from the box on the bed. Another wave of nausea hit me as I nibbled on the crust. I’d barely been able to eat since I’d discovered the news.
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Dympna sighed, my mattress bouncing as she plopped down beside me. She grabbed a slice of my pizza. ‘Besides, the curvy look is in. Kim Kardashian’s bum is twice the size of mine.’
‘Then you’ve got some ground to cover. You’d better finish the lot.’ I laughed as I spoke, but I was numb inside. Dropping the pizza slice back in the box, I realised I couldn’t cope with it on my own. ‘Oh, God,’ I gasped as a lump rose in my throat. ‘What am I going to do?’
Dympna’s mouth dropped open and she froze mid-chew.
Dympna was always the strong one. After her family moved to Dublin, she encouraged me to go, too. She’d got us our flat, organised our jobs, even learned how to drive. I, on the other hand, was creative, scatty, and too impetuous for my own good. But I had grown up since moving in with her, and developed a routine. Now here I was, drowning in guilt, trapped in a no-win situation. Panic consumed me as I cried like a child, big fat sobs clogging my throat.
The takeaway box slid to the floor as Dympna wrapped her arms around me, and I realised her slice of pizza was sticking to my hair.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ she demanded, squeezing tightly. I garbled that I needed some air to breathe. Dympna had always been a hugger. It was her answer to everything. She even hugged a teacher once when she broke down in class. Hug now, ask questions later. It was lucky that she was a girl. It’s true, though, it did make me feel better. But by now my hair smelt like yesterday’s cheesy feast. I noticed from the corner of my eye that some of my blonde strands were streaked tomato red.
Disentangling myself from her grip, I prepared to give her the news I had not yet come to terms with myself.
‘I’m pregnant,’ I blurted, unable to look her in the eye. I stared at my chipped nail varnish as I waited for the telling-off. The last thing I needed was a lecture about contraception. It had been a one-off; I’d been too drunk to exercise any form of self-control.
‘Merciful hour!’ Dympna had picked up the term from her mother and it was usually reserved for catastrophic news. She looked at me with complete and utter shock. ‘When? Who? How far are you gone? Are you keeping it? What about your mam and stepdad . . . Do they know?’
Her questions fired like bullets, making my head spin. I consoled myself that at least she had not asked the question I dreaded.
‘Who’s the father?’
There it was. My chin wobbled as my tears threatened to overflow again. At least if I was sobbing, I couldn’t be expected to respond, but I knew Dympna would keep digging away until I did.
‘It was a one-night stand,’ I said, grabbing a tissue and blowing my nose. ‘And before you say it, I know. I was drunk and stupid, and the condom must have split.’
‘And you weren’t on the pill?’ was Dympna’s instant response. ‘Are you nuts?’
Dympna’s judgemental words made me feel even worse. I was not the type of person to sleep around. I was feeling lousy because I was struggling financially, and when he said he’d help out, well, I melted. It was a long time since any fella had cared about me like that. But my friendship with Dympna meant more to me than anything. She must never find out who he was.
‘If I wanted a lecture, I would have told my mother.’ I sniffled. Another person who could never know.
‘Sorry.’ Dympna’s forehead scrunched as she tried to work a way out of this mess. ‘What are you going to do?’
I delivered a weak smile, twisting my tissue, now sodden with tears. I had thought about nothing else since a home pregnancy test confirmed my worst fears. Aged twenty-four, I was old enough to raise a baby, but I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I wanted to travel the world, to draw on my experiences and create portraits of the people I met. My artistic nature made me long for adventure. I wanted a life outside Ireland and the bubble I grew up in.
Dympna looked at me hopefully. She’d love nothing better than