I Know Your Secret - Ruth Heald Page 0,47

up a story about suddenly wanting to reconnect with her now I’m pregnant. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that she’s getting out of prison. I’ve lied to him all these years, telling him we’re estranged because she had a breakdown and I had to go into foster care.

Peter sighs. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, with everything else that’s going on?’

‘She’s flying all the way over from Sweden.’ Another lie. ‘I’ve promised her she can stay with us.’

‘I don’t have any problem with her staying. It’s just that… well, our relationship is complicated at the moment. And I’m not sure that it’s the right time to bring another person into our home. Especially your mother, who you haven’t seen for years.’

‘It’s important to me to see her. And now the baby’s on the way, it seems like a chance for a new beginning.’ I’ve said she can live with me now. There’s no going back. She hasn’t got anywhere else to go.

‘OK.’ Peter stands up and strokes my hair in a rare display of tenderness. ‘If you’re sure. It’s up to you. But I know she’s hurt you in the past. You hated being in foster care. It won’t be easy for you with her living in the house.’

‘I can cope,’ I say. But he’s right; having her around will be difficult after all these years.

‘OK. If you’re sure, then I suppose it will be good to meet her at last. When’s her flight arriving?’

‘In three days.’

How long’s she staying for?’

‘I’m not sure, but it will be a while. I don’t think she knows anyone else in the UK. She hasn’t been back for years.’

Peter picks up his briefcase. ‘Right. I’d better be off then. Good luck at the appointment.’ He hesitates for a moment, then leans down and kisses me on the top of my head. ‘Hope it goes well.’

* * *

I sit on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, waiting for my name to be called. Looking around the waiting room I see the happy couples, women sitting down while men stand behind them, a reassuring hand resting on their shoulders. That could have been Peter and me, if only things were different.

I get out my phone to check my work emails and find myself googling, heavy-hearted, how to be a good single mother. If Peter decides not to stick around, there are lots of role models out there. I’m sure I can do it. But then I think of my job. How will I manage that and a child on my own?

‘Danielle Brown.’ The sound of my name being called jolts me out of my thoughts.

I smile as I approach the midwife.

‘Hi,’ she says. ‘Come on in.’

She goes through a detailed questionnaire about my health and Peter’s health, and our families’ medical histories. I don’t know the answers to any of the family history questions. I haven’t had anyone to ask for the last fifteen years. She asks me if there’s any domestic abuse in my relationship and I say no. It’s too hot in the consulting room, and my palms are sweating. I just want to know that the baby’s Peter’s. ‘Will you be able to tell me when I conceived?’

She smiles over her glasses. ‘We can work that out together. When was your last period?’

‘Over a year ago. I haven’t had periods since I’ve been on the mini-pill.’

She frowns. ‘Well, that makes it very difficult to date the pregnancy. Do you have any idea yourself when you conceived? Did you miss any pills?’

‘Yes, a couple. About two months ago, I think. I’d been going through a difficult time and I just forgot.’

‘OK. So it will be most likely then. But we’ll want to double-check.’

‘OK.’

‘Can you just get up onto the bed, so I can feel your belly?’

I do as she says. ‘That’s a nasty injury,’ she says casually.

‘Sorry?’

‘Your face.’

‘Oh.’ The question takes me by surprise. For a moment I had forgotten about my scars. I feel the heat rise through my body, embarrassed.

‘It’s a burn. An accident.’ The skin is darkening and thickening now, the scars becoming part of my complexion.

‘They’re healing nicely.’

I nod, unsure what to say.

‘Watch out, cold hands,’ she says as she places them on my skin. She presses hard and I wince.

‘Was that painful?’

‘Just uncomfortable.’

She moves her hands around, pressing and prodding, and then smiles at me. ‘OK, you can get down now.’

‘Can you tell how far along I am?’ I need to know. I need to reassure Peter that