Going Too Far

by Catherine Alliott

  There was a pause. ‘He’s just come in actually, Polly, you could tell him yourself if you like,’ she said quietly.

  I hesitated. ‘No. No, he won’t want to speak to me. You do it for me, Sarah. Bye.’

  I put the receiver down, brushed away a rogue tear that had somehow escaped down my cheek and pulled myself together. Right. No time for that sort of nonsense now. I had things to do, places to go, people to – oh, shut up, Polly, just get a move on. I grabbed my car keys from the hall table, picked up my case and ran down to the farm to get the car.

  As I beetled down the muddy track to the yard I smiled fondly. For there, mouldering away quietly under a tree, was Rusty, my dear old green Renault. He heralded from my single, girl-about-town days and we’d had some good times together. He was retired now, of course, and his principal role in life these days was to transport chickens and ducks to market. I patted his old bonnet and jumped in. I instantly jumped out again. The nauseating pong of chicken shit was enough to make anyone gag, but with the BMW in London needs must. I brushed half a ton of straw and muck off the driver’s seat, then I held my breath, got in, turned the poor old engine over and rattled off to London.

  Even in his heyday Rusty had never been much of a speed merchant, but sitting in a wet field with only the occasional trip to market had really taken the edge off him. We vibrated our way precariously up the M4 with me urging him on, cajoling just a few more miles an hour out of him whilst he complained noisily.

  When I eventually arrived at Pippa’s house it was way after midnight and I was exhausted. I parked the car without bothering to lock it, tottered gratefully up the path, delighted I’d made it in one piece, and rang the bell.

  Pippa was yawning away in her dressing gown when she opened the door. She looked very bleary-eyed.

  ‘I thought you were never coming,’ she said. ‘I was just about to leave a note on the door saying “The key’s under the flowerpot” but then I thought that was probably a bit silly.’

  ‘Just a bit, unless you want the whole of Kensington hopping into bed with you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she said gloomily as I followed her into the sitting room. ‘It would certainly make a change. No one’s hopped into my bed for about two weeks now.’ She flopped down dejectedly on a sofa.

  ‘What, no Josh?’ I threw off my jacket and curled up next to her.

  ‘No, he’s making himself very scarce these days – family problems, so he says.’

  She grimaced and poured out a couple of glasses of wine from a half-empty bottle. I noticed there was already an empty Frascati bottle nestling on the sofa beside her, which would explain the bloodshot eyes. She handed me a glass.

  ‘Here, help me finish this. Actually, I think his wife suspects and now he’s showing his true colours and running home with his tail between his legs every night. Bastard.’ She knocked back her drink in a couple of gulps and poured herself another one.

  I looked at her admiringly. ‘Atta-girl, Pippa, looks like you’ve finally seen the light.’

  She sighed. ‘Not really, I know he’s a pig all right but I’m still in love with him, so it doesn’t really help much, does it?’ She gave me a sad little smile. ‘And anyway,’ she went on defensively, ‘he does actually have some family problems, it’s not a complete lie, his sister isn’t well at all.’

  I pulled a long face. ‘Bit weak, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, no, she’s really ill actually, and they’re twins so he’s very close to her. In fact,’ she looked around furtively as if someone might be listening, ‘it’s a deadly secret, but apparently she might have AIDS.’

  ‘AIDS! Blimey, do be careful, Pippa!’

  ‘What?’ She looked blank for a second then rolled her eyes to heaven. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, you’re not one of those people who still thinks you can get it from loo seats, are you?’

  ‘Er, no, don’t be silly, of course not, but – well, all the same.’ I hastily took a slug of wine. ‘How did she get it?’

  Pippa shrugged. ‘Who knows? Someone at work said it was a blood transfusion – it’s not the sort of thing you ask, is it, especially since I’m not really supposed to know. Anyway, enough about me, what about poor old Bruce? Have you heard?’

  ‘Yes, Hetty told me – that’s why I’ve come up. Isn’t it awful?’

  Pippa shook her head. ‘Dreadful.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Well, when I spoke to him yesterday he sounded practically hysterical. I could hardly make out what he was saying he was crying so much.’

  ‘Crying?’

  She nodded. ‘I hate it when men cry, don’t you?’

  I thought of Nick with tears in his eyes and gulped. ‘Yes, but then Bruce isn’t really – you know, macho, is he?’

  ‘No, but he’s still a man.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, at least he’s not in a ghastly cell or anything. Sam and Josh put up the bail for him, ten grand they had to find.’

  ‘Really? That much? Gosh, that was nice of them.’

  ‘Well, everyone’s terribly fond of Bruce, you know. We rang Sam in Egypt and he’s coming back a day early to see him. He instructed the bank to make the money available and apparently he knows a brilliant barrister who’s going to act for him.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s something. Bruce is going to need all the help he can get.’ I sipped my wine thoughtfully. ‘So Sam’s coming back tomorrow, is he?’ I sat up straight and compressed my lips. ‘Right. I’ll go and see him.’

  Pippa gave me a strange look. ‘Polly, you’re not still …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you’re not still keen on him or anything, are you?’

  ‘Aarrrhh!’ I shrieked and nearly hurled my wine glass across the room. Instead I threw a cushion. ‘No, I’m not bloody keen on him! I’m keen on my husband and I’m keen on saving my marriage, actually! I told you, I’ve got to go and see him to get him to talk to Nick and – oooohh!’ Suddenly I doubled up and clutched my tummy.

  Pippa jumped up in alarm. ‘God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, honestly – heavens, Polly, what’s wrong?’

  I stuck my head between my knees. ‘I don’t know,’ I mumbled from somewhere near my ankles. ‘I just feel a bit odd. It’s been happening quite a bit lately.’

  ‘What sort of odd?’ Pippa knelt down beside me.

  ‘Sort of … faint. And sick. Very sick, actually – ooohh …’ I moaned again and swooned sideways.

  Pippa straightened up beside me and pulled her dressing gown around her. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Faint and sick, eh? Really. And how long have you been feeling like this?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, just a couple of days really. In the mornings mostly, when I get up.’

  There was a silence. I eyeballed the carpet for a moment, then slowly brought my head up from between my knees. I looked at her.

  ‘Oh, Pippa, you don’t think …’

  ‘When’s your period due, are you late?’

  ‘Oh God, I don’t know!’

  ‘Well think, should it be about now?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure, I’d have to check – oh God, I feel really sick now – quick, get me a calendar!’ I clutched my mouth.

  Pippa looked doubtful. ‘Polly, if you’re going to be sick I really don’t think a colander’s quite the thing to catch the –’

  ‘No, not a colander, you berk, a calendar – get me a calendar so I can check my dates!’

  Pippa got up hastily and ran to the kitchen. A second later she was back with a diary. She rammed it under my nose – ‘Here.’

  I flicked frantically through the pages, counting back and then counting forward again. I threw it on the floor and groaned.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I held my head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m ten days late!’

  ‘Ten days! Really? But that’s brilliant, Polly! You must be pregnant!’ She bent down and hugged me enthusiastically. ‘Gosh, how fantastic, oh I’m so pleased! Imagine, you�
�re going to have a baby!’

  I hid my face in my hands and groaned again.

  She frowned. ‘What’s the matter? Aren’t you pleased? I thought it’s what you wanted, you’ve been banging on about it for ages.’

  ‘Yes, I do, I do want it, I’d love to have a baby.’ I looked up at her desperately. ‘But, Pippa, don’t you see? If I’m pregnant, well then – whose is it?’

  She stared at me for a moment, aghast. ‘Oh God … you mean it could be …’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Oh!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Pippa looked aghast. ‘You mean …’

  ‘It might not be Nick’s,’ I whispered, ‘it might be Sam’s.’

  ‘Oh!’

  She stared at me for a moment, then grabbed my hand urgently. ‘Think back, Polly, think back about four weeks ago, could it be Nick’s? Did you two see any action around that time?’

  I frowned, desperately trying to remember. It would have been just before I came up to London. We weren’t getting on desperately well, but even so … I shrugged.

  ‘I’m not sure, yes, quite possibly, but I can’t really remember – oh, please let it be his!’ I wailed, wringing my hands.

  ‘And when did you go to bed with Sam?’ urged Pippa. ‘Think, Polly, that would have been about …?’

  I gulped and nodded. ‘Just over three weeks ago.’ I put my head in my hands.

  Pippa put her arms round me and gave me a squeeze. ‘Now don’t you worry, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s his – it could easily be Nick’s. We’ll sort this out, you’ll see. Everything will be fine.’ She was doing her best to sound convincing but failing miserably.

  I stared at the carpet in a daze. Suddenly I looked up at her. ‘I don’t want to get rid of it,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ve wanted this baby for too long. I’m not having an abortion!’

  ‘Of course you won’t have to get rid of it,’ she said staunchly. Then she hesitated. ‘But suppose – I mean, what if you knew for sure that it was Sam’s, would you then?’

  ‘Oh God, I don’t know, I just don’t know! I mean, what if it grew up to look just like Sam? Totally different from Nick or me – wouldn’t that be awful? Nick would be sure to guess and he’d hate the child and hate me, although of course he hates me anyway and it’s not as if he’s coming back, but if he did – oh Christ, what a mess!’ I burst into noisy tears at the thought of this ghastly scenario.

  ‘Well, that’s why I was wondering if it wouldn’t be better to –’

  ‘No! No, I can’t get rid of it!’ I wailed. ‘I can’t possibly – what if it is Nick’s after all? What if I’m carrying his baby and I pull the plug on it, that would be totally horrendous too!’ I sniffed hard and wiped my nose on my sleeve. ‘Oh God, I need a hanky,’ I muttered.

  Pippa jumped up and came back a second later brandishing a loo roll. I pulled off about nine sheets, wrapped them round my hand and blew my nose noisily.

  ‘You know, Pippa,’ I muttered, stuffing the paper up my sleeve, ‘this has got to be about the worst thing that’s ever happened to me and, let’s face it, some pretty dire things have happened over the years.’ I rummaged in my bag for a cigarette and fumbled with the packet but my fingers were shaking too much for me to get one out.

  ‘Light one for me would you, Pipps, and pour me another drink while you’re at it.’

  Pippa looked doubtful. ‘Er … well, you shouldn’t really, you know.’

  ‘Shouldn’t what?’

  ‘Do either. Drink or smoke. I mean, in your condition.’

  I looked at her, appalled. ‘Really? Oh no, no of course not, you’re right, how frightful!’ This really was a shaker, almost as bad as being pregnant. I struggled to come to terms with it. ‘How will I ever survive? They’re my only pleasures in life at the moment.’

  ‘Well, have one quick fag to steady your nerves, but make that the last one you have.’

  ‘Right.’

  She lit one for me but I only took a couple of drags before I was overcome with guilt.

  ‘Poor little thing,’ I muttered, stubbing it out, ‘it’s going to have enough problems without me adding to them before it’s even born.’

  I sighed gloomily as Pippa poured the last of the Frascati into her glass.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, sipping it thoughtfully, ‘you are only ten days late, maybe you’re not pregnant at all.’

  ‘No such luck,’ I said darkly. ‘I’m always bang on time. I’m like bloody Big Ben, never a second late.’

  ‘Even so, just in case – hang on a minute.’ Pippa stubbed her cigarette out, jumped up and ran out of the room. I heard her thumping away up the stairs and running along the corridor to her room. I sank back in the sofa and rested my throbbing head, which felt as if it were going to explode. I closed my eyes. What a nightmare … what a complete and utter nightmare. Perhaps if I shut my eyes for long enough I’d fall asleep and the whole ghastly problem would go away …

  A second later I heard her thumping downstairs again. I opened my eyes to see her standing over me waving a magic wand, a huge grin on her face.

  ‘Look what I’ve found!’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said bitterly, ‘you’ve joined the Magic Circle and now you’re going to cast a few spells and make a baby disappear.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s a pregnancy test, you just pee on it and if you’re pregnant it goes bright blue in about a nanosecond.’

  ‘So what are you doing with it?’

  ‘Oh, I had a scare a few weeks ago. It was negative, thank God. I’m telling you, Polly, it would be my worst nightmare, a baby – imagine!’ She rolled her eyes in horror then saw my face darken. ‘Oh! Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, of course a baby would be lovely at, um, at the right time, it’s just that – well, you know, Josh being married and everything …’ She trailed off.

  ‘So is Sam,’ I said grimly, grabbing the wand from her and stalking down the passage to the loo, ‘and so am I, and so is Nick and – oh God, this is awful!’

  I slammed the door and looked doubtfully at the stick in my hand. I opened the door again.

  ‘Pippa?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is this the same stick you used?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be an idiot, you get two sticks in the box. I haven’t given you a part-worn pregnancy test!’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  I shut the door and got on with it. Sure enough it went bright blue before I’d even had a chance to pull my knickers up. I dragged my feet back to the sitting room.

  ‘They don’t give you much time to get used to the idea, do they?’ I said gloomily. ‘I thought I’d at least have time to plan the nursery, think of a colour scheme, decide on a theme for the borders – you know, ducks or teddies, pink or blue, that kind of thing.’ I stuck the wand under her nose. ‘Positive?’

  ‘Positive, couldn’t be bluer. You’re up the duff, Polly, no doubt about that!’ she confirmed cheerfully.

  I sank into a chair and groaned. ‘No wonder I feel so lousy. Honestly, this pregnancy lark isn’t all it’s cracked up to be at all, talk about propaganda. I’m supposed to be blooming, aren’t I? Well, all I feel is blooming sick and blooming tired. Unbelievably tired actually, lie-down-on-the-pavement tired – and just look at my boobs! I wondered why I’d turned into Samantha Fox overnight. I tell you my heart goes out to her now – lugging these pendulous melons around is no joke.’

  Pippa peered at me. ‘You don’t look any bigger than normal.’

  ‘Oh, Pippa, I’m huge! Absolutely huge! I’m practically busting my bra here, can’t you see? I’ll have to go to Peter Jones tomorrow and get a new one.’

  ‘I should wait a bit,’ said Pippa knowingly. ‘They’re going to get an awful lot bigger than that, you know.’

  ‘Are they?’ I asked, glancing down in horror.

  ‘Oh yes.’ She nodded sagely. ‘It’s one of the occupational hazards. By the time you’re about nine months you’ll
be carting them around in a hammock; you won’t be able to see your feet for bosoms.’

  ‘Oh, thanks very much,’ I snapped. ‘Since when did you become such an authority? And, incidentally, d’you think you could put your cigarette out? It’s making me feel a bit queasy.’ It wasn’t, but it was making me feel awfully envious.

  ‘Gosh, sorry,’ she said, quickly stubbing it out. She looked at me in concern. ‘Hey, are you sure you’re all right? Not going to be sick, are you? D’you want to put your feet up or anything?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so rid–’ I stopped abruptly. ‘Well … yes actually, now you come to mention it, perhaps I am feeling a little delicate – yes, if you could just pull that stool up for my feet … thanks – oh, and that cushion, for behind my head … bit to the left … down a bit … perfect, thanks.’ I leaned back in the chair, hands resting delicately on my tummy, looking pained and wan.

  Pippa hovered over me anxiously. ‘Cup of tea? I think I’ve got rosehip somewhere, isn’t that what pregnant women drink? I’d have to hunt around a bit but I don’t mind.’

  ‘Would you? You are an angel, Pippa, thanks so much …’ I muttered weakly. Pippa trotted off dutifully.

  ‘Oh – and a piece of toast and honey would be lovely if you could manage it,’ I called feebly after her, ‘and three sugars in my tea, please, got to keep my strength up.’

  I settled back into my cushions. This at least was some compensation for my ghastly predicament. I’d no idea pregnant women got such perks. I wondered if I could get a tea-and-toast-bearing punka wallah on the National Health. I shut my eyes and tried to think. What on earth was I going to do about all this? I simply had to have a plan. By the time Pippa came back laden with tea and toast a few minutes later, I had at least formed what you might call a quarter-baked one. I sat up.

  ‘I’m going to go and see Sam tomorrow,’ I said decisively. ‘First thing.’

  Pippa put down the tray and sighed. ‘Is there really any point? I mean, I know you’ve set your heart on him phoning Nick and telling him nothing happened that night, but d’you really think he’s going to want to get involved?’