My walk home was far less enthusiastic than the walk into work had been. I'd been dreading it all day, ever since Lucas had told me he wanted to talk. At lunch I'd taken two bites of my sandwich, only to be overcome with crippling stomach cramps, the nerves churning my insides into a knotted mess. I'd barely made it to the bathroom in time to bring the entire contents of my stomach up, my head lolling mournfully over the bleach stained toilet bowl.
At the sinks as I'd rinsed out the bile from my mouth, one of my colleagues had made a joke about morning sickness. For a brief moment I'd considered slamming my fist into the bitch's mouth. Making her realise how deep her words had cut. Instead, I had laughed hollowly and made a speedy exit. Probably for the best, I'd reflected after the wave of fury had died down. Not worth getting fired over some insensitive small talk.
The more I thought about the looming discussion with Lucas, the more I was sure he would tell me something I couldn't bear to hear. That our time to try for a baby was up, that he couldn't do it anymore. The thought sent tremors of cold fear through me. I needed him. I needed his understanding, his support, his fucking sperm! How would we ever be able to move forward from here without achieving our longed for goal of having our baby? Our own child. How could the relationship survive with just the two of us?
On a whim, I crossed the road, heading for Isabel's place rather than my own home. Delaying the inevitable. I loved that my sister lived so close to me. I could actually see the entrance to my cul-de-sac from her living room window. It was comforting to have her so near, so that I could pop in for a quick chat, or lose myself for a while when I couldn't face going home. Like now.
I tapped lightly on the freshly painted blue door, and heard the click clack of her heels approaching. I smiled. Isabel lived in stilettos, a fact that bemused and baffled me considering she was far from short. She said they made her feel ready for anything which seemed an odd statement to me, considering I could barely cross the room in such towering footwear without falling on my face.
“Rox!” she grinned as the door swung open. She kissed me on the cheek and stepped back so I could enter. “How are you?”
I shrugged. “Not bad,” I answered, though it was far from the truth. “Thought I'd stop in for a cuppa on my way home.”
Isabel nodded. “It's lovely to see you. Bonnie's here too. In fact...” she paused, as I hung my cardigan over the bannister, “she's moved in.” She nodded towards the open door of the living room and my eyes followed her gaze to a pile of bin bags stuffed full, presumably with Bonnie's belongings.
“Moved in? Why?”
“She was evicted. She's not saying much about it though.”
“Fuck. I asked her if she needed a loan last month and she flat out refused me.”
“Me too. I don't think it was about the money though,” Isabel said, carefully lowering her voice. “I think it's more to do with the parties. There have been... complaints.”
“It's that bloody band. They act like a bunch of hormonal teenagers.” I shook my head.
“Maybe,” Isabel said. Her eyes didn't quite meet mine, and I suddenly got the impression she knew more than she was saying. Isabel was very good at keeping secrets. Like the time she'd had a boyfriend for six months and we didn't find out until after she ended it. Or the time she took driving lessons and didn't tell a soul until after she passed her test. Or, I thought wryly, the time she knew that mum was flushing her pills down the toilet, but had begged Isabel not to tell the rest of us. That one she'd kept to herself for a long time. By the time she'd told us, it was already too late. I shook my head, clearing away the thought. This was not the time for that discussion. It wasn't like we hadn't been over it a thousand times before anyway. It was a topic we avoided at all costs these days.
“Anyway,” Isabel continued, “She's in the kitchen. You can ask her yourself. Come on, I'll put the kettle on.” I followed her through to the bright sunny kitchen where Bonnie was sat at the breakfast bar, picking pieces off a chocolate muffin and popping them into her mouth. Her lips were painted a glossy red and the contrast to her fiery hair had a dramatic effect. She smiled as I entered the room.
“Thought it might be you Rox. Come to avoid the husband then?” she grinned. God she knew how to touch on a raw nerve. I felt something snap inside me as I took a step towards her.
“Bonnie, did you say something to Lucas on Saturday? About me? About... about us having a baby?” I asked, knowing the answer already.
“About the fact that you're prepared to kill yourself for something that might never happen?” she replied, her tone almost cold. I was unprepared for how hurtful the impact of her words would be. I felt suddenly breathless and dizzy, like I'd been punched in the stomach. I took a step back and leaned against the kitchen door to steady myself.
“Bonnie, it's not your place... You have no idea... People lose babies and then go on to have healthy pregnancies, it's just n–not happened for us yet – ”
“Roxy.”
Tears sprang to my eyes as she stared at me and I wiped at them angrily. I didn't want to cry. I needed to show them, to show Lucas how strong I was. I could do this. I did have it in me. Of course I didn't need to give up. Isabel flicked the switch on the kettle and walked towards me. She handed me a tissue and put her arm around my shoulder. “Bonnie wasn't gossiping about you for fun Rox. She was worried. Lucas is worried. I'm worried. We don't want to lose you.” She squeezed my shoulder tightly. “I saw him on the way into work this morning. He looked dreadful. He said you won't talk to him. Why won't you talk about this?” she asked, her forehead creasing in worry. “We're here for you Rox, all of us. You need to lean on us.”
I put my hand to my head feeling a knot of tension building in my temples. “I can't.”
Bonnie slammed her coffee on the kitchen side, the noise startling me. “This is ridiculous! You can't keep this up Roxy. It's going to destroy you! Lucas said – ”
“No, Bonnie! No!” I cried, rounding on her with fury. “I don't want you talking to my husband about this. It's between me and him. It's our business, not yours!”
“And what does he think? Hmm? Do you even know? Have you even asked him?” she shouted, her eyes flashing with fury. “Have you even considered that he might like a say in the matter?” She stood, gripping the edge of the counter, composing herself. After a long, uncomfortable silence, she looked up at me. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted. I'm sorry Rox. But I'm just so worried about you. I can't understand why you keep putting yourself through it, over and over again. It's like picking a scab. Isn't it time to let it heal?”
She walked across the kitchen and stopped in front of me. “Roxy...” she said softly. She wiped a tear away from beneath my eye with the pad of her thumb. “I love you. I know what this means to you, of course I do. But how long can you keep putting yourself through it? Five miscarriages in a row... it's affecting your health sweetie. We can all see the change in you, not just the sadness but everything.”
Isabel nodded in agreement as she handed me another tissue. She chewed at her bottom lip, her pale eyes filled with concern. “Bonnie's right sweetie. You're losing so much weight, you're so pale, and I know you hardly sleep. Lucas told me he wakes up most nights to find you gone from the bed. You can't keep pushing forward recklessly. You need to think of your health, your marriage.”