This Child of Mine by Emma-Claire Wilson

Author:Emma-Claire Wilson [Wilson, Emma-Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2023-05-29T12:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dad sat in the living room watching Pointless on the TV while I battled with the flour in the kitchen. I added a touch of nutmeg to the pastry base. Dad assured me it wasn’t the secret ingredient, but I had tried almost everything else over the years. The smell from the oven was intoxicating.

My stomach ached and I felt bloated, but having had only two small triangles of sandwiches and a mini sausage roll, I couldn’t understand why I felt so off. The midwife had said the sickness would ease in the second trimester, but it seemed to be taking a stronger hold. I sipped a cold glass of water, hoping to quench my thirst, but the water hitting my stomach only seemed to make the vomit monster rage.

I trotted as quickly as I could to the downstairs toilet, trying not to disturb Dad in the living room. Throwing up as silently as I could, it was as if praying to the porcelain queen had summoned a strong knight to save me. My husband’s hands were rubbing my lower back in a clockwise motion, pushing harder at the base.

I knew it was him. He didn’t need to say anything. I hadn’t heard the front door open, and I was being so violently sick that I couldn’t smell his aftershave, but I knew it was him.

I knelt down on the floor in front of the toilet, giving up the fight to stay upright, and rested my forehead on my hands. I had neither the desire nor the strength to stand.

‘God this is shit,’ I mumbled into the porcelain.

‘It doesn’t have to be this hard.’ My husband’s words hit my ears and struck my chest simultaneously. ‘I mean the pregnancy, all this sickness …’

‘Just part of the pregnancy journey, I guess.’ I squeezed the words out in between heaves.

‘You shouldn’t be having to battle both at the same time, Steph. One at a time is already too much for your body.’

‘It’s pregnancy. You take the sickness as it comes. It’ll be worth it in the end.’

I had no desire to fight with him, but I felt like we kept going round and round in circles, and my patience for this conversation was starting to wear very thin. I didn’t have the energy or the brain space to consider my words carefully anymore. The only words I wanted to throw at him were expletives, and that was not going to help.

‘It’s more than that, Stephanie, and you know it.’

His words seemed to materialise all at once and with deep, sad sighs attached to each syllable – but a note of something else, too. A growing frustration. The anger was back and, this time, he was losing the battle to keep it hidden.

‘I know one thing. If I don’t get in that kitchen, the pie will burn.’

I stood and pushed him aside, stumbling past the open living room door where Dad stood just inside, clearly listening to the interaction that had just taken place.

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