Zach waited expectantly, bemused at his girlfriend’s hesitation. She was never normally afraid of speaking her mind.
“Zach I’m pregnant.” She blurted the three little words out so fast that they were spoken with just one breath, and she shocked herself into silence. Saying it out loud to him made it oh-so-real.
“You can’t be,” were Zach’s first words after what seemed like endless moments of painful silence. “We were careful. Surely-”
“I know, Zach, but I am.” Her eyes and her voice were begging him to accept it, to comfort her, to reassure her, to take control of the situation, to do something.
“I can’t do this,” he said under his breath, abruptly standing up and looking at her for a moment, before leaving the room, literally turning his back on his dumbstruck, pregnant, fifteen-year-old girlfriend.
Had she considered it, she might have wondered what it was with three word phrases changing her life. “I love you,” had been so much more welcome than “Zach I’m pregnant.”
Imogen couldn’t move: she could only stand and stare at the spot where he had disappeared, wondering what the hell was going on in his head.
***
Parenthood. It was a scary prospect, and one which meant different things to different people. To Ella Kingsley, it meant responsibility, love and regret. She felt a responsibility to those to whom she acted, or had acted, as a parent – Daisy, Imogen, Abby, and Sara. She loved every one of her children – but regretted the one she had been unable to show that love to.
To Imogen, the idea of parenthood was inextricably linked with memories of her mother. Even with the knowledge of the baby growing inside her, she could not think of herself as a parent; bitterly, she thought that a proper parent – like Ella, like her mother – would not wish they had never become pregnant.
And to Zach? To Zach Monroe, who had walked away when the girl he loved told him she was pregnant, parenthood meant disappointment. When he had needed them, his parents were never there.
Parenting had let Zach down time and time again.
***
When reality sank in, it dealt a painful blow, and Imogen wanted to be out of the Monroes’ house as quickly as possible. She could feel the tears fighting against her attempts to stop them, and she would not cry where Zach could see or hear her. Part of her found the entire situation incomprehensible…what she had feared had come true. She knew they were only young, that his reaction was to be expected, but she’d thought her and Zach shared more than just some teenage romance. Something stronger, more durable, longer-lasting.
That notion had been destroyed as he’d walked away.
Half running, half walking, she squinted as her tears began to fall, clouding her vision. She didn’t allow herself to think of the predicament she was in, and focused solely upon getting home. She hoped in vain that no-one would see her as she re-entered house.
“Mais, je pense que l’uniforme scolaire est souvent une bonne chose,” Sara said to Ella, as Imogen tried to slip past them. “I can’t believe they’re springing a mock oral exam on us in a week…”
“Imogen?” Ella said, and Imogen had to turn; Ella and Sara saw her tear-stained face; Ella understood. Sara didn’t.
“Imogen? What’s the matter?” Sara asked, bewildered. Imogen didn’t answer; she turned and headed for the stairs.
It wasn’t that she didn’t hear Ella following, or that she couldn’t hear her mutter “just leave it for now, Sara”; she just couldn’t make herself care. The situation she facing was sinking in, and a strange feeling that was a mixture of aching and emptiness had taken over her.
She’d lost Zach.
She’d messed up, and big time.
“What did he say?” Ella asked as the door closed behind them in Imogen’s room. Imogen found herself confiding in Ella for reasons unknown.
“That he couldn’t do ‘this’. Whatever ‘this’ is. That he couldn’t bloody well do it. What sort of an answer is that?” She tried to allow anger to take over from the ache, but it wouldn’t; she couldn’t get angry enough at him to get away from the pain.
Ella sighed; he’d done exactly what she’d expected he would do, and she hated him for it. She let Imogen rant for a few minutes before silence fell, and she then tried to offer her own words of comfort.
“I know it won’t help now, and I know it’s not the same, but whatever you decide, we’ll all be behind you.” Ella was right: her words didn’t help to ease the pain; she knew she’d have their support, but it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t quite enough. As much as she didn’t want to feel dependent on Zach, she needed him.
Imogen didn’t notice Ella slipping out until she’d shut the door behind her; still, she didn’t bother removing her head from the pillow. She needed to cry, she needed to be angry and she needed to get her head straight. She tried to remember his reaction to her news, in order to hate him, but that just hurt even more. Instead, she tried to focus on nothing; focusing on thinking on nothing at all was unsuccessful, but it was a lot less painful than focusing on her boyfriend who didn’t want to know about their baby; her break-up; the pregnancy she was facing – alone.
***
Less than three hours later, Imogen’s phone was vibrating. She prised her sodden eyelids open, and reached for it.
‘I’m so sorry. I need to explain. Meet me? Love you. Z xxx’ Imogen’s finger hovered over the delete button. She realised, however, that she needed to set him straight in a non-confrontational way, where she couldn’t get emotional and show just how much this was hurting her. If she saw him face to face…well, there was a chance she’d forgive him, realise whatever he was saying made sense – and at the minute, her head didn’t think that was too sensible an option.
She didn’t want excuses. She needed stability.
‘Your reaction said everything. We’re through, Zach – there’s not much point us being together if you can’t deal with this. I’ll deal with it on my own.’ She was letting her head rule her heart – and it was painful to do so. She fought back the tears that were threatening to overcome her, and hit send.
As she heard footsteps on the stairs, she slammed her bedroom door closed, wanting to be alone; the only thing worse than feeling weak, which she hated, was other people seeing how weak she really could be.
The phone vibrated once more, and Imogen wasn’t sure if she even wanted to look at the message. What could he say that would make her feel any better, or that could somehow magically resolve this situation? Curiosity got the better of her as she opened the phone, but rather than her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, even – it was her best friend texting her.
‘I know you and Zachary have had a row, but don’t let it spoil your birthday. Girls’ night out? First round’s on me! Eve xxx’
Celebrating her birthday was not an idea Imogen savoured at that moment in time – but she couldn’t stand sitting at home moping. Getting pissed, on the other hand, could possibly help her obliterate her problems. For one night, anyway.
‘Ok. No guys though, just the girls – and don’t tell Zach. Please. Immy xxx’.
Although it had seemed like the sensible thing to do, that didn’t make breaking up with Zach hurt any less. After his reaction to the pregnancy, Imogen’s other worries about the way he acted some of the time began to resurface. Eve’s comments about why people were scared of him. The way he’d reacted when another man had tried to flirt with her.
Did she really know this guy she loved? The guy who was the father to the baby she didn’t want to think about? The guy who she’d thought would support her through anything?
She turned her music up as high as it would go, not caring if the other Kingsleys complained, in an attempt to drown out the painful thoughts in her head. When that didn’t work, she buried her head in her pillows – and tried in vain to stop the tears from falling.
***
The night passed in bursts: one moment Imogen slept, almost unaware of the pain; the next she was awake,
and the minutes dragged slowly and painfully by. She hated the moments when she was awake; in them, she relived Zach’s reaction, the text she had sent, the end to their relationship.
Somehow, the morning finally arrived, and Imogen knew she wasn’t going to bother going into school. Even if she hadn’t looked and felt like shit, what was the point? She couldn’t see it any more.
A knock on the door; a sharp tone; the door slamming. These sounds floated into Imogen’s room, and it didn’t take a genius to work out what was going on. She didn’t even feel the annoyance she would have normally done at Ella interfering: Imogen didn’t want to see or speak to Zach. She didn’t even want to be given the choice to see or speak to him; she wasn’t sure if she could trust her head to adequately rule her heart.
Right now, the pain was so bad she thought her heart might just win, if it came to it – and a part of her knew that would not be sensible.
A muddle of thoughts whirled around Imogen’s head: the echo of Zach’s words was all she could hear; his confused, unsure, indecisive face all she could see. Self-questioning followed: why had this happened? Why had she let it happen? Why the hell had she dumped him? Thinking about it made it so much worse, and yet she couldn’t not think about it.
A mere twelve hours previously, she had sent those words that she didn’t know whether to regret or rejoice. There’s not much point us being together. Mistake, or just what needed doing?
Twelve hours of crying, sleeping, worrying, wondering…and nothing. All she had to show for it were puffy eyelids, dark circles, and an anxious family. She checked her mobile: twelve missed calls, fifteen texts. She didn’t know whether to hope he’d called, or hope he hadn’t. She had never, ever been this confused before: not when her mother had died, or her father, or when Ella had wanted to adopt them. No: then there’d been a clear path – it may have been hard to take, had far-reaching consequences, but she knew what was right, which path she needed to follow. Here… well, she just didn’t know.
Two possible paths, and no idea which one was the right way – or who it would be the right way for. For her? For Zach? For the…she couldn’t even think the word.
It was hard enough coming to terms with the break up of her relationship, without factoring anything else into it. Let alone something that was so closely entwined with her, and Zach, and their relationship.
“Imogen?”
“No.”
The footsteps went away again. She would have smirked if she hadn’t been in such a bad mood; one of the Kingsleys – and she hadn’t paid attention to which one – had done as she wanted, for once.
Squinting through bleary eyes, she decided to tackle the texts first. Eve. Eve. Eve. Clearly she’d found out that the break-up was more than just a row. What else though? Did she know it all? Imogen didn’t know – and didn’t look at the texts to find out. She simply kept scrolling: Eve again, Carrie, Violet, Eve, Eve. And nothing more from Zach. Not one lousy, measly little text message.
Without even reading any of Eve, Carrie or Violet’s messages, or even bothering to see who’d called, she pressed the off button; she hid the phone in the bottom of her drawer, away from temptation.
Pulling the duvet over her once more, and stuffing the pillow over her head, she hoped she could fall asleep again: it was ever so slightly easier than being awake.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The following day was, thankfully, Saturday. Imogen was ever-so-slightly relieved at this realisation, as she struggled to prise her eyes open: how long was Ella realistically going to let her have off to school to get over her boyfriend? Even though Imogen felt she needed the time, she knew how ridiculous it sounded; fifteen-year-old girl off school because of row with boyfriend.
Perhaps being pregnant would be enough to secure a few extra days off school.
It seemed as though the Kingsleys, except for Ella, were avoiding her room – which she didn’t leave if she could help it – as she hadn’t really seen much of them in the days following the break up. She wondered what they knew. She reckoned that Abby was being kept away, and in a way she was glad; she’d been able to keep it together for the sake of her little sister after their mother, and then father, had died, but now she just didn’t have the strength.
How could she pretend everything was going to be all right when she couldn’t see any possibility of it being so?
Despite the fact that it was twelve o’clock, and a Saturday, the house was silent – something which very rarely happened in the Kingsleys’ home. However, an explanation soon presented itself; a note was pinned to her door, with Ella’s neat script informing her where they all were.
We’ve gone to the park – I’ve got my mobile, call if you need anything. Ella x
Imogen sat on the edge of the bath; as she waited for it to fill, she felt slightly nauseous, and allowed herself to do some serious thinking. The sort of thinking she wished she weren’t doing, because it hurt so goddamn much to do so. But they were the sort of thoughts you couldn’t stop, once they’d started flowing…
Zach. He was, unsurprisingly, the focus of her painful thoughts, as she allowed her current predicament to fill her mind completely.
Zach was the sort of bad-boy that every girl found attractive, but that only a certain few could handle. Imogen had thought she was capable of handling him, but then she hadn’t factored in how deep she would fall for him. Maybe, had it just been a fling, she could have handled him. When had she managed to end up so…involved? In love; dependent; pregnant.
She wondered, and not for the first time, how well she really knew Zach. She’d seen from the beginning a ‘bad-boy’ quality in him that she liked, without thinking how he’d come by that look, that reputation, that air. He was sweet and kind and yet people were terrified of him.
Why? She could accept not being nice to people; she was hardly an angel herself. Maybe it was her who’d changed. When she’d arrived, she’d been willing to be cruel to everyone, and yet now…the Kingsleys had got to her. She hated to admit it, but somehow their infectious kindness had got to her in some small way. She still wasn’t an angel, and would never be, but there was no doubt she had changed. And maybe she’d been putting a little too much of that down to Zach.
And yet…despite his reaction to her news, and her worries that she didn’t really know him at all, she still wanted him. She wanted to hear his explanation, for it to convince her so completely that she would forgive him. She wanted to be with him. She wanted his support, his arms around her, his house to escape to when she got fed up of the Kingsleys. She wanted to get to know him completely, so she wouldn’t have these doubts.
She wanted it to be just him and her again – and then immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
She climbed into the bath, not paying much attention to the temperature of the water as she allowed her thoughts to envelope her. She had to get through a week at school, and then her birthday, and thinking of that was enough to get her stress levels rising uncontrollably. On top of the fact that she was alone, stranded with the Kingsleys and a baby, she also had school to consider; she would have no group of friends to sit with, no Zach to spend her lunch times with. Not only was she going to be miserable at home, she had ensured she would be miserable at school, too. Not that there was any reason for her to be happy. Another problem lay in the fact that her best friend was her boyfriend’s – no ex-boyfriend’s – sister. Blood was, apparently, thicker than water.
Climbing out of the bath, dripping wet, she knew she couldn’t spend the rest of the day in her bedroom; if she did, she knew she’d end up back in bed, and that wasn’t going to help anything. So, she dried her hair meticulously, put on a nice pair of jeans and a cute t-shirt, and moved her depression to the living room, along with some revision.
She knew that, a few months down the line, her studies would be interrupted by the new life growing inside her, but that was no reason to just give up. It wasn’t as though she had anything better to do – the alterna
tive was sitting and moping. And so she began to practise for the mock speaking exam Sara had said was coming up, taking out her frustration on some very colourful French mind maps.
***
On her first day back at school since her break up with Zach, it transpired that Eve did not know the full details. If she had done, Imogen knew there was no conceivable way that she would have been able to keep it to herself, and the topic wasn’t brought up once.
Despite her fears, being at school wasn’t quite as bad as she’d imagined. It was bad enough, certainly; she sat next to Zach in awkward silence during French, and was glad their teacher had decided a mock listening exam was what they needed. It removed any chance for Zach to try and speak to her. Not that she was sure he wanted to try anyway,
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