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Back A Bumpy Year Save as PDF
Chapters (49)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Olivia Spooner
  3. A BUMPY YEAR
  4. Copyright
  5. Contents
  6. Dedication
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. Acknowledgements
  48. About the Author
  49. An Invitation from the Publisher

Every year, Emma asks me to join her for Christmas Day at her parents’ house. Mags and Lily have also insisted fairly regularly that I spend Christmas with them and their families, too. They can’t seem to accept I prefer to be on my own rather than surrounded by someone else’s happy family. Also, I have my own traditions for the day, and they’re as worthwhile and important as sitting round a table laughing at dismal cracker jokes.

Christmas Day to me is walking to the beach for a swim, followed by coffee, a large bowl of summer berries, and a toasted croissant with ham and cheese. Then I throw on my elf hat and spend the rest of the day at the Auckland City Mission helping to prepare and serve a special Christmas lunch for the homeless. It’s impossible to feel like a sad, lonely sack when I’m in a roomful of people less fortunate.

“Thanks, Em, but I’ll be doing my usual thing.” There’s a dark mist hovering beneath my upper eyelids and a sense of dread so powerful I can taste its bitterness. “Bye.”

I drive home fast, my vision blurring, my chest hurting with the effort of breathing. Mags is celebrating with her girlfriend, Lily is off on some romantic weekend with Darryl, Emma has the adoring Finn and I’m on my own with a baby on the way. Why did Emma have to be so negative about Pete? He’s been nothing but thoughtful and loving. Yes, there’s a chance he’s not the baby’s dad, but I deliberately haven’t allowed myself to think what that would mean. I want Pete to be the dad. I need him to be the dad. I’m supposed to be tough and brave, but I don’t feel it right now. I don’t want to go through this on my own.

The moment I get home, I head to my bedroom, shut the curtains and climb into bed. I pull the covers up to my chin, curl into a ball and wait for the dark shadow to descend.

26

I wake the next morning, groggy and thirsty. Blinking in the early morning light, I assess my situation. My vision isn’t blurry and I’m not straining to keep my eyelids open. I feel tired, but not as if my body is pinned to the bed by an invisible weight. I have numbness in my limbs, though it’s not so severe that the thought of getting out of bed is impossible.

The baby gives me a gentle nudge as if to reassure me I’m OK. I’m not alone. Taking a deep breath, I prop myself up on my elbows and wait. A wave of trepidation causes my breath to catch, but then it fades and I manage to swing my legs out of bed and slowly stand.