by Karen Cole
‘Is this your idea of a joke?’
Danny’s standing in the doorway of his flat rubbing his eyes. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning but he’s still wearing boxers, and his dark hair is all messy like he’s just got out of bed. He blinks in confusion at the babygrow she’s brandishing.
‘You’d better come in,’ he says croakily as Abby strides past into his dark, dinghy living room. The curtains are drawn, and the air is fuggy with the smell of cigarettes and beer. Cans and ashtrays are scattered everywhere.
‘Bit of a late one last night,’ he explains, wincing when Abby draws the curtains, letting bright sunlight flood in ‘Do you have to do that? My head is killing me.’
She’s too angry to care. She’s been fuming all night, letting her anger grow and ferment. ‘What were you thinking, Danny? Why did you send me this?’
He stares at the babygrow in what seems like genuine bewilderment.
‘What’s that?’
‘You know very well what it is.’
‘No, I don’t,’ He scowls. He’s starting to get angry too. ‘I mean, of course I know what it is. But I don’t know what you’re doing with it, or what it has to do with me.’ He sinks into the sofa rubbing his temples with his thumbs. ‘Look, can this wait? I’m really feeling like shit.’
‘You didn’t send this to me then?’ Abby perches on the edge of the sofa, the wind taken out of her sails.
‘What? No of course not. Why would I?’
Abby gives him a searching look. She feels like she has a good nose for lies and it seems like Danny’s telling the truth. Without a target, her anger quickly evaporates and turns to confusion.
‘I don’t know,’ she shrugs. ‘As a kind of sick joke, I suppose.’
‘I’m insulted you think I would do something like that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘But apart from you, no one knows I’m pregnant. Who else could have sent it?’ She stands up and paces the room, thinking hard. ‘Are you sure you didn’t tell anyone?’
‘Of course not.’ He says. This time, though, she can tell he’s not telling the truth. He does this thing where he tugs at his ear lobe when he’s lying. It’s a dead giveaway. She glares at him until he smiles sheepishly.
‘Well, alright then, I told my mum, that’s all, and I made her promise not to tell anyone else. I had to get it off my chest somehow. I was worried about you!’
‘Your mother!’
Abby pictures Danny’s mum, a tiny, garrulous woman who works at the local newsagent’s. She knows everyone in the town and loves to gossip.
‘Jesus. Thanks a lot, Danny. You might as well have announced it to the world.’
Danny grips his head. ‘I’m sorry, Abs, but I don’t really see what you’re worried about. This is the twenty-first century. Nobody’s going to judge you for being single and pregnant.’
‘That’s really not the point. Oh, never mind. What’s done is done, I suppose.’
She sinks back in the sofa. ‘It wasn’t just the babygrow. There was this, too.’ She takes out the card she has in her back pocket and shows him.
‘To Abigail. For baby . . .’ he reads aloud. ‘It is weird,’ he admits, chewing a nail thoughtfully. ‘When did it arrive? Was there a sender’s address?’
‘No, it wasn’t even posted. I found it in my pigeonhole at school, yesterday.’
‘Hmm. Do you think it could have been put there by a kid, as a joke?’
Abby nods slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ It seems like the most likely explanation. The children must have somehow found out that she’s pregnant. Maybe they overheard her and Danny talking and thought it would be funny to send her a gift. The kids are not usually allowed in the staff room, but it would be easy enough to sneak in when no one was watching.
‘Mystery solved.’ Danny slaps his knees. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m gasping for a coffee. Do you want one?’ He stands up and heads into the kitchen.
Abby follows him, still thinking furiously. ‘This whole thing is driving me crazy,’ she says. ‘I mean, I need to know who did this to me.’
‘Like we said, it was probably just a schoolkid.’
‘No, I don’t mean just the parcel, I mean this.’ Abby clutches her belly. ‘Who’s the father? How did I get pregnant?’
‘Well . . .’ Danny fills the kettle and switches it on. ‘You think it was someone at my party New Year’s Eve, right?’
Abby has thought about this. ‘Yes. Do you remember who was there? I mean, would you be able to make a list for me?’
Danny spoons out the coffee into mugs. ‘I’ll try, Abs, but there were a lot of people coming and going that night.’
‘I know.’ Abby paces the room. She gets the milk out of the fridge and pours it into the mugs. She thinks about the memory she had earlier, about the man on the stairs. ‘There’s something I do remember, though. I was talking to a guy in a green T-shirt, on the stairs I think. He was good-looking, dark-haired.’
Danny picks up his coffee and slurps. ‘Did he have tattoos?’
An image of a wiry arm covered in a black, geometric design flashes into her mind.
‘Yes, I think so!’
‘Sounds like my friend Alex,’ says Danny. ‘Alex Taylor. But we’ll check with Mark. Mark will remember. He barely ever drinks. He has this annoying habit of remembering everything and then telling you all the stupid things you did the night before.’ He hands a cup of coffee to Abby and then takes his into the hallway.
‘Hey, Mark!’ he calls up the stairs before Abby can stop him.
‘Don’t wake him up!’ she exclaims.
‘Oh, he’s been up ages already. You know what he’s like.’
Abby suddenly panics. ‘I don’t want him to know about this. You haven’t told him already, have you?’
Danny shakes his head. ‘It’s okay. Relax, Abs, we won’t have to tell him anything.’
‘Tell me what? What’s up?’ Mark pads down the stairs. He’s dressed neatly, as always, in jeans and a T-shirt that says Mr Universe in symbols from the periodic table. Small, geeky and obsessively neat. He’s a strange sort of flatmate for Danny. And Abby often wonders how he can stand all the drama and chaos that living with Danny must entail. Opposites attract, she supposes.
Mark pushes his glasses up his nose and nods at the bodysuit Abby’s still clutching. ‘Bit small for you that, Abigail,’ he says.
She reddens and forces a laugh. ‘Oh, yes, it’s a present for a friend. She’s having a baby.’
‘Oh.’ He nods, and starts fiddling with his phone.
‘Did you see who Abby left with on New Year’s Eve?’ asks Danny as they head to the living room. Abby throws him a look that he ignores. But if Mark is curious about why she wants to know after all this time, he doesn’t show it.
‘Don’t you remember?’
Abby sighs and sits down on the sofa. ‘No, I had a bit too much to drink.’
Mark nods, a faint smile hovering at the edge of his mouth. ‘Yeah, you had quite a few tequila slammers, if I remember rightly. We played Truth or Dare, remember?’
Abby stares at him and groans. She has absolutely no memory of that. ‘Not at all. Did I say anything stupid?’
It wouldn’t be the first time, she reflects. Just after Mum died she’d gone through a phase of drinking way too much and doing or saying reckless, embarrassing things. There was that time at uni when she got up on stage at a gig and tried to grab the mike from the lead singer, and another time when Ben and Chloe had to drag her out of a nightclub when she picked an argument with the biggest, meanest-looking bloke in there.
‘Not too stupid, don’t worry.’ Mark grins. ‘I didn’t see who you left with, but you were talking a lot to Danny’s friend, the one with all the tattoos.’
‘There you go. Alex. I thought so.’ Danny turns and gi
ves Abby a meaningful glance. Abby ignores him.
‘Why do you want to know, anyway?’ says Mark.
‘Er . . .’ Abby thinks rapidly. ‘I can’t find the necklace I was wearing that night and I was thinking maybe I dropped it in his car.’
‘Oh. Or maybe you dropped it somewhere here –’ Mark bites his lip – ‘though I think I would have found it by now.’
Danny nods. ‘You definitely would have.’ He winks at Abby and grins at Mark. ‘Our Mark’s a bit of an obsessive-compulsive cleaner on the quiet.’
‘Well, someone has to be, or this place would be a tip,’ Mark says mildly, and looks around the living room. ‘In fact, it is a tip at the moment. What were you doing last night, Danny?’
Danny shrugs. ‘I just had a few friends round.’
‘What does your necklace look like, Abby?’ Mark asks, picking up a few empty cans.
Abby thinks for a second. ‘Er . . . it’s a silver tree-of-life pendant. It’s not valuable, but it has a lot of sentimental value. My mother gave it to me the Christmas before she died.’ It’s true that her mum gave her a pendant that fits that description, but the necklace is, in reality, safe at home in her jewellery box. Abby feels bad lying about it but it’s the first thing that popped into her head.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll let you know if I find it.’ Mark blinks owlishly at Abby, then wanders off.
Abby turns back to Danny. ‘So, is he straight?’ She asks when Mark’s out of earshot.
‘Mark? Yes, of course.’
‘No, I mean your friend Alex!’ Abby rolls her eyes.
Danny sighs. ‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘Unfortunately?’
‘Because he’s absolutely gorgeous, obviously.’
Abby doesn’t smile. ‘Do you think he could be the one . . . ?’
Danny frowns and shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I mean, he’s had his share of troubles, but nah, there’s no way. I’ve known him for years, ever since we were kids. He wouldn’t take advantage of someone like that.’
Abby sips her coffee and thinks about this. ‘Unless he was out of it too? What do you mean by “troubles”?’
‘Some minor stuff. Drug-related, I think. It was years ago. I was away at university when it all happened – but I’m telling you, Abby, he’s a good guy at heart.’
‘I think we should talk to him anyway,’ says Abby. ‘Even if it isn’t him, maybe he’ll remember something important. Have you got his number?’
‘Yes, but I tell you what, I think we can do better than that. He’s works at the Three Compasses. I’m not quite sure which days he works, but I know he’s there every Saturday. We could go there for a drink and I can introduce you in a casual way – he needn’t know why you want to talk to him.’
‘Good idea,’ says Abby. ‘When? Tonight?’
Danny shakes his head ruefully. ‘I’m really sorry, I can’t tonight. My sister and her fiancé are coming to visit. How about next Saturday?’
Abby would rather go immediately and get some answers, but she doesn’t really want to be alone when she meets Alex after what Danny said yesterday in the staff room, so she reluctantly agrees.
‘Okay, it’s a date.’
Danny leans back, lights a cigarette, and then quickly stubs it out.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t smoke with you in your condition.’
Abby swallows a burst of irritation. ‘It’s okay. Go ahead. It won’t make a difference. I’m not keeping it, anyway.’
This slips out, without premeditation. She hasn’t meant to tell anyone until it’s all over. A done deal.
Danny eyes narrow but he says nothing. He gets that dark, brooding look he sometimes has. ‘You mean, you’re going to have an abortion?’
‘What else can I do? I don’t have any choice.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s your body, your decision.’ Danny shrugs, not quite meeting her eyes.
Abby feels anger bubbling up inside her. ‘Damn right it’s my decision,’ she says. She doesn’t understand what his problem is. It has nothing to do with him, and as far as she’s concerned, he has no right to judge her.
Danny drains his coffee and stands up. ‘Well, I’m going to go back to bed now, Abs, if you don’t mind,’ he says coldly. ‘I really feel like shit. You can see yourself out, can’t you?’
Abby watches him go in anger and astonishment. Then she lets herself out, slamming the door. She feels betrayed and hurt. How dare he judge her? It’s okay for him. He’s a man. By definition, he’ll never have to face this horrible dilemma.
She walks back towards her house, through St Michael’s Park and past the empty tennis courts and the crazy golf. It’s not actually raining but the sky is heavy, oppressive and grey. Everything is still. She feels a wave of hopelessness wash over her. She’s got no one to talk to. Danny is acting weird, and Ellie is out of the question. There’s no one else she can really trust. If only Mum were still alive, Mum would know what to do.
Grief grips her as she thinks of her mum, always upbeat, never complaining, even towards the end when she must have been in so much pain. But that was typical Mum, always thinking of other people, never of herself.
She pictures Mum a few days before the end, lying in the hospital bed attached to all sorts of tubes and machines. Her face was so heartbreakingly thin and gaunt, and she was lying so still – she looked like one of those medieval stone effigies you see on top of tombs. Sitting next to the bed, Abby had reached out to touch her, terrified she was already dead, but Mum’s eyes had flown open and she’d grasped Abby’s hand.
‘Remember what I told you,’ she said. ‘You’re strong and beautiful and you can do anything you want with your life.’
Abby’s pretty sure that an accidental pregnancy wasn’t what her mum had in mind when she’d said that.
There’s a small wooded area just after the crazy golf with a bench overlooking a sort of adventure playground made of logs and zip wires. She sits down on the bench and rings her dad. He’ll be surprised to hear from her, she reflects. They don’t talk often these days. Not since Sue came into the picture about a month after Mum died. Dad’s new girlfriend, Sue, is twenty years younger than her dad and about as different from Mum as possible. Abby couldn’t get over how quickly he managed to replace their mother. It was like a slap in the face and it created a big rift between them. But right now, she really can’t think who else to turn to.
‘Hello?’ Her dad answers quickly, sounding a little breathless and distracted.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Hello, Ellie,’ he says.
‘It’s not Ellie, it’s Abby.’
‘Yes, of course, sorry, you sound so alike on the phone.’ There’s a pause. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I don’t know . . . just thought I’d ring for a chat.’ Do I need a reason to phone my father? Abby thinks, immediately angry.
‘Oh.’ There’s another long pause.
‘How are you, Dad?’
‘Oh, I’m okay,’ he says vaguely. ‘They’re repaving the centre of the village. Everyone is up in arms about it.’
‘Oh. Why?’
‘People keep tripping, and someone broke their hip the other day. Anyway, how are you, Abigail? How’s work?’
‘Um, I’m okay. It’s okay. Listen, Dad, the reason . . .’
‘Sorry, love. Someone’s at the door and I’m late for my cookery class. Can I ring you back later?’
‘Sure.’
Ever since her mum’s death, her dad, inspired by Sue, has been involved in a whirlwind of activities. Badminton, golf, the local history society, and now cookery. It seems like a strange choice. She doesn’t think she ever saw him so much as boil an egg when Mum was alive.
He hangs up and Abby sighs. She’s almost sure he won’t ring back. She was stup
id to think he would help. Her mum was always the one she went to with problems. The pain of missing her is physical. She brushes away angry tears. Well, now she’s going to have to grow up, finally. She’s going to have to deal with this one on her own. And the decision really can’t be delayed.
She pulls out the numbers she wrote down last night and punches in the numbers to the clinic.
Five
They have done their best to make the waiting room cheery and calming. Innocuous landscapes in soft, muted colours hang on the walls, and a few wilting pot plants are scattered around the room. Despite that, Abby feels far from calm. This is the last place she wants to be. But every day she leaves it, this pregnancy becomes more real. She’s already had to wait a few days because the clinic was fully booked. She can’t back out now.
There are only two other people in the waiting room with her: a pale-faced girl fiddling with her phone, who looks like she can’t be more than fifteen, and her mother, who is reading a magazine. Abby picks up a magazine herself and tries to read, but she can’t focus; the words blur, there’s a faint throbbing at the back of her head, and she feels like she’s going to throw up.
It feels like an age but it’s probably no more than ten minutes before the intercom crackles and screeches: ‘Abigail Brooke. Please come to room three on the right.’
Abby tries not to feel as if she’s walking the green mile. There’s no need to be nervous, she tells herself. She’s taking decisive action. It’s a good thing. A short, simple operation. Very soon this is all going to be over and done with.
Dr Georgiou has bleached white hair, striking against her youthful, olive skin and dark eyes. Her desk is clear, apart from a photograph of a dark, handsome man in a silver frame. ‘Take a seat, Abigail.’ She smiles briskly. ‘I need to ask you few questions, just to make sure you’re clear about the procedure and are aware of all the options, is that okay?’
‘Sure.’
Dr Georgiou looks down at her notes. ‘Why have you opted for a termination, Abigail?’ she asks.
The truth is uncomfortable to talk about and Abby is tired of being judged. ‘I’m still young,’ she finds herself saying. ‘I’m not really in a financial position to bring up a baby, and the father is out of the picture.’ It’s not a lie. Just a partial truth.
