Do You Want What I Want?

by Denise Deegan

  ‘Jenna’s missing,’ he says to Rory, unnecessarily. ‘Her bed wasn’t slept in last night.’

  ‘But it’s lunchtime,’ Rory says, without thinking.

  ‘Jenna doesn’t get up till noon. Orla went in to see if she wanted a sandwich and she wasn’t there. She’s tried everywhere. No one’s seen her. Her mobile is going straight to voicemail.’

  ‘Where the hell is she?’ Rory worries aloud, remembering the way she was in the pub and thinking the worst.

  ‘I don’t know. No one tells me anything. Did you know she’s been drinking?’

  Rory doesn’t answer.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me before now?’

  Rory wants to call Orla, but not with Owen there. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Is there anywhere you can think of where she might be?’

  Rory hesitates before saying, ‘I could check the hospitals.’

  Owen looks like he’s been kicked in the crotch.

  ‘Let me ring round,’ Rory says. ‘Why don’t you go to Orla, see if you can work together and think of all the places she might be.’

  ‘Maybe I should ring the hospitals.’

  ‘I know a few people. Let me try.’

  Rory starts to contact all the South Dublin A&E departments. On his third call, he thinks he may have found her. A young girl fitting her description was admitted at seven in the morning, unconscious. No ID. A nurse has contacted the guards, who are checking their missing person’s records. Rory assumes Jenna’s not on them yet. For confidentiality reasons the doctor can say no more until Rory can identify her as family. Wasting no time, he drives straight to the hospital where he is directed to the appropriate ward.

  It is Jenna. Still unconscious, and connected to a drip, she’s lying on her side, in a hospital gown, all evidence of spunky teenager gone. She looks young, pale and incredibly vulnerable. One of the female doctors tells Rory that she was found unconscious in the garden of a private house in Dundrum, an empty bottle of vodka by her side. Rory wonders what she was doing in someone else’s garden. All sorts of things cross his mind. Did someone bring her there? A man? Date rape. He asks the doctor if there were any injuries? She seems to understand and confirms that there is no evidence of any. Rory asks for the address where she was found, thinking that they won’t have it. But they do. It is the only information they had on her, the only trace of who she could be. The address is on her chart. It is her old family home.

  He calls Orla, who is at first relieved, then immediately concerned. Why’s she in hospital? Why unconscious? What’s wrong with her? Will she wake up? Where exactly is she?

  She and Owen arrive together within half an hour. Rory senses the tension between them. They go straight to the bedside as if competing to show who loves their daughter most. Orla starts to cry. She puts her hand gently on Jenna’s cheek. ‘My baby.’

  She turns to Rory. ‘What did they say?’

  Though he told her it was alcohol poisoning on the phone, he is careful not to mention it in front of Owen. ‘They’re hopeful. The next twenty-four hours are crucial.’ He pulls up a chair for her.

  ‘Where did she get the booze, that’s what I’d like to know,’ Owen demands. ‘I’ll sue that bloody school.’

  Orla turns her back to him, smooths her daughter’s hair over and over. ‘I’m here, sweetie. I’m here.’

  ‘A bit late now,’ Owen mutters.

  Both Orla and Rory look at him in shock.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me there was a problem?’ he says to Orla. ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was drinking? I’m her father.’

  Orla turns back to Jenna, silently crying.

  And Rory wants to protect her. Calmly, he asks Owen, ‘I suppose it didn’t occur to you that this might have something to do with you leaving home and starting another family.’

  ‘That’s it, blame me. Everything is my fault. Maybe if someone had told me –’

  Orla swivels round, fire in her eyes. ‘Why tell you when it’s clear you don’t give a shit.’

  ‘I don’t need this.’ He gets up to leave.

  ‘Don’t you dare go,’ she says. ‘You’re going to stay here at your daughter’s side until she wakes up. And you’re going to be here for her from now on.’

  ‘She doesn’t want me around. She’s made that very clear.’

  ‘How convenient. Your only child tells you she doesn’t want to see you, and you think you’re free to swan off with nothing on your conscience. Well, let me tell you, actions speak louder than words, Owen,’ Orla says, looking down at their daughter. ‘And what Jenna’s actions are telling me, loud and clear, is that she needs you in her life, no matter what she might tell you. And when I say in her life, I don’t mean forking out for boarding school and buying her affection. I mean, listening to her, working hard to let her know you still love her, making time for just you and her. Jenna is your daughter. And, though I wish to God it weren’t true, she loves you and needs you. And if it kills me, I’ll make damn sure she gets you.’

  Rory hands Owen a chair.

  He takes it and sits down. Sheepishly, he pulls his mobile from his pocket and switches it off.

  Two hours later, back at St Paul’s and snowed under with work that has stacked up in his absence, Rory gets an emotional call from Orla to say that Jenna has come round. Owen is still there. And for the first time, they are talking, all three of them, together.

  31

  It’s a week since Jenna was hospitalized and though now discharged, she’s still recuperating and may be about to start counselling. Whenever Rory calls Orla to discuss the baby, she’s preoccupied with her teenage daughter and he feels it would be wrong to bring it up. He wonders how long it will take for things to settle. There’s so much they need to discuss. First off, he wants to tell her how happy he is about the pregnancy. He knows that didn’t come across. He’s with her all the way. She should be convinced of that. They can do this. Of course they can. If she’s up to it, maybe they could go over a few medical issues. Obstetricians and their waiting lists. Folic acid…

  In the week that’s passed, Rory has thought a lot about this. He wants to be involved as much as possible – in the pregnancy, the actual birth – if Orla wants him there. Which he hopes she will. One evening, surfing the Net, he Googled pregnancy on a whim and found a website that tracks the changes taking place in mother and baby over the nine months. At nine weeks, a baby is three centimetres long. Its face is developing, mouth and nose clearly visible, arms and legs growing rapidly. That all of this has already happened amazes Rory, who is sorry now he never took more interest in obstetrics.

  Sometimes, late at night, his mind starts to race. He imagines the kind of child this baby could become: the spunky kind that push their own buggies, that run rather than walk and that are always difficult to get down from trees. When Rory pictures his son – and it is always a boy he sees – he is dark, like him, and wears a pale blue T-shirt and safari shorts. It’s way too early to think like this and totally premature to consider names, but Rory likes James, a one-syllable, no-bullshit man’s name.

  Rory wonders if Orla has recovered from the shock – if she’s even had time to think, with all that’s been happening with Jenna. He should give her at least another week before broaching the subject.

  As it turns out, he doesn’t have to. The following Saturday, Orla calls, wanting to come over to talk about ‘things’.

  He is relieved. Until he sees her. She looks pale, tired and thin. He goes to her automatically. ‘Are you OK? Here, sit down. Will I make some tea?’

  Orla stays standing, looking into his eyes long enough for him to know that something’s wrong.

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Rory, I’m not keeping the baby.’

  He’s not sure he heard right. What did she say?

  ‘I can’t. I can’t do it to Jenna. You know how delicate she is. You know how she reacted when she heard Owen was having a baby with someone else.’
<
br />   ‘What do you mean you’re not keeping the baby?’ He says it slowly.

  ‘I’m not having it.’

  ‘You’re not having it?’ That means only one thing. She couldn’t…

  ‘I’m forty-one. Alone. I can’t start again. My God.’ Her hands come to her face. ‘I can’t go through with it. I can’t. Surely you can understand that.’ She is close to tears.

  He doesn’t know what to say. All he knows is he wants this baby. ‘You won’t be alone. You’ll have me. I’ll be here.’

  ‘Having a presence, maybe, but it’s my life that would change. It’s always the woman’s life –’

  He doesn’t hesitate. ‘We could get married.’

  Her eyes fix on his. ‘What?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be alone. We’d do it together. Fifty-fifty.’

  A beat. Then, ‘I can’t marry you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We don’t love each other.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘As friends. As brother and sister-in-law.’

  ‘So? You said yourself, what’s love anyway? You said you never wanted to love anyone like you loved Owen. This is the best way to start a family. No illusions. Nothing to lose.’

  ‘Rory, I don’t want to start another family.’

  ‘Then give it to me. Let me bring it up. I’ll love it. Teach it things. Be a good father to it. Jesus, Orla, you can’t not have it.’

  It is moments before she answers, moments where he allows himself hope.

  ‘I can’t be pregnant. Not now. Jenna –’

  ‘Orla, please.’

  ‘I can’t have it. I can’t.’

  ‘This is more than “not having it”. This is killing a baby. Our baby.’

  She closes her eyes. ‘It’s a foetus.’

  ‘That will become a baby.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Orla, this is not you. You love children. You take in other people’s, for God’s sake. You can’t do this.’ His voice changes. ‘I won’t let you.’ It’s his baby as much as hers.

  She is defiant. ‘You can’t stop me.’

  ‘I can.’ Wildly, he tries to work out how. ‘I’ll tell Jenna.’ He is desperate.

  She looks at him in horror. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘I would.’ A beat. ‘If it meant saving our baby.’

  ‘Rory, stop. Please. Let’s be rational, think this through.’

  ‘There’s nothing rational about what you’re suggesting.’

  ‘It’s the only rational solution. D’you think I haven’t thought this through? D’you think that I’d even be considering this if there were any other way? This is the very last thing I want to do. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t do it to Jenna. She could have killed herself, Rory. If they hadn’t found her…’ She covers her mouth and all the emotion of the past week spills over in her tears. ‘If I went through with this and anything happened to Jenna, I couldn’t live with myself. She’s been through enough. I’m her mother. I have to protect her.’

  ‘You’re also a mother to this baby.’

  ‘It’s not a baby.’

  ‘Please, Orla. Just give it a chance. Give it to me. I’ll love it. I swear to God.’ Again he changes tack. ‘You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. I know you. You wouldn’t.’

  She covers her ears. ‘Stop. Stop it. You don’t understand what it’s like to have a child; you’d do anything to protect them; you’d give your own life.’

  ‘But this is my child. And I want to protect it. Please, Orla. There has to be a way. Another way.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have told you.’

  ‘I’ve a right to know.’

  ‘I should have just done it,’ she says, as though to herself.

  ‘Could you have?’ He can’t imagine it. Not Orla.

  She puts a hand on either side of her forehead. ‘I have to go,’ she says. ‘I have to think. Let me think, please, God, let me think.’

  Does he have a choice?

  He stands looking at the closed door, wanting to go after her, but afraid he might make things worse. She’s said she’s going to think. And that’s something. Thinking, not acting. He hopes he’s got through to her. He meant what he said about it being a mistake for her. Orla. Earth mother. Foster mother. Godmother. Abortion? That she’s even considered it stuns him. He should have been more positive when she’d told him she was pregnant, more excited, supportive, before Jenna went off the rails. She mightn’t have felt so alone. But he’s told her he is there for her now. He’s made that clear.

  He walks to the window, turns, walks to the door. What’s he supposed to do, wait unemotionally while she decides whether their baby lives or dies? He’s the father. Doesn’t he have a say? He’s always been pro-choice. Where is his?

  He has to get out, get some air, run. He is in his jogging gear in minutes and gone. Running. Racing. But not as fast as his mind. It’s her body, he tells himself. Yes, but it’s his child too. She has no choice, she says. Neither, it seems, does he. He speeds up, pumping his muscles harder, pushing them to their limit. If only she hadn’t told him. He wouldn’t feel the responsibility he does towards this baby. Neither would he feel a conflicting responsibility to Orla, who is in this mess because of him.

  Over the next few days, he thinks of nothing else. He knows he has to give her space. Time. But what if she decides to go ahead? What will he do then? It’ll be too late. Shouldn’t he try to influence her now? But what can he do, send her a picture of a nine-week-old baby, so she can see? Maybe he could, if this wasn’t Orla, probably his closest friend now after the year they’ve been through. Maybe he could if he didn’t understand her situation, the risks involved in her going ahead with the pregnancy. If only she was a stranger, a one-night stand he didn’t care about. That would be easier.

  So he fights the urge to contact her – until one week later when he can bear the tension no longer. He doesn’t want to pressurize her, but he has to know. He emails, rather than putting her on the spot.

  He doesn’t hear back.

  32

  Since they spoke at the funeral, Jenna has called Rory four or five times to ‘talk’. Somehow she has decided that he is ‘the only one who understands’. At first that had him baffled. He recalled their (uncomfortable for him) chat in his mother’s front room when he’d said little, offered no advice, just let her talk. In retrospect maybe that’s what she needed, someone to mouth off to who kept his views to himself. Rory wasn’t thrilled when she continued to call him, especially without her mother knowing, but felt that maybe he was providing a service of sorts, letting her offload, keeping her out of trouble. All that changed when she drank herself unconscious. Since then he has found her calls terrifying, as if he’s in some way responsible for her. Now, given the latest development, he knows he should avoid her altogether, considering the power she has over his child’s future without even realizing it. And yet here he is listening to her latest rant. He wants to tell her to grow up and quit driving her mother distracted.

  ‘They want me to go to some dump for alcoholics for six weeks. I’m not an alcoholic.’

  ‘I know. I know you’re not. But it might do you good.’

  ‘How could it if I’m not an alcoholic?’

  Rory is all too aware that anything that would help Jenna’s stability will increase the chances of his baby surviving. Which makes him feel guilty about offering the advice that Jenna needs to hear. ‘Because you do have a drink problem.’

  ‘You just said I didn’t.’

  ‘I said you weren’t an alcoholic. But you did end up with alcohol poisoning.’

  ‘There was a reason for that.’

  ‘There should never be a reason for that.’

  She is silent. Then her voice is accusing. ‘I thought you understood.’

  ‘I do. But until you admit you’ve a problem it’s only going to get worse.’

  ‘Has she been talking to you? Has she told you to say tha
t?’

  ‘I presume you mean your mother?’ He snaps. Then checks himself. Tries to control his anger. It’s not Jenna’s fault. She doesn’t know.

  ‘This was a mistake,’ she says.

  ‘Look, Jenna. I’m just being honest here. I could tell you what you wanted to hear, be your “friend”, but what friend would I be if I thought you should do this and I didn’t say it?’

  Silence.

  ‘Nobody can make you go. But you can decide to. You can decide to sort this out. To stop letting drink control you.’

  ‘Thanks for the lecture.’

  He says nothing. What did he expect, an admission of guilt?

  ‘If I go, and I’m not saying I will, it’d be on my terms. I’d decide.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  There is a long pause. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

  He wants to ask how Orla is, where Orla is, but can’t. It would look like he was on her side. And that could ruin all he has achieved here. When she hangs up, he feels more positive. Could this be the beginning of a solution?

  It’s ten days since Orla’s visit and still no word. He expected, at least, an email, if only to say ‘still thinking’. Doesn’t she appreciate what this is like for him? Doesn’t she care? Well, he’s had enough of being patient. He has to do something. With Jenna away in rehab, he has an opportunity, a real chance to convince Orla to delay her decision. Jenna’s future is brighter now. And she is stronger than Orla thinks. He is going over there. After work, today.

  He grabs the post on his way out, to be opened in traffic on the way.

  Stopped at lights, he tears open the first envelope, the one that isn’t a bill. It’s a letter. And it isn’t long.

  Rory

  It’s over. I’m sorry. I know what you wanted and I’m sorry. I had no choice. I had to think of Jenna. I had to think of her future, and mine. I know you said you’d be there and I know you believed you would. But the burden would have been mine. I couldn’t take the change that this would have meant to my life. I’m sorry. Please don’t contact me. It’s over now. I have to put this behind me, get on with my life. There is nothing you could have done.