LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

‘I can’t do that.’

      ‘Say you can’t take it,’ I wept. ‘Tell them your circumstances have changed. Tell them you’ve got “family difficulties”!’ I sank on to the chair.

      ‘But it’s agreed – and the point is I want to go.’

      I pressed a napkin to my eyes. ‘You came here tonight to break up with me,’ I whispered. Xan looked out of the window. ‘That’s why you brought me the flowers.’

      ‘I’m … sorry, Anna, but don’t you see? I’m lucky to have got this – it’s a fantastic break. But yes, I knew it would spell the end for us, so I’d been bracing myself to tell you because I really like you and I felt sad at the thought of not being with you, but now … this …?’ He was shaking his head. ‘Please, Anna,’ he said. ‘Please don’t do it. We’ve been together for less than two months. It’s not long enough.’

      ‘It is for me!’ I shouted. My hands sprang to my face. ‘It’s more than long enough for me to have fallen in love with you!’

      Xan emitted a frustrated sigh.

      It was more than long enough for my parents too, I reflected. The same thing happened to them, in much less liberal times, but my dad had just done the right thing.

      ‘Let me come too,’ I croaked. And in the split second before Xan replied, I saw myself rocking a wickerwork cradle on a veranda, on a hot, humid night, beneath a slowly rotating fan.

      ‘No,’ I heard him say softly. ‘It’s out of the question.’

      I stared at a tiny mark on the carpet. ‘Yes,’ I whispered after a moment. ‘You’re right.’ I’d only just started my course and my father needed me – I couldn’t abandon him now. I looked at Xan. ‘I can’t possibly go. Even if you wanted me to, which you probably wouldn’t.’

      ‘Anna – we haven’t been seeing each other long enough to make any plans – let alone have a child together. A child?’ he repeated. ‘Jesus Christ!’

      I thought of my parents’ wedding photo – my mother’s conspicuously large bouquet of red roses not quite concealing her burgeoning bump.

      ‘And what if you weren’t going abroad?’ I asked. ‘How would you feel about it then? If you were staying here?’

      Xan looked at me. ‘Exactly the same.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said quietly. ‘I see.’ I stared at the carpet again, scrutinising the little mark. I now saw that it was shaped like an aeroplane.

      ‘Don’t do this, Anna,’ I heard Xan say. ‘You’ll wreck both our lives – and the child’s …’ – he seemed unable to say the word ‘baby’. ‘It’s so unfair on it, not having a father from the start. Children have the right to be born into a stable family unit, with two parents to love them.’ I stared at him. ‘Please, Anna. Don’t. I do want children one day, but I want to be a father to them – not some absent stranger.’ His eyes were shining with tears. ‘It’s still early days and you have a choice. Please, Anna, don’t do this. Please …’ he repeated quietly.

      I stared at Xan, too shattered to reply. Then he picked up his bag and walked out of the house, closing the front door with a definitive click.

       THREE

      The private clinic I’d booked myself into a week later was called the Audrey Forbes Women’s Health Centre and was in a rain-stained sixties office block in Putney High Street, next to a bookshop. I glanced in the window at the colourful pyramid of children’s books: We’re Going on a Bear Hunt; The Gruffalo; The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I wasn’t in the least hungry myself, I realised, even though I’d been told to have nothing to eat or drink.

      I gave my name to the receptionist on the ground floor, then pressed the button to summon the lift. To my disappointment it arrived straight away. The interior smelt of stale cigarette smoke and cheap scent, which added to my nausea, which had been increasing daily. I arrived at the fifth floor with a stomach-lurching jolt.

      There was a faint smell of antiseptic mingled with the odour of plastic chairs as I entered the huge waiting room. There must have been about eighty seats or so – a good half of them occupied by women, some as young as children, others as old as grannies. Perhaps they were grannies, I thought. It was perfectly possible to be a granny and pregnant – even a great-granny, come to that, if you’d got started young enough.

      To my left two women, one early twenties, the other late thirties, were chatting in a subdued way. As I queued at the desk I caught fragments of their conversation.

      Oh, you’ll be fine … about two hours … don’t cry … left you in the lurch, has he …? Don’t upset yourself … I haven’t even told my husband … well, he’d kill me if he knew … no, not really painful … don’t cry.

      ‘Name, please?’ said the nurse.

      ‘Anna Temple,’ I whispered. I felt a wave of shame.

      ‘And how will you be paying today? We take Mastercard, Visa, Maestro, American Express, cheque with a valid guarantee card – or cash,’ she added pleasantly.

      I handed her my credit card.

      ‘That’ll be five hundred and twenty-five pounds,’ she said as she slotted it into the machine. ‘Which includes a 1.5 per cent handling charge.’ This somehow made it seem like excellent value. I wondered if she was going to offer me a 3 for 2, like the pharmacist, or maybe a discount voucher, for future use. She handed me a clipboard. ‘Please fill out this form.’

      I stepped to one side, filled it in and returned it to her. She handed me a plastic cup to fill, and told me I’d be called within the hour.

      As I walked to the Ladies I ran through my mental list, for perhaps the thousandth time in the past seven days, of the Eight Good Reasons for not proceeding with my pregnancy. I listed them again now, in descending order of importance.

      I am heartbroken about Xan. If I have his baby I will never be able to get over him.

      Having Xan’s baby when he doesn’t want me to feels wrong.

      I do not wish to bring a baby into the world with no father in its life.

      It will make it so much harder for me to find someone else.

      Having a baby now will wreck my new career.

       I will have no income for a very long time.

      I will be too engrossed in my own problems to help my dad, who needs me.

      Being a single mother will be lonely and hard.

      As I washed my hands, a girl came out of a cubicle. She looked about fourteen. Her mother – who looked no older than me – was leaning against the basin, arms akimbo, an expression of pained resignation on her face. As I followed them back to the counter with my cup I wished that I had someone with me – but who would it have been? Not Xan, obviously, even if he weren’t on a plane, crossing five time zones to reach the other side of the world. Not Cassie. She’d be no comfort at all. Would I have wanted my mother? No. Not least because she’d been there herself but had worked it all out. I had a sudden hankering for Granny Temple, who was always practical and kind – but she’d died in 2001.

      As I took my seat again, near to a wall-mounted TV – This Morning was on: they were cooking something revolting-looking with red lentils – I remembered my consultation with my GP. It was already too late for the method where you take a pill; so it had to be the early surgical technique.

      ‘It takes five minutes,’ my doctor had said reassuringly. ‘And the recovery time is quite short – just a couple of hours. Now, are you sure about it?’

Скачать книгу