Seven Days of Us(80)
Jesse
THE LOFT CONVERSION, 34 GLOUCESTER TERRACE, CAMDEN, 11:48 P.M.
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Jesse looked around the rooftop room where he’d be sleeping. It had been Olivia’s bedroom, and though her stuff had gone, vestiges of a younger Olivia remained—a lava lamp, some terrible clogs, and a graduation photo of endearingly dorkish friends. Now that he had seen the Birches’ tall, narrow London house, with its Danish chairs and Andrew’s political cartoons, he realized that Weyfield wasn’t really them. The place was all Emma, her childhood in aspic. And it was only now, seeing the Birches in their home, eating takeout and watching TV, that he’d started to feel like they were in some way family—not his foreign-exchange hosts. Or maybe it was everything that had gone down today that had broken the barriers.
It was nearly midnight, but his mind was still whirring. He lay on the single bed, looking at the starless skylight, thinking about the chat with Phoebe in the kitchen. It had reminded him of talking to Dana, though Phoebe was sharper. Of course she was—she was Andrew’s daughter. He would call Dana tomorrow, he decided, and tell his mom and dad the entire thing once he was back home. The quarantine stuff might take some justifying, but they’d get it. He realized he was excited to meet Sean, Haag survivor and another foreigner in the Birch clan. Potentially his brother-in-law. He wondered if Sean and Olivia would get married before the baby was born, if there would be a family wedding after all. Too bad he never got started on his adoption film. Olivia and Sean’s first dance could have been a neat closing scene. Outside, Jesse could hear traffic, sirens, drunken shouting. Even the subway journey from the hospital had been a relief after Norfolk. It felt like coming up for air, or cracking a window in a stuffy car. Maybe he and Phoebe could go shopping in the West End, he thought happily, as he stretched under the atlas print bedding, and turned out the light.
? 9 ?
December 30, 2016
Olivia
ROOM 24, 8 NORTH WARD, THE ROYAL FREE HOSPITAL, HAMPSTEAD, 1:55 P.M.
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Olivia leaned against the hard hospital bed, bags at her feet, impatient to be discharged. The thought that Sean was in the building, just floors away, had been dancing inside her all night. She’d felt such a fool in front of the doctors yesterday when her urine came back teeming with progesterone. Until now, she’d barely considered when she wanted children. It had always been “one day, not yet.” A family would tie her to London, stop her from working abroad. Settling down was for Phoebe. But now that it was happening with Sean, she felt different. Nervous, but ready—as if they’d been together for ages. She remembered him saying, offhand, that he wanted lots of kids, and how she’d teased him about being broody. Secretly, though, she’d hoped he’d been testing the water, gauging how serious they were.
She had sent a text earlier, promising to visit, but hadn’t said she was in the Royal Free. It would be cruel to announce she was in hospital without explaining, and she wanted to tell him she was pregnant face-to-face. Dennis White had written again this morning, demanding she contact him, but conceding that there was no longer a risk, now that her quarantine was over. She hadn’t been able to face replying. She would have to kowtow, she knew. It could wait. She rechecked her cautious strokes of mascara (Phoebe had sent a makeup bag with Emma last night), and willed the nurses to come and set her free.
An hour later she was on Sean’s high-observation ward, visitor’s pass in hand. She breathed the safe NHS scent—bleach and mopped floors, and the ghost of school dinners. Being in a hospital as a patient was disconcerting, like going from actor to audience. Two young doctors passed and she wanted to explain that she was one of them, usually in scrubs, too. Rounding a corner, she saw a barrel-shaped, middle-aged woman with spiky hair and gold earrings, by a vending machine. “O-livia?” she said, in a deep Irish accent.
“Yes?” said Olivia tentatively. “Are you . . . with Sean?” It hadn’t occurred to her that his family might be here. She felt about ten years old.
“I’m his Mammy! Kathy. He’s told us all about you. I recognized you from the Facebook. Come here, love!”
Olivia allowed herself to be embraced, and then held at arm’s length as Kathy beamed at her. She could see Sean now in his mother’s gray-green eyes. It crossed her mind that this woman was her baby’s grandmother. Potentially her mother-in-law—part of a whole new family, a new life. How could that night on Cape Beach have led them here so soon?
“Not your average meet-the-parents, eh?” said Kathy. “But it’s great to meet you, Olivia. You’re as lovely as Sean said. Now you’ve to see y’man inside!”
“How’s he feeling?” said Olivia, as they set off down a long corridor, shoes squeaking, Olivia holding doors open.
“He’s grand. He’s a fighter, our Seany. But he’s awfully thin, you should know. He’s been so worried about you.”
“Yeah. It was a risk, us . . . ” She tailed off, not sure how to put it, but Kathy laughed.
“Ah, young love! He’s a naughty boy,” she said fondly.
“This is him,” said Kathy, stopping at a door, and sanitizing her hands up to her forearms before knocking. There was no reply, and she opened the door just enough to see in.