We sat down on the bed. I wanted to be close to Jacob. I wanted to feel his warmth. I sat on him, folding myself around him. Then, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I climbed off him, feeling like I was having a panic attack. I rushed out, into the bathroom across the hall. I sat on the loo, grappling with my phone, trying to Google my feelings.

‘You OK in there, Ol?’ Jacob shouted, sounding concerned.

‘Yeah, I just need a cold towel on my head. Give me a few moments.’

I sat on the cold tiled floor. My throat felt lumpy with repressed sadness. My body and brain knew the truth. All I needed to do was confront it. Accept it. Think it. Say it.

I just don’t want to get pregnant.

That feeling I had with Bea when we sat in the Foyle’s toilet all those years ago was not something I wanted to ever replicate. My head hurt. I could hear Jacob as he sat himself down outside, his back against the bathroom door.

I started to cry; I couldn’t stop. Because deep down I knew this could be the end of us.

14

2019

‘Morning Olive.’ I’m picking up the mail on my doorstep, mainly junk, when Dorothy Gray calls over. She is watering a tiny patch of grass outside her front door. I’m not sure why, there are no flowers, just some brown grass, but it’s quite sweet. She always seems to be giving herself random tasks to keep busy.

‘Morning Dorothy! How are you doing this morning?’

‘Yes, I’m very well thank you, Olive – just getting some small chores and errands done. Off to the post office later.’

Please don’t launch into one of your long-winded stories, Dorothy.

‘Have a great day,’ I smile.

‘Where are you off to, in that lovely scarf?’

‘Oh, just to meet a friend at the coffee shop.’ Friend.

‘Oh, how lovely. Have you been to that little French one at the end of the street?’

‘Yes, that’s actually where I’m off to now!’

It’s my ex-boyfriend, OK Dorothy? And I’m shitting it.

‘Oh, how charming. I do like the crockery they use in there. And the forks are the perfect size. I can’t stand a fork that’s too small.’

‘Yeah it’s really nice in there.’

‘I’d like to go back there one day. The temperature of the coffee is just right.’

‘It is! Very observant, Dorothy.’

‘Are you OK, dear – youngsters seem rather stressed these days.’

‘I’m fine, thanks Dorothy.’ What’s giving me away?

‘Just remember, when you get to my age, you never remember the little things that used to worry you or keep you up at night – you mostly look back fondly on the good times – they become clearer in your mind,’ she says, watering some poppies.

‘Thanks Dorothy. You’re right.’ I pause for a moment. ‘What about the big stuff though? The big things that keep you up at night?’ Jacob, motherhood dilemmas. Hardly small, silly things.