A Family Affair (48 page)

Jenny was dressed now, sitting once again in the patient's chair. Her forlorn expression and the way her hands knotted tightly in her lap confirmed what Helen had suspected – this was not welcome news.

‘I assume your mother knows nothing about this yet?' she said. ‘And what about the father? Is he in the picture?'

‘He might be,' Jenny said defensively. ‘When he knows …'

‘He doesn't know yet either.'

‘No. But …'

‘He's been posted away and she hasn't heard from him for weeks,' Heather said.

‘So there is no possibility of him marrying you, Jenny?'

‘I don't know …'

‘I think it's unlikely,' Heather said. ‘To be honest, Doctor, she hardly knows him.'

‘That's not true, Heather …' Jenny was becoming distressed. ‘And he will write, I'm sure of it, especially when he knows.'

Helen's heart went out to her. She'd seen it all before, boys who got what they wanted and disappeared before having to face the consequences. Jenny might think he was in love with her – giving that impression, unfortunately, was all part of the game – but unless he was one in a million there was no point including him in the equation at this point.

‘You're going to have to tell your mother, Jenny – or your sister is, though I think it would come better from you,' she said as gently as possible. ‘Then perhaps you'll make another appointment so that I can talk to you together and we can look at the options open to you.'

‘The options,' Heather said, looking at her directly.

‘About where and how Jenny is going to have this baby. Whether or not she's going to keep it.'

‘There's no possibility, I suppose, that she could have an … ?' Heather stopped mid-sentence, unable to bring herself to say the big ‘A'word. Helen said it for her.

‘Abortion? As far as I'm concerned, absolutely not. Quite apart from anything else, it's illegal. And it would be a very misguided person who went to the back streets to try and find someone willing to do a termination. Don't even think about it, Jenny. I've seen too many girls messed up – dead even – because they didn't heed that advice. Abortion, as far as I'm concerned, is out of the question.'

‘So what are the alternatives?'

Helen looked at Heather sharply, remembering how Paul had said he was certain Vanessa was not her first child; remembering, too, her missing notes. Was Heather pretending innocence as part of an elaborate charade, intended to throw everyone – Jenny included – off the scent and conceal the fact that she had once been in a similar situation herself? Or was she asking in all seriousness because she thought things had changed since she herself had given birth to an illegitimate child?

‘Well, obviously the first thing is to decide whether Jenny is going to keep the baby or have it adopted. If there really is no prospect of her marrying the father, that is. Obviously, from a purely biological point of view, keeping the baby is advantageous for Jenny, and would save her a lot of heartache. But there are the practical considerations, too, and if you tend more towards them, then you might feel it would be better off with adoptive parents. There are a lot of couples who can't have a child of their own who would jump at the chance and provide a wonderful home for a baby. If you do decide to go down that route, it may be that you would prefer to go away, to a mother and baby home, perhaps, for the birth. You'd be there in all for about three months – six weeks before the birth and six weeks afterwards.'

‘Six weeks
afterwards
!' Heather said, sounding shocked. ‘That seems an awfully long time!'

‘Local authority homes like to give their mothers the chance to be sure that adoption is right for them. If you still want to go ahead after the six weeks is up, then it will be arranged. Of course, there are privately run homes that would accept you earlier, Jenny, and arrange for an immediate adoption, and the same would apply if you should decide to simply go into hospital from your own home, or that of a relative. But the thinking is that it can cause a lot of psychological problems if you don't at least have the opportunity to care for your baby in the first weeks of its life yourself.' She paused. ‘You really do need to talk all this through with a counsellor in order to decide on the best option for you. And as I say, until you've had the chance to discuss it with your mother and your boyfriend, if you can get hold of him, it's all a bit academic. Now, I suggest you come back to see me in about a week. Give me a ring to check on the test results in a couple of days, and we'll fix another appointment. Out of usual surgery hours like this one. That would be more comfortable for you, wouldn't it?'

‘Yes, Doctor. Thank you, Doctor.'

‘In the meantime, try to drink plenty of milk and eat good fresh vegetables and fruit. OK now?'

Jenny nodded and once again, Heather thanked Helen.
For what?
Helen wondered.
For being the messenger of doom?

This wasn't an ideal situation for any unmarried girl to find herself in. Knowing what Carrie could be like when roused, Helen thought that perhaps Jenny was in for as rough a time as any of them.

‘Oh, Jenny!' Heather said as they left the surgery.

‘I know, I know. What am I going to do, Heather?'

‘Well, stop worrying for a start,' Heather said, making a big effort to pull herself together and be strong for Jenny. ‘That won't do any good at all.'

‘That's all very well to say! But Mum – she's going to kill me!'

‘You might be surprised,' Heather said. ‘Sometimes there's more to Mum than meets the eye.'

‘I just don't know how I'm going to tell her!'

‘Let's get this test over first. Come into my house and do it and I'll post it off for you first thing tomorrow.'

‘I don't know what I'd do without you, Heather. You've been … the best sister in the world!'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' Heather said shortly. ‘I haven't done anything special. The one thing I wish I
could
do something about is that bloody Bryn!'

Heather scarcely swore. Jenny was a little shocked.

‘I'm sure there's a reason for him not writing,' she said desperately.

‘I'm sure there is. Not the sort of reason you're hoping, though.'

‘Oh, don't say that, please!'

‘You have to face facts, Jenny. The chances of him having fallen under a bus or something just aren't very high. You might as well accept it.'

‘When he knows I'm having his baby, he'll stand by me. I know he will!'

Heather said nothing. It didn't seem the right moment to ask Jenny if that was what she really wanted – a shotgun wedding, a reluctant husband and father, the end of all her ambitions. Time enough for that when they knew for certain.

In her heart though, Heather, like Jenny, was already sure, and the first-hand knowledge of what Jenny had to go through made her feel sick with dread. History was repeating itself. In spite of all she and Carrie had tried to do to prevent it, Jenny was going to have to face the same dilemmas, make the same choices, none of them ideal, as she had had to face at much the same age.

And worse, whatever she decided, she would have to live with the consequences for the rest of her life.

When the last of her patients had been seen, Helen dashed home, freshened up and changed, and headed her car towards Bristol for dinner with Guy.

It would be the first time in several weeks that she had seen him and she was surprised by how unenthusiastic she felt. In the past, however much she had despised herself for it, there had always been a frisson of excitement and expectation; tonight she simply felt weary and resentful.

Why was it she who had to drive to Bristol and not the other way around? As usual, Guy's reasoning had been perfectly plausible – there were no decent restaurants in Hillsbridge, and should there be an emergency at the hospital, he would be reachable. Helen, for once, had a night off – Paul would be taking her calls – so she had no excuse to offer. But as she drove towards Bristol, straining her eyes to follow the line of the unlit road in her less-than-penetrating headlamps, she found herself thinking how pleasant it would have been to simply curl up in front of the fire with a book or the radio for company, treat herself to a long hot bath and slip between the sheets early for one of those rare unbroken nights.

Too late now, though – she'd agreed to meet Guy and she hated reneging on arrangements without good reason.

The road dipped down towards a valley which followed the line of the brook, and as Helen saw the mist lying like a layer of thick white cloud beneath her she realised what hadn't occurred to her before – the reason her headlamps seemed even less efficient than usual was that it was actually a bit foggy. Her heart sank another degree. She loathed driving in fog. Ice, snow, driving rain she could cope with, but fog was so trying – the constant dipping of the headlights, then flicking back on to full beam and back yet again to dipped as one struggled to get the best possible view of the road ahead, the way things loomed, suddenly and scarily, the disorientated claustrophobic feeling that came from not being able to pinpoint your exact progress no matter how familiar you might be with your surroundings. Fog changed everything, there were bends and curves you never normally noticed, straights that seemed to go on for ever, an alien landscape to be passed through with agonising slowness. As yet it hadn't come to that, but the signs were all there. Again Helen almost succumbed to the temptation to turn around and go home, again she kept on driving. She couldn't let Guy down because of a bit of river mist.

The restaurant was one they'd used before – it served also as the à la carte dining room for one of the most prestigious hotels in Bristol.

Helen found a space to park and went inside, fully expecting to find Guy there already. He was not. The booking had been made in his name, however, and an overly attentive maître d' showed her to a table where candelabra, fresh flowers and heavy silver adorned the starched white napery. A waiter brought her a gin and tonic and she sat sipping it rather too fast, watching the door and feeling her irritation growing. She'd driven all this way whilst he was almost literally just up the road – if she could be on time why couldn't he? But then, that was typical of Guy, always striking a pose. Sometimes it was the considerate, perfect gentleman, sometimes the busy consultant, implying by his lateness that his time was actually far more valuable than yours. So tonight it was to be the latter scenario, Helen thought, growing crosser by the minute.

She glanced at her watch, glanced up again, and there he was, handing his coat to a hovering waiter. She waited to experience the quickening of her pulses that his suavely handsome presence usually generated and felt nothing but the irritation.

‘Helen – I hope you haven't been waiting too long. I was called back – an emergency. Things are ridiculously fraught at the moment.'

‘And as always you were indispensable.'

She didn't know why she'd said that; it was petty and rather stupid of her. She knew from first-hand experience there were often occasions when he
was
indispensable.

He raised an eyebrow, sat down opposite her.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I've had a heavy day too.'

‘Well, we're both here now so you can relax. Have you looked at the menu?'

‘Not yet. I've been enjoying my gin and tonic.'

‘I'll have one too. A large one.' He beckoned the hovering waiter. ‘A large gin and tonic and the menus.'

They ordered; Guy chose pâté de fois gras and salmon en croute. Helen found herself contrasting his choice to the plain wholesome pies and roasts that Paul loved and finding it somehow pretentious by comparison.

‘It seems a very long time since I saw you, Helen,' he said, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his.

‘It's only a few weeks.'

‘Too long. When are you coming back to Bristol?'

‘I am in Bristol. Now – this minute.'

‘You know what I mean. When are you coming back for good?'

‘I don't know, Guy. I'm not …'

And then she was thinking of all the things that seemed to be going wrong in Hillsbridge. Perhaps she would have to come back to Bristol. Perhaps she would have no choice. The hollow feeling the thought generated made her realise just how little she wanted to lose her new way of life. Fraught with problems it might be, but it was what she wanted – what she had always wanted. Not the frenetic turnover of patients at the hospital, not the abdication of sole responsibility. And certainly not formal dinners in formal restaurants with a man who somehow always managed to make her feel he was her superior, favouring her with his attention.

Oh, she was being unfair. And stupid. He'd begged her, hadn't he?

And yet the impression remained. Throughout the meal Helen continued to feel uncomfortable and slightly resentful. She was not, she admitted to herself, enjoying it one bit.

‘I don't think I should be too late,' she said as they drank coffee from tiny bone-china cups – Paul would irreverently compare them to eggcups, she thought.

‘You're coming back to the flat.' It was a statement, not a question.

‘No, actually, I don't think I am. I'll be having another busy day tomorrow and I really need a good night's sleep.'

‘Oh!' He looked surprised – and hurt – that vulnerability that lurked beneath his suave confidence and which could usually make her heart turn over, showing itself. ‘I thought …'

‘Another time, Guy.'

‘Helen …' The dark, gold-flecked eyes sought hers and again she glimpsed the vulnerability. ‘You're not trying to tell me something, are you? Because if you were I couldn't bear it.'

‘Guy.' She glanced round, slightly embarrassed, but the tables were set at a discreet distance apart and no-one appeared to be even remotely interested in their conversation. ‘It's nothing I haven't said before.'