She spent the next day in bed. She'd awoken to a rare sunny morning, and the hopelessness that had suffused her entire body the night before had faded, leaving her depleted and numb.
Though she did not have much of an appetite, her mind and body still reeling from the shock, but she ate three generous meals nonetheless. She did her very best not to think about why.
The numbness that pervaded her now was a different one, one that reminded her of the way she'd felt upon her father's death, which had left her, aged fifteen, an orphan. It was not sadness, but shock, the mind's way, she supposed, of coping with life-altering events.
When she could keep her mind off it she still felt shaken, but it was tolerable. If she paused, even for a few seconds to think about it, she risked falling apart again, her breath hitching, her thoughts tumbling.
So she kept her mind occupied, reading and eating, looking out at the city from her window, surprised at how different it looked bathed in sunlight.
It kept on that way for several days, and she did her very best to keep busy, cleaning the flat, walking again and reading. Television, she found, was a great way to keep one's mind free of thought, and she spent many hours watching the news, or documentaries and films. Any mention of pregnancy or babies or even small children had her rapidly changing the channel, or even fleeing to the safety of the bookshelf, or taking off on a brisk walk.
She took great care to eat healthfully, though she still found it hard to admit why, to accept that she was doing so not only for her own health.
A week had passed before the shock began to fade. Acceptance, she knew, was still far away, but she began to feel less unsettled about the situation. Thoughts of her condition were still so strange to her, and she still could not believe that a new life was growing within her.
But it was growing, this she knew, because even as the week passed the firm little rounding grew larger. She started to gain weight, as well, as she began eating better, and her body became, day after day, more ample and robust.
She was surprised to find she didn't hate the changes that came over her as her condition progressed, and very slowly, as November faded to December and winter threatened, she found herself becoming less and less disconcerted with the fact of her condition. It was in part due to the changing of her body, the signs she could now not ignore.
In the two weeks since she'd unceremoniously discovered her pregnancy, what had been a barely noticeable swelling was now a rather prominent bulge, reaching up to her navel and almost discernable beneath the thin tops she wore.
It was partly this which made her realise she would have to see a doctor soon, no matter the consequences. It had been more than three months since she left the hospital, and the child within her was beginning to make its presence known.
So, she left the flat one morning, a telephone number clutched in her hand and placed a call to the local GP surgery from the payphone down the street. She would not have been surprised to find that M had bugged her phone.
After checking to make sure she wasn't being watched, or followed, she called and informed the receptionist of her likely condition and its progress, and was given an appointment in two weeks' time. She hung up, turning to scan the street for anyone suspicious, but there was no one.
She made sure she wasn't being followed as she made her way back to the flat. She wasn't. A ghost of a smile touched Vesper's mouth when she realized how distrustful she was acting. James would have been proud.
This is it, then, she thought, as she returned to the flat, flopping down on the sofa, you're really going to do this. Not that the thought of terminating the pregnancy hadn't crossed her mind, it had been one of her first thoughts in the shock of discovery. At the time it was simple; removing the problem would put her back on track, would allow herself the luxury of recovering on her own terms. It would be difficult, yes, to get rid of the only thing James Bond had left her, but she would not be cursing an innocent with the sins of its parents.
But as time passed and acceptance bloomed she knew she could not. It was going to be the most difficult thing she ever did, raising this child on her own, that much she knew. She'd seen how her father had struggled after her mother's death, and she knew her situation would be no different.
But she had begun to become attached to the burgeoning life, to its tenacity and its existence despite the odds. That this child had come to be in the face of so much sorrow and bloodshed, had blossomed from a love that neither she nor, she suspected, James, had ever imagined they'd find, amazed her, and for that reason she could not part with it.
M called the next day to check in, and Vesper found herself momentarily frozen with fear upon answering the telephone. But the older woman did not sound particularly distressed, nor did she intimate in any way that she'd discovered Vesper's secret. She was, however, seemingly heartened to hear Vesper sound so well, and let her go without even mentioning Dr. Lloyd.
And in truth Vesper felt better than she had in a while. The fact that M was likely ignorant of her condition meant she could focus on the tasks at hand, namely, eating well, getting out more, and taking care of her health. It was odd. The phone call to the doctor had solidified it for her. She felt more purposeful now, and each pound she gained and each inch she gained around her midsection made her feel as though her efforts were fruitful.
The days following M's call were met with a mix of trepidation and cautious optimism for Vesper, as if at any moment the telephone might ring and the game would be up. She was apprehensive about the appointment, as well. Her name would be attached to a medical file and she was still not sure if MI6 would have access to it.
Of course, she admitted to herself, the worry over the doctor's visit was not completely due to her privacy concerns. She still had not confirmed her pregnancy in any tangible way, she had not taken a test, or seen a sonogram, so she could only rely on her own intuition and trust in her own body. She had not spoken to anyone about it, had no friends to confide in. It was her secret, and to hear it verified by a doctor, to speak about it with them—the thought of it left her uneasy. She almost preferred to keep it this way. Just her and this child and no one else.
But of course she knew she must seek medical help, at the very least confirm that the child was healthy and her pregnancy was progressing well. And this, of course, was another fear of hers. Her complete lack of antenatal care all these months was worrying. Or that, in some cruel twist of fate, one of many she'd suffered, her child had some rare anomaly that even the best care could not have prevented.
But she was young, she knew, not quite thirty, and she had that on her side. And she had not drunk even a sip of alcohol, smoked a single cigarette or even taken even an aspirin since her release from the hospital. As well, it wasn't as if she'd not kept care of herself. She had eaten well, had walked often, had gotten plenty of rest.
Still, the possibility was there, and her luck these days had not been great.
But three days after M's phone call, something happened that cleared her mind of all of that.
It was midday and she was on the sofa, curled up with the newspaper, a nature documentary playing on the television. Her stomach had been unsettled since she'd eaten, and her left hand was caressing the area, now a visible bulge beneath the top she wore.
It had been nearly three weeks since she'd learned of her condition and in that time her belly had grown substantially. It was now very difficult to conceal beneath clothing, and she often wore thick jumpers when going out to hide it from concerned onlookers. It had moved up past her navel now, and she could see it when she looked down as it now stuck out past her breasts.
It was then, as she calmly read news of the tornado that had ripped through Kensal Green, that she felt something. She stopped reading, lowering the newspaper, and it happened again. Just a little jab, low in her belly. She froze. Her hand went to the area, pressing on the firmness, and she felt it again, a little tap against her fingers.
All the breath left her body as she realized the roiling stomach she'd been experiencing all day was not that at all. That fluttery feeling she'd been feeling on and off for the past few days had been her child's movements.
Then she felt it again against her hand, a tiny foot pressing out against her womb. Then something spectacular happened.
She laughed. Not a little titter, but a full-throated peal of laughter, and it felt unbelievably good. So good, in fact she wondered why she'd waited more than three months to do it.
She spent the rest of the day revelling in her child's tiny movements, smiling more than she had all the time she'd been here at number eight. It was her first concrete evidence of her pregnancy, the first tangible thing.
And not only that, she realized, that night as she lay awake in bed, the baby's fluttery movement keeping her company, it was the first time in months she didn't feel alone. And, she supposed, she now realized in part why she'd decided not to terminate her pregnancy.
She would always have someone now, the way her father had had her to care for after her mother's death. She had been his companion in grief, and she knew that neither would have made it through without the other.
This child would save her, as its father had done all those months ago, but she would never let it down. She drifted off contented for the first time in a very long time, her child's quivering movements lulling her to sleep.