Not My Daughter

‘Matt would bring it to me.’ This conversation is utterly inane, and yet it grounds me.

‘What about sleeping?’ Anna asks, as if this is a real issue. ‘Is there a bathtub? Because that could work.’ I laugh out loud, and I hear the smile in her voice as she continues, ‘Just turn it over, Milly. You want to know. You need to, no matter how many little lines are on that stick.’

‘I know I do.’ I take a deep breath, and I think Anna does too.

And then I turn it over.

My breath whooshes out of my lungs as I stare at two blazing-bright pink lines. Two. There’s no doubt, no faintness, they’re both bright and there. I let out a wavering laugh, but it sounds more like a sob.

‘Milly…’ Anna sounds worried, and then I laugh again, the sound definitely one of joy.

‘Anna, I’m pregnant.’ I whisper the words, as if they’re sacred, and they are. ‘I’m pregnant.’

‘Oh Milly.’ Anna lets out a laugh-sob of her own. ‘I’m so happy for you. So, so happy.’

Matt taps on the door, most likely wondering what on earth I’ve been doing in here. ‘Milly?’ he calls, sounding anxious.

‘Just a sec. I should go,’ I tell Anna. ‘I’ll ring you later.’

‘Congratulations, Milly. This is the best news.’ Her voice is full of warmth.

‘Thanks, Anna. You know this couldn’t have happened—’

‘Without me. Yeah, yeah.’ She is laughing. ‘I know. You’ve only told me about three hundred times already.’

I laugh too, and then, as I ring off, I shake my head, still incredulous that this is happening. I press my hand to my flattish stomach. Hello, little bean. Nice to know you’re there. Then I wash my hands and flush the toilet, trying to collect myself, because I feel as if I could burst into tears or song, I’m not sure which.

Finally, I open the door and grin at Matt even as tears start in my eyes. ‘Congratulations,’ I tell him, my voice wobbling all over the place. ‘We’re going to have a baby.’

Eight

Anna

The week after my procedure, I find Sasha waiting for me by the door to my office. I’ve had trouble shaking off the melancholy the whole thing created in me, and twelve hours after telling Jack about my abortion, I am in the mentally cringing stage of remembering, and wondering why on earth I thought it appropriate or wise to divulge that information to a complete stranger.

Thank God I kept the details to a bare and unpleasant minimum, and there’s no real reason to think I’ll see him again, despite his offer to go out sometime. After everything I unloaded onto him, I doubt that invitation will be forthcoming, and I tell myself I am relieved.

‘Sasha.’ I do my best to inject some warmth into my voice, even though I’m not at my best. I didn’t sleep well, and I felt achey enough this morning to skip my morning run. ‘I’m glad you came. Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?’

She shakes her head as I open the door to my office and usher her inside. Office is a rather grand way of putting it; my desk is in the reception area of Lara’s office, along with some filing cabinets and a sofa, and sometimes I do feel like her glorified receptionist rather than the Assistant Director of HR, which is what I am since my promotion four years ago.

I close the door behind me,

while Sasha perches nervously on a chair in front of my desk.

‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ I tell her as I sit down behind my desk and fold my hands on the surface in front of me. ‘I was hoping you would.’

‘I’m still not sure I should be here…’

‘But you are, so why don’t you tell me what’s been bothering you?’

‘I think I’ve been sexually harassed,’ Sasha blurts, and my heart sinks, because this is going to be difficult – for Sasha, and for me. Sexual harassment is a huge issue in the workplace, and it’s so challenging to deal with appropriately in today’s heightened climate.

And then there’s Lara, who, despite being a woman herself, is remarkably unsympathetic to the sort of cases that come to our attention – inappropriate comments or unwanted touching, words or actions that a male colleague blusters were only a bit of harmless flirting, if that. Misconstrued invitations and pressured acceptances, both of which unfortunately make Lara roll her eyes. She usually tries to shut the complaints down before they even start, and generally, sadly, even in this day and age, she’s successful. But this time Sasha has come to me.

‘Why don’t you start from the beginning,’ I tell her.

‘I started at Qi in September,’ she begins haltingly. ‘I’m in the graduate scheme, in the IT department. And it’s a fab environment… I’ve really loved it, right from the start. Everyone joking and having fun, going out to the pub together after work… it’s the kind of thing you dream of, you know, when you’re in uni?’