A few days later Jenny went quietly upstairs, listened to see whether Tim was awake and heard the sound of low voices. Her younger brother and sister sounded as if they were having another heart-to-heart, so she went outside and wandered round the back garden, restless, worried about her mother, not knowing what to do with herself.
As usual she felt to be the odd one out, though Tim was a lot kinder to her than he had been in the past. It was just that he and she had never been close and now she wanted to bridge the huge gap yawning between them, only couldn’t think how to start.
She also wanted to talk to someone about her feelings for Ned, only Louise and Tim seemed to have monopolised her mother’s attention.
Was she ready for another relationship? She didn’t know, only felt she didn’t want to lose him.
On an impulse, she picked up the phone. ‘Ned?’
‘Jenny? Hi there, gorgeous one!’
She didn’t waste time on chit-chat. ‘Ned, are you doing anything for lunch?’
‘Not if there’s any chance of seeing you.’
‘I thought I’d catch a bus into Dorchester, have a look round the shops – and whatever else there is to see. But I don’t want to – to—’ Her voice tailed away.
‘It’s a wonderful idea. Come and meet me for lunch, then go off and do your own thing for the rest of the afternoon. If you can hang around till five-thirty, I’ll drive you home after work and take you out for tea in Burraford. Might as well make a day of it.’
‘You’re too kind to me, Ned.’
‘I enjoy your company, Jenny. You know that.’
When he put the phone down, Ned was beaming.
‘Good news?’ his father asked.
‘Yes. Jenny’s coming over to Dorchester to have lunch with me. You don’t mind, do you? It’s not likely to be a busy day.’
‘I don’t mind at all.’
He wanted to talk about her, mention her name. ‘She’s great company, Jenny is.’
His father looked at him over the top of his half-glasses. Not like Ned to chat about his girlfriends. What he saw on his son’s face made him sound a warning. ‘She’s very like her mother. Too soft for her own good.’
Ned stared in surprise. ‘Don’t you like her?’
It wasn’t a question of liking or not liking. He wanted a stronger sort of woman for his son, because Ned was soft, too – the sort of gentle person who kept getting hurt. There had been one or two young women in the past whom George could have cheerfully strangled.
He saw that his son was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. ‘I’m not sure whether I like Jenny or not. I’ve hardly exchanged two words with her. But you seem taken by her.’
‘I am. Very.’
‘Well, that’s what matters then, isn’t it? But don’t rush into things, eh? And don’t forget the appointment in Weymouth this afternoon.’
‘No. Of course not. But that isn’t till three.’
He turned away, smiling to himself. Don’t rush into things! He’d been gone from the moment he first set eyes on Jenny Stevenson at the fête – and he rather thought she’d fallen for him quite quickly, too. You just knew, somehow.
Jenny turned up at the gallery around twelve and found Ned hovering near the door. She was surprised when he kissed her hard on the mouth by way of a greeting, but instinctively wound her arms round his neck and reciprocated with interest.
When the kiss was over, they both suddenly realised how public their situation was and pulled apart, each a little pink.
‘Like that, is it?’ she teased softly.
‘Yes, it is like that. Very much like that.’ He offered her his arm. ‘I thought I’d show you round the gallery, then we’d go to the pub round the corner. It’s my favourite watering hole.’
‘Do you always eat out in pubs?’
‘Most of the time. I don’t booze at lunchtime, of course, but I still like the feel of a pub – and when you go to the same place regularly you get to know people. Besides, Karen at the Nag’s Head does the best sandwiches in town. Huge. Full of goodies. Just wait till you see them. Now, come and have a look round.’
The gallery was larger than she’d expected, crammed with interesting and beautiful things. Half of them were antiques, half were works of art. Some embroideries were displayed in one corner. They were pretty, but not as telling as her mother’s, somehow.
At the rear, two larger rooms were each devoted to a show by one artist. Jenny wrinkled her nose at the dark landscapes in the first room, at least, she thought they were landscapes.
‘Don’t you like them?’
‘Not really. They make me feel uncomfortable.’
‘They’re supposed to. Landscapes of nightmare, the artist calls them. I’m always surprised at how well his stuff sells.’
‘People read a lot of horror novels nowadays. These follow the same trend, don’t they?’
He looked at her with surprise as well as respect. ‘Good girl. Absolutely right.’
She flushed. ‘I used to like art at school.’
‘Then why did you take business studies at university?’
‘Dad.’
‘Ah.’
By the time lunch was over Ned had come to the conclusion that something was wrong. He took Jenny’s hand. ‘Want to talk about it, whatever it is?’
She smiled, then the smile faded and she looked at him wistfully. ‘I do, rather. Do you have to go back to work now?’
‘I have to drive over to Weymouth to see some stuff we’ve been offered. You could come with me, if you don’t mind sitting in the car while I’m wheeling and dealing.’ He grinned. ‘It’s an old lady actually, with a cupboard full of rather nice ornaments. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour to value them.’
‘I’d really like to come with you.’ He made her feel hopeful, loved. She blushed at the last thought and was glad he didn’t ask her to explain the blush.
It was a quiet drive. Ned didn’t make conversation just for the sake of it and Jenny was lost in her own thoughts. But both were glad to be together.
He dropped her reluctantly on the seafront at Weymouth while he went off to see old Mrs Trouter. Jenny watched him drive away, then turned to study the town. She fell instantly in love with the huge stretch of windswept promenade and after a cursory inspection of the famous statue of George III, which Ned had dutifully pointed out to her, she set off for a brisk walk.
A few people were sitting huddled in shelters, for it was a cool day, showery and with more rain to come, judging by the clouds piling up. The place was almost deserted and even the sand looked as if the rain had washed it down. She welcomed the wind, cold as it was, feeling cleansed by it, liberated briefly from her worries. Throwing back her head, she sucked in the salty air. If there hadn’t been people around, she’d have run along the sand, skipping and dancing like a child.
When she looked at her watch she realised she was late so ran all the way back, arriving at the statue breathless and pink.
‘You look gorgeous.’ Ned pulled her towards him for another kiss, his eyes full of promises.
She smiled and nestled against him for a moment. It was right between them, it really was – only she needed to tell him about Michael now.
On the drive back to Burraford, he turned the car down a small side road and stopped on the verge. ‘Look!’ In the distance, on a mound of land nestled at the bottom of the rolling folds of the Purbeck Hills, was Corfe Castle.
They got out and she stared, entranced. ‘Oh, wow! This has got to be one of the most picturesque places in all England. It’s like something out of a movie. Is it real?’
He was pleased with her reaction. ‘So real I’ll take you round it one day.’ There were many things he’d like to share with her. He hoped she liked Dorset, for he could never think of living anywhere else.
A shower had just passed and the sun had come out, together with a rainbow, but there were more clouds looming. Silence settled between them and he saw the anxious look reappear on her face. ‘Tell me what’s worrying you,’ he said quietly. He put his arms round her, so that she was leaning back against him, not facing him.
She looked at the rainbow and its colours began to blur and run together. Only then did she realise she was weeping – silently, helplessly, the pent-up anguish of the past few weeks overflowing at the sight of all that beauty.
‘Tell me,’ he said again, holding her close, hurting for her. ‘What did that bastard do to you?’
‘He – he …’ And suddenly the words poured out of her in harsh spurts of shame and pain and guilt.
‘Why did he pick on me? What did I do wrong? I’ve never understood what I did wrong,’ she wailed when the story was told. By this time, her face was muffled in his chest.
He held her against him, dropping kisses on her hair. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. The policeman was right. That bastard was sick. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘It doesn’t – put you off me?’
‘Never.’ When there were no more confidences and she hadn’t mopped her eyes for a few minutes, he suggested they go for a stroll to stretch their legs. After a short time, they came back and leant against the car, watching another rainbow. ‘That one’s ours,’ he said softly.
As she turned a glowing look on him, he admitted to himself that he loved her. Deeply. The sort of love which led to a lifetime together. But he wasn’t sure she was ready for that so he didn’t speak of his feelings.
Rain hissed down suddenly and they laughed as they both dived into the car for shelter, then sat there for a while longer, hand in hand, looking out through the miniature rivers on the windscreen at the rainswept landscape and the romantic ruined castle below them.
She leant across to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you for listening and understanding. You’re a lovely man.’
He eyed her speculatively. ‘Then you like me enough to keep going out with me, me and no one else?’
‘Yes, definitely.’
‘That’s smashing!’
He gaped, for she was quite convulsed with laughter. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘That word. “Smashing”. It sounds so corny. I didn’t think you Poms still used it.’
‘Well, we do. And it is smashing that you’re going to continue seeing me. In fact, it calls for a celebration,’ he allowed a pregnant pause, ‘and I have just the thing.’
‘Champagne?’ she joked. ‘Caviar? Red roses?’
‘No, this.’ He produced a bar of chocolate from his pocket, wrapper torn and crumpled, with pieces missing from one end. ‘Want some?’
She chuckled, feeling light and happy again. ‘Definitely. I didn’t know you were a chocoholic.’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’ He patted his waist – not fat, but not thin either.
‘Well, I’ll let you into a secret.’ She leant closer. ‘I adore – chocolate.’
She linked her arm in his and leant her head against his shoulder, letting him feed her piece by piece, letting the damp wind blow through the open car window now the shower had passed, so that her hair fluttered around her face.
She had the strangest conviction that her troubles with Michael were blowing away, too, in that soft, damp wind.
Then the heavens opened again and they had to close the car windows quickly.
She was flushed and pretty, so he kissed her again. He was, he decided, going to marry her one day if she would have him. Definitely. But he’d better not say anything about that yet. He suspected she needed a little more time to recover.
It took only two days for Tim and Louise to start bickering. She wanted to be with him – he wanted to be alone. Or he wanted to be with his mother.
When Louise started to complain to him about being cut off from the world in a dead-end dump like Burraford, he turned on her, terrified the rot had set in with her, too – for he felt himself to be rotten now, terminally sick like a fungus-ridden tree. He would lie there in his narrow bed, half-awake, imagining he could feel pieces crumbling away: a fingernail here, a toe there, hair, ears − there were lots of bits you could lose and still keep stumbling along in a semblance of life.
So when Louise complained about this lovely, peaceful place, he glared at her and it was a moment or two before he could force any words through the haze of anger. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, you stupid – you child!’
Her anger was as swift to rise as his. ‘I do know, too. And I’m not a child any more. You’re not the only one to have done drugs, you know. And I’ve had sex, too. Lots of times.’
‘Well, I’m not doing drugs now and look how hard it is for me to kick the habit. What have you been on?’
Sulkily, she told him.
He sighed with relief. ‘You’ve not got really hooked, then? Not on the hard stuff?’
‘On the allowance Dad gives me?’
He sighed in relief and grasped her arms, so that she had to look him in the face. ‘Look, Lou, I’ve seen what happens to drug users – and I’ve seen the sort of lowlifes who make money out of the suckers. I’m not going to be a sucker again and if I ever see you doing drugs I’ll tell Dad right away.’
She jerked away. ‘Well! Thanks for nothing, Big Brother!’
He looked at her, sad and solemn. ‘There’s nothing clever, either, about giving sex away for kicks. They sell it on the street every day. That sort of sex is a cheap commodity.’ His voice softened. ‘You should wait till there’s some love going with it. That’s what makes it really special, worthwhile.’ He’d been fond of a girl once, though she’d got fed up of him. And who could blame her?
Louise snorted. ‘Ha! Who believes in love and romance these days? You don’t think Mum and Dad are in love, do you? I want to live, not stifle to death in a cosy little house!’ She stormed off.
He went to find his mother and sit quietly, watching her work in the kitchen, so efficient, so clean, so warm. ‘If you’re worrying that I’ll be a bad influence on Lou, Mum, I thought you might like to know that I’m trying to talk a bit of sense into her.’ He tried to please her by eating one of her newly baked scones, but couldn’t finish it, so slipped half of it surreptitiously into his pocket to be flushed away later.
‘Thanks, Tim love. I am worried about Louise, I must admit. She’s been very foolish, but your father’s too harsh with her. Perhaps some of what you say may get through to her.’
He studied his coffee gloomily, thinking how little it had meant to him when people tried to talk sense into him, how eager he had been to follow Wayne to America – eager enough to steal the money. His mother didn’t know about that and he hoped she would never find out, either. ‘I don’t think anything helps really, except a dose of capital L-I-F-E. Why didn’t Dad let Lou go into nursing? That’s what she really wanted. It’d have suited her, too. She’s always,’ he managed a faint smile as he remembered, ‘been good at mopping up blood and gore – usually mine.’
‘Paul wouldn’t even countenance it. And in those days I had no money of my own, so I couldn’t help her.’
‘But you do have money now …’ He let the words trail away suggestively.
She nodded. ‘Yes. But I’ll only help her if it’s what she really wants and she’ll promise to give it a fair go. No good will come from pushing her down another blind alley.’
‘Yeah, that’s for sure.’ He looked sideways at her. She’d changed. Was more sure of herself now, though still quiet. He liked that quietness, needed it.
Only – how would she be when his father came home? How did a gentle person cope with a bully like him? Tim was thinking seriously of asking his mother for a loan and getting the hell out of this place before his father got back. Very seriously. Only he couldn’t seem to get round to planning it yet. All he wanted to do was to rest. And be with his mother. It was hard enough managing without the drugs. He couldn’t manage without her yet.
Next time Tim and Louise had a spat he yelled, ‘The sort of life you hanker after, little sister, leads to young kids dying in back alleys from an OD. Drive-by shootings. Crims with guns. Hunger and dirt and old people with hopeless faces waiting to die.’
‘I don’t believe you. I won’t. There’s got to be more to life than this!’ she waved one hand scornfully.
‘Of course there is, but not if you’re greedy and in a hurry to grab things. Like I was. I didn’t make it to the nice parts of America, where the normal people live and exciting, fun things happen.’ Thanks to Wayne.
But would staying here bring trouble to his family? That still worried Tim a lot in the endless hours of fidget-filled darkness, tangled sheets and equally tangled thoughts. No, of course it wouldn’t. Those crims didn’t know where he was now. The thing to concentrate on was kicking the habit. It was harder than he’d expected. Much harder.
‘Are you listening to me?’
‘Sorry, Lou. What were you saying?’
‘I don’t want to get into that sort of sleaze, Tim, of course I don’t. But there must be something more interesting than business studies. I’ll go mad if I have to go back to that, right round the bloody twist.’
‘Why don’t you try nursing? Talk to Mum about it.’
‘Ha! What good would that do? She always does as Dad tells her.’
‘Mum has money of her own now. If she thought you really meant it, she’d help you. She said so.’
Louise frowned at him. ‘I’ll think about it. I can’t see her standing up to Dad about something like that, though.’
‘I think she would – now.’
When Jonathon rang early one morning Rosalind spoke to him briefly. She couldn’t help smiling. Just to speak to him was – wonderful.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked. ‘Enjoying having your son back?’
‘Just a minute.’ She went to close her bedroom door. ‘It’s not going all that well. Tim’s – damaged. That’s the only word for it, Jonathon. Damaged. Badly. And I don’t know if I can put the pieces together again.’
‘Let me know if I can help. In any way.’
‘I’d be hammering on your door, don’t worry. But there’s nothing anyone can do that isn’t being done. They say time is the best healer, but I don’t know about cases like this. I just – well, I hope they’re right.’
Tears welled in her eyes so she said goodbye in a voice that came out choked and put the phone down before she started crying in earnest. Jonathon would understand her abruptness. He always understood things. She wished – oh, she wished desperately he could be here to help her through all this. She felt so alone.
She thought of her husband and grimaced. These mammoth planning sessions for the company went on for ages sometimes. Paul hadn’t rung, so he didn’t even know Tim was back. Not that he’d have come home for that. She wasn’t sure he’d be much help in the future, either. His way had never been right for Tim. That was why she hadn’t called him out of his planning session.
And although it was good that Paul had got Louise interested in exercise, he was still insisting on her doing the same sort of university course. That wouldn’t work, she was sure. Louise was a doer, not a thinker. Why could Paul not see that?
Not long afterwards Audrey rang, sounding querulous. ‘For days I’ve been expecting someone to call about Tim. I presume he arrived safely?’
‘Oh, Mum, I should have rung you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused you lately.’
‘It’s not your fault, love. But I’m too old for all these fusses now. I said so to John only yesterday.’
‘Not too old to have a boyfriend in tow,’ Rosalind teased.
Audrey’s voice softened. ‘No. I thought I was, but I’ve changed my mind. Do you like John?’
‘Yes. Very much. And if he makes you happy, I’ll like him even more.’
‘Good.’
‘Well, I must go now. Lovely to speak to you.’
Audrey’s voice was suddenly urgent. ‘Don’t let those children run rings round you, Rosalind. Stand up to them as well as to Paul. You have needs, too.’
‘I am standing up for myself,’ Rosalind assured her mother. ‘Well, starting to.’
‘Good. Don’t expect to change completely in a few weeks. Bye!’
That night Tim let himself quietly out of the house shortly after midnight. The girls were sound asleep, but Rosalind heard him leave and wondered about stopping him, then shook her head. No. He’d said walking helped him cope with the withdrawal symptoms. And this wasn’t an inner city, after all. He should be safe enough in the quiet Dorset countryside.
She knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep till she heard him return, so she got up and went to her embroidery, her usual refuge and comfort.
Jenny’s figure was finished, so this time Rosalind drew Tim – drew him as the thin, anguished creature he now was, not the lively young lad he had once seemed. He’d been unhappy for a while now, and she’d been unable to find a way through the tangles of family relationships to help him. Perhaps no one could have done that. She didn’t know.
She only needed to do one sketch. As she stared at it, she knew it was right, terrifyingly so. As instantly right as Paul’s figure had been.
When she heard Tim come in again two hours later, she made no attempt to conceal the fact that she was up.
He came into the back bedroom, bringing a cold damp smell with him, but looking more at peace with himself. ‘Can I see what you’ve done today?’
She leant backwards and gestured to the partly finished piece. ‘I’m still working on the family portrait. It’s not going to be a pretty one. I’m trying to see us as we are.’
He was silent for a moment or two, studying it, then nodded. ‘It’s good. Really good. That’s Jenny to the life. Christ, Dad’s so arrogant! But you’re not like that figure any more.’ He touched the pastel-coloured Rosalind, standing sideways, looking at her family with a faintly anxious air. ‘You used to be, but not now.’
‘Mmm. I know.’ She hesitated, then confided, ‘Actually, I’m thinking of putting another me back to back with that one, a more brightly coloured figure, sort of like a Siamese twin, looking out at the world.’
‘Worm turning?’ he asked softly, not looking at her.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. About time.’
He went back to studying the embroidery. ‘It’s a good one of Zip, too. Funny how he was always Jenny’s dog, isn’t it? What about me? Have you done a sketch of me yet?’
She pulled the piece of paper out from underneath the pad and passed it to him.
He was quiet as he studied it, then nodded and handed it back. ‘That’s me, all right. You’ve got a real flair for this sort of thing. You’re good enough to do portrait sketches. I dare say you’ll become very famous with your embroideries, then I’ll go round boring everyone about my clever mother.’
She smiled, but her thoughts were still on her sketch of him. ‘You look a bit young here, that’s all.’
‘Don’t change it, not if you want the truth. I feel young sometimes, young and stupid. And yet old, too.’ Tears were running down his cheeks. ‘Oh, hell, why am I crying? What a wimp!’
She’d found a book about drugs and getting over them on a shopping trip into Poole, had gone there deliberately to see if she could find something to show her how to help him. ‘You have to expect mood swings and a very emotional state while you’re detoxifying. It’s part of the process.’
He grinned through his tears. ‘Found a book on it, have you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You and your books.’ He looked down at his wet, cold feet. ‘Well, this one’s right, I can tell you. Only, I don’t know how I’m going to cope with it all for much longer. It’s – it’s like something gnawing away at me, this need. I’m even snapping at Louise and all the poor thing wants is to be with me.’
‘Thanks for trying to talk sense into her.’
‘I’m not sure I got anywhere – well, not very far, anyway.’
He looked at his mother, naked anguish in his eyes. ‘You don’t deserve kids like us, you know.’
‘You’re my son, Tim. I love you whatever you do.’
He came over to her and put his arms round her, laid his cheek against hers and said in a choked voice, ‘I love you, too.’ They stood silently for a while, then he yawned and pulled away. ‘I think I’ll manage to sleep now. See ya, Ma.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she said automatically and saw him smiling at her. But she couldn’t seem to smile back. Tonight everything felt too charged, too sad.
Paul was called out of a meeting for an urgent phone call. It wouldn’t look good, this. But it’d have looked worse to refuse to take the call.
The receptionist directed him to a phone booth in the foyer. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s me, Paul.’
‘Liz?’ Her voice had been husky, anxious. ‘Is there a problem?’ Don’t let it be his mother-in-law! That’d send Ros scurrying home to Australia and he’d never get her away again.
‘I’m pregnant.’
The world seemed to lurch around him. ‘You can’t be!’
‘I am. I was a bit surprised myself.’
‘You are going to get rid of it?’ Silence. ‘Liz?’
‘I’m thinking about that.’
‘What do you mean, thinking? Haven’t you seen a damned doctor?’
‘Yes.’
‘And—?’
‘She wants me to think it over for a few days, then she’ll help me if I still want an abortion.’
Her voice wobbled. ‘So did I.’
‘Well, I don’t see a need for us to upset Ros over this.’
Suddenly Liz wished she hadn’t rung, didn’t want to speak to him any more. What had she expected from Paul Stevenson, for heaven’s sake? Support? Warmth? She should know by now what he was like. ‘I just thought you ought to be aware of it,’ she said wearily. ‘I’ll deal with it.’
‘If you need any money …’
There was a sudden buzzing. The bitch had put the phone down on him. He stood there, anger roiling through him. Suddenly he thumped the wall with his clenched fist. He didn’t need all this hassle! He had a living to make, a career to get on with. Had the whole world gone mad lately?
Liz didn’t find the doctor’s anti-nausea remedy much use. Oh, it gave her time to get to the bathroom before she threw up, but it didn’t do much else. So when Bill came out of the spare bedroom where he was still sleeping, opened the bathroom door and stood there watching, she knew the game was up.
Another wave of sickness hit her and she had to concentrate on hitting the toilet bowl. When she’d finished, she washed her face and went out into the bedroom to face him.
He was sitting at the dressing table, arms folded. ‘That’s not an upset stomach. You’re pregnant.’ His voice was flat and definite, making a statement, not asking a question.
‘Yes.’
‘Hong Kong?’
She nodded and slipped under the bedcovers, shivering with the after-effects of the vomiting.
‘Cup of tea any use?’
She looked at him and saw he meant it. Tears flooded her eyes. She hadn’t expected kindness from him, given the circumstances.
When he came back, she accepted the mug of tea gratefully, sipping it and holding its wonderful warmth between her hands while she waited to see if it would stay down. After a minute, she tried another sip, saw him watching and explained, ‘Sometimes there’s a double whammy with the sickness. I have to be cautious.’
He held out the plate of biscuits. ‘Want one of these? I read somewhere that a dry biscuit helps.’
She shook her head, tears scalding down her cheeks. ‘Stop being so damned kind!’
‘Well, I’m not going to beat you up, you fool, but we do have to talk.’
‘Yes. If it’s any consolation, I went to see the doctor, told her I wanted to get rid of it. I don’t expect to land you with – with someone else’s offspring.’
‘Bit drastic that, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But I couldn’t see any other choice. And she s-said – she said to think it over – and I thought what a load of crap, why doesn’t she just sign the bit of paper? Get rid of it quick before anyone finds out. But last night I dreamt of it – a little boy – and he smiled at me – and I knew I couldn’t do it, couldn’t kill him.’
The dream child had looked too much like Ros’s son, Tim, as a child. But if she did have it, how was she going to manage when Bill left her, because she hadn’t had to earn a living for over twenty years?
He looked solemn, stern, not at all like the easy-going man she normally lived with. ‘Don’t do anything yet. I’ll need to think about it, too.’ At the door he turned. ‘Do you know who the father is, by the way, or did you just screw anyone?’
She threw the mug at him then, scattering hot tea all over the quilt. ‘Of course I know who he is! I only screwed one person, dammit! Unlike you!’
He didn’t duck but the mug fell short, smashing against a chair leg and breaking into dripping pieces of fractured clay. When the door closed behind him, Liz couldn’t take her eyes off that mug. Was her life going to break into pieces, too?
She wished she hadn’t phoned Paul. What was the point of telling him about the baby? Did he really think she’d go shouting her mouth off to Rosalind, her best friend?
More tears flooded her eyes and she mopped at them with the edge of the sheet. She felt ashamed of what she’d done, desperately ashamed. Burying her head under the covers, she wept again.
But Bill didn’t come back to comfort her.