Page 10 of Save You (Maxton Hall #2)

“I’m considering applying to some of the London fashion houses in the summer holidays.

” Ember won’t look at me as she says that, just focuses her entire attention on the top corner of the spice rack, even though that’s been finished for ages now.

The mask is covering most of her face, but I’m pretty sure she’s blushing.

“Do you want any help with the applications?”

Ember pauses and now she plucks up the courage to glance in my direction. “So, do you think it’s a good idea?”

I nod encouragingly. “You’ve known for years that you want to go into fashion. So I’d say the sooner you get started, the better.”

She keeps on working in silence.

I study her thoughtfully. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

Ember only hesitates a moment. “I really wish I could do an internship at a firm that makes ethical, eco-friendly, and stylish plus-size clothes,” she explains in the end.

“The trouble is, it’s really hard to find anything that ticks all those boxes.

So I guess I’ll just have to apply to anyone that’s offering anything.

But it doesn’t seem like there’s much point working for people who don’t even make clothes in my size. D’you see what I mean?”

I nod. “Yes, but work experience is important. And you’d be able to see what they do and figure out how you’re going to do things differently one day.”

“But I feel really uncomfortable about it.” She sighs. “I keep asking myself, should I trust my gut instinct, if it’s telling me not to go there?”

“It might just be nerves. Remember how many good people have your back. Your blog has so many readers. They all believe in you and your vision.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

“I’m not just saying it to be sweet. I mean it. I’m one hundred percent certain you’re going to start your own fashion empire one day, and get off to a flying start.”

Ember grins from ear to ear—mask or no mask, I can tell by her sparkling eyes.

“During the holidays, we can make a list of possible companies, maybe?” I suggest, running my brush over the inside of the rack.

“That’s a great idea. I’ve made a start because I’ve been wanting to put together a guide to ethical plus-size fashion.”

I’m about to tell her it’s a plan when there’s a knock on the garage’s side door.

“Ruby?”

Ember and I freeze. We can’t let Mum see what we’re doing here. She is absolutely incapable of keeping a secret, especially when it comes to presents for Dad. We’ve experienced that more than once over the years.

“Don’t come in!” Ember yells in alarm, taking a hasty step in front of the spice rack so that Mum wouldn’t be able to see it if she stuck her head around the door.

“I wasn’t going to,” she says, her voice muffled. “Ruby, you’ve got a visitor.”

Ember and I look at each other in confusion.

“Lin?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No, she’s spending the holidays in China with her mum, visiting family out there.”

Ember’s eyes widen. “Do you think it’s…?” She doesn’t say his name, but my heart still skips a beat.

“Who is it, Mum?” I call.

“Any chance you could come out? I have no desire to have a conversation through the door.”

I roll my eyes and pull one loop of the face mask off my ear so that it partially hangs down, making me feel like a surgeon taking a break in the middle of a major operation.

I open the door a crack and squeeze out.

Mum looks at me and the mask with raised eyebrows, and I spot her standing on tiptoes in an attempt to peek round the door. I hastily shut it behind me.

“Who is it?” I ask quietly.

In an instant, Mum’s face is serious again. “It’s the Beaufort girl.”

My heart plummets. I’ve got déjà vu for the evening when Lydia came here looking for James. Surely there can’t have been another disaster.

Not again. Please, not again.

“Where is she?” I ask.

Mum nods toward the hall. “In the living room. Your dad and I are in the kitchen if you need us.”

I nod and take the mask off completely. I walk down the hall toward the living room with cautious steps. This time, I’m bracing myself, Ember’s wise words still fresh in my memory.

Lydia is sitting on our old, flowery sofa, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes fixed on the coffee table.

She’s wearing a loose, floaty chiffon blouse with a black pleated skirt, and her hair is in a ponytail, as usual.

Not a strand is out of place. As ever, Lydia gives the impression of having everything perfectly under control.

But the apathetic expression in her eyes tells a different story.

“Hi,” I say quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Lydia looks up and sees me in the doorway. She summons up the energy for a weary smile. “Hi, Ruby.”

For a moment, I’m not sure what to do, but settle for sitting down next to her on the sofa. I resist the urge to make small talk, to ask her how she is, or if everything’s OK. I just wait.

After a while, Lydia swallows. “You said I could ask you if I needed any help.”

For a moment, I’m confused, but then I nod hastily. “Yes, right. Anything at all.”

She glances uncertainly toward the living room door, like she’s keeping an eye out for someone. She’s probably afraid of my parents or Ember coming in or overhearing us. I budge over a fraction toward her.

“What is it?” I ask.

Lydia exhales audibly. Then she straightens her back and sits up tall. “I’ve got a checkup tomorrow, and I need someone to come with me.”

It takes me a second or two to realize what she just said. “You want me to go with you?” I ask in surprise.

She takes a shaky breath, presses her lips tightly together, then nods. “You’re the only person who knows.”

“Is there something wrong? Does it hurt or something?”

Lydia shakes her head. “No, it’s just routine. But I…don’t want to go there alone.”

I wonder how hard it was for her to come here and ask me that. This is the first time I’ve really understood how lonely Lydia must be. I’m the only person she can ask to go with her to an appointment that must be scary, and nerve-racking.

There’s only one answer to her question, and I give it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Of course I will.”

The only word to describe the room is “sterile.” The walls are white and there’s only one picture up.

On the left-hand side, there’s a desk in front of a wide window with closed blinds; to the right, there’s a pale blue curtain screening off one corner.

I presume Lydia’s going to have to undress behind there soon.

We’re sitting on the two chairs in front of the desk, watching Dr. Hearst as she types on her computer at lightning speed.

At first it was weird to be here with Lydia. But the moment she was asked by a nurse to pee into a little cup, I realized that we were long past the point of embarrassment.

Now Lydia is fiddling with her tartan scarf and squinting at the door.

Maybe she’s toying with the idea of getting up and running away.

As her eye catches mine, I give her a reassuring smile—or try to.

I don’t know exactly what my job here is, so I try to act the way I’d want her to if our roles were reversed.

It seems to work, because Lydia’s shoulders relax a tiny bit.

Once Dr. Hearst has finished with the computer, she rests her hands on the desk and leans toward us slightly. Her face is friendly, however severe the bun holding up her dark hair may be. She has lots of laugh lines; warm brown eyes; and a pleasant, calm voice.

“So, Lydia, how are you doing?” she asks.

I watch Lydia as she looks back at the doctor.

Suddenly, she makes a kind of hysterical sound that was probably intended to be a laugh. But she quickly pulls herself together and clears her throat as if nothing ever happened. “Not too bad, I think.”

Dr. Hearst gives an understanding nod. “Last time, you said the sickness was very bad. How is that going now?”

“It’s better. I haven’t been sick at all for a week. But sometimes it really hurts when I stand up after a long time sitting down. Is that normal?”

Dr. Hearst smiles. “That’s nothing to worry about. The ligaments in your womb are under a lot of strain now, making room for the baby. I can prescribe you magnesium, which should help with the pain.”

“OK, that sounds good,” says Lydia with relief.

After the conversation, Dr. Hearst sends her behind the curtain to undress.

I stay in my chair, staring at the painting over the desk, while she examines her.

I’m trying to figure out what the shapes and colors are meant to represent but stand no chance.

It’s one of the weirdest pictures I’ve ever seen, all in yellow, red, and blue. I wonder if it was done by a child.

I hear Dr. Hearst say, “Everything is as it should be. The cervix is nicely closed, and so long as you have no cramps or bleeding, it should all be fine.”

Lydia murmurs something that I don’t catch, then she’s allowed to get dressed again. I sigh with relief. We’ve got through this part.

“You can join us now, Ruby.”

Lydia is now lying on a bed with her blouse pushed up. Her fingers are resting on her bare belly, and I realize that you can see a clear bulge now.

I smile nervously back at her as I sit on a chair beside her. The doctor is bringing over something that I presume is an ultrasound machine.

“So, are you ready to see your baby, Lydia?”

Lydia nods, but she’s clearly tense, so I scoot a bit closer to her.

The doctor rubs a transparent gel onto Lydia’s belly and then presses the tip of the scanner to it.

I stare in fascination at the screen, but at first, I can’t make anything out at all in the fuzzy black-and-white image.

Dr. Hearst moves calmly over Lydia’s skin and, after a while, the picture changes.

It gradually comes more and more into focus and…

I catch my breath. Beside me, Lydia gasps an “oh” of surprise.

I’m pretty sure there’s a little head on the screen, over to the right.

“There you are,” says Dr. Hearst, pointing to the screen with her finger. As she moves the scanner, the baby becomes clearer to see. Now I can make out tiny arms and legs. This is so, so cool—far and away the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Wow,” I whisper, and the doctor smiles at me.

I dare to glance at Lydia. Her eyes are huge as she stares at the screen in disbelief.

“Hold on,” Dr. Hearst says suddenly, leaning in a little closer. For a moment, the black-and-white chaos is back, but then the little bubble comes into view again.

“Is everything OK?” Lydia asks anxiously. I put my hand on her shoulder. The doctor’s hesitation is making me nervous too. The baby moved, I saw it very clearly. She can’t give us bad news now—not now. Lydia wouldn’t cope.

“Ms. Beaufort, may I introduce you”—Dr. Hearst is beaming at Lydia—“to Baby Number Two!” She points to a dot on the screen. “They’re slightly hidden behind their little brother or sister, so it’s harder to make them out.”

Lydia gasps. She stares incredulously at the monitor as Dr. Hearst zooms in on the second little bubble and enlarges the image. I can’t see anything myself, but I know she’s telling the truth.

Twins.

Lydia is not expecting one child but two.

I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now. I pat her shoulder a little awkwardly, desperately trying to think what to say, when Lydia suddenly throws back her head and laughs.

Dr. Hearst and I exchange glances that say we can’t blame her. Lydia must be in shock. After everything she’s been through in the last few weeks, I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up having a breakdown.

“That’s crazy.” She giggles after a while, turning her head toward me. “That’s just…I don’t know what to say.”

Dr. Hearst presses a few buttons on the machine and smiles at Lydia, and then at me. “They’re non-identical twins and both well-developed. Everything looks fine. Do twins run in your family, Lydia?”

Lydia nods and shakes her head all at once, still staring at the screen.

“She has a twin brother herself,” I answer quietly for her, trying to suppress the image of Lydia’s twin. James has no place in my head right now.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Dr. Hearst is trying to reassure Lydia, but I don’t get the impression she’s taking any of it in.

“We’ll keep a slightly closer eye on you from now on, and I’d recommend a glucose tolerance test to rule out gestational diabetes.

You can make an appointment at reception…

” She gives a brief lecture on healthy eating and the next checkups, but I can tell that Lydia isn’t listening.

I study her pale face. She really needs something soothing about now. And I’ve got a pretty good idea of what.