Peter says. ‘It’s quite a shock, but we’re delighted.’
‘I bet you are.’ She turns to me. ‘Is that why you’ve been getting sick so often? I thought you were ill.’
I smile. ‘Nope, just pregnant.’
‘Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?’
‘No. It’s still early days. Too early to find out.’ I smile. Whatever gender the baby is, my love for it already feels overwhelming.
‘You’ll have to look after yourself, make sure you’re eating right.’
‘At the moment I eat whatever I can keep down,’ I reply with a wry smile.
‘That will pass. I was horribly sick with you at the beginning, but it got better.’
‘We need to minimise stress for her too,’ Peter says.
‘Yes, of course,’ she says, turning to me. ‘You should work less hard. You put in too many hours at the office.’
‘I keep telling her that.’
‘This is so exciting.’ My mother grins as she digests the news. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘I don’t think so, not yet.’ I put my hand on my stomach, feeling protective of the life growing inside me. A whole load of complicated emotions swirl around my head. I’d like my mother to be the kind of grandmother I’ve seen some of my friends’ mothers become. Grandmothers who help out with the babies, who want to spend as much time as possible with their grandchildren. But I’m not sure I can trust her.
‘I suppose you’ll need more help once the baby’s born. I can be your live-in babysitter.’ She smiles.
Peter looks at me. I feel slightly sick at the thought of her staying long-term. And I’d given him the impression that my mother would be going back to Sweden when her stay ended.
‘We might need to make a few changes once the baby’s born,’ he says.
‘Yes, of course. Baby-proof the house, that kind of thing. I really can’t wait to be a grandmother.’ She claps her hands together suddenly. ‘This is the kind of news we need to celebrate. We should have champagne, toast the baby.’
‘Good idea, Mum.’ The house is starting to feel oppressive. ‘Shall I pop to the shops and get some?’
* * *
I feel better as soon as I’m out of the door and in the fresh air. My body seems to be constantly overheating at the moment, and the chill of the winter air soothes me. I walk slowly out of the cul-de-sac, enjoying the relief that my mother’s happy about the baby.
The road is dark, the street lamps spaced far apart. As I ease by a car parked on the pavement, right next to the hedge, I get the sense that someone is behind me. I turn round to look, but only see someone on the other side of the road. It’s dark, and in their winter coat they are little more than a shadow against the brick wall. They bow their head, stopping to root around in their bag. I hear the sound of keys jingling. They must be coming home from work.
I keep walking, wondering why the hairs on the back of my neck are still standing on end, as if my body senses that something is wrong. I wonder if this is a symptom of pregnancy, a kind of mother’s instinct. A hyper-awareness and hyper-vigilance – my body preparing me to protect my baby.
I’ve felt this a lot lately. Leaving work at night, I’ve noticed every person walking down the street, risk-assessing them and trying to work out if they are a danger to me. Usually I’d walk to the tube oblivious to everything around me, but now I feel a stab of fear whenever I’m alone. I thought I was being watched, but it’s not that; it’s paranoia. I think about what Beth said about mental health problems running in families. I hope this isn’t the start of something more. I hope this feeling I have, this fear, will begin to fade as my pregnancy progresses and I get used to the idea of having a child.
I think about all the people I’ve helped in my charity work. I’ve appealed on behalf of people who’ve been convicted of fraud, GBH, gang stabbings. A lot of them were released afterwards. What if their victims want revenge? What if they target me, their lawyer, rather than the perpetrator? I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before, but isn’t it possible there’s someone out there seeking to hurt me?
I shiver, and try to put the thoughts out of my head. I’m pleased