Chloe walks into the office and takes a seat across from me. Her face is flushed and her breath is coming in quick gasps. She looks like she’s been running, or about to pass out. “Chloe, what happened? Are you ok?”
“Yes. Well, no, not really,” she splutters the words.
“Chloe, I have a mountain of work to do. Please tell me what happened.”
For a moment she almost seems about to burst into tears and I immediately feel bad. Quickly I stand up and walk towards her, leaning against the desk next to her chair and put my hand on her shoulder. The bone is jutting out. “Tell me how I can help.”
Vulnerability is soon replaced by her regular strong look as she squares her jaw and looks me straight in the eyes. “I was sick at school and they took me to the nurse.” she starts.
“Are you ok?” My heart’s pace increases and I realise I’m holding my breath.
“She ran some tests.”
Nodding, I continue rubbing her shoulder, urging her to continue, not wanting to say anything that gives her more opportunity to pause. When she doesn’t say anything, I smile to encourage her.
“She said I’m pregnant.”
Her words float in the silence that follows them. Neither of us says anything. I try to put on a look of surprise. “Are you?” I ask after a while.
Chloe shrugs. “They ran the test twice. That is what they said.”
“How far along are you?” Quickly, I work backwards to the date of her incident with Ben. By my calculations she must be around ten weeks pregnant. I dare not hope that the timing works in our favour.
“They didn’t tell me. But I know that it could only have happened that time, with Ben.”
“And you’re sure of that.”
“Of course I am,” she fires back, shrugging her shoulder like my touch burns.
“And you didn’t know until today?” She must have at least suspected that something was happening.
“I’ve been feeling a bit strange, but I put it down to stress. I suppose I had some suspicions, but just hoped that I was wrong. There was nobody I could ask if this was normal.”
The scar on my hand tingles and I rub it gently. “You can always come to me.” Even as I say the words I realise that I have still to prove I mean them. Despite recognising Chloe’s vulnerabilities, I have done little to make her trust me, see me as more than her legal representative but someone who wants the best for her beyond the case. I need to try harder to make her feel comfortable talking to me. It’s the only way she will really open up and we can stand a chance of winning this case. I need every bit of information that can help us. “My door is always open.”
There’s a knock and Jennifer walks in. “Your next meeting is here.”
My mind goes blank and then floods with the question I’ve asked myself again and again over the years. If I had had the courage to come clean about what I had done back then, I wonder how different life would be. Jennifer returns my stare, tipping her head knowingly towards Chloe, forcing back my memory. “Reschedule,” I say. “And hold my calls.”
The click of the door closing is the only sound in the room as I fix on the teenager in front of me. The corners of my mouth twitch upwards. “This is good.” Chloe’s blank expression tells me she’s not yet thinking what I’m thinking. “This is the proof we need that Ben raped you.”
*
The drive home is a blur. I can’t forget the horrified look on Chloe’s face at my excitement about her pregnancy and wish I had been more subtle. Yet this is the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for, I’m sure of it.
As soon as Chloe leaves my office I pick up the phone to call George Winters. Surely a more thorough investigation would have to take place now that she is pregnant. But before he can answer, I’m assailed by doubt. If the nurse got it wrong, or if Chloe misunderstood, if the timing doesn’t fit and the baby was someone else’s, it might destroy my whole case. Hanging up, I decide to keep the information to myself until I can get more answers, until I am certain that this development can work in our favour.
When I get home, I try to put Chloe at the back of my mind while I turn to my family, building Lego towers and reading books with the children. Back downstairs after putting them to bed, I find Miles reheating yesterday’s leftovers.
“How was your day?” he asks as I sit down at the kitchen island.
“Ok, busy.”
“Were you in court today?”
“Yes, just this morning though. I spent most of the afternoon buried in paperwork. Poor Jennifer was still at the office filing motions when I left. How about you?”
“Same as always. One surgery after the other and then a ton of patient files to complete. I feel like I have no time for research anymore and hate the feeling of not being completely up to date with what’s happening.” Miles takes the chicken vindaloo out of the microwave, transferring it into mismatched bowls.
“We should go away somewhere,” he says suddenly. “Just take a couple of weeks off and go somewhere sunny, lie on a beach. Maybe even invite your parents; that way we can have some time on our own while they look after the children.”
The thought of lazy days on the beach, licked by the sun’s rays, reading something that’s not a legal document, not trying to be in three places at once, overwhelms me for a second. I can almost smell the saltiness of the water, hear the waves crashing. But I know that neither of us can just up and leave. Miles might be making the suggestion, but every trip we take has to be perfectly planned out so that none of his scheduled surgeries have to be postponed.
“I’d love to,” I say.
“Is there a ‘but’ coming?”
“I have a trial starting in a few weeks, just after the New Year.”
“Is this that girl’s case?”
“Yes.” When I don’t elaborate he asks how it’s going.
“She’s been feeling unwell, actually threw up in my office just last week.” Miles has a concerned look on his face, the one he always gets when someone starts talking about a health problem. “She was sick at school today and the nurse told her she’s pregnant.”
“Whoa, that’s awful!” Miles exclaims. “She’s just a child herself.”
Despite the horrified expression on his face, I cannot keep my enthusiasm at bay. “Yes, it’s not ideal. But it could help the case, provide proof that the guy she ran over raped her. If it is him.”
“Oh my God, Liz! Why does everything have to be about the case? This is going to ruin her life.”
“Going to jail will also ruin her life,” I answer indignantly. “I’m trying to see the bigger picture.”
Shaking his head, Miles digs his fork into his bowl of vindaloo and we eat in silence for a few moments. “What’s she going to do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she knows herself. It’s all been a shock to her.”
“I can imagine. But perhaps this is the push she needs to turn her life around.”
“Maybe. Unless she decides to terminate.”
Miles looks at me, his eyes searching my face. “Is that what she wants to do?”
“I really don’t know. This all just happened. But there are other options as well.”
“What? Giving the baby up for adoption?” he asks. Nodding, I look down at my food, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Is that what you’re advising her to do?”
His eyes bore into mine and I shuffle in my chair. “It’s not my place to give her advice on that,” I say, staring deep into my bowl.
“I’ve never been able to understand how a mother could abandon her child.”
His words are like daggers to my heart. I want to protest. Explain to him that sometimes it’s the only option. That it is not a selfish choice, but one meant to give the child a better life, and one of the hardest choices a mother can make.
“And what will she do then? Continue living her life as if the child never existed? Refuse to acknowledge what happened to her? Even to the people she’s closest to?”
<
br /> He glares at me. Anger distorts his face and I cringe, remembering his old questioning about my past. I know he suspects that I had a child before Julian; he’s a doctor after all and his suspicions were provoked even more when my doctor questioned me. I’m transported back to the examination room when I was pregnant with Julian. “So, this is your first pregnancy?” the doctor had asked, disbelief evident in his voice. Miles’ head had shot up. He’d quizzed me about the same exact issue so I knew that he had his suspicions. But I’d remained steadfast in my denial.
“What’s the next step?” he finally asks.
“I was about to tell the prosecutor, but had second thoughts. I want to have this pregnancy confirmed.”
“Have you spoken with her doctor?”
“No, she hasn’t seen one yet. I need to arrange that for her, determine the length of the pregnancy so we can find out whether the timeline fits in with the rape.”
“Don’t you believe her?”
“Who knows! People lie all the time. I want to be sure before acting on this information, find a way to confirm whether the guy is really the baby’s father.”
“That’s easy to do,” Miles says.
“It’s not just that,” I continue. “I’m worried that if Ben is not the baby’s father, this pregnancy will make her seem easy and her rape claims will lose their intensity.” I pause to try and eat. I’m surprised Miles is letting me talk this over, so I hazard another of my conundrums about the case.
“I just wish there was a way to do the test without informing the prosecution. Or Ben.”
Miles looks at me, narrowing his eyes until they look like slits in his face. He drops his fork and pushes the bowl away from him. His right hand forms into a fist and he bangs it on top of the island, causing the bowls and glasses to clatter.
“No, Liz!” His voice is raised. “We’re not doing this again.”
“Doing what?”
“I know he was at my hospital. I’m not going to look for his file for you. Or try to dig out blood samples.”
“I never asked you to!”
“You didn’t have to. I know what you’re thinking. That was a one-time thing. I’m never again accessing a patient’s file for you.”
“Hey, that was years ago. Why do you have to keep bringing it up?”
Picking up my glass, I take a sip of water, wanting to cool down before saying something that I will regret. But Miles is still staring at me, his face tinged with the regret that is always apparent when he is reminded of his role in that case several years ago. My client was contesting his mother’s will and I was desperate to find more information about the elderly lady’s state of mind before she died, something that was not written in the official hospital documents but might be hidden in the copious notes that nurses take and which Miles could access.
“I was not going to ask you to do anything unethical,” I say, wanting to diffuse the argument.
“You’ve done it before. It was the wrong thing to do and I still regret it.” His eyes still blazing with anger, Miles stands up and leaves the kitchen. I make a feeble attempt to continue eating but each forkful is more difficult to digest than the one before. Throwing out the rest of the meal, I rinse both bowls and put them in the dishwasher, before going in search of my husband.
Miles is sitting up in bed, a medical journal open in front of him. In the dim light coming from his bedside lamp I can see his forehead knotted in a frown and his mouth set in a thin line. We haven’t talked about the incident with the medical records for some time and I had no intention of bringing it up. Miles has been clear many times that he’d never do it again and now that I’m older and more mature I won’t ask him to jeopardise his reputation and a job he loves to help a client.
Yet there’s a small part of me that hoped he would offer a solution. That he would have been willing at least to think it through with me. That he recognises how important it is to prove that Ben is the father. That he understands, like I do, that Chloe’s future depends on this.
In the bathroom I change into my nightgown and scrub my face clean, wishing I could wash away the tension between us so easily. Opening the cabinet, I look at the neatly lined face creams and take out my favourite lotion, applying it liberally to my face and neck. My bare feet sink into the carpeting when I walk into the bedroom. Standing at my side of the bed, I pull my hair into a pony tail. Miles doesn’t look up, not even when I get into the bed and inch my way towards him.
Not wanting to go to sleep without making up, I touch his left hand. It takes a few seconds before he looks at me, his face still scrunched in anger. “Let’s not fight,” I say gently.
“You still don’t understand that what we did was wrong,” he spits out.
“Of course I do.” My voice threatens to break at his accusation.
“You’d do anything to win a case, irrespective of who else gets hurt.” It’s as if he hasn’t heard me. “You lose sight of reality when you take on these cases. That’s why I begged you to give this one a miss.”
“That’s not true!” I hiss back, not wanting to shout in case I wake up the children. “I never asked you for help. You simply jumped to conclusions.”
“Did I? Or were you paving the way to ask me to get my hands on Ben’s file?” He pauses, looking at me pointedly. “I know you well Elizabeth, perhaps better than you know yourself. I could sense what you were getting at.”
A hot flush makes its way through my body as hurt is replaced by anger. Perhaps there was a small part of me that hoped Miles would help, but I’m still angry at his accusations. “If you knew me so well you’d have known I was not going to ask you for anything,” I insist. And then, I can’t help unleash, “You need to get off your high horse sometimes. It’s not like you never made a mistake in your life.”
Miles’ face changes in front of my eyes. His pursed lips open slightly and his brows shoot upwards in shock. “Don’t bring my mother into this,” he throws back at me.
“I never mentioned your mother. You’re the one with the guilty conscience.”
“I did what I had to do.” This time his voice is softer and I can barely hear him. “She was suffering and it was only going to get worse. At least she died with dignity.”
Throwing the covers off himself, Miles gets out of bed and starts leaving the room. He turns back and says: “We only get one big mistake in our lifetime. That was mine.” Then, he walks out, slamming the door behind him.
His bare feet make a pattering sound on the corridor’s hardwood floors. Moments later I hear cupboards downstairs being opened and the clink of ice hitting a glass. I strain for more sounds but cannot hear anything through the closed door.
For what seems like hours I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, playing our argument over and over in my head. I don’t move, not even to turn off Miles’ lamp. Part of me wants to go and find my husband, but his harsh words still echo in my ears, the hurt they caused stronger than my desire to make amends. Closing my eyes, I try to let sleep take over.
But I can’t. Just like I often do, I lie there, asking myself again and again how things would have panned out had I not run away all those years ago. If instead I had gone to the police. How different would my life be if I had come clean?
The mattress bows under his weight when Miles gets into bed. Opening my eyes, I glance at the clock on my bedside table. It’s past two o’clock. The lamp is no longer on, but the sliver of light coming from the window allows me to see my husband’s face. His hair is dishevelled, as if he’s spent the past hours continuously running his hands through it. His expression is resigned, his eyebrows and mouth both sloping downwards. Moving towards his side of the bed, I reach out for him, and when he turns towards me I can smell the alcohol on his breath. In the dim light I can see that his eyes are glistening with unshed tears and I hug him tightly.
It breaks my heart to see him upset, knowing that what he did was intended to stop his mother’s suffering yet that his guilt still eats at
him in his darkest moments. And I’m sad that while he confided in me his biggest secret, I have never found it in my heart to tell him mine.
Chapter 12
1998
I was to stay at the clinic for two days to recuperate. The next morning passed quickly. The doctor came to check on me, telling me that I was doing well. I spent the time watching TV and napping. Physically, I was feeling better, with just a few pains that were well managed with mild painkillers. But my heart felt heavy, and as much as I tried to focus on reading, I was unable to get the baby’s sweet face out of my mind.
By early afternoon I wanted to go for a walk, even if it was along the hospital corridors. I was starting to feel cooped up. I tightened the drawstring on the black yoga pants, pulled on a hooded fleece over my t-shirt and tied my long hair in a ponytail. I remembered to put the glasses on and left the room.
The hospital was buzzing with activity. I had not noticed the day before, but there were festive decorations everywhere. The Christmas tree was wrapped in twinkling lights, while candles flickered on a Menorah stood on the reception desk. Everyone was smiling, looking extremely happy. Men walked around with beaming faces, heavily pregnant women paced the corridor, their eyes sparkling with joy despite the painful grimaces on their faces. You could feel the pulse of excitement, the joyousness of new beginnings.
I walked along the corridor, trying to keep out of the way of the scurrying nurses. I looked at the cheerful cards attached to the notice board covering a large wall. There were notes of thanks from delighted parents. Photos and photos of smiling babies met my gaze. I looked at each of them, wondering whether next year her parents would send a photo of the baby I’d given birth to last night, whether her image would be stuck on this same notice board.
Despite not wanting to think about her, wishing more than anything to put all that had happened behind me, I couldn’t help but wonder how she was doing. Was she healthy? Did I do things right? Did I take care of her well enough while she was inside me? I felt this incredible urge to know. And without even realising what I was doing, I started walking towards the nursery.
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