Walking Alone

by Carolyn McCrae

  After a week Linda finally cornered me in my office.

  “I’ve been wondering how to mention the subject.” She began, which immediately made me wary. “Holly couldn’t be, you know, pregnant could she?”

  I couldn’t answer for a while, such a mixture of emotions came all at once. Relief, I had worried she was ill and this would seem the answer; worry, why hadn’t she said anything to me; and joy, I had honestly wondered if I was ever going to be a father. It was wonderful news. I corrected my thoughts. It would be wonderful news.

  “Not impossible I suppose.” I finally answered.

  “Do you want me to talk to her?”

  “No. Thanks. No I’ll talk to her tonight.”

  “If she is…” Linda left the question incomplete.

  “I would be over the moon! It would be the best thing.” I looked at Linda who looked relieved “You didn’t think I’d leave her to it did you?” I was hurt.

  She smiled “Just checking.”

  The rest of the day took a very long time to pass.

  I waited until after we had had supper and Holly was looking through the papers to see what, if anything, there was to watch on the television before asking nonchalantly “Holly, are you OK?”

  “Fine thanks.” She answered distractedly.

  “No I mean really OK?”

  She still didn’t understand what I was getting at. “Yeah, fine, a bit tired but OK. Of course I’m OK.”

  “I don’t think you are. You’re so tired, the girls in the office are making comments about it. They say you always had so much patience but now you snap at them and won’t explain things calmly and long-sufferingly like you used to do. They’re gossiping about you being pregnant.”

  “Well you know what we think about gossips don’t you.” she said shortly. “They’re talking rubbish as usual.”

  “Come on, Holly, that’s not like you.

  “Well I’m not. I can’t be.”

  “Forgive me if I show ignorance of these things but I did think what we had been doing most nights actually could lead to that end.”

  “Oh don’t be so fucking pompous!”

  She had never talked like that. I hated it. I really didn’t want to argue.

  “You’re so fucking right all the time aren’t you? Well piss off home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Perhaps it was that time of the month again. I made a note to keep a check.

  “I’ll go if you want me to.”

  “Fucking well do.”

  I had to ask again, this was so unlike her. “If you’re sure.”

  “Fucking well am.”

  She stormed out and headed for the bedroom, so I folded the newspaper, turned the television off, wondering whether I should go in to see her, sit on the bed, tell her it’s not a problem, cuddle her, tell her I loved her.

  But I didn’t.

  I should have.

  And I went home when that was exactly the wrong thing to have done.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Holly sat down on the bed and grimaced. She went to her bureau and took out her diary. She opened it at the bookmark.

  “Shit!” she whispered, “Oh shit shit shit!”

  The bookmark was in the week ending 20th June. Three months ago. She hadn’t thought as the summer had progressed and so much had happened in her life. She just hadn’t thought. She had been so happy, had had so much on her mind.

  She just hadn’t thought.

  She’d been on the pill, of course, when she had been with Graham and she hadn’t stopped taking it, though she had missed the odd day now and again, especially in Oxford when it hadn’t seemed necessary. She had often missed months, but never this long. He must be right. She must be pregnant.

  She heard the television go quiet and the door shut. She had pushed him away, just when she needed him to be sitting here with her, his arms around her shoulders, saying he loved her.

  She was pregnant. He would be overjoyed. He would think it was his. He’d make a good father.

  But was he? If she was three months gone it could be Carl’s. But what if she was only two months gone?

  It could be Graham’s.

  She gave a short involuntary gasp at that thought. That would be too much to bear and she slumped on the floor, her diary in her hand and prayed. “Please God. Please. Not Graham. I can handle it if its Carl but not Graham. Please make me three months. Please. I’ll never lie to anyone ever again about anything. I’ll be the best Mother ever.”

  She put her hand on her stomach. She had felt funny for a few weeks, not sick, not ill, just odd. How could she have been so blind? Of course she was pregnant.

  She had always thought of herself as different from the girls she had seen at Leicester who slept around. She had never wanted to be like that. But she was pregnant and the father could be one of three men.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked backwards and forwards. This couldn’t be happening to her. How could she tell Charles? What would he do? What should she do? “Oh shit!”

  “It’s a shame you’ve been on the pill Mrs Tyler, it usually helps to determine birth dates if we know when your last period was. The pill rather confuses that. Judging by the size I’d say it’s either a small three months or a large two months. Difficult to know which, but you are definitely pregnant. Congratulations.”

  The doctor peeled off his rubber gloves and threw them in the bin he had opened absent-mindedly with his foot. “Now fill in these forms and give them to my receptionist on your way out.”

  He showed no emotion at all, it had been all so normal for him.

  She went straight back to the flat.

  What if the doctors said in the end she wasn’t three months gone, she’d have to have an abortion and how would Charles feel then? And she couldn’t tell him about Graham.

  He would want to know why she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him immediately. They had promised not to have any secrets but some things just couldn’t be told.

  She would have to go over everything that happened that night again and she had nearly managed to forget the pain and the humiliation and pretend it had all happened to a different person.

  When the phone rang Holly knew it would be Charles so she made herself answer it, however much she didn’t feel like talking to him.

  “It was all so matter of fact. I suppose he’s given that news to hundreds of women, it’s nothing special to him.”

  “But it is though isn’t it?”

  “You sound happy.” She spoke as if talking to herself.

  “Why shouldn’t I be? Holly listen to me. I’ve been thinking. Ever since last night I’ve not stopped. I want to marry you Holly, I want us to be a family. Please?”

  “You want to get married? You want to marry me?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised! Of course I want to marry you! I nearly asked you that day we went to Hilbre. I’ve nearly asked you a hundred times but the moment was never right.”

  “But you didn’t did you? You must have always found a reason not to. And now you’re only asking because of this.”

  “I was waiting for you to ask me.”

  Holly didn’t answer, she didn’t laugh as he had expected, she was just silent at the end of the phone line.

  “Are you OK?”

  “No.”

  “How long?”

  “Must be two maybe three months.”

  “And you didn’t know?”

  “No idea. Didn’t think.” She couldn’t say more than the odd word. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t know what she felt. She just knew that if she said anything more she would cry and she wasn’t going to do that.

  “What about, you know, the pill?”

  “I forgot a few times.”

  “Don’t you have to forget a lot?”

  “Didn’t think. Didn’t think it could happen to me.”

  “Well it looks likes it’s happened to us.”

  “But you saw the timing! Thin
k about it!”

  “So?”

  “I need to spell it out? My last thing. June. What happened at the end of June?”

  “You were in Oxford.”

  “And I slept with Carl! I told you.”

  “But you must have had a ‘thing’ since then surely?”

  “No. I would have moved the marker in the diary.”

  “So it could be either of us.”

  “I suppose.”

  She couldn’t believe he was laughing.

  “I’ll tell you something to put your mind at rest. Carl can’t be the father.”

  “Why not? Why are you so sure?”

  “Because he’s had the snip. He did it when he was young. He told me ages ago the he never wanted children, he had some stupid idea that it would not be a good idea for him. He’s had a vasectomy. So you see you don’t need to worry.”

  But she did anyway, for a reason she could not tell him.

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten I asked you to marry me. Why aren’t you screaming and laughing and yelling ‘yes’ down the phone?”

  She thought of the only thing she could say “I’m still married. My divorce doesn’t come through for weeks. I can’t get engaged while I’m still married can I?”

  “Of course you can! We’ll need time to make arrangements and be ready as soon as you’re free.”

  “Why? I’d be no better off. I’d be out of the frying pan into the fire.”

  She regretted the words as soon as she had spoken them. She hadn’t meant to be so bitter, so hurtful.

  “I’m sorry.” Charles broke the silence before it had lasted an eternity. “It’s my fault. I’ve asked you too soon, you’re still coming to terms with everything. Shall I come round?”

  “No!” she knew she sounded hysterical.

  “You need to be on your own. I’ll phone in the morning. Lie down, get some rest, watch television, read, do anything but please think about it. I do so want to marry you. You. Not our baby. I want to be with you all our lives. I have loved you since I don’t know when, it’s not the baby that’s making me ask you. I love you. Please please think about it.”

  She put the phone down without saying another word.

  She felt more alone even than during those days after her Mother had died and her father had shut her out of his flat, this flat, than every night she had laid next to Graham in their bed, than the day she had left him and had walked and walked and ended up at the party in Sandhey.

  More alone even than when she had found out what her father had been and when she had learned how much Charles could have done to help if he had wanted to.

  She knew now that not only was she alone but there was no one left she could possibly tell about what had happened to her.

  She wanted to talk to her mother more than she could ever have imagined. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked backwards and forwards. She wanted her to be alive, she wanted to talk to her, she wanted to be hugged and comforted as if she were a child again.

  Where was that red quarter? She needed to hold the coin that her mother had given her. She had taken from the New York guide book and had carried it around with her for months. Then she had put it away, frightened she’d lose it or Graham would realise how important it was to her. If he’d known he would have thrown it away.

  Where was it? She had to find it.

  With increasing urgency she searched her drawers to find the small red coin. It became a matter of such urgency she wasn’t bothering to close or replace anything as she searched through all the pockets of all her clothes and found nothing. She finally went to the old cigar box she used to hold silly little bits and pieces that reminded her of places and times. It was there, under the yellowing cutting of Star Pupils. She knew she would never have thrown it away.

  She held the coin in her hands as if it was the most important thing in the world. She gripped it until its imprint was embedded in the palm of her hands. She cried her eyes out in relief that she had found the single most important memento of her Mother, of her childhood, of herself as she had once been and would be no more.

  She went to bed, closing the curtains and carefully checking the door was still locked. She had to shut herself away from the world. She lay in bed listening to the wind in the lime tree outside the window. It was nearly October.

  Where would she be in a year’s time? Would she still have Charles or had she thrown him away for ever. Would she have a baby? Who would the baby look like? She tried not to think of anything, anyone.

  The street lights were still glowing orange through the curtains when the phone rang.

  She jumped up and ran to pick it up.

  “Charles?”

  “No Holl Doll, it’s your husband not your lover.”

  She listened without response as he talked “Just to let you know you are still my wife. Lover boy’s not with you tonight is he? I’ll stop you being lonely. You still owe me. The other week was good, doll, but it wasn’t worth millions. For a few more days you’re my ...”

  She didn’t say a word as she put her finger on the phone to cut him off and then, after a few moments listened for the dialling tone. Could she call Charles? She couldn’t bear the thought that Graham might be outside, watching her. He must be close by – how else would he know she was alone. He must be watching the flat. He’s probably just outside in the phone box.

  She pulled the wires out of the wall and ran to the front door to check the bolts again. She dragged a chest of drawers across the floor, ramming it as hard as she could against the front door.

  He must not get in.

  A few minutes later the door bell rang but she didn’t answer it. It rang again, and again, and she sat with her back to the door with her fingers in her ears. “Go away. Go away. Go away.” she screamed silently in her head.

  She rushed through the rooms of the small flat turning off all the lights ending up in the spare room at the back. She huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees rocking backwards and forwards waiting for the noise of the doorbell to go away. Her eyes were screwed up with the concentration of fear.

  Eventually the ringing stopped.

  She knew he wouldn’t have gone away. He would be trying the fire escape. He could be climbing up and breaking one of the windows. Had she left the kitchen window open? The bathroom window? She rocked backwards and forwards, her body held rigid, her fists clenched, her nails digging into the flesh of the palms of her hands.

  He had to go away. He just had to.

  She couldn’t hear anything. It was quiet. But she knew he would be back. She had to stay here, rocking, safe.

  Charles turned away from the door and slowly walked back across the golf course wondering what had gone so terribly wrong.

  When she woke up she was cold and stiff. She wondered for an instant why she was curled up in the corner of her spare room and then remembered.

  All was quiet.

  She wanted some coffee. It was still dark. She wasn’t going to turn a light on. She felt her way along the hall, bumping into pieces of furniture in unfamiliar places.

  She could hear the rain battering against the window panes and the wind whistling round the edge of the building. She stopped herself from thinking what it would be like to watch the waves thundering against the sea wall at Sandhey.

  As she sat with the coffee mug in her hands more and more cars went round the roundabout, their lights reflecting round the ceiling. After a while she didn’t see the lights any more. She could see the colour and the patterns of the curtains.

  The night was over and he hadn’t come.

  She crawled over to the window and, sitting to the side of the window so she couldn’t be seen, stared through the gap between the curtain and the wall. She could see a corner of the pavement and the zebra crossing by the roundabout. She sat willing Charles to walk round the corner and cross towards the flat. Perhaps he would drive over, hold
her and keep her safe. Perhaps the tenth, the twentieth car round the corner would be his. She sat holding her empty mug as she counted the cars. But he didn’t walk round the corner, and his car didn’t drive up into the parking bay outside the flat.

  She crawled beneath the window to see if she could see the road in the other direction.

  There was a red van parked there.

  Graham had a van. He hadn’t said what colour.

  It had to be him.

  She backed away from the window and crawled across the floor. She thought about closing the curtain more, if she could see out someone might be able to see in, but she didn’t want to move them. If anyone saw the curtains moving they would know she was still inside.

  She had been stupid staying in her dressing gown and slippers all day.

  She crawled into her bedroom and picked up clothes from the floor. She put them on, as many as she could, three pairs of pants, tights, trousers, t-shirts, sweatshirts. She had to have as many clothes on as she could.

  She was stifling but it was worth it.

  When he broke into the flat at least he wouldn’t be able to get in her body.

  She didn’t turn on any lights.

  She kept boiling the kettle and drinking mug after mug of coffee, she ran out of milk and carried on drinking it black. She found she had wet herself, the warmth quickly turning cold.

  She was shivering. She couldn’t light the fire. He would see the light and know where she was. She was aware only of being cold, of her own misery and the noise of the wind and the rain.

  More coffee. More warmth as she wet herself. More cold.

  She ignored the door bell when it rang, she covered her ears with her hands and rocked backwards and making herself sing in her head the words ‘when you walk through a storm hold your head up high and don’t be afraid of the dark la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la’ as she made low and tuneless humming noises to keep from hearing the bell and eventually it stopped.

  Through the night she sat, rocking backwards and forwards, crawling to the kitchen whenever she finished each cup of coffee to make another. She must not sleep.