Past Regret

Past Regret

She watched as the pigeons feasted outside the window. Their heads bobbed in inane conversation. Their amber eyes, unblinking, stared out at the world, like a blind person seeking the elusive presence of light. She glanced overhead. Clouds carpeted the sky, bringing with them the distant promise of rain. The hustle of the room faded into white noise as her eyes became unfocused, and she considered the time. How long had she been waiting here? Why had she even picked up the phone? She blinked and her vision focused. It was then that she realised what they were eating; she must have seen it all along but been too preoccupied to notice. Decorated with chunks of partially digested food, red vomit was splattered on the pavement, the wall, the window. And the pigeons were busy, fighting over the juiciest bits. She threw a hand to her mouth as her stomach flipped over, eyes wide as her throat seized up.

“Oh, thank God you’re here.”

Claire turned round. Samantha stood behind her. Her fingers toyed with the tassels on her scarf. Her greasy black hair hung lank around her face. Flakes of dandruff clung to her coat. “I didn’t know who else to ask. Shelly’s not talking to me and…”

Claire pursed her lips and tried to clear her mind. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “How are you feeling?” She kept her voice low, conscious of the people sat around them, watching. She stood and followed Samantha to the reception desk, smiling apologetically at an elderly couple who frowned at them.

“I’m Ok. I mean, I’ve been better. When I saw the bleeding I just thought…” Samantha trailed off, eyes darting around the pastel peach waiting room. They walked up to the counter and signed in, explaining the situation in hushed tones to a nurse at the desk. She chewed gum belligerently, jaw muscles working with furious determination, and motioned for them to walk through a set of doors. On the other side another nurse led them to a small room with a bed covered in paper sheets. Her eyes danced over Samantha, lingered on her stained clothes, as she explained that the Doctor would be joining them shortly.

Claire sat down and looked out of the window once more, averting her eyes as Samantha fidgeted on the bed. From this angle she could see the entrance to the surgery, and the cluster of pigeons squabbling over their repulsive meal. Their feathers were mangy, matted and tangled; grey and dirty like the city, like the day. Claire’s thoughts fluttered back to Samantha, and she gazed at Samantha’s murky reflection in the window as she settled on the bed and brought her knees up; her hulking figure overshadowing the birds outside. This woman, this girl, had walked into Claire’s life only a month ago, and since then had caused a train wreck of havoc. Samantha stared up at the bright ceiling, brow furrowed, her face shiny with greasy spots. Claire narrowed her eyes and tried to decipher what it was about this girl that had caused two of her friends to sleep with her in just a matter of days. The consequences of such now grew inside Samantha, like a mutated disease bearing no name. In Samantha coat pocket lay a thin plastic wand, its tip lined with pink; ready to be flashed as evidence to anyone who doubted her. Claire had seen this wand too many times this week, the subject of much hushed gossip and headache.

She brought her fingers up to her lips and breathed in the sweet smell of her perfume as she contemplated what to say. “So,” she began, repeating a question that had been thrown at Samantha a thousand times already. “Any thoughts on whose it is, or…er…what you’re going to do?”

Samantha chewed her chapped lips, tore off shreds of dry skin and rolled them around her mouth before swallowing. “I think its Martin’s. I know its Martin’s. It has to be.” She paused and looked at Claire, matted clumps of mascara heavy on her lashes. “What I do depends on him, really.”

What I do depends on him. Claire ground her teeth and suppressed the words that boiled inside her. A passing of responsibility onto a guy who only wanted a one night stand; a guy who fucked her in the bushes in her front garden because he didn’t want to go inside. What did she expect was going to happen? That he would marry her? She needed to grow up, realise that men don’t work like that. Claire had learned the hard way and so should she. The curtains drew apart with a soft snap and a thin joyless Doctor walked into the room. There followed a series of questions and Claire’s attention faded as she stared out of the window, and watched the grey clouds gradually inch by.

“…do you mind?”

Both Samantha and the Doctor were looking at her. Claire blinked and shook her head, unsure as to what she was agreeing to. The Doctor nodded and left the room.

“Thanks Claire,” Samantha gushed, her brow beaded with sweat. “I’d rather have you in here than some nurse I don’t know.” She began to inch down her trousers and knickers. A deep, foul smell of menstruation oozed from her like thick black treacle. Claire wrinkled her nose and wondered if she should say something, wondered if Samantha even noticed, even cared. The doctor returned, closed the curtain and put on a rubber glove. With his other hand he picked up a long metal instrument and squeezed clear lubricant generously onto it. Samantha began to sob, wide eyed and frantic. She reached out a blood smeared hand and grabbed Claire’s, forcing her to be part of her intimate inspection. Claire closed her eyes. In the darkness could she hear Samantha’s sobs jump to a high squeal at the moment of insertion. Samantha’s nails dug into Claire’s hand, and she grimaced, suppressing a flash of anger at Samantha’s pathetic whining. She thought about Samantha and Martin rolling about in the dark and squeezed back, her nails leaving little half moons indented in Samantha’s skin. Two more sobs and it was over.

In his monotone voice the Doctor explained that Samantha was still pregnant, that it was common for bleeding or ‘spotting’ in the first trimester, and that he felt she had nothing to worry about. Claire listened with quiet disdain while Samantha lay snivelling, snot and tears merging together indecipherably.

“You’ll have to get used to internal inspections. They are all part of the territory of pregnancy I’m afraid.” With a final thin smile he was gone. Samantha yanked up her trousers inelegantly and wiped her snotty hand on the side of the bed, gulping great sobs as she tried to calm down.

Claire turned to the window again, and wondered what Martin would make of all this, wondered why she was even here when she disliked Samantha so much. Outside a grey pigeon foraged in the gravel, its insatiable mind on food and food alone. Its feathers were matted, brittle and broken. Balanced on a single deformed foot, scabbed white with flaking flesh, its body wobbled precariously; occasionally opening its wings slightly, like an uncertain child trying to steady itself against gravity.

Word Count: 1228 words