by Kate Hewitt
He smiles tiredly. ‘Yes, of course it will be.’
But I am not entirely convinced by his tone, and that feels like something else to worry about.
Anna stops by that evening, and to my relief she seems more like herself, plumping my pillows and bringing gossip magazines and celebrity tabloids, my secret vice.
‘Don’t feel guilty for taking it easy,’ she admonishes me. ‘You have every right.’
‘I still have to work.’
She sits on the side of my bed and holds my hand, her expression turning serious. ‘Be kind to yourself, Milly.’
‘Look at me,’ I try to joke. ‘I’m relaxing—’
‘I just mean, this isn’t something you can will to happen. Don’t blame yourself if it doesn’t. It isn’t all up to you.’
Her perception both rattles and touches me. ‘I know that,’ I say, but I wonder if I do. I feel such pressure, because this is up to me. It’s up to my body. And my body has betrayed me before.
* * *
The next twelve days do feel like the longest of my life. I can’t keep from tiptoeing through them, as if I am holding an ancient and precious Ming vase that no one else can see. When Seth, one of my Year Ones, pokes me in the stomach to get my attention, I am seized with both terror and fury that he might have injured the tiny life inside me.
Anna and I check in with each other almost every day, and I know she is nearly as hopeful and excited and scared as I am. She is nothing but supportive, stopping by with coffee and doughnuts on Saturday, asking how I feel. That weird aloofness I first felt from her has disappeared, and I am grateful.
The day I am to go in for a pregnancy test, Anna texts me a raft of emojis – champagne, a baby, fingers crossed, and a pregnant woman with a lovely big bump. They make me smile, but they also terrify me. I want this so badly, I feel as if there’s no way I will get it. Hard work and determination are no longer enough. Just as Anna said, I can’t will this to happen, and I hate that. I want to be in control. I need to be.
My heart feels as if it is climbing into my throat as I am called into the examining room; Alicia, my specialist, takes a blood test, then suggests I take a urine test as well, because although the blood test is more accurate, the results won’t be available for a few hours, and there’s a chance I could know right now.
Now. The moment I’ve been waiting for, the moment I’ve been dreading. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle the disappointment if it’s negative. I’m afraid of the intensity of my own reaction, the crushing sense of failure that will overwhelm me.
I go into the bathroom, dizzy with nerves, my hands shaking as I unwrap the stick, and then sit, wee, wait.
It’s a universal motherhood moment – the test, the sight of the double line or cross or whatever it is. I’ve heard mums at the school gate sharing their stories. I couldn’t believe it… I took five tests…
And now here I am, stick in hand, needing only to turn it over to know whether I am going to have a baby… or not.
Just do it, Milly, I tell myself, but I feel as if I physically can’t; my limbs are concrete, my body paralysed. At least in the not knowing, I can hope. In ignorance, there is still possibility. But if it’s negative…
Then my phone pings with a text from Anna. News?
On impulse, I swipe the screen to call her. She picks up on the first ring, her voice hushed because she’s at work.
‘Milly? Have you found out?’
‘I’m sitting in the bathroom at the doctor’s,’ I whisper with a shaky laugh. ‘Holding the pregnancy test.’
‘Is it—’
‘I don’t know. I’m scared to turn it over, Anna.’ I laugh again, because this is crazy. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘You can. And, if it’s negative, you can keep trying. Another couple of weeks and you could be sitting right here all over again.’
‘I know, but still. It would be starting over. And maybe it will never happen. Maybe I’m too far gone with this whole premature menopause.’ It’s my worst fear, and Anna counters it immediately.
‘And maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re sitting there, holding the best news of your life.’
A little, incredulous giggle escapes me; I so want that to be true. ‘Keep talking,’ I say, because Anna might be able to talk me into being brave enough to look. To know.
‘You can do this, Milly. It’s the only way forward. What else are you going to do? You’re in the bathroom, right? You can’t live in there forever.’
‘I could,’ I joke. ‘There’s water and a toilet.’
‘But no TV.’
‘I’ve got my phone, and the doctor’s office has internet.’
‘What about food?’
‘Matt would bring it to me.’ This conversation is utterly inane, and yet it grounds me.
‘What about sleeping?’ Anna asks, as if this is a real issue. ‘Is there a bathtub? Because that could work.’ I laugh out loud, and I hear the smile in her voice as she continues, ‘Just turn it over, Milly. You want to know. You need to, no matter how many little lines are on that stick.’
‘I know I do.’ I take a deep breath, and I think Anna does too.
And then I turn it over.
My breath whooshes out of my lungs as I stare at two blazing-bright pink lines. Two. There’s no doubt, no faintness, they’re both bright and there. I let out a wavering laugh, but it sounds more like a sob.
‘Milly…’ Anna sounds worried, and then I laugh again, the sound definitely one of joy.
‘Anna, I’m pregnant.’ I whisper the words, as if they’re sacred, and they are. ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Oh Milly.’ Anna lets out a laugh-sob of her own. ‘I’m so happy for you. So, so happy.’
Matt taps on the door, most likely wondering what on earth I’ve been doing in here. ‘Milly?’ he calls, sounding anxious.
‘Just a sec. I should go,’ I tell Anna. ‘I’ll ring you later.’
‘Congratulations, Milly. This is the best news.’ Her voice is full of warmth.
‘Thanks, Anna. You know this couldn’t have happened—’
‘Without me. Yeah, yeah.’ She is laughing. ‘I know. You’ve only told me about three hundred times already.’
I laugh too, and then, as I ring off, I shake my head, still incredulous that this is happening. I press my hand to my flattish stomach. Hello, little bean. Nice to know you’re there. Then I wash my hands and flush the toilet, trying to collect myself, because I feel as if I could burst into tears or song, I’m not sure which.
Finally, I open the door and grin at Matt even as tears start in my eyes. ‘Congratulations,’ I tell him, my voice wobbling all over the place. ‘We’re going to have a baby.’
Eight
Anna
The week after my procedure, I find Sasha waiting for me by the door to my office. I’ve had trouble shaking off the melancholy the whole thing created in me, and twelve hours after telling Jack about my abortion, I am in the mentally cringing stage of remembering, and wondering why on earth I thought it appropriate or wise to divulge that information to a complete stranger.
Thank God I kept the details to a bare and unpleasant minimum, and there’s no real reason to think I’ll see him again, despite his offer to go out sometime. After everything I unloaded onto him, I doubt that invitation will be forthcoming, and I tell myself I am relieved.
‘Sasha.’ I do my best to inject some warmth into my voice, even though I’m not at my best. I didn’t sleep well, and I felt achey enough this morning to skip my morning run. ‘I’m glad you came. Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?’
She shakes her head as I open the door to my office and usher her inside. Office is a rather grand way of putting it; my desk is in the reception area of Lara’s office, along with some filing cabinets and a sofa, and sometimes I do feel like her glorified receptionist rather than the Assistant Director of HR, which is what I am since my promotion four years ago.
I close the door behind me,
while Sasha perches nervously on a chair in front of my desk.
‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ I tell her as I sit down behind my desk and fold my hands on the surface in front of me. ‘I was hoping you would.’
‘I’m still not sure I should be here…’
‘But you are, so why don’t you tell me what’s been bothering you?’
‘I think I’ve been sexually harassed,’ Sasha blurts, and my heart sinks, because this is going to be difficult – for Sasha, and for me. Sexual harassment is a huge issue in the workplace, and it’s so challenging to deal with appropriately in today’s heightened climate.
And then there’s Lara, who, despite being a woman herself, is remarkably unsympathetic to the sort of cases that come to our attention – inappropriate comments or unwanted touching, words or actions that a male colleague blusters were only a bit of harmless flirting, if that. Misconstrued invitations and pressured acceptances, both of which unfortunately make Lara roll her eyes. She usually tries to shut the complaints down before they even start, and generally, sadly, even in this day and age, she’s successful. But this time Sasha has come to me.
‘Why don’t you start from the beginning,’ I tell her.
‘I started at Qi in September,’ she begins haltingly. ‘I’m in the graduate scheme, in the IT department. And it’s a fab environment… I’ve really loved it, right from the start. Everyone joking and having fun, going out to the pub together after work… it’s the kind of thing you dream of, you know, when you’re in uni?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I murmur. It’s not my experience of work, but I was the only graduate apprentice in a small department, and Lara was not exactly the chummiest of bosses. In any case, I’ve never been particularly good at socialising anyway.
The IT department, however, is different; it is both nerdy and cool, with a lot of young guys in ironic T-shirts and statement glasses, and a few sharp-looking older ones in button-down shirts, skinny ties, and jeans. They joke they’re the IT of the IT, the cream of the crop, as Qi Tech specialises in troubleshooting companies’ IT issues, from dealing with databases to managing telephone systems, and our IT department deals with our own IT problems.
Sasha has fallen silent, and after waiting for her to speak and realising she isn’t going to, I try a gentle prompt. ‘So what happened, Sasha? What went wrong?’
‘I don’t know…’
‘You can tell me.’
‘And it won’t go any further?’ She asks this almost eagerly, and I hesitate. Surely she wouldn’t have come to me if she was unwilling for it to go any further? And yet she’s so young, only twenty-two or so, probably one of only a few women in the department, her whole career – her whole life – in front of her. I understand her not wanting this to derail her life, not to mention her job.
‘I can’t promise that, Sasha, because I don’t know what you’re about to tell me. But I can promise that I will not tell anyone else unless I judge it is legally and ethically necessary.’ I smile encouragingly at her and wait.
Sasha takes a deep, shuddery breath. ‘I don’t know, maybe it’s my fault,’ she says slowly. ‘I might have given out the wrong signals…’ She bites her lip, and I wish I could give her a hug.
‘The first thing we need to do is establish the facts of what happened. Can you tell me those, Sasha? Was there a particular incident – a conversation, or…?’ I trail off, waiting for her to fill in the unfortunate blanks.
‘I suppose there have been a few things… over time…’
I release a long, low breath. I still don’t know whom we’re talking about. ‘Okay…’
‘I don’t know, though.’ She looks at me miserably. ‘I don’t want to get him in trouble.’
I feel as if we’re circling around the vortex of the problem – the black hole of accusation and insinuation. ‘I understand you not wanting to cause trouble, Sasha, but that’s not what this meeting is about. If some kind of sexual harassment has occurred, then Qi Tech needs to know about it so we can deal with it appropriately. In a sense, the concern isn’t about you getting someone into trouble – it’s about the company’s responsibility towards all of its employees.’ It’s written in the employee handbook, although I don’t know if Lara would agree with me.
In my fourteen years at Qi Tech, all under Lara, we have had six official cases of sexual harassment. Four were dismissed, one was dropped by the accuser, and one was settled quietly, behind closed doors. All were essentially hushed up.
But the climate is different now; I think it’s better, even if Lara doesn’t, and we both know we have to be so very careful.
I pull a notepad towards me. ‘I need to make a record of this meeting, okay? Is that all right with you?’
‘Yes…’
‘So why don’t we start back at the beginning. You mentioned the atmosphere of the IT department, which you enjoyed. Jokey and friendly?’
‘Yes…’
‘But then something changed?’
‘Yes, with the Dobson account.’
I nod, although I’m not aware of the Dobson account. I’m aware of very little that Qi Tech does, and much more about how employees are paid and treated. I know about their illnesses, their time off for personal or sick leave, their pay rises and their bonuses, the staff that don’t get along and the ones who do – perhaps too much. But as for actual work?
‘We were staying late,’ Sasha continues haltingly. ‘Because we had to implement their new IT system by the end of the year.’
‘Right…’
‘And then, a few evenings, it was just me and… and Mike.’
Mike. My heart sinks a little. ‘Would this be Michael Jacobs you’re referring to?’
Sasha bites her lip and nods. Michael Jacobs is the head of IT, an affable guy in his forties, with a booming laugh and a backslapping manner. He’s friendly to everyone, knows most people’s names, and has been with the company for fifteen years. He has a wife who bakes brownies and sends them in with him regularly, and two young kids who have accompanied him on the Bring-Your-Kid-to-Work days Qi Tech sponsors every year. He’s a staple, practically an icon, here. This is not going to be easy.
I take a deep breath and place my hands flat on my desk. ‘So you and Michael Jacobs were working in the evenings – alone? There was no one else with you?’
‘Sometimes there was, but a couple of times there wasn’t.’
I pick up my pen once more. ‘And when you were alone…?’
‘It wasn’t anything much at first…’
The door bangs open and Lara stands there, dressed in her usual work uniform of a black power suit and a silk blouse in a vivid shade, this time chartreuse. Her shiny black bob swings in a hard angle against her chin as her eyes narrow.
‘Sasha, isn’t it?’
Sasha has already jumped out of her chair, nearly knocking it over, before nodding quickly and then scuttling to the door.
‘I’d better get to work…’ she mumbles, and I fling out a hand, willing her to stay even though I know she won’t.
‘Let’s continue this conversation, Sasha,’ I call a bit desperately. ‘How about next week?’ But she’s already gone.
‘Let me guess,’ Lara says flatly as she sheds her coat and blazer and marches on stiletto heels into her office. ‘She came whimpering to you about some kind of sexual harassment.’
I flinch, wondering if Lara realises how insulting she sounds, how much trouble she could get into for speaking like that. I suspect she does, just as I suspect the CEO and VPs of the company do – and none of them care all that much. Tech companies tend to be a man’s world.
‘She was speaking to me about a sexual harassment complaint, yes,’ I reply as I follow her into her office and close the door. ‘I’ve started making notes, but it’s still very early stages…’
‘That’s good,’ Lara affirms. ‘These things never need to go too far, do they?’
‘I’m not sure about that, Lara—’
‘Sa
sha didn’t seem very sure, either,’ she remarks as she sits behind her desk and pulls her laptop towards her. ‘Hemming and hawing all over the place. Is it a case of morning-after regret, do you think?’ She smiles at me expectantly, as if we’re having a chat about HR strategies, and not a possible case of harassment, assault, or worse.
‘I don’t think so, no,’ I say after a moment.
‘Who’s the bloke, then?’
I hesitate, because I know Lara won’t react well to this.
She taps her acrylic nails on her desk. ‘Anna?’
‘Mike Jacobs,’ I admit, and Lara blows out a noisy breath.
‘That is not good. No. That cannot happen.’
‘Lara, it’s not a question of what can or can’t happen, but what did,’ I protest, and predictably she rolls her eyes.
‘Mike Jacobs? Come on, Anna. He’s Head of IT. He’s been here donkey’s years. He has a wife.’
‘None of those facts have any bearing on whether sexual harassment took place,’ I say quietly. My heart is starting to beat hard because Lara does not like it when I push back, even gently, and too often I don’t. But I think of Sasha’s stricken face, her bitten nails, and something in me aches to be her advocate, not her betrayer.
Lara cocks her head. ‘If you don’t feel you can handle this case, Anna, then I can certainly do so.’
And Lara will bulldoze straight over Sasha.
‘I’m just saying,’ I reply as carefully as I can, ‘that the climate has changed significantly since the last sexual harassment complaint we had in – what? 2016?’ She nods tersely. She most likely keeps them all in a mental rolodex. ‘With the advent of the whole #MeToo movement—’
‘Oh, please,’ Lara interjects with a scoffing laugh, and I try to keep my voice and face both neutral.
‘Lara, it’s an issue. We both know that. And Qi Tech needs a viral smear campaign a lot less than it needs one sexual harassment complaint.’
Lara stares at me levelly. ‘So what are you suggesting? Throw Mike under the bus?’
