I am twenty nine years old. This is stupid. So bloody unnecessary. A total waste of time. The doctor is already half an hour late. I hate the clinic’s smell. It makes me feel sick. A lot of things have been making me queasy lately if I come to think about it. I glare at the nurse. She meets my eye and shrugs her shoulders. Typical bloody man unable to stick to a schedule, thinking his time is more precious than mine.
Eventually he walks out with a fat woman. Well perhaps not fat exactly, but she looks like she has a large watermelon shoved up her shirt. I feel even more nauseous. Pregnancy, God, how can people do that to themselves. I look down at my slim thighs. It takes a lot of work to stay looking this good, but it’s worth it. I earn more money in one night than most people do in a month. The doctor looks at the file in his hands and calls my name.
‘So Sarah thanks for coming back in. We’ve got your blood results back. You are in the clear for syphilis and gonorrhoea, but your pregnancy test was positive.’
I look at the doctor, waiting for the sound of rushing water in my ears to subside. I must have heard him incorrectly.
‘No fucking way dude. Where can I get rid of it? I’m not kidding. I want an abortion. Just tell me who can help me, you must know someone?’ The doctor looks at me sympathetically and I want to smack him. He offers me a card. I grab it out of his hands and head out the door.
I need to sit down. I spot a Seattle Coffee Company and gratefully sink into a comfy chair. ‘No fucking way.’ I watch a woman about my age clicking away on a laptop. Something about her is vaguely familiar. She’s pregnant. Is everyone in the world pregnant? Oozing out of the top she is wearing. God, actually flaunting the fact. Stupid bitch. I do recognize her. She used to live up the road from me. One of those people who just have everything. A happy family, a big garden, a beautiful house. And she used to stick it to me every chance she got. I would wait for her to get home from school. I would sit on the pavement outside my house watching for the lift club car that would bring them back. What was her name again? Oh yes. Gillian. I used to go and visit her and she always made me feel like a piece of shit. Like she was too good for me or something. I want to go and rip that laptop out of her hands and hit her with it. I want to tell her about the things my father used to do to me. But no, I don’t think about those days anymore.
I look at the card the doctor gave me, pondering dialling the number. He had given me two. One with the details of a doctor, the other a counsellor. How dare he? The fuckwit. Did I ask him for the number of a sodding counsellor? It’s not like I hadn’t seen one of those before and a fine lot of good they did me. I can’t even pronounce the stupid woman’s surname. “Freislich.” What the hell kind of a surname is that? I am a stripper for God’s sake. My fiancé is fifty eight years old. Where the hell will a baby fit into the picture? I study the card again and dial a number.
I watch Gillian as she hunts through her bag and pulls out her cellphone. In stereo I hear the words, “Hi, this is Gill speaking.”
Well, I’ll be damned.