By the time I get home, there isn’t a car on the roads. My leafy suburb is quiet – which is pretty much what you’d expect given the time. It is one-thirty in the morning after all.
I’ve walked home and it’s taken me an hour. And all the time I’ve been thinking of Sylvia. I can’t stop thinking about her cutting herself like that. And I can’t stop thinking about that colossal argument that flared up in her house. The way Sylvia reacted, I’m pretty sure that it’s a regular occurrence. Sylvia seemed to be handling it okay, the little I heard, but I can’t help thinking that a kid shouldn’t have to get involved in stuff like that. I mean, I’ve heard my mom and dad argue over things, and usually it’s stuff that seems unimportant to me. But Madeleine and me, we just let them get on with it and it’s blown over in a few minutes. There seemed real hatred in the shouting and yelling I heard coming from Sylvia’s house. And I just can’t get past the picture I have in my mind of that slob of a father of hers as a dirty brutal bully. I can’t help worrying about Sylvia, I really can’t. I wonder if he hits Sylvia. I’m wondering about that a lot, even though I know that I shouldn’t.
When I reach my house, I see Mom’s car in the driveway and next to it is Madeleine’s little Mazda MX5. If Dad’s car is in the garage, then everyone is home.
I guess that everyone has gone to bed as I close the door behind me. The house is dark and quiet. I creep up the stairs with the lights off. It’s not like I don’t know where I’m going, after all. On the landing, I see a blue light flickering under Madeleine’s door. She’s watching TV. Or – more likely – she’s fallen asleep watching TV. We both have a habit of doing that. Like I think I’ve told you before, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve woken up to find some endlessly risible shopping channel beaming at me.
My door clicks as I open it, and I’m about to step inside when Madeleine calls out to me as quietly as she can.
‘Tom, is that you?’
I push her door open a little and pop my head inside.
‘Sure it’s me. Who were you expecting, Richard Ramirez?’
She ignores my wise-ass remark.
‘Have you got a minute?’
‘Sure.’
I lie on the bed next to her. The room is dark except for the flickering light from the TV, and she’s still dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. This is very unlike her, so I know that she has something on her mind. Perhaps she’s ready to talk to me about it now.
For a minute we just lie there while a rerun of Seinfeld plays out on the screen, but neither of us is in the mood to laugh.
‘Tom…’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m in trouble.’
Next thing you know, she’s crying and she’s turned to me and her arms are around me so that all I can do is hold her and her face is buried in my shoulder and she’s sobbing fit to break your heart. All I can do is stroke her hair and try to comfort her. There’s no point saying anything because she’s sobbing so much she can’t listen. I have to let her get the worst of it out of her system. But I’m sick with worry now because I’ve never seen Madeleine like this. I realise that I’m not even worrying about Sylvia any more because Madeleine is right here and, well… and well this is my Madeleine and she needs me to focus on her.
She can’t sob with that kind of intensity forever and eventually it subsides. And we’re just lying together and I’m still holding her and stroking her hair and old Seinfeld is still making sarcastic wisecracks with his dumb-ass friends on the TV.
‘So come on then; tell me what’s happened that’s so bad.’
She pulls herself away from me and she’s looking at me. She’s holding me with her eyes like Sylvia had done earlier and she’s very serious.
‘Oh Tom, I don’t know what to do.’
She starts to cry again so that I can see the sparkling tears run down her cheeks but she’s not sobbing this time. I reach across to wipe the tears from her face with the back of my fingers.
‘Hey, what can be so bad? It can’t be anything that money can’t fix can it?’
I’m trying to make a joke, get her to lighten up a little so that she can open up and tell me what’s going on. But really, it’s not such a stupid thing to say. We certainly do have plenty of money and there are plenty of problems that money can fix. It’s unfair, I know, but it’s true. It really is. We can’t help being the children of wealthy parents.
‘Tom… I’m pregnant.’
I’m not kidding; she just comes out and says it. Just like that. But what can I say? I mean, part of me is glad that it’s just that and nothing worse. At least she’s not in trouble with the law or anything. All the same, I’m numb with shock.
‘Does Mom know?’
This is a really stupid question because I can tell that she hasn’t told Mom, but I have to say something.
‘Christ no! I can’t tell her. I can’t tell anyone. I don’t know what to do.’
‘You’re going to have to tell her. You’re going to need help, you’re going to need someone…’
‘I can’t tell her! She thinks I’m going to college next year. It’s all she ever talks about. She’ll go wild.’
Well, actually, while I’m still in shock, I’m rational enough to know that Mom is unlikely to wig out over this. But I can imagine all the preaching that Madeleine is going to have to endure. Mom can make her disappointment last for a long, long time.
‘Does David know? How does he feel about it?’
Yes, of course I’m assuming that David is the father; my sister is no cheap slut. And at this point I’m realising that this is all too much to burden a sixteen year-old boy with, so I want someone else to be there for Madeleine. But when I look at her, the tears are running again.
‘David won’t talk to me. He won’t even take my calls.’
Well, David is a bastard. I can come to instant judgements like that. And more especially where my sister is concerned.
‘But he has to take responsibility with you. He’s in this with you.’
I feel like going round to his house right now and making a scene, I swear to God that I do.
‘He said that he’s too young to have his life ruined.’
Well I know that David’s family have big plans for him and everything – it’s a burden that the children of wealthy families have to bear, as Madeleine and I know only too well. But just who does this asshole think he is? This is my sister!
This is a lot to throw on my plate and I can feel myself growing up prematurely as the tears roll down Madeleine’s cheeks. I know that I can’t let my anger show because it just won’t help her.
‘Do you want to keep the baby?’
This is a harsh question to ask at this point, but I don’t know what else to say.
‘God no. I can’t. Oh Tom, I can’t, I can’t.’
She’s holding me and sobbing again. So I let her sob it all away, until after a while she’s calm again.
‘Tom?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Will you come with me?
I’m suddenly cold because I know exactly what she’s talking about.
‘Come with you where?’
‘To the clinic. Next Saturday.’
‘What clinic?’
‘I’m going to have an abortion. It’s all I can do, Tom. It will be best for everybody.’
Well she’s certainly made her mind up fast. I guess this is not like choosing a new pair of shoes, but I’m reeling all the same.
‘Christ Maddie, are you sure that’s what you want?’
‘It’s for the best, Tom. Trust me it’s best for everyone. I want to make an appointment for next Saturday. Will you come with me Tom? Please say that you will. Please.’
Well, in all my life I’ve never been able to say no to Madeleine and whatever I think, I’m not going to let her down now. Not that I care either way about the baby myself, you understand. As a matter of fact, babies leave me cold, they really do. They are all ugly, despite what their parents think, and beyond that they’re just noise and stinking smells and responsibility. I guess if that point of view doesn’t change, I’m not destined to make anything like a good father myself, but I don’t care about that right now.
‘What about Mom and Dad? Won’t they want to know where we’re going? It’s going to be hard to hide that from them. You’re not going to be yourself when we get back home, let’s face it.’
I’m not trying to put her off; I just want to know what she has in mind.
‘That’s why I want to have it done next Saturday.’
She says it like she’s talking about getting a pedicure.
‘Mom and Dad are going to be away for the weekend. There’s a weekend house party. They are going to be gone from Friday night through Sunday.’
She really has been giving this some thought. I’m wondering just how long she’s known that she’s pregnant. And I can’t help thinking of her having to go through all this on her own.
A wicked thought flits through my mind about the party that Mom and Dad are going to. They do this from time to time and I have my suspicions concerning just what kind of party this might be. You probably already realise that I suspect it to be a swingers’ party. The thought of them satisfying their degenerate lust while their daughter is breaking herself up just sickens me. It really does. And I realise that this makes me sound like some prudish moral zealot – which really I’m not – but it just doesn’t seem right that they are going to be acting like Roman aristocracy while their children are hurting. This is wrong, of course, because they’ll never know what we are going through and I imagine that they would be there for us if they did. All the same, it’s how I feel.
‘Have you made an appointment already?’
I’m just wondering because this is the first I’ve heard about this party that Mom and Dad are apparently going to.
‘No. I’m going to call on Monday to make the arrangements. You will come with me, won’t you?’
Like I said, I’m not in the habit of refusing Madeleine anything. I’m not going to change that now.
‘Of course I will. You know I will.’
I sit with Madeleine until she drifts off to sleep. I don’t know what time it is when I slope back to my own room, but when I slide into bed, I realise that I haven’t been thinking of Sylvia at all. Why can’t life be simple?