A Midwinter Promise

by Lulu Taylor

  Julia.

  Julia was with him too, but as a silent presence, somewhere nearby. He wondered how she felt about him now, if she had forgiven him, and if she still had love for him in her heart. They’d shared so much. Then they’d spun apart and it seemed that no force could bring them back together.

  That was what had roped him and Sally together for the rest of their lives. They both knew the truth about Julia, and they both knew what had caused it. After that, they had to unite, both in marriage and in their pact of silence. No one else could ever know.

  Oh Julia. I wish I could have told you that I’m sorry.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  1987

  It was early summer when Julia drove down to Tawray with Greta. The sun was out and Tawray was bright with colour, the treetops swaying in the blustery breeze sweeping in from the sea, the gardens thrumming with colour and life.

  ‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’ Julia cried as the little car approached the house. ‘Beautiful. Look at that, Greta, doesn’t it stir your heart?’

  Greta panted in agreement, eager to be out and exploring.

  It was strange to arrive alone, for the first time, to a house that was now wholly hers. She wished David could be there too, but if he could not, then she would just have to get on with it. She was sure that she needed to be at Tawray, that it was the only barrier between her and self-destruction.

  Nevertheless, her first night there was difficult. She missed David desperately and didn’t even dare to phone him, now that he was staying in the spare room of a friend who might not appreciate being woken by the telephone in the middle of the night. The house, which had seemed to be the symbol of safety and security, felt rather different once she was there alone. The memories that came to her in the night were not ones of comfort but of the traumas she had known there.

  Mummy.

  The one room she had always avoided was her parents’ suite, with the grand four-poster swagged with old-fashioned chintz, and the door that led into the bathroom.

  No.

  She wouldn’t go there, not in her mind and certainly not in reality. She had taken her childhood bedroom as her own again, without even thinking about it, despite the fact that it was small and not very handy for a bathroom, necessitating a quick dash down the corridor to the old high-cisterned lavatory in an icy cupboard-sized room. Her old bed gave her some comfort and the feeling of Greta’s warm body curled up at her feet offered the security she needed, alone in the great house in the dark. But she missed David desperately.

  ‘Are you sure your daughter will have the time to help? I know she’s got the children . . .’ Julia was letting Mrs Petheridge out after their cup of tea in the kitchen. She had been a cleaner and cook at Tawray when she was younger and now hoped to take on the job of helping Julia keep the house.

  ‘She’ll be glad of the work, and there’re plenty to help with the kids,’ Mrs Petheridge said, pulling on her jacket. ‘But what are you going to do with this old place? You’re not going to live in it all alone, are you?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Julia said airily, ‘I’ve got lots of ideas.’ Though, really, she didn’t yet have a clue what she would do. The accounts showed her that the house needed to make some more income.

  ‘There’s lots doing weddings around here,’ Mrs Petheridge said. ‘Hard work, though. And seasonal.’

  ‘Yes, there’re lots of ideas. Opera on the lawn, perhaps,’ Julia said vaguely. ‘We’ll come up with something.’

  Mrs Petheridge turned and smiled at her. ‘Well. I’ll be off. And you won’t be on your own for long anyway, will you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The other woman’s gaze dropped to Julia’s stomach. ‘You’re not far along. But I can always tell.’ She gave her a kindly look. ‘But I’m sure you already knew.’

  Gasping and shaking, Julia stood against the big front door, her eyes unseeing. Fear had drenched her as suddenly and thoroughly as if a bucket of water had been thrown over her.

  I can always tell.

  Julia moaned softly. Oh no. Oh no.

  But she was knew it was true and had already known somewhere in her mind, even though she had resolutely ignored it, pretending to herself that it was quite normal to be late with her period when it was usually on time, and that perhaps she had just forgotten having her last one, and that the extraordinary fatigue that fell on her at eight o’clock each evening was just the result of Tawray air and all the sorting out she was doing.

  It’s happened.

  Something in her had hoped it would not. She had even rehearsed little speeches to David: I don’t know, there must be something wrong with me. Why don’t we think about adopting? In fact, it had been so deeply ingrained in her mind that her body would do what she wanted and refuse to conceive that she had even given up her contraceptive pill quite cheerfully.

  Well, she had watched David take them out of her washbag and ceremoniously throw them away, even popping each foil blister, releasing the pill and dropping it into the loo.

  ‘You’re going to stop the poor fish from spawning that way,’ she’d joked, trying to quell her sense of panic at watching them disappear into the bowl. Despite her faith in the power of her will, she knew that to be on the safe side, it would be better to be on the pill. If I get too anxious, I’ll just go to the clinic and get some more. But she hadn’t done that, unable to bring herself to practise that level of deception on David. Besides, the bargain of being allowed to keep Tawray was that she would at least try.

  David had said, ‘If we’re going to live there, then we need to start a family. I want lots of little Julias and Davids to run around and grow up there and make it into a home. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she’d said, and it wasn’t that she didn’t want that too, because she did. I do, I want children. She just didn’t want to have them, physically to bear them. Was that so very strange? Who in their right mind would? The mystery to her was that so many women plunged into it as if it wasn’t the most horrific and ghastly trick it was possible to play on a person: to take their body, implant an alien being inside it to grow almost to bursting point, forcing a skeleton to weaken and the muscle fibres to loosen and tear so that this new creature could be accommodated; and then, horrifically and agonisingly, swell open the lower body so the creature could be expelled in bloody torment. And that was if it went well. What of the many, awful problems? Twisted cords, breech births, ruptured placentas, prolapsed wombs, haemorrhage, suffocation, brain damage, birth defects, infections . . . miscarrying a child almost formed.

  But she hadn’t been able to tell him that.

  Now Julia closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. Her fingernails pressed so hard into her palms, it felt as though she must surely draw blood.

  She hadn’t gone back to the family planning clinic. She’d begun to believe it would never happen to her, almost as though her determination would prevent nature taking its course. She had instead started rushing to the bathroom after each time she and David made love, to rinse herself out with the shower head, thinking that would stop it. But it hadn’t stopped anything. She was pregnant.

  Oh God! What shall I do?

  She ran to the kitchen and into the large cool larder. On the top shelf was a row of bottles. She reached up and took one down, then hurried out to the kitchen to find an opener. A minute later, she was pouring red wine into a glass and looking up at the clock over the door. It was eleven o’clock in the morning, too early for a drink, but she didn’t care.

  She lifted the glass to her lips, noticing that her hand was trembling, and held it there. Fumes, dark with grapes and toxic with alcohol, rose to her nostrils. She tried to take a sip and couldn’t. She tried again and got some of the liquid into her mouth. It was bitter, mouth-puckering, revolting. She swilled it around her mouth and attempted to swallow, but her gorge rose against it and she retched. She rushed for the sink and spat it out, pushed the tap on and took a palmful of cool clean w
ater to her mouth, rinsing it out. Then she went back to the glass and took a large swig, trying to swallow and managing to force the mouthful down. It sat in her stomach for only a moment before she was back at the sink, throwing it all up.

  She cried out, ‘What am I going to do?’

  She burst into tears.

  The doctor gave Julia the impression that tending patients was something he managed to fit into his hectic schedule of fishing and golf.

  ‘Of course you’re pregnant,’ he said dismissively as she sat in his consulting room. He scribbled something onto her notes in fountain pen.

  ‘Aren’t you going to give me some kind of test?’

  ‘There’s no point, my dear.’ He smiled. ‘When a young woman, not long married, enjoying a healthy sex life and no longer on contraception, misses a period or two, then there really is only one explanation.’

  ‘I thought you might just want to be sure.’

  He glanced at her over his glasses as he wrote. ‘I’m sure enough not to give you a test. Date of your last menstrual period?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It was in . . . April? March?’

  ‘Don’t you keep track?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You should. Well, I’ll just have to estimate.’

  Julia watched him calculate in his head, even though she had already done that herself and worked out that the baby would probably come in the new year.

  ‘Let’s say mid-January,’ he said, scribbling it down.

  ‘I wonder . . .’ she said tentatively, ‘if there is any way of having a Caesarean birth?’

  ‘What?’ The doctor stared. ‘Why on earth would you want that?’

  ‘Well, I don’t like the idea of giving birth, you see—’

  The doctor laughed. ‘Oh, my dear girl, of course you don’t. But it’s quite natural. You’ll take to it perfectly well, you’ll see. By the time you’re nine months pregnant you’ll do anything to get the darned thing out, believe me. A Caesarean is a serious operation, we don’t do it unless absolutely vital.’ He gave her sympathetic look. ‘Of course you’re frightened, but this isn’t the Dark Ages. We have pain relief now, hospitals, doctors. And your body is designed for this – you might even say it’s your one purpose, as far as nature is concerned. Millions of women have done it before you, millions will in the future. Don’t worry yourself. You’ll be fine.’

  She stared at him, unable to find the words she needed to explain her deep, dark fear, or the terror she already felt about the tiny creature floating inside her and what it would do to her. It wants to kill me. She bit her tongue. He was right. What made her so special? It was her lot to suffer. Only certain women were exempt: those who could not, or would not, like nuns or lesbians or old-maid aunts. Most had to do this. Wanted to do this. It was proud, vain and selfish to think of avoiding it.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said weakly, before getting up and walking out, no one noticing her sway with faintness or the deathly white pallor of her skin.

  She went home more determined than ever to force down the wine, or the ancient bottle of gin she had found in the cellar, and to smoke the cigarettes she had brought with her. If she was going to miscarry, she had to do it now, while the thing was still a tiny bundle of cells, as close to nothing as possible. But her body rebelled and wouldn’t let her. Every time she tried to induce a miscarriage, she was violently sick.

  That only made her more afraid. Her body didn’t care. It was going to do what it wanted, no matter how she felt about it. That thought horrified her.

  Julia was dimly aware that it was a beautiful summer, that Tawray was blossoming outside. The pink and white, and emergent green of spring, turned to the deeper colours of summer and the gardens burst into magentas, reds, purples and creams. Beyond, the blue sea sparkled, blowing salt wind over the house and leaving the tang of the beach on the lips. The village was alive again with holidaymakers and tourists. Tents fluttered on the hillsides and caravans blocked the narrow lanes as they lumbered to their sites. Julia knew these things, she saw them when she went out, noticed the squawking seagulls riding the air currents and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. But she couldn’t feel it.

  Sleep eluded her and she had lost her appetite for almost everything. The thought of food made her feel sick, the taste of tea, coffee and anything dairy revolted her. Instead she was plagued by twin fears: losing the baby and not losing the baby. She was trapped. Every day that went by without a miscarriage she felt more terrified that she was condemned to lose the baby late, as her mother had. Or condemned to give birth, with all the horror that inspired. She longed for David but she was also afraid of seeing him and telling him, because then it would all be true, but more than that, the gulf between them would grow wider, she was sure of it. On the phone it was easy to say nothing, breezily answer, ‘I’m fine!’ when he asked how she was. It wasn’t going to be so easy in person, when he could see with his own eyes that something was going on.

  He had been away on yet another trip, with more booked for the autumn, and as soon as he returned, he headed for Tawray.

  Julia was sitting on the front steps as the taxi came up the drive from the station. He had said not to come in case he didn’t make the train and couldn’t tell her, and now here he was, getting out of the taxi, his smiling, handsome, loveable self.

  Julia was joyous – she’d forgotten how much better he made her feel just by being there. Why had she been afraid to see him, when he was the light of her life? What is it with my stupid head, that I can’t remember these things?

  They spent the first hours in rapture at being together, and with David having some proper leave, and there being no need for him to rush away on Sunday evening. They settled down to supper in the kitchen later that evening.

  ‘Goodness, this is good!’ David said, with evident surprise, as she put a beef casserole and mash in front of him. He sniffed appreciatively. ‘It smells delicious. Have you been learning to cook?’

  ‘Not exactly. Mrs Petheridge made this.’ Julia grinned. ‘I told her you were coming so she rustled it up. I think she guessed I don’t cook all that much.’

  ‘Well, lucky us to have her then.’ David picked up his fork and tucked in. ‘Oh yes, that’s lovely.’ He looked up and said, ‘Aren’t you having any?’

  She pushed her own fork into the pile of potato in front of her. ‘Oh yes.’ But a moment later, she put it down. ‘I don’t think I’m very hungry.’

  David stopped eating, and seemed to see her for the first time. ‘Aren’t you? You know what, you’re looking a lot thinner. Are you all right? Are you ill?’ He looked anxious. ‘Come on, have something to eat.’

  ‘I really couldn’t,’ she said faintly. The smell of the casserole was turning her stomach in any case. The idea of putting anything in her mouth had her on the brink of running for the sink.

  David put down his fork. ‘What’s going on, Julia? Do I need to get you to a doctor?’

  ‘No,’ she said. Then took a breath. ‘I can’t face eating anything . . . because I’m pregnant.’

  His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as he took it in, then a burst of happiness illuminated his face. ‘Oh Julia, really? Really?’ He laughed with joy. ‘That’s amazing news! I’m so happy! How long? Why didn’t you tell me?’ He leapt to his feet. ‘So many questions. Come here, darling.’

  He was next to her in a moment and engulfing her in a hug, and then was almost comically anxious that he might be hurting her, or the baby, and that she ought to be sitting down, or lying down, or drinking something, or eating something.

  Julia laughed. ‘You don’t need to fuss so much. I’m fine. Feeling ill is normal.’

  ‘Of course it is. Morning sickness,’ David said confidently. ‘I just didn’t realise you lost so much weight, that’s all. They always talk about eating for two. I suppose that comes later.’

  ‘Yes, I think it does. It all gets better.’

  She hoped that if she kept her dar
k fears to herself, then it might all just get better. While David was there it seemed to improve. She slept properly for the first time in ages, and when the dreams came to torment her, as they often did, and she woke with a pounding heart and irregular breathing, she could hold tight to him and the panic subsided.

  What she couldn’t do was tell him that the thing growing inside her, the thing that was making him so happy and ecstatic, so full of plans for the future, was making her feel so very afraid.

  When it was time to go back to London, David was palpably reluctant to leave her. ‘I want you to come back with me,’ he said firmly.

  ‘I can’t move into Robin’s flat! He’s only got his spare room, it’s far too small even if he wanted us both.’

  ‘Then I’ll find somewhere else to live, where you can come back. I don’t want you down here all alone while you’re pregnant.’

  She felt comforted by that. She hadn’t realised how lonely and frightened she had been until David came down. ‘All right then. Yes – look for a flat. That’s a good idea.’

  But even though she knew that being close to David again would help her, she couldn’t imagine how it might combat the thick fog of panic that was beginning to engulf her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  David found a tiny flat in Battersea, and Julia returned to London. The worst of her pregnancy sickness was over and her energy started to come back a little, but she took things quietly. David set off across the bridge every morning, bound for the palace, while she walked Greta in the park, stopped for a cup of hot water, and ventured out in the afternoon to do some shopping. The rest of the time, she sunbathed on their little balcony, read and slept.

  Sally came round to visit, bringing a big bunch of flowers, packets of chocolate biscuits and a bottle of fizzy non-alcoholic grape juice. But she gasped when she saw Julia even as she offered a congratulatory kiss.

  ‘You’re so thin!’