“You gave the baby up?” The horror in Imogen’s tone wasn’t because she was horrified of what Ella was capable of; in fact, she could understand why Ella had done what she had. No, she was horrified at the way Elaine forced her; horrified that Ella, possibly the most maternal woman Imogen had ever met, had been forced to give up a child.
“Yes. I was weak; I didn’t feel I had a choice. If I was more like you, I probably would have run…” She smiled a sad smile, one which made her look ashamed for what she’d done. Imogen noticed for the first time, without surprise, that Ella’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears. If she’d not spoken to anyone about this since…well, that was an awful lot of bottled up emotion.
Imogen felt an urge to comfort her in some way, but hadn’t a clue how to. She sat silently, waiting for her to be ready to continue. She had to know how it ended, even though she was sure it wouldn’t be a happy finale.
“So I agreed. I decided I could have kids later, when I was married and settled and independent from my family. Then, I didn’t feel like I really had a choice.” She paused, and took a deep breath, and when she looked at Imogen, she saw in her eyes what Imogen could not express verbally: sympathy.
“This is the part where I disappeared. At four months, she sent me off to live with our relatives in London. An old great aunt who owed my mother. I tried to plead with my father to get him to change her mind, but he didn’t want to get involved. I begged my mother to let me stay; I told her I’d have the baby adopted if I had to, but I didn’t want to leave home. I had friends, I had school work, I had a life. But the stigma of having a pregnant, sixteen-year-old daughter was too much for her.” She allowed a tear to roll down her cheek gently, as she spoke about the most painful part: the part she regretted every day.
“I went there, had my baby, and then they took him away. He was six pounds, and had tiny red curls. I was ready to be a mother the second I saw him; but by then it was too late. They took him, and left me to pick up the pieces that were left of my life. I had no friends, I despised my family, and my baby was gone.” Imogen laid a hand on Ella’s arm, and she looked up, surprised.
“I know I have to have this baby. Even though I’m not ready. I just couldn’t give it away,” Imogen told her, in answer to the unspoken links between Imogen’s situation and Ella’s. It was the only thing she felt she could do to comfort this woman who was the closest thing she had to a parent; this woman who was more vulnerable than Imogen had ever seen her before.
“You’re much stronger than I was at your age, Imogen. And you’ve got all of us behind you. It’s not the most sensible age to have a child, I’m sure the majority of people would agree with that. But I would never force you to make a choice. Being a mother…it’s not all about age. You need to tell Zach, though, Imogen.”
“Does Braden know? About him – the baby, I mean?” Imogen asked, deflecting the attention from her for a moment.
“No. No-one else does; not even William. Just my parents. When I came back to Wiltshire, I lived with them until I was eighteen. I was all set to move out the second I was an adult but…well, you know the rest of the story. They gave me the house.” She paused for a moment, as if there was something she wasn’t sure whether she should tell Imogen, but then decided to press on anyway.
“I will tell him. If things become…properly serious between us. There’s a reason I’ve not had any more kids…I swore, when I gave up Theo – that’s what I called him, although I know they might have changed his name – that I would only have kids of my own if I was stable, and happy, and could offer them a future I was sure of. But that didn’t stop those maternal feelings that Theo had awakened in me…I guess that’s why I decided to adopt. I wanted to have children…I wanted to give kids like my Theo a family.” She wondered if that was something Imogen might not like: the idea that she was a replacement child. But she didn’t comment; perhaps it made sense to her.
Imogen had so many more questions that she wanted to ask, but Ella looked like she was exhausted, and Imogen was feeling the effects of her sleepless night.
“Can we keep this between us – about me. And the baby and everything. I don’t want anyone else knowing yet…please.” Ella nodded.
“Of course. You’re going to tell Zach soon, then?”
“Yeah. I will.” She just had to build up the courage first. Zach was a completely different kettle of fish to Ella.
“I’m gonna go up,” Imogen said, and Ella nodded.
“Me too. I’m exhausted.”
“Night, then. And…thank-you. I didn’t expect you’d support me this much. It means a lot.” The words were hard for Imogen to say; she had avoided expressing emotions to the Kingsleys at all costs but, just like when she’d thanked Ella for adopting them, it felt as though it was something that needed to be said.
“Any time,” Ella said, and reached out awkwardly to hug Imogen. For a minute she allowed it, and the two shared the closest moment they’d had since Ella had adopted her six months previously.
Imogen pulled away first, and headed for the stairs. It was only nine o’clock, but she was exhausted, and she needed some time to mull through everything Ella had given her to think about that day.
That, and allow the idea of motherhood to sink in.
Chapter Thirty
“Imogen? You up yet?” Sara asked, tapping gently on the door. She had seen Imogen’s face the afternoon previously, and she knew something wasn’t quite right – but Ella was keeping her mouth shut. The look of panic in Imogen’s eyes, however, spoke for itself. Something was up.
“No, not yet.” Imogen groaned in the direction of the door, pulling her covers over her head and hoping the tapping would go away. It didn’t.
“Imogen, are you coming to school today?” Sara asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Imogen groaned inwardly: why did all the Kingsleys have to be so bloody nice? It was downright sickening.
“No.” Imogen pulled the covers away from her head a fraction and squinted up at Sara, who’d stopped tapping and entered the room. “Can you tell Ella I’m not well?” Sara nodded, and even closed the door without being asked. Imogen wasn’t sure how she felt about the way she seemed to be warming to the Kingsleys; she had bigger things to worry about now. Like telling Zach, for starters.
School was something she just couldn’t face; pretending to be listening, making conversation, trying to seem like everything was normal and fine – it was just too much hassle. A day in bed would mean she could think. And plan. And put off telling Zach for a few more hours.
She heard the doorbell ring twenty minutes later, and knew who it would be; Zach always walked her to school now. She buried her head in her pillows in case someone sent him up, but whoever answered the door must have told him she was ill; the door closed without the sound of footsteps on the stairs following.
***
Ella Kingsley leant against the front door, after insisting to Zach that Imogen wasn’t well enough for visitors. She supposed she should be glad, really; he clearly cared about her. Whether he cared enough to step up to fatherhood would be a different matter – one Imogen clearly didn’t intend on tackling that day. Ella couldn’t blame her.
She remember that moment when she’d realised she was pregnant with startling clarity. She’d been two months gone by the time she’d taken the test; she’d been denying her period was late for a few weeks before plucking up the courage to buy one. As she’d waited, she’d willed the test to show up negative. She knew, even then, that her mother’s reaction would not be positive.
As she mulled over the previous day’s events, she wondered if she had been too soft on Imogen. But she was pregnant already; what good would shouting have done? Her mother’s hard line approach had only served to make Ella hate her, and forced her to make a decision she had regretted every day since. If her mother had just tried to understand, to support instead of judge… everything could have turned out so differently.
Imogen was strong, and
strong-willed: much more so than Ella had been at her age. What was more, she had a group of friends who would understand, and she knew who the father of the baby was. If Ella shouted, judged, condemned, she knew what would happen: Imogen would run – and then what would happen? To her, or the baby, or this family life they had cobbled together? No, Ella wasn’t willing to risk that. That’s why she would stand by Imogen, even though she was pregnant at fifteen, and would be a mother at sixteen.
Imogen was family; you stood by family, no matter what.
***
Although her phone vibrated with messages more than once, Imogen ignored it; she knew they’d be from Zach and maybe Eve, checking she was all right. For now she couldn’t worry about their worries; she had to focus on herself, and on clearing her head so that she could think.
The first thoughts flooding her head were, surprisingly, not about herself, but about Ella. The bombshell she’d dropped had been hard for Imogen to get her head around to start with, but now she had time to think, she realised how huge it was. Somewhere out there, Ella had a child…a real, biological, child of her own. Ella, who had three children who weren’t her own, and who showed them as much love as Imogen imagined she would show her own children, had abandoned a child. It was almost ironic, now Imogen came to think of it: Ella, the serial adopter, had put her own child up for adoption.
But Imogen realised that she could understand why she’d done it. She couldn’t bring herself to use this information to build her animosity to the mother she didn’t want to feel like she was accepting, because she could imagine herself in the same position. If Imogen hadn’t been through what she had, if she’d still had her mother, and she’d been given that ultimatum…she didn’t know what she would have done. But she guessed that Ella’s choice wouldn’t have seemed so shocking to her then.
It was after an hour of letting her thoughts have free reign of her head that she realised she’d already made her choice, and so there were no decisions to make. When she’d eliminated her other options, she’d left only one viable, and so now she just had to follow through with it.
She was going to have this baby.
She’d told Ella; now she had to tell Zach. Then there’d be scans, and birth plans, and labour…but she could think about all that when the time came for it. Telling Zach had to come next – and thinking of that brought on a whole new wave of worries that had her running to the bathroom in a state of nausea.
“Throwing up already?” a voice asked in the doorway, and Imogen finished washing her mouth out before turning. Ella was leaning against the doorframe looking sympathetic.
“It just hit me…” Imogen said, not wanting to explain the panic that had initiated the sickness.
“Morning sickness has a habit of doing that,” Ella replied.
“Morning sickness?” It wasn’t something Imogen had considered, and shock crept into her eyes. She’d thought it had just been the fear and nerves making her sick. “Really? This early? I mean, I didn’t know it hit so soon.”
“It can do,” Ella said. “Hopefully it won’t be a regular thing for a little while. Are you hungry?”
Imogen began to shake her head, automatically assuming being sick would stop her from being hungry, before realising that wasn’t totally correct. She nodded instead.
“I’ll make some breakfast,” Ella said, turning to head back down the stairs. Imogen felt even more in a daze than she had done before, now that she had been confronted with real signs of pregnancy. It was so much more real than that little plus sign.
As soon as she reached her room, Imogen grabbed her phone. She didn’t bother reading the texts; she had to send this message before she stopped herself.
‘Can I come round later? Need to see you – it’s important. Immy xxx’
She whacked the send button before she could change her mind, and sank back onto the bed, wondering what the hell she was going to say.
“Can I come in?” Ella asked through the open doorway, and Imogen was unsure how long she’d spent staring into space. She nodded, and Ella entered carrying a tray.
White toast and jam; it had been a breakfast her mother had made her when she was little, and seeing it on Ella’s tray made her feel about five again. She shook her head, trying to clear it of memories. Memories wouldn’t help her now; she had to concentrate on the future.
“If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t,” Ella said, clearly mistaking the shaking of Imogen’s head as a ‘no’.
“It’s fine.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, with Ella perched on the end of Imogen’s bed. Imogen began to munch the toast, eating it carefully over the tray – she hated that feeling of having crumbs in the bed.
“Did you get to hold him?” she asked suddenly, and a tortured look glazed Ella’s eyes.
“Yes,” she said softly, “the midwife who delivered the baby passed him to me after he was born. She didn’t realise I was giving him up, I don’t think. Maybe she did, I don’t know. It was harder, once I’d held him – he actually felt like he was mine. And when I looked at him…”
“What?” Imogen didn’t care if she sounded rude – curiosity had taken over.
“You’ll understand, when you first see your baby. The love…I can’t even describe it. But when I looked at him, I loved him instantly. Just like that – we didn’t need time to bond; I didn’t need to get to know him. The love was instantaneous.” She stared into her cup of tea for a moment, and Imogen realised she’d never had to tell anyone any of this before. It had all been bottled up inside. “That’s why it was so hard.”
“Will you…I mean, do you ever think you’ll have kids? With Braden, or whoever, I mean?” Imogen wasn’t sure why she was pushing so hard down this path that she had already ruled out, but part of her had to know: how it felt, how it had affected Ella. Whether it was to see whether the option had any viability, Imogen wasn’t sure – she just felt as though she had to know, and couldn’t stop the questions from pouring out.
Ella was silent for a few moments, and Imogen wondered whether she had asked herself the question before. Maybe it was something she’d avoided considering…
“I don’t know,” she said, and suddenly their eyes met. “I can’t say I don’t want…but it wouldn’t feel right. Not fair, to him.” Her sentences didn’t make total sense, but Imogen could understand well enough; Ella was still plagued with a sense of guilt.
The fifteen-year-old wondered whether adopting children had been an attempt to appease that guilt.
Silence fell between the two once more. Although it felt wrong to do so, Imogen broke it; she thought Ella deserved to know her plans.
“I’m going to tell Zach tonight,” she said, and Ella merely nodded. Thoughts of her own baby were clearly dominating her head at that moment, and Imogen said no more.
“I’m going to go and clean downstairs. You all right up here?” This time, Imogen was the one who only nodded. She felt a sudden urge for Ella to leave: once more, she wanted to be alone.
***
Ella hoped, for Imogen’s sake, that Zach’s reaction would be a positive one, but, as she pulled the hoover out from beneath the stairs, she couldn’t help but worry that it wouldn’t be.
The picture Ella had built up of Zach through rumours and gossip had been that of a young man she would not have wanted to be dating her daughter. She still had her reservations about him, but as he seemed to make Imogen happy, she was willing to keep them to herself.
She only hoped that Zach would prove her wrong this time, and respond well to Imogen’s news; if he didn’t, who knew how Imogen would react?
Chapter Thirty-One
“What’s all this about, Immy?” Zach asked, with only a hint of concern in his eyes. “Is it your birthday? Because if it is, you know that if Eve’s got her heart set on throwing you a ‘surprise’ birthday party, nothing you or I say will change her mind. Unless you’ve got anything blackmail-worthy on her, I think you’ll just h
ave to accept it.”
Imogen did have blackmail-worthy information on her best friend – not that she would ever use it against her – but this wasn’t about her birthday.
“No, it’s not that,” she said, and Zach jumped in before she had a chance to elaborate.
“What is it then? Not Jack?” His voice darkened on her brother’s name – and now he looked concerned.
“No, Zach.” Imogen hoped he wouldn’t interrupt again – this was hard enough as it was, without having to rebuild her courage every time he stopped her from blurting it out. “It’s about me. And you. And…” How the hell could she word it? She’d had trouble enough accepting it herself, without having to put it into words that would make someone else accept it too. How would he react? She hoped it wouldn’t be in the way she’d expect most seventeen-year-old guys to react to the news of impending fatherhood.
Family Portrait (Kingsley Family Trilogy Book 1) Page 26
