Dr. Grewal kept his word, and two days later, his nurse called with her scan date. There had been a cancellation, and they apologized, as it was all very last minute, but they had been able to obtain an appointment for her in two days' time.
Stunned, she confirmed, writing down the time and location. She hung up, staring at what she'd written.
Two days, she thought. Two days and she would be seeing her child for the first time, and not only that, the doctors and technicians would be looking for anomalies. She would be told whether her baby was healthy, or she thought, with a pang in her gut, not.
She took a few deep breaths, clearing her mind of the awful possibilities, and went about planning her journey. Croydon University Hospital was in Thornton Heath, further north than she had travelled in all these months. It was going to be odd, moving outside of her comfort zone, away from this quiet neighbourhood she had come to love.
She liked to stay in and around South Croydon, to lessen the possibility that she might encounter someone she knew, or show up on one of London's vast network of CCTV cameras. She knew MI6 monitored them, and couldn't help but wonder if M was keeping tabs on her this way. It was another reason she liked to dress heavily, to hide her condition from prying eyes.
The days went by quickly, as she knew they would, and soon it was Friday. It was the twenty-second of December and she was almost surprised to see Christmas decorations in shops and homes, to hear people wishing greetings of happy holidays. It had barely even registered to her that it was approaching that time, with all that she had on her mind.
And so, Vesper found herself waiting at a bus stop for the first time in years. It was warmer today, but she wore the woolly jumper nonetheless, and a light coat. Her belly was becoming unmistakable, and even in the four days since her appointment with Dr. Grewal it had grown.
It was worrying to her, how quickly she was expanding. If she was this size now, she thought, as she waited along with a half dozen other people at the bus stop, about halfway through her pregnancy, how big was she to get? How would she be able to hide it then? If M decided to drop by unannounced, or send someone to check on her, her condition would be undeniable.
But as the bus pulled away and she looked out at the city passing by, breathing deeply again, she began to calm. She needed her wits about her today, and could not afford to be overwhelmed by emotion.
The bus journey took a mere twenty minutes or so, transferring once, and soon she was walking toward the hospital, instinctively pulling her hat down low on her head, wishing she'd worn the sunglasses today. She felt exposed, insecure in this new area, and she longed to be back in the comfort of her home.
But she entered the hospital regardless, and after being directed to her destination, checked in and took a seat in the waiting room. It was nearly two in the afternoon, so the waiting area was nearly full, and the clientele was a mix; there were some pregnant women, yes, some obviously so and some, like her, whose condition was not evident, some middle-aged men and women, and several elder clients as well.
A few people glanced at her, but she did not acknowledge them, instead content to watch a small child playing quietly next to his obviously-pregnant mother. She had not had much experience with children, except for the younger ones she'd encountered in the numerous care homes she'd been placed in in the three years she'd been in care following her father's death, and she had not put much thought into what sort of mother she would be.
She was unfamiliar with infants, had never even held a baby, had no friends with children, or young relatives. As her pregnancy advanced she knew that this child would eventually enter the world, and she would be the only one tasked with its care. It was a terrifying thought, that she would be responsible this life, for feeding and clothing it and teaching it all the things it needed to know.
She felt a frown press into her brow, and she looked away from the child, out the window at the grey sky. She still had time, she told herself, taking a deep breath. There were still at least four months for her to prepare. She would be ready.
Soon she was called in and told to recline on the examining table. The technician soon entered, shaking Vesper's hand and introducing herself. Her name was Gemma and she was young, maybe thirty, and she checked Vesper's file before ensuring that she had taken plenty of fluids that day (she had, and her bladder felt uncomfortably full.)
She pulled up Vesper's top and tucked it under her breasts, squirting a small amount of warm gel on the now-prominent rounding. Then she touched the instrument to her belly. A picture came up on the nearby screen, though Vesper could not make anything from it, until—and her heart nearly stopped when it happened—the technician moved the wand and the outline of a tiny person flashed onto the screen in profile.
A perfect little head and a little button nose, attached to a neck and torso. Her child, and James's child; their child, visible to her for the first time. She had to remind herself to breathe, to take deep gulps of air and try to listen to the technician's words but she found it quite hard, as the image on the screen shifted, the baby moving, lifting one of its tiny arms, which Vesper felt inside her womb.
It was the strangest thing, to be able to see and feel the movement, to look at this life for the first time and confirm its existence. She glanced at the technician, who smiled back at her, sharing her joy. Her face felt cold, and she was surprised to find it wet, tears falling unbidden. She wiped them away, slightly embarrassed.
The technician moved the instrument around, taking measurements, confirming her doctor's calculation of nearly twenty-two weeks gestation, and a due date around the twenty-ninth of April. And Vesper watched, rapt, as the wand was moved around her belly and her child's entire body was shown, two arms, two legs, hands and feet and fingers and toes. The technician seemed satisfied with everything she saw, Vesper now completely oblivious to the discomfort of the plastic wand poking her in the belly.
"Would you like to know the sex?" the woman asked, and Vesper turned to look at her, eyes wide. She hadn't even thought of that, truthfully. She had only thought of the child's well-being, and truly had no preference either way.
"No," she said, shaking her head and she smiled. It would be a surprise, something to look forward to.
And then it was over, and the technician printed a little postcard-sized picture for her to take home, informing her that everything she saw looked good, but that the results would be looked over by her doctor and he would be contacting her. She nodded, taking the little card, unable to stop the smile that came to her lips when she saw the image.
She tucked it into her handbag and thanked the woman, setting off for the lavatory. She left the hospital in a sort of daze, not unlike the one she'd felt earlier in the week after leaving the doctor's surgery. She felt light, she felt almost gleeful. Her child was healthy, was perfectly formed, as well as she and the technician could see. Perhaps her luck was changing.
She spent the bus ride home taking out the little picture, drinking in every little detail, running her finger over the tiny profile. The black-and-white printout was fairly blurry, but she found her looking for any distinguishing features nonetheless, anything to link it to her or to James. She couldn't find anything, and she smiled at how ridiculous she was being, tucking the photo back in her bag as the bus pulled into South Croydon.
On the way home she passed a bookshop, and suddenly an idea hit her. She slipped in, grabbing a leather-bound journal off the shelf and, then, on a whim, a copy of a popular pregnancy guide.
She left, clutching the bag with her purchases, and walked down to the shop she often frequented. She found what she was looking for after a few seconds, on the rack next to the shoelaces and sewing supplies.
When she got back to the flat, it was nearly four o'clock and the sky had darkened considerably. She laid her purchases on the coffee table and hung up her coat and hat.
Then she came and pulled the little package out of the bag, opening it, and pulling up her top, wrapped the plastic measuring tape around her middle. She noted the number, and pulling the notebook out of its bag, she wrote.
22 December, 2006
Nearly twenty-two weeks' gestation
Waist: 35 in
Dear James,
Today I got my first scan.
She smiled as she wrote, detailing everything she could for him, everything that had happened, the changes in her body and her mood, the baby's movements and her fears about MI6. And when she was finished, she looked over the words, feeling emotional spent, but accomplished as well, and she wished she had started this sooner.
She closed the book, and got up to make herself some dinner.