A Family Affair (47 page)

She began to feel as if she was constantly trembling – though her hands were steady, her insides felt like jelly and there was a tight knot in her stomach, a dull ache that made her think, several times a day, that her period was going to come after all. She'd rush to the toilet and sit there, willing the blood to come. Once it did – a sparse, brownish flow and she trembled again with the elation of relief. But after a few hours it tapered off again and the anxiety returned, so overwhelming she was almost crying from it.

She wrote again, begging him to get in touch, saying that she had something very important to tell him.

‘You won't forget to post it, will you, Mum?' she said, propping it up against the teapot before she left to catch her bus to college.

Carrie almost always took care of the mail. She had to pass the post office on her way to work.

‘Of course I won't forget,' Carrie said impatiently. ‘I don't know why you keep lowering yourself to write to him, though. You shouldn't do the chasing. It won't do you any good. Men like to make the running.'

‘I'm not chasing,' Jenny objected.

‘Well, that's how it looks to me. If he wants to write to you, he'll write. But I expect the truth of the matter is he's got tired of it. I expect he's met somebody else.'

Jenny didn't argue. For one thing, she didn't have time – if she didn't leave right this minute she'd miss her bus – and for another, she was beginning to wonder herself whether this might be the case.

‘Will you please post it anyway?'

‘All right,' Carrie agreed, ‘but I think you're being very silly, Jenny.'

Jenny ran all the way down the hill and when she got to the bus stop she felt so sick she thought she was going to throw up, right there in the road.

So far she had told no-one about her predicament. When she'd mentioned to Marilyn that she hadn't heard from Bryn lately she'd received no more sympathy than she had from Carrie. Marilyn had taken much the same attitude – a sort of smug ‘I told you so' which did nothing to help. What she would say if Jenny told her she was going to have a baby didn't bear thinking about. Defending to herself what she had done was one thing; explaining it to Marilyn quite another. And although she couldn't honestly say that if she had her time over it would be any different, the truth was that Jenny did feel a bit guilty and ashamed. At the very least she'd been naive and trusting, at worst easy. Neither was something she was happy about admitting to. But keeping her secret to herself made it seem all the more daunting, a huge weight she carried around with her.

That February evening as she hurried up the hill on her way home, Heather was watching out for her. As she drew level with the house, the front door opened and Heather appeared, waving and calling out. Jenny's heart sank. She was anxious to get home and see if today's post had brought her a letter.

She crossed the road and went up the steps.

‘Hiya.'

‘Hiya, Jen. Can you take some cakes up to Mum for me?'

‘Cakes?' Jenny said blankly.

‘Yes. Rock cakes. You know how Dad loves a rock cake with his sandwiches.'

‘OK. You got them ready?'

‘You're in a hurry tonight,' Heather said. ‘They won't be a minute.'

‘You mean they're not ready.'

‘They'll be out of the oven any minute now. Aren't you going to come in? Gran's next door having a cup of tea with Mrs Freak. It's only me and Vanessa.'

‘I suppose.'

‘Well, you don't want to stay out there, do you? Come on, I want to shut the door. I'm letting all the cold in.'

Jenny went in with bad grace. The house was full of the smell of baking. It filled her with aching nostalgia for her lost childhood. Carrie hardly ever baked. But the smell also made her feel a bit sick again.

Vanessa was at her small desk, playing with plasticine.

‘Auntie Jenny! I'm making a pig – look!'

‘Oh yes,' Jenny said, without interest.

Heather looked at her curiously.

‘What's the matter with you, Grouchy?'

‘I'm not grouchy.'

‘Bad day?'

‘No. Stop asking me stupid questions!'

‘Not grouchy, eh,' Heather said sarcastically.

‘I just don't feel like talking,' Jenny said. ‘I don't feel very well.' And promptly burst into tears.

‘Jen!' Heather said, concerned. ‘What's the matter?'

‘Nothing. Nothing!'

‘Something is. Come into the kitchen – come on!'

Reluctantly Jenny followed her. Heather opened the oven, took out a tray of nicely browned rock cakes and set them on the table.

‘Now – tell me what's the matter.'

Jenny shook her head.

‘Come on – it can't be that bad!'

‘It is.'

‘Well, tell me then.'

‘No – I can't.'

‘Jenny – it's
me
– Heather. I'm not Mum. Whatever it is, you can tell me.'

Jenny just cried harder, her fist pressed against her mouth.

‘Oh, Jenny – don't … You'll make yourself ill. Please, tell me what it is!'

Jenny gulped, opened her eyes and looked at Heather over the top of her bunched fist.

‘It's … oh, Heather, I don't know what to do.'

‘I can't help you if you won't tell me, Jenny.'

It was still a few moments before she could bring herself to speak. The need to share her anxiety was intense now and Heather was just the right person. But once she'd said the words she couldn't take them back. Her secret would be out. And she was so ashamed.

‘I … I …'

Heather waited.

‘I … oh, Heather, I think I'm going to have a baby.'

Now it was Heather who was lost for words. Jenny looked at her through blurry, tear-drenched lashes and saw the look of blank shock. It was as if Heather's face had been carved in stone, frozen in the expression of concern it had worn for the past few minutes. Then she closed her eyes briefly, exhaled in an audible sigh, and became familiar, caring Heather once more.

‘Oh, Jenny,' she said. And then: ‘Are you sure?'

Jenny nodded. ‘Almost. I haven't had a period since Christmas and I feel … oh, really horrid most of the time.'

‘Sick?'

‘Well – yes. And peculiar … right here.' She pressed her hands against the lower part of her abdomen.

‘You haven't been to the doctor, have you?' Jenny shook her head. ‘Well, there could be some other reason for it. You never know …' But she didn't look as if she believed it. ‘
Could
you be pregnant? I mean … have you been with anybody?'

Jenny nodded silently, the tears welling again.

‘That RAF boy, I suppose,' Heather said. ‘Does
he
know?'

‘No – that's the other thing. That's why I'm so worried. I haven't heard from him – not for weeks now. I don't know why …'

Heather's mouth tightened.
I could make a good guess
, that look said.

‘No!' Jenny said, anguished. ‘No, you're wrong! He wouldn't do that, Heather! He wouldn't leave me in the lurch.'

‘So why hasn't he been in touch?'

‘I don't know! But it isn't because of the baby. I haven't told him.'

‘He might have a jolly good idea,' Heather said tartly. ‘He knows what he did, after all. And unless he's thick he knows what the consequences might be.'

‘Oh, don't say that, Heather, please! He wouldn't! I'm sure he'd never do that.'

Heather, on the point of making a sharp retort, bit it back. Jenny was upset enough. ‘I take it you haven't said anything to Mum?'

‘No! She'll go mad! I don't know what she'll do …'

‘Look,' Heather said. ‘The first thing is to find out if you really are pregnant. If you're not, there's no need for Mum to even know you've been silly. I'll ring the doctor for you, see if we can make the appointment instead of having to queue up in the surgery. And I'll come with you.'

‘Would you? Would you really?'

‘I'll do it tomorrow. Call in on your way home and I'll tell you what I've been able to fix up. In the meantime, don't say anything to anybody. And try not to worry.'

‘Oh, Heather – you're a star!'

‘Oh, don't talk daft! Come on now, dry your eyes, there's a good girl. You look a fright.'

‘Mum will wonder why I'm late …'

‘Just tell her I kept you talking. But she'll know there's something the matter if you go home looking like that. So go and wash your face and then try to cheer up.'

Footfalls on the steps outside the kitchen window.

‘Go on – quick now! That's Gran, coming back. I won't say anything to her, don't worry, but do go and wash your face!'

Jenny went. She felt as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders, even if only temporarily. Just sharing her worry was the most enormous relief.

Her mood lasted as she hurried up the hill, the rock cakes in a paper bag smelling good to her now. So light-hearted did she feel she could almost believe there would be a letter from Bryn waiting for her beside her plate. But there wasn't, and once again Jenny felt the sense of nightmare closing in.

She'd shared her trouble, but that didn't mean it had gone away. Heather was on her side, but not even Heather could work miracles. Nothing had really changed, except that she wasn't quite alone any more.

Helen felt a sense of foreboding as Jenny came into the surgery accompanied by her sister. She'd had it, in fact, ever since Heather had telephoned.

Not that a sense of foreboding was unusual these days. With all the things that seemed to be going wrong lately Helen, usually optimistic, had found herself half expecting the worst of any given situation. And this was certainly a little out of the ordinary. When Heather had telephoned she had asked to come in before evening surgery rather than queuing in the waiting room in the usual way, but refused to elaborate.

‘You could do that,' Helen had agreed. ‘Or it might be better if you came after surgery, in case I get held up with something on my afternoon rounds.'

‘No – before would suit us better,' Heather had said. ‘Jenny can skip her last lesson at college and get an earlier bus. We'll take a chance on you being held up.'

‘If we say twenty to five then,' Helen said, ‘and I'll do my best to be there.'

But intuition was working over time, putting two and two together and guessing that the reason behind the rather complicated – and on the face of it unnecessary – arrangements was so that Jenny's mother wouldn't know she had a doctor's appointment. The whole thing seemed overlaid with pitfalls of the kind she was anxious to avoid and she decided she didn't like this one little bit.

Now she swivelled round so that she was facing the patient's chair.

‘Sit down, Jenny. And Heather … if you'd like to take a seat over there.' She indicated another chair, set a little apart.

Heather hovered, as if unwilling to be separated from Jenny by so much as a foot, let alone a yard. Then she did as Helen had asked, sitting forward, her bag clasped on her knees. Jenny, who was pale and clearly nervous, set her vanity case down beside her chair, then picked it up again, hugging it to her as if she was in need of the sense of security it gave her.

‘So,' Helen said. ‘What's the problem, Jenny?'

Jenny stared at her vanity case, head bent, not answering, then, as Helen waited, cast a quick pleading look at Heather without raising her head.

‘She's worried,' Heather said. ‘She hasn't had a period since Christmas.'

‘I see. Is it unusual for you to miss periods, Jenny?'

Jenny nodded.

‘I see.'

‘She's afraid she might be pregnant,' Heather said, hesitant at first, then all of a rush. ‘I know there can be other reasons for missing periods, but …'

‘Could you be pregnant, Jenny?'

Again Jenny nodded. Some colour came into her pale cheeks, too hot, too low, and she looked on the verge of tears.

‘OK.' Helen nodded. ‘Well, you're right, of course, Heather. There could be other reasons for your periods to stop, Jenny, but if there's a possibility you might be pregnant then it would be a good idea if we checked that out first. If you'd like to hop up on the couch, Jenny.'

Jenny stood up, placing her vanity case on the chair she had been sitting in and casting another frightened look at Heather.

‘Go on, Jenny,' Heather said, encouraging but unsmiling.

Helen turned her back, slipping on a pair of surgical gloves to afford Jenny some privacy whilst she undressed. A strange consideration, in view of the fact that in a moment she would be examining her intimately but she knew that patients were often embarrassed about taking off their underclothes. When she turned back, Jenny's skirt, stockings and panties were in a neat pile on the floor beside the couch and Jenny was perching nervously on the edge, uncertain as to her next move.

‘Lie down for me now and try to relax.'

As she examined Jenny, Helen's heart sank. It was, quite honestly, no more than she had expected, but she would have liked to be able to set the girl's mind at rest rather than …

‘OK. If you'd like to get dressed, we'll have a chat.'

‘Am I … ?'

‘I'm sorry. Yes. I don't think there's much doubt. I'd estimate you're about three months pregnant.'

Jenny bit her lip but said nothing.

‘You're quite sure?' Heather asked.

‘As I've just said, I don't think there's much doubt. I'll get some tests done, but I'm confident they'll confirm my opinion. What was the exact date of your last period, Jenny?'

Jenny told her and she made some calculations.

‘I'd say your baby will probably be born around the end of August, beginning of September. The third, to pluck a date out of the air.'