by Julia Green
The heating was on; Dad couldn’t be away for long. Suddenly ravenous, she put on a pan of water for pasta, settled at the kitchen table and opened the first letter.
It was from Will.
Outside, the dark garden filled up with snow.
Dear Mia,
I don’t know if you’ll get this. Perhaps your dad will post it on to wherever you are. It’s weird not seeing you at school or anything. Becky told me what happened, about the hospital and you running away. Your dad has been here and talked for ages to my mother. I really hope you’re all right. I never meant any of this to happen and I’m really sorry. Mum was so freaked out – but she’s sort of on your side really. She made me write to you, but I don’t know what to say.
I can’t get it into my head about a baby. Mum said I should try to see it from your point of view, but it’s hard when I haven’t even seen you. I could have been prosecuted because you’re only fifteen and it’s against the law. My mother says the child-support agency can make me pay for it when it’s born. What am I supposed to do, Mia? Leave school? Get a job? Mum won’t hear of me leaving school.
I’m just in shock about everything. You must be too.
I got your postcard.
Will.
Her hands were shaking. She re-read it. What did he mean? It was disjointed, a muddle of different feelings. At least he’d written. Was still speaking to her. He’d signed his name, but it didn’t say love or anything.
His mum knew. Everyone knew by now. All of Whitecross. Everyone at school.
Snow fell faster now, a sky full of feathers.
She opened the next letter. She didn’t recognize the handwriting on the envelope and the letter inside had been typed.
Mia –
You are a brave young woman and have made a difficult choice, but at least it was your choice and I support you in that. I don’t know you very well, and I wish I’d made more effort when you started going out with Will. Still, that’s all water under the bridge.
I’ll try and help you with money, because Will is responsible for this too and I don’t want him leaving school or anything stupid like that. Nor should you. I’ve found out about special units for school-girl mums, where you can get on with your education. Get your exams. Get some support. There’s one in Bristol. I’ve spoken to the head teacher already. I think that’s where your mother lives, isn’t it? So this might be a way forward for you. If you receive this letter please get in touch. It can just be between you and me.
Sincerely,
Annie
Will’s mother. Offering money. Help.
The next one was a print-out of an e-mail to Dad.
I have had two strange phone calls, one from a hospital and the other from some very odd-sounding girl. Please ask Mia to get in touch. Phone, letter, e-mail, whatever. Please. Alice
Car tyres crunched over gravel. Mia jumped up, instinctively turned off the light so she could remain hidden. Her whole body was tensed, waiting.
Door slam. Key in lock. Front door swung open. Dad, mouth open, hair dusted white with fine snow, stood on the mat. She knew he’d seen her straightaway, a small figure at the table in the dark kitchen.
Mia hesitated. ‘Dad?’
He walked towards her and grabbed her into his arms.
‘You’re freezing! You’re all wet!’ Mia’s voice came out squashed, crushed against his shoulder.
He hugged her again. Tears on his face, not snowflakes.
It was going to be all right.
They sat quietly together in the kitchen. He didn’t ask any questions. He seemed to know that it was better, for now, to say nothing. To share the moment together. Neither turned the light back on. The darkness was comforting; it softened everything. Through the window they watched the garden gradually transformed by the whiteness of snow. It smoothed over the rough flower beds, the clumps of bare twigged bushes. Rounded the edges of the fence, sculpted the grass and the paths into curves. The black branches of the ash tree blossomed with white furry buds.
‘Magic,’ Dad said. ‘It’s like a kind of magic.’
Mia’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. Deep inside her, the frozen lump of fear and anger and hurt began to thaw.
Just before midnight, Mum’s car slithered into the drive. It had taken her five hours since Dad’s phone call.
Mia had been asleep, but she heard the engine and then the slammed doors and muffled voices as Dad let her in. It had been a long time since she’d heard Mum’s voice in this house. It made her feel funny inside, listening to the voices drifting up. Like an old, old memory – lying in bed as a little girl, and the comforting sound of parents talking. Not the angry, shouting, miserable sort of talking they’d done before Mum left, but from earlier on, when they were still friends.
She strained to hear what exactly was being said, but they must have closed the kitchen door and, not long after, she heard Dad come back upstairs and go into his bedroom, and then Mum must have gone to the bathroom because she heard the sound of water running into the basin. She wondered fleetingly where Mum would sleep. Through the gap in the curtains she could see it had stopped snowing and the sky was clearing. A single star shone in the gap between the clouds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When she next woke up the room was full of the cold, white light of morning. Her parents were moving around downstairs. Someone had switched the radio on. She could smell toast. Mum came out into the hall and called to Dad in the kitchen.
‘Shall we take it into the sitting room while we talk? The snowy garden looks lovely.’
Of course, there would have to be talk. About her. About what they were going to do with her. Mia felt the familiar flare of anger, but she was still so tired. All she wanted was to lie there and sleep.
When she finally got up the voices were still going on. The door was ajar. Mia sat on the top step and listened.
‘– all over again. We’re going round in circles.’
‘But the school is there. She wouldn’t be at home all day.’
‘David, have you heard nothing I’ve been saying? This isn’t going to work. Listen to me, for goodness’ sake. You know how hard I found it. Impossible. I can’t go back there again. I’m only just getting going again after that terrible time.’
‘Well, what are you suggesting then? It’s going to be all up to me again, is it? How on earth can I support Mia and a baby? All over again. Haven’t I done enough?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s hard for me to think straight right now. It’s too raw, too much like what we couldn’t sort out before, when it was our baby.’
‘Why do you always have to bring it back to us? This is Mia we’re talking about.’
‘Because it is still about us, can’t you see? What Mia’s going through – it has everything to do with us. What we dumped on her. What I did. That’s why I feel so terrible. Isn’t it obvious? Her terrible hurt at me leaving. She wants a baby to love her, to fill the terrible yearning gap that’s inside her, and maybe she’s right. Maybe it will heal that old wound. Who are we to say? We messed it up. She’ll probably do a much better job than we did. Than I did anyway.’
Mia sat with her head in her hands. Each word pierced her like an arrow. It was terrible to hear Mum’s words, but she also knew they were true. You have to face the truth. You can’t go on pretending. She did want a baby to love her, and for her to love. It did feel like it might heal something for her. And she did think she could do it better.
She walked slowly down the stairs and pushed open the door. They both looked up. Mum had tears on her cheeks. She tried to smile at Mia.
‘Darling!’
‘It’s all right,’ Mia told her. ‘I heard what you said. I just thought it might be better if I was here too, since you’re talking about me.’
‘Yes. Of course. But can I just talk to you first, Mia? Without David for a bit?’
She could see Dad biting back an angry reply. He left the room abruptl
y, closed the door a little too hard.
Mia felt cold again. This woman now sitting opposite her on the sofa was her mother. She didn’t even look how she remembered. Her hair was sleek and dark, and she wore make-up, smudged a little now, and smart fashionable clothes. She looked young. Sexy, even.
‘You’re so thin, Mia! I’m so sorry. You poor love.’
Mia shrugged.
‘I know you’re still angry with me, Mia. You’ve a right to be angry. It doesn’t help you though, going on and on, holding it to you like – like armour. It hurts you more than anyone else. And now we’ve a baby to think about.’
Mia’s hands tightened in her lap.
‘Please, Mia. Can you just listen to me? Just for a short while hear what I want to tell you? I’ve thought about it so much, and if I don’t say it now I probably never will.’
How could Mia say no to that? Her mother, pleading with tears in her eyes? But she couldn’t smile. She didn’t really want to hear what Mum was about to tell her. She could guess some of it already.
Mum read her silence as agreement. She fumbled to find the right words to begin with.
‘It was a terrible, terrible thing I did, Mia. Leaving you and your sisters. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been desperate. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just think it might help if I tell you what happened. It broke my heart, leaving you all behind.’
‘Why did you then?’ Mia’s voice was icy.
‘In my muddled way I thought it would be better for you, that you’d be better off with Dad. He’d do a better job than me. He had his work and money, and he wasn’t going crazy in his head like I was. It felt like the only thing I could do.’
Listen to the words. Concentrate. Eyes open. Breathe out.
‘I thought I’d die if I stayed any longer, Mia. I was withering, drying up so there was nothing left of me. Couldn’t do it like everyone else seemed to. Being a mother. Anyway, at the lowest point I found I was pregnant again. A fourth baby. Too much for me, but too much for Dad too. He was working, no time, me ill, sicker than I’d ever been with the other pregnancies – and I’d been pretty bad when I was pregnant with you, Mia.’
No more. I don’t want to hear this.
But Alice kept talking, even though Mia was a cold and ungiving listener, and gradually the story her mother told began to bind her in its spell.
‘What could I do? I had three beautiful daughters. I knew what it was like to bring a child into the world, the birth, the magic of it. How could I not have this one? What kind of mother kills her own child? “It’s not killing. It’s not a child, not yet,” David said. He kept saying it. I think he was trying to help me out; he could see I wasn’t in any fit state to have a baby – he wasn’t either – and gradually I began to believe what he said, what other friends told me. That it wasn’t so terrible, just a sensible choice, one that women have had to make for years and centuries even, taking control of their bodies.’
Her voice faltered. Mia leaned forwards ever so slightly.
‘And then suddenly I didn’t have a choice any more. I began to bleed. A miscarriage. And it was all over. No baby. No choice. And instead, terrible guilt. That I’d made it happen. Terrible grief, over a lost child, except that why would I feel grief when I hadn’t wanted it? I didn’t deserve any sympathy. And after that, I couldn’t bear to be around you all any more. Not David, or any of you children. All I could think was that I had to go away. By myself.
‘I’m telling you this, Mia, not so you’ll forgive me or anything, not to get sympathy, but because it’s the truth of how it was, and because it seems important for you to know. It connects up with your story. The piece of ice you’ve kept inside you since then. It isn’t yours, it comes from me.
‘It’s as if – this baby you’ve decided to have – it’s a way to warm you again – from the inside – the child inside, coming to life – a way of loving again.
‘I know we’ve still got lots to sort out, and it’s going to be really hard, and maybe you’ll end up thinking, I don’t know, that it was the wrong choice. Sometimes, anyway. But you have made a choice and it’s a brave one, Mia. You can be a good mother. Better than I’ve been.’
Heart thudding behind her ribs. Fear beating its wings. Don’t look at her. Don’t show her anything.
‘Thanks for listening.’
‘OK.’
‘Anything you want to say?’
‘No.’
Mum sighed heavily. ‘Does it make sense to you, what I’ve said?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know really.’
‘Now we need to talk about you. What you want to do.’
‘Yes.’
‘Shall we call David back?’
‘In a minute.’
‘He’s been a good dad, you know. Really good. I was right about that.’
‘Yes. I know. You don’t have to tell me that.’
In that second, Mia suddenly saw everything clearly.
‘That letter you sent –’ Mia looked directly at her mother ‘– it was horrible. I hated you.’
Alice was silent.
‘Can’t you see? I couldn’t possibly go and find you after that, with the baby inside me, knowing what you thought. So I had nowhere to go.’
‘I’m sorry, Mia. Again. I can’t get it right, can I?’
‘No.’
‘You’re better off here with Dad. Always have been.’
‘Yes. And it’s easier for you.’
‘Don’t be so hard, Mia.’
‘It’s just the truth, isn’t it? You should face the truth. That’s what you say.’
‘Yes. I guess so. What about school and everything? There’s a special place in Bristol and Dad thought –’
‘I know. I could live with you. And go to the school. But you don’t want me, and I don’t want it either. Not now. I’ll have to work something out.’
‘I can help in other ways, Mia. With money, for instance. Now I’ve got a proper job. You heard about that, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Aren’t you pleased for me?’
Mia shrugged. ‘It’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s nothing to do with me. I’ll get Dad back in.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘The baby is now completely formed. From now on, its time in the uterus will be spent in growing and maturing until it is able to survive independently of its mother.’
Now it was Saturday morning, and the house was full of people. Dad ruffled her hair every time he went past, grinning. It was after she’d said that she wanted to stay living with him in Whitecross that he’d started to smile, and he still hadn’t stopped. She hadn’t really thought before about what he might be going through. There hadn’t been room for anyone else’s feelings. Now she began to take in the truth that he’d loved her all the time. Even when he was furious with her. Disappointed, upset.
Over the next two days she told him, bit by bit, all that had happened. Almost all. She didn’t tell him about Evie’s baby, or the horrible, lurking fear that Evie had had a plan of her own, her own reasons for taking Mia on and looking after her. It had become a regular nightmare: waking, sweating, with the stomach-churning sense of something lost, missing. Not something, but someone. You didn’t want a baby, but we do.
After breakfast, Dad telephoned Becky’s mum, and then Will’s mum, and then Miss Blackman. Mia grimaced when he called her Julie.
‘You’ll have to get used to it. Sorry, but you can’t expect me to do without a love life forever.’
‘But why her? A teacher. My teacher. She’s not nearly good enough.’
‘Well, at my age, you take it where you can.’
‘Dad!’
Now they were all here, except Miss Blackman. She’d thought it better ‘to leave the family to themselves for a bit’. She did have some sensitivity then.
‘Why do you have to invite them all over? They’ll just go on at me.’
‘To celebrate you being all right, s
illy. Coming home safely. They’ve all rallied round, helping me. They’re not going to be making judgements, Mia. Not now. We’ve all moved on a bit. Can’t you imagine what we’ve been through, worried sick about what might be happening to you, not knowing where you were?’
‘Don’t start again.’
‘OK. We agreed. Anyway, I want to celebrate, OK? These are our friends, Mia. We’re going to need them. You know that. We won’t get through the next months without them.’
All these mothers. Becky’s had brought pizza for everyone. Homemade.
Becky rolled her eyes at Mia. ‘Can’t we go upstairs?’
They lay on Mia’s narrow bed. Just like old times. Almost. Becky lay on her side, propped on one elbow, and looked at Mia’s stomach with her.
‘You still couldn’t tell though. I mean, maybe it’s fatter than usual, but no one else would notice.’
‘Have you seen Will?’
‘At school, of course. Not much outside. No one’s been going out much. Ali’s given up on him. She fancies the new history teacher.’
‘Oh no!’
‘Well, you know her. She’d have had your dad if she could.’
‘But Julie got there first. Julie!’ They giggled.
‘Your fault. You running off brought them closer together.’
‘Depressing, isn’t it?’
‘Well, at least you don’t have to go to school there any more.’
‘No. I could go to the school-girl mother’s place.’ Mia wrinkled up her nose. ‘If I wanted.’
‘Do you?’
‘Dunno. I’ll go and see it probably. I’d have to live at my mother’s place. Don’t think I want to do that. Better here, with Dad. And you. And everyone. Even if it is a dump.’
‘Good. I’ve really missed you, you know. She’s not how I imagined her, your mum. Alice.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, she seems really nice. Friendly. Attractive. I can’t quite imagine her running off, leaving you all.’
‘She talked about it the other morning. When she first got here.’
‘What did she say?’
‘It was awful. I was so tired – and I’d rather not know really.’
