Imogen felt her shoulders relax. Dr Hamilton sounded nice. He sounded kind and human, and this made her feel it might just be possible.
‘Please, come on through!’ He waited for her to stand and touched his arm against hers, allowing her to walk alongside him until he stopped, opened a door and went inside. She followed him. In here it was cooler, the air more pleasant.
‘Okay, chair about two feet directly in front of you.’
‘Thank you.’ She had already sensed the object using her Batgirl skills.
‘I’m just going to open the window, bring up your details on the computer and then we can have a good chat. Did you want something to drink? Tea... coffee? Soft drink?’ She listened to the bar of a window being secured and the rustle of clothing as he took his seat behind the desk.
‘A glass of water would be great.’ Nerves made her tongue stick like a magnet to the roof of her mouth.
He stood up and walked to the back of the room; there was the unmistakable glug of a water cooler. He held the plastic cup against her shaking hand, not letting go until she had it secured.
‘Are you okay, Imogen?’
She nodded. ‘I think so, a bit nervous.’ Her tummy flipped as she recalled Dr Randolph’s words: I don’t think it’s in the best interests of any child...
‘Of course, but try not to be. Easy for me to say, I know.’
Positivity washed over her like a wave.
‘How have you reached this decision, Imogen? Is it a recent desire you have felt or has it been something you’ve wanted for a long time?’
Imogen got comfortable in her chair. ‘I don’t remember one defining moment when I held a child or heard one cry and felt my womb pulse with longing, nothing like that.’ She spoke calmly and eloquently, from the heart, telling him about her childhood and how this longing had pretty much always been with her. ‘...more so recently in fact, it feels like I have been fighting every day since. That’s it really.’
Dr Hamilton had sat quietly throughout her response. ‘I see.’ He adopted a more business-like tone and her stomach shrank, and then just like that he delivered the words that made a kind of music play in her ears, the words she had feared she might never hear. ‘I think we can do this, Imogen. I think we can help you become a mum.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ He was smiling; she could hear it in his tone. ‘Really.’
‘I don’t know what to say. Except thank you!’
‘Ah, don’t thank me yet! You’ve got a lot of hard work to put in and it’s not an easy road to choose. There will be highs, lows and discomfort, in fact you might not be thanking me at all once we get started, but I think that’s all part of the journey, don’t you?’
She nodded.
‘There are no guarantees, Imogen, but what is it they say: you don’t know until you try?’
Yes, that’s exactly what they say.
‘And we will try very hard.’
Imogen beamed. This felt like it was the start of her adventure. Finally... finally it was happening!
6
‘So how does it work?’ Isla was curious, casting the question over her shoulder as she filled the kettle.
‘How does what work?’ Granny Mary crept into the kitchen and took a place at the table, pulling her cardigan close as she did so, keen to catch up on whatever she had missed.
Isla sighed. She had been hoping for a private conversation with her daughter, happy that Duncan was out of the house. She’d forgotten her mother might be eager to join in. ‘The whole... injecting a baby thing.’ She deliberately kept it vague, already wary of her mother’s reaction to the whole idea, not wanting to invite any more loaded statements about her views on single mothers and how it had been so very different in her day.
Mary let out a small chuckle. ‘Oh, goodness me! I don’t want to say the wrong thing, Imogen, and you know I love you to the moon and back.’
‘I do.’
Mary laid her hand on her granddaughter’s arm. ‘But couldn’t you just settle down with a nice man and do it the way everyone else does, with a good night out and a bit of hanky-panky?’
‘Mum!’ Isla laughed, muttering, ‘Here we go...’ under her breath.
Imogen chuckled. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about that, Gran. I’m not sure I want a relationship, not right now, but I do know I want to be a mum and this feels like the best and safest bet for me. The world’s a different place now, you don’t need to be half of a couple to raise a child successfully.’
‘Well, that’s not what I think, but I suppose I might be a bit old-fashioned. What about that Logan boy? He was nice enough.’
‘Aye, but I don’t want nice enough. I want fabulous, funny, great. Logan would have driven me nuts with his màthairing, and the fact that he was involved unwillingly would have driven us apart eventually. Better it happened sooner rather than later. I don’t want to be with anyone who doesn’t want to be with me,’ she repeated the mantra. ‘Besides, if I want to be smothered I can just come and sit here with yous two!’
Mary huffed. ‘I’m curious though, Imogen, what exactly do they do? Put a baby in a test tube and whoosh it up your flower?’ She spoke with calm confidence, as though they were discussing the weather.
‘For god’s sake, Mother!’ Isla was quite unsettled to be holding this whole conversation in front of her.
‘Not quite, Gran, no. Although that sounds easier!’ Imogen told her.
‘For the love of god, do we have to go into this much detail?’ Isla queried, busying herself in the fridge, searching for something for tea. She pulled out a couple of tomatoes and a box of eggs. ‘Who fancies an omelette?’ she said, trying her best to distract them.
‘I don’t need too much detail, but just give me it in a nutshell.’ Gran folded her hands in her lap. Both of them ignored Isla’s question.
Imogen was happy to explain the mechanics to her gran. ‘It’s quite complicated, and a bit of a slow process, but in simple terms, they gave me three blood tests just to check my hormone levels and then, when they were at the right point, they gave me another injection that I had to administer myself at home, to stimulate the hormones you’d normally get when having hanky-panky.’ All three of them tittered at this use of her gran’s expression.
‘Is that how the doctor phrased it?’ Isla quipped.
‘Yes.’ Imogen smiled. ‘Then I went back in to have the actual insemination, that’s the whooshing, test tube and flower bit, and now we just wait. And it’s killing me!’ She placed her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.
‘How long do you have to wait?’ her gran asked.
‘Two weeks. I had another injection after the insemination to top up my HCG, which is the pregnancy hormone.’
‘Flippin’ ’eck!’ her mum summed it up quite nicely. ‘And what happens if this doesn’t work? What’s Plan B?’ Isla didn’t want to appear negative, but she knew it was her job to prepare her girl for any disappointment that might be lurking around the corner.
Imogen raised her head and drew breath. ‘Then I cry a bit and soldier on, and I have enough money left for one more round!’ She tried to sound nonchalant.
The two women stared at their daughter and granddaughter in silence. Imogen felt the need to fill the void. ‘So that’s it in a nutshell.’
‘Well, I’ll be...’ Granny Mary uttered. ‘I still think a good night out and a bit of hanky-panky might be easier, and it’s good for you too. No offence, Imogen!’
‘None taken, Gran.’
‘Do you feel like it’s worked? Do you feel pregnant?’ her gran asked with an obvious hint of excitement despite her reservations.
Imogen considered this and, in an almost subconscious gesture, placed her hand on her stomach below the table. ‘I don’t know. I think I do, but that could just be that I want it so badly I’m imagining it, the sickness, the boob tenderness and all that stuff. I think it’s too soon to tell and so if I’m feeling these things then it�
��s probably just a trick of my mind.’
Isla walked over to the table and hugged her around the shoulders, laying her head against Imogen’s.
‘On the other hand, I do have cramp-type period pains, which is either something taking up residence in my womb or just what it feels like, an impending period, and that’s the hardest thing, waiting to see which!’ Imogen placed her hand over her mum’s.
‘We could do a pregnancy test?’ Her gran offered the idea as though it might not have occurred to Imogen.
‘Aye, we could, but because I’ve had the injections of the pregnancy hormone, that could lead to a false positive and I don’t want to go through that. I’m only just keeping calm as it is.’ She decided not to confess to the nights of praying, wishing and hoping; hours that she had spent lying on her bed, hands on tummy, hoping beyond hope that this little miracle might be occurring inside her, beaming at the thought that it just might be happening this minute and then sobbing uncontrollably at the thought that it might not.
‘Tell you what,’ Isla huffed, ‘I’ve gone right off eggs for tea.’
And all three of them laughed at the wonderful absurdity of the situation.
*
Imogen was still chuckling when an hour later she opened the gate in front of her house and fished for her key in her satchel.
‘Imi?’
She raised her head, instantly recognising Jenny’s voice.
‘All right?’ Imogen smiled. Hearing it brought her nothing but a wonderful sensation of relief.
‘Thought you might fancy a cup of tea?’ Jenny’s tone was shy, sheepish. No matter, Imogen was just delighted that her best friend had taken the first step and was now building a bridge between them.
‘Yep, as long as I get to make it. Your tea tastes like pish!’ Imogen laughed.
‘Firstly, you are the only one who complains about my tea-making skills, and secondly, have you ever tasted pish? How would you know?’
And just like that, they were back to normal.
7
Imogen opened her eyes and closed them again immediately. Her alarm hadn’t gone off, but judging by her semi-wakened state, she figured it was about 6.30 a.m. She often did this, infuriatingly cutting her night’s sleep short by half an hour or so while lying in anticipation of the infernal beep of her clock. Lying back on the pillow, she prayed for sleep to return, asked to be whisked back to the sweet oblivion of slumber. For if she could slip into the ethereal world, for just a bit longer, then she wouldn’t have to admit to the reason that she had woken or face the reality that had jolted her from sleep on that quiet Tuesday morning.
Rolling into a foetal position, she tucked her arms around her shins and sank into the mattress, curled up like a little ball. She whimpered with distress. Who had she been trying to kid? It was going to be harder than she’d thought simply to ‘soldier on’. Sadness came over her in waves as she awoke fully and had no choice but to accept that the dull ache in her stomach was confirmation she was having her period.
Imogen wept, deep, slow tears that were drawn from an inner well of despair. She so desperately wanted to be a mum and this, a cherished attempt at conception, had failed.
*
‘These things happen when they’re meant to.’ Jenny tried to offer solace as the two girls sat on the bus that would take them into town.
‘Yep, I know.’
All these weeks later Imogen still found it hard to talk about and, despite their reconciliation, the fact that her best friend had been less than supportive of her plan at first seemed to irritate her more now that the process had failed.
Jenny reached up and held Imogen’s arm as she took the steep step down from bus to pavement.
‘Shops first or hot chocolate?’ Jenny queried.
‘Shops, I think, we need to earn it.’
‘What do you need?’
‘Lip gloss and boring stuff like bin bags.’
‘Ooh, the glamorous life we lead!’ Jenny laughed.
The two of them sauntered into the chemist’s where a young assistant with a badge announcing her ‘Trainee’ status appeared to be on a spring as she constantly bobbed up and down enthusiastically. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, grinning.
‘Uh-huh, we are after lip gloss, possibly with a hint of colour?’ Jen turned to consult Imogen.
‘Yes, something warm... not too harsh.’ Imogen described the effect she was after the best way she could.
The girl turned to Jenny. ‘With your colouring, I would recommend orangey tones. You could carry it off, with your pale skin.’
‘Oh, it’s not for me, it’s for my friend here.’
‘I see.’ The girl stared at Imogen. ‘I didn’t realise...’
‘Didn’t realise what?’ Imogen was curious.
‘Didn’t realise you might want to wear make-up.’
‘Why’s that?’ She cocked her head, keen to pick up on the unspoken nuance behind the girl’s words.
‘I... I dunno. I just thought that as you can’t see, you might not bother, because...’
‘Because what?’ Jenny prompted.
‘Because you don’t know what it looks like.’ The girl’s enthusiasm for her job was fading fast. Imogen made a noise that was somewhere between a snort of laughter and a chuckle of disbelief. ‘I like to look my best.’ She smiled, deciding it wasn’t the wee girl’s fault, she was curious, that was all.
‘Yes, of course!’
Imogen heard embarrassment in the rushed response.
Jenny leant forward. ‘I tell you what, hen, you’ll be wanting to change your own lip colour to puce. It’ll match your cheeks!’
Imogen heard the girl swallow.
‘Ah, my friend is only teasing. Thing is, you probably wear make-up so that other people see you in a certain way, isn’t that right?’ asked Imogen.
‘Uh-huh, yeah,’ the girl agreed.
‘Well, it’s the same for me. Imagine you didn’t have access to a mirror all day... you’d still want to look good, right?’ Imogen’s tone was soft.
‘Yep. It makes me feel more confident.’ The girl’s voice was small.
‘There you go.’ Imogen smiled at her.
‘How do you know what colour to go for or how to put your make-up on?’ the girl asked, a little sheepishly.
‘They’re good questions and the answer is: with a lot of practice! My mum and friends have always told me what suits me or if I’ve made a howler... been a bit over-generous with the blusher brush!’ Imogen listened to the girl ‘humph’ as if in recognition of similar experiences. ‘Plus there are great tutorials online now. So I get to have a lesson, which is good.’
‘Can you see anything at all? Is it like when I close my eyes and I can see a sort of glow of colour and nearly make out shapes, even though my eyes are closed?’
Imogen liked this candid approach.
‘No, that would be very useful to me, but it’s more like trying to look out of your finger when it’s behind your back. No sight at all. Nothing.’
‘Wow. That must be difficult.’
In some ways. ‘Not really, not when there are people like you around to help me pick my lip gloss!’
‘Oh, right, yes!’ Taking the hint, the girl went back to her previous perky self as she led the duo down the aisles to find the make-up.
*
Jenny and Imogen made their way outside, laughing together.
‘Cheeky mare!’ Jenny chortled.
‘Ah, bless her, she was very young. And, to be honest, she’s only asking what most people wonder. It’s not the strangest thing I’ve been asked.’
‘What was then? Oh, god, I’m curious now!’ Jenny pulled on her friend’s arm and stepped in close.
‘God, the list is endless! How do I watch a movie or TV is always a favourite, and I was once asked: How do you know if someone is sexy!’
‘How do you know if someone is sexy?’ Jenny laughed.
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes, se
riously! I mean, it’s not like you can look at them and get that phwoaaaar moment!’
‘You are terrible!’ Imogen laughed.
‘Why am I?’ Jenny feigned coyness.
‘Because you should know that it’s not only about how they look, Jen! Or it shouldn’t be. It’s about that super-sensory experience sight is only a small part of. I mean, surely the way Shay looks is just a small part of it for you?’
‘Christ, Imi, you’re right! I do close my eyes when I want to feel sexy, I have to... to superimpose Brad Pitt’s head on to the useless lump!’
The two girls laughed and held on to each other through their giggles. ‘So this super-sensory thing... is shagging you like sleeping with a superhero – does it set your spidey senses tingling?’
‘Oh, my god! Mikey Thomson used to call me Batgirl! Maybe that’s why!’
The two of them laughed even harder.
When the laughter subsided the girls stood facing each other on the pavement with a keen wind blowing from the Leith and whipping a chill about their ears.
‘I’m sorry, Imi.’
‘What for?’ Imogen knew to what her friend was alluding but wanted to have this conversation, needing to know why Jenny had acted that way. There was a slight pause while she considered her words.
‘For not being more supportive, for feeling a wee bit jealous...’
‘You never have to feel jealous of me! I’m your best friend!’
‘I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just always thought I’d have a bairn and you’d be there and it’d be great, and then you were rushing ahead into it and Shay and I still haven’t fallen...’
‘Oh, Jen, you should talk to me always. I can help you figure things out.’
‘I know. Although this doesn’t take much figuring out: to get up the spout requires shaggin’.’
‘Not always!’ Imogen interrupted.
‘No, good point, not always. But in our case it would definitely help. There’s a bit of a drought in that area at the moment. But I know how badly you want this and I’m sorry.’
Stories From The Heart Page 15
