Bridge of Hope (10 page)

She wore a white knee-length summer dress with pale blue flowers dotted all over it. She carried a bunch of fake blue flowers and had put one in her hair too. It all felt so contrived… so pretentious. But what could I do? I’d gotten the girl pregnant; the least I could do was marry her. A table was booked for the four of us to eat at our favourite Chinese restaurant to celebrate the marriage.

The meal was good, but for some reason my stomach was unsettled. I felt like a thousand tiny elephants were stampeding through my intestines or learning to bloody tap-dance in there. Something was off. I couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that had taken hold. I just wished I could explain it.

Later that night when we got back to my room in digs, Alice stripped down to her white lacy underwear and stood before me. I’d had a bottle and a half of wine to myself and was feeling sleepy.

“Greg,” she whispered into my ear as I lay sprawled on my bed.

“Mmmm?”

“I want to make love with my new husband.” She slid her hand down my body and gripped me through my black slacks. “Don’t you want me anymore? Is it because I’m getting fat?” Her voice was a little whiny, and I opened my eyes to see that she had removed her underwear and her curves were on display for me.
Only
for me. She pouted as she trailed her fingers up and down my torso.

Suddenly I felt wide awake.

We consummated the marriage that night… twice. Like I said before, I’m a man. But I felt a little empty inside. I was starting to wonder about things. Alice hadn’t been suffering morning sickness at all. She was surprisingly well for someone who was going through early pregnancy for the first time. As she snuggled into my side and fell asleep, I lay awake.

September 1995

Alice and I had been getting on well. She was very horny… more than normal. She said it was down to her pregnancy hormones. Obviously I didn’t complain; sex between us always had been great. And to top it off, I was getting excited at the prospect of being a daddy. The thought of having a mini version of me and Alice to look after and care for somehow gave purpose to my life.

My daydreams were all about the baby. Who would he or she look like? Would we have a daughter or a son? Would our child love music as much as I did? Would I be able to change a nappy without vomiting? More’s the point, would I be able to
change a nappy
? How would I cope on even less sleep? None of it mattered. As long as the baby was healthy, I’d be happy and I’d love him or her unconditionally. The fact that this was all unexpected began to mean less and less until it faded into insignificance and I even began to coo over babies I saw in the street. I was turning into a sap and I just didn’t care.

But all that said, something was niggling at the back of my mind. We were four months into the pregnancy and she
still
hadn’t been sick. Now I’m an intelligent man and I know that every pregnancy is different. But my research had told me that Alice was in the minority with her lack of symptoms.

It was a Friday night and we were sitting in our new digs. A room in a shared house that was large enough for a double bed
and
a cot. We hadn’t discussed what would happen when the baby arrived. Who would look after the infant whilst we were at college? Would one of us have to drop out? Every time I broached the subject, she shrugged it off, saying we had plenty of time to think about things like that. But it was
all
I could think about.

I’d just made coffee for me and decaf tea for Alice. I craved a beer, but I was staying off drink out of respect for her. As we watched TV like an old married couple, a show about holidays came on. We watched as beaches appeared and scantily clad, tanned bodies strolled around on the screen.

Alice had a light bulb moment. “Oh, I forgot to mention that I’m booked to go to Amsterdam for a weekend with the girls for my birthday.”

I glanced over at her. “But your birthday is in December. Won’t you have other things going on then? When are you actually going?”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not until the New Year. We waited ’til after Christmas.”

“Okay.” I mulled over what she’d said. “Erm… you do know you’ll be heavily pregnant and on the verge of giving birth in the New Year, don’t you?”

Her head swivelled in my direction. “I… erm… I…” Her face turned beet red.

“Alice?” I glared at her, waiting for some logical explanation as to why she’d forgotten she was carrying my child.

She laughed and shrugged. “Oh, silly me. I meant in the spring.”

“But by then we’ll
have
a new baby, Alice.” Suspicion spiked within me.

“Yeah… yeah, but you’ll be fine for a few days, eh?”

I stared at her. What the hell was going on? “No, Alice. No, I won’t be okay being left whilst you go off on a weekend piss-up with your mates.” The volume of my voice rose exponentially.

She huffed sulkily and turned away from me. “I need a drink. Got any wine?”

“Alice. That’s not funny. You know I gave up alcohol too. Unless… is there something you need to tell me?”

She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Greg?”

Standing to face her, I stared into her eyes, hoping to see something genuine. “It means, Alice, that something’s not right here.”

She folded her arms and snorted. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Pardon me for being suspicious, but… you are
four months
pregnant, and you haven’t been sick once. You’re planning a holiday for when you’re supposed to be delivering our baby, and you’re craving
wine when you’re nervous.”

She opened and closed her mouth like a dying goldfish. I waited for her explanation. I waited and waited. And waited some more.

She slumped onto the sofa and dropped her head into her hands. “It… it was a false alarm.”

“What?” My calm voice belied the increasing rate of my heart and the sweating of my clenched palms.

“My period came a week after I told you. But you’d already asked me to marry you. And… I was so happy, so I kept up with the pretence, Greg.” She lifted her eyes up to meet mine, and tears were running down her face.

I tried to swallow but my throat was closing up. I just stared at her. My heart squeezed in my chest. I’d thought I wasn’t ready to be a dad, but gradually over the past few months I’d gotten used to the idea. I’d actually been looking at babies in a whole new light and feeling excited. Yet here she was shattering the illusion and breaking my heart.

I pulled out the desk chair and carefully lowered my fragile-feeling body to it. “You mean you lied to me?”

“No! No, Greg. I wanted it to be true. I tried so hard to make it true.” Her desperation was almost palpable.

“That’s why you’ve been wanting sex so much. Not because of pregnancy hormones.”

“No… I
wanted
it to be true, Greg. I
needed
it to be true. I was terrified of losing you.” She came across the room and dropped to her knees before me. “I
can’t
lose you, Greg. You’re my world.”

Her empty words meant nothing to me. Although I heard them, the sentiment was devoid of genuine feeling, and in that moment I hated her. My heart was trying to burst through my chest and escape the space I reluctantly shared with her in that moment.

“But there’s no baby. You let me think I was going to be a dad. I married you so we could be a proper little family,” I whispered. Having my fears confirmed hurt more than any physical pain I’d ever experienced. I’d hoped, beyond hope, that she’d have some logical explanation. Like pregnancy brain or some other crazy thing that pregnant women go through.

But here she was, taking all of my dreams of fatherhood and stamping all over them in her fake leather stiletto boots, piercing holes in my heart with her words as she admitted her despicable lies and deceit. The fact that she could
justify
what she had done in her sick little mind by telling me how much she
loved
me made me want to vomit.

She sobbed and clung to my hands as I stared blankly at our entwined fingers. “I did… and I’m so,
so
sorry. But we can
get
pregnant, Greg. We can try
. W
e can make it work. We
can
have a baby. As soon as you want to try, we can try.”

I stood and pulled my hands free from hers. “I need to get out of here. I need… I need time to think.” I grabbed my coat and my Walkman and stormed out.

Chapter Thirteen

September 1995

It was eleven at night and I trawled the streets as the lyrics to “Big Empty” by Stone Temple Pilots resonated deep within me. I bit back the threatening tears as I walked, pounding the pavement, trying to clear my head.

It wasn’t working.

I called into the off licence and bought the cheapest bottle of whiskey I could find. After half an hour of wandering aimlessly, I entered the local park and found a bench. Pulling the bottle of amber liquid out of the brown paper bag, I sat there swigging from the neck like some alcoholic with nowhere to go.

I tried to force down the lump in my throat as I listened to Stevie Nicks singing about changing in “Landslide”. What had I done to deserve this shit? Really? In the space of four months I’d become a husband, was dreaming about being a father, and then had that dream ripped from me. Everything I had believed in was crumbling around me and I had no fucking clue what to do.

Sorrow pushed down on me like a heavy weight, and I choked as the emotion I’d been fighting finally broke free. Tears spilled over from my clenched eyes and sobs racked my body. Gulping for air as my shoulders shuddered, I hugged my arms around myself, still clutching the bottle.

“Why? Why does she insist on breaking my fucking heart?” I asked the empty park, wishing someone were there to hold me and take the pain away, tell me it would all be okay. But of course it wouldn’t be okay. I knew that already.

Half a bottle of whiskey gone; my head was spinning. I looked up at the sky and felt completely insignificant under the magnitude of whirling constellations. What did my problems mean in the great scheme of things? To me? Everything. Eddie Vedder from Pearl Jam sang “Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town” as tears continued to cascade down my face. The chilly evening air hit my damp skin and I shivered.

Like in the song, my heart felt like it was fading. Maybe Eddie was right.

~~~

Eventually I decided I should head back. I had nowhere else to go and the temperature had dropped substantially. Glancing at my watch, I realised it was almost one in the morning. Alice would no doubt be worried. And I was glad. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her chest to ache like mine did. I wanted her to know my pain. How the fuck could someone do that to the person she supposedly
loved
? It’s one thing to lie about small things. That’s bad enough. But to lie about being
pregnant
…

I stomped back toward the bedsit we called home as my blood thundered in my temples. At one point I had to stop and take deep breaths to try and calm the rage within. I couldn’t return to her feeling this way. I’d no doubt say something I regretted.

I stopped again around the corner from our bedsit and stared up at the bedroom window. The light was on, which meant she was waiting up for me. I wasn’t quite as drunk as I wanted to be.
Fuck it
. I discarded the rest of the bottle of whiskey and staggered back across the road.

Opening the door, I stepped inside. Alice was curled up in a ball on the sofa. Her eyes were swollen and red. She glanced up as I walked in. As if unsure whether to approach me, she stood on shaking legs and took a few tentative steps.

I held my hands up to stop her. “I’m going to go stay at Connell’s. I… I can’t be near you right now,” I informed her without making eye contact. After walking into the bedroom, I grabbed my holdall, stuffed in a few clothes, and zipped it up. She stood at the doorway, twisting her fingers, watching my every move.

“Can’t we just talk about this, Greg? I’ve said I’m sorry. What more can I do to make it right?”

Moving close to her so that my nose was almost touching hers, I spoke through gritted teeth as my lower lip trembled and my heart ached again. “There is nothing you can do, Alice. Once again you’ve broken my fucking heart. How many more times am I expected to put up with it, eh? Do me a favour. Don’t contact me.
I
will contact
you
… if and when I feel like it. Now move.”

She flinched and tears escaped her eyes. I felt no sympathy, only pain.

I arrived at Connell’s flat and knocked on the door. He opened it and stood there with a sad expression, and I knew she’d called him.