Shelagh sat behind her desk at the Surgery, enjoying a moment of peace after a rush of appointments. Of course, there was still organizing that needed to be done, but a moment to catch her breath wasn't unjust.
This lull in patients had also given Patrick time to go over test results he had received earlier in the day. Having not been anticipating anything crucial to come back – a rarity in his line of work – he focused on returning a few missed calls before getting to the envelopes containing everything that had been sent off to the lab. Opening it, he removed the contents. The first piece of paper was one his wife had inquired about every day since he had signed his name on the official order.
"Shelagh," he called out to her, "will you come in here for a moment?"
There was no reply. Instead, Patrick heard the clacking of his wife's shoes against the floor tiles. She appeared a moment later, dressed in her nurse's uniform. "Yes, Patrick?"
"I've just opened the test results that came in. Cathy Cook is pregnant."
Given that she had asked daily, Shelagh was surprised to find out the news. She had forgotten about awaiting the results. "She is?"
"Indeed. I thought perhaps you would want to telephone her with the news."
Nothing more needed to be said. Shelagh had an overwhelming urge to share this exciting information with the mother-to-be. It was only a few steps to the filing cabinets, and mere seconds passed before her hands were ensconced around Cathy's file. At her desk, Shelagh picked up the telephone and dialed the number.
After several rings, the phone came off the hook. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Cook?"
"Yes."
"This is Mrs. Turner, Doctor Turner's nurse. I'm calling about your test results." No answer came from the girl. Shelagh hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Congratulations, Mrs. Cook. The test was positive."
There was a gasp. "What?"
"You're going to have a baby, Mrs. Cook!"
"Oh... Oh my."
Shelagh couldn't tell for certain how Cathy was responding to the news. Shock was a normal thing for any parent to experience. Given the girl's anxious nature during their previous encounter, Shelagh couldn't help but worry if she was overwhelmed by the news. "I know it can be a lot to digest. We'll need to get you booked in for care with our midwives. Are you able to pop into clinic, say this Tuesday?"
"Tuesday?" Cathy asked.
"Tuesday afternoon, yes. Do you know where we're located?"
"I do," she replied. "I've walked by a few times, always seem the prams lined up outside. If Mrs. Buckle will allow me off work, I'm sure I'll be able to be there."
"We also have clinic on Thursday afternoons as well, if that suits your schedule better."
There was another beat of silence, then, "Thank you for calling, Mrs. Turner. I will see you one day next week."
Shelagh heard the click of the telephone, signaling the end of the call. Was it peculiar? Slightly, yes. Shelagh chalked it up to nerves and jitters, nothing more. There was no time to ponder this more, as the telephone rang. Her attention, for the moment, would be required elsewhere.
Cathy slowly put her phone back down on the receiver. Since leaving the surgery eight days prior, the test she had consented to loomed over all her thoughts. The phone didn't ring often. Cathy took to picking up to check that the line was working. The few times the phone had rung, there was a moment of sheer terror that ran through her body before she picked up. Cathy had never known one could feel both anxious and relieved by it not being Mrs. Turner.
Time had run out on that course, though. It was inevitable that she would hear news sooner or later. Even if it had been a negative result, surely they would have called to let her know.
As it turned out, the result was not negative. In a matter of months, however many it would be, Cathy Cook would be a mother. Exhilarated would not be the way to describe how she felt, not in the slightest It was how one might feel if they walked into the most important exam of their life without having ever studied the material covered. It was the feeling of someone walking into a new job without any proper training.
Terrified. Unprepared. That was just the very surface of the bubbling emotions running through her.
Cathy realized she hadn't moved from the chair by the phone for several minutes, yet it was a chore to think of standing. The overwhelming sense of terror was paralyzing, and it was a struggle to continue breathing at a steady pace.
Some people in the world are cut out to be parents, while others are not. In her experience, Cathy seemed to have dealt more with people who fell into the second category. How would she know what to do to properly raise a child when she had no solid figure to model her behavior after? Some would suggest modeling their own parenting after the way they were parented. This was where the problem lay.
But she wouldn't allow herself to go there. No. Once the thoughts began to creep in, Cathy forced herself to stand from that spot. Sometimes, removing herself from the room where she first felt anxious helped. This was the idea for getting up.
There was one room in particular in the home that provided her with unending levels of calm. The upstairs held two bedrooms and the indoor facilities, and that was more than enough for a small family of two. It was the downstairs where they had their kitchen, the sunroom, a living room, and the lounge. Cathy had the sunroom set up as a formal sitting room, while the living room doubled as a place to eat. It was the lounge that had been transformed for her needs.
Throwing open the door to the lounge, Cathy flicked a light on. The sewing machine sat off to the right, begging her to sit and use it. Just standing in the doorway helped her to breathe a little easier. One step in, and Cathy's thoughts shifted as she began wondering what she would work on. There were a few of Roger's shirts that needed mending. It wouldn't take long to fix those, but it would be more than enough time to completely calm her.
If she was being honest, she was embarrassed by the way her anxiety played tricks with her mind. She had come a long way; that was an undeniable fact that Cathy herself could not ignore. Leaving the house had once been a task so difficult that it wasn't worth the energy expended. Still, when things got stressful, those old feelings crept back in.
The time period they were in meant that such problems were not often discussed. People suffered in relative silence for fear of being labeled unfit, tossed into a mental institution, rumored to be forgotten about. Cathy was not unstable. She could usually function under the worst of circumstances. Sometimes, things just got to be too much, a toxic result of repressing thoughts and feelings.
Cathy sat at her sewing machine and picked up the first shirt. An actor, Roger's shirts needed to look in tip-top shape if he was to wear them on auditions. Cathy felt it was her personal duty in supporting her husband's ambitions to keep his attire looking as new as possible.
Sewing used to take much longer by hand than it did with her trusted sewing machine. This meant she could get much more done than she could previously. Still, there were slow moments where she was able to find her pleasure. Selecting the correct color thread was one of those things. Her assortment of colors was a bit outlandish. When you worked for the haberdashery, and when the owner liked the work you did and therefore gave you a small discount on products, it was acceptable to have so many colors. That was at least what Cathy told herself to justify the vast amount. The thread she needed was a blue, but not just any shade. Cathy had her threads meticulously organized, first by the first name of the main color, then from light to dark. Just looking at the colors neatly in their rows was enough to push her worries away, even for just a few moments.
Hours later, the door to the home unlocked and opened. Roger was immediately met with the smell of his favorite meal. Welsh rarebit, which was just toasted bread with a cheese sauce. It was a simple meal, yet there was no denying that it was the kind of stick-to-your-ribs meal that he enjoyed. In Roger's mind, his wife's rarebit was the best he had ever consumed. Perhaps he was biased, but wasn't he allowed to be?
Roger took off his shoes at the door, as he was accustomed to doing. Then he left the sun room. He found Cathy whisking a pot over the stove.
"Hello, darling."
Cathy turned to him and smiled. After all the time they had known one another, Roger calling her darling still sent delightful shivers down her spine. "Dinner's almost ready."
"Forget dinner for a minute," he said, placing his arms around her. "I fancy something a bit sweeter first."
That was her cue. Cathy turned her body so she was facing him, then gave him a slow, deep kiss. Roger returned this with just as much passion. There was no denying that these two were madly in love with each other.
"You made my favorite," Roger commented when he finally pulled himself away.
"Of course I did. All my dishes are your favorites," she replied cheekily.
"Oh, without a doubt, love." Roger set about washing his hands, then gathered two plates, silverware, and cups. He wasn't above setting a table or two. It was the least he could do, really.
"How was your audition?" Cathy inquired as she retrieved the toast from the oven.
"Well enough, I suppose. They don't really give much feedback, you know."
Cathy nodded. The life of an actor wasn't the most stable, nor the most pleasant. From years of being together, she knew this well. Still, it was disheartening to know that Roger wasn't booking shows as he once was. Though it was the nature of the business, and she would never ask him to look for a more stable position, their impending arrival made it imperative that he find something. Cathy wouldn't bother herself with this thought for long.
"Leave the plates," she said to him. "I'll get dinner on them and be right out."
Roger dutifully left the kitchen with the items he was carrying, leaving his wife with her thoughts. Cathy, for her part, absentmindedly spooned the cheese sauce on the plated toast. She wouldn't be able to keep the secret for much longer. Her heart was racing at the thought of sharing the news.
Cathy walked into the living room with the two plates and set them on the table. Roger poured the water into the cups as she sat. After a quick blessing, Roger cut into his Welsh rarebit first and took a bite.
"Well?" she asked.
"Delicious," he said, his mouth still slightly full. After a moment, when he had swallowed, he said, "Aren't you going to try it?"
Cathy's stomach was twisting into knots from the nerves. Eating was out of the question for the moment. "I have something to tell you first."
Roger put down his fork and devotes all his attention to his wife.
"Do you remember last week when I came home from work early?"
He did.
"Well, I went to the doctor beforehand. Mrs. Buckle found me unwell, and Mrs. Turner – the doctor's wife – was there. She brought me back to the office, and I took this test..." Cathy really was beating around the bush now. It was time to spit it out. "I'm going to have a baby."
It took just a moment for this news to register with Roger. A large smile broke out on his face. "A baby?"
Cathy nodded.
"That's why you've been so sick?"
"You knew about that?" she asked.
"We live together, love. How could I not have known that?" Roger took her hands into his and kissed them. "A baby... That's wonderful, love. I know we weren't exactly trying, but-"
"Well, we weren't very careful, either."
This was the truth. In the heat of passion, a sheath wasn't always the first thing on either of their minds. That was certainly how these things happened.
"That doesn't matter, Cathy. A baby! We're going to be parents."
"You mean you're happy?"
Roger was shocked by this question. "Of course I am, darling. Aren't you?"
It wasn't the question Cathy most wanted to answer. However, she was usually quite honest about her feelings with Roger. If there was anyone safe to confide in, it was him. "Don't get me wrong, please. I am. It's just... It's a lot to take in, isn't it?"
"It's a big change, but we have months to prepare for it."
Cathy nodded. Roger did have a point about this. She didn't look pregnant, and it wasn't as though the baby would be arriving the very next day. Preparing would be a huge relief to her.
"There's nothing to worry about, love," Roger assured her. "You've got me, and I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together."
His words served their intended purpose. Cathy appeared to loosen up a bit, the weight of the worries she had felt almost melting away. What's more, she even began to eat. The rest of the meal's conversation was overtaken by talk of their upcoming arrival. Names were tossed around, necessary items were discussed, and the mood was light.
