CHAPTER EIGHT

September 30th

‘There’s a message for you, Mia. Your father will collect you from school at three thirty and would like you to wait at reception. OK?’

Becky and Mia glanced at each other. Mia rolled her eyes. She’d told Becky everything at break. She’d had to explain her muddy shoes, and why she hadn’t brought her bag with all her books and stuff. She had been sick before school again this morning. She and Will had got up really early, left his house before anyone else was up. They had breakfast in the transport cafe on the main road. Will paid. She’d thrown up the whole lot in the school toilets.

After English, last lesson of the afternoon, Mia dragged herself towards reception and the main entrance doors. No chance to do a runner – Dad was already standing by the noticeboard, pretending to read the newspaper clippings. He must’ve got off early, to be here at three thirty. He looked terrible, Mia thought. His hair was all sticking up and dishevelled where he’d run his hands through it. Her heart started to thud. What was he going to say about last night? Just at that moment Miss Blackman appeared. She dangled a key on a piece of string.

‘I’ve got us the counsellor’s office,’ she said, smiling towards Dad.

Mia scowled. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Thought it would be useful to have a third party. For our chat, Mia. Since you won’t speak to me on my own. And Miss Blackman kindly agreed to assist us.’

Miss Blackman smiled again. Stupid woman, Mia thought. Pushing her way in like this. It was nothing to do with her. They must have planned the whole thing. And lied about it. Dad must have phoned her last night. It was outrageous.

Miss Blackman gently closed the office door and indicated to them to sit down. Mia perched on the edge of the low chair, her head hanging down.

Miss Blackman started first. Her voice was soft, condescending. ‘We’re very concerned about you, Mia. We’ve noticed you’re not… well, happy at the moment. Not your usual self. I know things came to a bit of a head last night. Your father was very worried. Did you think what he might be going through? Running off, out all night – and you’re just fifteen!’

She leaned forwards towards Mia, who shrank back. ‘We understand it’s hard for you without your mother at home, and both your sisters have left now, I believe? But it’s affecting your school work and that threatens your whole future,’ Miss Blackman hesitated, ‘and we wondered, Mia, well, your father did, whether there was something more serious we should know about?’ Embarrassed, Miss Blackman looked towards Dad.

He took over. ‘Last night after you ran out I found this – and I wondered, Mia?’

With horror, Mia saw that Dad had tears in his eyes. He fumbled in his pocket and then held out the crumpled leaflet towards her, his hand shaking. ‘Is – is this it? The trouble? Because if it is, you need help, Mia, and you need to talk to us.’

Teenage Pregnancy – the Facts. Becky’s leaflet. This was it, the moment she’d been dreading for days and days. Dad knew.

Mia hunched over, refusing to look at either of them, stomach churning, about to be sick.

‘Shall we assume then, since you won’t deny it, that it is?’ Miss Blackman, too, had gone pale.

‘Please. Say something.’ Dad leaned forward in his chair and put his hand on Mia’s knee.

The touch made her anger flare again. It was almost a relief to feel it, the familiar rage burning inside her at the unfairness, the injustice of it all. All she could think of now was escape. ‘Don’t touch me! I don’t have to listen to this crap!’ She knocked the chair flying as she stormed out of the room. Her head pounded. She let the school doors bang back violently as she ran up the drive towards the bus stop. A small group of girls were standing around there, watching her. She felt her face flush. She bit hard on her lip so she wouldn’t cry. The sick feeling rose in her throat. She heard the school entrance doors swing back and Dad’s footsteps running up the drive behind; now she was trapped between him and the bus-stop crowd. He grabbed her arm.

‘Get in the car.’

She didn’t resist. She went with him to where it was parked in the road, leaned against the door while he unlocked it, and crumpled into the front seat. He sat still for a moment, staring ahead, then he started the engine. He turned towards her.

‘Tell me it’s not true, Mia. That you’re not – pregnant.’

He spat the word out. Like he was disgusted by her. Would like to spit her out too.

She couldn’t stop the tears now. Not even when she bit down so hard she made her lip split and blood oozed in a thick bubble. She licked it with her tongue. She stared straight ahead. Two boys on skateboards glided gracefully past on the road.

‘I am.’

He leaned forward, collapsed his head on to his arms on the steering wheel. When he sat up again his face was grey. Mia’s hands shook in her lap. She was cold all over. This was worse than anything she’d imagined. She thought he’d shout and storm at her. Not this icy silence. The car engine revved and throbbed. Still he sat there, unmoving. His eyes were blank when finally he looked at her again.

‘Who was it? That boy you’ve been seeing? From school? Will?’ He could hardly bring himself to speak the name out loud. ‘Well? Speak up, Mia. I can’t hear you. I’ll kill him – the irresponsible bloody mindless idiot. What does he have to say about this? Eh?’

‘He doesn’t know,’ Mia mumbled through hot tears. ‘I haven’t told him.’ The tears started to run down her face.

‘You stupid, stupid girl.’

He jerked the car into gear.

They drove past clumps of schoolchildren walking home, laughing, mucking about, kicking stones along the gutter. Two Year Ten girls waved at Mia and then turned to each other and laughed at some private joke. For everyone else it was just a normal afternoon; they’d walk home and turn the telly on and get something to eat, and everything would be as it always was. She was utterly alone in the world. She wished she’d told Will. That he was here now.

With a jolt she realized that instead of turning towards Whitecross as usual, Dad had taken the main road, into Ashton.

‘Where are we going, Dad?’ Her voice came out thin, frightened.

‘Ashton General Hospital.’ His eyes were fixed on the road. ‘Been here before, seen it all before. Every year at my school there’s some stupid girl in trouble in Year Ten. Or Eleven. Didn’t expect it to be my own daughter. Thought you had more sense. Intelligence.’

He wasn’t like Dad any longer. He was a grey man, made of steel. Ice in his heart.

‘So I’ll take you to the hospital and they can sort you out.’

What did he mean? She was too scared to ask.

She’d be sick any minute. There was the sign for the hospital, and then the mini roundabout, and the road that went into the hospital. Instead of going the usual way, towards Accident and Emergency and the main ward entrance, he was turning left, to the car park signposted Maternity and Antenatal.

The minute the car stopped Mia opened the door and was sick into the gutter. Dad waited till she finished, then without saying anything, he gripped her sleeve and steered her across the tarmac towards the hospital entrance.

Now Dad sat next to her in the crowded waiting room of the Early Pregnancy Diagnosis Unit. The woman at reception had told Dad where to take her. She hadn’t listened to what he’d said, too busy trying to stop herself being sick again. Two other young girls sat huddled with their mothers. One had spiky blue hair and a lip swollen with rings and studs; the other had shiny dark hair, perfect make-up, lovely clothes. The mother with her, in an immaculate linen suit, leafed through a Vogue magazine so fast that Mia knew she wasn’t really reading it. There were young women with husbands, and several with a troupe of noisy children in tow. The men looked embarrassed. Mia wondered what it would be like to sit here next to Will. How young he’d look, how impossible. Even so, she wished he was. Holding her hand. Telling her it would be all right.

Dad sat two seats away from her; he’d brought his briefcase in from the car and was reading a pile of papers from school. His face was still red with anger.

The nurse took away the form Mia had filled in with her name and address and date of birth. She had to put down the date of her last period. That was easy; the date was etched on her memory now. Next she had to have a scan, and that would tell them how pregnant she actually was. Depending on that, they would arrange for her to have a medical or a surgical termination. That’s what they called it. They’d already given her a leaflet explaining what happened. That was after the first meeting, in a little room with plain walls and just three chairs. A woman in a white coat explained everything. So much talking.

‘You have three options,’ the woman said. ‘You can have the baby – at fifteen! Imagine! You can carry the baby to term, then have it adopted; you can have a termination.’

The nurse, or doctor, whoever she was, explained how bad it would be for Mia to have a child when she was so young. ‘You are still a child yourself,’ the woman continued. ‘Already anaemic. And much too thin. Are you perhaps mildly anorexic? Anyway, you couldn’t possibly manage.’ The voice went on and on. ‘You have your whole future to think of. Your whole life ahead. What sort of life could you possibly give a child?’

Eventually Mia stopped hearing anything. Something small and precious inside her felt like it was curling up and dying.

*

When it was Mia’s turn for the scan, she went into the consulting room alone. It was dark. It felt horrible, the way they made her take off her things and lie on the couch with her knees up. An internal scan, they said. The latest technology. She tried to strain round to look, but the screen was turned round so she couldn’t see. She wasn’t supposed to see, the woman said. Afterwards, she had to get dressed again and sit at the desk to see the nurse.

The nurse turned a cardboard dial of dates and numbers. ‘You’re about nine and a bit weeks, going by the measurements and your dates.’

The nurse continued to talk. Measurements. Mia was remembering the page in the book at home. She’d looked at it yesterday: ‘… just under an inch (2.5 cm) long…’

‘Do you understand? Too late for the medical method, where you have to take pills; that has to be before eight weeks. So it has to be surgery. It’s very straightforward. The actual operation doesn’t take long, but you have to have a general anaesthetic. You can go home the same day. I know it’s all very distressing, but don’t worry. You’ve read the leaflet, haven’t you? Have you any questions? Anything at all.’

She was trying to be kind.

‘I’m not sure,’ Mia mumbled through the curtain of hair.

‘What, dear?’

‘I still haven’t decided. Not yet.’

‘Oh. I thought we’d been through all that already.’

‘But I’m not sure. What to do.’

The nurse gave a tiny sigh. ‘Shall I get the counsellor back?’

Mia shook her head. ‘I want to think about it, at home.’

‘You haven’t got long, you know. The earlier the better. If I booked you in today I could probably get you a bed in two weeks, given your age. They try to accommodate girls like you. But if you leave it, I can’t guarantee a booking – you’d have to go private instead of NHS – and it’s getting late, you know. The earlier the better. You understand that, don’t you? Shall I get your father in?’

‘No.’

‘Take the leaflets. Talk to someone at school. Your teacher maybe. You can ring this number to speak to the counsellor.’

‘OK. Can I go now?’

The nurse sighed again. ‘Yes. But don’t forget. There’s not much time.’

This was awful. Worse than she could ever have imagined. Why wasn’t Will here with her? It wasn’t right that she was all alone.

Dad, stony-faced, watched her as she came back into the waiting room.

‘Well? Is it settled?’

‘No. I haven’t decided.’

She saw anger flush his face. Hers flared too, to match it.

‘I’m phoning your mother the minute we get back. Perhaps she can talk some sense into you.’

‘She can piss off. She doesn’t care about me anyway. And don’t tell anyone else. How dare you tell that woman!’

‘You watch your language. Don’t you dare speak to me like that! I don’t know what’s happened to you, Mia. Your attitude. This whole thing is just – unbelievable. I can’t believe it. That I’m here with my own daughter – who is fifteen, for heaven’s sake. How could you do this, Mia?’ He took a deep breath, trying to keep control. ‘What have I done to deserve this? How could you be so bloody stupid?’

‘Ssh. Keep your voice down.’

‘Don’t you shush me, young lady. You wait till we get home!’

Dad gathered up his things and started walking out of the unit. All the other people waiting seemed to have gone quiet, watching them.

Mia tried to keep up. ‘Don’t tell anyone, Dad. Please. Not Kate or Laura, or anyone, I can’t stand it. Please?’

He stopped for a second and looked at her pleading face. ‘I am trying, Mia, to understand. It’s the pits, isn’t it? For you, I mean. I admit I am very shocked – and I am very, very angry. That boy –’ his voice trailed off. ‘But – you’re my little girl. The baby of the family. I’m trying to think about you – what’s best for you.’

Mia winced. That word. Baby.

They turned the corner of the corridor. They had to cross through the Antenatal Clinic now, to reach the exit. Two very pregnant women stood at the desk. A toddler pushed his buggy into the back of his mother’s legs. ‘Ouch! You little beast!’ She smacked his leg and he started to cry. Mia pulled a face at him and he stopped bawling for a minute in surprise, then started tugging at his mum’s skirt.

Mia pushed through the doors into the car park. It was raining. She trailed after Dad, oblivious to the huge puddles spreading over the uneven tarmac. She sat in the car with soaked feet, silent. When Dad leaned over to turn on the radio she flinched, as if she thought he had been about to hit her.