The Long Way Home: A moving saga of lost family by Whitmee Jeanne

Author:Whitmee, Jeanne [Whitmee, Jeanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2017-09-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The waiting room at the ante-natal clinic was crowded, overheated and stuffy. Sally’s head ached. She had spent almost two hours sitting on the hard chair provided, listening to the tape of jolly Christmas music that played over and over and staring at the tired paperchains and shrivelling balloons that decorated the waiting room. She had exhausted all the tattered magazines on the table in the centre of the room.

Two bored and fractious toddlers were squabbling noisily over a toy tractor from a collapsing cardboard box in the corner while their mothers tried to placate them with sweets. Their shrill squeals grated on her nerves.

‘Takes ages, doesn’t it? How long’ve you been here?’ the girl sitting next to Sally asked.

‘Since two,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘I think it’s my turn next though.’ Her heart sank as she thought of the long bus ride she had to look forward to after her routine examination. The buses got so crowded in the late afternoon now, with the Christmas shoppers. At this rate she’d hit the rush hour and probably have to stand all the way. Not that anything wouldn’t be a change from sitting here in this stuffy, noisy room with all the other pregnant women. We must look like a set of Toby jugs, she told herself, unconsciously echoing one of her mother’s favourite sayings. Her mind lingered nostalgically over thoughts of a soft armchair, a blazing fire, and Mavis bringing her a hot cup of tea.

‘When’s yours due?’ the girl was asking her chattily.

‘Due? Oh, the baby, you mean. Not till the beginning of February.’

‘Only another few weeks then?’ The girl smiled. ‘I bet you can’t wait. Your first, is it?’

‘Yes.’ In an attempt to put the girl off, Sally buried her face in the magazine she had already read twice and tried to absorb herself in an article on varicose veins.

‘My Darren wants a boy,’ the girl went on, undeterred. ‘But me and Mum’d rather have a little girl. Mum’s already made me a pink pram set. It’s my first too — Mum’s first grandchild. Exciting, isn’t it?’

‘Very.’

‘Have you thought of any names?’

‘No.’

The girl’s eyes widened. ‘Haven’t you? I like Tiffany, but if it’s a boy — Darren wants Gary or Paul. Football mad, he is.’

‘I see.’

‘Haven’t you got any ideas? You must have some favourites.’

Sally put down the magazine. ‘I haven’t thought about names at all,’ she said with quiet deliberation. ‘You see, I’m having mine adopted.’

The girl’s mouth dropped open in surprise and her round blue eyes stared blankly. It occurred to Sally that she looked like a cod’s head on a fishmonger’s slab. It was all she could do not to tell her so.

‘Oh …’ the girl said inadequately.

‘And if you’re wondering why, it’s because I’ve got no husband, right? No mum knitting pink pram sets either,’ Sally went on brutally. ‘Having a baby isn’t at all exciting for me. In fact it’s a disaster, a very bad mistake that I’m having to pay dearly for.

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