At first I try to convince myself that I am merely suffering from a bug, but for much of the time I am okay. Then all of a sudden the sickness will swoop, a fast surge of hormones, stampeding their cling to my womb. My nipples hurt. Far quicker than I could ever plan to – literally, within hours, it seems – I am losing weight. For the remainder of the Easter weekend I lie in my bed, or move slowly, trance-like around the house. Andrew and Jono think it is a bug. They avoid me, lest they should catch it themselves. What am I to do? The full horror doesn’t sink in. How can it sink in when I am too numb, too out of it, simply too plain shocked to think? Andrew goes back to work on Tuesday and there is just Jono and me, filling the hours of our days. Jono needs a haircut, and new shoes; we have the dentist to see. I stretch these trips out, planning one destination for each day, taking us to Thursday. I am seeing Simon on Friday. The necessity of seeing him now flashes up, marking the end of the week like a beacon.
