Page 53 of Tears of Gold

Six weeks pregnant.

The baby is the size of a lentil. Its facial features are starting to form and buds are swelling where its arms will grow.

And it is definitely inside my tummy.

The twelve-week scan is the crucial moment apparently. Before that there is a one in four chance of miscarriage—well I know that. Poor Tabitha; what the hell has she been through the last few months? I’m not doing enough for her, I know that for sure.

Coming out of the Babycentre website I open my messages and type one to Tabitha.

Dinner tonight? Shall we take Jeremy out somewhere?

I don’t know what’s going on with her and Lewis, but at least I can try to help her, and Jeremy who must still be in deep grief.

At least if I’m with them I can’t sit at home by myself and worry, or over-think things, or obsess. It’s been a while since I sunk into an obsession. Eli was my last and look where that’s got me.

Eli…

That smile. The look in his eyes…

I hate myself for not being able to react to this in what is probably the correct way. I’m an emotional fucktard.

Opening our message chat, I send him one, too. I know he won’t see it until recess at court, but at least it will be there. I attach the link to the Babycentre page Abi sent me.

This is interesting, we’ve created a lentil. Apparently, we’ve got another six weeks to go until we know this is happening. Love you. Fight for Melanie. Xxxx

I put my phone down and glare at the ceiling before quickly picking it back up again, hitting dial on a number I haven’t rung in a while. I’m not expecting an answer so when a gruff “What?” blasts down the line, the phone almost slips out of my hand.

“Dan?”

“Yes.”

“It’s me, Faith.”

“I know who the fuck you are, Faith. You are calling from the same number you always call from.”

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“I almost didn’t."

“Why did you?” My heart beats uncomfortably in my chest. I hate this. Hate everything about it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Pardon?” He says the words I least expect to hear. “Which bit are you sorry for exactly? Telling my boyfriend I slept with you, or for getting yourself arrested in some stupid attempt at revenge?”

“All of it.”

“What are you doing, Dan? You remind me how I was years ago. Remember when you used to come and find me and bail me out of all sorts of shit?”

“I always had your back.” His voice breaks.

“You did.” My throat tightens. I almost slip and tell him about the baby. About the weird being that’s planted itself in my insides, but I don’t. What good would it do? He can’t help me from that, and he shouldn’t. It’s Eli and me now. “Dan, I’m worried. What are you doing with yourself? I want to help.”

“You can’t,” he snaps, and the barrier that’s been between us since that fateful night of Al’s funeral snaps back in place. We will never get around that, or over it. Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we should give up on one another and stop hurting each other.

“Do you want to come to London? Maybe hang out?”

He snorts with venom. “And watch you and his Lordship? No.”