‘All right, I will. What did you call me for?’
‘I wanted the phone number of that tarot card reader you always go to. I’ve forgotten her name.’
‘Queenie, you mean?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one.’
‘I’ll text her number to you. Do you want to go and see her then?’
‘Yes.’
‘We can go together if you want.’
‘No, Ma. I was planning on seeing her today.’
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No. Nothing is wrong. Just wanted to ask her something.’
‘She should be free now. She doesn’t work on Mondays. Too quiet on the pier. I’ll text her number to you now. Speak to you later tonight.’
‘Thanks, Ma.’
The text comes through and I call Queenie and make an appointment to see her in an hour and a half. Then I send BJ a text message.
Got 2 run an errand.
Will go directly 2 Silver
Lee after that. Call u
when I get there. xx
I switch off my mobile, input Queenie’s address into my GPS, and drive my car to her trailer park. I’m there in less than an hour. I get out of the car and begin to walk.
The body remembers what the mind will not. My legs move confidently forward. My muscles and sinew know exactly where she lives. They always knew that one day I would be returning again to see the woman who could look into the future. She opens the door in her flowery housecoat. She is so small and shrunken. She is nothing like I remember.
‘Poor child. So soon you have been asked for your sacrifice,’ she says sadly.
My chin begins to tremble.
She steps aside and I enter her trailer. She bids me to sit.
‘What do you want of me?’ she asks.
‘Read my cards.’
TWENTY-THREE
LAYLA
Frogs in my belly devour what is bad.
Frogs in my belly show the evil the way out!
- Old gypsy witches’ chant
By the time I arrive at Silver Lee, BJ’s car is already parked in the forecourt. He comes tearing out to meet me, his hair tousled as if he has been running his hands through it and his eyes stormy with worry.
‘Where have you been?’ he demands.
I should feel guilty but I don’t. The cold, hard part of me is still in charge. ‘I went to see a friend of my mother.’
He stares at me in disbelief. ‘What the fuck, Layla? I’ve been so worried. You switched off your phone. I didn’t know how to reach you.’
‘I’m sorry. I just needed a bit of time to think.’
‘We need to talk.’
I put my hand out, the palm facing him. ‘Not today.’
He opens his mouth to object and I say, ‘Please, BJ. Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow.’
He looks at me warily. ‘We have to talk. It’s not going to go away, Layla.’
‘One more day is not going to a make a difference,’ I cry.
‘All right. All right. Tomorrow. But it cannot be any later than tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, BJ.’ I look down at myself. ‘I feel a bit grubby. I think I’ll just have a shower first.’
He looks at me intently, but I ignore the look, I walk up to him and standing on tip-toes kiss him gently on the mouth before I go into the house. He stands where I have left him, staring after me with confusion.
‘Hello, Layla,’ Marcel calls cheerfully from the kitchen.
‘Hey, Marcel,’ I greet and go up the stairs.
I shower quickly, dress, and go downstairs. BJ is standing with his back to me looking out of the open windows. In one hand he is holding a glass of something amber, in the other a cigarette. An open bottle of Scotch is standing on the table. Its top is carelessly tossed on the table. I am wearing flat, soft-soled slippers and he has not heard me come down. For a moment I watch him. He’s totally lost in thought, his powerful shoulders hunched forward and tense.
‘I’ve never seen you drink Scotch before.’
He whirls around, his eyes narrowed, and running over me like water. ‘Yeah, I needed something for my nerves.’ He takes a long drag of his cigarette and kills it in the ashtray sitting on the window ledge. He straightens and looks at me. ‘Do you want a glass of something?’ he asks slowly.
I blink. There is a sharp pain in my heart. I haven’t even had a sip of anything alcoholic since I found out I was pregnant and he has never offered before today.
We stare at each other.
‘I’ll have a glass of white wine,’ I say softly.
He goes to the bar, selects a bottle from the fridge and pours me a glass.
I take it. Our hands touch, a spark runs through me.
Watching him over the rim of the wineglass, I take a sip. It feels cold on my tongue, but it doesn’t taste too good. Perhaps I am not in the mood for it.
He picks up his own glass, taking a swallow, and looks at me with deliberately blank eyes. ‘Want to tell me what you did this afternoon?’
I sit down on the sofa behind me. ‘I went to see my mother’s tarot reader.’
‘Right,’ he says carefully. ‘What did she tell you?’
‘Not much. Nothing that would help, anyway.’ I stare down at the floor
‘We’ll have other children, Layla. I promise.’
My head shoots up and my eyes are stern. ‘I don’t want to discuss it today. Please, BJ.’
‘Fine.’ There is a note of frustration in his voice.
I put my glass of wine down on the coffee table and clasp my hands.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ BJ asks.
‘Yes, let’s.’
We don’t walk far. Both of us turning back as soon as we reach the end of the lane that leads into the forest. When we come back, dinner is ready and we eat it—well, push it around our plates—on the roof terrace in strained silence. Afterwards, we go upstairs, fuck like animals, and fall asleep entwined in each other’s arms.
The last thing I hear is his voice whispering in my ear, ‘God, if anything ever happened to you.’
I wake up in the early hours of the morning. One of the windows is open and a light breeze is coming in. Very quietly I get out of bed, slipping my nightgown over my head as I head for the nursery. The curtains are open and it’s bathed in moonlight. I open one of the tall windows and sit on the deep ledge with my legs dangling out. Down below the rose bushes are in full bloom. Their heads are so big they look like cabbages in the dark. In the distance the enormous weeping willow is very still. Its sad branches trailing on the ground.
I hear a noise behind me. I don’t turn around.
‘Can’t sleep?’ he asks.
I shake my head. He comes and stands behind me and I feel the heat from his body.
‘I don’t think I like you sitting on the ledge like that. You could fall.’
I look up at him. In the moonlight his face looks like it is carved out of mahogany.
‘I won’t,’ I tell him quietly.
He sits next to me, but faces the room. I turn my head and look into his eyes.
‘It’s already tomorrow. We need to talk, Layla.’
‘OK, let’s talk.’
‘We need a second opinion. I’ve made an appointment tomorrow afternoon with a specialist, an oncologist. He’s the best in England.’
‘I see.’
‘If he confirms the diagnosis then we’ll go ahead with the termination immediately and begin your treatment.’
I drop my head.
‘Layla?’
I look up. ‘And you’re all right with us never having children?’
He does not hesitate. ‘Yes.’ His voice is very clear.
‘I’m not,’ I say.
‘Then we will adopt. There are enough children around crying out for a good home.’
He has everything figured out. I touch his dear face. ‘I’m not terminating the baby, BJ.’
TWENTY-FOUR
LAYLA
&nb
sp; He becomes still under my hand. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
I take my hand away from his face and hug myself. ‘I’m not giving up my baby. He’s perfectly healthy and it’s not fair that he should lose his life just because I am ill.’
He stands suddenly and begins to pace. I retract my legs and turn to face him. He stops in front of me. His face is pale. There’s a white line around his lips. He is furious. He looks like he wants to shake me.
‘You don’t seem to get it. If you have this baby you’re going to die, Layla.’
‘Could die,’ I correct.
He throws his hands up in disbelief. ‘Were you not in the doctor’s office with me? Did you not hear the terminology he used? Aggressively malignant. A risk not worth taking. Placental abruption. Pregnancy will not survive.’
‘Then let it terminate on its own. Murdering my own child goes against every instinct and belief I have. I couldn’t do that and carry on living.’
He is so shocked he takes a step back. ‘Jesus, Layla. This is not murder. It’s a fetus, yet unborn. It has no concept of being alive. It only exists. You on the other hand are alive and loved by so many people, living a charmed life.’
‘Are you telling me that life can go on being charmed for me after I kill my child? Can you promise that I won’t wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night because I’ve heard my baby crying? Or that for the rest of my life I won’t be wondering what he would have grown up to be?’
He stares at me in open-mouthed horror.
‘How will I ever stop mourning for my innocent child if I am the one who caused his death? It will be a bloody stain on my soul.’
‘In that case, you don’t need to make this decision. I will. Let it be a stain on my soul.’
I stand up and walk to him. ‘This baby belongs to us, but at this moment it is in my body, and I’ll defend it to my last breath.’
‘Do you really believe that this child will grow up happy knowing that it killed its own mother?’
‘No, he will grow up feeling that his mother loved him so much she gave up her life so that he could live. What a beautiful thought to carry through life. What richness!’
‘I cannot believe what you are saying. You’re really are just a spoilt child who wants what she wants, after all. Damn the consequences for everyone else,’ he accuses brutally.
I shake my head. ‘Yes, it’s true that all my life, I’ve been spoilt and given everything I’ve ever wanted. All I had to do was ask for it and it appeared. And I lived like a princess, untouched by suffering, never giving more than a passing thought to all the misery in this world: the starving children in Africa, the wretched Palestinians in the Gaza strip, the pitiful child slaves in China who make my fashionable trainers, and the countless abuses that goes on in this big, unfair world. But, you see, I’ve never been asked to make a difference. I never even thought I could. This is the first time I am being asked. I know it’s a big ask, but I’m up to it.’
‘Who do you think you are now? Fucking Buddha?’
‘I don’t think that. I just know this baby came to me. And I’m not killing it.’
‘So you’re going to let it kill you instead?’ he asks.
‘It’s not written in stone that I’ll die if I have this baby. Doctors can be wrong. I’m going to do everything in my power to be well.’
‘And how are you going to do that?’ he snaps.
‘I’m going to take all the holistic measures I can to keep the cancer at bay until the baby is big enough to survive outside my body. While Lily was pregnant I found out a lot from her about eating well and how the right foods and herbs can cure and keep at bay so many diseases. And during Lily’s confinement period, I learned even more from her grandmother.’
‘This is pure madness. You’re talking about using herbs to fight cancer!’
‘Don’t twist my words. My plan is more far reaching than you are making it out to be.’
‘I won’t let you, Layla.’
‘You can’t stop me, BJ. No one can. My mind’s made up.’
‘What if this was happening to me? How would you feel then?’
I frown. I had not given it a thought. ‘To be honest, I would probably react the way you are, but the thing is, I’m not you. I’m me, Layla. The only person this baby has fighting its corner. He chose me to be his mother. To live inside me until he is able to survive in this world on his own, and I’m not turning my back on him.’
‘I don’t want this baby without you,’ he snarls suddenly.
Both my hands rush to cover my stomach protectively, as if he has administered a blow to my unborn child.
He shakes his head sadly. ‘I couldn’t love him, Layla. Not if he kills you. Every time I’d see him, I’d know you’re not here because of him.’
I smile. ‘You know what, I’m not afraid you won’t love him. You will. Because he is a part of you and me.’
He closes his eyes. When he opens them they are pained. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do this, Layla. Other men may be able to do it because they don’t love their wives the way I love you. I just can’t. I can’t stand by and watch you throw your life away, not even my own child. I can’t choose him over you. I can’t. I just can’t. And you can’t fucking ask me to.’
‘All we have to do is hold on for another three months. Actually, it’s not even three months. It’s only 77 days before he will be 25 weeks and can be safely delivered via cesarean section.’
‘You don’t have three months. Don’t you get what aggressively malignant means? It would have eaten into you by then. You need to cut it out now or it will be too late.’
‘I know I can hold on for 77 days. We’ll make a calendar and cross the days off together, OK?’
He looks up to the ceiling and exhales. ‘Don’t try and pacify me, Layla. You can’t. I feel all torn up. I couldn’t care for this child … not without you. You’ll be giving birth to an orphan.’
I put my finger on his lips. ‘Shhh … don’t speak anymore. I want to call our baby Tommy.’
He buries his head in his hands and I put my hand on his head running my fingers through the silky black hair.
‘I hope he has black hair,’ I whisper.
He says nothing.
‘I hope he looks like you.’
His body jerks.
‘I love you, BJ.’
He looks up at me bitterly. ‘Fuck you, Layla.’
‘I love you, BJ.’
‘With a love like yours, I don’t need enemies,’ he cries in an anguished voice, and strides out of the room.
I hear him run down the steps, then the front door slams. I turn to the window and see him rush towards his car. He opens his car door and suddenly looks up at me. We stare at each other. He drags his eyes away, slamming his car door and speeding away, the wheels spinning on the gravel.
I sit on the windowsill to wait for him.
It seems as if ages pass. I am sitting with my head leaning against the glass when I hear the powerful roar of his car. He parks, looks up to the window, sees me, and begins to run. I hear him take the steps three maybe four at time. He bursts through the door and crossing the room takes me into his arms.
‘You’re freezing,’ he says. His voice throbs with emotion.
‘I was waiting for you.’
‘What did that tarot reader say to you?’
I lift my face away from his chest. ‘She said I was born holding three lives in my hand. Mine, the baby’s, and yours.’
‘I love you more than life itself, so I am telling you now, I’ll do everything in my power to stop you from having this baby.’
TWENTY-FOUR
LAYLA
“Layla, of course, we’re all utterly and completely torn up about the baby, but we simply can’t let you do this. You can’t expect us to. We love you. You can’t do this to us, to BJ,’ Jake says gently.
I look at them one by one: my mother, Jake, Dominic, and Shane. For the last hour and a h
alf they have taken turns, alternately shouting, coaxing, wheedling, and threatening to force me to change my mind. At different times, they have all looked at me as if I have gone completely crazy. Maybe I am crazy. All I know is that Tommy came to me, and asked me to be his mother. I agreed and I’m not going back on my word.
‘I’m not changing my mind. You can either help me by finding out all the ways I can naturally hold the cancer at bay for the next 76 days or you can just stand by and watch me do it alone,’ I repeat my stand again.
I look at them all calmly.
Jake shakes his head in disbelief, throwing his arms up into the air and striding off angrily. I know he will be back. Jake doesn’t give up easy, but I have won this round.
As ever, it is soft-hearted Dominic who cracks first. ‘All right. I will help you. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.’
Gratefully, I rush to him and hug him tightly. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much, Dom. You don’t know what this means to me,’ I say, tears stinging my eyes.
Next to capitulate is Shane. I squeeze both his hands. But my mother just sits there like a statue, tears pouring down her face.
‘Leave me for a bit with Ma,’ I tell my brothers. They leave the room silently and close the door.
I don’t talk to my mother. I go and sit next to her, hold her hands, and look into her eyes. And suddenly we start crying. Both of us just weeping.
‘How could this happen to you?’ she sobs. ‘You’re my baby. Without you there is no joy in this family.’
‘Then help me beat this,’ I choke back.
‘How?’
I wipe my eyes. ‘I’ve already done a bit of research on the net this morning, but I’m going to do more. The plan is to keep myself so healthy that the cancer cannot advance at any great speed. I only have to keep it at bay for 76 days,’ I tell her passionately.
I see a trembling ray of hope shine into my mother’s eyes. ‘76 days?’
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