‘So, what are you up to today?’ he asked, finally turning off the power shower and walking into the bedroom with a fluffy white towel around his tight little waist. Duncan was … well … buff, for lack of a better word. She couldn’t help but think about the day they’d met, and how taken she’d been by him. He’d been seated at her table for a business meeting, and it wasn’t the only deal he clinched that day. That night, they’d had their first date, and the rest was history.
‘Not much,’ she muttered. ‘I might go to the gym.’ Spend half my life there anyway, trying to stay clear of the chub rub the fancy dresses always cause. Sweatpants were created by the god of comfort. Sometimes, a couture gown leaves me feeling like I’ve spent a night on the rack in the Red Room. Chance would be a fine thing these days. Baby making was more about the quantity, not the quality.
‘You should,’ he said, coming to sit on the bed and reaching under the sheet to pinch her midriff. ‘You could do with a bit of toning up, less air in the old tyre!’ April shrank away from him, and he laughed. ‘Oh come on, I’m only kidding. The gym would be good though, get you out of the house. I do worry about you, rattling around here all day when you’re not “working”.’ He air-quoted ‘working’ with raised hands, and April said nothing. She loved her job at the hotel, and it had been a lifeline to her over the years. It wasn’t up to Duncan’s swanky job, but she didn’t envy him that either. There was more to life than sharp suits and flash cars. She supposed it was why they worked. She felt safe with him, and he felt secure that she was with him for him, and not the trappings
Why they had worked, a tiny little voice that sounded suspiciously like hers whispered in her head. Had worked. Lately, she wasn’t quite so sure. Everything that once appealed to her angered her now. His ability to shrug things off. Lose himself in work, and statistics of conception techniques. Not sexy. Her phone pinged again, and Duncan stood up off the bed and fetched it for her.
‘Here, maybe it’s one of the girls.’
She smiled weakly, but didn’t take it from him. His smile dimmed, just for a second, and he dropped it onto the bed next to her. ‘I’d better go, early conference call from London.’
He leaned over her, taking her face between his hands and looking at her earnestly.
‘April, you will get through this. I promise. Get outside today, please. You need any money?’
She scowled at him, and he pretended to jump in fright.
‘Okay, okay, I was only asking. Have a good day.’ He brushed his lips against hers, the tiniest scrap of a kiss.
‘Love you,’ she told him.
‘I know,’ he said, tapping the end of her nose once with his index finger. ‘Best be off.’
He left her lying in their huge plush bed, staring at her phone. With a resigned sigh, she picked it up, looking through her notifications. The usual discount emails from the online clothing shops she used in favour of braving the harsh strip lighting and stick-thin shop assistants, trying on gorgeous clothes that made her look like sausage meat the second she donned them. Another email offered her a penis enlargement for only $2000, and the next one told her that she had won £18 million from a distant cousin, an African prince no less. Perhaps she could afford the penis enlargement then. A good day.
Then came the social media notifications, and she skimmed through them as quickly as possible. Nothing much really, but Hayley from work had posted, tagging her, and she clicked on it by accident. A photo popped up, with a caption.
‘Lottie’s first day at big school! Thanks so much April Statham for the gorgeous book bag! Can’t believe my baby is so grown up!’ It was followed by an alarming number of emojis and hashtags, crying faces, a school icon and a little girl emoji. Hashtags like #thanksauntieApril #biggirlnow #dontcry #mybaby and the one she always dreaded: #blessed.
#blessed was April’s arch nemesis. She hated it. She used to use it herself, back in the day. She’d even set up an Instagram account to document her new married life with Duncan. Pictures of sunsets and fancy cocktails from Duncan’s work trips, her tagging along and reading half the airport bookshop’s paperbacks by the pool while he worked in the day. Now she barely went online, let alone posted anything. What would she post today? Social media was full of little children and young adults, all beaming in uniform, nervous smiles to the camera as their parents stood them against front doors and in front of houses and fireplaces around the country.
How on earth could she tell Duncan she just couldn’t face the day? He would coo and make all the right noises, but she knew he didn’t get it. Not really. The fact was that her front door was empty of tiny humans, and she just couldn’t bear it today. She pulled the cover over herself, turned off her phone, and went back to sleep. The one thing she consoled herself with, as she drifted off, was that she had Duncan, and they were in this together. Had she known the truth, the tears might just have fallen that bit faster.
When Duncan had first suggested having a baby, she’d known it wouldn’t be easy. Duncan was so upbeat, so utterly convinced that having enough money to throw at a problem was the answer. It wasn’t though, and every failed attempt and test result turned to a wedge between them. While April researched, and obsessed, and worked out secretly at the gym,
