“I don’t know—I wasn’t trawling conspiracy forums, it just cropped up,” she says, and that’s true in a way. Geraint did just crop up, out of the blue, like an unwanted Google Alert. “So you think it’s crap?”
“Of course it’s crap. Are they saying it came up at the autopsy but the coroner just—what—decided not to mention it to anyone?”
“No,” Hannah says, but Will’s words have cleared her head, blowing away some of the fog of stress and worry, because of course he’s completely right. If it were true, then of course it would have come up at the autopsy. “No, it wasn’t anything to do with the autopsy it was just this rumor, something about, she took a pregnancy test right before she died—but you’re right—that’s so unlikely.” She should have talked to Will about this earlier. She is feeling better already. She rolls over and puts her arm over his middle. “I mean, she would have told one of us for sure, wouldn’t she?”
“Of course she would. And anyway, it makes no sense. The idea that April would ever have touched John Neville with a barge pole, let alone had sex with him, God, people are fucking imbeciles. They’ll believe anything, however unlikely, if it makes a good conspiracy theory.”
Hannah says nothing. She only squeezes him tighter, and he hugs her back, and now he is the one who is tense, but not with stress and fear. As her arms tighten around him she can feel his anger, feel the sinews in his arms and shoulders as he strives to simmer down so as not to upset her. In a strange way, though, his fury is comforting. Because he has missed the point completely. He has failed to understand what Geraint was saying, the narrative of guilt and revenge that the pregnancy theory implies, and that somehow is more reassuring than almost anything else.
* * *
“WELL… IT’S STILL A BIT high.” The midwife unstraps the band from Hannah’s arm, and Hannah feels a sharp pang of disbelief. She had been so sure that it would be fine. She had gotten the bus, arrived ten minutes early, sat there taking deep breaths in the waiting room trying to calm herself down. And now this? It feels like her body has betrayed her.
“How high?” she says in an odd, strangled voice.
“It’s hovering around the one-forty over ninety mark. Which… isn’t ideal. Have you noticed any swelling in your ankles? Any unusual headaches?”
“No, and no.” Hannah feels her cheeks flush with annoyance. “But hang on, one-forty over ninety, that’s not that high, is it? I thought anything below that was normal.”
“Clinically, yes, but pregnant women are a bit different.” The midwife’s voice is gentle, but there’s a slightly patronizing note that makes Hannah’s hackles rise. I’m not stupid, she wants to say. I know I’m pregnant. But she knows that she won’t be the first person to have had this back-and-forth with the midwife, trying to argue away figures that are right there on the dial in front of her, and that her anger isn’t really at the woman sitting opposite, it’s at herself.
“There’s no protein in your urine,” the midwife continues, “so I’m not too concerned, but any rise needs keeping an eye on, that’s all. What was it when you booked in?” She flicks back through Hannah’s notes, but Hannah already knows what the answer is. She can’t remember the exact figures, but it was normal to low. “One-fifteen over eighty, yes, that is a bit of a jump. Well, let’s not worry about it now, but we’ll have you back next week for a quick check. And in the meantime, if you get any sudden swelling, any headaches or flashing lights, then call the maternity unit urgently.” She’s running her finger down her appointment diary. “I have a slot at ten a.m. next Thursday if that suits? And try not to worry, it may be just one of those things.”
But Hannah’s not listening. She’s too focused on what the midwife said before that. We’ll have you back next week.
“I can’t,” she says without thinking. “I can’t take another morning off.” Even though that’s not true. Maternity checks are a legal right, and besides, Cathy is far too nice to make a fuss about something like that. She would be the first to tell Hannah to take the whole day off, no leave required, if she knew about this.
“If you need a note for your employer I’ll be happy to give you one,” the midwife is saying. “They’re legally required to let you—”
But Hannah is shaking her head. She doesn’t need a note. She just doesn’t want to be in this situation.