Capital Sins

by Jane Marciano

  'That'd be daft. What for? There's no point in both of us sitting around chewing our nails, and I don't want to be the cause of any trouble between you and Mr Jessop. It's bad enough that I'm not going in today, don't make it worse. You've got your job to do, so you'd better do it.' She flapped her hand as Sheila opened her mouth to protest. 'Now, don't argue! You'll be late if you don't go now. I'm going to get dressed and go to see a doctor. No, you can't come with me. I'll do this myself, and I'll be all right!'

  Sheila stared at the girl, a little startled. Connie, she knew, could be stubborn sometimes, but she sounded quite different now; older, more authoritative somehow, as if she had matured within a few weeks. It was a sad transformation, especially in one so young, and Sheila sighed, but nevertheless stood up to go. She slung a long silk scarf around her shoulders, brushed down her suit, and reached over for her bag. At the door, she turned to look back at Connie.

  'When you know for sure, you... you won't do anything silly, will you?' she asked hesitantly.

  Connie eyed her friend quizzically. 'Now what would I do?'

  'I don't know ... ' Sheila fumbled with her gloves, refusing to meet the challenge in Connie's eyes.

  'I wouldn't be so stupid as to have a back-street abortion, if that's what you're implying. These things can be done legally now, you know, and I've certainly got a case for having it done legally, wouldn't you say?'

  Sheila smiled nervously, for Connie sounded so grim, hardly recognisable as the gay and vivacious creature of so few weeks back.

  'Anyway, we're both being highly pessimistic,' Connie went on in a clipped voice. 'We're thinking the worse and I may not be pregnant at all: he sickness may be due to something I've eaten, and I may not have come on yet because I'm worrying about this. One of those false alarms, they do happen, you know.'

  Sheila took a long, slow breath, unconvinced by the explanation but determined not to convey it by her manner to Connie. 'Mm, well, when you get the results, let me know.'

  She went out, leaving Connie to stare blankly at the closed door.

  A doctor examined her, took the necessary tests, and said he'd phone her when they were ready. Impatiently, Connie told him she'd call later that afternoon. He'd shrugged and let it go at that. She went from the clinic quickly, hating the antiseptic odour of the place.

  Connie couldn't remember very clearly what she did to while away the next few hours. She recalled getting on to a bus and paying a fare, and then somehow arrived at one of the art galleries that she and Sheila had visited the previous week in their lunch hour. She sat down in the cool, marble hallway, on a long, low, red leather couch opposite a 'Madonna and Child'. This Connie fixed her eyes on oblivious of the tourists and schoolchildren who passed by. Almost an hour later she left the gallery and went to a cafe. She ordered a milk shake and a sandwich, but left it uneaten on the chipped plate. When she had finished the packet of cigarettes in her bag, she bought two more packets at a kiosk. She walked along the sunny streets aimlessly, and ended in a park. She wandered along a path, stopped briefly by an aviary. She circled a lake twice, indifferent to the shrieks and laughter from the rowing boats, the cries from the children's playground or the sun's warmth on her face.

  Sunk in bitterness, Connie glanced at her watch. The hour registered and she knew it was time to call the doctor. But she didn't move yet. She sat on a bench by the lake with her chin drawn into her neck, her eyes fixed on her hands gripped together in her lap.

  What shall I do? she wondered. There's really no question of keeping a baby – not that I'd want to, I'd hate the sight of it! Oh, God, why did this happen to me? Her head moved in small, almost imperceptible motions. At last, she stood up, and with slow, heavy steps, walked to the nearest telephone box outside the park gates.

  'Yes, that's right. Constance Sands. I believe you may have the results of my tests ready for me ... I'll wait, thanks.'

  Her fingers drummed against the glass windows as she gripped the receiver in her other hand.

  'Pardon?' She rammed the phone nearer to her ear, mouth opening slightly. 'I see, positive ... '

  The voice at the other end of the line droned on, but Connie replaced the receiver. Her hand shook as she dropped it into the cradle, and she leant back against the door, beads of sweat resting on her upper lip. Collecting her wits, Connie took out from her bag a comb and mirror and tidied her hair, patted her skin with a tissue, glad of the simple routine. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she swung open the door and headed for the underground.

  She stared down at the electrified rail as if hypnotised and felt her senses reeling. The train rumbled out of its black hole and screeched to a stop. The doors slid open and, mechanically, her legs lifting robot-like, Connie stepped into the compartment. Before she was even aware of it, she had arrived at Jessop House. People who knew and recognised her smiled and asked how she was as she crossed the floor, and Connie automatically returned their greetings. She left her stomach on the ground as the lift whisked to the top of the building, and she nervously gripped her clammy hands together, hoping that she wasn't going to be sick right there on the floor.

  She entered the office. There was no sign of Sheila and disappointment welled up. God, how she needed to talk to a friendly face!Heels sinking into the soft carpet, she flung herself on to the couch and rested her head against the back of the soft leather, staring up at the ceiling. She made as if to struggle to her feet when she suddenly heard Samuel Jessop's deep voice, and blinked rapidly as his tall figure loomed up from his room.

  'Miss Sands, what are you doing here? Miss Delaney informed me you weren't feeling well and weren't coming in today.'

  He stopped by the couch and motioned for her to remain

  seated.

  'I... I just wanted to see Sheila, I thought she'd be back.'

  'She went on somewhere else, not likely to be back until later. Do you want to leave a message with me?'

  Connie shook her head, then combed back her hair with her fingers. She reached for her bag and made to look as if she were going.

  'It doesn't matter, Mr Jessop. It can wait until I see her tonight at the flat.'

  'Very well.'

  She thought he would go, but he continued to stand where he was, looking down on her as if he had unfinished business on his mind. She wished he would leave: staring up at him was giving her a crick in the neck. .

  'Is there anything I can do for you?' He asked after a short pause.

  She gazed up at him, the unusual softness and kindness apparent in his voice taking her by surprise. Suddenly everything was too much for her.

  She couldn't hold back the threatening tears any longer and they welled up in her eyes and streamed down her face. Connie rested her forehead on her clenched fist and lowered her face, vainly trying to stifle her weeping. She felt the seat beside her sag as Jessop lowered his weight on to it. Little choking sounds escaped from her throat as she attempted to regain control, and then dimly she saw a large white handkerchief fluttering in front of her.

  'Here,' Jessop said gruffly.

  Connie accepted it, and applied the white linen to her watery eyes. His sea-coloured eyes were studying her intently all the while.

  'Is it because you're ill, or is there something else worrying you?' he asked gently.

  'I'm sorry, Mr Jessop, bursting into tears like that. You've probably got enough worries of your own as it is.'

  He looked at her accusingly. 'I'm always interested in the welfare of my staff, particularly when they work in the same office.'

  'Yes, I suppose so, and I must talk to someone,' she said in a rush. 'I really don't know where to begin, but the truth of the matter is, I ... I'm pregnant.'

  He drew in a sharp breath. 'And you're upset because the boy won't marry you, is that it?'

  'Oh, no! I wouldn't marry him now even if I knew where he was ... '

  'Like that, eh?' He jerked his chin to the side, giving emphasis to the question.

  Connie twiste
d the handkerchief between her fingers and stared down at the floor.

  'I only met him once, he's just a seaman. We ... we got drunk and ... it just happened. I didn't want it to, not like that.' Her shoulders drooped dejectedly.

  He rested his big hand on Connie's shoulders, sorry for the girl and yet, at the same time, feeling a twinge of envy for the sailor, even while he knew it was an unreasonable attitude. Just to be able to impregnate a girl so easily! He rubbed his hand over his mouth before saying:

  'And what are your plans ... Constance, isn't it?'

  She nodded. 'Get rid of it, I guess.'

  'But ... '

  'I don't see what else I can do! I don't want a baby now, especially this one, and even if I kept it, I couldn't afford to feed the both of us. I don't want to get into that kind of rut, not when I want so much more from life.'

  Her voice rose shrill¥. 'It's already growing in my belly and I want to pluck it out before it takes over.' Her eyes darkened. 'It's not your problem, Mr Jessop,' she said dully, 'it's kind of you to listen, but I have to deal with this myself.'

  He rose to his feet. 'If ... if you need anything, want any help, Constance, come and tell me. will you?' he said awkwardly. She smiled at him gratefully, and waited until he had returned to his own office before she quietly let herself out. Samuel Jessop sat at his big desk for a long while, thinking about her.

  Sheila listened to Connie's news without interrupting, no surprise on her face.

  'Well?' she said finally.

  Connie rested her elbows on the table. She had been watching a programme on television when Sheila had returned to the flat, but it was ignored now.

  'What do you think?'

  Sheila strove to sound reasonable. 'It's got to be your decision, love. It's your baby.'

  Connie hit the table with the palm of her hand. 'Damn the blasted thing! I didn't want it, and I'm not bloody well having it! I'm going to have an abortion as quickly as possible, be rid of it once and for all!'

  'Are you absolutely sure that's what you want to do?' Sheila said slowly, making Connie turn her head in surprise and bewilderment. 'I mean,' she added. 'don't make any hasty decisions without thinking about it hard first.'

  'I'm not sure what I should do. I must do what's right for me. Help me, Sheila!'

  There was a pause, and then: 'Have the baby, Connie,' Sheila said suddenly. 'You may regret an abortion later. I knew a woman who had one years. ago, and she's still emotionally disturbed. I wouldn't like to see you suffer the same way, and you're too tender-hearted not to care.'

  'Maybe this woman didn't get herself pregnant under the same circumstances that I did!' Connie flicked ash from her cigarette angrily. 'Why should I have to bear this lump for nine stinking months and then give it away?'

  'Then don't. Keep it, if that's the only thing bothering you.'

  'It's not the only thing bothering me!'

  'It's like murder ... '

  'It's not your bloody baby!' She calmed down when she saw Sheila's face crumple, and said in a quieter voice, 'I thought you said this was my decision.'

  'You said you wanted my advice.'

  'You're just making it more difficult for me.' She slumped forwards wearily. 'What's the point of going through with it, Sheila?'

  Sheila made a vague movement with her hands.

  'It's just that ... if it was me, I know I couldn't go through with an abortion. I was brought up as a Catholic and, although I don't bother with religion any more, some of it rubbed off, and their policy about life and death still makes sense to me.'

  She screwed up her forehead, groping for words to explain herself. 'I believe in contraception, it's only sensible and practical, but once a baby has been conceived, it's alive; a human being, with a right to life and survival, the same as you and I! It has a right to exist, and however small, it's already formed in your body ... and all I know is, I couldn't kill another human being, or have one killed, it would always be on my conscience.'

  'You're not exactly making this easy for me,' Connie said, but a wry smile twisted her lips. 'I don't believe in God, but I've got feelings and emotions, same as everyone else. It's not easy for me to make a decision as important as this, that's why I need your advice. At the moment, I'm kind of being tom. Half of me hates the idea of this unborn child; the other half tells me to be merciful, that it wasn't this ... this thing's fault that it's in me at all.' She looked across the table, and her eyes were beseeching when she added, 'How will I manage, cope as time goes by? I'm scared, Sheila, I don't know anything about babies, pregnancies ... motherhood.'

  'You don't have to know,' Sheila said gently. 'It comes to all of us instinctively. Most women feel fine right up until the last few weeks. You can even continue working for maybe six to seven more months if you like, at the very most, depending on how you feel physically.'

  Connie shuddered and sat back in her chair, clasping her hands around the back of her neck. 'I'm really frightened,' she said. 'Frightened of being alone, having to do all this by myself.'

  'Don't be, I'll be here to help you.'

  Connie took a deep breath. 'OK, you've talked me into it. I'll keep the wretched thing.'

  'Good. Good girl.'

  'Are ... are you sure I'm doing the right thing?'

  Sheila stared into the wide eyes, then nodded. 'The only thing.'

  Two months passed, then three, and Connie was constantly feeling unwell with heartburn, backache, and anaemia. At first she went into work as often as she could, but the travelling sapped her strength as time went by. She knew the age of chivalry was dead and buried when one morning she fainted in the crowded and stuffy train, and no one stood up to give her a seat, or ask how she was, but merely stared at her inscrutably as if she were a junkie, drunk, or even a leper, and peered even closer at their newspapers, pretending she wasn't there. Sometimes she even felt too weak to stir from her bed in the mornings and Sheila would have to make her excuses to Samuel Jessop so that she could stay with Connie.

  Connie felt she could have tolerated morning sickness, but it got so that she felt ill most of the time. Whenever she ate, she promptly sicked it up, even vomited occasionally when she drank. She was frightened to taste food after a while and didn't believe Sheila's assurances that it wouldn't last. Connie raged around the apartment until even Sheila's saintly patience was almost sapped.

  'This is all your fault!' Connie shrieked at her. 'If I'd had an abortion I wouldn't be going through all this awful misery now! Why am I being punished? You and your holier-than-thou ideas about life and mercy. It was all right for you to talk, you weren't the one giving birth to the little brat and now, dammit, it's too late even to have the thing butchered; no decent doctor would consider it now. So you can congratulate yourself; it's all thanks to you that I've got to have it even when I don't want it. And I don't, I tell you, I bloody well don't!'

  Sheila tried to soothe her, but Connie could not be diverted from her rage.

  'I feel like throwing myself off the nearest cliff, you hear me! Even dying would be better than all this . this revolting, mucky sickness!'

  'It's sure to pass soon ... '

  'Yeah! In another six flaming months, it'll pass. Oh, God, why did I ever listen to you? Why did I let you talk me into keeping it?'

  Sheila had left for work when Connie next went to the clinic for a check-up. Samuel Jessop was sitting on the couch in the main office, reading through some papers, when the door burst open and Connie staggered in. He stared up in annoyance at the rude interruption, then got to his feet when he saw who it was.

  'Where's Sheila?' Connie cried when she saw him, all respect forgotten in her desperation.

  Jessop walked over to her, taking her arm. 'She's popped out for half an hour.' He observed the girl's wild eyes and unkempt appearance, and wondered if perhaps she was becoming a little unbalanced. 'How are you feeling, Constance?' he asked kindly. 'Do you think you'll be well enough soon to come back to us?'

  She pulle
d away from him so sharply he almost staggered backwards.

  'It's not likely,' she hissed between her teeth. 'The good doctor told me I ought to take things easy, put my feet up and all that. Told me that I'm not strong enough to travel on the underground each day, that practically everything would be too much of a strain for me from now on! What do you think of that, Mr Jessop, sir!' She glared at him, hands on hips.

  He shrugged, not understanding her rage. 'That's too bad,' he said easily. 'I suppose Sheila will just have to find a temporary replacement for you until you're feeling up to it, or until after you've had the child.'

  'Child! Child!' she echoed, sarcastically imitating him, her mouth sneering. 'I'm not having any child!'

  For a second he looked mystified. Then his face cleared. He frowned at her. 'Constance, you're too far gone to be thinking of anything like... 'he stopped, appalled, as she suddenly burst into hysterical laughter.

  Through her shrieks, which to him sounded almost insane, she managed to gasp out, 'I'm having children. Do you understand? Children!'

  'I don't ... ' he faltered, face blank.

  She leant against the edge of the table and threw back her head.

  'My God, what a man that Jap was! Who'd have believed it... do you know what he's gone and done, eh?'

  Jessop could only stare at her in bewilderment.

  'He's only given me two of the bastards!' Her voice rose in pitch. 'Bloody twin bastards, isn't that a joke? Twins!'

  'Constance!' His stern voice broke through her hysteria. 'Control yourself! You'll have everyone in the building listening, wondering what all the commotion's about!'

  She flounced away from him as be advanced towards her with outstretched arms.

  'Don't want to sit down! Don't want to do anything. Yes, yes I do!' Her eyes glittered strangely and looking at her then, Jessop felt panic rise. 'I want to kill myself! I don't want Alan's babies!'

  She made a move towards the large window and Jessop, seeing her intention, lunged forwards. She wriggled madly as his arms encircled her.

  'Let me go!'she said breathlessly. 'Let me die!'