was laughing, she was happy, she was eating—except her weight, Gus said, was down.
It seemed ironic that when she was eating the most, when she was happiest, she hadn’t put on any weight. Gus asked her to lie on the examination bed, and though he was always thorough, today his examination took a little longer than usual.
‘You’re a bit small,’ Gus said, and Izzy lay there staring at the ceiling, because if Gus said she was a bit small, then she was small. He ran a Doppler over her stomach and listened for a couple of moments to the baby’s heartbeat, which was strong and regular. ‘How’s the baby’s movement?’
‘There’s lots,’ Izzy said, trying to keep her voice light and even.
‘That’s good.’ He was very calm, very unruffled and he helped her sit up and then she joined him at his desk.
‘Are you worried?’ Izzy asked.
‘Not unduly,’ Gus said. ‘Izzy, you’ve had unbelievable stress throughout this pregnancy—but you’re thirty-one weeks now and this is the time that the baby starts to put on weight, so we really do need to keep a slightly closer eye on you. I was going to schedule an ultrasound for a couple of weeks, but let’s bring that forward.’ He glanced at his watch. It was six on Friday evening. ‘Let’s get this done early next week and then...’ She was due to start coming to fortnightly visits now, but Gus was nothing if not thorough. ‘Let’s get the scan and I’ll see you again next week.’
‘You know that I’m working?’ Izzy felt incredibly guilty, but Gus moved to reassure her.
‘Lots of my mums work right up till their due date, Izzy. You’re doing nothing wrong—for now. I just want you to try and reduce your stress and really make sure you’re eating well. You need some extra calories. I’d suggest you add a protein shake to your breakfast.’
‘I’m supposed to be going to the Penhally Ball tomorrow...’
Out of the blue Diego had suggested they go together— face the gossip and just get it over and done with, and what better way than at the Penhally Ball, when everyone would be there. They had, Diego had pointed out, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. To the world they were friends and friends went out! Except Izzy still cared what others might think and almost hoped Gus would shake his head and tell her that the weekend might be better spent resting on the couch with her feet up, thus give her a reason not to go, but Gus seemed delighted. ‘That’s good—I’m glad you’re starting to go out.’
‘Shouldn’t I be resting?’
‘Izzy, I’m not prescribing bed rest—I want you to relax and a social life is a part of that. I just want to keep a closer eye on you.’
‘The thing is...’ She was testing the water, just dipping in her toe. She respected Gus, and his reaction mattered. ‘Things have been awful, but for the last few weeks, for the first time since I’ve been pregnant, I haven’t had any stress or, rather, much less, and I have been eating better...’
‘Well, whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up,’ Gus said, and Izzy gave a small swallow.
‘I’m going to the ball with a friend, Diego.’
‘Ramirez.’ Izzy frowned as Gus said his surname.
‘You know him?’
‘There aren’t too many Diegos around here. The neonatal nurse?’
And she waited for his shock-horror reaction, for him to tell her she should be concentrating on the baby now, not out dancing with male friends, but instead Gus smiled.
‘He seems a nice man.’
When Izzy just sat there Gus smiled. ‘You deserve nice, Izzy.’
She still didn’t know it.
SHE’D cancel.
Izzy could hardly hear the hairdresser’s comments as she sat with a black cape around her shoulders, pretending to look as a mirror was flashed behind her head.
‘It looks fantastic!’
Well, she would say that, Izzy thought to herself. The hairdresser was hardly going to say, ‘It looks awful and what on earth were you thinking, taking a pair of scissors to your locks, you stupid tart?’ But as the mirror hovered behind her Izzy actually did look, and for once she agreed with the woman who wielded the scissors.
Okay, maybe fantastic was stretching things a touch, but it had been three months and three trips to this chair since that moment of self-loathing and finally, finally, she didn’t look like a five-year-old who had taken the kitchen scissors to the bathroom. The last of her home-made crop had been harvested, the once jagged spikes now softened, shades of blonde and caramel moving when her head did, which it did as Izzy craned her neck for a proper look.
‘I’ve hardly taken anything off at the front or sides, just softened it a touch, but I’ve taken a fair bit off the back...’
Izzy could have kissed her but instead she left a massive tip, booked in for six weeks’ time, skipped out to her car and somehow made it home without incident, despite the constant peeks in the rear-view mirror at her very new ‘side fringe’.
And then she remembered.
She was cancelling.
So why was she running a bath and getting undressed?
A tepid bath so it didn’t fluff up her hair.
She couldn’t do it, couldn’t go, just couldn’t face it.
So instead of climbing in to the water she wrapped herself in a towel and padded out to the living room.
She had every reason to cancel, Izzy told herself as she picked up the telephone, except there was a voice-mail message. It wasn’t Diego stuck at work, as she had rather hoped, but the real estate agent with
a pathetic offer. ‘It’s a good offer, you should seriously consider it,’ played the message. Henry had been a real estate agent
and had practically said those words in his sleep so she deleted it and got back to fretting about Diego. The fact that she was pregnant and had worked all morning, the fact that she wasn’t ready for the inevitable stares if she walked into the Penhally Ball with a dashing Spaniard on her arm when she should be home...
Doing what? Izzy asked herself.
Grieving, feeling wretched...
Her introspection was halted by the doorbell. No doubt the postman had been while she was out and it was her neighbour with another box of self-help or baby books that she had ordered on the internet during one of her glum times—a book that at the time she had convinced herself would be the one to show her, tell her, inform her how the hell she was supposed to be feeling...
‘Diego?’
It was only five p.m. and he shouldn’t be there, the ball didn’t start till seven.
There was no reason for him to be there now and, worse, she was only wearing a towel.
‘I thought I’d come early.’ He leant in the doorway and smiled, and either the baby did a big flip or her stomach curled in on itself. He was in evening wear, except he hadn’t shaved, and he looked ravishing, so ravishing she wanted to do just that—ravish him, drop the towel she was clinging to, right here at the front door. ‘To save you that phone call.’
‘What phone call?’ Izzy lowered her head a touch as she let him in, wishing there had been a warning sign on the kitchen scissors to inform her that it would be a full twelve to eighteen months before she could again hide her facial expressions with her hair if she chose to lop it all off. A fringe simply wouldn’t suffice. Her whole body was on fire, every pulse leaping at the sight of him.
‘The