Men I've Loved Before

by Adele Parks

  For fifteen days now, she’d known there was another being in her body, that she was sharing her body. Her initial concern had been how to most efficiently put a stop to that being and how to hide its brief existence most thoroughly. But the more she tried not to think about the being, the more she found she was thinking about it. Maybe it was because she was being so sick and felt so tired; it was impossible to ignore a thing if it made its presence so inconvenient. She worried that her mother or Becky might notice her frequent visits to the loo to throw up or maybe they’d notice she’d put on a bit of weight because, although it wasn’t always the case, Nat had started to thicken almost straight away. She hoped they’d think it was Christmas excess. She preferred to think of it as that too, it was an easier thing to believe because she could bring Christmas excess under control. And the pregnancy was just the same, of course. She could also bring that under control. Yes, she could, she could. She told herself this over and over again but she never sounded convincing.

  In the end, Nat did have a quick peek at the literature the clinic had insisted she bring home with her after her initial consultation last week; she felt somehow compelled. The literature described the different stages of fetal development. Nat was somewhere between seven and eight weeks pregnant. That was nothing, she told herself. That meant nothing. Just a batch of cells, clustered together, hardly detectable.

  It was madness to describe this batch of cells as a ‘baby’ or to talk of stretching, bending and unbending.

  OK, so its embryonic tail has gone by eight weeks which makes it look ever so slightly less alien, and all organs, muscles, and nerves are beginning to function, noted Nat. That was something, she supposed, something quite remarkable; at least in a scientific sense but it still had no bearing on her emotional reality. But then, wow, she read that the hands could now bend at the wrist. Who would have known? And the eyelids are beginning to cover the eyes. Imagine that! Something so delicate as eyelids on something no bigger than a kidney bean.

  Or not. Best not. Best not think, or imagine or wonder at all. Best plod on. Just plod on.

  Nat needed breakfast. She found she needed to eat something about every two hours. She thought that Nina might have gone out into town; she’d been talking about returning a pair of trousers that Brian had bought her for Christmas, they were too long in the leg and she wanted something from the petite range. Nat was therefore surprised to see Nina at the kitchen table. She had a newspaper open in front of her but Nat didn’t quite believe she was reading it.

  ‘Oh, hello, I thought you’d gone into town.’

  ‘No, dear, I was going to and then I thought I might take advantage of everyone else being out of the house in order to have a quiet word with you.’ The quiet word she’d been trying to have for quite some time, the quiet word that Nat had avoided with the skill of a black belt martial arts master. ‘I think it’s time we had a chat.’

  ‘Oh.’ Nat did not want to encourage Nina to think that she might like such a chat but she dared not object either. Nat had holed up with her parents for weeks now and they had been remarkably reserved about cross-examining her about the split from Neil. Nat had known that probing questions were inevitable; rather like an outstanding fine, it was possible to avoid coughing up in the first instance but in the end you always had to pay big time. Nat used the excuse of putting the kettle on as a way of turning away from her mother.

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’ she asked. There were a million things in Nat’s head that probably needed talking about but she didn’t know how or even if she wanted to tackle any of them. Would she have the courage to tell her mother about sleeping with Karl? Could she explain that Neil had started to visit a stripper regularly and called out her name while they were making love? Could she justify not wanting children? That might be the trickiest of all the admissions.

  ‘How pregnant are you exactly, darling?’ Nina’s question ricocheted around the kitchen; it hurtled about and gathered such a velocity that Nat was almost knocked on to her back.

  ‘How did you know? she asked, turning to face Nina.

  ‘I’m your mother. It’s my business to know all about you. Besides, you left this in your jeans pocket and I found it when I was putting the washing on.’

  Nina held up the leaflet on fetal development. Nat had been wondering where it had got to. She’d been looking for it last night as she’d wanted to check out when the fetus developed hair. She didn’t know why she was interested; she’d told herself that it was just scientific curiosity.

  ‘About eight weeks,’ replied Nat.

  ‘And can I take it from your face that you are not happy with the news?’ asked Nina in a careful tone.

  ‘I’m going to a clinic this morning to have an abortion. I booked it before Christmas,’ said Nat, trying to keep her tone as efficient and detached as possible. ‘It was very easy to get an appointment. Christmas isn’t a busy time for this sort of thing.’ Nat shrugged. She hoped to appear nonchalant; she struck Nina as bewildered and adrift.

  ‘No, I don’t imagine it is,’ replied Nina.

  ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about. It will all be over very soon indeed,’ said Nat determinedly

  ‘I see.’ Nina wanted to stand up from the kitchen table and slowly walk towards Nat, she wanted to wrap her arms round her daughter and comfort her but she knew Nat wasn’t ready for that yet. She could see it in Nat’s clenched neck and thin mouth. ‘And have you made that decision because you’ve split up with Neil and you’re worried about being a single mum?’ Nina asked, carefully treading on eggshells.

  ‘Oh God, you have no idea,’ sighed Nat, pushing the heels of her hands into the sockets of her eyes and rubbing ferociously.

  ‘Well, give me an idea then,’ said Nina patiently.

  Could she? Could she say it? It was so enormous. So shaming. So complicated.

  ‘It’s not Neil’s baby.’

  ‘Oh.’ Nina’s gasp was slight but significant. Nat snapped her head in her mother’s direction and felt the full force of the condemnation radiating from the anxious and disappointed mother.

  ‘I thought he was having an affair. Maybe he was. Who knows? He called out another woman’s name during – well, when we were—’

  Nina nodded. She wanted to tell Nat that Nat’s generation hadn’t invented sex and she could very well imagine which was the most inconvenient moment a husband might call out another woman’s name, but this was not the time. She let Nat go on uninterrupted.

  ‘She’s a stripper. His other woman. So I ran into the arms, well, the bed I suppose, of someone else.’ The sentences came out like the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun. Nina tried to absorb everything she was being told. ‘But even if this baby was Neil’s, I wouldn’t want it. I wouldn’t.’ It struck Nat that she had just referred to a ‘baby’; up until that moment she had called it a ‘being’, a ‘fetus’, or ‘the pregnancy’.

  Maybe it was the harsh nature of the confessions, or just her hormones, or the relief of talking about the issue, or the fact that she was about to abort her baby, Nat was unsure, but suddenly she burst into floods. The tears seemed to spray out of her eyes like a sprinkler on a summer lawn. The moment was almost comedic, despite the agony; it was certainly amazing. Nina didn’t have a chance to process everything, she just acted on instinct. She acted as any mother would. She saw that this was the moment when Nat needed holding and she sprang to it.

  Nina held her and rocked her gently in her arms for the longest time. She rubbed her back in an effort to soothe and in the hope that she could stop her crying. Eventually Nina led her little girl to the squishy, grubby two-seat sofa that was pushed up against the wall in the kitchen. She sat Nat down and even tucked a blanket round her legs, then she brewed tea and hunted out a packet of chocolate-covered HobNobs. As she passed her the mug, she kissed her daughter’s forehead.

  Nat gulped down the hot tea and ate the HobNobs in large bites. As the warmth and the chocolate started to take
effect, she began to tell the story of the last few months of her marriage. She told of Neil’s birthday celebrations and his sudden thought to start a family, she admitted to calling her exes in her address book and she gave her mother as much detail as she could about Neil’s visits to Hush Hush. She concluded with her confession that she’d had drunken, unremarkable sex with someone she shouldn’t have. Nina listened carefully and did not pass comment, she only interrupted to ask questions on timings or to contextualise conversations that were being relayed. It was only when Nat concluded by saying, ‘So there you have it. A mess, isn’t it?’ that Nina finally commented.

  ‘Oh, my darling. Was I such a terrible substitute?’

  Nat stared at her mother, unsure how she’d made the link. The jump. Nat had been careful not to say that her reluctance to have children was anything to do with her own mother’s death and yet somehow Nina had guessed.

  ‘No, no, Mum, no. You must never think that. You were perfect. Wonderful,’ said Nat. She clasped her mum’s hands in her own. She’d never noticed before that the skin on Nina’s hands was thin and had the texture of greaseproof paper. Nat loved those hands, hands she’d thoughtlessly, constantly clasped as a child, hands that she was glad to reach for now. ‘But what if there hadn’t been you? Before you I was so lonely, Dad was so lonely. We were a disaster. I didn’t want that for Neil or a child of mine. You were one in a million. But if you hadn’t come along, then what?’

  ‘Someone would have, your dad was a very attractive man, a catch, and you, you were a bonus! Sweetheart, you have to accept, your mum’s death wasn’t a hereditary condition, it was a terrible, terrible thing. An accident. A misfortune. But there is no reason to think you would suffer the same terrible fate,’ said Nina calmly.

  ‘But there was no reason to believe she would. And she did,’ argued Nat bleakly.

  ‘Have you explained this to Neil? Does he understand why you are so scared of having a baby?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘It’s our secret, it always has been. We didn’t even tell my brothers.’

  Nina was shocked. Might she have miscalculated? Might she have made a mistake?

  ‘And anyway, I once tried to explain it to someone and he thought I was irrational, bordering on the insane actually. I didn’t want Neil thinking that of me.’

  ‘That other man, whoever he was, could not have loved you enough. Neil loves you enough. He would have tried to understand. I promise you, he would,’ said Nina confidently.

  Nat wondered if this was true. Was there a time in the past few months when she could simply have talked about her fears to the man she loved above all else? Would he have been able to comprehend? For the first time it crossed her mind that maybe she should at least have given him the chance. Yes, maybe she should have. But.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum. None of it matters now.’ Nat glanced at her watch. ‘It’s time to go. If I miss my appointment then I’ll lose more time, more days, and well, I don’t want that.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Nina stood up. She wasn’t a tall woman, outsiders would have considered her delicate, but Nat thought she was magnificent. Strong.

  ‘I thought you’d hate the idea.’

  ‘I do. That’s my grandchild in your belly, Natalie. It is. No matter if I didn’t push you out into this world, you could not have been more of a child of mine. I love you as much as I love your brothers. I don’t agree with what you are doing. I’d like more time to talk to you about it, to make sure you never regret this decision or think you came to it too suddenly. I’d like the chance to help you bring this baby into the world but, darling, no matter what, you are my baby and I’m a hundred per cent with you. Now, tomorrow, the day after and for ever, I’ll support you. I love you. Get your coat.’

  44

  Nina knew her daughter was a grown-up. Nat did a big-boots job, which involved huge budgets, important decisions, speaking at conferences and meeting some of the most influential business people in the world (it no doubt involved a lot more but Nina wasn’t certain exactly what. The point was, she knew it was very impressive.) Nat owned a beautiful home (although admittedly wasn’t living in it right now), she’d done nearly all the painting and decorating herself, she’d even tiled the bathroom floor and walls, something Nina wouldn’t like to tackle. Nat had a clean driving licence, a National Trust membership and she bought wine, by the demi-crate, from Berry Bros and Rudd. She wasn’t the nervous, panicky little girl Nina had met all those years ago. She was unequivocally grown up. Independent. And especially headstrong.

  And yet Nina still believed Nat needed her.

  Nat expertly wove her mother’s aged, distinctly un-chic Volvo through the town traffic and out into the windy, narrow countryside roads. Nat had found a clinic that was not too far away; it would only take them half an hour to get there. They spent the journey in silence, each preferring to trawl through their own thoughts than listen to each other’s. Nina stared out of the window. It was a relentlessly grey day: the people, houses, roads, cars, fields and sky were all a pitiless shade of grey. She took a sneaky sideways glance at Nat’s belly, inside which lay a jewel of colour. Nat had an opportunity to bring a priceless, individual beam of colour into this world. A baby. A child. A person.

  Nina had made a similar journey as this one herself, many years ago. When she was nineteen years old she’d aborted a baby of her own. She’d found herself pregnant after having sex for the first time, she never really understood how. By that, she didn’t mean she was one of those green girls who thought she might get pregnant by sitting on the seat of a public loo (not that she would dream of sitting on the seat of a public loo, but that was for cleanliness reasons not fears of conception), Nina had understood all about the mechanics of sex and very much wanted to have it. She’d carefully selected a slightly more experienced suitor to do the deflowering (so as to maximise her chance of actually enjoying the occasion as she had heard some rather discouraging stories) but what she didn’t understand was how she got pregnant. They had been careful, just not careful enough, as it happened. It was a definitive and age-old mistake. It only takes the once. She had been in the middle of her teacher training degree. She wasn’t ready for that baby. She had an abortion. Those were the facts.

  Nina had never regretted her decision. She did not allow herself that indulgence. It was done, for good or ill. If she owed that unwanted child anything, it was the guarantee that she would go on to live a good and full life, a life that perhaps would not have been possible if the baby had been born. Nina had been a mother four times since; each child was a privilege and she’d always made them her priority. She was a good mother. A good woman. And her abortion had allowed her to be those things.

  Yet, she thought that Nat’s case was different. She felt sure that Nat might regret aborting this baby. Nat would certainly regret never allowing any baby into her life, Nina was sure of that. Nina wanted to tell her daughter that being a mother was the most inspiring, elevating, natural and important thing she’d ever done but she knew the lofty words would fall on granite.

  What to do?

  Nina surreptitiously fingered her mobile which lay in her baggy, ancient leather satchel. She loathed texting. She could see it was useful as a means of keeping in touch with family who insisted on globe-trotting (as hers did) and she admitted it was handy to get a text confirming her dentist appointment, but she was not adept at sending texts and never wanted to be. Nina was old enough to be fond of conversation and sentimental about the time when people actually smiled at one another, rather than made do with sending and receiving silly pictures made up of semi-colons, dashes and the close bracket symbol. But she thought this might be the moment when she fully appreciated the usefulness of texts, now when she needed to practise a little skulduggery.

  Yes, she could see that this might not be her business. Her daughter was independent and resolute. Perhaps she should respect that. But what if her daughter w
as simply misguided and terrified? Didn’t she have a duty? Nina loved Nat so much that she could not stop herself from getting involved. Love demanded that sometimes. Love did not always make it possible to stand on the sidelines and quietly support. Sometimes love kicked you, in ungainly fashion, into the centre of a muddy, messy pitch. It was possible Nina would squelch about in the dirt, or be tackled to the ground, or be bruised in a scrum but that was all part of the game called love. Nat was not alone, she was part of a team and she needed to be reminded of that.

  Carefully, Nina composed a text to her son-in-law, stating the address of the clinic and the words COME NOW. As she pressed the send button she prayed to God that she was doing the right thing. She also wondered why and how in the world she’d justified her interference by using a rugby analogy? She’d never really understood the game and liked it less!

  45

  ‘Turn the car round!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Turn the car round, we need to head back along the A3.’ Neil reached for Karl’s pristine road atlas and turned to the index. Neil and Karl were driving to Nat’s parents’ home when Neil received the text from Nina. ‘Nina has texted me the address of the abortion clinic.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Karl felt a bit sick. Nerves probably. ‘What’s the address? We can stick it in the satnav, it’ll be quicker.’ Karl figured it would be quicker because Neil was shaking so much he couldn’t open the pages of the atlas very easily. ‘Will we get there in time?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know when too late is!’ Neil took some minutes to plug the address in the satnav. Karl diligently altered course and they drove on in silence until Neil’s phone rang.

  ‘It’s Nina.’ Neil pressed the receive button with fearful haste. What was she going to say?

  ‘Darling, we’re at the clinic. I’ve just popped outside because there is something I have to tell you.’