the birth, but it’s early days yet.” She glances at her notes. “You’re only thirty-two weeks. Plenty of time for the baby to turn. Now, let’s listen to the heartbeat….” She squirts gel on my stomach, and does the ultrasound. A moment later the heartbeat is going wow-wow-wow through the room.
“Nice, strong heartbeat.” Venetia nods at me, and I nod back as best I can while lying down. For a few moments the three of us just listen to the regular, fuzzy beat. It’s so weird. Here we are, all transfixed by the sound — and the baby has no idea we’re listening to it.
“That’s your child.” Venetia meets Luke’s eyes. “Pretty amazing, huh?” She leans over and straightens his tie — and I feel a spike of resentment. How dare she do that? This is our moment. And everyone knows that the wife straightens the tie.
“So, Venetia,” I say politely as at last she turns off the ultrasound machine. “I was sorry to hear about you splitting up with your boyfriend. What a shame.”
“Ah well.” Venetia spreads her hands. “Some things aren’t meant to be.” She smiles sweetly. “How’s your general health, Becky? Any aches and pains? Heartburn? Hemorrhoids?”
I don’t believe it. She’s deliberately choosing all the least sexy ailments.
“No,” I say firmly. “I feel really great.”
“Then you’re lucky.” Venetia gestures to us to sit down again. “Toward the end of pregnancy, you’ll find your body will really start feeling the strain. You may suffer from acne…varicose veins…. Sex will obviously be difficult, if not impossible….”
Ooh. She is an absolute cow.
“We don’t have any problems in that area.” I take Luke’s hand and clasp it. “Do we, darling?”
“It’s early days yet.” Venetia’s pleasant smile is unmoved. “Many of my patients lose their libido for good after childbirth. And of course, unfortunately, some men find their partner’s new shape somewhat… unattractive.”
Unattractive? Did she just say I was unattractive?
She’s wrapped a blood pressure cuff round my arm and now frowns as it deflates. “Your blood pressure’s creeping higher, Becky.”
I’m not bloody surprised! I glance at Luke, but he seems totally unsuspicious.
“Darling, you should mention that pain in your leg,” he says. “Remember, the other evening?”
“Pain in the leg?” Venetia looks up, alert.
“It was nothing,” I say quickly. “Just a twinge.”
I wore my new five-inch Manolos all day at work last week. Which was maybe a mistake, as by the time I got home I could barely walk and had to get Luke to massage my calf muscle.
“You should get it checked out, even so.” Luke squeezes my hand. “There’s no harm being careful.”
“Absolutely!” Venetia pushes back her chair. “Let’s examine it, shall we, Becky? Up on the table again.”
I do not like that glint in her eye. Reluctantly, I take off my new Wolford Stay-Ups and get on the table.
“Hmm.” She takes my leg, peers at it, then rubs a hand over it. “I think I can feel the beginnings of a varicose vein!”
I stare at my smooth skin in horror. She’s lying. There’s not a hint of a varicose vein.
“I can’t see anything there,” I say, trying to stay calm.
“To you it might seem invisible, but I can detect these things very early on.” Venetia pats my shoulder. “What I recommend, Becky, is you wear these surgical support stockings from now on.” She takes a packet from her desk and pulls out a pair of what look like long white-mesh socks. “Put them on.”
“I’m not putting those on!” I recoil in horror. I can barely bring myself to touch them, let alone wear them. They are the most revolting things I’ve ever seen.
“Becky, darling.” Luke leans forward. “If Venetia says you should wear them—”
“I’m sure I haven’t got varicose veins!” My voice is growing shriller. “Luke, it was my shoes, remember?”
“Ah,” Venetia chips in. “You may have a point. Let me see what you’re wearing.”
She surveys my new platform wedges and shakes her head sadly.
“Those really aren’t suitable for late pregnancy. Here, try these.” She roots in her bottom desk drawer and produces a pair of ugly brown rubber flip-flops. “They’re an orthopedic sample. I’d be glad to know what you think of them.”
I stare at them in dismay. “Instead of the support stockings?”
“Oh no!” She smiles. “I think you should wear the support stockings as well. Just to be on the safe side.”
Bitch. Bitch.
“Put them on, darling,” says Luke with an encouraging nod. “Venetia’s just thinking of your health.”
No, she’s not! I want to yell. Can’t you see what she’s doing?
But I can’t. There’s no way out. They’re both watching me. I’m going to have to do this.
Feeling sick, I slowly pull on first one surgical stocking, then the other.
“Tug them right up!” says Venetia. “That’s it, over your thighs.” I slip on the horrible flip-flops. Then I pick up my new oversize Marc Jacobs (pale yellow, totally gorgeous) bag to stuff my wedges in.
“Is that your bag?” Venetia’s beady eyes alight on it and I feel a clutch of dread. Not the bag. Please, not the bag.
“This is far too heavy for a pregnant woman!” she says, taking it from me and hefting it with a frown. “Do you know the damage you might do to your spine?” To Luke she adds, “You know, I did a year working very closely with a physical therapist. The injuries she saw, from people lugging around ridiculous-size bags!”
“Big bags are in fashion,” I say tightly.
“Fashion!” Venetia gives her silvery laugh. “Fashion is bad for your health. Try this, Becky. My physical therapist supplies them.” She opens a cupboard and produces a fanny pack made of khaki webbing. “Far more ergonomic for the back. You can even hide it under your T-shirt for security….”
“That’s great!” says Luke, taking my Marc Jacobs from Venetia and putting it on the floor where I can’t reach it. “Venetia, this is so kind of you.”
Kind? He has no idea what’s going on here. None.
“Go on, Becky!” Venetia is like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse, relishing its suffering. “See if it fits.”
With trembling hands I pull up my T-shirt, fit the khaki belt around my belly, fasten the clasp, and allow my T-shirt to fall back down. As I turn I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror fitted to the back of the door.
I want to cry. I look like a grotesque monster. My legs are two white, bulbous tree trunks. My feet resemble a granny’s. I have bumps in front and behind.
“You look great, Becky!” Venetia has hopped onto the desk and is doing an agile, yoga-type stretch which shows off her long, lithe arms. “So, Luke, that was a marvelous meeting we had. I was really interested in what you had to say about Web links….”
Miserably, I shuffle to my seat and wait for them to finish talking about Venetia’s business profile. But now they’ve moved on to her brochure and whether it could be improved.
“Oh, sorry, Becky!” Venetia suddenly appears to notice me. “This must be really boring. You know, the checkup’s done, so if you don’t want to hang around….”
“Aren’t you meeting Suze and Jess for lunch?” Luke looks at me. “Why don’t you shoot off? I just want to recap a few things with Venetia.”
I’m rooted to the ground. I don’t want to leave him here alone with her. Every instinct is telling me not to. But if I say that, he’ll think I’m just being all possessive and suspicious and we’ll have another huge row.
“Well, OK,” I say at last. “I’ll go.”
“Make sure you take what you need,” says Venetia, gesturing at my Marc Jacobs. “And I don’t want to hear that you’ve been using that bag!” She wags her finger at me.
I want to shoot her. But there’s no point arguing; Luke will only take her side. In silence I take out my purse, phone, keys, and a few essential items of makeup. I put them in the khaki bag and zip it shut.
“Bye, darling.” Luke kisses me. “I’ll call you later.”
“Bye. Bye, Venetia.” I can barely look her in the eye. I leave the room and head out to the foyer.
