by Lucy Dillon
He looked confused at first, then horrified. And then, when Becca sank against his chest, sobbing and wrapping her arms around him like a child, his own eyes filled with tears and he lifted his chin as high as he could over her head so she wouldn’t hear any stray gulps.
‘Becca,’ he kept saying, ‘my little girl. My little girl.’
‘Don’t be angry,’ Becca sobbed. ‘Please don’t be angry with me.’
‘I’m not angry. How could I be angry?’
Anna hesitated at the door, unsure whether he wanted to be left on his own with her, but his eyes told her that she should come in. She found it unbearable, the sight of Phil crying. She’d never seen him cry before, not like this.
Slowly she went over to the pair of them and put her arms around Becca too, wrapping her up in what comfort she could offer. And Phil seemed as grateful for her hug as Becca did.
Michelle watched Owen shovelling back his supper at her kitchen table as if he hadn’t been fed for a week, and wondered when he’d started looking so . . . ironed.
‘Owen, have you had your hair cut?’ she asked curiously.
‘Yeah. I had a meeting with the gym about doing their website support, and Becca said I had to go to the hairdresser.’ He stopped shovelling and looked sheepish. ‘Rory said it might be a good idea too, so, you know . . .’
‘Rory said?’
‘Yeah. I’m going to do the new website for Flint and Cook. Had to go and meet the head honcho and Rory reckoned he’s got a thing against guys with long hair.’ Owen touched his new, somewhat shorter but still shaggy hair. ‘It’ll grow back. Becca likes it. And the suit.’
Michelle marvelled at how she’d managed to miss all this.
What suit? Since when had Rory been helping Owen find work? Since when, in fact, had Owen been motivated enough to seek out new contacts, without her nagging him from a great height?
Maybe they’d been wrong to worry about Owen being a bad influence on Becca. She seemed to be having a much more significant influence on him. He’d be reading books next.
‘When did Rory put that your way?’ she asked, trying not to sound nosy.
‘I saw him in the bookshop. He’s often in there, browsing. Telling Anna how to do her displays better.’ Owen looked cheeky. ‘Passing comments about what you’re feeding Tavish.’
‘What?’ Michelle started but Owen’s phone beeped by his plate and his eyes swung to it at once.
‘Sorry, can I just get this?’ he said, already reaching for it. His generous lips curved into an automatic smile, and Michelle knew the text must be from Becca as he pushed the button with a practised thumb.
‘Don’t tell me, you’re supposed to be having dinner with her tonight?’ Michelle tried not to be jealous at the way a cloud of cartoon stars practically appeared round Owen’s head whenever he texted Becca. It was real for some people. It seemed to be happening for Owen.
He didn’t reply, and Michelle started to clear the plates to distract herself. Much as she loved Owen, and liked Becca, this wasn’t the best time for her to watch the cutesy texting back and forth. Now she’d unleashed it, Michelle’s grief for her lost twenties had sharpened over the past few days, and only close study of her accounts could take her mind off it.
‘Owen, can you come and help me?’ she asked. When he didn’t reply she looked over to the table. He was staring at the phone. ‘What’s up?’
Owen said nothing, but pushed his phone over the table. His expression was oddly blank, and she wondered for a second if Becca had dumped him.
It’d be a bit mean to do it by text, she thought – not Becca’s style. Maybe it was some other girl, the Dublin fling coming over and wanting to hook up? Awkward.
Michelle picked up the phone. The text was from Becca, but it read, ‘I’m pregnant. Can you come round to mine tonight at 7pm?’
‘Oh my God,’ said Michelle.
It was perfectly punctuated, no txtspk for Becca. And yet the tiny message was explosive. It changed the direction of everything, in just enough characters to fill a mobile phone screen. She had to read it three times just to absorb what Becca had said.
Michelle felt her head go light with adrenalin. ‘Oh my God, Owen. What were you thinking?’
He shook his head, unable to speak.
‘She’s only just eighteen! She’s a child! Why in the name of all that’s holy weren’t you using any kind of protection?’ Michelle’s voice was rising, as the knot in her stomach tightened. ‘You stupid, stupid, feckless idiot! What’s Becca going to do now? What about her university place? That poor girl, you’re old enough to know better than to—’
‘Shut up!’ Owen shoved his chair back and leaned on the table, glaring at her with shell-shocked eyes. ‘Give me a chance!’
‘Oh my God, poor Becca,’ said Michelle, covering her mouth as the full extent of it all sank in. ‘She’s only ever wanted to do what everyone else wanted. Poor Anna. Oh God, poor Anna . . . And Phil, he’ll be devastated . . .’
‘Stop going on about everyone else,’ Owen yelled. ‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘You do whatever she asks you to do.’
‘And don’t I have a say?’
‘To be honest?’ Michelle’s eyes flashed. ‘No. No, you don’t. This is about Becca, not you. Whether she goes ahead and has a baby, or decides not to, her life has changed. You’ll be the same person whether she has a baby or not, you can walk away from this, but Becca’s going to have to live with this forever, one way or another. So you do whatever she wants.’
Michelle barely knew what she was saying; the words were tumbling out of her faster than she could think them. Even the voice didn’t sound like hers; it was higher and shriller. She was talking about Becca, but a small voice underneath the stream of words warned her that this was coming from somewhere else. These were words she’d been thinking a long time, storing them up in a locked box in her head, and suddenly they were coming out, in full sentences.
Owen stared at her, uncomprehending.
‘My life would change too!’ he objected, slapping his chest. ‘There’s no way I’d walk away from Becca. What kind of person do you think I am?’
‘Someone I’ve had to bail out loads of times?’
‘That was rent! We’re talking about a human life! I can’t believe you think I’d do that.’
Michelle brushed his protests aside. ‘It’s not the same for men. You have no idea the weird things she’ll be thinking, either – not just, oh no, I’ve let down my family, and I’ve screwed up my career, and everyone at school’s going to be talking about me. They’re bad enough. She’ll be thinking, how did I let this happen? What kind of woman will it make me if I choose not to have this baby? And everyone will be offering her solutions and advice whether she wants it or not, and telling her what to think, as if she’s now a different person, and your job, the most important thing you can do, is to make her feel that she’s still her. Still her.’
She drew a deep breath as an awful thought occurred to her. That text had been very blunt. ‘Owen, this isn’t the point where you tell me you’ve already broken up?’
‘No.’ He paused for a long, long second. ‘I love her, Michelle. I’ve never met anyone like Becca. I’ll marry her if that’s what Phil wants.’
‘If he’ll let you, more like. Getting married isn’t always the answer. Sometimes it makes everything worse.’
Michelle sank down onto the sofa. Her fierce words hung in the air between them like the smoke after fireworks, and she knew she’d said too much, just from the stunned but curious way Owen was staring at her, afraid she might explode again at any moment.
That’s not his fault, she told herself. This is about him, not me.
Owen sat down next to her and the pair of them stared at the carefully restored Victorian fireplace that Michelle had never lit. It was full of identically sized pine cones, sprayed gold.
Silence stretched out between them, broken only by the sound of Tavish, who had j
ust appeared, waddling to the sofa and clambering up next to Michelle. She let him. Then Owen said, ‘Michelle, did I say something to upset you personally? I don’t know if there’s something I missed?’
She shook her head. ‘No. No.’
‘You and Harvey didn’t have children. Was there some sort of . . . ?’
‘It’s nothing to do with Harvey,’ said Michelle. She struggled to express herself when dark thoughts were flying around inside her head, too fast to catch. ‘I’ve been eighteen. I thought I knew everything, then when I got expelled it was as if I woke up one morning in someone else’s life. I know how Becca feels, that’s all. And I promised Anna this wouldn’t happen. She was terrified something like this would happen, and I promised her you were responsible.’
‘I have been,’ said Owen glumly. ‘I swear to you, it was only twice.’
‘Don’t they do scary sex education in schools any more? It only needs to be once.’
‘I know. And hello, it’s not just up to the bloke.’ Owen looked hurt. ‘You’re making out I forced this on her, and I didn’t. At all. I keep telling you, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I was prepared to wait as long as it—’
‘Well, clearly you didn’t,’ said Michelle.
Oh God. Poor Anna. Her heart ached for Anna. Where was her own baby going to come now? It would be just like Anna to insist on helping to raise Becca’s baby instead of having her own. And Phil would probably go for that.
Owen pushed himself off the sofa.
‘Where are you going?’ Michelle demanded. ‘We haven’t finished talking.’ She could hardly bar the door, but rational as he was being on the surface, the temptation to do a runner must be overwhelming right now.
And Owen had form, she reminded herself; he always meant well, but didn’t always follow through. This was a massive thing.
‘For a walk. Then I’m going to see Becca and tell her everything’s going to be fine. Whatever she wants.’ He paused, then looked at her with an angry sadness. ‘I don’t know what happened to you that you’re not telling me, but not all men are total bastards, you know. You always jump to the worst conclusions. You do it with me, with Rory, with Harvey, with everyone. You’re never going to be happy if you expect the worst all the time. Think about it, Michelle.’
He turned and left, leaving Michelle staring at the fireplace, her hand resting on Tavish’s wiry coat.
She knew she should be thinking about Becca, but Owen’s voice refused to leave her head.
28
‘I loved the Greek Myths as a child. I liked the brutal logic of the divine punishments, and the clever explanation of natural phenomena. Quite reassuring.’
Rory Stirling
Sarah came back on the first available flight, a ‘permission to fly’ note wrestled out of the hands of her expensive gynaecologist. Her reaction to Becca’s phone call could have powered her halfway across the Atlantic on its own. In an hour she went from disbelief, to disappointment, to fury (with Owen, who she ‘hadn’t even met!’), to happiness (of sorts), to anguished self-blame, to fury again (this time with Phil), to encouragement, and finally a lot of tears.
As it turned out, Becca’s panic about what to say wasn’t necessary, since she only managed to get about five per cent of the available airtime, anyway. When the call finished, her notebook of things she wanted to say was still open in front of her, covered in anxious doodles of circles within circles.
‘At least you know what she’s going to say when she gets here now,’ Anna reassured her, pressing a cup of tea into her trembling hands.
‘She’ll think of more on the plane,’ said Becca miserably. ‘You were the only person she didn’t lay into, Anna.’
‘And she needn’t start when she gets here,’ said Phil, speaking for the first time. ‘Because if she does, I’ll give her the last remaining piece of my mind.’
Phil and Anna had sat next to Becca while she made the phone call, using the old-fashioned telephone rather than Skype, ‘because I don’t want to see her face when she realises I’m not going to Cambridge after all’. Phil hadn’t been a huge amount of help so far – his initial shock had moved into a silent sort of despair that Anna suspected hid feelings he didn’t dare give voice to – and it had been Anna who’d taken charge, fumbling her way through the etiquette of a family crisis. Who to tell, in what order, and how much.
‘Thanks,’ said Becca. She rubbed her face. ‘I’m going to my room.’
‘Sure you don’t want any supper?’
Becca shook her head. ‘Don’t feel like eating, to be honest. Feel a bit sick. Apparently morning sickness can go on right until the third trimester.’
‘Of course.’ Anna kicked herself. Of course. There was so much she didn’t know. Her ignorance of motherhood was coming at her from both generations now.
When they got home, she’d discreetly left her secret stash of baby books in Becca’s room; if she asked, Anna decided, she’d pretend she’d got them from the shop. Becca hadn’t asked. She’d just started studying them with the same intensity with which she’d studied her set texts.
‘Give me a shout if Mum calls back,’ said Becca and shuffled out without looking back at Phil.
I should have started a conversation there, thought Anna, berating herself for her slow brain. The distance between Phil and Becca was killing her; Becca had barely been able to look at her father since she’d broken the news, and he seemed lost for words. And if it was killing Anna, she had no idea how painful it had to be for them.
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she whispered.
‘Will it?’ Phil sounded bleak. ‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘Because things work out.’
‘What? Like they worked out for me and Sarah? Pregnant at twenty, married at twenty-one, divorced at thirty-three? It’s just what my mother said would happen. History repeating itself. Only I always thought it would be Chloe who went off the rails and—’
‘Phil,’ said Anna in a low, warning voice, but she was too late.
Chloe stalked into the kitchen, shooting daggers at them both. ‘Why stop talking?’ she demanded, hands on her hips. The singing had stopped. ‘It’s not like I matter round here. What were you going to say? You always thought I would be the one to fail my exams and get pregnant? What a disappointment that must be for you. That I’ve only failed my exams so far!’
‘Chloe, that’s not what your father was going to say . . .’
‘I hate you,’ said Chloe very clearly, looking at Phil and ignoring Anna. ‘And as soon as Mum gets here, I’m going to tell her how much I hate living here with you, and I’m going to ask her to take me back to America with her. I’ve been looking up high schools in her area on the internet, and you can’t stop me.’
She turned and stormed out, stifling a sob or a scream, Anna couldn’t tell which, but it carried on right down into the cellar where the door slammed hard behind her.
Anna turned to Phil, expecting him to go after his daughter, but he just raised his hands, then dropped them wearily in his lap.
‘Go after her!’ she urged.
‘What can I say?’ he asked. ‘I have let her down. We’ve all let her down. It’s going to be chaos here, with Becca having the baby . . .’ He paused; that conversation hadn’t even been properly broached yet. ‘Or not having the baby, whatever she decides to do. Maybe it would be better for Chloe to have a year in the States with Sarah. Maybe she’ll get the attention she needs.’
Anna couldn’t believe he thought that, but then lately, she’d started to realise Phil took the path of least resistance a lot.
‘With Sarah?’ she repeated. ‘And her new baby? You think Sarah’s going to want to handle a stroppy teen as well as night feeds and a new routine and Jeff? I mean, yes, I don’t doubt she made the offer before she got pregnant, but now . . . You want Chloe to hear from her own mother that she doesn’t have time to deal with her right now?’
Phil frowned, then seemed to get her point. ‘God, you’re right.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe you could . . . I mean, they seem to take these things better from you.’
Anna bit her tongue. She was pretty sure she hadn’t married this spineless man. The one she’d married had been a lot more proactive.
‘So I’m useful for some mothering things, then? Just not having our own,’ she added, and hated herself the moment the words left her lips because she knew they weren’t true.
If she’d got pregnant first, it wouldn’t have made the blindest bit of difference to Sarah or Becca, whereas their babies had shoved hers right off the agenda, maybe forever, and what was she left with? A choice between bringing up Becca’s baby like a martyr, or abandoning the children she’d taken on willingly, in order to have her own? It was no choice at all.
‘Anna,’ Phil started, but she was already marching out of the room. She didn’t let herself storm off when the girls were around, as a matter of principle, but Anna’s patience was hanging by the thinnest of threads, and she didn’t trust herself to stay.
She took Pongo’s lead down from the hook by the door and he was by her side in an instant, his whippy tail flashing back and forth, always delighted by the chance of spending an hour with her.
‘Come on, Pongo,’ she said. ‘We’re going for a walk. A very, very long walk.’
If Anna had started feeling more like a mother to Becca, the illusion was instantly dispelled as soon as Sarah arrived. She was relegated to the background as rows and tears spilled out all over. The only spells of calmness came from Becca, who insisted, with a face like a Renaissance Madonna, that she was having her baby, that she refused to let it down. Her quiet confidence only made the whole thing more heartbreaking.
Anna ran around making sandwiches and keeping Lily and Chloe out of things while Sarah, Phil and Becca argued and wept, and then argued and wept with Owen and Michelle there too. Phil put up some token threats to smack some sense into Owen, but Becca refused to let him do anything of the sort, and his anger subsided back into bewilderment as the two beautiful young people sat holding hands in the kitchen, more composed than anyone.