“MUM, I’M COMING!”
Stepping out of the maternity centre, Nicky slumped onto a bench and dug her phone from her handbag. After a few rings, Dennis picked up.
“Dan, why didnt you come meet me?” Nicky asked, her voice heavy.
“Im on my way, love! Bloody traffic!” Dennis blurted. Behind him, angry honks and grumbling drivers painted a familiar London soundtrack.
“Ive already left,” Nicky said flatly. “Couldnt stay there another minute.”
A sigh crackled through the phone. He understood.
“Waiting,” she muttered before hanging up.
Tucking her phone away, she took a shaky breath and glanced around. A crisp autumn breeze tugged golden leaves from the trees, and the weak October sun did its best to warm the world before winter took over. The last gasp of an Indian summer. Mothers bustled about with prams, squeezing in one last sunny outing while toddlers shrieked with laughter, tumbling into piles of crunchy leaves. The playground outside the centre was packedmockingly so.
Nicky swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Shed never push a pram here. Never boast about first steps or first words. This was her fourth miscarriage. This time, theyd even referred her to a specialist clinic. Dennis hadnt blinked at the cost. But the doctors just shrugged. “Unexplained recurrent pregnancy loss,” her file read. Her consultant had patted her hand and said, quite seriously, “Have faith.”
A rustle beside her broke her thoughts. An elderly Romani woman settled onto the bench, her long skirt vibrant against the grey pavement, gold hoops glinting in her ears.
“Feeling sad, love?” she asked, no preamble.
Nicky nodded.
“Your little one didnt stay again,” the woman observed.
“How?” Nicky stiffened. Hospital gossip, no doubt. Here came the spiel about curses and crossed palms
“Your dreams hold the answer,” the woman cut in. “Same one each time, just before you lose the baby. Look there. A curse is on you, girl. The child will show you. Break it, and a new dream will come. Then youll know its over.”
Nicky gaped. Shed never told a soul about the dreams. Not even Dennis.
Before she could speak, the woman stood and walked awayoddly enough, without asking for a penny.
***
One week earlier.
The same train station, the same platform split in twoone side bathed in light, the other swallowed by shadows. Nicky lingered on the border, surrounded by women waiting, just like her.
A train whistle shrieked in the distance. The locomotive roared past, wind whipping Nickys hair. Doors slid open, and childrentiny, bright-eyedspilled onto the platform, hurling themselves into waiting arms.
On the dark side, older children trudged aboard, tears streaking their cheeks.
Nicky scanned the windows, heart hammering. Inside, children hovered, torn between light and shadow. Then she saw hera little girl with golden curls and emerald eyes, waving with one hand, the other tucked behind her back.
Love crashed over Nicky like a wave. She lunged forward
A conductor blocked her path. Impeccable in a white trouser suit, she shook her head. “They must choose to leave on their own.”
But the girl didnt move. Lips trembling, she mouthed, *Mum, Ill come! Just later!*
“*When?*” Nicky begged.
“When you free the bird!” The girl revealed her hidden hand. A blue tit lay pierced by a needle, blood dotting her palm. With a sigh, she retreated into the dark.
The train pulled away, leaving Nicky hollow.
***
“Nicky? Love, snap out of it!” Denniss voice yanked her back.
She blinked. She was home, staring at a paintinga winter scene, two blue tits perched on a snow-dusted rowan branch. A wedding gift from Denniss ex, Marina. A peace offering after her petty revenge schemes had fizzled out.
Something glinted. One birds side sparkled oddly.
Nicky tore the painting down. There, hidden in Marinas inscription*”In reconciliation”*a needle jutted through the canvas, skewering the bird.
Dennis paled. “What the hell?”
“Your exs handiwork,” Nicky whispered. “This is why I keep losing them.”
***
An hour later, they found the Romani woman outside the clinic, waiting.
“You knew?” Nicky demanded.
“Knew youd return,” the woman said. “Found your thread?”
“Needle and all,” Nicky said bitterly. “Can you help? Well pay”
The woman smiled.
***
Five months later.
The same station. The same platform. But this time, Nicky stood in the light, heart pounding as the train approached.
The conductor stepped out, radiant in white.
And thenthere she was. A blur of golden curls, sprinting straight into Nickys arms. Two heartbeats, finally in sync. A few more months, and theyd never part again. After all this waiting, what were a few more?
