The art of deception

by Peter Martin

  ‘Well, you don’t have a choice. Unless … unless you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?’ He paused. ‘Jesus, Angie – is that why you didn’t want me to tell anyone? I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What will our families think if you have an abortion? Just because according to you, it isn’t the right time?’

  ‘Are you blind, John? You’ve seen the state I’ve been in; I’m struggling with this already. I’m at my wits’ end.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding. I know you’ve been uncomfortable with all the sickness, but for God’s sake, that’s no reason to abort a baby. And if you do, believe me, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’

  pg. 36

  ‘And if I keep the baby and I can’t look after it properly, what will that do to the baby? It may scar it for life.’

  ‘No, it won’t. Because I’ll be there to support you, and so will my mum and dad, and your dad too. You don’t have to do this on your own, you know.’

  ‘They can’t be there forever, and neither can you. And what happens when he or she grows up? They might have all sorts of problems because of my failures.’

  ‘You’re being too hard on yourself. Everyone’s nervous about having a baby, but you learn as you go along. We’ll learn together, I promise you.’

  Angie shook her head. She had hoped he’d show her a little more empathy.

  Obviously not.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this. I came out for a walk to clear my head and to calm myself, and you’ve ruined it. Now I’m ten times worse. Do you actually give a shit how I feel? I think not.’

  She stormed off.

  ‘Angie!’ he shouted after her, but she neither turned around nor stopped walking.

  He caught up with her as she reached the park gates, and grabbed her by the arm. She wrenched it back.

  ‘Come on, Angie – be reasonable, will you?’

  ‘It’s you that needs to be reasonable,’ she spat back at him.

  His eyes widened and he quickened his step to keep up with her. ‘Slow down, will you?’

  She wanted to run away and never come back. Instead, she carried on marching towards their house, and once inside ran up to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

  He banged on it, demanding entry, but she refused to answer him.

  ‘All right, suit yourself. A fine Christmas this has turned out to be.’ He stormed back downstairs.

  Angie sat on the toilet seat and shuddered. There was no way out for her.

  Maybe she’d be better off dead.

  Eventually, she opened the door and stepped out onto the landing, dreading having to face John. But she had to.

  He was sitting on the settee, a glass of beer in one hand and a turkey sandwich in the other. He had his eyes glued to the TV.

  She sat a little distance from him.

  ‘Is it any good?’ she asked.

  ‘If you like period dramas, I suppose. Unfortunately, I don’t, but it’s better than staring at a blank screen.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  ‘You feel any better now?

  ‘I’m all right. I’ve taken another of those sickness tablets – my second today.’

  pg. 37

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Listen, we haven’t opened our presents. Why don’t I bring them down, and we can open them now?’

  ‘Sure. Whatever.’

  She disappeared upstairs, returning a few minutes later with two bags. One she put by John’s feet, the other by her place on the settee.

  ‘Shall we, then?’

  ‘OK … but first, this is for you,’ John said, taking a small package from his pocket.

  When she opened it, she gasped. A ruby eternity ring. She slid it onto her finger and stared at it in awe. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  She gave him his present. By comparison to hers, the gold cufflinks seemed inconsequential, but he seemed to like them.

  ‘Wow, smart – thanks.’

  ‘Right, how about the others?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  There were the usual chocolates, aftershave, smellies and slippers. Angie’s dad had bought her a necklace and John a jumper.

  ‘Want anything else to eat? I can make you a sandwich,’ he said when they’d finished.

  ‘I don’t need you to keep tabs on my every move. If I want something, I’ll get it myself, all right?’

  ‘Only trying to help.’

  God, he could be so patronising. Didn’t he realise he was making matters worse? Be it on his own head, she thought.

  pg. 38

  Chapter 8

  he woke suddenly. Her dream had been of her mother on one of her bad days – a violent row in which she’d faced a humiliating telling-off for not S washing her hands before she ate her meal. She couldn’t see why as she’d washed them a few minutes earlier after going to the toilet. Her mother had slapped her hard and made her cry. There weren’t many such incidents, but when they came, they were loud and sometimes violent. Why did she treat her like this?

  Most of the time she’d been kind and loving, but when she lost her temper, Angie was terrified.

  All of sudden she sat up, facing John.

  He was awake too. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

  ‘I’m frightened.’

  ‘What of?’

  ‘Everything, that’s the trouble. Hold me.’

  He pulled her close. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. I’m here, aren’t I? Always will be, no matter what.’

  ‘Even if I’m ratty to you?’

  ‘Especially when you’re ratty to me.’ He smiled, stroking her hair.

  ‘What would I do without you, John?’

  ‘Well, it’s the same for me.’

  ‘I don’t understand why I’m in such a state over having a baby, though.

  Millions of women experience this, so it can’t be all that bad – can it?’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t, my darling, but for some reason you’re just stressing yourself out. You have to find out why. That’s where your doctor can help.’

  ‘Will you stand by me no matter what?’

  ‘Of course I will. You should know that by now.’

  She melted into his arms, sure he felt sorry for her and what she was going through. But he was powerless to help. She lay awake for a while, but silence prevailed, her fidgeting stopped, and soon she’d returned to the land of slumber.

  The next time she woke up, he was fast asleep, so she left him alone.

  Downstairs, she lay shivering in the cold; the horrible feelings of sickness had returned. She found her tablets in the kitchen cupboard, took the required dose and glanced up at the clock: five o’clock. God, so early again, and yet she wasn’t tired. She tried to calm her nerves by breathing deeply, in and out, in and out, again and again until her fear receded.

  She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there when the door opened, light from the hall filtered in and John appeared.

  ‘Hey. What are you doing in the dark? I wondered where you’d got to.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. That’s why I came down here. Must have dropped off in the meantime. I’m fine now, perhaps we should go back to bed.’

  pg. 39

  ‘It’s eight o’clock – might as well get up now, since I’m awake, and have breakfast. Toast and marmalade. How about you?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’

  She did feel a bit better, but her apprehension returned when he gave her the plate with two pieces of toast.

  She ate slowly, trying to ignore the fact that he was watching her every bite, and within ten minutes had finished. He seemed pleased.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘Water please.’

  She sipped it slowly.

  ‘So, what shall we do today?’

  ‘Don’t know. What do you want to do?’

  ‘I’m easy. Shops will be open – Boxing Day sales. Hey, we might get a bargain on some stuff for the baby! We could save money on a cot or a pra
m or something. What do you say?’

  She slammed her glass down on the table. ‘For God’s sake! You have got to be joking! I haven’t even had my first scan yet and already you want to buy baby stuff? I have seven months to go – anything might happen. We won’t even know the baby’s sex for ages yet.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Maybe I am a little premature.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Whatever you want. So shall we just stay in?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  As she lay in the bath, she felt the pressure building. Why did he keep going on at her instead of letting her decide on her own? Anger still smouldered inside.

  The water was too hot and was making her queasy again; she ought to get out as soon as possible. Drying herself, she examined her belly in the mirror. How could she feel so different, and look just the same? It was only a matter of time until she turned into a whale, though, and she wasn’t looking forward to that.

  Back downstairs, she told John she’d decided to go out.

  ‘No problem. But wrap up in something warm, it’s perishing outside.’

  ‘Yes, Doctor John.’

  ‘I’m only thinking of you. What if you had a miscarriage? You’d feel ten times worse.’

  ‘It won’t happen, I’m not that stupid. Let’s go to Dexford shopping centre.’

  ‘When do you want to go?’

  ‘Now.’

  As they drove towards the town, the traffic was chock-a-block. Amazing that people still had money after the mad Christmas spending spree.

  As soon as they reached one of the big stores, John made a beeline for the sale rail in the babywear department. Had he listened to a word she’d said? Angie didn’t want to look at this rubbish, and walked off to look at shoes and suitcases.

  They bought nothing.

  pg. 40

  Back in the car, John said, ‘Well, that was pointless.’

  ‘I can’t help not liking anything. You don’t want me to buy stuff for the sake of it, do you?’

  ‘No, but there was so much stuff for sale, especially baby things. It seemed to me you didn’t even want to look, let alone buy – no matter what they had available.’

  ‘What’s the point of buying stuff when I’m only a few weeks gone?’

  ‘I’m not arguing. What’s the point, when you won’t listen?’

  She was fuming. If he continued, she’d lose her temper, and then he’d really have something to moan about. But they were quiet for the rest of the journey home, and she hoped it remained that way.

  <><><>

  John walked into the living room with a plate containing two sandwiches, and a glass of water, which he put on the coffee table.

  Angie looked at the plate then at her husband. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I asked for one sandwich, not two. What are you playing at, you fucking control freak!’

  ‘I just—’

  She picked up the plate and flung it at him, then threw the water after it.

  ‘Thanks for that, Angie. I hoped you might want another sandwich. One isn’t much with you having a baby.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with you what I eat. I’ll decide myself, you moron.

  I’m very aware I’m pregnant, thank you, and I’m also aware what I have to do for myself and the baby. I don’t need you to tell me time and time again. Leave me alone.’

  She stood up and pushed him with her hands again and again, then slapped him hard on the cheek.

  John looked up in astonishment, touching his cheek. ‘Angie, have you gone mad? What’s the matter with you? It’s just a bloody sandwich.’

  Angie shook her head and gave him a dirty look before disappearing upstairs.

  <><><>

  He fell asleep on the sofa, and when he woke, she’d gone. Her car had disappeared. He thought better of phoning family and friends, not wanting to cause a further outburst. She didn’t want him mothering her, so he would just have to wait.

  pg. 41

  At ten o’clock he heard the door open and in she came, looking as miserable as when she’d gone out.

  ‘Hallo, love. Are you OK?’

  ‘What do you care?’

  ‘I care very much – you know I do.’

  ‘If you say so. I’m fine. At least, I haven’t been sick.’

  ‘Where have you been? I was worried about you and I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Just went to see Dad. We walked to the cemetery, put flowers on my mum’s grave. And talked about old times when Mum was alive, looked through the photo albums, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I see. I guess Christmas is a time to remember your loved ones, especially those no longer with us, isn’t it? I’m sorry, Angie.’

  ‘It’s OK – I needed to get out. I felt like the walls were closing in on me here. Wish I knew what’s going on inside my head.’

  ‘That makes two of us. You’re just not the same person, Angie. I hoped being pregnant would be the icing on the cake for you, but it’s starting to seem like I was wrong.’

  ‘I’ll make an appointment to see the doctor tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. It’s not just the morning sickness, is it? There’s something else …’

  She smiled. But she still wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth.

  pg. 42

  Chapter 9

  ang on eight o’clock on Tuesday morning, she tapped in the number, but had to wait in a queue before eventually getting through. She got lucky B with an appointment.

  ‘Nine o’clock,’ she told him.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be fine, John. I don’t need wet nursing.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No, John. I won’t hear of it for such a trivial matter. So long as you’re here for me when I need you.’

  ‘That goes without saying. Well, can’t I at least drive you there?’

  ‘I can drive there myself. I’m not an invalid.’ Her anxiety went up a notch.

  He was doing the same thing again, driving her mad.

  ‘All right, I can tell when I’m not wanted.’ He walked to the kitchen – to make breakfast, she guessed. Thank God he hadn’t offered to do hers as well.

  At the allotted time, she put on her coat.

  ‘Sure you don’t want me to come?’

  She’d already closed the front door behind her.

  Inside the car, she breathed in deeply, tried to pull herself together and drove off.

  She was early and waited ten minutes before they called her. Dr Brodie gave her a smile as she sat down, but she didn’t return it. Her heart raced as she pondered over what to say to him. Would it be worth revealing her worst fears?

  She wasn’t sure.

  ‘I … I saw you last week, about morning sickness. You said for me to try over-the-counter remedies from the chemist. Well, I did that, but they don’t seem to be making much difference. In fact, at times I’ve been worse than before.’

  ‘I see. Have you been taking the recommended dose?’

  ‘Yes, religiously.’

  ‘In that case, as I mentioned the last time we spoke, there are other tablets I can prescribe. They’re stronger than those you had from the chemist and hopefully they’ll suit you better. Take them three times a day. Try to eat a little and often, and plenty of fluids. From what you’ve said you’re able to keep some food down, but you may find that in the short term you’ll lose a few pounds. But this won’t affect the baby. However, if the situation gets worse, come and see me at once. In fact, unless it changes for the better, come and see me again next week.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, not looking at him.

  Dr Brodie printed off the prescription and handed it to her. But Angie didn’t get up.

  ‘Was there anything else?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no – it’s nothing. It’s just me being silly.’

  pg. 43

  ‘Mrs
Greaves, if there’s something troubling you, you must tell me. That’s what I’m here for. What else is worrying you?’

  Angie’s hands trembled as she thought about what to say. ‘It’s just that I feel down – depressed, even – and I’m not sure it’s just the morning sickness. The sickness isn’t helping, but I’m terrified.’

  ‘Is it the actual birth, or the pregnancy itself?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Something else?’

  ‘Well … the pregnancy is part of it, but it’s to do with my mum and my childhood.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘My mum suffered terribly when she was having me. She was sick all the way through, but she had severe depression after I was born, and she never got better. Eventually she was diagnosed as having bipolar disorder. And she had it for the rest of her life until she committed suicide when I was ten. I … I was there when it happened. I saw her jump off the top of a hill. It was … pretty devastating.’[AB4]

  Dr Brodie handed her a tissue. ‘My God, it’s bound to be. Did you have any counselling?’

  She sniffed. ‘Not really. My dad helped me get through it, although God knows he had enough problems of his own, and eventually I was able to put it to the back of my mind – as much as you ever can with something like that, anyway.

  But the last few days I haven’t slept well, mainly because I keep dreaming about it. I can’t get it out of my head. And I don’t know what to do to stop it, and now I worry I might get the same problem.’

  ‘That isn’t necessarily the case, Mrs Greaves. It’s understandable that you’d be concerned, but I imagine the more you try not to think about it, the worse it gets. You need to let these thoughts come, rather than trying to push them away.

  That’s what’s causing your anxiety.’

  ‘But lately I’ve been reading about bipolar on the internet, and found out that it could be hereditary and now I’m frightened I might get it too. And my baby.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, yes, it’s true that conditions like bipolar can sometimes be passed on to other generations, but it’s by no means guaranteed. The latest evidence suggests that if one parent has bipolar, there is at most a thirty percent chance that the offspring will also get the illness. That means a seventy percent chance that they won’t.’