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She was talking about money.
She said I’ve been looking in some shops, things are ever so expensive now you know, I was adding it all up and I don’t think we can afford it.
I told her my job paid well, I could save, I could buy secondhand, and she said yes in the slow way she does when she means no.
She said of course you know there is someone else who could help out and I said mum no.
She said I’ve made a few calls, I’ve got the number of the place where the wake was held, they told me they’ve got all the same staff they had then, I said mum, no, please.
She said that’s assuming you know his name? and I told her of course I knew his name and I told her I wasn’t going to tell her what it was.
She said it’s not right, imagine if I’d done that to your father and we both slammed the phone down at the same time, and I realised that healing would not come so easily, that I must concentrate now on not piling it up inside and not passing it on.
The woman behind the desk calls a name, I look up but it’s not mine.
And when Sarah came round at the weekend, finally, she wanted to know everything.
It was awkward at first, I thought it would be easier than talking on the phone but it took a while to get used to being in the room with her, she looked different, older, sharper.
But then she laughed, and her eyes screwed up and she looked the same as always, and we were talking the way we used to, finishing sentences for each other, waving our hands for emphasis, choking on funny stories.
I told her what I’d done to make Michael run away, and she pretended to be appalled but she kept asking for details.
She asked if I’d seen him since then and I told her no but I wanted to, I said he’s still got my jumper and she laughed.
I didn’t tell her about my mother, about how she reacted, what my dad had told me about her.
She asked how it happened, who it was, and I told her, and I told her a lot, who he was, what we did, the look and the shape of him, his voice.
She was shocked and she was delighted and she said oh but what are you going to do now and I told her I didn’t know.
He turns to me and he says are you okay are you worried, and I say no I’m fine I’m just thinking.
And also I didn’t tell Sarah about Michael’s brother, what Michael had told me about him, the things I’d found out and the things I wanted to find out.
I didn’t tell her about those photos, of people in the street, of me, of the twins jumping around in the rain that day.
I didn’t tell her about the broken clay figure I’ve still got, in my room, the two pieces of it on the bedside table, waiting to be put back together again.
I wasn’t sure that she’d understand.
The woman behind the desk calls a name, I look at her, she calls it again, it’s my name and I stand and I walk towards her.
She gives me a bundle of forms, she points which way to go, and when I turn round I see Michael is still sitting down, looking at me.
I say come on, please, I say I want you to be there with me, and he stands and he walks with me to the room.
The doctor looks at some notes, she asks how I’m feeling and smiles when I say I’ve been sick a lot, she takes my blood pressure, my pulse, she takes a stethoscope from a case and listens to my breathing.
Michael sits off to one side, looking away slightly, as if he’s embarrassed, as if he’s not sure he should be here.
She says okay then shall we see how the little one’s getting on?
I lie down on the bed, she undoes my shirt and all three of us look at the slight swell of my belly, the smooth tight stretch of the skin, the first hint of fullness.
I look at it, I look up at her, I look at Michael and I feel a sudden pride in what is happening to my body, the miracle of it, the strange neatness of it.
She rubs a thin layer of pale green gel onto my stomach, she says there’s nothing to be worried about, I just need you to relax and lie nice and still.
