Promises, Promises

Home > Other > Promises, Promises > Page 12
Promises, Promises Page 12

by Patricia Scanlan


  She woke to feel Chris nuzzling her neck and shoulders. His hands touched her breasts and then moved down over the curve of her belly. Then the baby kicked. Hard.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Chris murmured drowsily.

  Ellen’s mouth went dry. It was now or never. ‘That was your son . . . or daughter,’ she said softly.

  Chris wrenched his hand away as if he’d been scalded. He shot up in the bed and stared down at her.

  ‘What did you say?’ He was pale, his blue eyes dark with alarm.

  ‘I’m five months pregnant,’ Ellen said quietly. Her heart began to pound with fear and dread.

  ‘Jesus Christ! I don’t believe it.’ He was horrified. ‘Five months! Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I couldn’t bring myself to, Chris.’

  ‘You stupid cow! You should have told me at the beginning. You could have got rid of it. It’s too bloody late now,’ he raged.

  Ellen paled. ‘Chris, for God’s sake, it’s your child we’re talking about. How could you suggest such a thing?’

  ‘Oh for crying out loud, Ellen, don’t give me that crap.’ Chris was so furious he was trembling. ‘A child means nothing to me. I don’t want children now. I can’t have a wife and child hanging out of me just when I’m starting off my business.’ He glared at her. ‘How do you know it’s mine?’

  ‘You bastard!’ Ellen felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She jumped out of bed and lunged at him.

  ‘Bastard! Pig! You fucking shit!’ she yelled at him hysterically, clawing at him, wanting to hurt and maim him.

  ‘How could you say that? Have you no idea how much I love you? How do you think I could look at another man? Does what we did last night mean so little to you?’ She flailed at him, but he was much stronger than she and he held her away from him with some difficulty.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Ellen, cut it out!’ he yelled. He held her wrists in a vice-like grip as she twisted and turned. All the fight went out of her. She slumped to her knees, sobbing as though her heart would break.

  ‘I love you,’ she wept. ‘How could you say that to me?’

  He let her go and walked out of the room. She watched him leave and knew that he would never marry her. She was on her own.

  Even though it was a bright sunny day, she suddenly felt icy cold. Her teeth started to chatter. She was shaking. She got back into bed and curled up in a tight foetal position. She felt sick. All the months of keeping her secret to herself, pretending that everything was normal, all the fears and anxieties she’d endured were nothing to the pain his words caused her. Her heart felt as if it was cut to ribbons. She wanted to die. How could she have deluded herself so badly?

  It could have been minutes but it felt like hours that she lay there before he came back into the room again. He had a dressing-gown on. His face was white.

  ‘Let’s get some things straight, Ellen,’ he said coldly as if he was speaking to a stranger. ‘I won’t marry you. I can’t marry you. I can’t be tied down with a wife and child. Not now when I’m going out on my own. I’ll give you money, but that’s as far as it goes.’

  ‘Please, Chris,’ she pleaded, fear, desperation, love, dispelling all pride. ‘You have to marry me. I’ll be ruined. I can’t go through this on my own. I love you. I’ll be a good wife. You’ll never be sorry you married me. I swear I’ll love you more than you’ve ever been loved. I promise you won’t be sorry. Please, Chris. Please,’ she begged.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry already. I’m sorry I ever met you. I don’t need this hassle, Ellen. I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to ruin my life so forget the idea of marriage,’ he said harshly. He went over to a bureau and took something out of the drawer. ‘Here, it’s a hundred pounds. I’ll give you more when it’s born. We can’t see each other any more. I’m going out. Get a taxi home.’ He dropped another fiver on the bed beside the bundle of notes already there. Ellen couldn’t speak. Her throat constricted. Through blurred eyes she watched him gather his clothes and shoes. Then he was gone. She could hear him moving around in the adjoining bedroom. Five minutes later she heard the front door slam. A funereal silence descended on the house. The only sound the racing rhythm of her heart, thumping against her ribs. She sat motionless, unable to think.

  Eventually, she dragged herself out of bed and dressed. She took a last look around the bright airy bedroom with its leopardskin rugs and the huge double bed where she’d experienced the most intense happiness of her life and, an hour ago, the most devastating hell. Her hand hovered over the money. With all her heart, she longed to leave it there and walk away with that much of her pride intact at least. But she was in no position to indulge her pride. If she was thrown out of home when her parents found out, she was going to need that money badly. She snatched it up, stuffed it in her bag and walked out of the bedroom with tears streaming down her face.

  She stood by the phone in the hall, struggling to compose herself. She dialled for a taxi and then sat huddled on the bottom step of the stairs waiting for it. Ten minutes later she heard it pull up outside. Ellen stood up, took a deep breath, and walked out of her lover’s house without a backward glance.

  She gave the driver directions and settled back into the depths of the rather shabby seat. The driver made several attempts to engage her in conversation, but she answered him in monosyllables and he took the hint and gave up. Numb, she stared out the window, oblivious to everything. Her worst nightmare had come true. Chris had dumped her. It was only the beginning. Her parents had to be told. Her shame and disgrace would be known to everyone in Glenree unless she left home and came to Dublin to fend for herself. Suddenly she was scared. She didn’t want to come and live in Dublin. She knew very few people in the city. She’d be alone. Alone with a baby to care for. She’d never been so frightened in her entire life. She couldn’t tell them at home yet. She hadn’t the nerve. Maybe Chris would have a rethink once the shock wore off. A glimmer of hope pierced her misery. Maybe when he had time to think he’d realize what he was losing and decide he’d made a mistake. She’d give him a week. If she hadn’t heard anything by then, she’d have to face the fact that she was on her own. And she’d have to tell her parents.

  God please let him come back to me. Please let him change his mind, she prayed fervently as the taxi left the suburbs and took the route through country roads past the airport towards home.

  Chris lit a fag and drew deep on it, inhaling the tobacco down into his lungs. He took a slug of whiskey from the double in front of him. He needed it badly. He actually had the shakes. He couldn’t believe it. When Ellen told him she was pregnant it was as if someone had punched him in the gut. Hard. The memory of that determined little kick made him shudder.

  Why hadn’t she told him at the beginning? He would have made arrangements for her to go to London for an abortion. It would have been so simple. The end of the problem. Jim Devlin had knocked up his girlfriend and they’d had the problem sorted out in a couple of days. It was no big deal.

  Chris sighed and settled back into the dark anonymous corner of Hallin’s pub. The sun was splitting the trees outside, but the Gothic gloom of the bar suited him at the moment. Maybe Ellen hadn’t told him because she didn’t want the problem solved. He scowled. Obviously she’d expected him to marry her. Most fellas did in that situation. Two of his mates had had shotgun weddings. They were miserable. Well Chris Wallace wasn’t going to be trapped into marriage that easily.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like Ellen, he did. She was good fun. And she was a good listener. She was always encouraging him to go out on his own. If he sold a big policy, she was interested in the details. Suzy wasn’t a bit interested in that side of him. As long as he had money to spend on her she didn’t care where he got it from. Suzy found insurance boring. She was much more sophisticated than Ellen and she ran with a fast crowd who were more to his taste than any of Ellen’s friends or relations. But Chris had to admit he always enjoyed his midweek dat
es with Ellen. He loved her soft curvy body. He’d miss Ellen’s warmth and enthusiasm. He liked her. She didn’t expect much from him and was content with what he gave her. That took a lot of pressure off a bloke. He didn’t always have to be entertaining and witty and in good form. If he had a bad day, he could slump and be himself. She didn’t mind.

  But marriage was out of the question. He was too young. He had too much to do. He’d help financially. He wasn’t that much of a cad. But Ellen could forget about anything else. A clean break was the best thing for both of them. If she had any sense she’d put the baby up for adoption and get on with her life. Just as he intended getting on with his. He glanced at his watch, midday, she should be gone by now, he thought hopefully. He hated scenes. He’d have another whiskey, just in case.

  It was after two when Chris got home. He’d met a friend of his, and bought him a pint. They’d chatted. He felt a niggle of apprehension as he put his key in the front door. What would he do if Ellen was still there? The house was quiet. Only the drone of a bluebottle caught in the net curtains broke the silence. He swatted it viciously. He hated bluebottles. For some reason they reminded him of death and decay.

  She’d taken the money, he noted with satisfaction, as he stood beside the bed. That meant she must have accepted it was the end. He didn’t want to be at the receiving end of bleeding-heart phone calls. The least she could have done was made the bed, he thought crossly as he tweaked the blankets into place. He supposed he should change the sheets in case by some miracle he got Suzy into bed after her weekend away. He scowled. Now that Ellen wouldn’t be there for him he hoped Suzy would loosen up. Enforced celibacy was not his idea of fun.

  He eyed the sheets unenthusiastically. They were stained. Tough! He’d keep the lights off. Suzy wouldn’t know the difference in the light of day. Women, they were all the same! Hysterical – if they thought another woman was on the scene.

  Ellen, to give her her due, hadn’t been possessive. Chris suspected she’d known he was still seeing Suzy, but she’d never reproached him. He liked that about her. She’d always let him do his own thing. If only she hadn’t gone and got herself pregnant they could have carried on their perfect affair. He opened his bureau to check on his supply of Frenchies. If Ellen really had got pregnant at the beginning then he needn’t have worn the blasted things for the last five months. He hated wearing condoms. He supposed Emma’d have something to say about his getting her sister-in-law pregnant. The best thing to do was to keep a low profile for a while. It was Ellen’s fault for not telling him when there was time to do something about it, Chris thought angrily as he undressed and went to have a shower.

  ‘Mam’s birthday is coming up next week and Ellen and Miriam will be doing a little party for her. We’ll have to put in an appearance,’ Vincent said, a little gingerly.

  Emma threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘Oh Vincent, you go. I’m not in the form for socializing. You know I feel sick all the time.’

  ‘I know, pet. We’ll just pop over and give her her present and then we can come home.’

  ‘OK,’ Emma said sulkily. She picked up a copy of Vogue and flicked through the pages. Vincent sighed deeply. Emma ignored him.

  ‘I’ll be off to work then.’

  ‘Bye,’ Emma said coolly. Vincent decided against proffering a kiss. In the humour Emma was in, he’d only be rebuffed. She always seemed worse in the morning for some reason. If he felt queasy all the time, he’d be moody too, he reasoned as he started the ignition and sped off down the drive. Miriam’s morning sickness had only lasted three months with all of her pregnancies. Poor Emma was now in her seventh month but she was still as sick as ever.

  It happened to some women, Doctor Waldron said matter-of-factly when Vincent hopefully enquired if Emma’d ever have some respite. Vincent had watched Miriam take pregnancy in her stride and he’d hoped Emma would get to that stage too. But it never happened. Emma did not bloom. She wilted. Even drinking the milk that was so necessary for the baby’s good health made her gag. Once, they’d been driving home from Dublin and the farmers had been spreading silage and the smell of that had made her retch. She cried her eyes out and said she hated being pregnant, she hated living in the countryside and she hated looking fat and frumpy. In vain Vincent insisted that she looked lovely and that her small round bump was not in the slightest bit off-putting. Emma stopped wearing her sexy baby-dolls and enveloped herself in a voluminous cotton tent and told him there was no more sex until she was a size ten again.

  Fortunately that phase hadn’t lasted too long. But she insisted on making love in the dark and he missed the way she used to flaunt herself sexily at him, enjoying it as much as he did. Vincent sighed as he drove along the back roads towards the airport. At least there were only a couple of months left before this endurance test was over.

  He saw a woman cantering her mare around a field. Her long black hair streamed behind her in the summer breeze. She had a look of exhilaration on her face. Poor old Emma couldn’t even ride Cleopatra. The motion made her too queasy. He was very glad he wasn’t a woman, he thought fervently as the airport came into sight and he turned left in the direction of Swords. He was selling a house and site there and he was late for the meeting with the prospective buyer.

  Emma flung down her magazine and stared out the kitchen window. It was another hot, humid day. Grey thunderous clouds hung oppressively low. The sunny weather had broken and for the past few days they’d endured sultry airless still days that left her feeling hot and sticky and uncomfortable. A bluebottle buzzed incessantly, driving her nuts. The sight of the watery egg yolk on Vincent’s plate made her want to puke. How he could eat soft egg like that was beyond her. Even the look of it made her nauseous.

  She got up from the breakfast counter, took an apple and walked out the back door. The new lawn looked parched and dried out, despite Vincent’s constant watering. The earth in the flower beds was cracked and dry. It was the way she felt, Emma thought despondently as she licked a bead of perspiration off her top lip. Even though it was still early in the morning, it was very warm. A low rumble of thunder far in the east warned of storms to come. She didn’t care. She’d welcome a thunderstorm to clear away the hot fetid air. She could hear Cleopatra whinnying in the stable down by the river. Poor Cleo hated thunder. Emma hastened her steps. She loved her mare. It killed her that she couldn’t ride her. Nothing had worked out the way it was supposed to, and all because of this baby, she thought resentfully as her child reminded her of its presence with a fandango of little kicks.

  By rights she should have been taking Cleo out for her morning ride. Then she should have been flitting into town to do some shopping in Grafton Street and then having lunch with Gillian or some of the gang.

  Then a visit to her mother and, following that, dinner with Vincent after work and maybe a trip to the theatre or to the pictures.

  They’d planned to have barbecues at weekends all this summer and they’d only had two because she felt so miserable. Poor Cleo was getting as fat as she was because she had no exercise. And now, Emma thought irritatedly, as she handed Cleo her apple and received a rapturous welcome, Vincent wanted her to go to Mrs Munroe’s do. What a pain in the ass having to endure the nosy questions and sycophantic sympathy. If only her mother-in-law would stop fussing and leave her alone. Emma knew she meant to be kind. Not a day passed that she didn’t have some advice to give her. She still came back for more no matter how short Emma was with her.

  ‘Just say yes and nod your head from time to time and think of something else,’ Miriam advised her on one occasion. Miriam was quite nice really, Emma mused. She’d called up to the house when Emma was in her early pregnancy and offered to help with the housework. Emma told her that a lady from the town came in two days a week so she was fine and then inexplicably she’d burst into tears. Miriam was most comforting as Emma sobbed out all her frustration and fears about the pregnancy. She explained a few things that Emma couldn’t bring herself to ask Doct
or Waldron. Like why she kept wanting to pee all the time. And why her boobs were expanding alarmingly.

  Miriam was very reassuring and told her why. She was a veteran after all. This was her third time. Whenever Emma felt anything new happening, like the first time she felt the tiny little flutters deep in the pit of her stomach, she asked Miriam about it. ‘That’s called “quickening”,’ Miriam told her. ‘I always get really excited when that happens. It’s a very precious feeling when the baby moves.’ Emma hadn’t felt very excited, just vaguely curious. She knew she was unnatural but, as her pregnancy progressed, her resentment against the child grew. This being had taken over her whole body. Distorted it, so that she looked like a little fat penguin. It had made her sick, made her wee at the most awkward moments, kept her awake at night with heartburn. It had taken control of her and there was nothing Emma could do about it. How she envied Miriam her joyful anticipation. Her serenity, even. Emma knew she was spoiling it for Vincent and she tried hard to pretend some excitement for his sake. But her life had changed completely and was about to change even more dramatically when the baby arrived. She felt frustrated, angry and very very trapped.

  Ellen was baked alive. She was helping Miriam with the preparations for Sheila’s party. She had just opened the oven door to take out the tray of cocktail sausages and the oven blast of heat rushed to her face and made her feel very hot and dizzy. She managed to put the tray on top of the cooker and then sank onto a chair.

  ‘What’s wrong, Ellen?’ She could hear Miriam’s concerned voice from a distance and then her face swam into view as Ellen tried to focus on her.

  ‘Put your head down between your legs.’ Miriam pressed between her shoulder blades forcing her head down. The dizziness eased a little and Ellen sat up gingerly.

  ‘You’re as white as a sheet. What are you wearing a big heavy jumper like that for on a day like today? It’s so muggy out. I’m boiled alive in this and it’s only gingham.’ She shook her maternity dress away from her to try and create an airflow. ‘Go up and change into something cooler. I’ll finish off here.’

 

‹ Prev