‘Too funny.’
‘It’s so nice, though. It’s been really sweet. People seem to be concerned…’
‘We take care of our own around here.’ Ella laughed.
‘That’s exactly what it feels like.’
‘Anyway, listen, I wanted to get in touch about the hotel viewing.’
‘Oh, yes, right.’
‘They’ve just called me and it’s going to be next week. Does that work for you? No worries if not. Up to you if you’re up to it. I thought I would let you know.’
Nina wasn’t surewhatshe was up to. The tiredness was debilitating, but she had to get her life back one way or another. She nodded, thinking that the hotel viewing would hardly killher. She was potentially going back to work the week after, so she had nothing on except mooching around at home, napping and eating chowder for England.
‘Yep, sounds good. That suits me fine.’
‘Great! I can come and get you. Are you sure you’re up to it?’
‘I’m fine, and I am up to it. I’m trying not to do too much at all so as long as you don’t mind coming to get me?’
‘Yeah, I totally understand. Of course. I’ll finalise a time with them and I’ll text you the details.’
‘Rightio. I’m actually looking forward to it.’
‘Yes, me too. Let’s hope it sells.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I’ll text you.’
‘Yeah, see you later, bye.’
31
Nina was sitting on the sofa with her laptop open on the coffee table. She was watching a YouTube interview with one of the authors whose recipe book she’d learnt to cook from after her first husband had died. As she sat absorbed in the interview, she realised that she felt as if she knew the author because she’d now read and followed so many of her books. Not that the author knew it but she and Nina had been on a journey together. Even though they’d never met, from Nina’s point of view, she felt like the author was one of her friends. The author had unknowingly joined Nina in a pool of grief. She’d then taught Nina how to cook, yanking her out of the grief and helping her to heal along the way.
There was a small problem with the friendship now; as Nina watched the author being interviewed, she had the horrible realisation that the friend she’d conjured up in her head was but a figment of her imagination. The person who had steered her through her grief recipe by recipe from the pages of a book was nothing like the woman who was chatting away on the screen in front of her. This woman took narcissism to a whole new level. Nina sat agog as she watched the author spend most of the interview humble-bragging about how she was not only a verysuccessful cookery writer but now also had a literary career to boot. With a sinking heart, Nina cringed as names were dropped left, right, and centre. Was there much worse than a minor celebrity dropping names by the dozen? There really wasn’t. Just no and no again.
Nina closed her laptop, tapped on Instagram, and looked at the author's profile. As she scrolled mindlessly down, she opened one of the squares where the author was doing jazz hands into the screen and proceeding to tell her thirteen thousand and fifty-three followers how good she was. The author pretended to be shocked to receive a gigantic box of books from her publisher, one of the biggest in the world. She delved into the box as if its contents were a total surprise to her. Nina rolled her eyes as the author feigned excitement and shouted out, "Oh my God! I can’t believe it!" as if she hadn’t known that she’d written the book. Not only was the video itself cringeworthy, but the author then pretended that she had to do another take and did, in fact, do just that, acting as if the box had arrived again, rubbing her hands together and squealing, "Oh my God! I can’t believe it! I wrote a book! I wrote a book!" and then jumping up and down and clapping her hands together. ‘Squeeeeeee! I wrote a book.’ Blech.
Nina had a sinking feeling as every little thing about the friendship she’d thought she’d had with the author, which wasn’t even real, went out the window as quick as a flash. She rolled her eyes as she realised that the author was nothing like she’d imagined at all – so very disappointing. Her toes curled back on themselves. She sighed and chuckled to herself as she continued to doom-scroll through the author’s posts.
In her recovery from the influenza, it was actually quite alarming how much time and effort she’d wasted on social media since she’d arrived back from Thailand. As she’d rested up athome getting her strength back, she’d found herself lost down social media mines way too deep and way too often.
She’d realised as she’d lounged around the house how busy the last few years had actually been. Her days had been filled with working, buying and renovating the harbour property, and organising her wedding. Since she’d been lying on the sofa or tucked up in bed, trying to fully heal from the Bangkok episode, she’d wasted hour upon hour on her phone and she’d discovered a whole new world after typing "new baby" into the Insta search bar.
Right before her eyes played out a world where the sweetest, perfect newborns existed in perfectly curated, soft, billowy lives. Nina had looked and scrolled and looked and scrolled. Tiny little babies topped with huge bows on their heads, bassinets and swaddling, barefoot mums in black and white with tousled hair. Nurseries with all the things, doting dads, naked twins in crocheted hats propped up on their hands asleep. Nina swirled around in it all, wondering if and when she would be in the same boat. Part of her had come to the conclusion that it was never going to be.
She mulled it over as she got up from the sofa, tidied the cushions, picked up her tea mug from the coffee table, and put it in the dishwasher. She’d resolved at the beginning of her pregnancy journey that she would let what would be simply be. She’d convinced herself that it wasn’t the be-all and end-all. She told people she was fine one way or the other. That nature would do its thing. Blah, blah, blah. That she was more than fine either way. However, a little part of her didn’t think that at all. Not at all. Not even a tiny bit. That minuscule corner of her heart right next to the part where Andrew resided, wanted it so very, very much.
The worst thing about it all, she pondered, as she thought about the topic of fertility and the possibility of having a baby,was thenot knowing. Nina Lavendar was a person who very much liked her ducks to be lined up in a nice, straight, organised row. The uncertainty and the wondering made her feel all upside down.
It all weighed heavily on her mind. She wondered if she was evencapableof conceiving, given her age and the health scare she’d had in Bangkok. It had crossed her mind that it was time to go and see someone, but she’d shied away from the idea, preferring to stick her head in the sand. Potential disappointment loomed large. She didn't want to put all her hopes into something that might never happen or embark on an emotional rollercoaster of treatments and tests. She’d had enough stress in her life after Andrew to last her a lifetime.
Nina resolved to take things one step at a time, to not let the pressure of 'the ticking biological clock' be front and centre. Her mind went back to the conversation she’d overheard by the pool in Bangkok and that everything would fall into place in time. As she wiped down the surfaces in the kitchen, she spoke to herself aloud. ‘Whatever happens, happens. You will be okay.’
The thing was that deep, deep, deep down, our Neens didn’t feel okay. A little part of her was angry, furious, livid, absolutely fuming. Why wasn’t it going her way? How come she’d had to lose her husband? How come she wasn’t able to flick a switch and be pregnant right when she wanted to?So not fair! Poor old me,she thought to herself wryly. Bring on the massive violins.
