The Decision: Lizzie's Story (23 page)

I dug my phone out of my bag in the vain hope it might have come back to life as electronic gadgets sometimes do, but it wasn’t to be: the phone’s LCD was still blank and useless. I recalled reading somewhere that packing a waterlogged phone in unboiled rice sometimes does the trick in drawing the moisture away and making it work again, then laughed at myself: I had much more important things to worry about than a dead phone. First up, how was I going to get home? There was no guarantee Shona or her family would be in; I didn’t want to drag myself up the cliff for nothing. And Mike’s house was closer, I could at least phone Mum from there. But then I’d have to wait for her to come and get me: what if I cracked in the meantime and told him? Worse still, what if Mum couldn’t come and get me and I was stuck with Mike all night? If Amanda or Sal were out, then there would be no one to look after the twins, perhaps Mum would be unable to fetch me at all. Despite my best intentions to the contrary, if I ended up at Mike’s all night, the inevitable would happen: we’d end up in bed and I’d talk myself out of breaking up with him! Since that was the only decision I had been able to make that day, I wanted to be able to hold on to it.

Thoughts racing, my gaze wandered over the empty bus station, towards the wall of payphones near the tourist information centre. On it were various faded posters for hotels, including The Belle View. Dad! There was Dad. He was bound to be at work. Perhaps I could stay with him or he could take me back to Mum’s in one of Pablo’s vans? I got up hurriedly and grabbed a phone, shovelling some change in the slot. In three rings, a bored Pablo answered.

“Hola.” He said.

“Pablo, it’s Lizzie. Lizzie Carmichael?” I said breathlessly.

“Yes, yes, what you want.” Pablo yawned. In the background I could hear muzak turned up too loud.

“I need to speak to my Dad, please.” I said, crossing my fingers.

“Night off.” Pablo said. “Back tomorrow for breakfast.”

With that, he hung up. Cursing, I slammed the phone back in its handset – and then slammed it a couple more times for good measure.
Typical!

“Elizabeth Carmichael?”

I turned from my near-vandalism guiltily: a young policeman in uniform stood in front of me. He wasn’t much older than me, perhaps twenty: he had that eager look of someone just starting out. I didn’t recognise him, perhaps he had transferred from another town. Nearby, a police car stood. A WPC sat in the front in a neon jacket, visibly bored, clutching a Styrofoam cup. I did recognise her: she was Chloe Bensham’s older sister, Matilda. She’d been three or four years ahead of us at school and like Chloe had always been an ugly duckling. Not now, though: Matilda had slimmed down, her acne was gone, her hair was cut in a flattering style, visible even under her distinctly unflattering black and white checkered hat. Involuntarily I waved and Matilda gave me a little wave back, her features blank: she didn’t recognise me.

“Yes.” I gulped, wondering if he was about to book me. “Look, I was just annoyed, I didn’t actually break the phone…” I started anxiously, but the policeman interrupted me.

“We’ve been looking for you.” He said, smiling at me indulgently, like a grandfather would, despite his own young age.

“Looking for me?” I was confused. I wasn’t a criminal on the run, why would they possibly be looking for me?

“Yes, your parents were worried.” He said. He laughed at the look on my face. “They called your friends… and your boyfriend, but no one had seen you. You said you’d be back hours ago. They couldn’t get you on your phone?”

Of course. “It’s broken.” I said lamely, holding it up for his inspection, as if he cared. “I lost track … And I missed the bus.”

“We’ll give you a lift home.” He said, opening the patrol car door for me.

Mute, I got in. The Policeman sat down heavily behind the wheel, muttering something about me into the radio. There was a burst of static, then he turned the ignition on again. Matilda smiled at me in the rearview mirror and held up a bag of sherbet lemons. “Want one?” She enquired.

I took a sweet. “How’s Chloe?” I said suddenly. With a twinge of nostalgia, I realised I hadn’t seen her in years: she hadn’t gone to college with the rest of us, but taken her GCSEs and disappeared into the ether. None of us had missed her, except perhaps Shona who’d always enjoyed picking on someone fatter than herself.

Matilda smiled, realising my connection at last. “Good. Really good, actually. She got a job as a nanny, working for a family up in London. Well rich they are, you should see her room: she showed it to me on the webcam. Chloe reckons they even have one of those big American fridges that dispense ice cubes.”

I laughed. That sounded like Chloe. Chloe had always liked little children; she used to look after her little nephew – Callum? Caleb? – after school for her aunt. Chloe reckoned little kids were the most sensible people around; they never got caught up in all the usual adult and teenage rubbish and never overcomplicated things. Inexplicably, I remembered a textiles lesson at school and cutting out squares and squares of fabric with Chloe, just because we hadn’t anything better to do and couldn’t work out how to use the sewing machine. The textiles teacher – I’d forgotten
her name – had gone crazy at us, saying we were wasting fabric and we should be ashamed of ourselves. Chloe had then said the teacher should be ashamed of herself for not doing her job properly and teaching us how to use the sewing machine. We’d ended up in detention with the geography teacher Mr. Keller, a large fat man with a Walrus moustache. We were supposed to write an essay about saving resources, but instead Mr. Keller kept telling us about his break up with his “bitch of a wife”. We were pretty sure he’d visited the pub at lunchtime too; he smelt of booze. We never did learn how to use the sewing machine.

The police car sped into the night. Soon the streetlights in town had fallen away, with only the cats’ eyes in front of us and the yawning darkness of fields to either side of us. The only sounds were the engine, Matilda’s rustling sweet wrappers and the occasional burst of static from the radio. I settled back in my seat, the day’s events still whizzing through my head. How did I break my news to my parents, my sisters? I supposed I just came out with it and braced myself, especially when it came to the elder two. Family life was in some ways a goldfish bowl; siblings are so keen to call you out on your behaviour. Sal would brand me an idiot for getting myself into the situation, for sure – but then, when hadn’t she? She had never been a fan of Mike and had been quick to give me unsolicited advice about my relationship – which coincidentally turned out to be true – but more by accident than design. Amanda might be derisive too, but then she could never keep it up. Besides, my decision should not be based on how they might react. Sal and Amanda had their own lives: in just a couple of years Sal would be off to university and I felt sure she’d never look back. One day, Sal would be successful in everything she did and the neverending teenage angst she felt now would seem like a distant memory; perhaps she’d even be happy. As for Amanda… No matter what she chose to do with her life, she would
land on her feet. She always did! Neither would concern themselves with my choices, past or present, then; by the same token, I couldn’t let them influence me now.

Finally, the Policeman pulled the handbrake and said, “Here we are.”

Home. Trepidation struck me again. I stared at the little cottage, the lanterns outside casting sickly yellow glows near the little river that travelled past the house and into the garden. One year, Sal, Amanda, Hannah and me had tried to float in a tin bath we’d found, but our combined weight – not to mention the shallowness of the river itself – had sunk it to the bottom of the riverbed. There had been a hole in the bath too, it turned out: suddenly our makeshift boat sprang a leak, soaking our jeans and leggings. We’d all piled out, shrieking and laughing and blaming one another for being so fat. Mum had appeared on the doorstep with that crooked smile of hers, juggling towels and both twins, still babies, hanging on to her hip like furless koala bears. “What are you all like!” She’d said.

Drawn by the lights of the police car and its engine, Mum appeared on the doorstep again, her face pulled taut with worry this time. I could see Dad and the other girls in the living room through the window, their eyes wide. None ventured out with Mum – probably because she’d told them not to.

“Thank you for bringing me back.” I said to the Policeman and Matilda, my eyes still fixed on Mum outside.

“You’re welcome.” Matilda said, a sherbet lemon still in her mouth.

The Policeman opened the door for me; I got out. I stood there a moment, hesitant. Mum had her arms folded around her thin frame, as if hugging herself, her eyes full of questions:
where had I been? What was going on? Was I okay?

Words dried up in my mouth; everything I had reasoned and rehearsed abandoned me. I felt frustration, then anger: I was trying to be a grown up here! Behind us, the police car started up again, drawing out of our drive.

“I’m sorry.” I said and started crying.

Still bewildered, Mum had her arms around me seconds later. She cooed at me like I was a baby, telling me that whatever it was, it would be all right. And I wanted to believe her, but suddenly the situation seemed too huge and beyond my control; it had run away with me. Dad stood helpless on the step, wondering if he should come out as well, yet knowing somehow he had to keep the other girls at bay while I had my moment with Mum.

“I’m pregnant.” I spluttered.

Mum’s reaction flickered across her face momentarily: was that relief? Perhaps she had been expecting worse. I wondered briefly how it could be worse, then reminded myself it always “could be worse”: another of Mum’s mantras, especially when us girls were complaining about our lot in life, be it having to clean our bedrooms, help around the house or clean out the cat’s litter trays. As I had gone AWOL for the whole day, Mum would have had plenty of time to dream up alternate, worse scenarios, too.

“I don’t know what I want to do.” I admitted.

Mum smiled. “Let’s talk about it.” She said.

Epilogue

So I made my decision.

Mum and I talked for hours, on our own; the girls and Dad were banned at first. Sal’s desperation to make me see her point of view included texting me from her bedroom, leading to Dad confiscating her phone. Hannah was also spotted attempting to see into the kitchen from the patio where she pretended to be looking for Mum’s allegedly escaped cat (which was under the bed, like he always was). Despite these minor hiccups, Mum and I were able to have a conversation that focused entirely on what I wanted, no one else. We talked through all the elements that mattered: Mike. University. My future. Not once did Mum insist I consider her thoughts and feelings, though I asked her a couple of times. Instinctively, she seemed to know I was asking her to lead me towards a conclusion and she skillfully opposed me.

“It’s up to you.” She confirmed.

There were barbed comments from Sal and a few incredulous questions from Amanda and Hannah. Mum and Dad batted these away for me, telling them it was my business, not theirs and ignoring the shrieks of indignation I was their sister: of course it concerned them! I was grateful for Mum and Dad’s support and understood my sisters were too young to really understand. Perhaps I wouldn’t have either, had it been one of them in my place.

The days that followed were a blur; it was only weeks later I really understood the ramifications of my decision. The fear that had gripped me had lessened; the trepidation had gone. I got the A Level results I was predicted, but decided to defer my place at university for a year: not because I was afraid of going, but because I wanted to reassess the course and whether it was really what I wanted. I had begun to
wonder if I had chosen it simply to “get out” of the area and considering the fees and costs I would incur during the three years I would be away, I needed to know for certain it was the right choice. I took a job at a newsagent’s in town, where I planned to read all their magazines and newspapers, not to mention scour every prospectus at every university I was interested in.

Of course, deferring meant staying behind and waving off Shona and Mike. Shona went first, taking a ridiculous amount of baggage with her and even a hat stand. Her Mum was driving her to London in the Jaguar and I told Shona she should look up Chloe Bensham. Shona just smiled vaguely, not even remembering who Chloe was. Typical Shona. As she got in the car she told me she loved me and she’d be back every weekend. I knew she wouldn’t. Saying goodbye to Mike proved more difficult. We had barely spoken in recent weeks. Though I had told him about the pregnancy – I had followed through on my promise – his reaction had been lukewarm at best, as I had supposed. When I told him of my decision and my thoughts on our relationship (or lack of one), his relief had been palpable. But now, his confusion was evident: we both knew the moment he got on the train to go to university, our relationship was officially over. Perhaps fear of the future and the unknown made him wish this wasn’t so, because as I wished him well, he suddenly hugged me and uncharacteristically proclaimed:

“I love you.”

I untangled myself and smiled. Tears had sprung up in the corner of my eyes, but I blinked them back. “’Bye Mike.” I sighed.

So Mike got on the train, his face a picture of puzzlement. I watched it pull out from the station as Mum appeared on the platform next to me. “You all right?” she said, guardedly.

“Fine.” I said, genuinely.

Travelling back to the house in the car with Mum, I looked out the window pretending to watch the passing fields, but really considering my own reflection in the glass. Since regarding my stricken face in the aluminium mirror of those grotty toilets in town all those weeks ago, I finally felt at peace.

My decision was the right one for me.

THE END