Run, Mummy, Run by Cathy Glass

from the top until she came to the best match and her heart skipped a beat. It matched the last and deepest shade of blue, and she stared, transfixed, unable to believe what she saw. There was no mistake, it matched perfectly – she was most definitely pregnant.
    Returning to the toilet, she flushed it and, before opening the door, remembered to say a final prayer of thanks. ‘Thank you, God, thank you so much. I shall never forget your generosity.’
    Mark was ecstatic. He kissed and cuddled her and insisted on making breakfast that morning. He prepared it all while she showered and dressed, and when she came downstairs he led her to the breakfast bar and helped her onto the stool.
    ‘What a lot!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is this all for me?’
    He nodded, pleased. ‘You’re eating for two now.’
    There was a bowl full of bran flakes, two slices of toast and honey, a banana and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Beside the glass of juice was the multivitamin and mineral pill, which she’d been taking each morning for the last six months. Mark poured the full-cream milk onto her cereal, then picked up her spoon and passed it to her. She smiled as she took it, and to please him, because his efforts couldn’t go to waste, dipped in the spoon and began eating, although she would much rather have had a dry cracker to settle her early-morning nausea.
    Mark perched on the other stool with his mug of black coffee and watched her eat, like a doting mother hen, she thought. ‘Once you’ve stopped working,’ he said, his excitement obvious, ‘I’ll be able to look after you properly. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed every morning; then you’ll be able to get up slowly, at your leisure. If you hand in your notice straight away, you’ll be finished by ten weeks.’
    She concentrated on the bowl of sickly cloying bran flakes and made a conscious effort to swallow each spoonful as Mark continued.
    ‘The most dangerous time to miscarry is twelve weeks,’ he said. ‘That’s when the placenta takes over from the ovaries. It’s vital you finish work by then and get all the rest you can. I can’t wait to have you home, my love, my precious one. What a clever girl you are.’ He kissed her cheek again.
    Aisha paused from eating and looked up. ‘But, Mark, supposing, heaven forbid, I did miscarry and I had left work … I wouldn’t have a job. Shouldn’t I take maternity leave so all my options are left open?’
    Mark shook his head solemnly. ‘No. You won’t miscarry if you’re sensible and rest. I know some women work until the end, but that’s because they need the money. Happily we’re not in that position, so there’s no point in taking risks.’ He downed the last of his coffee – normally all she had for breakfast – then tore off a strip of kitchen towel, wiped his mouth and threw the tissue in the bin.
    ‘I’m supposed to be meeting a new client at eight,’ he said. ‘Will you be all right going in on the tube alone? Or shall I cancel so I can come in with you?’
    She smiled at his concern. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry. I went in yesterday by myself and I’m just the same today.’
    ‘If you’re sure,’ he said and hovered. ‘It will be quite a feather in my cap if I win this contract. There’s a lot of competition.’
    ‘Yes, you go,’ she said again. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise. And you always phone me when I get to work anyway.’
    He was standing behind her now, and placing his hands on her shoulders he lightly massaged her neck. ‘Have you any idea how special you are, Aisha? I’ve never been so happy in my life. I can’t wait to have you home and all to myself. I’m going to spoil you something rotten. Both of you!’ He laughed, and kissing the top of her head, said goodbye.
    He called another goodbye before she heard the front door open and then close behind him.
    Aisha remained where she was, the spoon hovering over the bowl of congealed bran flakes. Yes, she