Fiona smiled weakly and nodded. ‘Yes, I hope so.’ She managed to eat a couple of slices of chicken and a small amount of potatoes and vegetables. She was quite hungry really, after a diet of mushy food, and her throat didn’t hurt as much now. Mary was a good cook of plain food, and she had made an easily digestible egg custard to follow.
The conversation over dinner was largely concerned with the church service and the vicar’s sermon, and the forthcoming council meeting. Fiona took no part in it, except to nod her head in acquiescence when her mother suggested that she might be well enough to accompany them to church next Sunday.
The afternoon was warm, and Fiona sat in a deckchair in the small back garden, attempting to read the book that Diane had brought, but she was unable to concentrate. When her parents had gone off, once again, to the evening service she went to bed, hoping and praying that she would be able to sleep and that, by morning, her fears would prove to be groundless. Despite the torment in her mind she did sleep well, as her illness was still sapping away at her strength and vitality.
Strangely enough, her mother did not seem to be imagining that there might be another reason, apart from her illness, to prevent the onset of her period. Mary did not know, of course, about her friendship with Dave. If she had known, Fiona wondered if she would now be worried and wondering if her daughter had done something that she shouldn’t have, or did she believe that such a thing could never happen to her little girl? Fiona felt sick with fright at the thought of her parents finding out; but as the days went by – Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday – and still there was no sign, she tried to make herself face up to what she now felt certain had happened.
Should she pretend that she had ‘started’, she wondered. No; her mother was no fool and would soon discover that she was lying. Besides, it was only postponing the inevitable. She stayed in bed for most of the time although she was, in truth, quite a lot better. It would be best, though, to let her mother think that she was still feeling poorly. As, indeed, she was, but it was now a sickness of her mind rather than of her body.
Towards the end of the next week Mary sent for the doctor again, fearing that her daughter must have had a relapse. She was lethargic, complaining again that her throat was hurting, and so deep in a state of depression that she would scarcely speak to anyone. Neither did she want any visitors, which Mary thought was most unusual.
‘Now, come along, love,’ said her mother. ‘You really must try to cheer up a bit. You’re not helping yourself, you know.’ Turning to the doctor she went on, ‘I’m really worried about her. She’s like this all the time. Her temperature is down now – I’ve checked – and I thought she’d be feeling better by now. I think there must be something seriously wrong.’
Dr Mackintosh smiled gravely. ‘I told you, Mrs Dalton, that this illness can have a very debilitating effect on the mind as well as the body. Just leave me alone with her for a wee while, would you dear, then Fiona and I can have a chat?’
‘I’ll go and make a cup of tea then,’ said Mary, nodding curtly.
When she had gone the doctor sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of Fiona’s hand. ‘Now, my dear,’ he said. ‘Try to tell me exactly how you feel.’
Fiona looked at his craggy face and beetling brows, and at the shrewd grey eyes observing her so concernedly. Typical Scottish features, she had always thought, and she felt that here was someone she could trust, someone who might well understand.
‘Doctor,’ she began, in a small voice. ‘I’ve got something awful to tell you.’ Her voice broke in a sob, then she took a deep breath before saying, ‘I think I’m pregnant.’
‘Oh, dearie me!’ the doctor said, but quite calmly. ‘No wonder you’re in such a state. But try to calm down and tell me about it. You’ve missed a period, have you, or more than one?’
‘No, only one, but I’m nearly a fortnight late now,’ she replied. ‘I know it’s not all that long, but I’ve never been late before. And . . . well . . . I know what I’ve done.’
She told him about Dave, her first boyfriend, and how she had had too much to drink – although it wasn’t really all that much – and how it had happened, just the once. ‘And I know I’m pregnant; I must be, and I’m so scared of telling my mum and dad. They’ll kill me!’
‘Of course they won’t,’ said the doctor. ‘They may well be surprised or even shocked, but loving parents like yours, they usually come to terms with it. But it’s early days, Fiona. What you fear may not be so. You’ve been ill and you’ve been worrying about it, and that won’t have helped.’
‘I’m sure though,’ she said. ‘In my own mind, I’m sure. Can’t you find out? Can’t you tell me whether I am . . . or not?’
‘It’s too early to examine you,’ he said. He looked at her gravely. ‘I could take a urine test, and then we would know in a few days’ time. Would you like me to do that?’
‘Oh, yes, please,’ she said. ‘I shall have to know, won’t I, and the sooner the better. But don’t tell my mother, will you? Just in case, well, like you say, I may not be.’
‘I promise you I won’t breathe a word,’ he replied. ‘A doctor can’t break a confidence, you know. It’s just between you and me. I’ll tell your mother that I’m taking a sample; that could be for all sorts of reasons. Here you are, lassie.’ He took a small bottle out of his black bag. ‘Off you go, and do what you can, and I’ll be able to tell you in a little while. You’ve been a silly girl, but it’s not the first time I’ve heard this kind of story, and it won’t be the last. There’s always a way round it, but you really must try not to worry too much. What’s done is done, you know.’ His smile was full of sympathy and understanding. ‘And I’ll do all I can to help you.’
‘And . . . if I am,’ said Fiona, ‘will you be there with me when I have to tell my mother, please, Dr Mackintosh?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We’ll face the music together. But we don’t know yet, do we? Now off you go to the bathroom. I can hear your mother coming with the tea.’
Whilst Fiona was away he explained to Mary that her daughter was possibly having a ‘wee complication’, nothing to worry about, but he was taking a sample to see if he could get to the crux of the matter.
‘Just look after your lassie,’ he told her when Fiona returned. ‘She’s a grand girl. Maybe she’s not recovering quite as well as I hoped, but it sometimes takes longer than expected.’
He drank his tea quickly then said goodbye. ‘I’ll call again in a few days’ time,’ he said. ‘Chin up, Fiona. I’ve told you, sometimes it takes a wee while to get over what you’ve had.’ He gave her a confidential wink when her mother was not watching. ‘But you’re going to be fine, I’m sure. Don’t worry now. We’ll look after you . . . Goodbye for now, Mrs Dalton. Keep up the good work; plenty of drinks and a little food when she feels like it.’
‘Oh dear!’ said Mary after the doctor had gone. ‘I do hope there’s nothing else wrong with you, with the doctor taking that sample, I mean. I can’t help worrying.’ Fiona was sure, though, that the most probable reason for taking a sample had not occurred to her mother.
‘There’s no point in worrying,’ said Fiona. Knowing that Dr Mackintosh was sympathetic and would be there to support her was helping her to feel a little bit easier about everything. ‘It’s just taking longer than we expected for me to get right again, that’s all.’ She knew that until the doctor came again she must exaggerate how poorly she was feeling.
‘Oh dear!’ said Mary again. ‘I was hoping you would be able to go to church with us on Sunday.’
‘Oh no, Mum. I don’t feel well enough for church just yet,’ she replied quickly. ‘Maybe the week after.’
‘I hope so,’ said Mary. ‘I can think of no better place for you to go to help you to get well . . . I can’t help thinking that a lot of it is in your mind, Fiona,’ she added a trifle sharply.
Fiona knew that it was, indeed, in her mind. She was nearly out of her mind with worry, but for a very di
fferent reason. She feigned illness for the next few days and her mother did not appear overly suspicious.
‘There’s a letter here for you from Diane,’ Mary said when they returned from church on Sunday morning. ‘She sends her love, and I told her that maybe she could see you soon.’
She opened the envelope in the privacy of her bedroom. There was a cheery letter from Diane saying how much she missed her and how sorry she was that the holiday had ended with her being ill. She also wrote that she was now going out with Andy, that they had been to the pictures together and were getting on really well. There was also a note from Dave.
‘My dear Fiona, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you are ill. We had a great time together in London, didn’t we? Please get better soon. I’m longing to see you again. I know I mustn’t call at your house. I don’t suppose you’ve told your parents about me yet, have you? Love you lots. Dave.’
She felt a lump on her throat, then the tears started. Whatever was she going to do? She shoved the letter away at the bottom of her underwear drawer and tried to contain herself before going down to make an attempt to eat the Sunday dinner.
When the doctor came on Wednesday morning Fiona was still in bed.
‘Here’s Dr Mackintosh,’ said her mother brightly. ‘Come along now, Fiona, and tell the doctor how you’re feeling. I think she’s rather better, Dr Mackintosh.’
‘Good,’ he said, nodding briefly. ‘Could you leave us for a few minutes, please, Mrs Dalton? Fiona and I need to have a wee chat.’
‘I’ll be downstairs then,’ said Mary. She appeared not to like being summarily dismissed.
The doctor sat at the edge of the bed and took hold of Fiona’s hand. She looked at him appealingly, but she could tell by the grave look in his eyes that it was not good news. ‘Yes, my dear,’ he said. ‘It is as you feared. You are pregnant.’
She took an intake of breath and gave a long shuddering sigh. ‘Oh . . . no! Whatever am I going to do?’
‘As I told you, we’re going to face this together,’ he said. ‘Straight away. We’ll have to tell your mother. You know that, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I’m really frightened. She’ll go absolutely mad.’
‘Maybe,’ he replied. ‘Maybe not. But we’d better find out.’ He squeezed her shoulder gently. ‘Just try to calm down as much as you can, my dear.’ He went out on to the landing and called for her mother. ‘Mrs Dalton, could you come up here, please.’
She arrived very quickly and the doctor motioned to the bedroom chair. ‘Sit down, would you, dear. We have something to tell you.’ He glanced reassuringly at Fiona, then went on quickly to break the news to her mother. ‘I have discovered that Fiona is pregnant.’
‘What!’ Mary’s cry could have been heard out in the street. ‘She can’t be. She’s not got a boyfriend. No, no, you’re wrong, doctor.’
‘You do realize, though, that she has missed a period?’ he asked.
‘Well, yes, but it’s because she’s been ill. It’s not that . . . It can’t be!’ Mary looked at her daughter, her expression changing from indignation to one of shock and horror as Fiona nodded slowly.
‘Yes, I am, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry . . .’
Mary stared at her as though she didn’t understand, her mouth open in sheer amazement. ‘But why . . . how could it have happened?’
Even though she was still scared to death Fiona was tempted to say, ‘In the usual way, Mum,’ but it was no time for levity. Her mother would not appreciate it at all.
‘It was . . . while we were in London,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid that – I’m really sorry, Mum – I had too much to drink one night and . . . well . . . it happened.’
‘On a church holiday!’ Mary gasped. ‘I only let you go because I thought you were in good hands with Colin and Sheila. What on earth were they thinking of, letting something like this happen? And you’d been drinking, you say? But you don’t drink, Fiona. Somebody took advantage of you, didn’t they? It wasn’t him, was it? Colin Wilkes?’
‘No . . . no, of course it wasn’t.’
‘Well, who was it then?’
Fiona shook her head. ‘I’m not going to tell you.’
‘Oh yes you are, young lady!’ stormed her mother. Anger was taking the place of shock and horror now as the awful truth dawned on Mary. ‘You’re going to tell me who has done this. I shall be down at that youth club and I’ll tear him limb from limb, whoever he is. And I can’t believe that you would do . . . that . . . willingly. Somebody forced you, didn’t they? Come along, Fiona, tell me. They’re not going to get away with this.’
Fiona shook her head again as she felt tears start to prick at her eyes. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t forced. I told you; I’d had a drink, and I’m not used to it. And it just happened. But I wasn’t . . .’ She took a breath. ‘I wasn’t raped.’
‘Then that makes it worse,’ cried Mary. ‘You’re a wicked deceitful girl, Fiona. You’re nothing more than . . . than a trollop! This is just terrible . . . terrible!’ She clenched her trembling hands tightly together. ‘I would never have believed it of you, Fiona. I’m ashamed of you, thoroughly ashamed. I shall never forgive you.’
Dr Mackintosh had been standing there helplessly. He moved across the room now to the distraught woman and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Now, come along, Mrs Dalton. This won’t do any good, you know. You’ve had a shock and I know you’re upset. But Fiona is not a wicked girl and I’m sure you don’t mean that. I’ve known her since she was a tiny wee lassie, and I know how much you and your husband love her. Maybe she’s been a silly lass, but these things happen sometimes. I’ve seen the same thing time and time again. And what Fiona needs now is your support.’
Mary didn’t answer. Both mother and daughter sat in silence for several moments, Mary still shaking her head as if in disbelief. Then she spoke. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to get through this. There’s never been anything like it in my family, nor in Wilfred’s. It’s shameful . . . shameful. Whatever are people going to think? I shall be ashamed to face anybody.’ She looked angrily at her daughter. ‘How could you, Fiona? How could you disgrace us like this?’
The doctor sighed. ‘Your reaction is, I suppose . . . predictable. You’re upset and angry and maybe you’ve a right to be. But it does happen, all the time, even in the best of families. And these situations often resolve themselves quite happily. There’s always a way through, you know.’
Mary looked at him indignantly. ‘If you mean what I think you mean then that is out of the question. I wouldn’t dream of letting you . . . put an end to the pregnancy. My husband and I are Christians, and it would be against our principles. No, Fiona has done wrong and she will have to face up to what is ahead . . . somehow.’
‘You don’t know me very well, Mrs Dalton, if you think that,’ said the doctor sounding sad as well as a trifle vexed. ‘That – what you were inferring – is illegal, apart from in exceptional cases; and I, too, abide by Christian principles and by the oaths I made as a doctor. If, as you say, you are Christians, then maybe you should try to show some Christian love and forgiveness, now, to your daughter. What I meant was that matters can be resolved, especially in a family such as yours. I know how well you have brought Fiona up . . . and how much you love her?’ His last words were said in a questioning way, rather than as a statement of fact.
‘Anyway, it’s early days,’ he continued, ‘but you can be sure that I’ll be here to take care of Fiona’s progress, and to help you in any way I can.’ He stepped towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you now. I’m sure you will have things to talk about.’ He smiled at Fiona, a sympathetic smile which made her feel slightly better about the mess she was in. Here, at any rate, was someone who understood.
‘Goodbye for now, Fiona, my dear; goodbye, Mrs Dalton. I’ll let myself out.’
As soon as she heard the door close behind the doctor Mary started again, but a shade less aggressively. ‘Come along now, Fiona; you’re go
ing to tell me. I insist. Who is responsible for . . . this?’
Again Fiona shook her head. ‘I won’t tell you. I’ve already said . . . I was partly responsible. And I wasn’t . . . forced. Yes, I’d had a drink, and maybe, well . . . I know I let things go too far. But I can’t tell you. I won’t tell you.’ She was not sure why she did not want to incriminate Dave. She was not sure, in fact, what she wanted to do at all. But the last thing she wanted was her mother seeking out Dave and attacking him verbally, if not physically; she was in such a rage.
‘Alright then, madam. Have it your own way. But I’ll find out. You can be sure of that. I shall be there at that youth club the first chance I get, and Colin Wilkes will have to tell me what’s been going on. Such disgraceful behaviour, and on a church outing!’
All that Fiona could think of saying was, ‘I’m sorry, Mum, really I am.’
She fancied that there was just a trace of sympathy there in her mother’s half smile. ‘Well, what’s done is done, I suppose. We’ll say no more about it at the moment. I can’t imagine what you father is going to say though. And you’d better get up and dressed. There’ll be no more lounging in bed pretending you’re ill. I know you’ve been poorly, Fiona, but there’s nothing wrong with you now except what you’ve brought upon yourself. You’d best come down and have a spot of dinner when you’re ready, not that I feel much like eating, I can tell you.’
The rest of the morning and afternoon passed by quietly as neither Fiona or her mother felt like talking. Fiona went up to her bedroom again after she had eaten her meal – a hastily made shepherd’s pie – and helped her mother, in near silence, to wash the pots. She tried to settle to reading a magazine but her thoughts were all over the place. She felt a little easier now that the worst hurdle – telling her mother – was over. There was still her father, though; she couldn’t imagine what his reaction would be. Both her parents were quiet, reserved sort of people, although Mary could get angry when roused, as Fiona had just seen. It was really the one and only time that Fiona had seen her so outraged. She felt that her father would be more able to keep a check on his anger . . . but time would tell.
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