sure I’d survive the wait. And how could I tell Harry he wasn’t the father when he was holding the baby in his arms?
I started a different search. And then I discovered that there was another test I could take. It was much more expensive than the last, but I had my own savings account so that wasn’t a problem. If I waited until I was eight weeks pregnant, I could have a blood test that would test the baby’s DNA against a possible father’s. It would take five business days before the results came back and then I would know for certain who the father was.
At the thought of that discovery I had to put my head in my hands and take deep breaths. I realized I had no proof that Harry had actually slept with Ruby. What if he denied it? He might say they were just good friends, that they liked to flirt, but that he would never be unfaithful. I was pregnant; all the proof of infidelity was against me, not him. I was the one with no excuse whatsoever.
When I calmed down, I read further. Not only would I need to give a sample of my own blood, I’d need to supply the DNA of one of the potential fathers for comparison purposes. They talked about mouth swabs. Four were needed. How on earth was I meant to do that? I felt like screaming. Would I have to go round to Tom’s house to ask him to do it? I couldn’t do that; what if Ruby was there? And on the website it was really clear that a signature was required from each party. How could I ask Harry to do it? I couldn’t think of one reason on this earth that would convince him to do that. My marriage would be over immediately. I decided I would sign for Harry. I’d have to.
I knew I needed to test only either Harry or Tom. The other would be ruled out that way. So I searched further, a different clinic, different rules, and found I could send in the nail clippings of the potential father. Nail clippings! I felt like I was on a seedy reality television show and there was an audience hissing at me. It did say that nail clippings might not give a clear result, but it wouldn’t give a false positive. A saliva swab was preferable but I wasn’t going to be able to get that. I looked further; if I could get a big enough sample of hair, there was a chance they could test that, too, as long as the roots were present. Harry’s hair was too short for that, I knew. Unless I pulled it from his head myself—quite a tempting option, actually—I’d never be able to get a sample. Panic surged in my belly. What was I going to do?
Quickly I cleared my search engine history. The very last thing I needed was for Harry to see what I’d been looking at.
I went to the kitchen to make coffee, but as soon as I opened the packet of coffee beans the smell hit me and I had to race to the bathroom again. Afterward I sat in the living room, my body shaking and sweating, and I wondered how on earth I was going to wait another couple of months before I told Harry I was pregnant.
* * *
? ? ?
As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait at all.
Just before five P.M. my mobile rang. I was wrapped in a blanket on the sofa; all attempts at work were futile as I could hardly move without feeling sick. My mouth tasted of metal, my breasts were sore, and I felt as though I could sleep for a week.
“Hi, Jane.”
“Hi.” She sounded distracted. “Sorry I didn’t call earlier. It’s been such a busy day. I can’t stay long now actually as I have to go into a meeting soon. We have to do a formal handover. What’s up? Is everything okay?”
I suppose it was my hormones messing around, but at the sound of her kind voice, I just burst into tears.
“What is it?” She was panicking now. “Are you okay?”