‘Mmm.’
‘Trouble was, I got pregnant.’
I almost choked on my bun. ‘You what?’
‘You’re right, it was stupid of me. I was only eighteen. It was a disaster.’
I hardly dare ask the next question. ‘So what did you do?’
‘Do you remember me having a baby the same time Sarah did?’ I shake my head. ‘No, well, what could I do? I was eighteen, I had no money and the father . . . well, let’s just say he didn’t relish the idea of telling his wife the happy news’
‘Oh my God . . .’
‘I’ve never stopped thinking about it, though. How old it would be now, what it would look like, that sort of thing. I see toys in shops and I wonder if I would have bought them for Christmas or birthday presents. I even choose things.’ She’s staring into space, distracted.
‘Is that why you joined that pro-life group?’ I ask her gently.
She comes back and looks at me properly again. ‘No, no. The terrible thing is, I was already very anti-abortion, even then, so the decision I made went completely against everything I felt strongly about. I had created this tiny, precious thing that was desperately clinging to me for survival, but I couldn’t provide what it needed. So I shook it off, and it fell away.’ She swallows and takes a deep breath. ‘I can’t forgive myself.’
‘Oh God, Sue, why didn’t you say anything? It must have been torture for you when Jake was born.’
She nods, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know what I’d done. I felt like a murderer. Still do, actually. So I kept it to myself. Even my mum doesn’t know about it.’ She grins unconvincingly. ‘Been looking for love ever since. Or forgiveness maybe.’
‘So why are you telling me now?’
She smiles, sniffs and wipes her eyes with a serviette. ‘I thought you might find it interesting. So, did you check out that blond life-guard? God, I really think this is it this time, Rach. He’s the one.’
Has she guessed, do you think? I can’t tell. Here I am, in the car driving home, and I’m going over and over what she said, about how she thought I might be interested now. And earlier when she said something about ‘it shows that I haven’t been swimming for a while’. Has she spotted the bump in my belly and linked it with the ‘illness’ I had at Jake’s party? She’s always been very insightful, Susan, so I wouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t tell her though. I’m still not sure, even after that.
One of those throat-scraping hunger pangs hits and I stick my tongue out of my open mouth, as if somehow that will help.
They say that in pregnancy, you lose all your dignity. This must be what they mean.
Saliva drips off my tongue on to my lap and I do one half-hearted little retch. I need food. What is there in the house? A parade of images marches through my head: a huge plate of spaghetti bolognese with loads of cheese on top; a steaming mound of chilli and rice, with loads of grated cheese on top; a plate of beans on toast, with grated cheese melting on top, but much quicker – only five minutes to prepare instead of fifteen. Or better yet, what about just toast, covered in hot, drippy butter, all soaking into the . . .
Oh bugger it, I’ve missed my turning. I stomp on the brakes quickly without thinking and from behind there’s a loud squeal of rubber on tarmac, followed instantly by a deafening bang and a fierce jolt, which forces my car and my body forward violently, leaving my head to jerk sickeningly backwards into the too-small head rest. Hot bolts of pain sear up through my neck and shoulders, into my jaw and I cry out. On one level I realize that I have been shunted from behind, but on another my mind is spinning and I clutch the wheel tightly, heart thudding with panic. I close my eyes to beat back the encroaching nausea, but everything starts turning as if I’ve had too much to drink. I look up again and try to focus hard on something stationary to bring the spinning under control. I look out of the windscreen and focus on a red letter-box on the other side of the road. The only sound I can hear is the very faint whine of what sounds like a car reversing at speed.
Look at that car go! The bastard, didn’t even stop to make sure I was all right. No doubt driving with no insurance, or no licence or both.
So now what do I do? Maybe if I stay here for a few minutes, the pain will subside and I can drive home. After thirty seconds of sitting as still as I can, I can’t endure it any longer and feel I have to get out. If I could reach my bag, which fell on to the floor with the impact, I could call Hector. Or an ambulance. My mind is so confused I can’t decide which one I need more.
I jump as there’s a sudden tapping on the window, and then the door is opened from outside. Thank God.
‘Are you hurt?’ says a voice, the face just out of view. All I can see without moving my head is a beige cardigan with big brown buttons that look like wood. I try to nod, but white-hot knives slice through my neck.
‘Yes,’ I say instead.
‘Where, love? Neck?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Anywhere else?’
I’ve been nodding and shaking my head for about twenty-three years, so it’s really hard to stop myself from doing it. I try to shake my head – ouch – and then say, ‘No,’ in a pained voice.
‘OK, love. I’m calling an ambulance now. Don’t move.’ Oh, do you think? I had been thinking about doing a spot of line-dancing while I waited.
He walks away from the car but I can’t turn my head to see where he’s going. I can hear his voice requesting the ambulance, although it’s too low for me to hear it distinctly. After a couple of minutes, he’s back.
‘All right, love, don’t worry, ambulance is on its way. My name’s Frank, by the way. I live over there, right by the letter-box. That’s partly why we moved here, you see. You wouldn’t believe how convenient it is living right next to a letter-box. We get everything done in double quick time. Main thing is, you’re OK. Oh look, here comes the ambulance now.’
The paramedics – Tom and Beth – check me over and ask me lots of questions, then put a huge plastic collar around my neck and lift me gently into the ambulance. Flat on my back with the weight of my head supported the pain eases a bit and I close my eyes. Suddenly I feel really sleepy.
At the hospital, they wheel me into the Accident and Emergency department, where not very long ago Hector’s mum breathed her last. This thought crosses my mind disconnectedly as I lie and stare at the ceiling, unable to look at the people talking to me unless they put their faces right in front of mine.
‘What’s your name, love?’ someone says.
‘Rachel.’
‘Hi, Rachel. I’m Clare, Staff Nurse. Now then. You hurt your neck, right? Don’t nod, Rachel.’
‘OK.’
‘Right. Do you have pain anywhere else?’
‘Not really. But I am pregnant. Will the baby be all right?’
‘Well, you’re obviously not very far along, so I expect everything will be just fine. We’ll get you up for an ultrasound, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Thank you, Clare.’
‘No trouble.’ I hear her giving instructions to other people out of my line of view. Everyone is out of my line of view unless they’re floating horizontally above my trolley. She’s talking about abdomen, spine, neck, seat-belt, pressure, and I realize that I’m going up for X-rays.
‘Clare!’ I shout out loudly.
‘Right here,’ she says, six inches from my head.
‘Oh, sorry. Will the baby be all right, with the X-rays and everything?’
‘Don’t worry about it, Rachel. There are quite a few medical types here – between us we’ll think of something to protect it. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
But I’m not sure. Suddenly my head is filled with slowmo close-up replays of my body flying forwards with the impact, my abdomen straining against the seat-belt, and all the pressure of my body moving forwards concentrated into that tiny area. I lie there and wait for someone to do something, all the time terrified that the little life I’ve made is detach
ing itself and giving up. I lay my hands on my belly and cup them around the tiny mound protectively, imagining the tiny body inside. I wish I could picture it. Does it have any hands yet, or toes? Or is it just a blob with a heart? I can’t see if there’s anyone near me, so I call out.
‘Excuse me? Clare? Is there someone there?’
‘Yes, love, what’s the problem?’ The voice is very near and she moves right in front of my eyes so I can see her. This is such a small attention that I appreciate almost more than I can think.
‘Oh, thank you. Do you know what a thirteen-week-old baby would look like?’
‘Do you mean a foetus, inside the womb?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t try to move your head, Rachel. Now let me think. From what I remember I seem to think that at thirteen weeks, it’s fully formed, just very small.’
‘Fully formed. Do you mean arms and legs?’
She nods. ‘Yep. And fingers and toes. It’s all there.’
‘How small?’
‘Oh heavens, you’re really putting me on the spot now. Let me think. Maybe the size of – oh, a plum, perhaps?’
‘A plum. A little plum.’ I smile weakly. ‘Thank you.’
She smiles back and touches my arm. ‘Try not to worry. I’m sure it’ll be fine. They’re a lot tougher than you think.’
During the X-rays, someone lays a very heavy, cold, piece of something over my belly. I still can’t move my head so I can’t check to make sure it’s properly covering my plum. ‘Have you made sure it’s covering the baby?’ I call out into what could very possibly be an empty room. ‘Is this definitely sufficient to protect it?’
‘Yes, Rachel, don’t worry. We know what we’re doing.’
‘But I don’t think this thing is over me properly. Can someone please check?’
At the ultrasound, the lady working it says that it is difficult to see anything because my bladder isn’t full, but she says there’s no apparent bleeding in the uterus and no bleeding externally, so she concludes there’s nothing to worry about. I disagree. I think there’s loads to worry about.
‘Can you do another scan in a couple of hours when my bladder is full? Just to make sure?’
She smiles at me and wipes the jelly off my tummy. ‘There’s really no need, Rachel. At this stage, your baby is still so tiny, it’s not likely to be affected by external pressure, unless it was very severe. It’s cushioned really well in a huge sac of fluid. You really don’t have anything to worry about, I promise.’
I catch sight of the notes she’s made as she picks up the papers and just glimpse the letters N.A.D. No abnormality detected. Which doesn’t mean there isn’t one.
So they’ve put a foam collar round me and they’re letting me go. I feel too fragile to be let go. There’s no way I can drive.
‘Is there someone you can call?’
It’s almost eleven o’clock at night. Who can I call? My first thought is Hector, in spite of the hour. Maybe even because of it. They won’t let me use the mobile in the hospital so one of the nurses takes it away and dials the ‘Home’ number from the office landline.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ she asks when she comes back. ‘Baby’s dad?’
If only. ‘Oh, no, no, just a friend, that’s all.’
‘Really? Well, he was very worried about you when I told him what had happened. He asked me to tell you not to worry, he’s coming straight over. He said he’ll take care of everything.’
‘Did he? ’S nice.’
Let’s watch Hector in his home for a few moments, as he flings the phone back down on to its cradle and runs the length of the hallway towards the front door.
‘Please, please, please,’ he’s saying, as he looks all around him, patting his pockets, rummaging through other jackets hanging up, running into the kitchen and snatching up a set of keys from the table.
It is possible he was saying, ‘Keys, keys, keys.’
He seizes a jacket from the hall cupboard, slamming the door shut carelessly and yanks open the front door. Just as he’s stepping over the threshold, he pauses, turns, looks up the stairs and calls out, ‘I’m just going . . .’ Then he catches himself and stops shouting. ‘Out to the hospital to help a friend,’ he finishes quietly, and closes the door behind him.
I think it’s worth watching for a few more seconds as he starts the car and drives it recklessly and fast through the dark streets towards the hospital. I particularly like the way he zooms through amber lights and pulls out in front of lorries at T-junctions, hunched forward on the seat.
The pain is subsiding a bit now, largely thanks to the vast quantities of drugs I’ve been given. (‘Are you sure these are safe for the baby?’) Through half-open eyes I can see that standing three feet away from my bed is a man in an elephant costume, like the one from the car insurance advert, and he’s talking to the Queen, apparently. Suddenly, bubbles start rising out of the end of his trunk and in that moment I realize that it’s a real elephant.
The nurse leaves me to doze on the trolley. After a short time, I can hear the sound of a familiar, deliciously deep voice talking to the doctor somewhere out of my sight. I blink a few times and the elephants – there are three of them now – melt away, to be replaced by Hector’s face, horizontally six inches above my face, and I’m looking right into his crinkly brown eyes.
‘Hello, sleepyhead. How’re you doing?’
‘’Lo, Hec.’ I close my eyes again, allowing myself to relax and drift away now that I feel completely safe.
‘What have you been doing?’ he says, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.
‘Don’t know. It was th’elephants. Had a crash.’
‘The . . . Well, you almost caused another one, you know. I must have been doing eighty all the way here. I can’t tell you what . . .’ He trails away and I open my eyes again. He’s looking at the foam collar round my neck, frowning.
‘You’re lovely,’ I say, even before I meant to. ‘Plum says thanks.’
‘Plum?’
I stroke my belly. ‘Plum. My baby. I’m having it. I’m having a baby.’
He looks at my whole face this time, his eyes circling my features – hairline, forehead, cheeks, nose, lips, and his gaze eventually lands on my eyes as he smiles. ‘You’re going to be a wonderful mum.’
Chapter Thirteen
HECTOR DROVE ME back to my flat – he had to keep nudging me for directions – put me in my bed and then slept on my sofa that night. It’s a two-seater and he’s a big man – did I mention that? – so it can’t have been very comfortable.
The next morning, when I get up, I’ve forgotten that he’s there and I go and sit on the toilet, leaving the door open as usual. My neck’s still so sore and gradually as I sit there, I try to replay what happened yesterday, culminating in Hector practically carrying me indoors, and—
Crap, he’s on the sofa, just yards away from where I’m having an enormous pee. Quickly I push the door closed with my foot, praying he’s still asleep.
If I’d been awake twenty minutes earlier, I’d have seen that having barely slept all night, he’d crept out early to go home for a shower and change of clothes before work. He’s left me a note on the sofa, though. You can see that little square of paper lying there on top of the folded blanket. When I look at it later on this morning, I’ll see that it says, ‘Dearest Rachel and Plum, I hope you’re both well this morning. I’m so sorry not to be there when you wake up but I have an early meeting today and I must change my stinky clothes and scrape the filth from my limbs. Please, please, ring me if you need anything. I will call you tonight. H.x PS Plum, be good for your mum.’
It’s a lovely note. After reading it, I fold it up and put it in my jewellery box.
Anyway, I have to spend two weeks off work with this sore neck, which is bliss. Have a quick peek at the office for me, would you? Has it all come to a complete standstill? Everyone vanished, furniture all packed up and gone, just a few stray papers blowing aro
und in the breeze from all the broken windows, loose telephone wires sticking out of the walls and a family of pigeons settled in the corner?
No, I didn’t think so.
Everyone is busy answering calls, sending out brochures, selling holidays and add-ons, in spite of my absence. There’s Jean, looking like she’s about to go for a cigarette break – she’s always only half an hour away from a cigarette break – and there’s Chrissie, leaning over her desk, engrossed in . . . hold on a minute. Who’s that talking to Jean? Is that Nick Maxwell? What on earth is he doing in Telesales? Has he come down to see me, perhaps? But he’s nowhere near my desk – in fact, he’s making his way over towards . . . Oh for goodness’ sake, look at Marion and Graham, staring at him like a kid looking in a toyshop window. Yeah, Marion, I said Toy, as in Boy. God, she must be in her thirties if not even older.
Hector is true to his word and calls me that evening. He calls me the next evening too, but not the one after that. The day after that, he calls during the day, and the day after that he brings me shopping and cooks me tea. During the second week, he calls only three times, each one in the evening. I am stuck in the flat so I spend every day waiting for his call.
Does this remind you of the day after Nick and I had got together, when I was hanging around the flat all day waiting for him to call, and pretending that I wasn’t? Me too. Except this time, I am quite happy to acknowledge that I am waiting for his call.
After two weeks I go back to work. I’m still keeping my resolve not to tell anyone, even Susan. But even though keeping it from her makes me feel a bit guilty, I can’t tell her, or anyone else, yet. The baby is nothing to do with them, it’s just between me and Hector. Oh, I mean, me and Nick. Silly me.
On one of my first days back at work, I come home and find a brown envelope in the mail box. I turn it over in my hands, examining the post mark and the handwriting, but I can’t guess what it is. Once I’m inside, I head for the kitchen and put the letter down on the countertop. I reach into the fridge for the orange juice, and the phone rings.
Thanks For Nothing, Nick Maxwell Page 19