Born of Woman (65 page)

She stepped out into the passage and along to the antenatal ward, stood at the door with a little knot of husbands, grandmas, children. Everyone in families. She walked to the end of the ward—Susie's bed was in the furthest left-hand corner—passing bulge after bulge slumped against their pillows or lumbering up to greet their visitors. Most had expensive flowers on their bedside altars, brought in honour of their motherhood. Hothouse roses and forced carnations looked too exotic for this dingy ward with its speckled lino, shiny walls and huge drab-curtained windows.

Susie saw her, waved a half-eaten banana in greeting. She looked pale and strained, but at least she was sitting up and had regained her appetite—gulping down the banana in famished eager bites.

‘How
are
you, darling?'

‘Bloody awful! I've had needles stuck in every bit of me. My rear end's like a pin cushion. They've taken so much blood, I'm beginning to think they're all in league with Dracula, and if I see another bedpan, I'll …'

‘But how's the baby?' Jennifer could see it pushing beneath the bedclothes. Was Susie aware of the latest danger? She laid her shaggy bronze chrysanthemums at the base of Susie's bulge.

‘More flowers? You spoilt me rotten yesterday,'

‘I'm just so glad you're all right.'

‘I'm not all right.' Susie turned away.

So she had been told. Jennifer squeezed her hand. ‘Look, Susie, I know about this antibody business. The doctor mentioned it just now. Mind you, I still don't understand. He only had a moment and he didn't really …'

‘Which doctor did you see?'

‘Rogers I think his name is—dark and small.'

Susie tossed the banana skin away. ‘Oh, he's a pain. Wentworth's the real smasher—tall and blond and handsome. He even held my hand.'

‘But, what did he say? I mean, all the books agree you can't make rhesus antibodies, not in a first pregnancy.'

‘No … you can't. Want a chocolate, Jen? I saved you half the box from yesterday.' Susie was fumbling in her locker.

‘No, I want to hear about the antibodies.'

‘Don't be boring, Jennifer.' Susie banged the box of Milk Tray down.

Jennifer winced. Susie rarely used her full name or that cutting tone of voice. She glanced along the ward. The other visitors were chattering and laughing, but their voices didn't reach her. It was as if she were in that cold glass cage again, with even Susie dumb and aloof beyond it. The silence seemed to swell.

Susie bit into a hazel whirl, sucked the chocolate from it and removed the hazel. ‘Hate nuts. Listen, Jennifer, if I tell you something, you promise not to be shocked?'

‘I'm never shocked.'

‘You are. You just pretend you're not. That's why I don't always tell you things.'

‘What … things?'

Susie grabbed the chocolate box, tipped the empty wrappings out and dug into the bottom layer. ‘I love those nougat ones. I wish they'd make a box with all nougats.'

‘What things, Susie?'

‘Can't you guess?'

‘No.'

‘Don't be thick, Jen. If you can't get rhesus antibodies in a first pregnancy, well, either I haven't got them …'

‘Which you have …'

‘Or this isn't my first pregnancy.'

‘You mean …?'Jennifer was staring.

‘Yeah. I'm sorry, love. I know I should have told you, but you seemed upset enough about
this
kid.'

‘No, I … er …' Jennifer stopped. There was sand in her throat, and pebbles. ‘Look, when exactly did …?'

‘Two and three quarter years ago. I was just fifteen. I had an abortion. What else could I do, for God's sake? I was still at school. I've never told a soul until today, not even the antenatal, though, apparently, they've suspected all along. They gave me quite a grilling, but I refused to admit a thing. Anyway, that's why I've got these fucking antibodies. The doctor's just been nagging me. He said I should have had a special injection after the abortion, to prevent any risk if I ever got pregnant again, but it was a back-street job, you see, and the old hag didn't bother.'

‘Old hag? Oh, Susie …

‘So you are shocked?'

‘No I'm not, just …' Yes, shocked, shocked. Sickened by the waste of life. Angry, envious, muddled. How could callous schoolgirls murder babies, when other women longed for them? It was wicked, unforgivable …

Susie was pouting. ‘You needn't look so prissy. Jen. It was the bloke's fault as much as mine. He promised to marry me if I—you know—did it with him. I
wanted
to get married, then—anything to get out of that rotten house. My Ma had a fancy-man herself and she was always leaving me to look after all the kids, then coming home half-pissed and having punch-ups with my Dad. I'd have married Jack the Ripper, if he'd offered.'

Jennifer's hands were clenched.‘Yes … I see.' Of course she didn't see. She had never known a home or life like that. Easy to use words like ‘unforgivable' when she herself had been wrapped in tissue paper, fed the Ten Commandments with her cod-liver-oiland-malt.

‘Oh, Susie, I'm …
sorry
.'

‘It's OK. It's over now. I never liked him anyway.'

Jennifer said nothing, just unpacked her carrier bag, laid books and magazines on Susie's locker. It
wasn't
over. By aborting one unwanted child, Susie had now endangered a second.

‘Look, Susie, how dangerous are these antibodies, darling? Did the doctor say? I mean, isn't there anything they can do?'

Susie shrugged. ‘Not much—well, not at this stage, anyway. They have to wait till the birth. If the kid's affected then, they may do a blood transfusion. Listen, Jen, there's something else. You know Sparrow …?'

Jennifer turned away. She could forget the past, bury an embryo which was only cash in an old hag's money-box, but this was a living child at risk. How could Susie lie there, shrugging off blood transfusions, more interested in Sparrow than in her own child's life or death?

‘But what about
before
it's born? I mean, surely there's some …?'

Susie sniffed. ‘Dunno. I wish you'd listen, mate. The doctor asked me who the father was and if I knew his blood group. Apparently, it's important in this rhesus thing. You see, he must be rhesus positive, otherwise I wouldn't have made the antibodies. The doctor's just explained it to me. Well, Sparrow isn't.'

‘Isn't what?' She was sick of Sparrow. All he had ever done was to take the best of Susie, then turn his back on her.

‘Rhesus positive. In fact, he's O rhesus negative—exactly the same as me. I crept out this afternoon and phoned him, just to check. I was lucky, really. Most people haven't a clue what group they are, but Sparrow knew because he used to be a blood donor.'

‘A blood donor?' It sounded totally unlikely. Sparrow had no social conscience, only went to hospitals to be patched up after brawls.

‘Oh, not in crummy England. They expect blood for nothing. Sparrow used to sell his blood abroad. It's a way of raising money if you're skint. He sold his sperm, as well. They pay you even more for sperm. Anyway, he knew he was O rhesus negative because it's the blood in greatest demand. You can give it to anyone, you see and …'

‘Look, Susie, I've had enough of Sparrow. I want to talk about
you
. You've hardly told me anything. I mean what did Sister …?'

‘This
is
about me, you nut! Just shut up and listen. Me and Sparrow are both O rhesus negative. Don't you see what that means? He's
not
the father! I've told you twice already—I could only have made these rhesus antibodies with a rhesus positive bloke. Which rules out Sparrow.'

‘You mean …?'

‘Yeah. You can stop hating him so much now. Which is just as well because I'm planning to shack up with him. As soon as I've had the kid and handed it over, we're pissing off to Spain. He's got some job lined up—nothing fancy, but at least we'll see the sun and living's cheap.'

‘
Spain
? But …'

‘Torremolinos. They say it's a bit crummy, but a pal of Sparrow's runs some joint out there and he can probably get us both jobs. You're not meant to work without a permit, but he reckons he can fiddle it, if we're not too fussy about what we do.‘

Jennifer had retrieved the scattered chocolate wrappings and was screwing up the crinkly golden paper. So, all the time she had been loving and supporting Susie, she and Sparrow had been planning their escape—and not even mentioned a word to her about it. How could gloomy Southwark compete with Mediterranean sunshine, her puny woman's body out-gasp his six-foot male one? Susie had hardly even touched her since Sparrow reappeared.

‘Wh … why didn't you tell me before?'

‘How could I? You're so agin him. Every time I mention Sparrow's name, you change the subject. Anyway, I didn't know I was going until this morning.' Susie was filing her nails now. ‘Remember that Sunday he showed up at Southwark? Well, it was then he first suggested it. But to tell the truth, I was a bit pissed off with him. Whatever I said to you, Jen, I was almost certain it
was
his kid, and yet he was no damned help at all, only scared I'd change my mind and keep it. I don't want a child any more than
he
does, but it really got up my nose that he should be so fucking casual when he'd made me pregnant in the first place.' Susie blew a little cloud of nail-filings off the counterpane, attacked the other hand. ‘So when I heard he
couldn't
be the father, I felt—well—almost a relief. I can't explain it really, but the whole thing was ruining everything between us, and now I knew I didn't have to blame him, or feel bitter or resentful, everything seemed simpler. Of
course
I could go to Spain—I'd be a bloody mug not to, when he's paying all the bills. And it'll be a new start and a bit of fun and everything—just what I need after nine months of this lark.'

Jennifer said nothing. She had always known that Susie would go her own way. They didn't belong together, not in any permanent sense. Everything divided them—age, background, outlook, values—and yet the actual chilling fact of their separation, now planned and docketed, was like a sudden punch in the face.

‘I … er … hope you'll be happy—both of you,' she murmured, at last. She could see Sparrow naked on some Torremolinos beach, screwing. Susie beneath the palm trees, scattering sperm like sand. ‘But for God's sake, do be careful. I mean, you don't want to get pregnant a third time.'

‘No fear! I'm going back on the Pill, pronto, pronto. I won't leave here without a prescription grasped firmly in my paw. I should never have come off it.'

‘Why
did
you?'

‘My periods were up the creek. And then they said I was smoking far too much. They gave me this rotten rubber thing and some jelly stuff that stank. Sparrow loathed it. I wasn't that keen myself.' Susie ripped the cellophane off a carton of cigarettes. ‘Got a match?'

‘You're not allowed to smoke, Susie. Where did you get those from?'

‘God! You sound like some fucking social worker. I'll smoke if I want.'

‘No, you won't …' Jennifer stopped. She mustn't row with Susie. She was still dependent on her, needed her agreement to remove the baby from the adoption list and become its foster-mother. This child was too precious to risk losing it again.

‘Look, I'm sorry, Susie. I'm tired, that's all. I'll get you some matches before I leave, I expect there's a hospital shop.'

‘Thanks.' Susie reached out a hand. Jennifer took it, squeezed it, leaned towards the bed. Susie's soft, generous lips were reaching for her own; full breasts straining against the fastenings of her nightgown. She had hardly noticed the breasts this time. Susie had been only a white face and a bulge, an excited indignant voice. There was silence for a moment while she tried to find her own voice.

‘Susie …'

‘Yeah?'

‘There's something I want to ask you.'

‘What? Well, what? If it's ‘‘will I give up Sparrow'', the answer's ‘‘no''. Susie snapped back against the pillows.

‘No, it's not that. It's …' Jennifer moulded her shreds of paper into a tiny ball, squeezed it tight, tighter, tighter. ‘Susie, I … I want your baby—to keep. Look after it, I mean. Forever.'

‘
What
?' Susie sat up so quickly, chocolate box and magazines cascaded to the floor. Jennifer bent over, laboriously picking them up. It made it easier, somehow, not to look at Susie.

‘Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous after all the fuss I've made about proper homes and decent families with money and security …But I love your kid, Susie.'

‘You can't love a lump. That's all it is at the moment. It may be born a cretin or a criminal.'

‘Don't say that. I'd love it anyway.' It hurt to call a precious baby ‘it'. ‘Look, let's say ‘‘her'', not it.'

‘But supposing it's a boy?'

‘No worse than if it's a girl and we've called it ‘‘
him
”.'

‘You're gettingas bad as Jo, mate! Anyway, can't we change the subject? I'm sick of babies.'

‘Wait a minute, Susie. This isn't just a crazy whim. I've thought about it very carefully, tried to put the baby's interests first. Forgive me, darling, but she hasn't had the best of starts in life. And if you hand her over to the social workers, anything might happen. They could select the wrong parents in the first place or keep her hanging around for weeks and weeks while they fill in all those forms, or even …'

‘Christ, Jennifer! You were the one who kept pushing the adoption thing. You told me no one was allowed on the list at all unless they were a combination of Jesus Christ and Julie Andrews, with a bit of the Aga Khan thrown in for luck. Anyway, they won't
allow
you to adopt. Sorry to be brutal, but Miss What's-Her-Name would run a mile from Lyn, and as for single parents, well—all they stand a chance of is a coal-black piccaninny with spina bifida or two heads or something.'