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Almost a monthat Dylan’s and admittedly the novelty is wearing off. I sit in our bedroom bay window with a book, wrapped up in a blue fleece blanket and propped amongst cushions. My stomach ached today, I think all the vomiting hurt my muscles, but at least that’s ebbed the last couple of days. I wish the tiredness would leave too. Dylan’s in London with Jem for a couple of days, but I didn’t want to go. I don’t worry about being alone, and I’m not completely, because Jan’s heading over tomorrow. She’s not due to come, and I suspect Dylan brought forward her “housekeeping” day and visit.
The rain pelts the window, the distant hills shrouded in grey clouds, and I dream of my sun-soaked travels. Two weeks until Bali and my heart flips each time I think about marrying Dylan. My life is surreal. Eighteen months ago I was stuck in a dead-end job and even more dead-end relationship. Now I’m having a rock star’s baby and marrying him in paradise. No, not a rock star, Dylan. My guy who blew my world off course and sent me spinning into the stars.
I bury myself in the story of the ordinary people, a second chance romance. Funny how I need to read this to escape my life as a heroine in my own rock star story. One day I’ll write an autobiography, which will be as strange as fiction. I smile to myself. Sure, Sky.
I’m dragged from the book by my phone ringing. Dylan.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says. “How are you?”
“The same as when you called two hours ago, fine. How’s Jem?”
Dylan’s tone changes, hardening. “Not good. Ruby left. He’s on his own again and in a mess.”
My scalp prickles. “He’s not using again is he?”
“No, but I know Jem. This is the kind of shit, which could cause a relapse.”
I rub my eyes. I’m not Jem’s biggest fan, and despite his apology a few months ago, I’m wary of him. Jem’s pulled himself away from the edge, but after years as an addict, how likely is it he’ll stay clean? Dylan doesn’t cope when Jem’s a mess, their relationship screwed by the effect Jem’s behaviour has on people around, and I’m concerned about the effect this will have on Dylan too.
“What happened with Ruby?” I ask.
“It’s complicated. Jem saw his mum for the first time since... in a long time and it’s fucked with his head. He pushed Ruby away instead of letting her help, the dumb bastard. I’m trying to persuade him to talk to Ruby and get some help too. He’s on his own, and I don’t think he should be.”
I sigh. “You’re calling to tell me you’re staying in London longer, aren’t you?”
There’s a pause. “Is that okay? I wanna stay with Jem until I’m sure he’s coping. Bryn’s not available for babysitting duties.” He chuckles to himself. “Sorry, Bryn would be pissed off with me if he heard.”
“It’s really not a problem, Dylan. I was thinking of heading to Bristol for a couple of days.”
“Again?”
“Wedding plans. Tara. We have a lot to talk about. Besides, I don’t want to stay here alone.” I pull the blanket around me closer.
“Can’t she come to you? I worry about you, you know that.”
“And I’m not living my life dictated by other people, you knowthat.”
We hover on the edge of an argument, avoiding the name causing this. “Are you feeling better?”
“Nice subject change.I’m fine, Dylan. Stomach pains have stopped. Don’t fuss.”
“I worry about you both.”
Both.“We’re fine.”
After the call finishes, I stare out at the rain-soaked world, glowing with the love Dylan pours into me, even when we’re apart. Dylan could’ve ended up like Jem, and I’m thankful he hasn’t and he’s mine.
* * *
I wake in the night,disturbed by the wind outside. I’m not sleeping well recently and wish I had Dylan to cuddle up to, to stroke my hair, and soothe me. My nights are filled with strange dreams, a side effect of pregnancy because I never dreamed much before. Tonight I woke, heart pounding, an image of Dylan dead in a hotel room dredged up from my subconscious. He doesn’t realise how badly his accidental overdose affected me, but I don’t tell him. Dylan carries too much guilt around, buried beneath his bright persona, and I refuse to add to this. For a few minutes, I lie and listen to the distant storm until I’m forced to take a trip through the cold night into the bathroom.
The world lurches and the direction of my life switches again, fear washing over me as I discover I’m bleeding. Nausea rises as I will this to be a dream, telling myself not to panic. Some women spot blood when they’re pregnant, it’s normal. Nothing to worry about. I take shaky breaths until the weakness leaves my legs, and I can leave the bathroom. Nothing to worry about, I repeat in my mind. This isn’t unusual. I read somewhere, I’m sure.
But as I lie in bed with my hands on my stomach, the dream of Dylan immobile in a hotel room grips me. Was dreaming of death a sign? My heart refuses to accept the possibility I could lose our baby, and I tell myself again: this is a natural conclusion for my anxious mind to jump to.
Tomorrow I’ll call the doctor and ask him to check me over. Tomorrow I’ll still be pregnant.
