Countless
Author: Karen Gregory
Chapter 1
The cigarette between my fingers is thin, insubstantial. Like me.
I'm hunched up on a square of frozen grass outside Dewhurst House, waiting. Felicity is always late, which is a joke seeing as I'd catch hell if it were me.
Her car finally rattles round the corner. I take a final drag, watch the lit end flare to my fingertips, then drop it next to the others as Felicity reaches my side.
She pretends not to notice, instead saying, 'What are you doing out here? You'll freeze!' in a fake jolly voice.
We go inside, Felicity's hand on my shoulder blade like I'm about to do a runner. Wouldn't be the first time. Or she might be doing a bone check. We exchange a quick look and I duck my head down.
'Do you want a coffee? You look cold. Black if you must!'
Felicity's rapid sentences are already giving me a headache. Bet she hates our sessions about as much as I do. Which is quite a lot, when it comes down to it. Still, she's lasted longer than most of my key workers – two years and counting – and she's all right really. Better than some.
'So … ' Felicity leans forward with a Concerned Look on her face. 'How are things?'
'All right.'
'And how are you getting on at the Yewlings?'
'Fine.' I try not to let the sarcasm into my voice but here it comes – drip, drip, like it's trying to form a stalactite. An image of my teeny flat in the Yewlings, Tower Block of Dreams, flashes into my head. I attempt a tight smile, the skin forming hard bunches on my cheeks. 'Really well actually.'
Felicity's not buying it.
'OK, shall we get it over with?' she says, and waves her hand at the scales.
I stand on them backwards, making my face into a mask like we're in a play, and listen to Felicity's pen scratch numbers down.
'What have you been up to?' she says.
I crane my head round, trying to spot the figure she's written, but she's already shifted the book. I slink back to my seat and pick at a loose thread where the chair fabric is ripped and leaking bits of foam. I must have sat here a million times.
'College?'
I look up at Felicity's expectant face. I've been doing this a lot recently, tuning out.
'Sorry, what was that?' I say.
Felicity holds in a sigh. Barely. 'I was asking if you've been attending college?'
My silence says it all. I do mean to go, but half the time I end up circling town or staring out of the window until it's way past the point where showing up might actually make a difference.
I pull my hoodie down lower and curl my knees up to my chest. I can feel my stomach all wrong where I've pressed my thighs against it. I give the thread another tug and it comes away in my hand.
I take a deep breath. I've put this off for weeks, but I'm going to go crazy for real if I don't ask. 'There's something … '
'Mmm?' Felicity says.
I start to wind the thread on my finger, count how many times it goes round. 'It's nothing really. I just don't feel … right. Like, more than normal, I mean. I'm tired all the time. And there's something else.' I take another big breath then speak in a rush. 'My stomach … it's kind of swollen. I was thinking, could it be … Have I done something permanent, with Nia?'
'Hedda, we've talked about this. You need to stop referring to your eating disorder by that name,' Felicity says. Which is spectacularly missing the point in my opinion.
'Right, yeah, sorry. But about what I was saying. Could it be … cancer?'
'I don't think … Well, we could certainly arrange for a check-up.' Felicity gives me a closer look, frowns, then glances again at her book of doom. 'Is there anything that's concerning you at the moment? College, home, friends?' I'm already shaking my head when she adds, 'Boyfriends?' Though she's more or less smiling at this last one.
I don't smile. Instead, I feel my face go hot. Silence stretches as wide as an ocean.
When I look up, Felicity has this expression on her face like she's just seen Elvis. Slowly, she leans forward, and in a gentle voice I've never heard her use before she says, 'Have you done a pregnancy test?'
Chapter 2
What. The. F? WTFWTFWTF. No, no, no, no. This can't be right.
I look at the instructions again. The stick I can't hold steady. I'm wedged inside the shopping centre toilets, in the furthest cubicle from the door. I stare at the Boots bag at my feet until it blurs. The seat is beginning to hurt my backside, but I can't move.
There is a cross in the window. I check the instructions one more time. A cross means I'm … but I can't be, can I?