ‘Three?’ The one-word question is jagged and broken. ‘Thr . . . ee?’
‘Yes, Mr Ward. Three perfect heartbeats.’
What the fuck? I feel dizzy. I need to sit down. But I miss the seat of the chair, landing on the floor with a thud that seems to wake me from my nightmare. I quickly scramble up, but have to grab the wall to steady myself, my legs like jelly. ‘Three?’
‘My baby has three hearts?’ Ava asks, and I look up at her on the bed, finding a dirty smirk on her cheerful face. My brain is clearly on the lag, because all I’m thinking is that’s the stupidest fucking question that has ever been asked. My wide eyes jump from my wife to the sonographer, their faces a picture of amusement. What? What’s so damn well funny?
‘I don’t und . . .’ I fade off as realisation begins to dawn on me, and my face screws up in disgust. They got me.
They’re fucking playing with me. If I weren’t so relieved, I’d be fuming fucking mad. My jaw tight, I feel my round eyes slowly shrink until they’re angry slits. ‘That is the unfunniest joke that’s ever been played.’ I find it in myself to release the wall I’m still clinging to, all but stomping my way to the bed while Ava cackles like the demented witch that she is. ‘Fucking cruel,’ I add, crowding her vibrating body on the bed and smashing my mouth to hers. That soon shuts her up. Yes, I’m mad, but I’m so fucking relieved, too. More relieved than mad. Pulling away, I scowl down at her chirpy face. The satisfaction staring back at me diminishes my slight, so much so, I soon find myself smiling back. ‘Think you’re funny, do you, Mrs Ward?’