‘Because that French bitch has been there for four days now and the storm was two days ago, so he’s got no excuse to get her out. And I’m high risk and geriatric and…’ Rita stopped in her tracks for a second and made a low groan.
‘And your hormones are having a full-on party,’ Kel said gently. ‘So, leave Jago today; you’re in no fit state to tackle him orher. Is your scan at Polheron General?’
‘Yes.’ Rita sniffed. ‘Three o’clock so I can get all the farm chores done first and I need to sort the Easter boxes for the weekend and… I haven’t done the food order yet for Zenya.’
‘Slow down, Reet. Can Zenya help you with the food order?’
‘Yes, but she’s busy and…’
‘Ask her. And I tell you what you are doing today.’
‘Go on.’ Rita reached for the tissue she had put up her sleeve earlier.
‘Nothing. You are resting. Teo and Zen can manage the group. Promise me.’
‘OK.’ Rita’s breathing became calmer.
‘And who’s this kissing Cass you mentioned? I want to know all the details.’
‘He’s young enough to be my son.’
Kelly laughed. ‘You lucky dog.’
‘Don’t!’ Rita wailed. ‘I miss Henry so much, too.’ She started full-on sobbing again.
‘Oh, God, oh, Reet. I’m sorry. It’s going to be all right, OK?’
Rita could barely catch her breath. ‘OK. I’m going to make myself a fish finger and Nutella sandwich and take myself to bed.’
‘OK, darling. I’m always here with an ear. I’ve doing a bikini wax at nine thirty, so I need to get into the salon. Love you, mate.’
TWENTY-TWO
The hospital waiting room smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee. Everything felt too white, too bright, too loud, though really it wasn’t loud at all. Just the hum of machines, the soft shuffle of feet, a cough here, a page turning there. It was Rita’s own drumming heartbeat that was loud, echoing in her ears, competing with her mind spinning constantly, a whirl of worry and a low, gnawing sadness about what was to become of her and Jago.
Without wanting to even scroll or read, she sat perfectly still on the plastic chair, handbag tucked to her stomach like armour. She looked calm to anyone passing. But her fingers betrayed her, endlessly worrying the zip of her bag, a nervous little whisper of movement. Her phone buzzed in her bag. In hope, she dug it out with trembling fingers. One message. Not Jago. Just Zenya saying she had plated up a meal for her and put it the Cosy Café fridge.
She still couldn’t quite believe it herself, forty-six and pregnant. She’d half convinced herself they’d find nothing today. That it was hormones, or stress, or just the jolly perimenopause playing a joke on her.
Her name being called would make it real. Then…
‘Rita!’ The Cockney accent cut across the room like a bell. Heads turned. A nurse frowned. Rita didn’t have to look. Kelly burst through the doorway, red-cheeked, blonde hair big and bouncy, dragging a wheelie case with Richard Osman’s face on the front of it. She didn’t walk. She charged. Straight for her best mate.
‘You thought you were doing this without me?’ the voluptuous blonde panted as she reached her, grabbing Rita into a hug that was all arms and urgency. ‘Absolutely not. I have sprinted across London, survived two packed trains, three delayed announcements, one questionable sandwich and a taxi driver who thinks indicators are optional. You do not get to do this on your own.’
Rita looked at her, then laughed. ‘You’re a crazy coot and you really didn’t have to come.’
Kelly held her at arm’s length and looked at her the way only someone who loves you can. ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’
A door opened.
‘Rita Jory?’ a voice called out.
Rita got up, feeling like she was walking into a dream. The room was dim. Machines hummed gently. The white-haired female sonographer smiled kindly and pointed to a chair for Kelly to sit on.
‘Hop up for me, my love. We’ll have a little look, shall we?’
Rita lay back and took a breath as the cold gel hit her tummy. She started to take exaggerated deep breaths in anticipation. The screen flickered into static and shadows. Kelly’s fingers slid into hers, squeezing silently.
