Page 31 of The Wedding Forecast

‘Oh, sorry,’ I say.

She doesn’t look up, but just keeps splashing.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

She lifts her head a little, with what looks like great effort. Her eyeliner is smudged and there’s a water droplet on the end of her nose.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She does not look fine.

‘You look like you’re about to faint.’

‘I do feel a little bit faint,’ she says, with a small laugh, the kind of laugh you give when nothing is funny but you don’t know what else to do.

‘Here,’ I say, taking her arm and steering her to the door. ‘Let’s sit in the hallway for a minute.’

She doesn’t object, and we sit together on the carpet near the toilets. I look around for Joel, but he’s nowhere in sight. I guess he went back into the main room. Bianca puts her head in between her knees.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘Should I get Joel?’

‘No, I just need a minute.’

‘Do you think you’re going to be sick?’ I ask, because I really draw the line at being responsible for that clean-up.

‘No, I took something that has helped with the nausea. I just feel so, so…’

‘Awful?’ I say.

‘Awful,’ she says, burying her head in her hands. ‘It comes on in waves. Just hits me.’

‘Can I get you some water?’

‘No. Just sitting here is making me feel better,’ she says.

‘That’s good,’ I say.

‘I didn’t imagine it like this, you know?’

I make a noncommittal noise. I’m not even sure she has properly registered who she’s speaking to.

‘I imagined I would be one of those women who just thrived in pregnancy. My mum and my sister loved being pregnant. Like, loved it a stupid amount. Glowed, swanned around like they were on a cloud, felt beautiful. But I have been nauseous and vomiting and had the worst headaches of my life. And vertigo. And total exhaustion. And I’m so emotional. And I am only seven weeks! What if it’s like this the whole time? It’s torture.’

I don’t know what to say. I put a hand on her back and pat it in a way I hope conveys sympathy.

‘I’m so thirsty and you know what makes me feel sicker than anything? Water. Water! How does that make sense? Like, biologically. Why would you make pregnant women feel repulsed at the sight of water.’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, truthfully. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It doesn’t,’ she says, on the verge of tears.

I’m usually quite good with other people’s emotions, but in this moment, with this person, after my fight with Joel, I am barely holding it together myself. I have no words of wisdom for Bianca. I don’t know anything about pregnancy, for a start.

‘I’m sorry you’re going through this,’ I say, and I realise I mean it.

‘I just feel like I’m failing at pregnancy,’ she says, wiping her eyes. ‘It shouldn’t be this hard. Everyone else can cope with it.’ Then she looks at me, and I can see the realisation hitting, exactly who I am and what she is saying. ‘Anna, I’m so sorry. You don’t need to look after me.’