Dina stumbled out of the dim corridor to the bright light of the shop, customers milling round, barbecue smoke and the happy ring of the till. She walked out to the street, to the cold normality of traffic, high heels hitting the tarmac, cars parked on the road. She stood very still, her back to the kebab shop, her eyes glued to the tyre of a parked car, seeing nothing. He was inviting her to his faith, her faith really, because she had been born into it. He was passing it on silently by osmosis, and how painful and slow her awakening would be! If she now waited long enough, he would come out looking for her. If she went home, he would know that she was not keen on his lifestyle, did not want to change her own. She paused on the pavement, hesitating between the succulent mystic life he promised, and the peckish unfulfillment of her parent’s home.

Expecting to Give

The sun tilts toward me but there is a cold wind. I can see it through the window, bouncing the pink petals on the trees. I spend the mornings in bed to put off that first standing up which makes me nauseous. The doctor says I should try eating a cracker before I get up, but it doesn’t work. I walk to the bathroom and I’m sick in the basin. White froth and then with further retches, it turns smooth and dark yellow, like cough medicine, only bitter. Then back into bed, sweaty and hungry.

Saif’s been away eight days and nine hours. He’s not due back until next week. I can’t phone him unless there’s an emergency. They don’t like personal phone calls on the rigs and he’s not allowed to take his mobile phone because it’s against the regulations. I’m floppy without him. He is excited and confident about the baby while I wade through the days. Tomorrow I go to my first ultrasound appointment at the hospital. Husband offshore, parents in another country, not a single friend to accompany me.

I thought pregnancy meant radiant skin and a stomach to be proud of. But I am barely showing and held back by waves of sleep; anxieties about the baby, about the birth, about the world I hear about on the news. Whenever Saif comes home we dwell on the changes in my body. Only a swell below my navel but my breasts are bigger. Sometimes they hurt, a dull pleasant ache, a gradual heaviness.