Virgin

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘Layla was worried about you,’ I say.

  He passes the bottle over to me. I take a swallow and return it. He takes a swig and wedges it between his thighs.

  ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? There was a time I wished I knew what it was like to be with her, even for a moment. I guess I got my fucking wish. So I can’t complain too much.’

  I take the bottle of rum from him and take a huge mouthful.

  He turns towards me. ‘If you carry on like this you won’t be able to drive me back to her. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s true. That’s what she wanted from me.’

  ‘And what Layla wants, Layla gets,’ he says bitterly.

  I frown. ‘At first I, too, wanted her to terminate the pregnancy, but now I understand that she is making a moral decision. And that is her right. I can’t force her. She wants to do the right thing, the thing that she can be proud of. I didn’t realize my sister was such a little hero.’

  He takes another swig and stares at me bleary-eyed. ‘Yeah. I know. I want to support our little hero and everything, but I can’t. You see, I only ever wanted her. I cannot ever remember a time when I’ve wanted another. All my life, I was waiting for her. And now she wants me to give her the OK to go and risk her life for a fetus that has a high probability of spontaneously miscarrying anyway. How the hell can I be expected to support that?’

  ‘What will happen if you don’t support her and … something happens?’

  He makes a sound. A grunt of deep pain. ‘Something? Define something.’

  I remain silent. It’s impossible to say the words.

  ‘Here’s a question for you, then. What if it was Lily this was happening to?’

  I grab the bottle and glug down so fast I have a coughing fit. BJ thumps me on the back. ‘Well, that’s no way to answer the question.’

  I look him in the eye. ‘At first, I thought I’d rather tear that baby with my own hands than let it destroy Lily. But a baby is a miracle, BJ. And if Lily wanted it, even if it killed me, I’d support her. I’d do whatever it took to ensure that she got the best holistic support. I’d have the best doctors in the world waiting in the wings, weeks in advance, to pull that baby out of her.’

  ‘Ah yes, pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. Smile through da pain.’

  ‘You’ve got to get your shit together man. Layla needs you like never before.’

  ‘Never in a million years did I ever think I would be in this situation. I feel like a mastodon dying from hundreds of crude spears in my flesh.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s get you back.’

  He stands and sways slightly before righting himself against the wall of the cave, then turns to go.

  ‘BJ,’ I call.

  He turns to face me. He’s so broken. He looks nothing like the great fighter I once faced. At that moment I realize that he might not be able to survive without Layla. I had been wrong about him. He truly loves my sister.

  ‘I’m sorry I made you have the commitment ceremony,’ I say.

  ‘I didn’t do it for you.’

  He picks up the lamp and starts moving into the dark passage. With a sigh, I follow him.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  LAYLA

  Maddie asks me to lunch and we arrange to meet in an Italian restaurant half-way between both our workplaces. I arrive first and am sitting with a bottle of mineral water when she walks through the door. She does not smile when her eyes meet mine. Not even as she slips into the chair opposite me.

  ‘How are you?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, surprised by her unfriendly demeanor.

  ‘Yeah?’ Her jaw is clenched, and her tone is an inch away from downright hostility.

  I don’t react to it. ‘Yeah. I’m all right. I’m not in pain or anything like that.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really,’ I say, knowing that she is brewing towards some kind of confrontation.

  ‘Well, you’re the lucky one, then. Because I’m in pain, and I bet you’ve got poor BJ bleeding his heart out.’

  I stare at her in astonishment.

  Her eyes stab at me angrily. ‘I never thought I’d say this but you’re so cruel, Layla. How could you do this to all of us?’ She takes a shuddering breath before carrying on. ‘We love you so much, and there you are giving it all up for a … a … fucking fetus. It doesn’t love you like we do. Fuck, it doesn’t even feel.’

  I sense myself start to crumble inside. My defenses are weak. Everyday I am fighting to keep it all together when all I want to do is weep. Because I’m the one who could lose everything.

  Blindly, I reach for a packet of breadsticks and tear it open. All around us are the civilized, muted sounds of cutlery against plates, conversation, laughter, and piped music.

  Don’t cry, Layla. Just don’t do it.

  I pull a stick out and bring it to my mouth, but my body doesn’t want it. One part of me says it is full of preservatives another part simply feels too sad to even pretend to eat. No one truly understands. Not Ma, not Jake, not BJ, and now, not even Maddie. Tears are stinging at the backs of my eyes. I blink them away, and place the breadstick back on the pristine tablecloth so it is almost perfectly aligned with the knife.

  ‘Cruel,’ I whisper, my eyes fixed on the knife.

  ‘Yes, cruel,’ Maddie repeats vehemently. Her voice is strong, indignant, and throbbing with moral righteousness.

  I raise my eyes. ‘I’m not cruel, Maddie. You know what is cruel? This world is cruel. Fate is cruel. The God that decided that I should have a malignant cancer growing in my womb at the same time as my baby is cruel. And I’ll tell you what else is cruel. Asking me to kill my own baby is cruel.’

  But Maddie is unmoved. ‘We all have to make horrible decisions. Our politicians kill hundreds of totally innocent people everyday in the Middle East and just call it collateral damage. A fetus is not even a proper person,’ she cries passionately.

  ‘Is it right? Shall I do it just because they do it?’

  ‘No.’ She stops a moment to change tack. ‘Doesn’t your great love for BJ count for more than this unborn fetus?’

  ‘Love is love. You don’t understand. It’s the little and unimportant things that give a person away. They call it the waitress test. You can always tell a person by the way he or she treats a waitress. And that’s because the waitress stands for someone who has no future value to you. If I claim to love this baby, then what I do to it will ultimately decide how I will love and treat BJ. How much I will be willing to sacrifice for him if he needed me to?’

  ‘I don’t want you to die,’ she wails suddenly, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

  ‘Oh Maddie,’ I sigh, and reach out for her hand. Her hand is cold and limp. I grasp it strongly. ‘This is not a death sentence. I am taking a calculated risk. Something we take everyday without knowing we are. I could get struck by lightning while I am sleeping in my bed, or get run over while I am crossing the road, or get shot while I am in a cinema by a man who is drugged up to his eyeballs with psychotic drugs.’

  Maddie sniffs but she is listening intently to me.

  ‘It may sound like I am being careless, but I am not. I promise you, I’m not. I am going by the findings of the Nobel prize winner, Sir MacFarlene Burnet, who said cancer cells are not foreign bodies. They are defective, mutated cells produced in the hundreds by our bodies. In a normal immune system they are naturally and quickly destroyed. The problem arises when our immune system is compromised, and does not trigger an attack on these rogue cells. So a tumor is not a problem, but a symptom of a failing immune system.’

  I take a deep breath. This explanation is as important for me as it is for her.

  ‘Therefore, I’m going to the source of problem. I am going to fix my immune system so it will do the job that it is designed to do. I truly believe the body has powerful healing abilities of its own.’

  I gently stroke Maddie’s hand and smile sadly at her.
‘I love you Maddie. Always.’

  Tears start flowing from her eyes. She doesn’t attempt to wipe them away.

  ‘Besides Maddie, you know me, I won’t roll over and let anybody tell me that this is how it is, and I can never change it. The statistics are clear. Less people die of cancer than of cancer treatments.’

  ‘I was so sad, I could not sleep last night, Layla.’

  I bite my lip trying to think of something I can say to make it better. ‘Remember that time when we were kids and that really good-looking guy, what’s his name again? Oh yes, Marcus, invited us to that party?’

  She frowns. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Remember you wanted to go.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And I didn’t because my gut told me something was wrong.’

  ‘And you were right because that party got raided and all those kids got into big trouble,’ she finished slowly,

  ‘That same instinct is telling me now to stay away from the doctor’s office.’

  A new look of understanding comes into Maddie’s kind, dear face.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  LAYLA

  I look at the calendar and smile with satisfaction. I have made it to four and a half months. There are only 40 days left. The baby’s heartbeat is strong, my skin is glowing, and I have more energy than I have ever had.

  At times like this, I feel as if everything happens for a reason. Because this happened to me, Jake bought an organic farm and now the whole family has organic vegetables all year round.

  My mother and I have learned so much about things we would never have thought to even think about. We no longer eat wheat or processed foods or anything with preservatives in it. At first it was difficult. But my mother is a culinary genius. Now she even makes ice cream using organic ingredients.

  I take out the marijuana leaves that have been soaking for five minutes in water, and put them into the centrifugal juicer and switch it on. For the fifth time today I drink the concoction. I follow it with a spoonful of organic bicarbonate soda mixed in with maple syrup. It is Nora’s day off and I am cooking. It’s nearly time for BJ to return.

  Ever since that night Jake found him in the caves and drove him home he is a completely different man. I remember I went out into the living room to meet him when I heard the car and I saw him stumble like a drunk over the threshold. But when he saw me, he took me in his arms and, as sober as a judge said, ‘I love you, Layla. Use me as the rock you lean on.’

  After that he was unshakeable in his support. He did everything in his power to assist me, care for me and protect me. Sometimes though, I’d catch him looking at me with a yearning expression. Then he would smile almost sadly and say, ‘Sometimes I can’t believe how beautiful you are.’

  I have a surprise for him today. He insists on eating the same food as me, but today I have brought him a lovely steak from a grass-fed, free-range cow. I called Bertie earlier and she gave me his favorite recipe. ‘Make sure you put a knob of butter at the very end. It gives a beautiful rich taste to the meat.’

  When I hear his car drive up, I heat the skillet and add a drop of oil. I drain the water from the potatoes and begin to mash them. I lay the meat on the hot metal. The sizzle is terrific. I add butter and milk and lightly mix them into the mashed potatoes as BJ walks through the door.

  ‘Wow! Something smells good,’ BJ says coming towards me. He nuzzles my neck. ‘And that’s not even taking the steak into the mix.’

  I laugh.

  ‘So what’s with the steak?’

  ‘It’s for you,’ I say simply.

  ‘I told you. We’re both eating the same food.’

  ‘Just this once. I’ve gone to all the trouble.’ I untangle myself from his arms, go to turn the meat and drop in some crushed garlic in the potatoes.

  He watches me with folded arms.

  ‘Go on. Sit down.’ He sits at the table. It’s set with salad and his drink. He takes a sip. I put the knob of butter into the pan and shake it slightly. My mouth actually begins to water. I haven’t had meat in so long. I pull the pan off the fire to let the meat rest and begin to plate up. The mashed potatoes go underneath, with the sliced steak resting on top. I carry the plate to the table and put it in front of BJ.

  I sit next to him. ‘Bon appetito.’

  He watches me pick up my fork and dip it into my salad of greens, sprouts, seeds, avocado, and tomatoes. Then he sets half his meat onto my plate.

  I look up at him. I am so tempted. I can smell it and my stomach is growling. ‘I’m not really supposed to,’ I say.

  ‘It’s just a tiny bit. It won’t hurt you. You can have an extra helping of vitamin C or whatever tonight.’

  I smile. ‘OK. It is grass fed and organic. So it can’t be that bad.’

  We both cut a piece of meat and put it into our mouths at the same time. It melts in my mouth.

  ‘This,’ BJ says, ‘is the most delicious piece of meat I have ever tasted. Other than your pussy, of course.’

  I laugh, but he is right. We savor it slowly. Afterwards, we walk into the forest. In late summer it is cool and beautiful. It is quiet now, but in the bushes and undergrowth there are badgers and foxes and deer. We follow the little path towards the clearing where BJ’s gardener has made a gazebo that he has covered with climbing roses. At this time of the year the roses are on their last showing. The area around it is full of petals giving off the last of their dying scent. We enter the gazebo and sit down.

  It is so peaceful. For a long time we say nothing.

  But there is something I want to confront him with. Something I must make BJ face. Ever since we found out about the cancer, BJ has never touched my stomach. Even when we are making love, he will avoid touching my belly. I unbutton my shirt from the bottom up and taking his hand, guide it towards my exposed belly. I feel the resistance and rigidity of his hand and look up to him beseechingly.

  ‘Please,’

  He relents and allows me to put his hand on my stomach. On contact his eyes darken. We stare into each other’s eyes. Kick, Tommy, kick, I pray. There is no one else in the world but he and I. And then a kick. A hard one. We both feel it. Someone else has just entered into our world. We smile at each other. Our eyes filled with wonder.

  ‘He’s saying hello,’ I say.

  ‘Oh God!’ BJ mutters suddenly.

  ‘That’s our Tommy,’ I say.

  ‘That’s our Tommy,’ BJ repeats, his voice choked with emotion.

  He pulls the edges of my shirt across the bulge of my stomach and carefully drags the buttons through the holes.

  ‘Come on, Princess. Let’s get you and little fella home.

  TWENTY-NINE

  LAYLA

  “Life should be lived to the point of tears.”

  —Albert Camus

  There are only 20 days left on my calendar. It’s still dark as I descend the villa’s staircase, holding on to the rough, tree trunk banisters. I cross the beautifully decorated space. It has a stunningly sculpted dining table, giant seashells hanging from the ceiling, a simple but elegant arrangement of tiles and stones and wood seals on the open windows. Soundless on my bare feet I make for the sliding doors. This is a holiday villa in Tulum, Mexico that BJ has brought me to. It used to belong to the drug lord, Pablo Escobar.

  ‘Why Mexico?’ I asked excitedly in the plane.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ he said with a smile.

  And at midnight I found out. He had hired people to hang strings of blue lanterns all over the beach and a Mariachi band to play. There was a jug of non-alcoholic Margaritas on a mat on the beach.

  ‘Don’t you recognize it?’ he asked.

  And it hit me then. Of course, he was making my favorite song come alive. Drinking Margaritas by a string of blue lights under the Mexican sky while listening to the Mariachi playing at midnight. Are you with me?

  I cried then.

  As I walk on the white sand it flows up through my toes. I stand at the water’s edge holding my bell
y. ‘Look where we are, Tommy.’ The cool morning breeze blows my hair from my face. I let the water rush up my toes and blanket my feet. It is incredibly sensuous. I am still standing there with my eyes closed when BJ comes to stand next to me. I look up at him. His eyebrows are drawn in a straight line making his face full of dark pools of shadow.

  ‘You looked like a mermaid from the window. Something so beautiful I couldn’t fathom touching,’ he says softly.

  I smile at him. ‘Come and sit with me. It’s so peaceful here.’

  We walk away from the water’s edge, sit on the white sand, and in perfect silence watch the sunrise together. Things are so different now. Every minute we spend together is like a precious gift. We were among the living. We had to do this. So we did it.

  Red. Orange. Yellow. The sky becomes an amazing kaleidoscope of color. Next to us, there is a discarded Coke can. That, too, is life. I turn towards BJ. His face is golden, some shades of red.

  ‘I love you, BJ.’

  He leans down as if he wants to see who I am and looks deeply into my eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask him.

  ‘I was remembering that first night I found you in my bedroom.’

  I grin. ‘When you spanked me?’

  ‘When you became wet?’

  ‘You never told me. Were you hard?’

  ‘Like a fucking rock.’

  I laugh. ‘Why did you come up to your room?’

  ‘I followed you. I saw you go up with Ria. When you didn’t come down, I knew that you must have found my bedroom.’

  ‘What did you think when you saw me?’

  ‘When I saw you stealing my tiepin?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘I could not believe my eyes. Layla Eden in my bedroom. And taking what didn’t belong to her. All my Christmases rolled up into one.’

  I shrug nonchalantly. ‘I wasn’t really stealing. It was mine. It had my name on it. Just like you have it across your dick.’