Montpellier Bridge

Monday 8th May 2017 (pm)

The reception desk is where we first met and the place where he’s been meeting me at the end of my evening shifts for the last month or so.

“Has your period started?”

I avoid the question.

As we have been doing recently, we take the slightly longer route to Belmont Road, away from the busy roads. I like that he makes a point of walking me home week after week; I like that he cares.

“Have you taken the test?”


My heart is beating fast. How to tell him? What choices of words if any? I am petrified.

“I’m pregnant”

Time stops and it rushes all at once. Paul is breathing loud and fast. I’ve never seen him panic until now. We stop on Montpelier bridge. It’s a beautiful evening and from there we can see the Sun set above the station, setting the sky on fire. The whole conversation is a blur from which I can only recall:

“It takes two to tango, don’t blame me!”

“I’m not blaming you. Whatever you decide, I’ll be there to support you”

We watch the sunset for a little longer as I am holding on to the rail and he is holding me in his arms, his chest against my back. Instinctively his hand reaches my belly, a gentle and caring touch.

I am not alone in this.