‘Okay, thanks.’ Netta’s voice was dwarfed by something in Teresa’s tone that, despite her perfectly vanilla delivery, felt ominous.
‘I’ll leave you to get dressed, and I’ll see you then,’ said Teresa. ‘The girls at the front desk will be able to set something up for you.’
Teresa swished the curtain aside to leave and Netta quickly dressed, a fear she’d never felt before budding deep within her.
‘You okay?’ said Freya as Netta emerged. ‘Those probes are pretty average.’
Netta searched her friend’s face desperately for reassurance. ‘Do you think there’s something wrong with the baby?’
‘I’m sure it’s all fine. Sometimes things just aren’t one hundred per cent clear on the scan when it’s this early in the pregnancy, I guess.’
Netta forced a smile and nodded, trying to keep her grip on her positivity and excitement about the baby, and not get swept away by a terrible maybe.
‘You’ll know more when you see the doctor,’ said Freya. ‘Until then, I’m prescribing comfort food and trash television and lots of both. Stat.’
As Netta left the clinic, she once again had the feeling of being held within a bubble—separated from the world by the thinnest of membranes—just as she had with Mo at the cottage. Except this one already felt far more fragile.
Chapter Forty-Nine
MO
Mo sat cross-legged, bare foot, eyes closed, on the floor of his home studio. His head was bowed, headphones on, his fingers plucking the strings of his guitar. A notepad and pen lay on the floor beside him as he hummed under his breath.
The left speaker lifted from his ear and then smacked back onto his head with a thwack.
‘Ow!’ Mo pulled the headphones down to hang around his neck and glared at the culprit. He’d been too absorbed in the song to notice Mav had even entered the room, let alone that he’d gotten close enough to mess with his headphones. ‘What?’
‘I’m leaving now to take the next lot of stuff to the flat,’ Mav said, squatting to look Mo in the eye. ‘I might stay there tonight and then come back and get the rest tomorrow. That cool?’
Mo looked at his little brother. The excitement of moving into his own place was buzzing around him. Fuck, he was going to miss him. ‘All good.’ Mo lay the guitar on the ground beside him. ‘Need a hand?’
‘Nah, I’ve got it.’ Mav’s grin sobered and he punched Mo lightly on the shoulder. ‘You okay? It’s good to see you up and about finally.’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry. The last couple of weeks have been a write-off.’ That was an understatement. He’d been totally checked out, drowning inside his own head, since he’d confided in Netta on Christmas Day. But something had shifted, letting just enough light in through the boggy blackness for Mo to see how stupid he’d been to cut her off the way he had. It seemed hitting rock bottom after his call with Rhona the other day—letting himself cry for the first time in years and acknowledge the full depth of his pain—had been what he’d needed to start rising slowly back towards the surface. It was still a way off—he was still in the deep end—but his legs were beginning to feel like they might be able to kick again.
Mav dropped his butt to the floor and sat opposite his brother. ‘It’s understandable, bro,’ he said. ‘I feel like I don’t know the whole story, but being sacked and your lady leaving are probably more than enough to sink you into a pit of shit.’
Mo smiled wryly. ‘She’s not my lady.’
‘Really? Because I’ve never seen you so mopey about a woman before. I know something happened at Christmas. When you came back, she was gone and you were an emo. Was it a sex fest?’
‘No!’ Mo couldn’t help but grin at his brother’s turn of phrase. ‘We slept together, but it was more than just sex, it was—’
‘The beginning of a beautiful love story?’
Mo wasn’t sure if Mav was joking or not. ‘Mate, that’s the thing,’ he said, holding his brother’s eye for a second before shifting his gaze to the window. ‘I think it could’ve been, but I fucked it up—monumentally—and now she’s on the other side of the planet.’
‘How monumentally fucked are we talking?’
‘It’s at a similar level of fuckedness as my career.’ Mo retrieved the guitar and hugged it to his body. ‘I’m so sorry about the expansion, Mav. I’ll make it work. I just have to figure something out.’
‘We’ll work it out together, mate,’ said Mav. ‘What are you going to do about Netta, though?’
‘I’m working on something,’ Mo said, tapping the guitar. ‘It might be too late, but I reckon I’ve got nothing to lose.’
‘Mate, are you writing her asong?’ Mav’s face creased in delight. ‘Is Morrison Maplestone writing alove ballad?’
Mo shifted on his cushion. ‘I wouldn’t say it’s a ballad …’
