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sadly.
    Heather made a soothing noise. ‘That feels like a healthy three months uterus,’ she said finally, pulling off the rubber gloves. ‘Where are you going to have the baby?’ she asked as Gemma sat up and readjusted her clothing.
    ‘I haven’t decided anything like that yet, Heather. I haven’t even decided whether or not I’m keeping this baby.’
    A knock at the surgery door interrupted them. Heather excused herself and went to answer it. ‘I won’t be a moment, Gemma.’
    ‘It’s okay,’ said Gemma, swinging off the examination table. As she waited, she couldn’t help overhearing the conversation with Heather’s husband, another GP, about picking up their children after school.
    A pang of envy stung Gemma and, briefly, she thought how comforting it must be to have a partner to share work with, as well as the burdens of life. In her mind, the scales tipped the other way.
    ‘Sorry about that interruption,’ said Heather, returning. ‘You were saying you haven’t made that decision?’ she asked.
    Gemma nodded her head.
    ‘You’d better apply yourself to that pretty smartly then,’ said Heather. ‘You haven’t got much time.’
    ‘I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a termination,’ said Gemma, surprised at hearing the words. It was the first time she’d verbalised this.
    ‘Then you’ll need to see Family Planning,’ Heather said, reaching for a pen.
    Again, Gemma nodded. ‘Heather,’ she began, ‘in a couple of years I’ll be forty. Like I said, I’ve broken up with Steve. I’m not sure about my future – business is really quiet at the moment. I don’t know how I’m going to manage financially unless work picks up. To have a baby by myself simply sounds impossible under the circumstances. And .   .   . there’s something else.’
    A long silence ensued. Heather waited, leaning back in her chair.
    ‘I’m not sure about my capacity to .   .   .’ Gemma finally said, groping for words, ‘.   .   . my capacity to love. I come from a family where love wasn’t a big part of the equation. I don’t have that automatic I-love-kids thing I’ve noticed in other people.’ She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. ‘I think I’ve got a problem.’ She paused. ‘I don’t know if I could love a baby.’
    Gemma was relieved to see that Heather didn’t seem shocked by her admission. ‘You’re not the first woman who’s said that to me,’ she said. ‘In fact, it’s not an uncommon attitude. I think it comes from anxiety rather than any sort of psychopathology.’ She wrinkled her nose and smiled at the long word. ‘But before you make up your mind about termination,’ Heather continued, ‘think about it carefully. If you only knew how many women patients I’ve had over the last few years – women your age and younger – desperate to get pregnant.’ She put her pen down and focused her steady grey eyes on Gemma’s. ‘I don’t really want to influence you one way or the other. But I feel I’d be failing in my job as your doctor if I didn’t remind you that falling pregnant at your age has a lot of statistical odds against it, and that this could be the only chance you ever get to have a baby.’
    Gemma considered this. Why did it have to happen just now? Why couldn’t it have happened last year, or the year before, when Steve was around and business was strong? Why now?
    ‘The other reason I’m saying this,’ Heather went on, ‘is because some of those same women told me they wished that a doctor or someone had told them that before they went for a termination. This could be your one and only chance. Do think about it.’
    Gemma glanced at her watch. She jumped to her feet. ‘I’ve got to rush,’ she said.
    She left the surgery feeling envious of her GP’s settled, comfortable domestic arrangements. It was okay for someone like Heather Pike, with a hard-working doctor husband to share the domestic rounds and the child-care, plus a large