I was up all night, alternating between crying on the sofa and being sick in the toilet. How had it got to this? I’d finally found a way of destroying her, taking her down once and for all, yet it would be at my own cost. I couldn’t win this one, and she knew it.
Aside from the intoxicating rage and sickening revulsion I felt toward Pammie for what she’d done to Rebecca, I was also deeply saddened at the thought of James’s ill-fated attempts to seduce me, in an effort to catch me out and appease his psychotic mother. How had she kept him at her beck and call? Why would he have been prepared to do it? It was as if she had some kind of hold over her two sons, one that neither of them was prepared to break.
I felt violated. The very thought of James coming to me under his mother’s instruction made me feel dirty and invaded. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to dispense me from their lives.
Adam had slept soundly all night and, when he woke up, he came into the living room, took one look at me, and said, “You look like shit.”
I didn’t have the energy to answer.
“Do you want a coffee?” he asked.
I shook my head. I couldn’t think of anything worse.
“What’s up?” he said, filling his cup with hot water. “Do you think it’s flu or something?”
I rubbed at my eyes; yesterday’s mascara was still coming off even after all the tears I’d cried. “I really don’t know,” I said. “I just feel poisoned.”
“What did you eat yesterday? Did you eat anything with Mum?”
I shook my head.
He came and sat down next to me on the sofa, sipping noisily from his mug. The stench of coffee permeated my nostrils and I clamped a hand over my mouth in a futile attempt to catch the vomit that projected across the coffee table.
“Jesus!” shouted Adam, jumping up from the sofa, spilling the offending liquid onto the carpet.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I said, though even as I was saying it I wondered why my first thought was to apologize. “Give me a minute. I’ll go to the bathroom and then sort this out.”
My throat was burning from the hot bile spewing up from my intestines, and my eyes streamed as I battled to stop the retching. How had a sixty-three-year-old woman caused my mind and body to fail me like this? I was a strong woman who had never suffered fools gladly, who could carry her own in any situation. How had this happened to me? It defied logic.
I was still hugging the porcelain when it occurred to me that maybe the root cause of my physical state was indeed something more logical. My brain banged against the sides of my skull at the very idea of it.
It had taken all my resolve to drag myself into town, not least because I felt like death warmed up, but because a very real possibility was raging in my head. I bought an exorbitantly priced test at the pharmacy in Charing Cross station and spent a further fifty pence for a toilet cubicle to wee onto a stick in. I’d envisaged walking to work while the chemicals did their stuff, but I hadn’t even pulled my knickers up when a prominent blue line appeared in the window. My vision blurred as I tried to read the instructions again, begging the question, Does a line mean I’m pregnant or not pregnant? hoping against hope that it was the latter.
I called Pippa as I repeatedly banged into the turnstile to get out of the basement convenience. A girl with blue hair and chewing gum in her mouth watched me blankly as I did it four times, my temper fraying with each attempt.
“That’s the in turnstile.”
“Brilliant,” I said sarcastically.
“What is?” said Pippa’s voice from my mobile, as she finally picked up.
“I’m pregnant,” I replied feebly.
“Fuck,” she said, “and that’s brilliant how?”
“No, that’s not brilliant, I was talking to … oh, never mind. Shit, Pippa, I’m pregnant.”
“Well, that’s something of a surprise,” she offered slowly.
“I mean, what the hell?” My head was unable to compute what was going on.
Pippa remained silent on the other end of the line until I reached the Strand.
“How did that happen? Was it supposed to?” she asked.
“Of course not,” I snapped, though why I was taking it out on her, I didn’t know.
“I thought you were on the pill,” she said.
“I was. I am. But I forgot to take it for a while, when all the wedding stuff kicked off. I probably missed, I don’t know, maybe a week’s worth, maybe more. Adam wasn’t at home, and I wasn’t intending to sleep with him anytime soon, so…”
“So, what was it?” she said. “Immaculate conception?”
“Things just took us a bit by surprise one night, the first night we … you know…”
I groaned at the memory of telling Pammie how I might be pregnant from all the make-up sex we’d had. Jesus.
“But I thought you wanted to reschedule the wedding for as soon as possible,” she said.
“I do, but I can’t now, can I? I’ll never be able to reorganize everything before I start showing. I don’t want to waddle down the aisle seven months pregnant. Oh, God, Pippa, I can’t believe this. It’s just all too much.” I started to cry, and the delivery driver pulling up outside the post office asked if I was all right. I smiled weakly at him.
“What did Adam say?” she asked.
“He doesn’t know. I’ve just done the test in Charing Cross. Wait. I’ll call you back.” I raced to the nearest bin and hurled my head into it. Seeing an upended KFC box with gnawed-at chicken bones made it ten times worse. Commuters were going past me, not knowing whether to rush by or slow down to gawp, but they all looked disgusted.
“Are you okay?” asked Pippa, as I answered the phone.
I grunted. “That was just me throwing up into a street bin.”
“Oh, classy,” she joked. “But seriously, what are you going to do about this?”
“I’ll tell Adam tonight and we’ll talk it through. Honestly, Pippa, I can’t tell you how messed up this all is.”
“It’s not messed up; it’s a blessing,” she said.
“I mean everything,” I said. “Everything around me is so screwed up. How can I contemplate having a baby when Adam and I still have our own issues to deal with? What’s he going to think? Oh, God.”
“Calm down,” she said. “This might be what you both actually need. It’ll certainly show her that she can’t play around with you anymore. This is sticking two fingers right up.” She gave a little snigger.
I understood the sentiment, but knew that the reality of having Pammie’s grandchild would mean that we were bound together forevermore. The thought terrified me.
“I honestly can’t believe it, Pip,” I said. “What am I going to do?”
“Right, one step at a time. Talk to Adam tonight and once we know his reaction we can work it out from there. Okay?”
I nodded mutely.
“Okay, Em?”
“Yes, I’ll try and call you later if I can, otherwise it’ll be tomorrow morning.”
“Cool,” she said. “Ring me when you can.”
I ended the call and realized that I wasn’t even walking in the direction of the office. I’d missed Old Compton Street and walked straight on.
I made so many mistakes at work when I finally got there that my boss, Nathan, asked if I’d like to go home early. It struck me then, as he was talking to me, that I hadn’t taken any time off since the fallout from the wedding. I’d had my usual two days a week off, but I’d declined Nathan’s offer to take a week’s holiday, which should have been the second half of my honeymoon, proclaiming that I was fine and just wanted to get on with it. I busied myself like never before, brushing off the drama of the wedding, and everything else that went with it, as an inconvenient blip. But in that moment, as he looked at me sympathetically, his head tilted to one side, it finally hit me. I needed a break, a rest from the monotony of commuting, from my demanding clients who each thought they were more important than the other thirty I had to deal with, even from the mundane chitchat with colleagues, and having to keep up the pretense that all was good in my world. It wasn’t, and now I had an added problem. A big one.
“We can manage,” said Nathan encouragingly, sensing my hesitation.
I didn’t want him to manage. My ego wanted the entire business to fall apart without me there.
“Go,” he ushered. “Go take some time out.”
I needed to go, but didn’t want to. “You sound like an American life coach,” I said, smiling.
“If I have to pick you up and carry you out, I will.” He laughed. “Get out of here.”
I gathered up the lip salve, rail card, and packet of chocolate digestives from my desk and slung my bag over my shoulder. “You sure?” I asked him one last time, as I headed out the door.
“Go!” he yelled after me.
It wasn’t yet four o’clock, so I headed over to the City on the Central line, hoping to catch Adam as he was about to leave the office. It somehow felt like it would be easier to tell him about the baby on neutral territory, a busy bar or restaurant, rather than in the solitude of home. I was hoping that the seriousness of the situation would feel less real, less daunting.
“Hey,” he said as he picked up the phone.
“Hey,” I replied hesitantly. “You leaving work soon?”
“Just tying up one last thing, and then I’ll be on my way. Why? What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I said. When did I start lying so easily? “I’m at Bank, just wondered if you fancied meeting up for a drink before we go home.”
“Great, I could do with a drink; I’ve had a shit day.”
I recoiled. Maybe, if he’d already had a bad day, I should save my news for another time. For when he was more open-minded, relaxed. I immediately chastised myself for making the decision for him, and vowed to tell him regardless. I’d had a shit month, but it hadn’t stopped anyone from heaping it on me all the more.
“Great,” I said. “Meet you in the King’s Head in ten minutes?”
“Perfect, see you then.”
I got there with six minutes to spare, enough time to have a drink and calm my nerves.
“Can I get a large glass of sauvignon blanc, please?” I said to the barman. I watched as he lifted a glass down from the rack above the bar, walked over to the under-counter fridge, and measured out a large vat of amber nectar. It was only when he put it down in front of me, its sweet aroma reaching my nostrils, that I was hit by the thunderous realization that I was carrying a baby.
“Er, can I also get a tomato juice with that, please?” I asked, almost apologetically.
He looked around at the space where I stood, correctly deducing that I was on my own.
“That’s an interesting combo,” he said.
I smiled and shook my head. God, was this what the next nine months was going to be like? Walking around with a stomach like a washing machine and a brain full of cotton wool?
“Hi, gorgeous,” said Adam, as he came up behind me and kissed me on the cheek. “You feeling any better?”
I shook my head, but he was already ordering a drink.
“Pint of Foster’s, please, mate.”
I smiled awkwardly while we waited, thankful for a few more minutes before I threw a grenade into Adam’s world. I watched him take three long gulps of his beer, as if it were water. He might need another one sooner than he thought.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” I began.
Adam took one look at me and grabbed my hands. “Oh, my God, you’re not ill, are you?” he asked, panic flashing across his face. “Because if you are, I really don’t think I can cope.”
Funny how the possibility of me being ill was all about him. I hadn’t really noticed that before.
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine, we’re fine.”
“Of course we are, aren’t we?”
“Not me and you,” I said slowly, as I rubbed my tummy. “Me and this one.”
“Sorry, I’m not getting you.” He frowned.
“I’m pregnant,” I said quietly, though it felt as if I’d shouted it across the pub.
“What?” he exclaimed.
I watched his expression change from confusion, to anger, to joy, and back to confusion again, all in a split second.
“You’re pregnant? How?”
“Er … do you really need me to explain?” I asked.
“But I thought you were … I thought we had this covered.”
“We did, well, I did, but I missed a fair few days after the wedding, what with everything going on. I just didn’t keep on top of it.”
“How many did you miss?” he asked, as if it mattered.
“I don’t know … maybe ten days, a couple of weeks? I can’t remember. But regardless, one way or another, I’m now pregnant.”
“But shouldn’t you have thought to be more careful?”
This wasn’t going how I’d thought it would. Or maybe it was exactly what I’d expected, deep down.
“So, what are we going to do?” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
I looked at him, unsure of what he was actually asking. I didn’t feel that we had an option. Obviously, he did.
“Nothing,” I said tightly. “I’m going to have a baby.”
His eyes narrowed, and he was silent for what seemed like an eternity.
“Okay,” he said finally. “So this is good news, yes?”
“I haven’t had a chance to digest it yet, I only found out myself this morning, but it could be good, couldn’t it?”
We both stood there, looking dumbfounded, unsure of what to do or say next. He ran a hand through his hair, and I waited for his next move. I honestly wasn’t sure if he was going to hug me or walk out.
He did neither. “So, what are we going to do about the wedding?”
It felt like both of us were walking on eggshells. “I don’t want to get married while I’m pregnant, so I suppose it will have to wait.”
“Okay, so that’s decided, then,” he said half-heartedly, before pulling me into an awkward embrace. “That’s great.”
His face told a different story than his words, but I had to allow him time to come to terms with what this meant for him, and us as a couple. I’d had close to eight hours to get my head around this life-changing news, he’d not yet had eight minutes, so I allowed him time, to give him the benefit of doubt.
“Yes,” I replied hesitantly. “It is.”