Mo pressed play and sat back in his chair as the song filled the room. It’d taken longer than he’d have liked to get just right, but it had to be perfect. It had to say all the things he should’ve said weeks ago—a sorry and a promise in one. It was a long shot, he knew. He’d been unforgivably shit. But if there was even a remote possibility—even aquark-sized chance—that Netta still had feelings for him, he was ready to put his heart on the line. She was worth it.
The sound of the guitar intro washed over him, a pleading melody that had rolled out of him like pent-up water released from a dam. The words had been harder. What do you say to someone you’ve fallen in love with and treated like you didn’t? Sorry was nowhere near enough.
Mo closed his eyes and focused on his voice as it drifted from the speakers, rasping out the words he hoped would let Netta know what she meant to him. As the song drew to a close, he nodded to himself and leaned forward, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. It was good. It was ready.
He tapped a nervous beat on the desktop, his foot slamming the pedal of an imaginary bass drum. ‘C’mon, Mo,’ he mumbled. ‘Just fucking send it.’
He attached the audio file to an email addressed to Netta and hit send before he lost his nerve, a sharp exhale contracting his belly as the ‘message sent’ notification appeared on his screen. It was gone. Out of his hands. The ball was in her court now.
There’d been something else playing on his mind, too. Something that refused to be ignored, despite his best efforts. Rhona, in the way she always was, had been right: he needed to sort himself out. He reached for his phone. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ he murmured.
Rhona had sent him the details of her therapist, as she’d said she would. His fingers hovered over the number, the prospect of change feeling like a bottomless chasm. Like standing on the edge of the known and the unknown. It could be his undoing or it could be the making of him. It could also be a complete waste of time. Either way, how he’d treated Netta had shown him he needed to do something.He owed it to her to at least try.
He took a deep breath, and called.
Chapter Fifty-Three
NETTA
Netta sat in the doctor’s office, still numb with loss a week later. She’d had an emergency scan in the meantime, which had confirmed what she’d already known; the baby was gone.
‘The sonographer was right,’ said the GP, her eyes glued to the report and scans on her screen. ‘It’s complete. There won’t be any need for a curette.’
‘Lucky me,’ mumbled Netta under her breath.
The doctor turned the screen away and focused her attention on Netta. ‘How are you coping?’
‘Not great.’
The doctor had probably been hoping for more, but talking was exhausting. Everything was exhausting. And there were no words for how she felt, anyway. Trying to describe it accurately would be pointless. Words had a way of framing things, putting borders and limits on them, folding them up and packing them into little understandable parcels. And this feeling, this emptiness, was far too vast for that.
‘It’s awful, I know,’ the doctor said, measured, but kind. ‘And it can feel very isolating. But it’s more common than you think. Studies tell us that as many as one in four known pregnancies end in miscarriage, and those numbers could be higher, given it’s possible to miscarry before you even know you’re pregnant. If you choose to, you could try again. Many women go on to have successful pregnancies after a miscarriage.’
Netta’s heart twisted. She didn’t want togo onto have a successful pregnancy. She wanted to still be pregnant. For the miscarriage never to have happened. ‘Even at my age?’
‘More women are having babies in their late thirties and early forties, but it’s important to understand that fertility dips as you get older,’ the doctor said. ‘If you want to try again, I wouldn’t leave it too long.’
‘I think I’ll want to,’ Netta said. ‘But I’m on my own now. Before I found out I was pregnant, I’d been reading up on assisted conception treatments. What do you think my best option would be?’
‘There are definitely things we can talk about. You may not need to go down the IVF route—intrauterine insemination, or IUI, is much cheaper and has a good success rate if there are no other issues at play. If you choose to use a sperm donor, there can be a waiting period before a suitable sample becomes available, and then it can take a few rounds of IUI to achieve a pregnancy—it’s not a quick process. It’s important to wait until you feel mentally prepared to try again though, Netta. There’s always the chance of a repeat miscarriage. I think you should take the time you need to process this loss, and then come and see me as soon as you feel ready. In the meantime, looking after yourself is the best way to prepare for another pregnancy.’
Netta nodded, her hands clasped in her lap, her right thumbnail flicking methodically against her left. ‘I drank when I was in the UK. I flew long haul. I had sex. I didn’t know I was pregnant …’ Netta’s cheeks burned. ‘Is it my fault?’
‘Netta.’ The doctor’s eyes filled with concern. ‘This isn’t your fault. There are any number of possibilities as to why this pregnancy didn’t progress, but there’s definitely no research to suggest that flying or having sex pose any risk. We do understand, however, that about half of miscarriages occur due to chromosomal issues. Nothing you did or didn’t do from the point of conception could’ve changed the outcome if that was the case.’
‘And what would’ve caused that?’ Netta pressed. ‘My age?’
‘A woman can have a miscarriage at any age, but chromosomal issues do occur more in older mothers, yes. And sadly, “older” in fertility terms is anyone thirty-five or over. Do you have any other questions before you go?’
‘How long will it take to feel normal again?’ Netta asked. ‘The bleeding’s stopped, but my whole body still feels like it’s on backwards and my head is an absolute mess. I need to go back to work soon and I can’t be bursting into tears in the middle of a maths lesson.’
‘Your body’s just been through a huge hormonal shift,’ said the doctor. ‘It’ll take a little while for things to rearrange themselves. You could try complementary therapies. Lots of women report that acupuncture, for example, can be helpful. But ultimately, the best thing you can do is just look after yourself. Prioritise sleep, get some exercise every day—especially when you’re feeling really low—and eat well. Wouldn’t hurt to stay away from alcohol, too. All of those measures will also help prepare your body for a future pregnancy.’
Netta pictured the pizza boxes and wine bottles stacking up around the kitchen. There was definitely room for improvement.
‘You live near the beach,’ continued the GP. ‘Take some walks in the salty air. It’ll really help with your mindset. And, if you feel comfortable, tell the people around you what you’re going through. Many women keep their miscarriage to themselves and suffer through it in silence and it can be very lonely. So many of us have been through this, Netta—I think you’ll find a lot of understanding and support among the women in your life.’
Netta nodded, but talking about it with anyone other than Freya seemed unlikely. Not because she didn’t think she should, but because, quite often, she physicallycouldn’t.The lump in her throat choked the words into unintelligible sobs or just stopped them in their tracks, turned them around and marched them back down into the pit of her stomach, where they’d sit, weighty and unbearable.
