The List (37 page)

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Lovely to finally meet you!'

‘She's a hipster too.' Lucy smiled. ‘I have no idea what a haiku is.'

He laughed. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Phoebe. A haiku is a short poem that follows a rhyming structure, Lucy, and if you call me a hipster once more I'm never taking you to Urban Outfitters again.'

I think I'm going to like Kyle.

The first person up was the organizer, thanking everyone for coming and reading a poem he'd written about a bus journey he'd once had and how the scenery reminded him
of pompous ghosts (or something to that effect). Next was a tiny woman who'd written a poem to a man she hadn't seen in thirty years – after hearing at length about her ‘empty chasm' it was easy to understand why he'd fucked off. But when Kyle appeared on stage, everyone seemed to pay attention. He spoke beautifully, and although I'm not entirely sure what his sonnet was about, his haiku was beautiful and I remember every word:

When I look at her

My heart starts to see her in

Ways my eyes cannot

When it was over, Lucy clapped so hard I thought she'd damage her hands. ‘I didn't expect him to be good! Shit, I might fancy him even more now.'

We politely stayed until the end, enduring poets of all shapes and sizes, some with obvious talent and some who just shouted words out in no apparent order and called it free verse while Lucy and I silently shook with laughter.

I left Kyle and Lucy kissing in the library and made my home feeling both excited that my mate was embarking on a journey with someone like Kyle, and sickened that I was going nowhere except home alone.

Sunday November 27th

I'm kind of glad November is almost over. It's been an emotional one, to say the least. Couples have been watched, tantrums have been had, and tears have been shed on more
than one occasion, but I feel better after my latest meltdown. Not having Oliver around has been strange, but I hope he's happy whatever he's doing. What I mean by happy is: miserable as sin and missing me terribly, but I'll send good thoughts anyway.

Monday November 28th

I grabbed a lift with Lucy into work and I felt so much brighter and happier than I have in ages. I also didn't think about Oliver once all morning. Breakthrough! But by the afternoon, he was all I could think of and the inevitable email was sent:

So far no reply. This has to be the last attempt. I don't want to still be emailing him in ten years' time like some bunny boiler. Anyway, drinks with Paul, Dan and Lucy planned for
tomorrow, which should be fun, and if I pretend I'm still depressed/suicidal I might be able to persuade them into taking me for sushi to ease my pain.

Wednesday November 30th

I've been sick as a dog all day, so had to cancel drinks with the team last night. I feel so yucky, what the hell is wrong with my immune system? First food poisoning, then tonsillitis and now some bloody tummy bug which is keeping me away from my daily Bounty fix. Bah. I feel awful and I'm so stressed out, and my period is late and usually that's a good thing as it–

Wait a minute … My period is late? My period is late! FUCK!

Thursday December 1st

‘I'm late.'

‘You're fine. It's only just gone nine,' said Lucy from behind her desk, ‘the boss doesn't … Oh. Wait. Late? As in …?'

I nodded.

‘Oh SHIT.'

‘I know. Just a few days … but I'm never late! Stress? Don't you think it could be stress?'

‘When did you last have sex?' asked Lucy quietly. ‘Do you remember?'

‘Of course I do! It was at your Halloween party. With Oliver. But I'm on the pill! I can't be pregnant – I always take my pill for this VERY REASON!'

‘You were also on antibiotics at the time, Phoebe, and stop shouting at me. I didn't knock you up.'

‘Antibiotics? Oh. Hmm … I'd forgotten about them. Oh shitshitshit!'

‘Stop panicking. Go and get a test at lunchtime, we'll do it together.'

And so we did. I bought my overpriced test from the
chemist and peed on it in front of Lucy. We stood in the toilets and waited. It was negative. ‘Panic over,' winked Lucy. ‘Now, stop being such a stress bunny and it'll appear. Then you'll moan to me about that instead of this. Trust me.'

Saturday December 3rd

Still no sign of my period and I'm still feeling rough as dogs. I'll see the doctor on Monday and get something for this. I've been looking up my symptoms online and, having ruled out pregnancy, I'm either going through the menopause or it is just stress and my diet, which is probably much more likely. Maybe my ovaries are broken?

Monday December 5th

I went to the doctor and she doesn't think it's anything to worry about, probably stress, but she took a blood sample to check my hormone levels and so on. Apparently menopause is rare in women my age BUT not impossible. I don't know what's worse – the thought of being pregnant or the thought of never being able to become pregnant. I should have the results on Wednesday, which means two days of acting like a massive hypochondriac. Mum was due to call tonight but I texted her to say that I wasn't feeling well so I'd speak to her later in the week. Of course she called anyway.

‘Feeling sick? Are your boobs sore?'

‘I'm not pregnant, Mum, I've checked. The doctor took some blood to check my hormone levels anyway.' I started
to laugh. ‘She's even checking for early menopause. I'm only thirty-three!'

‘Well, I did go through the change at thirty-nine.'

‘What?'

‘And your grandmother too.'

‘What?!'

‘Oh, and your Great-aunt Helen. She was also about that age. So it might not be such a wild theory.'

‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Why on earth didn't you mention this earlier? That's only six years away!'

‘Didn't I? Sorry, love. I'm sure it's not that. I always put mine down to the copious amounts of drugs I took in the Seventies. Something had to give.'

After I hung up, I threw up.

Tuesday December 6th

I'm feeling fine today. No period but a couple of cramps and the nausea has gone. I feel silly for panicking so easily. I made my way into work, stopping to get tea and a bacon roll from the cafe across the street. I felt ready to embrace the day.

Dorothy has decided that daily morning meetings aren't productive and so she scrapped them, saying she wants us to ‘hit the ground running at 9 a.m.' Ugh, it seems that despite her endearingly quirky ways, underneath it all she's still an evil saleswoman.

Hazel texted to say she's received our booking confirmations for the New Year party at the Royal Hotel, which reminded me I haven't bought a dress. I spent most of the
afternoon on eBay looking for one and wondering why the hell people sell make-up online that's already been used. Bleurgh. ‘
I have a rare but contagious weeping skin condition that this concealer wouldn't cover up. I tried. Yours for only a tenner!'
Yeah, I'll pass, thanks, scabby.

Wednesday December 7th

I called the doctor's office, but again the stupid receptionist wouldn't give me my test results over the phone so I have to go in and see the doctor first thing tomorrow.

‘After what your mum said, it probably
is
the menopause,' Lucy laughed. ‘If you were of noble blood you'd be Barren Von Henderson.'

‘That's not funny! I bet my iron levels are down or something, due to the millions of periods which have arrived ON TIME over the years. Maybe I've run out of blood. Is that possible?'

‘You need to calm down. Come over to mine tonight. We can eat cake and watch
The Good Wife
.'

‘Did you make the cake?'

‘No, Kyle brought it the other night.'

‘OK then.'

‘He said that he wanted me to lick cake off the end of his—'

‘LALALALALA!' I shouted, covering my ears. ‘If you finish that sentence I won't be going anywhere near your dirty little dessert.'

‘I was joking,' she chuckled. ‘Got your mind off your results though, didn't it?'

‘I don't believe you, but thanks. I'll be over at eight.'

I popped in to see Dorothy and tell her I needed to see the doc in the morning. She twirled around in her chair to check the holiday board. ‘You still have a day to use up. Take it tomorrow if you like.'

So I've got the day off tomorrow and I get to eat cake tonight. Things are looking up.

Thursday December 8th

I crashed at Lucy's house last night. We managed to demolish the remaining three-quarters of a chocolate cake (which I checked first for penis imprints) and watched five full episodes of
The Good Wife
.

‘I could totally be a big-time lawyer,' said Lucy, admiring Josh Charles in his suit. ‘I'd be all “OBJECTION!” The judge would sustain it and then the case would fall apart because of things that happened. Then I'd sleep with Josh Charles.'

‘He isn't a real lawyer, you know.'

‘I don't care. It's my destiny.'

I left her place at half eight this morning and drove over to the surgery to get my test results. Regardless of what it might turn out to be, I felt utterly and completely grateful that at least I wasn't pregnant. THAT would have been a fucking disaster. The doctor saw me straight away.

‘From the date of your last period, you'll be about six weeks gone,' she said with a bright smile. ‘Would you like me to book you in for your first appointment?'

I sat there stunned.

‘I'm pregnant?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm pregnant?'

‘Well, yes.'

‘But I took the test. It said I wasn't. I don't … I mean … how can this … ?'

‘It's not uncommon for tests to come back negative, especially in the early weeks. So, shall I book you in to see the midwife?'

‘No … I mean, I don't know. I'm on my own. I don't know if I can do this on my own. What would you do?'

‘Erm, I can't answer that. OK. Take some time to think – it's still early, and you have options.'

I know what my options are and I can't bear to even think about that. Not yet anyway. I went straight home and sat on the couch for, oh, about four hours. Lucy called four times but I didn't answer. Fucking pregnant? I'm thirty-three and single. Oh God, what do I tell Oliver? This is bad. This is very bad.

Friday December 9th

The commute this morning was a blur. I remember sitting next to a woman who smelled like she was wearing all of the perfume ever made and the next thing I remember is Lucy picking up my coat, which had fallen from the back of my chair to the floor.

‘You're a sleepyhead today!' she chirped. ‘You didn't call me back yesterday. Was it bad news? Are you going to get hot flushes and chew on calcium tablets all day long?'

‘I'm pregnant.'

I saw the smile evaporate from her face. ‘How? We took that test. I saw you pee. There was only one line! Two is for yes, one is for no.'

‘The test was wrong,' I sighed, putting my head in my hands. ‘This is a nightmare.'

Lucy pulled over a chair and sat down beside me.

‘It doesn't have to be,' she whispered. ‘You don't want it, and … It's not a baby yet, you know, it's a bunch of cells.'

‘I can't think right now. I'll try to get through today normally and then take the weekend to try to start processing this.'

‘You call me if you need me,' said Lucy. ‘Promise?'

‘Promise.'

9.40 p.m
. I've had a bath and I'm feeling calmer. I think I need to have an abortion. I'm not remotely religious and I'm practical. I have no partner, my family live in Canada, I have no savings and most importantly I know nothing about kids! I've never been maternal. Maybe I want them one day, but not like this. I would make a terrible mother. Children scare me – they're noisy, uncooperative little rat bags AND I'd have to stop smoking. I'm too selfish for this. There's no way I'm having a baby.

Sunday December 11th

I've had a lot of time to think about things. In fact I haven't thought about anything else. I have a million questions like: what if I did have this baby? What if this is my one chance,
only I don't know it and I have an abortion and it's too late? What if I spend the next twenty years waiting for Mr Right and he doesn't turn up? Also, how much will it hurt?, and ‘will giving birth completely destroy my lady parts?' – which aren't as important but still crossed my mind. I haven't told Hazel because I worry that telling another mother (not my own – God, not yet) would make it seem real, and at the moment it still feels like it's happening to someone else. Good plan, Phoebe: head in the sand. I
wish
it was happening to someone else. I'd arranged to see Hazel tomorrow anyway. I'll tell her then.

Tuesday December 13th

I went round to Hazel's for dinner, even though I wasn't remotely hungry, and we sat in her kitchen. I watched in silence as she fed Grace – who's now one and very sweet – in her high chair. Grace watched her mummy intensely, got really excited about her pudding, then threw the whole fucking lot on to the floor.