Charlotte rinsed her coffee cup absently and set it to dry. Glancing at her watch, she sat down hard in her chair in the staff lounge, her mind spinning in a numb kind of shock. She stared hard at the pregnancy test, proudly displaying the positive sign. She felt almost repulsed by it; her mind was blank. She'd taken the test, but only as a precaution. She hadn't had any of the classic symptoms—no morning sickness, lethargy, fainting spells, mood swings...maybe the test was faulty. It couldn't be right. Sure, she was 'late', but couldn't there be some other explanation? She shook her head, almost to herself, just as Vincent walked in. Quickly, she picked up the test and shoved it into the depths of her handbag.
"Morning, Charlotte," he said, sitting down across from her. "You okay?"
"Of course...why? Do I not look okay?" she asked, putting a hand to her forehead. It can't be that obvious, she thought, panicking.
"Yeah, you look fine. It's just, usually by this time in the morning you're bossing people around, not sitting in here alone," he said, grinning. Her tension eased slightly and there was a thick, comfortable silence between them.
"You know Terri's going to be discharged today," he said finally. Charlotte shrugged.
"Char...can I ask you something?" Vincent asked.
"Shoot," she answered, her mind wandering to the test in her handbag. I'll buy another one, she thought. Obviously they're not as accurate as I thought.
"What happened between you and Terri? I mean, you two were good friends, right? And now, she's specifically asking not to be treated by you, Jack and me. I can sort of understand the Jack thing, but you and Terri were close...why won't she be treated by you?" Charlotte looked up. She so badly wanted to tell him, to have him there as a friend when everyone else seemed so distant.
"Vincent, I—"
"What?"
"Doesn't matter," she said, changing her mind. "I really don't know why Terri's pissed off with me. And what about you? Why is she refusing to see you?" she asked, changing the subject, though she was interested to know. Vincent rubbed his temples and sighed.
"Charlotte...you can't tell anyone this, okay? But the night before Terri's accident, we..."
"Ended up in bed having wild, passionate sex?" she shrieked, like an excited teenager. He rolled his eyes.
"Not quite. But I drove her home and we sort of got caught up in the moment...then she wanted to stop," he looked guilty. "I made a few comments about her having to let Mitch go."
"Oh, Vincent, for God's sake," Charlotte said softly, her voice sympathetic.
"But Charlotte...you know she was in tears the other day remembering when she lost Mitch's child? Honestly...I think she's making herself sick. It's not healthy to live like that," he said and Charlotte reached over to hug him.
"It'll be okay. Everyone's just having a bit of a sh!t time at the moment," she said. Internally, she was stinging. Terri had obviously only used Vincent because she was upset that night—she hadn't thought Terri would be the type to use a man. And there was so much else to worry about...
"Terri!" Vincent called across the carpark. She glanced at him quickly, and then looked away, as though it hurt her to see his face. He walked quickly toward her. "Who's taking you home?"
"I'm getting a taxi," she answered. She looked weak standing there. Like a gust of wind could knock her over.
"But you're only just out of hospital," he said. "Let me drive you home. Believe me, it's not fun going home to an empty house." She considered it briefly, but shook her head.
"I don't think..." she laughed, almost bitterly. "I know it's a cliché, but I really can't look at you the same way as I did before." He studied her face, still slightly bruised, and a cut above her right eye confirmed she wasn't healed fully yet.
"I don't know what else to say, Terri. I'm so sorry. Will you just let me take you home? I worry about you like this," he admitted.
"Okay," she said. Immediately he saw he'd almost bullied her into it. She sat quietly in the passenger seat next to him as they drove back to her house.
"Thanks for the lift, Vincent," she said. He parked outside her house, turning the ignition off.
"That's okay," he answered. "Let me help you with your stuff." He carried her bag to the door and waited while she unlocked it. Sunlight flooded the hallway.
"Do you want in for a coffee?" she asked. He checked his watch.
"Thanks, that'd be great," he said gratefully. "I need a caffeine fix." He followed her into the kitchen.
"Had a bad day?" she suggested, busying herself with the coffee. He nodded.
"Just so busy. And Charlotte's acting weird," he said, surprising himself. Mostly there was a sort of unspoken confidentiality between him and Charlotte, but he needed to tell someone. And Terri didn't exactly seem the gossiping type.
"Oh?" she answered stiffly. Her back was turned but he could see her shoulders being drawn up; the way she almost shut herself down. She made it impossible to talk to her like this. Vincent walked up slowly behind Terri. She turned around quickly, handing him a steaming mug.
"Hope you like it strong," she said absently.
"Terri, I have to ask you something," he began. He expected her to brush off his questions, just as Charlotte had done earlier that day. She wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, as if for warmth.
"I can understand why wouldn't be treated by Jack. Presumably because you'd just broken up, right?" Terri said nothing. "But why wouldn't you see Charlotte? I thought you two got on well," Vincent continued. Terri put her mug down on the bench and stared at him hard. She felt almost faint.
"Haven't you heard, Vincent? For God's sake, I thought everyone knew," she cried, shuddering.
"What?" he asked. She felt something not unlike pity for him. He was really caught in the middle of all this but now she knew he'd side with Charlotte. It was almost like a little kid's playground battle. It hurt her to have to tell him the truth.
"Jack and Charlotte slept together. The night that I broke up with him," she said, without emotion. "They were both drunk." Vincent stared at her for a moment, the shock registering on his face. Finally he rubbed his forehead in his hands and sighed. He looked up at Terri, who was leaning against the bench, as if for support. She suddenly seemed so fragile and vulnerable and he wondered what she'd done to deserve all this. He reached for her and they curled in a strong embrace. She pulled away and he saw tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Hey, hey..." he said. With one finger, he traced the outline of a still-purple bruise on her cheek. She flinched slightly against his touch but didn't attempt to stop him. Carefully, he led her to the couch, the same one they'd lay on only a few nights ago.
He continued to trace his finger over her face, down her neck and began to fiddle with the buttons on her shirt...she grasped his hand by the wrist and inhaled deeply, inhaling his scent.
"Stop," she whispered, eyes closed. "This is so wrong." Vincent pulled away and the two sat up simultaneously, side-by-side on the couch. Terri held her head in her hands and continued to breathe deep, and she stood up.
"Come on, Terri. We've got nothing to lose any more," he said.
"We've got everything to lose," she said. "Our jobs, our friends, our reputations...my respect for you," she added softly, feeling light-headed. She'd felt like that, occasionally, ever since the accident. She stumbled blindly, half-falling back onto the couch where Vincent stroked her hair.
"Are you okay?" he asked, glancing at her white face.
"A little dizzy. I haven't even had any alcohol." she leaned her head against his chest.
"Of course not...sure you haven't had any alcohol..." he mocked.
"Dr. Hughes! What kind of a woman do you think I am?" They laughed comfortably. Closing her eyes in the fading light, she gave herself over to him, wordlessly. He seemed to understand; no verbal communication seemed appropriate. There were just too many words and not enough time to tell each other everything.
Charlotte sat down hard at her kitchen table, surveying the scene in front of her. Three more of the pregnancy tests lay on the table, all positive. She swore quietly to herself.
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit." Her hands shook as she gathered the tests up and dumped them in the rubbish bin. She didn't know what to do, or feel, except for guilt. Impulsively, she decided to call Vincent. He was her best friend; he'd know what to say and do to make everything okay. With trembling fingers, she dialled his mobile, only to be greeted by his answering machine. She didn't bother leaving a message. Instead, she turned to the pasta sauce she'd been cooking and poured it down the sink, suddenly feeling ill. Common sense told her to lie down but instead she laced up her runners and forced her body to pound away on her treadmill, watching the sun sinking slowly. The rhythm of her feet on the treadmill was almost soothing and she pushed every negative thought down her throat.
I'll cross those bridges when I come to them, she thought hastily, and collapsed, exhausted, on the couch.
He lay there next to her sleeping body, wanting to drink every detail in. The hair that fell across her face, the hand that curled near her forehead (still slightly bruised), the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Terri stirred, the brilliant morning light cutting through the window. It sent shafts of light across her bed, which led her to him...
"What have we done?" she asked sleepily, blinking. Suddenly she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "What have we done?" she repeated, this time louder and more coherently. Vincent grinned.
"I can remind you, if you want..." he said, stroking her forehead. She shook her head silently, sitting up.
"Oh my God...Vincent, we—"
"I know." He'd been worried about this: the 'morning after'. She still looked exhausted, and he checked his watch. "Listen, Terri. Why don't we just have the day together, and talk about some things...I'm going to call in sick," he said. She nodded, pulling on her clothes quickly. "Why don't you just stay in bed and get some rest?" he suggested.
"I'm going out," she said, raking her fingers through her limp hair and sitting back down on the bed.
"Where? You still look pale," he said.
"Just out. For a walk. You can stay here if you want, there's cereal and fruit and stuff in the kitchen." Vincent was disappointed, and worried, that she seemed so distant.
"Well, maybe I won't call in sick to work after all," he murmured to himself.
"You're late again, Beaumont." Frank said dryly. "Look, I know you think that you can just turn up to work whenever it takes your fancy, and I hate to bust your bubble, but—"
"Okay, Frank. Just shut up." Charlotte cut in, instantly regretting it. "I'm here now so don't worry about it." She stalked off and Frank was left to snort in indignation, just as Vincent Hughes ran through the doors of the emergency ward.
"I know I'm late but I can explain," he began, formulating an excuse. Frank waved him away.
"I don't care, Vincent, but can you tell me what's biting Beaumont?"
"Sorry, wouldn't have a clue." Vincent shrugged.
In the staff lounge, Charlotte sat with her head in her hands. Fighting a wave of nausea, she concentrated hard on the ticking sound of her watch. She inhaled and exhaled deeply. Suddenly the door opened and Vincent walked in.
"Charlotte! Are you alright?" he asked, concerned. Charlotte almost looked worse than Terri had that morning: white-faced and weak—except Charlotte hadn't been involved in a car accident. She nodded, barely moving. She didn't even open her mouth.
"Come on, Char, this is the second morning in a row that I've found you in here all alone and looking like you've seen a ghost. Are you okay? You can tell me," he said.
"No, I can't, Vincent." she snapped, not lifting her gaze from the table. He laughed softly at her theatrics.
"Why not?"
"Because it has nothing to do with you!" she cried, standing up. Vincent was stunned. Charlotte felt dizzy and the staff lounge swayed in front of her.
"Hey—sit down," he commanded. She shook her head and walked over to the sink, where she splashed cold water over her face. She turned to face Vincent.
"I'm sorry, Vin. This is so embarrassing," she said, laughing. She was afraid that if she didn't laugh, she'd cry, and that would be worse. But Vincent remained unsmiling.
"I swear to God, Charlotte, tell me what's wrong. Whatever it is, I can help." He said, frustrated. She found his words hilarious in a sad way.
"No. No, you can't help," she said. "I'm pregnant." The words hung between them, unresolved. Suddenly Charlotte sighed. "See I knew I couldn't tell you this. I knew you'd take it badly, that's why I didn't—"
"Charlotte, I'm not angry with you. Kind of disappointed, maybe, but not angry. I take it Jack's the father?"
"How did you know?" she said sharply, clapping a hand to her forehead. "Terri told you, didn't she? How much time have you spent with her? You know, the thing with Jack, it was a one-off, a one night stand and it didn't mean anything..." her voice trailed off pathetically. She could feel her emotions finally surfacing. Vincent took her in his arms and silently she sobbed to herself.
"What am I going to do, Vincent? What am I going to do?"