None of them knowing what’s happening to her, none of them aware that her life may be about to change forever.
Her eyes are drawn to a young woman working on a laptop, and she allows her imagination to build a world around the girl she names Bryony. She’s working on her dissertation in the coffee shop because she can’t bear the mess in the kitchen she shares with her lazy flatmate Ned. It drains her inspiration, yet she refuses to clean up someone else’s debris.
When she gets her 2:1 degree in politics and international relations, she wants to work for local government because she’s still naive enough to believe she can make a difference.
What a waste, Kate says to herself, cynically writing the girl’s aspirations off, even before she’s started.
The girl looks up out of the window and across the street to where she’s standing. Kate pulls her jacket around her to keep out the chill of the cold wind that whistles through the shadows of Dockland’s skyscrapers. Their eyes momentarily lock, and Kate is struck by the fact that this woman has seen her and is, no doubt, wondering what her story is. She can’t possibly begin to imagine the momentous occasion she might be about to witness. Kate smiles at her and the woman, seemingly embarrassed, returns to the screen in front of her. When did it become more awkward to smile at someone than pretend to ignore them? Kate wonders. She will never see this woman again, never give her another moment’s thought, yet whilst Kate goes about her life, so will this young woman, neither of them aware of each other’s existence and how important each of their lives are – to them at least.
‘Mrs Walker?’ says the woman down the phone, cutting off Beethoven just as he was about to reach his crescendo.
‘Erm, yes,’ says Kate, her mouth suddenly dry.
‘Your test came back positive.’
That was it. No gentle build-up. No advance warning. Just that.
‘What?’ cries Kate, steadying herself against a wall for fear that her knees will give way. ‘I’m pregnant? Are you sure?’
‘Well, that’s what the results say,’ says the woman, with not an iota of understanding of how big this moment is. ‘Kate Walker. Fourth of August 1984.’
‘Yes, that’s me,’ says Kate in barely more than a whisper.
‘Well, if that’s definitely you, then you’re definitely pregnant.’ The woman gives a little laugh, making her suddenly sound like a human being rather than a robotic voice on the end of an automated line.
Kate clamps a hand to her mouth and tears spring to her eyes. ‘I am?’ she says, still waiting to be told it’s a mistake.
‘Congratulations!’ the woman says warmly, and Kate wishes she could leap down the telephone to give her a kiss.
‘Oh my God, I’m pregnant!’ she says under her breath as she paces up and down the same five-metre stretch of pavement. Back and forth she goes, wiping her tears, only stopping when she momentarily forgets how to put one foot in front of another. Her chest feels as if it’s about to burst open as she thinks of Matt and how she’s going to tell him, but then she immediately pictures her dad, who she’d always imagined giving a ‘Congratulations Grandad’ card with an ultrasound scan of his new grandchild inside. He would have cried, she knows he would, and he’d have hugged her tight, not wanting to ever let her go. I knew you’d do it, kid, he’d say to her, letting on that he’d instinctively known what her and Matt had been going through all this time. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had; he was so intuitive of her feelings that he often knew she was unhappy even before she did. And he was always there when she was. An invisible support system that held her up, whenever she needed him.
‘I need you now, Dad,’ she cries, floored by the unexpected grief that washes over her. She’d always known how proud of her he was; he’d shout it from the rooftops whenever he was given half a chance. But this . . . this would have made him so happy. His little girl finally getting the one thing that will make her feel complete. Her heart breaks that he’s not here to see it. ‘He’ll never be here to see it,’ she whispers, wiping a tear away.
‘Excuse me,’ says a voice, interrupting her thoughts. She instinctively moves aside, imagining that she’s holding someone up from