The Hidden Women: An inspirational novel of sisterhood and strength. Kerry Barrett

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       Prologue

      Helena

      April 2015

      ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ I said, watching Greg’s stony face for any sign of happiness.

      ‘Well I’m not.’ His expression softened, just a bit, and he sat down next to me on the sofa and took my hand.

      ‘It’s just too soon,’ he said.

      ‘We’ve been together for five years, Greg,’ I snapped. ‘It’s not like we just met.’

      He had the grace to look at least slightly ashamed.

      ‘I meant for me, not us,’ he said. ‘It’s too soon for me. And you. We’re still young. We should be out having fun, not at home with a squawking baby.’

      ‘We’re in our thirties; we’re not kids,’ I said, resting my head against the sofa cushions. I felt sick and I didn’t think it was just because of my unexpected pregnancy.

      I’d done the test that morning, and showed Greg the unmistakeable dark line as he brushed his teeth.

      ‘It’s positive,’ I’d said, feeling a tiny shiver of excitement mixed with fear. ‘I’m pregnant.’

      Greg had glanced at the plastic stick and then kissed me, his breath minty fresh.

      ‘I need to run,’ he’d simply said. ‘We’ll chat tonight.’

      And now we were chatting and it wasn’t going the way I’d thought it would.

      ‘I thought we were set,’ I said. ‘I thought we were a team.’

      ‘We are a team,’ Greg said. ‘You and me.’

      ‘You and me and our baby,’ I said.

      Greg winced. He tried to cover it up by pretending to cough, but I’d seen it.

      ‘I don’t want to have a baby, Helena,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s just how I feel.’

      I couldn’t speak.

      ‘There’s a clinic,’ Greg said. ‘Max at work told me about it. His girlfriend went there a while back. He gave me the card, hang on …’

      He dug about in his pocket while I let my fingers drift down to rest on my stomach.

      ‘I need some air,’ I said, ignoring his outstretched hand clutching a business card. ‘I’m going for a walk.’

      I grabbed my jacket from the arm of the sofa, and stumbled my way out of the front door.

      ‘H,’ Greg said. ‘Don’t be like this. It’s hormones; you’re not thinking straight.’

      I didn’t answer. I walked a little way down the road and then I sat at a bus stop and took my phone out.

      ‘Miranda?’ I said, when my sister answered. ‘I need your help. I’m having a baby and I think I’ve just left Greg.’