It was an hour later that she heard the front door close. Pete walked into the kitchen. ‘Here she is, safe and sound.’ He smiled as he patted his daughter’s hair.
Jacks glanced at Martha’s complexion, blotchy from sobbing, her lids swollen and her eyes bloodshot. Her heart flipped at the signs of her distress. She was torn between wanting to hold her and wanting to shout some more, trying to make her see sense.
‘Do you want anything to eat?’ she asked, carefully avoiding eye contact while trying her best to be conciliatory.
Martha shook her head. ‘No thanks,’ she said, her voice nothing more than an embarrassed whisper. ‘I got something at Steph’s.’
‘Does Steph know?’ Jacks fired at her.
Martha nodded.
Then so will the whole of Weston… Jacks kept that thought to herself, but it was another blow. She was certain that once people knew, it would be harder to fix and impossible to ignore.
‘How far are you?’ She looked at her nails, attempting to keep calm.
‘’Bout ten weeks,’ Martha whispered before more tears came.
Jacks thought back. Christmas, New Year, you were sneaking out, meeting up, probably going to his empty house or his garage. All that covert texting at the table, that bloody buzz that set my teeth on edge because I knew it was him. Can’t believe I was so bloody stupid!
‘Get yourself up to bed, love. I’ll bring you up a cup of tea.’ Pete smiled at his little girl.
Martha hesitated as she walked from the kitchen. She looked at her mum. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I know you think I’ve let you down, but I didn’t plan any of this. It just happened.’
Jacks opened her mouth to comment that these things didn’t ‘just happen’, but no words came out.
Pete stood back to let Martha pass, leant against the sink and waited until she had climbed the stairs. ‘You need to stay calm, Jacks, for everyone’s sake but especially Martha’s. We need to keep her close, to look after her and we can only do that if she feels comfortable here.’
‘Oh, well, I’m sorry if it’s me that’s messed up! Why do I get the feeling that I’m at fault here? As if it’s me that’s flushed her one chance of happiness down the loo. I might have known it would come back to something that I’ve done!’
‘I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that it’s already a difficult time and we know it’s going to get a lot harder, so we need to smooth things over. Things have a funny way of working out.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Pete, will you listen to yourself? Do they? Honestly? When are things going to start working out for us, eh? When will our fortunes turn around? I’ve been listening to you say that for the last nineteen years and I’m still bloody waiting.’
Pete turned his back to the table and stared out of the window into the narrow strip of garden.
‘That’s the thing, Jacks. My fortunes did turn around, the day I got you and then Martha and Jonty, our little house, everything. I think I’m the richest man alive. I might not have boats and flash watches, but I’m not stupid, Jacks.’ He shot her a look. ‘In fact, I’m clever enough to know when I’ve got it good. Things might not be perfect, like having your mum call on you every five minutes, like living without enough space to swing a cat, not being able to afford the luxuries I want to give you all or send Martha to Paris with her mates. But on the whole, things could be a lot, lot worse. So things have worked out for me. I’m just sorry you don’t feel the same.’
‘Pete…’ She drew breath, choosing her words carefully. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t—’
‘It doesn’t matter what you meant. It is what it is.’ Pete clicked the kettle and concentrated on making a cup of tea for his daughter, who was upstairs crying into her pillow with her heart fit to burst, trying not to wake her little brother on the other side of the room.
20
Nineteen Years Earlier
Jacks sat in the front room of her mum and dad’s terraced house while her mum cried into her handkerchief and her dad nodded quietly by her side. She felt the walls pressing in on her; it was as if the air was being sucked out of the room. She thought she might suffocate.
‘And where’s the boy now?’ her dad asked gently as he calmly set aside his crossword and placed his pencil on the little dictionary that balanced on the arm of the sofa.
‘I don’t know. America, I think. Possibly Boston, but definitely America. I’m not sure…’
‘That doesn’t narrow it down much; it’s quite a big place. Bigger than Weston.’ Her dad tried to lighten the moment.
‘I know it’s bigger than Weston! Everywhere is bigger than Weston!’ Uncharacteristically, Jacks flared at her dad, who shrank from her jibe.
‘You’re a fool if you think you’ll ever see him again. I knew it! I said, didn’t I?’ Ida shook her head as she drew on her cigarette.
‘He doesn’t know, Mum! He’s not like that. It’s not his fault – I never got the chance to tell him and then his family had to leave in such a rush. I’m sure that if he did know, he’d be right here.’ And when he contacts me, I will tell him and he will come for me…
Ida tutted. ‘But he’s not right here, is he?’
Her mum’s question caused her hot tears to fall once again.
Ida turned to her husband. ‘I said, didn’t I? Find a nice local boy, someone who is good to his mum, a family man. But no one listens to me, they never do. I just wanted what was best for her, for her future. I want her to have the best life possible.’
‘We both only want what’s best for her, Ida.’
Her dad’s support and her mum’s words of kindness, despite her disappointment, only heightened Jacks’ distress. Now she felt guilty as well as everything else. More tears fell. Tears she thought would never stop, clogging her throat and filling her nose and mouth, a river of sadness that she just couldn’t stem.
Her dad patted her hand. Her lovely dad, always trying to make things better for her. For the first time she understood what real grief was – all previous little spikes of sadness seemed like mere rehearsals by comparison. Jacks closed her eyes, knowing she would never forget the moment, nor the scent in the room: her mum had been baking and the aroma of cinnamon and mixed spice was strong. Her nausea didn’t need much prompting.
‘What are you going to do?’ Ida asked from the chair in which she was curled, her cigarette extended between two fingers held high, her voice softer now.
Jacks shrugged. The details were sketchy, but she was certain of one thing. ‘I’m having this baby and that’s that.’
Later, Jacks lay on her little bed staring at the ceiling and thinking. Why had he gone without even saying goodbye? She pictured lying on the grass with her hand inside his, feeling like the whole world was open to her, that she could go anywhere and be anything. It had felt good. ‘Meet me on the Lake of Dreams…’ She looked up at the moon, which now seemed to haunt her though her bedroom window. She turned and buried her face in her pillow. I wanted you to take me with you. Take us with you! Oh, Sven, I love you. I really do. I wish I could talk to you…
It was a week later that his note arrived. The reality of her situation hit her with the force of a punch in the gut, making her vomit and leaving her weak. She let the bath run full. It didn’t matter that the water was only lukewarm; the purpose was to let the sound of the running water drown out her crying.
‘All okay in there, love? Were you being sick?’ her mum asked as she passed, knocking twice on the door with the hand that wasn’t holding a cigarette.
Leave me alone. Please just leave me alone. ‘Yes. But I’m fine now,’ she added, with as much brightness as she could muster. She waited till she heard Ida’s slippers pad down the stairs towards her comfy chair.
He had gone to America, to live in Boston with his family in a big house where there was room to breathe. And he would not be making contact or coming to fetch her any time soon. She reread the note in her hand, hoping to find a line that told her thi
s was all a horrible mistake and he was on his way, coming to take her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay. She studied his spidery writing, his words poetic and meaningless, muting any sentiment they might have conveyed. Gone was the roaring passion that had made her fall into his arms and lie with him under the stars. Gone was the excitement of planning, the painting of a future so real she could smell the dusty Montana dusk beneath its low-hanging moon. There was no message of hope, no words of longing. This was his goodbye.
If she were being honest, she’d known this was how it would end, known he would continue on his adventure while she remained there, living in Addicott Road with her mum and dad and hoping for a place at college. Although even that now seemed beyond her reach. She placed her hand on her tummy and read his note once again.
I think maybe we were right in our assumption that the beginning is the most exciting part. We were just beginning and it was exciting, wasn’t it? The reality is a harsh lesson. Geography may be our jailer, but time will see that distance eroded and we must dance beneath the stars until the day that the miles disappear and who knows, maybe we can embark upon a new beginning…
‘Who are you trying to kid, dance beneath the fucking stars?’ Jacks pressed her hand against the mirror, leaning on it for strength as tears coursed down her face and splashed into the olive-coloured sink. ‘It’s rubbish, Sven, all of it. I’m not dancing anywhere, just like I’m not gong anywhere. I’m stuck here without you and I’m pregnant!’ She howled again as the whisper left her mouth. ‘I’m pregnant, Sven, and I don’t know what to do…’
She pulled the note into shreds and threw it down the loo, instantly regretting its disposal as she watched the waterlogged message sink to the bottom before flushing it away.
21
The bright, sunny weather was at odds with the mood in the Davies household. It had been a week since Martha had told her mum and dad and the atmosphere was still strained, with every member of the family struggling in their own way to come to terms with the situation. On the drive to school, the car was uncharacteristically quiet. There was no chirpy banter from Jonty in the back seat, no witty exchange with Martha as she applied her make-up and hummed along to a tune on the radio.
‘All okay back there, mister?’ Jacks asked in as light-hearted a tone as she could muster. ‘Are we buckled up?’
Jonty nodded, looking quite forlorn.
She tried again. ‘You’re very quiet. Got anything good on today?’
Jonty shook his head before piping up, ‘Martha was crying in the night. It woke me up and then she was talking to her boyfriend under the duvet. I heard her whispering and then crying again.’
Jacks stared at him in the rear-view mirror, watching as he fidgeted with the zip on his coat. When would be the right time to tell him? When would she finally have to admit that her family was just like everyone else’s and that there would be no graduation ceremony for her clever girl, no cap and gown worn for the formal photo, no letters after her name and no travelling with a little black case on wheels as she attended business meetings in far-flung capitals.
‘Sorry if I woke you up, Jont.’ Martha turned and smiled at her little brother.
‘Are you okay now, Martha?’ he asked.
‘I will be,’ she said, before getting out of the car, her bag of useless textbooks flung over her shoulder.
Jacks spent the return drive chatting out loud to her dad.
‘Oh God, Dad, I feel like everything is slipping through my fingers. I’ve never felt this low. I could run away, I really could. I could just run away. I’m trying, you have got to believe that I am trying, but I don’t know how much more I can take. I’m sorry. I don’t want to let you down, but I feel like I can’t breathe.’
The car behind beeped; she hadn’t realised the lights had turned green.
She thought back to her teens, when all she’d wanted was for life to fly by faster, catapulting her into adulthood and all the wondrous things that awaited her. And now she regretted that impatience, understood that she’d been running blind, hurtling towards a future that was nothing like the one she’d hoped for. For years afterwards, she’d drawn comfort from the happy memories and taken refuge in dreams about her life as it might have been had she tried harder to hang on to Sven. If only she had tracked him down and given him choices. But the fact was, he didn’t even remember her. She was nothing to him.
Sitting in the car, contemplating this, she inhaled sharply as her mobile phone rang on the passenger seat.
‘Yes, this is Martha’s mum.’ Her stomach knotted as it always did when an unfamiliar number came up. Who was this? School? Hospital? Was her daughter okay?
‘Hi there, this is Gideon’s mum, Allison. I hope you don’t mind me calling. I thought it might be a good idea if we met up?’ The woman had a Bristol accent and sounded about her age. She also sounded more than a little nervous.
‘Yes,’ Jacks said, wearily. It probably couldn’t be avoided.
A couple of hours later, after she’d completed her chores and got her mum ready, she drove up Grange Road.
‘We’re off on a little adventure, Mum. Going to meet someone for coffee. Maybe you could have a nice bit of cake. Do you fancy that?’ She pulled the car into Weston General Hospital.
Ida looked up at the modern, brown-brick building. ‘Harptree.’ She stated the word clearly and concisely.
Jacks stared at her mum. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ She walked round to the back of the car to retrieve Ida’s wheelchair, feeling quite choked. ‘Harptree’ was the name of the ward her dad had been in when he died.
The two made their way to the Costa coffee shop just inside the main entrance. Jacks wheeled her mum up to one of the small tables, got three coffees and, as promised, a piece of carrot cake for Ida. She smiled awkwardly at several of the nurses who came in holding purses, walking briskly and ordering hot drinks with no time to waste. And then Allison appeared. Jacks instinctively knew it was her. The way she hovered in the doorway, looking anxious, swallowing and glancing around as if hoping to spot a friendly, supportive face. Jacks could see where Gideon got his good teeth and wide smile. Allison also had great skin; she looked younger than her forty years, with her hair cut into a short bob. She was wearing navy trousers, clogs and a royal blue tunic with short sleeves and white piping on the collar and sleeves. She had a little upside-down watch hanging from the breast pocket and a pair of scissors poked out the top.
‘Jackie?’
‘Jacks, yes. Hi. I got you a coffee, didn’t know how long your break would be or if you were in a rush, so I thought it’d save time. It’s a latte, hope that’s okay.’
‘Any coffee is always good, thank you.’ Allison raised the cardboard cup and sipped. ‘And thanks for coming here. It’s hard to organise things outside of here, with my rota, but I’m on a break, so…’
‘This is my Mum – Ida.’ Jacks filled the seconds of silence while both wondered how to continue.
‘Ah yes. Hello, Ida. Martha has told me all about you.’ She smiled.
Jacks felt a churn of unease. She hadn’t realised that Martha had met Gideon’s mother or that they had exchanged this level of information. She pictured them sitting around Allison’s kitchen table, laughing and planning like a family; even the thought of being excluded in this way made her feel sick. But it was her fault, she knew. She had effectively excluded herself.
‘It’s good to meet you. I haven’t much time, so I guess we should cut to the chase, talk about the situation,’ Allison prompted.
‘Yes,’ Jacks sighed. She was quite prepared to cut to the chase. She wanted to be honest, but part of her also wanted to wound this woman who seemed to be better informed and better connected to the young couple than she was. ‘I’m not happy about it.’
‘Me either.’ Allison widened her eyes and pursed her lips.
Well, at least that was something, at least she wasn’t planning a baby shower and starting to knit booties. Jacks cons
idered how best to proceed. Everything she wanted to say was cued up on her tongue. First on her list was how Martha was throwing away her chance to go to university. Jacks took a deep breath, but Allison had taken the lead.
‘I like Martha very much, I really do. She’s a lovely girl. But she’s so young and I don’t think you can know your mind at that age, not really, and that worries me. Gideon has worked very hard to learn his trade. He has big ambitions to set up on his own and my fear – apart from him getting hurt by someone who is too young to know what she really wants – was always that he might… I don’t know how to put it.’ She bit the inside of her cheek as she looked at the floor. ‘I guess I was always worried that he might get saddled with a baby who he will have to spend the next eighteen years paying for.’ She shrugged her shoulders.
Jacks stared at Gideon’s mum across the table and fought the desire to shout. She had to stay calm, as Pete had reminded her, for everyone’s sake. ‘So to get this straight, you are worried that Martha has got herself pregnant just so that Gideon has to support her? Is that what you are saying?’
Allison raised her hand as if to ward off any further comments. ‘Not exactly. I don’t think it was done on purpose – you know what it’s like with kids, they confuse sex with love.’ She shook her head disapprovingly. ‘But I know that for some girls it’s quite an attractive option – to not have to work, to have kids, stay at home. Not that that was how Gideon was brought up – I have always worked full time, never relied on anyone but myself, financially. I like being independent.’ Allison sipped her coffee.
Perfect Daughter Page 17
