The Three of Us Read Online Free

prescription press six.
    â€˜To request information for legal reasons which may be confidential from your personal file, press seven.
    â€˜All those needing to speak with an operator press eight and stay on the line.’
    I press eight to be greeted by a short burst of Barbra Streisand singing ‘Evergreen’, quickly interrupted by another message.
    â€˜Thank you for calling. All our operators are busy. Please call back later. Our office hours are from 9.30 a.m. until 5 p.m.’
    I phone back again. And again, swearing as I hit the redial button. Would it be quicker to walk there? At 1.28 p.m. I finally get through and ask for Donna, the technician.
    â€˜Hello, Jo-wanna,’ she says, uncertainly. ‘How you doin’ today?’
    â€˜Oh fine. I was just calling to get my results from the blood tests on Friday.’
    â€˜Right, just hang on, Joanna, I’m gonna get Dr Beth to explain them to ya. Stay right where y’are.’ And before I can say anything I hear her pick up another receiver. ‘Dr Beth? Ya gotta minute? I got Joanna Coles on the line, you said to call you when she got through?’
    â€˜Hi, Joanna,’ says Dr Beth. ‘It’s not good news I’m afraid.’
    I feel my insides deflate.
    â€˜To be honest with you, hun, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, you’re certainly something – but it’s not pregnant. We need you to come back and have another blood test. Can you come in soon, like this afternoon?’
    â€˜How do you mean it’s certainly something?’ I ask, feeling weak.
    â€˜Are you OK, hun?’ asks Dr Beth.
    â€˜Um, yes, just a bit disappointed,’ I mumble. ‘I could be there in about ten minutes? Do you think it’s something serious?’
    â€˜Nah, probably not, but we need to make sure, OK? I’ll tell Donna to expect you,’ she says, before adding gently, ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow, when we’ve got the new results in. And take care, OK?’
    I call Peter, but he’s out so I leave a message. ‘I’ve got to go back for more blood tests,’ I say melodramatically. ‘But apparently I’m still not pregnant.’
    Ovarian cysts, cancer, fibroids, early menopause … I run through the list in the cab as we hurtle down Fifth, past New York’s glorious Public Library, which my mother once compared unfavourably to Leeds Town Hall, and swing onto 30th Street in front of the surgery.
    After taking a photocopy of my insurance card, the receptionist sends me straight through to Donna. ‘Did you wanna be pregnant?’ she asks sympathetically.
    I nod, suddenly realizing that after years of denying it, I really do.
    â€˜What do you think is wrong?’ I manage.
    â€˜Well, a reading of under five is definitely negative. Your score was eleven, which is too low to be positive but too high to be negative, so that’s why we’re doing you another test. Do you feel pregnant?’
    I shrug, suddenly exhausted, as she snaps on her gloves again and taps my arm. ‘This time call me on my direct line and I’ll give you the results myself,’ she whispers, handing me her card.
    Friday, 15 May
    Peter
    I am determined not to allow the wait for my test results to paralyse me into a state of limbo. I must keep active. Physically active. Today I decide to go rollerblading along Riverside Walk. This stretch of sidewalk from Chelsea Piers down to Battery Park must be one of the most congenial rollerblading courses in the world. It is a safe, level, cement strip with views on one side across the Hudson River and on the other over to Greenwich Village then TriBeCa, City Hall and the World Trade Towers.
    I am a reasonable blader, about intermediate level, I think. I very seldom fall, but I take no chances, strapping myself into my matte black safety gear: helmet, elbow pads, wrist protectors with Velcro fasteners and plastic