Nobody Knows

by Rebecca Barber

  “Gillian…”

  “I mean it, Rhiannon. We’re not discussing it.”

  “Okay, okay. But I just have one favor to ask…” Rhiannon waited. Blinking back tears, I shrugged my agreement. “Can you please go to the doctor first thing Monday morning? I fucking hate suspense.”

  Finally I laughed. I had something to laugh at and it felt good. “Sure, I can do that. But only for you.”

  Joining in the laughter, Rhiannon sprung up from the sofa and jumped on my lap, hugging me tightly. I know she wanted to say something, but her promise only moments ago held her tongue.

  A silent tear passed over my cheeks; from now on, if the results came back the way I knew in my heart they would, I would never again have a carefree night. The moment that the double blue lines appeared on the stick my life was someone else’s. I was merely the supporting cast now. As strange as it was, and although the circumstances were far from ideal or my dream life, I knew I didn’t have a choice in that. My life now belonged to the child inside me.

  Three days later I walked out of the doctor’s surgery more frustrated than when I walked in. He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even taken my blood pressure or checked my temperature. He had scrawled on a piece of paper and sent me to another building for a blood test. He did manage to charge me eighty dollars for the privilege of his illegible scribble, but he did nothing to reassure me or put my mind at ease.

  It took almost an hour and forty-five minutes in the waiting room before I was called to hostile white walled room, where a surly nurse who clearly wanted to be somewhere else poked the needle into my elbow and filled the vials with my blood. Then came the worst part—the wait. I would know nothing more for two days. Add another two days to the three I had already spent completely terrified, and I lived almost a week with a gnawing anxiety growing rapidly in the pit of my stomach.

  While I waited for the call which would irrevocably change my life I lived like a hermit. I never left the apartment. I didn’t answer texts or phone calls. And when Joel knocked on the door I hid behind the cupboard and pretended I wasn’t home. I needed to be alone when the call came.

  Being on my own meant I had time to think about what I wanted. I had already made the decision if I was carrying Joel’s child I would have the baby. I couldn’t go through with an abortion even if that meant raising a child on my own. I would tell him if and only if it turned out that I had something to tell him. But for now it would be my own private torment.

  It was ten to five on Friday afternoon and my mobile lit up. I didn’t recognize the number, so I timidly answered the phone. “Hello,” I squeaked, no louder than a whisper.

  “Is this Gillian Dempsey?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Tayla calling, from Dr. Johnson’s office. I am calling with your test results.”

  “Okay.”

  “Congratulations, Gillian. It seems you are pregnant.”

  “Oh.”

  “Excuse me for saying this, but are you all right, Miss Dempsey?” she asked sincerely.

  “Fine.”

  “Okay then, I’ll let you get back to your day. You need to make an appointment to see Dr. Johnson sometime next week just to check everything is progressing normally.” She sounded sweet and concerned. I immediately pictured her as a beautiful old lady with short grey hair and soft hands. She sounded like the type of lady who would spend all day baking cookies for the church bake sale and all night crocheting coat hangers for the local primary school fete.

  “Okay.”

  “Have a good afternoon, dear,” she sang sweetly.

  I heard the line go dead and realized I had made only had one-word answers for the entire conversation. Although I felt guilty for being rude, the words that Tayla said began to sink in. And as reality sank in, panic took over.

  I was pregnant. I was going to be a mum. In nine months, maybe a bit less, I would be completely responsible for another human being. A helpless, innocent child relying entirely on me to stay alive. And with those thoughts running through my head, I raced towards the bathroom and retched.

  Two hours later my bum was numb from the cold tiles and my stomach was empty. I hadn’t cried, though, which surprised me a bit. I thought I would have. It seemed like something I should have done. Mourn the loss of the life that I had, but for some reason I didn’t.

  I peeled myself from the bathroom floor, splashed cold water on my face, and summoned the resolve to get on with life. I strolled determinedly to the lounge and picked up my mobile. There were already three missed calls on it from three very eager and nervous friends. They could wait.

  The dial tone seemed louder than normal in my ear. “Hey,” Joel answered. “I was wondering if I would ever hear from you again. I stopped around to see you last night but you didn’t answer.”

  “Sorry, I was probably in the bath and didn’t hear you,” I lied. “So, can I see you tonight?” Although this same routine was almost normal to us now, I was still nervous. I had cramps in my stomach and I wasn’t sure if it was from the rumbling or nerves.

  Chapter Nine

  Seven Years Later

  Joel wouldn’t talk to me. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Every morning we danced around each other, failing to discuss the elephant in the room. Things had changed for us. The life we had wasn’t what we had imagined or even planned. Granted, we didn’t really have time to even make a plan. I still felt robbed of that, but life happens. We couldn’t stop it or even slow it down.

  Joel and I married when I was six months pregnant with our daughter, Charli. Joel was old-fashioned that way and he refused to bring a child into the world without a wedding ring. In all honesty, the day Joel had dropped to one knee in the middle of a crowded restaurant I would have agreed to anything. I was feeling like a balloon. I was uncomfortable and overly hormonal. We married in a small intimate ceremony attended only by Joel’s parents and my girls—Heidi, Rhiannon, and Cora.

  Charli was born at three a.m. on a Tuesday. Joel was by my side through the whole thing, only leaving early to shower and head back to the office. Since I had moved into Joel’s house, he had started working harder and longer, spending more and more time at appointments and out of the house. I tried to talk to him about it but he dismissed my concerns. I was worried I had intruded on his life and run him out of his own home.

  “Don’t be daft,” he would counter. “It’s your home too. I’m just working really hard now before the baby comes so that when he or she arrives I can spend more time at home with you two.”

  It sounded reasonable. When our baby was born I wanted him to be there with us both, so I didn’t say anything. Then Charli was born and nothing changed. He stayed away more than he was there. Hence, it took me by complete surprise when, almost two years after the birth of Charli, we discovered I was pregnant again. Joel seemed to be okay about it, although he didn’t say much.

  It was a very different pregnancy than the first. I was constantly exhausted. I suppose chasing a two-year-old around all day didn’t help. And my back ached. Joel wasn’t as attentive as he had been the first time around, but I couldn’t fault his affection and dedication to Charli.

  He would often sneak away from work early in the afternoon for an hour or two and come home and play with Charli. He played whatever it was that she wanted to play. Some days they watched Wiggles videos and other days they had tea parties with all her dolls. It was the best time of the day for all of us. Charli always squealed with delight as Joel breezed through the door, Joel’s face broke out in a huge, dopey grin and I got a very welcomed rest.

  Seven months later we welcomed Bianca to our family. I remember clearly the day I brought Charli home from the hospital I had been terrified. My hands trembled and I was too scared to be alone with her for the first two weeks. What if I did something to hurt her? What if I wasn’t good enough? The hardest part was I didn’t have my own mother to call and ask for advice. None of my girlfriends had kids and I was completely cluel
ess. I was alone.

  When I brought Bianca home, Joel unpacked the car in the driveway and then sprinted back to work. Luckily his mother was at our place looking after Charli.

  “Where is Joel?” Adele asked, trying to contain the disgust plastered across her face.

  “He dropped me off and headed back to work,” I tried to explain, feeling pathetic as I defended his thoughtlessness.

  “Gillian?” Adele offered.

  “I’m fine,” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes.

  The truth was I was embarrassed. I had grown used to Joel treating me like this, like I was the one who made his life something he didn’t want it to be. But it was something that was my own private pain. No one else knew about it. No one had even seen this side of our strained relationship and I hadn’t told my girls about it. The truth was, I was embarrassed about letting my life slip into this state.

  “Gillian,” Adele commanded, taking my hands and sitting me down on the sofa. “What has been going on around here?” she asked me sweetly.

  Ever since Joel and I married, Adele had become my pseudo-mum. She knew what I had been through and that I had no family of my own, so she took it on herself to fill the void the best she could.

  “Nothing spectacular. We are just both really busy. Joel is working really long hours and I am flat out with Charli and now Bianca. But we are okay,” I defended. As I admitted the words out loud, I realized for the first time how bad things had become. We weren’t happy. We weren’t a normal family. At this point I didn’t know if Joel and I were even friends.

  “I know he is my son and I love him very much, but if he’s being an ass, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

  With the offer on the table, I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to tell someone everything I was feeling and facing, but I didn’t. I couldn’t tell Joel’s mother about all the problems with our rushed marriage. “It’s fine. I’m just on hormone overdrive this week. We’ll be fine,” I added hastily. I wasn’t sure if that was an attempt to reassure Adele or to convince myself. Either way, to me it just sounded like more empty promises.

  As the months passed our beautiful daughters grew and continually surprised and amazed me. But Joel grew more and more distant. No matter what I did or said, Joel just grew angrier and more aloof. Some nights after I had fed and bathed the girls and they were tucked up safely in their beds, I would sit alone on the sofa sipping a glass of wine in the silence and wait for Joel to come home. I yearned for an adult conversation, something more than Dorothy the dinosaur and fruit salad—yummy yummy.

  “Why do you always sit in the silence? Turn the TV on or something,” he would snap as he walked through the door.

  “Your dinner is in the microwave,” I pointed out.

  “Nah, I already had dinner with some clients.” He would wave his hands dismissively.

  Each time we went through this I grew more and more frustrated. I promised myself that next time he wasn’t home for dinner without letting me know I just wouldn’t. But the next time came and I would cook his dinner, and place it in the microwave as expected.

  The day Bianca turned three, Joel and I received an unexpected shock. I was pregnant again. How it happened must almost be considered a modern miracle. Not only had the communication and affection dried up in our relationship, but by that time it was virtually a sexless marriage. It seemed that when I was awake and in the mood, Joel wasn’t home. And when he was horny, I was asleep or running around after the girls.

  “How can you possibly be pregnant again?” Joel spat angrily as I told him one night.

  He had come home late as usual, but in a worse mood. He wouldn’t tell me what had happened that day; I just had to bear the brunt of his frustration. I had tried to sit him down and tell him the news, but that too had backfired.

  “We barely even have sex these days! Are you sure it’s even mine?”

  Coughing at his deliberately hurtful and hateful comment, I climbed off the sofa and walked outside. Inside I was fuming. How could my husband think I would cheat on him? Not to mention where I would find the time or energy to do so? I wanted to scream at him, and throw things, and generally take out my white hot rage on him. But with the girls in bed, I didn’t want to wake them. Walking away was easier.

  Stupidly, I thought Joel would follow me out to the yard. Once he realized how hurtful his comments were, I believed he would come after me. After three hours sitting by the pool, I went inside and crawled into bed. Joel was already snoring beside me.

  When I woke the next morning he was already gone. Pregnant, pissed off, and sick of dealing with his bullshit, I called Adele and asked her to come over and babysit for a couple of hours. When I told her that I was expecting another child she was cautiously delighted. “How did Joel take it?” she asked nervously.

  Tired of protecting Joel’s perfect image from his mother, I told her his spiteful words. Clearly shocked by her son’s tantrums, Adele assured me that no matter what Joel said or did, from here on I had her full support. She never even doubted the child I was carrying was her son’s.

  While the girls enjoyed an exciting morning with Grandma, I went looking for my husband. I knew where he would be but I was tired of how we were. This was going to end now.

  “Can I sit here?” I asked, pulling out a chair in the cheap café around the corner from the office.

  Joel was busy stuffing his face with toast, bacon, mushrooms, and scrambled eggs. When he looked up into my face, I saw him gulp down his food and shake his head silently.

  “I don’t want to do this, Gillian. Not here. And definitely not now,” he stated firmly, leaving no room for debate.

  “No,” I countered as firmly as I could. Taking a deep breath, I tried to steel my resolve. “Last night I told you that we’re having another baby and you asked me if it was yours. Why would you even ask that?”

  I know he could see the pained look on my face and he knew instantly that he caused it. Guilt danced in his eyes, but then it was replaced by something else. Something I hadn’t seen before. “How could it be mine? We never see each other,” he spat under his breath.

  “You are the only person I see. Male or female. From the time I wake up in the morning to the time I go to sleep, more often than not alone, the only people I see are Charli and Bianca or your mother. You don’t even bother to come home and spend time with your daughters anymore. Do you hate your family so much that you can’t even bear to be at home with us?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Yes. And if I’m wrong, tell me why you won’t come home. I know you work, but you can’t call people at ten o’clock at night.”

  “I don’t hate you,” was all he offered.

  Sighing, I felt my resolve weakening. Something was going on with him, and I was desperate not to let him make me feel sorry for him. Everything he was going through was a direct result of choices he made. “What’s going on with you?” I asked, taking his hands in mine.

  “I just have to work. Don’t you understand that? I have to work long hours and weekends to keep you girls in the life you have. I need to pay for all of the swimming lessons and Wiggles concerts and ballet tutorials. I work so my girls can have everything that you want.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, sell the house. We don’t need a mansion with a swimming pool. Or the top of the line cars. What your girls need is their dad. They need to know that he loves them and that he will be there for them. Charli was devastated that you didn’t make it to her ballet recital the other day, and it had nothing to do with you buying her something. She wanted her dad to be there so she knew that he was proud of her,” I tried to explain.

  “I am proud of them. They’re my girls,” Joel admitted. He looked so miserable. The look on his face showed I was getting him to see what he had done wrong. In trying to provide for his family he had failed to give them the most important thing.

  “So what about this new baby?” I asked nervously. I wasn’t sure I act
ually wanted to know his answer, but I had no choice.

  “What about it?”

  “What do you think about it? What do you think we should do?” I gushed. The questions dribbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  “Are you sure we’re in a good position to bring yet another baby into our already hectic life?”

  “Well, I’m only seven weeks at the moment, so we have options.” I can’t believe I said that. Abortion was not an option for me, and never had been, and here I was giving Joel the choice.

  “No…no. It’s not that. It’s just I wasn’t expecting to be going through this. Not again.” For the first time since I had sat down, Joel actually looked at me. He stared at me for a long time, not saying another word.

  “You know that I didn’t do this on purpose?”

  Shaking his head, Joel conceded. “I know.” He smiled, lifting my hands to his mouth and kissing them gently.

  It was the first time in a long time that Joel and I had time to be ourselves. I remembered that first night in the bar, and there we were, seven years later, having our first real conversation in months.

  “Look, Gillian,” he began, and I knew the moment had passed. “I have to get to a meeting now. But I promise I’ll be home for dinner tonight, and then once the girls are in bed, you and I can talk. Sound okay?”

  I shrugged despondently. What could I say? He wriggled into his jacket before bending down and kissing me lightly on the centre of the forehead. “Gillian, you know that I love you, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust myself to say anything. Joel smiled again, and his hand came to rest on my stomach. He rubbed it gently, kissed my cheek, and vanished.

  I watched him walk down the street, frustration bubbling inside of me. I was furious at the way he had dismissed my concerns. He hadn’t even bothered to answer my questions. He had just said “not now” and walked away. Surely I deserved better than that.