Worry by Jessica Westhead

Author:Jessica Westhead
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2019-07-26T16:00:00+00:00

Seven

THE SUMMER IS JUST STARTING, AND THE MOTHER-TO-BE IS walking along the sidewalk with her giant belly floating in front of her like a beautiful balloon. She’s holding on to it, rubbing circles into it.

She’s tired because she’s forgotten how to sleep. Her baby has stolen that knowledge from her, but the mother-to-be doesn’t care.

“The doctor says you’re supposed to rest,” the father-to-be keeps chiding her. “Just lie down and close your eyes. It’s easy.”

But she’d rather spend her time waiting to feel the gentle knock-knocking that lets her know she isn’t alone in her body. (“I’m here, Mama.”) And when she doesn’t feel it, she stings with need, desperate for her unborn daughter’s entrancing company.

Because she’s found a new fellow adventurer and she wants to tell her all about the weird, wonderful world she’s going to live in. Because she’s found a new audience and she wants to delight her with endless performances. And it’s awful when she doesn’t pay attention.

As soon as the knocking stops, every inch of the mother-to-be is on fire, itching for a hit of reassurance. Please, just for a little while longer. But when it begins again, she’s ready.

She likes to sing to the baby. Mostly she revisits and revises the anthems of her wild and carefree university days, her misspent nineties youth: “Here you are now, I’ll entertain you!” She goofs around with the lyrics because everything has a different meaning now: “Today is gonna be the day that we’re gonna look at birds and squirrels.”

She tries to explain how that music made her feel back then and how she feels when she hears it now. But the problem is, the baby inevitably falls back to sleep and the mother-to-be loses her again.

“Please stay,” she whispers. “Come back. It’s been seven minutes but feels like days since you took your love away.”

All around them, the trees and flowers are in bright, astonishing bloom, and their branches are full of happy birds.

A man is approaching. He’s not very old, maybe in his early thirties. He’s one of those men who looks like a lot of men do—short hair, jeans and a T-shirt, hair on his arms.

She smiles at him because she smiles at everyone now. The baby inside her has made her all-powerful, and that power has made her benevolent toward all living things.

But the man doesn’t smile back. His hands are in his pockets and he walks along like that, casually but purposefully, with jaunty elbows and an unsmiling face.

Her steps falter as he gets closer. Because now it’s obvious. He’s a Bad Stranger, and he’s going to hurt them.

It gets darker then. A cloud covers the sun and the mother-to-be is all alone on the street with the man. There’s no one else around and nowhere she can run to for help. As if she could even run. The trees are grey and the birds are screaming and it’s just the two of them. The three of them.

As he draws up alongside her, his mouth twists.

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