Page 65 of The Three of Us
‘Thanks, Carly,’ he says, reaching out and laying his hand on her wrist. She stops shuffling her papers into a pile and looks at him, those big blue eyes of hers shining at him.
‘What for?’
‘Agreeing to be our guinea pig, testing out the system for us. For me. Doing it so efficiently, so well…’
‘Too much flattery and you’ll be giving me a big head.’
‘You deserve it. The flattery, I mean. Not the big head!’
‘Thanks. I’ve enjoyed it. You’re very easy to work with, Jack.’
‘And I’m sorry about the way things worked out between us. I acted like a total prat, didn’t I? I know there’s no reason to see each other after I leave, but you never know. We have mutual friends, so it could happen, if Syd has another party or Molly makes your wedding cake one day!’ He sees her smile at that. ‘I don’t want there to ever be any awkwardness.’
‘Me neither.’
She stands up and gathers her stuff.
‘I hope you’re happy, Carly.’
‘I’m getting there.’
‘That bloke at the party? Syd’s brother?’
She looks down at the carpet but not before he sees her blush. ‘Sorry. Not my business anymore, if it ever was.’
‘No.’ She hesitates. ‘Good luck with the baby, Jack. It won’t be like the last time, I promise you. Molly seems nice, and fatherhood just might be the making of you! Now, I really do have to go. I’ve got a driving lesson soon.’ She picks up the empty cups and walks out, closing the door behind her, and he sits for a moment, relishing the silence. His stomach growls hungrily.
Maybe she’s right. Being a dad will be okay after all. He hopes so, anyway. Something clicks inside his head. Dad? Baby? Oh, God, the scan! He looks at his watch. It’s quarter to four already. How did that happen? He grabs for his laptop and papers, picks up the pen he’s dropped on the floor, and almost knocks his chair over in his haste to get out of here. All he has to do is collect his coat, with his wallet in it, unplug his phone, ring to tell Molly he’s on his way, find a cab and dash straight to the hospital. They’re bound to be running late. They always are, aren’t they? She’ll never forgive him if he doesn’t make it in time. And he realises, suddenly, that he won’t forgive himself either. He wants to be there, to see their little artichoke baby moving on the screen, and he really, really needs to be there when they finally find out if it’s a boy artichoke or a girl one.
He grabs the door handle and yanks it down hard. Too hard. With a strange clunking sound, it loses contact with the door and comes away in his hand. No! This can’t be happening. He should have listened to Carly. Treat it gently, she’d said. Bloody door. It always has given him trouble, and now…
He tries to get a grip on the door itself, to find a way of easing it open, but without its handle it won’t move. He needs a tool of some kind. The pen? He pokes it at the edge of the door but it’s too fat, too round. He needs something flat, like a screwdriver or a knife, to get a bit of leverage. A paperclip, even. He looks around the bare room. It’s set up for meetings, a so-called ‘quiet’ room. There is no phone, no cupboard, no drawer that might present him with what he needs. Frantically, he rummages in his pockets. Oh, why couldn’t he be more like his brother? Working on a farm, Richard would never be without a Swiss Army knife somewhere about his person at the very least, and probably all sorts of other useful things too. Lengths of string, screws, nails, you name it… God, he hasn’t even got a coin that he could try twisting against the mechanism, to release the catch. Everything’s cards these days. Bugger!
There’s nothing else for it. He’ll have to make a total dick of himself and bang on the door, shout out for help, like some damsel in distress in need of rescue.
‘Hello!’ he says, loudly, but just short of a real out-loud cry for help. Nothing. He thumps on the wood and yells again, a bit louder this time. Outside in the corridor, all is quiet. This room is tucked away in a corner. It’s not called a quiet room for nothing. Nobody hears him. Nobody comes.
Chapter 39
Molly
Molly clambers out of the taxi and the driver helps her remove her bags and cakes and places them on the pavement. She finds her purse and pays him in cash, then watches him drive away. She has made it with ten minutes to spare, enough time to try calling Jack again before going inside where the big red ‘No mobile phones’ signs will shame her into turning hers off. She’s never been sure if the ban is because phones interfere with hospital equipment in some way or if they just want a bit of hush in there.
It goes to answerphone again. She’s torn between worrying that something terrible has happened to Jack (an accident, ambulances, blood all over the road) and being bloody mad at him for letting her down. In her heart she has a pretty good idea which is likely to be closer to the truth. Jack never did want this baby. Sometimes she’s felt that he’s almost scared of it and all that comes with it. Maybe this is his way of letting her know it’s over, that he doesn’t care enough about their baby, if at all. She’s going to have to do this whole parenting thing on her own.
She lays her hand over her bump. Today it will stop being some faceless veggie-related mass of cells and become a real boy or girl at last. Like Pinocchio! She has no idea why that thought pops into her head, but it makes her smile. Her mum will be able to start knitting clothes in the right colour now, and they can start looking through the baby-name books, because they will actually know what it is. Or she will. It doesn’t look like Jack will be here to find out. She gulps back a threatening tear, switches her phone off and heads inside.
‘Mrs Doherty?’ She has been staring at the same page of a magazine, not taking in a word, when she is called in, right on time.
‘All alone today?’ the woman says, as she washes her hands and points Molly towards the bed. The name badge on her uniform says that she is called Angela Harris.
‘My husband’s been held up.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame. I could call the next lady in before you, if that would help. See you after. It might give him a bit more time to catch up?’
‘Thank you. That’s very kind, but there was nobody else in the waiting room.’
‘Oh, well. Best crack on then, eh?’