I want to throttle her. I want to reach across the oceans and continents between us, grab her by her pudgy neck and squeeze it until her eyeballs bulge like a goldfish’s. I want to shake her by the shoulders until she’s dizzy. I want to slap her, scream at her, clench my fists and stamp my feet until she realises what a colossal idiot she is. Instead, I employ my extensive journalistic vocabulary and say, ‘Huh?’
‘I said I’m pregnant,’ Helena repeats patiently. ‘Sixteen weeks along.’
‘Sixteen weeks! And you’re only telling me now?’
Pregnant. Just the word sends chills up my spine.
She sighs. ‘Well, I only found out myself at twelve weeks. And I’ve been trying to speak to you for a month. Haven’t you got my phone messages or my emails? You’re not the easiest person to get hold of, Anna.’Continue Reading