by C J Morrow
‘No. Yes.’ I’m in shock. ‘It’s a miracle.’
Sally flings the door open, she’s balancing three teas in paper cups on a cardboard tray.
‘Here we are. I’ve got biscuits too.’ She looks from my face to Mum’s and back again. ‘Everything okay?’
‘I’ve told her.’ Mum’s voice is flat.
Sally puts the tea tray down, grabs hold of me and hugs me ‘til we shake. ‘It’s such amazing news, we’re all so happy.’ She lets me go and stands back, spreading across her face is the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.
‘Yeah.’ I feel overawed. ‘Yeah. Robin’s going to be so thrilled when I tell him.’ Well, I hope he is.
Thirteen
Mum and Sally drank their tea and left quite quickly.
I don’t know if it was my imagination but their mood seemed to drop again. Mum muttered something about the car park ticket running out, her favourite get-out now, and Sally’s face looked like it had been slapped. I don’t know what came over them. One minute we were happy about the baby, the next, we weren’t. What do they know that I don’t? What are they not telling me?
Now I am sitting here, having eaten my tea and several of the biscuits from the packet Sally brought up, waiting for Dad to come. It was Mum’s passing shot as she left, that he’d be up later. On his own. It had an ominous tone.
What the hell are they not telling me?
‘Lovely evening,’ Jeff says as he comes in. ‘Thought I’d pop by and see my favourite ex-patient.’
‘Hi Jeff. Thank you. And you’re my favourite nurse too.’ We laugh. What liars we are.
‘Get up, hun. I’m going to turn your chair around. You cannot miss this sunset.’
I stagger to my feet and wait while he turns the chair before dropping back into it. I’m facing the window now, my back to the door, so I won’t see who comes in. But, it is so worth it. The sun is slowly sliding down the horizon. The sky is bright pink. The advantage of being on the third floor is that I can see for miles: green fields and trees below acres of sky.
‘Wow.’
‘Told you it was a beautiful evening. Facing west see, so…’
‘Yeah. Thank you.’
‘Better get off. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t miss it.’ He taps my shoulder.
‘Jeff,’ I call as he pulls the door open.
‘Yes, hun.’
‘Do you know I’m pregnant?’
‘Hey. Congratulations.’
‘But did you already know? When I was on your ward?’
There’s a silence, which suggests that Jeff is thinking carefully about his reply.
‘Juliette, you were in ICU, our job was to get you better.’
‘Did my family tell you not to tell me?’
‘Yes, hun. I must go.’ The door closes quietly behind him but not before I hear Robin say hello to Jeff.
‘How much of that did you hear?’ Even though I’m facing the wrong way and still can’t turn my head very well, I know that Jeff was answering my questions with the door open.
‘All of it.’
‘Spoiled my surprise.’ I’m annoyed. I wanted to tell him properly. I wanted to see his face.
Robin comes and stands behind me. I feel his presence but I still lack the mobility to lift my head up and look at him.
‘What surprise might that be?’ He’s playing along.
‘We’re having a baby.’ I hope his grin matches mine.
He doesn’t reply immediately, he must be as overcome with emotion as I was when Mum told me.
He exhales slowly, a very long breath.
‘No, Juliette. We’re not.’ So, they were hiding something. What the hell is going on?
‘We are. There’s a scan and everything. I know it’s hard to believe, but, see, miracles do happen.’ I won’t be deterred. I’ll keep believing it until someone tells me otherwise. ‘Mum only told me this afternoon.’
‘No, Juliette. No.’
‘Yes. Why are you saying no? Actually, how come you don’t already know?’ It should have been him telling me. Not Mum. Now I’m even more confused.
‘Because it’s not mine. Is it?’
‘Of course it is.’ I feel a panic rising in my chest.
‘I told you, I can’t have children. I told you, I’m sterile. Remember.’
‘Well. Obviously, that’s not true. Not anymore.’
‘Yes. It. Is. You whore.’
‘What? What?’ Did he just call me a whore? Surely not. ‘Come round here. I need to see your face.’
But there’s no reply. Nothing. He’s gone. He’s crept out without making a noise. He even opened and closed the door silently.
I stagger to my feet and edge around the chair. I feel shaky and upset and my emotions make walking even more difficult. It’s a relief when I get to the door and cling onto it, yanking on the handle, hoping to catch Robin and bring him back.
The door is too heavy for me to open.
I’m too weak.
I press my nose against the glass in the door porthole.
‘Robin. Robin,’ I call but there is no sign of him.
But Dad is there, fifty feet down the corridor. He doesn’t see me. He’s not alone. Stephen is with him. They are not coming towards me. They are stationary. Stephen’s arms are waving. Dad is shaking his head. While I cannot see their faces clearly, I can tell that they are arguing. Stephen starts pacing, walking back and forth. His demeanour so angry.
Robin cannot have gone that way, if he had, then he would be there now. If they are arguing about me – what else can it be – then he would be part of it. He’s my husband, he’s my next of kin.
I bang my hand on the glass, over and over, but neither Dad nor Stephen looks my way. They just keep up their animated disagreement.
I feel all the energy drain from my body. If I am not careful I will fall to the floor.
I’m so confused. Have I imagined Mum telling me I’m pregnant? Did I imagine Robin calling me a whore?
Stephen starts to walk away, he glances back at Dad, nods and smiles. They are parting amicably. Dad turns and starts to walk towards me. His head is down, he’s deep in thought.
I hobble back to my chair; I face the sunset.
‘Terrific sunset,’ Dad says as he comes in. ‘Have you been watching it?’
‘Yes,’ I lie.
But Dad is as big a liar as I am when he pulls up a chair facing me and smiles his biggest, brightest smile. Not a smile he was wearing during his disagreement with Stephen.
‘How are you? Mum says she’s told you the wonderful news.’
‘Yes. A baby. Just what I’ve always wanted.’ How have I managed to say that and sound so flat?
‘We’re all so thrilled for you. Everyone.’ He beams at me again.
‘Not everyone,’ I say, watching him. ‘Not Robin.’
There’s a tell-tale twitch of his left eyelid when I say Robin’s name.
‘Well, you’re not to worry about Robin anymore.’ He pats my knee.
‘How can I not worry about him, Dad? Urgh.’ I’m lost for words. I don’t understand how Dad can be so vague, so glib, so dismissive of Robin.
‘Look, Juliette, I can’t stay long because Stephen wants to see you.’ He pauses. ‘I’ve sort of promised he can come along in five minutes or so, and I’ll leave you to it.’
‘What? What the hell are you talking about? Since when does Stephen have priority over you?’
Dad stands up. He looks flustered. It’s out of character; he’s the headmaster of a great big comprehensive, he deals with crap every day. Yet here, with me, he’s red-faced, awkward; beads of sweat glisten on his brow.
‘Are you all right, Dad. You don’t look well.’ Now I must worry about him too. As if I haven’t got enough to fret about. It’s just dawned on me that he isn’t getting any younger, that he’s got a stressful job, that he’s just lost one daughter, and nearly lost the other one too. Poor Dad. Poor Mum.
‘I’ll get off.�
�� He bends down and kisses my forehead. I can smell the angst on him; bitter, sour.
‘Bye Dad,’ I say, lifting a hand to wave as the door opens and closes. I don’t have the energy to get up from the chair.
‘He wasn’t here long.’ Robin’s voice is calm now.
‘No. He’s…’ I cannot tell Robin that he’s gone because Stephen is coming. I feel the panic rising again. Robin will go mad if Stephen comes waltzing in here. Not that Stephen will care, he’s not in the least bit bothered by Robin. He thinks he’s an absolute arse. I remember him saying that.
When did he say that?
Robin stays behind me, out of sight; he’s still sulking. I can feel his ire filling the room. I wonder if he will call me a whore again?
If he says it in front of Stephen, Stephen will floor him. Of that I am sure.
How can I be so certain?
‘He doesn’t love you enough.’ Stephen had said that. When?
I remember, yes, I remember. It was just after Christmas. This year. A mere four months ago. It was during the long, dark days of January. I’d bumped into him in the street outside Mum and Dad’s. He was parking his car, so was I.
He didn’t just come out and say it, not just like that. It was part of a longer conversation, a one that went on so long that we were both shivering.
We’d gone through all the jokes about bumping into each other in the street. Not that it was funny. Just breaking ice, I suppose. I’d seen Stephen over Christmas; he’d been round to Mum and Dad’s with Sally when I was visiting. I thought he was just on holiday; Mum hadn’t told me much about what he was doing, why he was here. Even though he’d popped round frequently when I was there, we hadn’t had any conversations on our own, just Stephen and me. Until that night.
‘It’s so cold now.’ I breathed out so he could see my breath.
‘What? This? This is nothing. You should see Canada during the winter.’
‘Yeah.’ I laughed. That would never happen, Robin had declared long ago that Canada was one place he never wanted to visit.
‘No, really. You should. It’s an amazing place for a holiday.’
‘When are you going back? You’ve been here ages.’
‘Trying to get rid of me?’
‘No. No.’ I laughed. ‘Well, yes, a bit.’ It was a joke and he got it.
‘I’m thinking about staying.’ He left the words hanging in the air.
‘Really? What’s here?’
‘My mum’s not getting any younger. She’s on her own. I worry about her.’ He shrugged.
‘Don’t let her hear you saying that.’ I couldn’t imagine Sally being old, never. She was tiny, yes, but feisty and strong. A one-woman whirlwind. ‘What about your life over there?’ Sally was forever telling us how great he was doing. I loved to hear it, loved hearing about his adventures as told by Sally, who claimed there was a bear around every corner. She’d been over on numerous holidays, but said she’d never want to live there.
‘I can get a job here. Probably. And a house.’
‘Wouldn’t live with your mum then?’
‘God no. We’re already driving each other mad and I’ve only been here a few weeks. Imagine it. Could you live with your parents now? After all these years on your own?’
‘No. But I don’t live on my own. I’m married. Remember?’ I laughed, so did he.
‘How is he, your husband, Robin, is it?’ He knew full well what his name was.
‘Yeah, great.’
‘Still teaching?’
‘Of course.’
‘Still tutoring?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that why you’re round here so often, getting out of his way?’ A smirk passed over his face.
‘No.’ I was irritated. ‘I’m visiting my parents.’
‘Why doesn’t he come?’
‘What’s it to you?’ Robin never came now. It was an unspoken agreement, one I’d probably drawn up on my own; if I kept them apart then Robin and my parents couldn’t argue. And it worked, Robin never asked after my parents and my Mum rarely made comments about Robin. Only rarely, though, not never.
Changing tack slightly, Stephen said, ‘Hey we should all go out together, you, me, Robin. It would be fun. I’ve noticed some amazing new, well new to me anyway, restaurants have opened up in town since I was last here.’
‘Yeah. We should.’ We both knew that we wouldn’t. ‘Look, I’m going in. I’m freezing out here.’
‘Yeah, me too. It’s been great talking to you. I’ve missed you so much.’ He realised what he’d just said and looked away, embarrassed.
‘Me too.’ I leant in for a hug as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Stephen hugged me tight and whispered in my ear. ‘You’re lovely and I’ve really missed you, Etty.’
I’m not even sure he realised he was saying it out loud.
‘I’ll see you around, no doubt.’ I pulled myself away and smiled.
‘Make sure that Robin looks after you,’ he called over his shoulder as he headed for his mum’s front door.
‘He does. He loves me.’
That’s when he said it. ‘Maybe. But he doesn’t love you enough.’
I never got the chance to respond because Mum opened the front door, illuminating the path and beckoning me in.
‘Wondered where you were. You’ve been out there ages.’
‘I saw Stephen. We were just catching up.’
‘You should have saved it for later. Sally’s coming round after tea and she said she’s bringing him with her.’
‘Great.’ Mads was already sitting at the table, knife and fork in hand. ‘I love hearing him talk about Canada.’ It was probably the last time she was there for tea, after that she always seemed to be off revising with her friends.
Sally and Stephen came over an hour later, we sat with them, Mads, me, Mum and Dad, in the lounge. Sally had brought a bottle of wine; she and Mum had half each. I was driving so couldn’t drink, Mads wasn’t allowed. She’d wailed that she was nearly sixteen. Mum didn’t even reply, just rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Stephen was happy to share a pot of tea with me and Mads.
We were old friends having a laugh, it was like old times. It was as though all those years of Stephen’s absence, me being married, simply rolled away. Mum and Sally were particularly giggly that night, but it was probably the wine laughing.
It was me who broke the party up, I had to leave to pick Robin up.
‘I’ll scrape your car.’ Stephen jumped up as I was putting my coat on.
‘Does it need it?’
‘Oh yes,’ Sally called, her sharp eyes on us both. ‘The windscreen was already iced over when we came round.’
As we walked down the path to my car Stephen couldn’t resist a snipe.
‘Why doesn’t he drive himself? Has he been banned?’
‘No. He hasn’t. He just likes me to drive.’
‘Get in Etty and start the engine.’ He took the scraper from me and I sat in the relative warmth of the car. Sally hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said my car was iced over.
It didn’t take Stephen long to clear the ice, certainly not as long as it would have taken me. I pressed the button to put the window down so he could hand the scraper back.
‘What did you mean earlier?’ Why was I asking? What did I care what he thought?
‘When?’ But he knew.
‘When you said that Robin doesn’t love me enough. You’re wrong, you know.’
‘Take no notice of my ramblings, Etty. And watch out for black ice.’
‘I bet it’s not as bad as Canada though.’
He laughed, then his face became serious. ‘No, it’s not. But we have the tyres for it. Do be careful. I’ll see you again. Soon.’
Stephen sounded so sure of himself. I liked it. I hadn’t seen much of him on that visit, unlike his last visit, which, although lasting just two weeks, seemed to have been spent entirely in Sally’s garden. It was summer s
o I suppose that made sense. Every time I was at Mum and Dad’s his head had popped over the fence. Mum and Dad liked it, they liked him, they always had, right from when he was a little boy.
‘He’s got a bit personality and a big heart.’ I remember Dad saying that on more than one occasion.
Mads loved him – the big brother she never had. Once, in an unguarded moment she had made a comment about me and Stephen.
‘You should have married him instead of Robin.’ The instant she said it, she’d put her hand over her mouth.
‘What do you mean?’ I wasn’t letting her get away with that so easily.
‘You know.’ She shrugged, making light of it. ‘You get on so well, have the same sense of humour. You know.’
‘We’re just friends. And I get on very well with Robin, thank you very much.’
Because of the ice I was late for Robin, he slammed into the car moaning about me being late on the coldest night of the year. I didn’t respond, no point in causing an argument over nothing.
‘What’s happening now?’ Robin says, his voice sullen.
‘I don’t know.’ It’s the best I can do. I’m weary and depressed. How can this be? I’m having a baby, I should be ecstatic. We all should. I thought we were.
‘With this baby thing, I mean?’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘Don’t do what?’
‘That. Be nasty.’
‘Who’s is it?’
‘Yours as far as I know.’ But that’s not true. Is it? I’m beginning to remember, just little snippets. Maybe Robin’s description of me earlier is correct.
There’s a tentative knock on the door and when I don’t answer, it opens.
‘It’s your hero,’ Robin’s bitter voice says to me, then he barks at Stephen ‘You can have her. The whore is all yours.’
I wait for the outburst. I wait for the fight to start. But nothing happens. Stephen doesn’t reply. The door closes quietly and Robin is gone.
‘Hi Etty. You okay?’
‘Great.’ I let a sigh escape my lips.
‘Shall I turn your chair around? You’re staring out into blackness.’
‘Watching the sunset…’ I mutter as I haul myself up from the chair.
