“And tired. And with an upset stomach, add in morning sickness, weight gain and tender boobs and it was bloody obvious really. But I suppose having never been in this situation before, I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I’ve just assumed all my symptoms were due to other reasons - like the bug last week. In hindsight, I don’t think I had the same bug as you. I think it was just morning sickness that seemed to go on all day. That can happen.”
We both fall into a heavy uncomfortable silence. Neither wants to speak. Both of us petrified what the other is going to say.
“Well you have to get rid of it,” he says bluntly making his position very clear. No discussion. No debate. No ‘what ifs’. It’s simple, he doesn’t want this child. My child. Our child.
“OK,” I reply softly, “I was going to say, I can’t see how we can keep it. Our lives are just not set up to have a baby. So I suppose we’re both saying the same thing,” I add, knowing that we’re not saying the same thing at all.
If he had turned around and been delighted and said something like, ‘Oh my God, Vicky, I have no idea how we’ll make this work, but we’ll find a way. This is the best thing that could have happened to us,’ then perhaps I might have thought differently. But I absolutely know I haven’t got the strength to do this on my own, so I resign myself to doing what I know I must.
My heart breaks in two as I hear a voice I don’t recognise as my own saying, “I’ll make a doctor’s appointment on Monday,” before dropping my gaze, no longer able to look Chris in the eye.
***
I’m lying in bed. Wet heavy tears fall silently down my cheeks as my hands cradle my hardly noticeable but slightly rounded pregnant belly and I say a silent prayer to my unborn child.
“Please forgive me, for what I’m about to do. Know that you are loved, you were created in love, but you’re here too soon and I can’t offer you what I would want for you.”
I’m so angry with Chris. Angrier than I’ve ever been with anyone in my life - ever! He should be here by now. Why am I having to deal with this all alone? It’s unjust that in this, my most vulnerable of moments, when I can hardly handle the turmoil of the emotions that race through my body, that he’s not here to support me. I should have been able to lean on him, but he’s checked out. Not just right now but in the entire three weeks since I first discovered we were pregnant.
He made his intentions clear in that moment, and they haven’t changed since. He’s not come near me since I told him, in fact we’ve not discussed it since and he’s never asked me once how I’m feeling. Sleeping next to each other every night in a heavy silence. I’m the walking, talking, real-life effigy of the situation he simply doesn’t know to handle, so therefore his way of dealing with it is to pretend it’s not happening, leaving me to shoulder the entire burden.
He’s made his choice, which to him needs no further discussion, but then he’s not the one with a new life growing inside him. His body is not raging with pregnancy hormones designed to protect the life within. He checked out instantly, assuming that once the decision was made, life would return to normal, leaving me to handle all the details. To have the worst possible discussion with a doctor I’ve never met before and justify the reasons why I can’t keep this child, then to have to research a private clinic when the NHS couldn’t offer me a termination for another six weeks, which would have made me almost seventeen weeks pregnant - and I just knew if I’m going to do this, it had to happen before the end of the first trimester. Every day this child lives within me, the self-condemnation of what I have to do deepens further, my resolve weakening with every passing hour.
Instantly my anger at Chris turns to guilt. Perhaps something has happened to him. Something must have happened. There must be a logical explanation why he hasn’t come home tonight when he promised me he would. I know the night out with the guys from Tilbury was important and he had to go (I would never have stopped him anyway) but he promised me he would be home to comfort me. To ride out this long night together and then drive me to the clinic on the opposite side of London early tomorrow morning.
“Chris, I need you to be home tonight,” I’d said yesterday afternoon as he was preparing to leave. “I don’t need to explain why. I just need you home.”
“I’ll take the car, so I don’t drink,” he’d replied, “don’t worry, I’ll be home just after 10pm at the latest. I promise.”
For the briefest of moments he’d looked me in the eye and for the first time in weeks, he’d actually seen me. Or so I’d thought. Leaning forward to given me a tender kiss on the cheek before adding, “You know I love you, Vicky.”
I check the time again. The neon green numbers on my bedside clock say 2am.
At 11pm I was annoyed. At midnight I was furious. I pictured what I would say when he walked through the door.
“You’d better have a damn good reason for being so fucking late, Chris, so let’s hear it,” I imagined myself shouting at him, arms crossed, determined to make it known how fucked off I was. I imagined him striding across the room, throwing his keys into the bowl as he rushed to embrace me, whispering in my ear that he was so, so sorry. That everything would be alright and he would make it up to me. And in that moment, I imagined forgiving him. Accepting his plausible excuse and just being thankful that he was here to help me deal with this most awful of situations.
It’s now 4am and my anger is replaced by sheer panic. An icy cold fear rushes through my body as my mind races, picturing all the horrific things that could have happened to him. While I’m lying here feeling sorry for myself and angry at him, he could be smashed up on the road somewhere having taken unnecessary risks as he was racing to get back to me. Perhaps he’s been mugged, wandering around dazed, with no money, no phone and no way of contacting me.
“I hope he’s OK. Please keep him safe,” I plead silently into the empty room. I’m not sure which is worse, facing what I’m about to do tomorrow or picturing all the possible reasons why he hasn’t come home. Something must be keeping him from me, it’s the only explanation, I justify in my mind. It never enters my head that he could have simply chosen to stay out and to not come home. To abandon me. Tonight of all nights. He knows that this is the hardest thing that we - that I - have ever had to deal with and to make me have to face it alone seems even too cruel for him. I’m not sure I could forgive him if that is the case. If he’s just stayed out with the boys and got drunk. Not when he promised. Not when he says he loves me. Not when I told him when he called at 9pm, how much I need him to leave and come home now. I needed him then. I need him even more now.
We’ve told no one. He needs to keep it a secret, especially from his mum. Lynne would be distraught if she knew. Her devout Catholic beliefs meaning she fundamentally believes that every child is a gift from God, a gift to be revered and to be cherished, regardless of circumstances. So to protect Chris, I’ve told no one. How I wish I could pick up the phone right now and call a friend, or one of his sisters. Blurt out the truth and receive comfort and solace in return.
I couldn’t call Michelle, obviously. How could I expect her to understand when she’s about to give birth to her first baby any day now? If anything, she’s likely to try to get us to change our minds. To give her baby a new cousin to play with.
Even though we’re not as close as we once were, perhaps Mellie would understand? She knows how much her brother and I care for each other, but I couldn’t guarantee she’d be supportive. What might she say? I’m not sure? Her words from the day we went to the lido, many moons ago, ringing in my ears, “I consider you family, but he’s my blood, Victoria.” She will always side with her brother, so could she potentially lay the blame with me? How could I possibly tell her? This child would also be her own niece or nephew, after all.
What about Fiona up in the Midlands? Chris and I popped up to spend a weekend with them not long after he returned, and we are quite close, but I couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t tell Mike and therefore I’d be breaking Chris�
�s trust.
I absolutely couldn’t call my own mother. She would be the last person I could trust to not judge me harshly. She only just approves of Chris and is fearful he’s going to take me away from her, so I sense instantly that she would turn against him, use this as leverage and I don’t want to give her anymore reasons to not like him.
It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to any of my childhood friends or university mates, I couldn’t possibly call them in the middle of the night and dump something as huge as this on them. Only now does it dawn on me how isolated I’ve become from my own network of support. I’ve become solely dependent on Chris and his family and network, so much so that now, when I need support of my own, I have no one. And the one person I need support from has abandoned me.
Tim would be my final option, but again we’re not as close as we once were. Not since Hong Kong and the big bust-up between Chris and I that was triggered by my dinner out with him. Tim only knows parts of the story, but he’s sensed that his presence caused unnecessary tension between Chris and I, so the last conversation I had with him was just after I came back from New Zealand and we haven’t talked since, plus he’s a bloke. So I decide it would be completely unreasonable to call him in the middle the night and dump this enormous horrible situation on him.
I love Chris and keeping this between us is the most important thing to him, so I can’t, I won’t, tell anyone. Instead I lie here alone, powerless to do anything but watch the minutes tick slowly by. Waiting. Listening for the first sound of his car screeching around the corner, or his key turning in the lock. I close my eyes, desperately trying to get some much-needed rest but sleep eludes me, and I continue to lie awake, my tears having made the cotton of my pillowcase soaking wet.
My only option now is to take public transport across London to reach the clinic in time. Not a straightforward journey as it will mean catching a number of buses, a tube and a train to the outskirts of Streatham on the opposite side of town, but I make a plan and decide if Chris doesn’t come home, that is what I will do. I must deal with one situation at a time. He is the lower priority and I’ll have to worry about him and his whereabouts afterwards.
It’s now 6am and time has run out. I call Chris’s mobile one last time, hoping that he’ll pick up but instead I hear the familiar click of the automated voicemail message kicking in, apologising that he’s not available to take my call and requesting that I leave my message after the tone.
“I’m sorry, Chris, I don’t know what’s happened, why you haven’t come home, or where the fuck you are, but if I’m going to get to the appointment by bus I have to leave now, so quite frankly, fuck you!” I say in a calm but highly charged tone, before hurling the handset and cradle across the hallway, hearing it clatter against the radiator before falling to the floor. My head in my hands I sob uncontrollably, my shoulders heaving as I struggle to catch my breath between each wretched cry.
I sob until I have nothing left, until I’m completely empty. Then from somewhere I find the strength to stand. My mind is numb, but my body moves on autopilot, my survival instinct taking over. I gather my things and prepare to leave the flat.
I hope when he finally picks up my messages, he feels as shit as I do right now, I think to myself, locking the front door as I leave.
Walking down Stoke Newington High Street to catch the number 243 bus into town, the neighbourhood is beginning to stir. Some commuters are already suited and booted, walking briskly in the direction of the train station. Shopkeepers are rolling up their shutters as the delivery truck drivers unload their fresh produce, carrying the open boxes of fruit into the waiting shops. No one is aware of the secret I’m carrying or the turmoil I’m feeling.
The urge to vomit sweeps over me. Today, my morning sickness is worse than ever. I assume heightened by the heaviness in my heart, the panic of not knowing where Chris is and the guilt I feel in the pit of my stomach. Guilt at being angry with Chris when he could be hurt and the enormous guilt of what I’m about to do.
How will I ever know if I’m doing the right thing, I ask myself again, as I stop to take a sip from my water bottle? I know that this is a ‘no going back’ decision. Something that can never be undone. The enormity of my situation hits me again, but I can’t give in to my emotions, I have to stay strong for the three of us. I have to do what is right for Chris, for myself and for our unborn baby.
On the many long lonely nights when I’ve been lying awake long after Chris had fallen asleep, I had thought through my other options. There is absolutely no way I could ever imagine having a child of mine adopted. Bringing a child into the world knowing that I would be giving it away within hours of it being born. I still carry the void of being abandoned by my own father and I could never do that to my own child.
For them to always wonder, who am I? Where did I come from? What’s my mother like? Did she ever love me? No, I could never knowingly put another human being in that same situation - let alone, do that to myself. Never knowing, always wondering where my child is. Are they safe? Are they loved? I know that would absolutely rip me apart. I would never be able to get past that. I only hope that time will help me heal the pain and consequences of the choice I’m making now.
Unbeknown to Chris I’d also thought about the other possibility. The possibility that we keep the baby and he leaves me - eventually. Just like my father left me. What then? With no way to support myself, I’d pictured myself landing back on my mother’s doorstep with a babe in my arms, as she had done with me in her own arms just over 20 years ago. I know I would do anything to stop history repeating itself.
I remind myself the decision was mutual, even if it was made quickly and without hesitation. However, what I never anticipated three weeks ago when we sat round the table, is that when I would need Chris’s support and his strength the most, to counter my weakness and to help me follow through with our decision, I would find myself alone and abandoned. The irony almost makes me want to let out a deep dark horrible laugh. If only he knew that my deepest fear if I kept his child, especially knowing he doesn’t want it, would be him leaving me and I ending up alone. Never did I consider that by making this choice I would be dealing with the exact situation I feared the most. If anything, his absence confirms that I’m doing the right thing.
I look down the high street again longing to see his car come into view. Screeching round the corner, coming to rescue me.
It doesn’t.
He doesn’t.
I turn and look the other way, at the bus that trundles towards me from the other direction. I hold out my hand indicating for the bus to stop. The hiss releasing from its brakes as comes to a halt in front of me. I take another sip from my bottle of water, pushing down another wave of morning sickness that washes over me. I look longing in the opposite direction one last time, but the road remains empty. Smiling weakly at the bus driver, I flash my travel pass and take the first available seat, leaning my head against the cold morning condensation of the window, as more silent tears roll down my cheeks.
Chapter 21
Chris
What a fucking idiot, I think to myself as I jump another red light. About the tenth one this morning. The early morning mist hangs heavy in the air, impeding my visibility but nonetheless, I’m driving like a mad man. I’m probably still over the legal limit and shouldn’t be driving at all but I simply HAVE TO GET THERE!
I just have to get home to Vicky. Today is going to be hard for both of us, well I say us; Vicky’s the one who’s really having to deal with it and I simply have to be there for her. I made a promise.
She’s been so brave handling this whole situation. Hiding her morning sickness from everyone at work. Keeping this secret just between us, even when we’ve been around Michelle and David. I’m not sure how she’s done it. How she managed to smile and keep up the façade when we went to see them the Sunday after we found out. Mellie came too and all day the girls just talked about Michelle’s pregnancy and life after the bab
y arriving. Michelle went on and on about how excited she is, how she can’t wait for everyone to meet the little person who’s inside her. My heart wanted to break in two, listening to Michelle talk animatedly about the impending arrival of the newest member of our family. Meanwhile, Vicky just smiled weakly and asked Michelle another baby related question. I had to walk away. It was either that, or punch something, I’m so fucking angry. Angry at the injustice we find ourselves in. Angry with myself that I’ve put Vicky in this god-awful situation.
She’s been so brave and strong. Much much stronger than I. I’ve not been able to look at her these past few weeks. The guilt of the situation eating me up inside, so I’ve given her as much space as I possibly can. I’ve purposefully left her alone, when I’ve been so desperate to reach out for her. To reconnect, to demonstrate how much I truly love her. But how could I? How could I expect her to return any affection, when it is my all-consuming passion for her that has got us pregnant in the first place. I couldn’t be more in love with Vicky than I am right now. She means everything to me, which is why “I’m such a fucking idiot?” I shout aloud again, drowning out the sound of the radio.
Of course, I’ve thought about us keeping the baby. How we might make it work. A baby of our own, created from a part of both of us could be amazing, but falling pregnant by accident was such a shock. A shock that neither of us were expecting or really able to deal with. At least I was unprepared to deal with it. Vicky’s career is so important to her. She’s so fiercely independent, how could I ask her to give up everything and just become a mum and a housewife? Ask her to give up all of her independence for me? My income, although steady at the moment, isn’t sufficient to support a family here in the UK. I’d have to go back to New Zealand, leave Vicky in the UK to raise the child until she would be able to get her residency and join me out there and there’s no way I would ever leave her to cope on her own. I wouldn’t do that to her. Not like my dad did to all of us. If only we could hit the pause button now and then press play again in two or three years’ time. Right now, we have no stability - I have no stability. The timing couldn’t be any worse.
Belonging: Two hearts, two continents, one all-consuming passion. (Victoria in Love Book 1) Page 32
