The Uninvited Guest

She perches on the wooden toilet seat, her eyes fixed on the strip of card that lies on the edge of the bath. The moisture creeps along the strip, and one line slowly fades into existence. She has a feeling it hasn’t finished, and remains watching; and she is proved correct when a second line appears.

This is a heavy thrill that she is feeling, like the excitement one might feel in a lift, if the cable snapped. This is a moment of dry mouth, paused heartbeat, inarticulate surprise. She continues to stare at the strip, knowing that it is confirming a truth that her body has already told her, but still wondering if it might be wrong.

Eventually she starts to feel the cold; it is 4am, after all. She leaves the strip on the side of the bath, snaps off the light, and creeps back to bed, hugging this strange information. After a few minutes, she puts the light back on, and makes a short note in her diary. Moments like this should be recorded. As she waits to fall asleep, a name occurs to her, and she smiles.

Early in the morning, she calls him to tell him the news. His immediate reaction is pleased shock, just like hers. He has always accepted her belief that she was unable to conceive, so before they start to worry about what steps to take next, they allow themselves to indulge in these strange, unexpected sensations. They feel clever, as if no other humans have ever managed to do anything as astounding as this. He feels all manly and strong; she feels soft and maternal and protective. They glow at each other across the miles.

She knows what she has to do, and she does it. She feels disapproval in the doctor’s face, and is daunted by the weeks she will have to wait, as everything is held up by Christmas. It can’t be dealt with on the spot, as she had hoped. She strokes her fingertips across the skin of her belly, and moves from thinking of it as an abstract miracle, to a strange, small being, that will be inhabiting her body for a few weeks. She tries to get it to agree that they will be nice to each other, while they share a shell, but she knows that she’s not really offering a fair deal.

The thing inside her knows that too, and makes her feel nauseous and tired. She can’t seem to exert any control over her body’s responses, like she can control her mind and her emotions; moments of weakness, when she allows herself to feel regret, are rare. She thinks of it as the spirit of the child they will one day have, here too early; and makes silent promises for the future.

He feels the same way, or follows her lead. They open champagne and have a sad little celebration of the news they can’t share with anyone else. He strokes her belly as well, and presses his face against it, and tells her he is talking to his son. When she feels sick, he makes sure she has something to eat. When she cries, he puts his arms around her and tells her not to be scared.