I sense an ambush.
'Oh. Hello,' I say.
'Hello, Hedda,' Felicity says.
We eye each other.
'Aren't you supposed to notify me or something before calling a case conference?' I say to Felicity, then glance sideways at the social worker, who gives me a direct look back.
'Would you like to sit down?' she says. 'I'm Joanna. I did send a letter to notify you that Felicity would be attending.' She rifles through some pages, no doubt trying to produce a copy. I have no expectation she will, but to my surprise, she finds the piece of paper and hands it over. I scan the words explaining that she'll be attending my appointment, has liaised with Dewhurst House (aka Junior Loonies) and feels it'll be beneficial if my key worker also attends and to contact her if I have any concerns etc., etc. …
'You've got the flat number wrong,' I say.
'Have I? Oh dear. I am sorry.' She pushes all the messy papers back into a large leather holder. 'But we're all here now, so would you object … ?' Joanna leaves it hanging, but I'm not looking at her any more.
I'm staring at Felicity, who has already looked me up and down. Her eyebrows twitch up ever so slightly.
'No. That's fine.' I turn on my best smile, which fools probably no one.
Mary clears her throat. 'So we thought perhaps we'd have a chat first and then we can do your usual appointment afterwards.'
'Fine by me. There's not a lot to say, is there? I just need you to tell me the process, what I need to sign.' I keep my expression business-like, upbeat. No room for doubts here.
'I'm not sure – ' Mary says.
Just as Felicity says, 'Yes, let's go through it.'
There's a pause, and we all look at Joanna, who, I realise, has been taking everything in with sharp eyes. It's like a game of tennis, my eyes shooting from one face to another. All these people shuffling bits of paper, here because of me. For a while. Once, it might have made me feel powerful. Now? It just makes me tired.
'All right,' Joanna says.
She starts talking and I let the words wash over me. She goes through options like Mum and Dad having the baby – I give a short laugh at this – or foster care for me and the baby together, but I shake my head.
'I'm not interested in all that stuff. Why prolong anything? I just want it all sorted as fast as possible.'
Joanna finally gets on to adoption. It seems it's not as straightforward as I thought.
'Legally speaking, you can't give up the baby for adoption in the first six weeks,' she says.
I feel my spine straighten like someone's yanked me up by my hair. Six weeks! What the hell am I supposed to do with it for six whole weeks? What about college? I mean, it's not like I was going much – and truthfully, I've more or less stopped altogether in the last couple of weeks – but it'd be nice to have the option.
Joanna sees my expression. 'But the baby can be placed with the prospective adopter or foster parents directly after the birth.'
I sink back down, but only by a centimetre, because it's starting to dawn on me that I'm actually going to have to go through with the birth. I wonder if they could just put me to sleep for it and wake me up when it's all over and the baby's gone.
'OK,' I say. 'That sounds fine.'
'Hedda, I think you need to do some work on this,' Felicity says.
I restrain myself from rolling my eyes. I am not going over this adoption thing with Felicity. Far as I'm concerned, it's a done deal.
'I'll come to my next session, I promise,' I say, and I can hear the sulky note that's crept into my voice, like I'm twelve or something.
Mary wants to get on with the actual antenatal part of the appointment. As Joanna and Felicity leave, I sense her watching them with a faint air of disapproval. It lingers as she takes my blood pressure and weighs me.
I stand on the scales backwards out of habit.
'Good,' she says, and it takes a lot of willpower not to turn round and eyeball the numbers. They're only numbers, I try to tell myself. And it's only for a few more weeks.
As if there's any such thing as 'only numbers', Nia would say.
I get a sudden pang, like an echo coming from an empty room, and shake my head, try to focus on what Mary is saying.
'Could you hop up for me, luvvie?' she says, and I realise there's a lot more things she wants to say before I do, but she's only getting out a contraption she calls a doppler. 'We'll have a little listen,' she says as she presses it to my bump.
'Hang on,' I say, panic spiking through me because I'm remembering the scan and the woman trying to show me the Thing inside me, when the room suddenly fills with a sound like galloping horses. 'What the fu – ' I break off.