The Mission

by Naomi Kryske

  The Kent estate had been in Colin’s family for generations. Colin always slowed when he guided the car up the long, wide drive, perhaps as a way of finally leaving the hustle and bustle of the city behind. It gave Jenny a chance to absorb the peace that graced her when she visited, much the way the dark ivy grew on the creamy red brick, a felicitous color combination for Yuletide festivities.

  Joanne’s years of accompanying her husband on his foreign service tours had made her a consummate hostess, and as she guided Jenny’s family through the social rooms on the ground floor, up the wide staircase to the adult bedrooms and baths on the first, and finally through the children’s rooms on the second, Jenny enjoyed seeing the easy rapport Joanne had with her parents. Not burdening any of them with her worries was like presenting them with an unspoken gift.

  She watched Colin showing her brothers how to use the camera she had given him for their wedding anniversary, and she thought about what a good father he would make. When his sister Jillian and brother-in-law Derek Horne arrived with their children, he had greeted nine-year-old Malcolm and six-year-old Becky with open arms, and they had both vied for his attention.

  On two occasions, Jenny managed to set her feelings aside completely. On Christmas Eve, they bundled up in coats and scarves and attended the midnight service at St. Alban’s, the little Anglican church where Father Rogers was the vicar. He had known Colin’s family for years and had officiated at the memorial service for Colin’s father. The church was lit only by candles, and on the stroke of midnight, Father Rogers stopped his homily in midsentence and exclaimed, “Our Saviour is born! Rejoice!” The ushers intoned, “Hear! Hear!” Then Father Rogers announced that as his gift to the congregation, he would not resume his homily. Several called out, “Hear! Hear!” Many chuckled, and Father Rogers, his cheeks as round and rosy as Santa’s, sent everyone home with what he called good words for good people: Love one another, and do everything in your power to make love grow.

  Jenny also forgot her concerns on Christmas morning when Colin opened a gift from her and laughed because she had given him jeans. His closet was filled to overflowing with tailored suits; he never seemed to buy casual wear like she did. “Not jeans, ‘luxury denim,’” she insisted. “That’s what they called it at the shop on Rivington Street. Besides, you’ll look so good in them.” Of course, she gave him more than jeans: an Armani stainless steel sport watch with a blue dial and a myriad of functions she was sure he could decipher and a year’s subscription to the Wine of the Month to begin in January. He gave her a 24-carat gold charm bracelet with each charm wrapped separately: an emerald, her birthstone; her initial in diamonds; an eagle with a sapphire eye for her “country of origin,” as he put it; and a ruby heart for each of their years together. “I’ll add to it,” he promised.

  Since their anniversary, Colin had not mentioned her infertility. They took long walks, holding hands. Often in the house he came up behind her, put his arms around her, and kissed her.

  Joanne had given her a Scrabble game and explained the “adult” version, so she asked Colin if he wanted to play some serious Scrabble.

  “I recall playing it as a child,” he said, “but we were never very serious about it.”

  “After you and Jillian went to bed, your parents were,” she smiled. “Low word counts meant short kisses, and high word counts meant long kisses. Your mom said it was a good system, because no matter who had the most points, they both won.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “I don’t believe we need the game,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER 13

  The New Year heard Jenny’s sigh of relief: Her family had arrived home safely after their holiday. It was good to know that people who traveled by air did still reach their destinations without incident, but she doubted that anyone in these post-9/11 days boarded a plane without a prayer.

  She returned to her routine. When she married Colin, her visa status had changed, making employment possible. She worked several afternoons a week at Hollister’s, a Hampstead used book shop, and, because she didn’t really need the money, volunteered at Beth’s school on other days. Beth taught at a junior school, the equivalent of grades two through six in the American system. Jenny helped the children with informal tutoring in the core subjects, with field trips, and with supervised exercise. She liked their spontaneity and unending energy.

  Often she wondered if her baby would become as good a sprinter as Rory or as slim and self-possessed as Gwyneth. Would her child need tutoring in math? Both she and Colin enjoyed reading, but neither had excelled in math or science during their schooldays. None of the students she met had cerulean blue eyes, a Sinclair trait, but she loved the shy smiles they wore when she complimented them on improved assignments.

  She was no closer to making a decision about continuing with her infertility treatments. Needing more information, she called the doctor’s office and asked Dr. Hannaford’s nurse the name of the test. Hysterosalpingogram, an x-ray, the nurse said. That made it sound easy, but the name alone frightened Jenny, and the cold and clinical information revealed from her internet search scared her even more. The HSG evaluated the uterus and fallopian tubes. A speculum was used in the vagina. Dye was injected through a cannula in the opening of the cervix and an x-ray taken. Just reading the description of the procedure made her feel faint. But there were side effects, too. Patients often felt light-headed. Heavy cramping could occur during and for several hours after the procedure. Spotting was expected for one to two days. Anxiety on the part of the patient could increase the side effects. Anesthesia wasn’t mentioned. The only good news: The weeks following an HSG offered the best chance for conception.

  Not for the first time, Jenny raged against her body because she could not make it behave. In the past, it had helped to set her thoughts down on paper, so she made two lists: Reasons To Do It and Reasons Not To Do It.

  Reasons To Do It: 1. It might make it possible for me to get pregnant. 2. It could be the last test I’d have to have. 3. It wouldn’t be for several weeks, so I’d have time to psych myself up for it. 4. Colin would be proud of me.

  Reasons Not To Do It: 1. The test is done in the hospital with people I don’t know. 2. It’s invasive. 3. It’ll probably hurt a lot. 4. It will remind me of my rape. 5. I’m too afraid. 6. Colin said I didn’t have to.

  It didn’t look good. Reasons Not To Do It outnumbered Reasons To Do It. And the reasons against could all be boiled down to one word: fear.

  She set her lists aside, grabbed a sweater and her umbrella, and headed out to meet Simon for lunch at Café Rouge, a long-standing Hampstead eatery on the High Street only a ten-minute walk from the flat. Usually he arrived on time and she a little late, but today she didn’t spot him when she entered. She was seated at a small table with wicker chairs and smiled at the whimsical designs painted on the walls. Hearts and stars alternated with trailing floral vines dotted with leaves and flowers. A much more interesting décor than wallpaper, she thought, and the butternut squash yellow background seemed appropriate for an establishment that served food. She had never adjusted to the bitter coffee, so she ordered a pot of tea, congratulating herself on her assimilation. When Simon came, she waved away his apology for being behind the time. They exchanged belated Christmas gifts while waiting for their soups and baguettes to be prepared.

  “Open yours first,” she encouraged him. She had given him two books: River by Colin Fletcher and Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer. “They’re both about outdoor adventures, so I thought you might like them.”

  He assured her that he did, then handed her a narrow rectangular package.

  “You even used Christmas paper. Did you have your girlfriend wrap it for you?” she teased.

  “Nothing like that.”

  “Oh – chocolate! And so elegant. Thank you, Simon.” Two rows of dark chocolate shells filled the box.

  “Taste one,” he suggested.

  She smiled in mid-bite. “They have liqueur in them! Yum. And having de
ssert before the meal – I love that. You try one.”

  The waiter interrupted with their food, and Jenny set the chocolates by her purse.

  “Simon, I need to ask you something.” She paused, trying to summon enough courage to raise a frightening issue. “How – how do you handle pain?”

  He felt his stomach tighten, knowing she was asking for herself. What pain was she expecting? He wanted to ask but if he couldn’t prevent it, he didn’t want to know. “The normal human reaction to pain is panic. If you know that, you can anticipate the reaction and control it. You can’t let pain control you. You have to take the fear out of it. Fear can cloud your thinking, and if you’re in pain, you need your mind clear.”

  She hadn’t touched her soup. “But pain can kill you. How can you not be afraid?”

  “Pain doesn’t kill you. Injuries do, if they’re serious enough and not treated. You can live with pain for a time. Sometimes you have to do.”

  Just talking about it was scary. She tasted a spoonful of the cream of mushroom soup and, trying to relax, held it in her mouth for a minute before swallowing. Simon was nearly through with his potato bisque. “How? I need to know how.”

  “By facing it, giving it a sense of purpose. Put it in the context of your mission, whatever that may be. The mission is more important than your reaction to it. Focus on the mission, and you can put exhaustion, fear, and even pain in perspective.”

  “I think I’ll focus on finishing my soup.” She asked the waiter for a box to take her sandwich home in. Most of her appetite had deserted her.

  He had to know. “Are you in pain, Jenny? Can I help?”

  “You just did,” she said. Her mission was to have a baby. That meant signing on for labor pains, and she wasn’t afraid of those. Maybe she should be, but they were an inevitable part of the process. Perhaps she could accept pain earlier on, too. Colin thought she had courage. Simon had told her once that it was all right to be a little afraid. If she didn’t proceed, she’d feel relieved, but how long would that relief last if she didn’t get pregnant?

  “What’s this about then?”

  “A decision I have to make. And I think I’ve just decided not to be a victim.”

  Damn. She had set a boundary when he wanted her to need him. He knew he shouldn’t press her further, but he had to try once more. “Jenny – ”

  “Simon, I’ll be okay.”

  That was his dismissal, but she had taken his hand and still held it, an indication that she had not yet conquered her fear.

  CHAPTER 14

  Another wasted day. The guards at the prison had kept her waiting, with no explanation. You couldn’t react or they’d bar you from the visit altogether. She knew because she’d protested once, objecting only mildly by saying, “But I’ve come from London!” and been told she was too “unstable” to enter. Today she had inquired politely and been met with a wall of silence.

  So arbitrary. A not-so-subtle reminder of where they stood in the pecking order: at the bottom. When she and the other visitors had finally been admitted, Tony had blamed her for the delay and sulked nearly the entire time.

  Everything about her prison visits angered her. She was angry at the way she was treated; angry at the dull clothes she had to wear or endure the guards’ glances; angry at Tony’s diminished standing; angry at the dull-witted, hardhearted, petty thickheads who controlled her contact with Tony.

  She railed against them all the way back to London, scowling at everyone on the train as well as those she passed on the street. She was no less angry when she entered the flat. Opening the door and seeing the worn, tired furnishings never ceased to be a shock. And an insult.

  She was hungry. Hungry for all the delicacies she and Tony used to enjoy, foods she could not afford to buy now. Hungry for a lifestyle that included rest instead of continual labor. Hungry even more for the prestige and authority and deference they used to receive than for the sustenance she needed now.

  CHAPTER 15

  Being in a service profession often meant long hours, but no matter how tired he was, Colin’s steps quickened as he neared home. He knew Jenny would be waiting for him. Although part of the London Borough of Camden, Hampstead was quite a commute from his central London office. Despite the invasion of some chain stores, it still maintained its quiet hilltop identity, and he’d always liked the village ambiance and narrow tree-lined lanes. Most nights he arrived too late to see the carefully tended front gardens that lined his street, so he marked off the front doors as he passed. White door, green door, black door. He spent his days trying to stem the tide of evil things that people did to each other, and his job was made easier because he came home to a woman who made his heart light. Yellow door, blue door: home. The flat was dark. “Jenny?” he called as he mounted the stairs.

  “Colin, I’m so glad you’re home.”

  He heard the sob in her voice. She was in bed, and she didn’t get up to greet him. “Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?”

  “That’s the last thing I need,” she sobbed. “I had a test today, at the hospital, and it was awful.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Today? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you said it was my choice. Because if you knew and couldn’t come,” she was crying in earnest now, “I would have been so disappointed, and that would have come between us, and right now more than anything I need to feel close to you.”

  He gathered her in his arms and kissed her. “But this is a joint effort, Jen. Will you tell me what was done?”

  She described the procedure in halting phrases. The purpose, the method. She had been so frightened the nurse had had to help her walk from the dressing room to the table. Her chest had been tight, and she had been unable to take the deep breaths that would relax her. The radiographer had pushed on her stomach. He had made her turn on her side with the instruments still inside her. Then the cramps had started. She had tried to imagine holding her baby and failed. She had cried on the table, and the radiographer had impatiently asked, “Didn’t your doctor tell you to take a pain reliever?” He hadn’t. And no amount of analgesic would have lessened the indignity of it all.

  He saw her amethyst watch on her wrist, the one with the purple hearts he had given her long ago when he had wanted her to know how courageous he thought she was. He realised she must have worn it during the procedure, and he nearly cried himself.

  “The dye makes sure my tubes are open, Colin, so the test could help me conceive. But I’m spotting, and now I’m too sore for sex. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he soothed. “There’ll be time for us.” He held her until she calmed, brought her a glass of wine, and ran her a bath. When she felt well enough, she nibbled some of the cheese and fruit he prepared for dinner.

  “Jenny, no more of this,” he said while she ate. “Let’s have a serious talk about adoption.”

  “Not yet,” she begged. “This test could help. And if I don’t conceive soon, the next test will be surgical. If they put me to sleep, I don’t care what they do to my insides. Piece of cake.”

  He held her until she slept, his usual practice since his protective feelings were still strong. In the days ahead there would be time for lovemaking.

  CHAPTER 16

  A rare event: Simon Casey’s team was spare, with the assurance that they’d not be called in. He didn’t believe it; promises could be given but retracted on a moment’s notice without guilt if the need for a firearms team arose. However, with several hours to kill, he hoped, he rang Jenny. When he couldn’t reach her, he phoned Davies to ask whether Jenny was with Beth. “No,” Davies said, “Jenny’s off. Had a medical at the hospital yesterday.”

  “What sort?”

  “Infertility testing, Beth says. She had a difficult time. Don’t know more than that.”

  Casey rang off. That, then, was the cause of her fear. But what sort of test required a hospital setting? He needed
to know how she was. He headed for the tube station.

  There was no answer when he rang the bell. Concerned, he knocked loudly and called out her name. When she opened the door, she wasn’t dressed, wearing only a dressing gown above bare feet.

  “Simon – I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Are you all right? Davies said you were at hospital and why.” He followed her in and sat down next to her on the sofa.

  “Still a little sore and shaky.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She sighed. “Oh, Simon – it’s too embarrassing.”

  He took her hand and began to massage her palm. “Tell me now.”

  It was the voice no one said no to, embarrassment notwithstanding. Still, she hesitated. He had been her medical officer when she was in witness protection, but she felt shy nonetheless.

  He continued to rub her hand. “Talk to me,” he said softly.

  She couldn’t look at him, so she focused on his hand and the gentle rhythm of his fingers. “The radiographer – he – forced dye into my fallopian tubes and then took x-rays. He was rough. It was rough.”

  There was only one way he knew of to reach a woman’s tubes without surgery, and he didn’t want to think on it. “Bad news?”

  “No, no news, which is worse. Simon, they never find anything wrong, so they have to keep testing. And if one more doctor tells me to relax, I’ll scream.”

  “You’ve had other tests?”

  “Yes. Some are painful, and all are invasive.”