Who We Were Before by Leah Mercer Page B

stands out from the smooth French surrounding them, and from the way they’re giggling and the easy flow of conversation, I can tell they’ve been mates for years.
    One of the women catches my eye and smiles. ‘Sorry we’re so loud,’ she says, as if expecting me to speak English. ‘My friend just told me some excellent news!’
    ‘Congratulations,’ I respond automatically, envying their huge smiles and the happiness radiating from them. ‘Enjoy your celebrations.’
    ‘If you’re alone, why don’t you join us? The more the merrier, right?’
    I pause for a second, unsure whether I’m really up for a conversation with two strangers. But that’s the thing: they’re strangers. They know nothing about my past, and I don’t need to carry the heavy weight of guilt and sorrow on me as a shield. I used to be a real chatterbox, talking to everyone. I might be way out of practice, but right now I miss just talking to people.
    ‘Sure, that would be nice. Thanks.’ I stand and squeeze between the tables towards theirs, then hold out my hand. ‘I’m Zoe.’
    ‘I’m Lucy,’ says the woman, pushing back a heavy black fringe, ‘and that’s Rachel.’
    Rachel, a teensy tiny thing with long blonde hair, shakes my hand.
    ‘So what’s the big news?’ I ask, eyeing the water on the table with envy. God, I’d kill for a glass right now.
    ‘I’m pregnant!’ Rachel squeaks out, her hand sliding down to her tummy.
    ‘Which explains the water.’ Lucy rolls her eyes towards the dewy carafe on the table. ‘I mean, who drags their best friend to Paris for the weekend, then forces them to drink water ?’
    ‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ I say automatically, wondering why – of all the tourists in Paris – I have to find the two celebrating pregnancy. And I can tell just by looking at Rachel she’s going to be one of those annoyingly glowing, fresh-faced pregnant women that make it all seem so easy. I was one of the lucky ones whose morning sickness lasted day and night – for practically nine months.
    ‘It really is.’ Rachel nods earnestly. ‘We’ve been trying for a while . . . and been through two rounds of IVF. This was our last shot, and it worked! Thank God. I can’t imagine our life without children.’ She pauses to sip her water, and for the millionth time, I think how ironic it is that perfectly healthy people who should have no trouble getting pregnant can’t, while Edward and I somehow managed. ‘Do you have kids?’
    A sharp pang goes through me. ‘No,’ I mumble, staring down at the metal table. ‘No, I don’t have kids.’ Words claw at my throat, words that would let loose everything about Milo. For the first time, instead of keeping everything wrapped in layers of gauze, I want to let him out. I want people to know he existed, that he lived . But as I look up to meet the expectant eyes of Rachel, I can’t force out the words. Because talking about his life also means talking about his death, and I just can’t do that.
    ‘Don’t mind her,’ Lucy says, obviously picking up on my discomfort. ‘She’s obsessed with all things baby at the moment and wants to convert everyone. She’s going to have a tough go with me.’
    I can’t help smiling, thinking how much Lucy and Rachel are like Kate and me – or how we were, anyway. Kate sang hymns about the wonder of babies, but her words were slightly contradicted by the spit-up on her clothes, the bags under her eyes and the vacant expression on her face . . . at least for the first few months. I watched in horror as her innocent babe transformed into a red-faced, screaming demon for hours on end each night, wondering who in their right mind would willing try for a baby.
    I miss Kate and her no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is (or how she thinks it is) attitude. From marriage to children to moving to the suburbs, she’s always been right beside me. But she can’t follow me to where I am now, despite her attempts. A memory floats into