Born of Woman (41 page)

‘N … No.' Not mad. She had done the same herself, but the other way round. Believed she was pregnant when Lyn hadn't even slept with her. Revelled in morning sickness when it was a case of simple indigestion. Felt her breasts filling up with milk when they were merely bloated and premenstrual. The only child she had was a big and bouncing bestseller, a press-cuttings folder in place of a baby-book. She sagged down on a chair. Susie's rag-doll was lying on the floor. She picked it up, stared into its sightless button eyes. ‘You should have told me, Susie—before.'

‘How could I? I know you're dying for a child yourself. I couldn't just blurt out that it was
me
who was expecting, when I don't even want a fucking kid.'

‘You don't …
want
it?'

‘Of course I bloody don't. Are you mad or something?'

‘You mean you're going to get rid of …? Have an …?'

‘No, it's too late for that. I thought about it—course I did—but I was scared of that, as well. It's not that I'm against abortion. All that stuff about the right to life is only bullshit broadcast by the Pope, but somehow, I …'

Jennifer gagged the rag-doll with her hands. There
was
a right to life. A right which Lyn denied her. She glanced at Susie's stomach—it looked flatter than her own. ‘Are you sure you're pregnant? Absolutely certain? I mean, even doctors are mistaken sometimes.' She remembered her own GP a year ago. ‘You'll save it if you rest.' She'd rested. ‘I mean, you don't look any different.'

‘Balls! You're all so blind.' Susie pulled her nightie up. ‘Look, see that little bulge? And my breasts have blown up like melons. I've just been sitting round the place waiting for someone to notice and throw me out. That's why I told Lyn. I caught him staring at my breasts. I thought he'd guessed.'

Jennifer was staring at them, too—useful fruitful breasts swelling for a baby. Her own had been like that for a few sweet deceitful weeks, and Lyn had refused even to look at them.

‘Lyn went quite berserk, shot away from me as if I had the pox. Accused me of being a slut and a tramp and a whole lot worse. I was trying to get a bit of help and comfort and he reacted like the Pope himself.'

Shot away from her? What did Susie mean? What had they been doing when she confided in him? She wouldn't have confided at all unless they were close. How close?

‘What am I going to
do
, Jen? I mean, I can't stay here much longer. Anne and Matthew are hardly likely to approve of an unmarried child-minder with her own built-in child.'

Jennifer tried to think straight. Petty and selfish to be jealous when Susie was in trouble. ‘But surely you knew that when you came here? I mean, wouldn't it have been better to have taken a different job where …'

‘What sort of job? I'm not qualified. No one wants an unmarried teenage mother without a CSE to her name.'

Unmarried teenage mother. Hester. The whole, hopeless, helpless saga all over again. Except this was the 1980s, not 1919.

‘What about your parents? Won't they help?'

‘You must be joking! They'd have a fit. It's not that they're narrow-minded. My ma had lovers all her life, but she's too bogged down in her own hassles to be any help with mine. I couldn't even tell them. My Dad would probably beat me and Mum would go hysterical and then slam out and get blotto in the pub, and blame me when she fell downstairs and broke her teeth again.'

‘Oh, Susie …' Jennifer took her hand a moment, squeezed it. Her own mother's life had been velveteen and roses—her only lover her pipe-and-slippers husband, her only tipple one small Sunday sherry after church with hat and gloves.

‘Look,
I
‘ll keep you, darling, until you've had the baby.'

Susie lit a second cigarette. ‘
How
, for heaven's sake? You haven't even got a home yourself.'

‘We'll find a place—rent a room or something. You can't stay here, that's obvious. Matthew would go berserk.'

‘Bugger Matthew!'

‘No, don't—we need him. He's got all the cash.'

‘What d'you mean? I thought you were a bloody millionairess.'

‘That's what everybody thinks. Actually, I've hardly seen a penny yet.'

‘But didn't Matthew pay you for handing over the diaries in the first place?'

‘Well, yes—we did get a small lump sum, but it wasn't very much, and by the time we'd paid off all our debts and bought the plants for the herb garden, there was nothing left of it.'

‘But surely you get something else as well? I mean, the book's going like a bomb.'

‘The money's is rather complicated. Lyn gets what's called a royalty, but Matthew's been investing it for us, so we get a bit of interest. It's decent of him, actually. Lyn knows nothing about money and he'd probably just blue it all if it was handed to him on a plate, whereas Matthew finds the best returns and minimises our tax and … You see, when we're ready to buy something major like a house, the money will be there.' Jennifer made a pattern out of hairpins on the dressing-table. Why should they buy a house. Hernhope was already waiting for them. Except she couldn't go there now. Susie needed her—and Susie's baby.

‘It sounds nuts to me. What's the point of cash if you can't actually splash out with it on something?'

‘Oh, Susie, do be sensible. The money comes in very slowly, in dribs and drabs. And, even then, there's a lot of other people who have to take their share.'

‘Like Matthew. I suppose?'

‘Not just him—his colleagues. He's got all the salaries to pay, and rents and rates and things, and a large whack of the profits goes to Hartley Davies, anyway, and then there's …'

‘And the mug who found the diaries in the first place has to grovel to Uncle Matthew every time she needs a piddling 10p pocket money.'

‘It's not like that, Susie. It just takes time, that's all.'

‘I haven't
got
time.'

‘Yes, you have. Matthew's still away for a while. He's going on to Japan when he's finished in Australia.'

‘So how do you plan to get the cash from him when he's whizzing between Tokyo and …'

‘Oh God! I hadn't thought of that. What about the … er … father?'

Susie grinned. ‘Which one? I told you, I don't know who he is.'

‘Yes, but surely you …'

‘Well, there's three possibles. One of them is seventeen and still at school. Actually, it couldn't be him. He didn't even come and I had my period, anyway. That was what put him off, I think.'

Jennifer stared into the mirror where Susie sprawled behind her—legs open even now—too slack, too easy-going. Was there
any
man she hadn't risked a baby with? Yet who was she to criticise? Oz had been a blur behind a camera before she went grovelling to him on heat.

‘What about the others?'

‘I think Sparrow's the real father.'

‘Sparrow?'

‘You know, the big one with the motorbike. He used to be my steady. He came here once or twice—showed the boys his tattoos.'

‘But I thought you said you'd … given him up?'

‘Yeah. Had to, didn't I? He doesn't fancy birds with babies. He'd go spare if he heard about the kid. He couldn't help me, anyway. He's broke—continually. Either on the dole or blueing what he's got by rushing off abroad or buying bigger bikes. I had to give him the push before
he
deserted me, so I said I was going to Dublin to live with some Irish bloke I'd met at a party. He was quite upset, I think.'

Jennifer jabbed at her thumb with a hairpin. ‘He made the bulge, for heaven's sake. It's just as much his responsibility as yours. I mean, what about all that women's lib stuff? Why should he go scot free, when you're left with all the hassle and expense?'

‘Because I can't prove he's the father.'

‘Who's the third, then? Can't he help?'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘He can't, that's all.' Susie rolled off the bed, picked up a comb and tore it through her hair with an ugly ripping sound.

‘Look,
tell
me, Susie. If I'm going to help you, I've got to know the facts.'

‘He's … foreign. Lives abroad. He was only in London for a month or two—sort of passing through. He's gone home now and I don't have his address. Even if I did, I couldn't write. It wouldn't be fair. He's got a … wife … and kids of his own and …'

‘Well, he should have thought of them before. These men are so damned casual. I mean, why should they …?'

‘Cool it, Jen. I'm on my own in this.'

‘No, you're not. I'm here and I intend to see you through it.'

‘Why should you?'

‘No reason.' Hester was a reason. And her own lost baby. Babies must survive. Jennifer started tidying up the room, plumping cushions, folding clothes. Must keep busy, mustn't think.

Susie took a step towards her, hugged her suddenly. ‘Thanks, love, you're an angel.'

Jennifer stood a moment, Susie's body merging into hers, smelling her hair, her lily-of-the-valley chain-store scent; feeling her breasts swollen as she'd said; her own body hollow and unfruitful. She pulled away. ‘Look, I'd … er … better get the lunch.'

‘Who for?' Susie was drooling ash into her make-up drawer. ‘I packed the boys off to the swimming baths and gave them money for some fish and chips. Told them not to come back here on pain of death till tea-time at the earliest—and if they could make it midnight, all the better.'

‘Susie, I don't think Anne would …'

‘Anne's not here. It'll do ' em good. Make 'em independent. They'll grow up rotten selfish bastards, the way she waits on them.'

Jennifer sank down on the bed. She felt pulled in all directions at once. She ought to go and search for Lyn, stay and comfort Susie, had a duty to Anne and Matthew to make sure the boys were safe. ‘Look, I'll get
us
lunch.' Cooking a meal would be a simple solid chore, anchor her mind to something.

‘Not hungry, thanks.'

‘You
ought
to eat, you know, now you're pregnant.'

‘Oh, stuff it, Jen. I had enough of that from the doctor. You eat if you want.'

Jennifer wasn't hungry either, but she walked down to the kitchen, counting on her fingers. Fourteen weeks, Susie's GP had said. That meant Susie had conceived at the end of April—the same month
she
had conceived, a year ago. She stood at the kitchen door, stared in horror at the mess. Every surface was cluttered with dirty dishes, the floor a maze of footmarks, sink clogged with soggy teabags and old potato peelings. She felt a sudden pang of guilt. She had been planning to escape with Lyn, leave Susie in sole charge. This was the shambles Anne and Matthew would have found on their return.

She scraped back her hair in a rubber band, tied on a dirty apron. She was glad no one could see her. The girl who had gilded Newcastle was now a Cinderella. Half the North had flocked to worship her, yet back in London, her own husband hadn't bothered to say hallo. And when he did show up, she would have to face his shock over Susie's baby. If he found it so upsetting that a girl who meant nothing to him should be pregnant and unmarried, then how would he react to the news of his mother‘s bastard? She hoped to God he would never hear about it. Rowan Childs had been mercifully quiet, using her column to attack Irish Catholics and anti-vivisectionists rather than describe further forays to Hernhope. Yet she could still be secretly ferretting out the facts, Jasper Prince sharpening up his pen.

Jennifer sank on to a stool. The sun was streaming through the window, rainbowing the dust—a tranquil summer morning, too bright for all these problems. She screwed up her eyes against it. Everything was so confused—remorse over Oz tinged with triumph that he had desired her at all; concern and pity for Susie all mixed up with envy of her pregnancy and anger at her carelessness; a longing for Lyn contradicted by worry and resentment.

She picked up the dishcloth, swatted at the work-top, put it down again—felt too weary to tackle such disorder. Best to springclean herself first, scour off all the traces of last night.

She trailed upstairs again, ran a bath. There was a tidemark all around the tub and one grubby towel flung into a corner. She took off her clothes, stared at her naked body in the mirror. Shouldn't it look different after …?

‘Fancy a drink, love?' Susie was standing in the doorway, clutching a bottle of gin.

Jennifer grabbed the towel to cover herself. ‘You shouldn't drink, Susie. It's bad for the baby.'

‘Look, this kid's a hundred per cent shockproof. I tried everything to budge it. Bottlesful of vodka after boiling hot baths, roasting myself on the top shelf of a sauna, riding pillion on a 1000cc Kawasaki—even some herbal stuff I got from an Indian girl who swore it would bring on my period in an hour. All it brought on was diarrhoea and a blinding headache. So if you think one mingy little gin's going to upset it …'

Jennifer turned away. She had done everything she could to save her own child—stayed in bed, hardly moving even there, swallowed every vitamin, called on Hester's powers, prayed to a God she didn't quite believe in. And there was Susie gulping gin and lighting a cigarette.

‘Smoking's bad, as well. It affects the …'

‘Do lay off, Jen. Have a gin yourself. You sound as if you need one. Let's drink to the little bastard.'

Jennifer turned the taps off. She did need a drink, to calm all the confusions, lull her constant dread and hope of Lyn's return. She was worried by his absence, yet almost relieved to have an hour or two without him. She couldn't face his fears on top of all the other turmoil. Susie was slopping gin into a tooth-mug.

‘Isn't there any wine, Susie?'