‘I tell you what, Jenny, you get yourself settled, I’m just popping to the ladies’. When I come back, I’ll get us a nice cup of tea.’

‘Oh Grace, you’re too kind.’ Jenny touched my arm and her face compressed into one of real gratitude.

I walked with great composure to the toilet, never wavering or speeding up. I took my time. There was nothing about that moment I wanted to rush to get to. Yet I couldn’t bypass it either, like skipping a few pages in a book or flicking straight to the article of interest in a magazine. I had to troll through the bits I wished to avoid, that didn’t make sense.

I entered Emily’s bathroom and the trickle between my legs was warm and familiar. I knew what to expect. The last few had been earlier and earlier. I wasn’t even able to reach the twelve-week mark. But this, a mere nine weeks in. I didn’t even know why I had allowed myself to feel even the slightest notion of hope. It was all over. I was ruined. No husband. No baby.

I pulled down my tights and knickers and I wasn’t even alarmed at the vibrant red mass that engulfed the gusset. I simply tidied myself up as best as I could.

Aside from my heart racing, I knew I would appear completely calm. I walked out of the toilet and back into Emily’s kitchen.

I found my way back to Jenny. Tea was what was needed.

‘I’ll get some tea for us, Jenny.’ I spoke robotically.

Jenny was about to say something, thank me for my kindness perhaps, but then her attention was stolen from me as we both turned towards a ruckus at the doorway. One of the other girls had left her cooking station and was there with a man. The man was tall with dark hair. His face was covered in a grey stubble and he was rubbing the side of his head with one hand. Jenny’s face had fallen into a look of horror. The man was making quite a commotion and was now trying to make his way into the room. Emily had been busy at the front, but her attention was now on the uninvited guests causing disruption. She began to walk over to him. I looked at Jenny, whose face had turned a sickly grey colour.

59

DAISY

‘So what are you going to call him?’ Annie was sitting in the hard chair that she had positioned right up close to the soft chair, where I was now sitting, wrapped up in a towel and terry towelling robe. The baby was cradled in my arms. It had been a task to get him back off Annie who had been holding him for the time it took me to get the placenta out, get out of the pool, clean myself up and get into something dry. The baby was wrapped in a soft cotton towel, still naked.

‘I’ve always liked the name Daniel. Or Isaac,’ Annie offered.