I must catch the post. Please destroy this letter. I shouldn’t be writing it, but my life could end soon, and you need to make an informed decision. Don’t worry, I will make sure that my solicitors are aware.
Yours sincerely,
Thora
I read it again. Why did she think I was pregnant? The writing looped and curved along a strange trail from the beginning to the end. A ship’s monogram sat resplendent at the top of the headed paper, and told me of adventure and exciting journeys. But the letter burnt my hands, and the sensation made me vomit into the sink.
Chapter 24
27 August 1970
Storm clouds gathered and brought a steady rain as I made my way to Thora’s. The promise of thunder and lightning loomed, threatening to dissipate the crushing heat. My burnt skin, hot and pink, trapped sunshine on my naked arms and legs. It tightened and stung. Restless yet apathetic, it seemed that my brain couldn’t decide between living or dying. A storm suited the day’s mood perfectly. Longing for my dad’s arms crushed my spirit and agitated my feet. I stamped on the dry grass, squeezing the fragrance from cracked and desiccated stems into the air.
Mum came home as I was clearing up the vomit, and found Thora’s letter. She had no right to read it. We tussled over words of shame, guilt, regret. Her eyes were crazy with impotence as I revealed how deep Frankie’s love was for me. She hesitated when I pointed out his redeeming features, which continued to seduce her. She waved her arms and stuttered as the truth dawned. His wealth, status, good looks and charm were irrelevant without a ring on my finger. Gifting Frankie my virginity was my right. I was taking the pill and wasn’t pregnant. She turned from me, her face flooded with so much anger that her ears throbbed on her head.
Hindered by my stonewalling, she then insisted I try on my bridesmaid dress. As expected, because of the side effects of the pill, it was tight. Again, the pestering questions. Again, my denial that I was pregnant. Then an onslaught of strange myths and methods to bring about the death of this imaginary clump of cells. Hot baths, alcohol, and running uphill. Other possible ways to abort it, with disposal down flushing toilets. She made me pee in a bottle and had taken it to the chemist for testing. The result would be back today.
All through her rant, she regaled me with Peter’s feelings. Peter will withdraw his support for my education. Peter will not be happy. Peter will likely change his mind about me. Peter will share her shame. Peter will not have his doorway darkened. This man, my mother deemed fit to replace her previous husband. A husband who had lost his inheritance for her love and made himself and his family poor; a man who overflowed with compassion and regard for all humanity; he should be her one and only husband.
I’d be homeless if I was pregnant. The adults had changed into patronising judges bent on eviction and murder. If there was a baby, why did everyone want to kill it?
***
Erik Schmidt had his back to me as I approached Oaktree House. Thora straightened, her demeanour changing, and Schmidt turned to me. He was saying he’d report her, as his eyes slid over me, his lizard tongue flicking against flabby wet lips. It seemed that Thora was incapable of stopping him from pestering her. She was powerless, and not, as she’d professed in her letter, an adult and a doctor with authority.
‘Carol. Nice to see you. Looking lovely in that little, um, dress. Ouch! You’ve burnt your delicate skin. You’ll need to rub cream into that. Is there someone who can help do that?’
‘If he’s bothering you, Thora, we should call the police?’
‘It’s fine. Erik’s leaving, aren’t you Erik?’
‘What’s the matter, Carol? Don’t you like your teacher now? You have forgotten how I helped you?’
‘You haven’t helped me … you …’
‘I’ve shown you how to develop your talent. Are you putting on weight?’ He appraised my stomach, his fingers rubbing his thumb. Thora’s face twitched.
‘As you’ve done so much for me, we should go to the Head and tell him. About me hiding in your car …’
‘What’s this?’ Thora threw her hands up to her ears.
‘It’s nothing. Carol's dramatising, like all girls her age. They’re all attention-seekers.’
‘How is Christine Allbright getting on under your private tuition, Mr Schmidt?’ I remembered that Sarah had said something a few months ago and had wondered if we should talk to a teacher in case he was now targeting this other girl. But I’d not followed it up with her; Frankie consumes every waking moment.
‘Christine’s doing well. She has talent, much more than you. She’s easy to … teach.’ His smile faded as he turned and walked back to his car. ‘Lovely talking to you. I hope we can chat again soon. Very soon.’
He drove off, grit spraying as he crashed the gears. Thora followed me into the kitchen, where she filled the kettle. Schmidt’s presence had been unnerving. Anxiety bubbled under my charred skin, and I’d wondered if the bubbles would escape if I cut it. These emotions had never swirled and raged before to conspire such a level of uncertainty. Eight months ago, I knew who I was. Thora turned and leant against the sink.
‘When you went to Schmidt’s house, he didn’t …?’
‘No. I stopped going; I didn’t like it … him … something.’
‘Okay.’ She swirled the water in the teapot. ‘He brought some of your work here. That’s when I found out. I mentioned to Frankie that he taught at your school and Frankie said he didn’t teach you. So I didn’t say anything to you. We need to tell the Headmaster.’
‘No. I can’t. There’s nothing to tell. Nothing happened.’
She turned to me, but before she spoke, the phone rang. She went to answer it.
‘Carol, it’s your mother.’
Mum told me I was pregnant. As I slid to the floor, Thora stood over me.
‘What on earth is wrong? Has someone died?’ Anxiety darkened her pale-yellow skin.
‘I’m pregnant.’ It was like a dream, or rather, a nightmare. I didn’t feel pregnant; I just felt bloated. Frankie’s baby was growing inside me, a part of Frankie that was mine, yet I hadn’t thought it possible.
‘Carol ...’ Thora rubbed my back in a circling motion. ‘Take a breath, take a deep breath. Come on, that’s it. Sit up.’
My stomach clenched, so I ran to the bathroom and slumped over the toilet, heaving. Thora handed me a wet cloth to wipe my face. ‘You didn’t know? That you’re pregnant?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m taking the pill.’
‘I’m sorry. I thought you knew. Does Frankie know?’
‘No. I mean, yes. I don’t know. Celia said something, but I thought it was the pill, but then he left and …’ I retched and my stomach hurt.
‘Calm down. Come on, sit back and relax. This isn’t good for your baby.’ She gently pulled my arm until I sat against the bath.
‘What does it matter? Frankie ran away because he guessed about the baby.’ For the first time I said aloud why Frankie had left. I shouted at Thora, ‘How dare he! How dare he get me pregnant and leave me!’
‘Listen, Carol. There’s a way out of this. Let me help you. Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable.’
She helped me into the kitchen and fetched a glass of water, ‘Drink some of this.’
I shook my head.
‘You have options and the best option, although you won’t see it right now … is to abort the child …’
‘What? No …’
‘But if your health was at risk, say … because your pregnancy was making you mentally unstable … I could refer you to the best gynaecologist … as I’ve said … and everything will be taken care of …’
‘What do you mean by mentally unstable?’
‘Let’s just say that I can fix it for you to have an abortion.’
‘But I’m not mentally unstable. Who do you think you are? Speaking to me like that. You’re a bloody witch. You’re the one who’s mentally unstable.’ I ran to the hallway certain that she could see in
side my head; that she was a witch and knew my thoughts. I had to get out of the house to stop her from forcing me to do something against my will. The walls were breathing; the rug was moving; the door turned black as I grabbed the handle, and smashed it against the wall. Get away, get away, get away. Be free of it, all of it.
Across the driveway, across the main road, across the lane. Away from home, from Oaktree, from weird people, killers. Rain hammered down as I slipped and slid along. Past the church and on towards the village. Taking the right fork, towards the edge of the Cleave, away from people, away from judgment and murderers and dictators. Away, away.
The sky dropped, heavy with the weight of clouds. Thunder clapped overhead, and although the area was familiar it seemed strange, as if the trees and the vegetation had morphed from another planet. Only one residential path weaved around the village, and this one wasn’t it. But I didn’t care. I wanted to be lost and never found.
Lightning flashed and the sky ignited in a yellow glow. Stars sparkled amongst the clouds as though the heavens were peeping down.
‘Go to hell, go to hell the lot of you.’ Why did these people hate me? Thunder roared, reinforcing how insignificant I was – a no-one, with no power. There was no reason to live. My life had finished. My mother was marrying, abandoning our home. My brothers didn’t want their little sister hampering them, getting in the way of their futures with their sensitive partners. And Thora wanted to lock me up.
The edge of the Cleave dropped sharply away. I steadied myself inches from the edge. Could I jump? Could I kill myself? What if I ended up in a wheelchair?
Thunder reverberated. Lightning exploded in a forked burst and zig-zags lit the sky. The drop before me was not sheer enough. It had sloping sides and was slippery and …
I fell.
The ground flew beneath me. Rocks hit and jarred me. Excruciating pain seared through my left arm and shoulder – each thump-crack sent agony through me. Hitting my forehead then my leg, fresh pain, more pain, new pain assaulted me. The world was a kaleidoscope of agony and fear.
At last, my body embedded itself in the ground. My arm was twisted behind me and my shoulder didn’t work. My left leg was numb, and the pain, the pain! Sleepy, dizzy, wet and cold, I moved my right hand and felt around my left side. Something was wrong with my shoulder and arm. Pain cramped across my stomach making me curl up. Oh God, my baby, my baby. Please let me die. I couldn’t take any more of the pain. Even the Fates believed I should die. How did Ruby Silver get my life so wrong? Sleep tugged me away.
Chapter 25
Friday, 28 August 1970
There was a memory of a man standing in the rain on the hillside: then a needle pressing into me, and a facemask, and dragging, and cold, but most of all pain. My shoulder hurt, my arm hurt, and my leg hurt.
‘My baby! Is my baby …?’
Mum sat next to my hospital bed. She tried to put her arms around me, but I pushed her away. ‘Leave me. Is my baby …?’
‘Your baby is fine. We already told you. Though God knows how you didn’t kill it.’
My baby survived. No one was going to kill my baby.
‘You’re disappointed …’
‘That’s an awful thing to say, Carol.’ She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.
‘But true. That’s what you wanted. To get rid of it.’
‘Carol, Princess, you don’t understand. I was angry. Surprised. I wasn’t expecting you to … It was a shock …’
‘Oh, and it wasn’t to me? Finding out I’m pregnant, and my mother’s telling me how to kill my baby and myself, too.’
‘It’s because I love you. I don’t want you to ruin your life …’
‘You love me? Then please go if you do.’
‘All I can say is sorry. And I am sorry, you must believe me, Princess. When we couldn’t find you, and it was so cold and wet and … well, my God, Carol … I love you so much. You’re my daughter. I never wished you harm. You don’t realise how upset I’ve been. Peter says the baby is welcome. Peter loves me and whatever makes me happy makes him happy. You can have the baby, and you can live with us. You can even go to university if you want.’
‘Go to …? Oh, so everything is okay because Peter says so. Well, tell Peter he can go to hell.’ A sharp pain shot through my shoulder as I pushed myself up. ‘Please leave, I want to sleep.’
A nurse announced that I had another visitor, but Mum had to leave before she could come in.
‘Is it Sarah?’ I asked. ‘Don’t tell her ...’
‘She’s still at her gran’s, and I’m not telling anyone our business.’
Before I insisted, Mum said, ‘Okay, I’ll go.’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘If it hadn’t been for Perry –’
‘Perry?’
‘Yes. Thora phoned Mr Cutler, and Perry answered. He and Mr Cutler went out to look for you. They drove to the village. Perry guessed where you’d be. He told me you were likely to be outside walking in the fields and woods. He walked that path looking for you.’
She stood. ‘This is obviously the wrong time to remind you, but those books need to be packed up. Only a month until we leave. Shall I do it for you? I know that you don’t like me cleaning or moving them.’
‘Okay, but take care with them, Mum. They’re Dad’s books, not “those” books.’
‘Don’t worry, I will. We’re moving everything we can to Peter’s now. You should see the amount of rubbish he burnt yesterday. Gerry got into a state about some old toy and some school reports of his, but we’ve had to be tough. We can’t expect Peter to have our rubbish in his beautiful house. I’ve told the lads they need to make time to sort it all, otherwise, it’ll be binned or burnt. If they can’t be bothered, then neither can I.’
She stopped to talk to Thora on her way out, and there was a promise between them to meet for tea soon. Then Thora came up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
‘How are you?’ Her yellow skin hung on her face. She pulled at her skirt then rubbed her tired eyes as I failed to reply. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think … that you would react like that. I was trying to help.’
‘Help? By suggesting I was mental?’
She sat and shifted uncomfortably. ‘No. If you had listened to me, I would have explained.’ She wept, and tears fell onto her lap before she retrieved a handkerchief from her bag.
‘I’m changing my will. You can have the baby, and if you want you can live at my house. I’ll sort it out with my solicitor tomorrow. You’ll have the money to support you, so you can stop worrying. You can have the baby and have somewhere to live.’
‘I don’t believe it! I have an accident, and suddenly everyone changes their mind. What’s going on?’
‘Accident?’
‘Yes. What did you think happened? It was very slippery, and I couldn’t get a grip.’
‘So, you didn’t try to …’
‘If I had wanted to kill myself, I would have chosen a better place. It wasn’t high enough.’
‘But you thought about it.’
‘Everyone wanted to kill my baby, so why not kill myself?’
‘I didn’t. I said that was one option I …’
The nurse came in. ‘Have to do observations now, sorry.’
Thora took my hand. ‘There are things you need to understand – important things. I needed to be sure about you. That you wanted to keep the baby for the right reasons. Hurry up and get better. And don’t worry about anything. There’s plenty of money.’ She squeezed my hand and rubbed it before picking up her bag and leaving.
The nurse held my wrist and looked at her watch and said, ‘That’s nice. Wish I had a gran like that.’
‘She’s not my gran. She’s a witch.’ I watched Thora hobble away and wondered how long she had to live.
The doctor breezed in and told me there was no serious damage from the knocks to my head, and although concussion was a concern they were happy that I was okay. My arm would be in a sling for a while until the pa
in from my dislocated shoulder settled. Bruises covered my body, and I had to go to my doctor if I was concerned about any aspect of my recovery. Stiffness inhibited every movement. But he assured me that my baby was fine. They wanted me to stay another day, and I could go home tomorrow.
Now, instead of being homeless as threatened, I had to decide whether to live with Thora or Mum. I decided to go to my childhood home before it – the place where my dad had lived and died – was taken from me.
Chapter 26
Sunday, 30 August 1970
Thora arrived at Mum’s to take me to Oaktree because there was something important to discuss. It couldn’t wait, she’d emphasised on the phone.
I settled at the table as Thora filled the kettle then stirred a pot on the range before bringing it to the table.
‘There’s something I have to tell you before we visit my solicitor tomorrow.’ She sat and ladled soup into dishes.
‘I’m seeing your solicitor? This soup looks delicious. Did you use that recipe I gave you?’
‘Yes. Thanks very much. It’s so easy to make that I virtually live on it. Just vary the main vegetable, and … Anyway, we have important things to discuss. You must keep this to yourself, so please promise me. There are only a few people that know what I’m going to tell you.’ She took a sip of soup. ‘In 1949, when I was thirty-nine, … I was raped.’
I swallowed and the hot soup burnt my throat. ‘Oh God, Thora.’
‘It’s okay.’ She placed her spoon down and rubbed her hands. ‘There was internal damage, and that’s why I don’t have … And I’ve never married … Anyway, a long time ago.’
She tore a piece of bread and dipped it into her soup. ‘It happened at work. I was on placement in … well, that’s not important. I didn’t tell anyone. Couldn’t risk losing my job. I left it too late to do anything about the baby. So I … had him. I had Frankie.’ She held my eyes and pursed her lips. A tremble shook her hair.
‘What do you mean … Frankie …? My Frankie?’
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