A Bumpy Year by Olivia Spooner

Author:Olivia Spooner [Spooner, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800249493
Publisher: Head of Zeus

24

The antenatal class is being held in a small community hall next to the local library. It’s an unattractive square brick building set back from the road behind a patch of weed-filled grass. I never knew it existed until Google Maps led us here. I stare at the row of dirty windows and sagging front porch lit by a harsh white light that illuminates the scuffed and worn double doors. One of the doors is closed, the other propped open with a squat brown stool.

“Interesting,” Pete says, turning off the engine.

A car pulls up across the road and a couple step out. The woman is petite, blonde and pregnant. Begrudgingly, I have to admit her rounded stomach looks perfect as it juts out beneath her tight crop top. The man is short, squat and at least ten years older judging by his balding hair and sagging pot belly. The man takes her arm and they hurry towards the hall. I watch him pull the door wider and give a slight bow, then as she moves past, he places a hand on her lower back and ushers her inside. He glances at us sitting in the car, smiles briefly – probably hoping Pete is admiring his attractive younger partner – and disappears, letting the door swing back and rest on the stool once more.

“Better get it over with,” I murmur, reaching for the door handle.

Pete grins. “That’s the spirit, Trish.” He leans in to kiss me again on the lips and we make our way inside.

It’s worse than I’d imagined – and that’s saying something. There’s a small raised platform at the far end of the room with a lectern and a couple of old wooden benches. A thin black curtain hangs pathetically to one side. Scattered about the hall are a few trestle tables and faded blue plastic chairs stacked against one wall. Some of the blue chairs have been placed in a circle and sitting in those chairs, staring at us with matching polite smiles, are the antenatal group.

There are four couples and a middle-aged woman in a loose linen dress with a clipboard in her arms. She stands and quickly moves towards us.

“Welcome,” she says loudly. “Are you here for the antenatal classes?”

I’d have thought that was fairly obvious.

“Yes,” I mutter. “I’m Patricia. Trish.”

The woman surveys her clipboard. “Ah, yes. Patricia Kirkpatrick. Excellent. My name is Margot.” She squeezes my hand hard as we shake. Then she turns to Pete. “And I take it you’re Trish’s partner in crime?” she says, laughing at her own joke.

“Absolutely. I’m Pete.”

Easier for me to let that one slide for now, rather than try to explain the whole sordid story.

They shake hands, then Margot shoves the clipboard under one arm, grabs one of my hands in her left hand and one of Pete’s in her right. She pulls us towards the centre of the circle.

“Everyone, this is Trish and Pete.”

There are murmured greetings and I’m pleased to see everyone is as uncomfortable as I am right now.

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