by Kate Hewitt
“There aren’t many likely husbands-to-be in Thornthwaite,” Abigail said, another thing Rachel knew all too well. “Have you thought about one of those dating websites? Kindling or some such…?”
“I think you mean Tinder,” Rachel said, smothering a laugh, “and, no. I’m not quite ready to cast my bread upon those cyber waters.”
“No, it does seem a bit risky. Never know what you might get.” Abigail Cribbs harrumphed, crossing her arms. “Of course, you could end up like me. An old maid and happy about it.”
“Have you always been happy about it?” Rachel asked, and then realised that was rather an invasive question. Abigail, however, didn’t seem to mind.
She chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. “Oh my heavens, no. I spent half of my twenties casting around for Mr Will-Just-About-Do but even he was difficult to find. By the time I was thirty, I was desperate. That was on the shelf in those days.” She gave Rachel a significant look, and she smiled weakly in return. If she wasn’t yet on the shelf, she was certainly climbing her way towards it.
“And what happened then?” she asked.
“I suppose I finally realised I was wasting my life looking for someone who may or may not exist. And as you know, God only gives you one chance at this world, although of course I have eternity to look forward to.”
“Of course,” Rachel murmured.
“I suppose I also thought if I stopped looking for him, he might show up. But he didn’t.” She shrugged philosophically. “After a while, I no longer minded.”
“Well,” Rachel said with an attempt at both diplomacy and cheer, “I’m not giving up hope quite yet, but I am taking a bit of a breather when it comes to the manhunt.”
“A wise idea, my dear.” Abigail took a step towards her, one hand on the gate. “Are you very much broken-hearted?”
Was she? Wasn’t a heart either broken or whole? “A bit,” Rachel finally said, because that was the truth. She was healing, but she was still hurting too, and she missed the companionship she’d had with Dan, even if it hadn’t been enough to build a marriage on.
Abigail nodded sagely. “I understand completely,” she said. “It was wise of you to break it off, then.”
“I didn’t quite mean—” Rachel began, but the drizzle was turning to a downpour, and with a cheery wave Abigail headed back inside. Rachel stared after her in bemusement. She had definitely not had the upper hand in that conversation.
A bit annoyed with herself more than with Abigail for the turn the conversation had taken, Rachel avoided her habitual loitering by the door of The Bell—a ritual she could not give a reason for—and headed upstairs.
“No Terror of Thornthwaite with you today?” Miriam asked cheerfully. To Rachel’s surprise, she was standing by the stove and the flat was full of cooking smells, which were only somewhat appetising.
“He’s not that bad, really.” She put her bag down with a thunk. “What are you doing?”
“Making tea. I thought I should be useful, for once.”
“Okay.” Rachel took an exploratory sniff. “What is it?”
“Adzuki beans with kale and brown rice.”
“Oh. Okay.” Three foods she would never choose to eat, but at least Miriam was taking an interest. Maybe she would start looking for a job soon.
“I went to the library,” Miriam explained, “and got this book called Best Foods for Baby. Did you know that adzuki beans are some of the most nutrient-dense foods on the planet? And one of their health benefits is fewer birth defects in a foetus.”
“I suppose no birth defects would be the ideal,” Rachel returned lightly. The smell of the dish Miriam was making decidedly did not make her mouth water.
“Oh, you know what I mean. I figured I need to start watching what I eat. The last few weeks I’ve pretty much been subsisting on pork scratchings and plain crackers, both of which have very little nutritional value.”
“And the first one is absolutely revolting,” Rachel answered with a shudder. “I just might take adzuki beans over pork scratchings.” She sniffed again. “Maybe.”
“At least try them,” Miriam said. “They’re almost ready. I’ll dish them out while you get changed.”
“All right.” Rachel headed towards her bedroom, looking forward to putting on a pair of comfy yoga pants and an old T-shirt, and hanging out with her sister for a few hours. And yet…she wondered about Nathan and Sam. What they were doing. How they were doing.
“Tea’s ready!” Miriam sang out, and Rachel changed quickly and headed back to the living area, where a plate of mushy red beans piled on top of brown rice awaited her. She regarded it sceptically.
“Hmm.”
“At least try it, Rachel.”
“I’ll try it.” She sat down at the table, and as she had just about every night since she was two, she recited the grace her father had taught her as a child. “For what we are about to receive, let us be truly thankful.”
Miriam regarded her with a slightly funny look on her face. “I think of all of us, Mum and Dad are most proud of you.”
“What?” Rachel nearly choked on the mouthful of beans she’d just unwisely shovelled in. Somehow she managed to swallow the mush. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’ve followed them faith-wise. You go to church regularly—”
“So do Esther and Anna.”
“Oh, is it just me, then?” Miriam let out a huff of hard laughter. “Oops.”
Rachel hesitated, knowing how tricky it was to talk about these things. She didn’t want to seem pushy, but Miriam was so clearly unhappy, needing an anchor in the stormy sea her life had become.
“You could try it, you know,” she said as she took another, smaller bite of the beans and rice.
“Try what?”
“Church. Faith. The whole lot.”
“I think it’s too late for me.”
“It’s never too late, Miri.”
Miriam sighed and pushed her plate away. “It’s too late for these beans. They’re horrible. How have you managed to eat two mouthfuls?”
“I wasn’t going to say anything…” She had, for her sister’s sake, been willing to choke the whole plate down, although it would have been a challenge as well as an act of love.
“They’re horrible. Clearly I’m not a cook.”
“I’m not sure anyone could make these appetising—”
Miriam whisked away the two plates, dumping the product of her hard efforts into the rubbish bin. “Right,” she said briskly. “I’m ordering fish and chips.”
Chapter Seventeen
OVER THE NEXT few days, Rachel started to feel as if she’d reached something of a pleasant stasis, a barely there balance, although admittedly it still felt tenuous. Nathan continued to be a challenge, and he still took far too much of her time to manage in the classroom, but she was able to get through her lessons and return home exhausted every night, grateful for Miriam’s company and sometimes a glass of much-needed wine.
On Thursday afternoon, she left school as soon as she’d dismissed the children to take Miriam to her first scan at the West Cumberland Hospital in Whitehaven. Miriam was uncharacteristically quiet and understandably tense as Rachel drove her across on the A66, and then down towards Whitehaven, the steely glint of the Irish Sea visible as they travelled along the coastal road.
“This is all making it feel so much more real,” Miriam said as Rachel finally pulled into the hospital’s crowded car park, inching along in the hope of finding a space. “Plus I have to wee so badly.”
“Hold it in.” Biting her lip in concentration, Rachel reversed into a space that only just fit her car and forced them both to shimmy out of their seats.
“What if something is wrong with the baby?” Miriam asked as they took their seats in the waiting room. “How will I cope then?” Her hands were twisted together, her face pale. “I can barely cope now, as it is.”
“Don’t borrow trouble,” Rachel said, patting her arm. It was something
her mum said frequently, and she appreciated the sentiment now. “You’re young and healthy. There’s no reason the baby shouldn’t be healthy, as well.”
“I had a glass of wine before I realised I was pregnant,” Miriam said in a low voice. “Several, actually.”
“I’m sure you’re not the first to have done so.” Rachel had never seen her sister looking so anxious, even more so than when she’d told her sisters about her pregnancy. “Didn’t women drink mead or ale or whatever back in the Middle Ages? They were probably completely soused their whole pregnancies.”
“Still.” Miriam looked away, nibbling her lip. “I haven’t taken care of myself. I’m not even taking those prenatal vitamins you bought, because they make me throw up.”
“Well, that’s reasonable. Miriam, let’s wait until we see what the scan tells us, okay?” Rachel patted her arm again. “Really, I think it’s going to be okay.”
Miriam nodded, looking unconvinced. A few minutes later, her name was called, and Rachel accompanied her into a darkened room with an examining table and an ultrasound machine.
“This will be cold,” the sonographer warned as she squirted clear gel on Miriam’s bare tummy. Rachel watched as Miriam flinched slightly, her stomach still nearly flat—flatter than Rachel’s, anyway. She’d probably blow up like a balloon when she had kids. If she had kids. Rachel thought of Abigail Cribbs’ years of spinsterhood and mentally shuddered. Was that going to be her one day, maybe even one day soon?
“All right, here we are,” the sonographer said with a smile. “Baby’s wriggling around nicely.”
Rachel and Miriam both peered at the ultrasound screen, but all Rachel could make out was a bunch of black and white blobs and squiggles, kind of like a moving Rorschach test. By the look of confusion on her sister’s face, she judged that Miriam was having the same problem.
The sonographer took pity on them and started to explain. “Here are the feet and legs,” she said, gesturing to the screen, “and tummy and head. Looks like Baby is sucking her thumb. Or his thumb. I’m afraid I can’t tell the sex at this stage.”
“Oh, I see it,” Miriam cried, sounding awed, and Rachel let out a laugh as she saw it too, the tiny baby coming into wondrous focus. Maybe this was what her sister needed—irrefutable prove that a baby was growing inside her, that she was going to be a mum. Maybe this would help to allay her fears.
“So Baby looks healthy,” the sonographer continued. “And bang on twelve weeks’ gestation.” She turned to Miriam with a smile, who was still staring at the screen.
“Isn’t it amazing, Miriam—” Rachel began, only to stop as her sister suddenly burst into noisy tears.
The sonographer looked taken aback, and Rachel quickly went over to put her arm around Miriam’s shoulders.
“Sorry,” Miriam sobbed. “It’s all too much.”
“Shall I give you a moment?” the sonographer murmured and quietly left the room. Rachel ripped off a few sheets of the rough paper towel and handed it to Miriam, who pressed it to her eyes.
“How completely embarrassing,” she mumbled against the tissues. “That woman must think I’m an utter basket case.”
“I’m sure it’s not the first time she’s seen something like that.” Rachel squeezed her shoulders. “What’s going on, Miriam?”
“It’s just so terrifying,” Miriam said after a moment, blowing her nose. “That’s a real, live person there.” She gestured to the screen. “Someone who is going to have hopes and dreams and fears and all the rest of it. And I’m responsible for them.”
“Yes…” There was no denying that parenthood was a massive step.
“I just don’t know if I can do it,” Miriam said wretchedly. “I’ve never stuck with anything in my life, Rachel. I’ve always been about having a good time.”
“I think you might be selling yourself a tiny bit short, Miri.” It was true her youngest sister had lived life on the fly, enjoying the pleasures as they came, but she’d worked hard at—well, some things. She’d been a keen sportswoman, playing hockey for the school’s First Eleven.
“If you’re thinking of my hockey,” Miriam said, reading her mind sister-style, “then come on. That’s completely lame.”
“It isn’t,” Rachel said, somewhat half-heartedly.
Miriam snorted. “Raising a child is not the same as playing right forward.” She blew her nose again, loudly. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Rachel regarded her quietly. “What you mean?”
Miriam was silent for a long moment. “I’ve been thinking,” she said finally, choosing each word with care, “of giving this baby up for adoption.” She glanced at Rachel above her bunched tissues. “Do you think that’s horrible?”
“No, of course not,” Rachel said. “It’s a noble thing to do, Miriam, but it needs to be the right thing. It’s a huge decision, to give up your child. And you have no idea how you’ll feel in a couple of weeks or months, never mind after you actually give birth.”
“I know.” Miriam was silent for a moment. “But does it even matter how I feel or will feel,” she finally asked, “considering? Rachel, I’ve got nothing. No job, no home—”
“Hey—”
“You know what I mean. I can’t freeload off you forever, and in any case that flat isn’t exactly suitable for a baby long term, is it? Besides, it’s not just that. I have literally no money—I withdrew my last ten pounds from my bank account this week. I can’t afford anything.”
“We’ll help…”
“But I don’t want to be the failure my family has to keep bailing out. That’s hardly a way to begin as a mother.”
Rachel was silent, processing all Miriam had said—and all she hadn’t. “Look,” she said at last. “I understand that you’re scared. That’s completely normal, especially in your particular situation. But you’re talking about two different things here, Miriam—whether you’re emotionally able to care for a child, and whether you’re physically and financially able to. Now, if you’ve got no money, you still have six months before you give birth, and right now you spend most of your days on our sofa.” Miriam flinched a little at this, but Rachel continued, determined to give her some tough love. “You could get a job, make some money. Save some. And you’d be entitled to maternity allowance once the baby is born. I know it might not be much, but it’s something.”
Miriam let out a shuddery sigh. “I know you’re right, but who is going to employ me? There are few jobs going in Thornthwaite and I can’t even drive.”
“There are buses to Keswick,” Rachel returned staunchly. “If you want to make it work, Miriam, you can. But you’ve got to want it, and you’ve got to try.”
“I know,” Miriam whispered.
“And if you decide you’re not ready to be a mother, and this baby might be better with someone else, then that’s okay too. But be pro-active, Miriam. Take some positive steps, even if they’re just baby ones, no pun intended.”
“Ha-ha.” Miriam looked thoughtful for a moment, and more serious than Rachel had ever seen her. “I have a lot of thinking to do,” she finally said. “And a lot of doing, too. I’ll look for a job. I should have done it before now, I know. See what a waste of space I can be—”
“Don’t bother about the past, just keep looking towards the future,” Rachel reminded her. “And you will never be a waste of space.”
Miriam mopped up the last of her tears and then lobbed the sodden tissues into the bin. “Thank you. I know I needed to hear all that.”
“And you also needed to cry.” Rachel thought of her own tears in the empty dream house, and Sam’s surprising comfort. It was always hard to let go of what you thought your life was going to look like, and embrace the reality, whatever it was. “It’s all part of the process.”
“We’d better call the sonographer back in before she thinks I’m having a breakdown.”
“Like I said, I’m sure it’s not the first time she’s seen something like this.” S
miling, Rachel gave her sister a quick hug before she went to open the door.
The next night Rachel picked up Nathan from afterschool club, smiling in sympathy at the play assistant who had clearly been dealing with his antics for the last two hours, and they walked together towards The Bell.
“I don’t see why I have to go with you,” he said, scuffing his shoes along the pavement. “It’s so boring just sitting in your flat.”
“We don’t have to sit in my flat,” Rachel said. It was a nice evening, not too chilly, the sun peeking from behind shreds of cloud. “We could take Bailey to the play park, if you like. She’s not meant to see other dogs yet, since she hasn’t had her jabs, but as long as we avoid them it should be okay.”
Nathan regarded her suspiciously. “You’d take me to the park?”
He sounded so disbelieving, Rachel’s heart ached. “Of course I would, Nathan. It will be fun.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that fun. Nathan in the play park was just as challenging to manage as Nathan in the classroom. He didn’t seem to understand the concept of taking turns, and he pushed a boy off the swings as soon as they got there. Rachel hurried over to apologise to the irate mother and sobbing boy. When she tried to explain to Nathan that he couldn’t push someone like that, he just turned away from her, kicking at the base of the climbing frame with methodical thwacks.
Rachel prayed for patience, as well as for wisdom. She really didn’t know how to reach this boy sometimes, but more and more she knew she wanted to. Somehow, she wanted to.
“Come on, Nathan,” she said when one of the swings was finally free. “I’ll push you, if you like.”
They spent a relatively peaceful and happy twenty minutes on the swings; Nathan couldn’t get enough of them, and was happy for Rachel to push him back and forth, back and forth. Rachel was just as happy to do it; the monotony of it was far better than the fraught negotiation of managing any of the other apparatus in the park.
Finally, as the sun began to sink behind the fells and the air turned decidedly nippy, Rachel suggested they head for home. Nathan shook his head, pumping his legs with even more determination as he continued to swing back and forth, and Rachel’s heart sank. Of course nothing was easy.
