VICKY
“So, never mind that, are we going to discuss wedding plans or what?” Eliza asks me.
How can I begin to tell her what has happened? Last she knew, we were drinking champagne, celebrating my brave proposal last night.
“Come on, I didn’t come round to talk about your summer fair - no offence - but Dan’ll be back from the pub at this rate and I’d much rather have your take on it all. Get this bottle opened before it gets warm.”
“I’ve got something to tell you, first,” I pause mid-wine pouring. But which version? The official ‘Dan’ version or the truth? Who am I kidding? It’s Eliza; she’ll be able to tell if I’m lying. Besides, it would be good to be straight with someone after the day I’ve had.
“Ooh, come on then,” Eliza clearly hasn’t picked up on my serious tone.
Here goes. “I’ve done something really bad, Eliza,” I had realised how upset I would get vocalising my actions.
“Hey, honey,” her sympathetic arm around my shoulders is making me feel ten times worse. “Nothing can be that bad. Don’t let it ruin your special weekend.”
“That’s just it. It’s already ruined. Dan didn’t really want to marry me after all.” There. I’ve done the hard bit.
“What? I passed him as I came in just a few minutes ago and he seemed just as delighted as he was last night.” Poor Eliza looks as confused as I feel.
“Well, that’s not how it’s been all afternoon.”
“You’d better start at the beginning,” I’m glad Eliza’s taken over the wine pouring; I’m shaking like a leaf and would spill it everywhere.
“This morning I got up early and made Dan a fry-up. I thought it would be a special kind of day, you know? I thought we’d have breakfast then go back to bed and spend the rest of the day talking about getting married. How stupid was I?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Well anyway, he came down and just looked at his breakfast. He said he didn’t want it and that’s when I knew something was wrong; Dan loves fried food. Even more out of character, he asked if we could talk. I stopped clearing up the bottles from the window sill and sat down opposite him. Basically, he told me that I’d put him in a really difficult situation last night. Never in a million years had he expected me to ask him to marry him. Apparently that’s a man’s job. Can you believe he said that in this day and age? And anyway, he felt like he ought to say yes in front of everyone so he did but the answer is ‘No’.”
“What! Why doesn’t he want to marry you? You’ve lived together for two years now. You own a house together; it doesn’t get much more committed than that.”
“That’s exactly what I said. But he said that marriage is different. He’s quite happy the way things are. He doesn’t understand what a big expensive day with fancy clothes and a pair of rings changes,” I’m trying to remember all of the lame excuses he gave me, “Oh, and he reckons no-one really enjoys their wedding day anyway. His mate John says he’d have had more fun blowing the lot on the dogs than he did on his wedding day!”
“Well, I for one, loved every minute of my wedding day,” Eliza recalls. “It was the actual marriage afterwards that was our problem! But you two are made for each other.”
“I sometimes wonder. He just can’t seem to understand that what I want should matter too. He might not want to get married but I do. For me it would let the world know how much we love each other. I get sick of talking about ‘My boyfriend’ at work; it makes me sound like a teenager. When I say ‘My partner’, I worry they’ll think I’m a lesbian.”
I can see Eliza laughing at me and I smile without meaning to, “I’m serious. I long for the day I can introduce Dan to someone and say, ‘This is Dan, my husband’.”
“It does sound like he’s being selfish, I have to say, Vicky. I mean where do you go from there? Can you go back to the way things were? How did you leave it with him?”
“Well, that’s the thing, you see.” Here goes, “He was so adamant that he wasn’t going to get married that I got scared and worried that he would call the whole thing off between us. That would be just too awful to think about. Could you imagine having to tell everyone who was here last night that we weren’t together any more let alone engaged? And that’s when it just came out.”
“What have you done, Vicky?” I think Eliza is more on my wave length now.
“It was when he said that we could just pretend I was really drunk last night and it was all just a bit of a joke. I couldn’t bare the humiliation of that Eliza, you know me, don’t you?”
“Vicky?” she sounds really worried now.
Here goes, “I told him I’m pregnant.”
Please say something, Eliza, I’m begging you.
“Oh, my God! I thought you were going to say something awful, you daft cow. That’s fantastic! Congratulations! But you shouldn’t be drinking that,” I can’t believe she’s grabbing my wine glass off me; she clearly hasn’t quite got it yet.
The whole truth and nothing but the truth, “But I’m not pregnant, Eliza, I made it up.”
This silence is so much longer and more torturous than the last one.
“Oh shit.” Is that all you’ve got Eliza? I need more help than that. “So that’s why he looked like the cat that got the cream on the way to the pub.”
“Yes,” I am so ashamed to be telling her this, “I didn’t mean to say it. It just kind of, came out. I suppose I was desperate. Dan was absolutely delighted and asked why I didn’t just say that in the first place. I made up some crap excuse about wanting to do things in the right order - ha ha - and he said that in that case, we’d definitely get married. Just a small affair, mind, because that’s all we can afford this year and it would have to be this year because we’d have to be married before the baby is born, blah, blah, blah.”
That feels better. For now anyway.
“He’s even rang his mum and dad to tell them the ‘happy’ news. They’ve invited us over for a celebratory lunch tomorrow. What have I done Eliza?”
“Wow! I didn’t see that one coming. I guess it’s not about what you’ve done but what you’re going to do now, honey. We need to think fast tonight.”
I knew Eliza wouldn’t judge me or hate me. Life is so much easier to face when someone is unconditionally on your side.
“As I see it, you have three options.”
“Go on,” that’s three more than I thought I had.
“Well, you could come clean and tell the truth. I wouldn’t hold out much hope for your future as a couple though; he’d never trust you again. But at least you’d be free of the burden of such a huge lie.”
“I can’t live without him or with the embarrassment of coming clean about what I’ve done. It was hard enough telling you,” I could never repeat my confession to another living soul, “What else can I do?”
“You could go along with the idea for a while then fake a miscarriage.”
It’s not a pleasant option but worth consideration.
“Or failing that, have you thought about actually having a baby?”
“What?” I can’t believe what she’s suggesting. Babies are not in my plan for a long time yet.
“It’s not so ridiculous, Vicky, you’re great with my kids. You’d make a good mum. You must have thought about starting a family one day? You’re no spring chicken!”
“Well, yes, but not yet. I’ve got too much living to do first. I want to do better at work and see more of the world before any of that nonsense.” Could you imagine me at Barbara’s toddler group in that smelly village hall? Or gossiping in the playground about who’s knocking off who?
“It seems to me, you haven’t got a lot of options, honey.”
She’s right, you know, as always. None of these solutions are perfect but all I know is I can’t lose Dan or my home. And if it means getting my wedding day after all, it’s a price I might have to pay.
“I know you too well to know you won’t come clean so you need to just go along with the whole pregnancy thing for now. But you’re going to have to act quick if you’re going to see it through and actually have a baby.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, only elephants gestate for two years!”
“Eh?”
“Feasibly you could be a week or two out with your dates and I know my kids were all born well after their due date. So you’d have to get working at it ASAP, if you know what I mean,” Eliza has always had a way of making me laugh when she winks at me.
I’m getting the idea, “So I need to get pregnant now.”
“Or pretend you are and fake a miscarriage. Either way you’ve got some serious thinking to do, honey. Wash your wine glass up and put it away because either way, Dan won’t want to think you’ve done half a bottle with me tonight and he’ll be back shortly. Right. I’m going to get a taxi booked and get home for my sister - she’s been watching the kids. Ring me tomorrow after the lunch thing. Keep your chin up. Remember, you are a newly engaged, pregnant lady, who will be getting married. Smile.”
Yet again, Eliza has made things better. Her words and her hugs are the bandages of my life. Being a mum hasn’t ruined her life and if I was half as good at it as she is, I’d be okay, wouldn’t I?
NELL
I can’t believe it’s three o’clock in the morning. For all the lights are dimmed, there is no real rest to be had in here. If I had a pound for every time that hideous woman opposite me has rung her bell tonight, all our money problems would be solved! There she goes again; she’s got the nurses buzzing around like flies on dog shit. I’m sure I heard her say she’s only in here with gastric ‘flu. Crikey, now Snorer’s started again next door. I swear I thought only men could make that kind of noise when they slept. If only they hadn’t done my D and C so late last night, I think I’d be home in my own, comfy, quiet bed by now. I have to admit I was quite disappointed when they said that I might as well stay to get some rest and go home in the morning. I just despise these places; I’ll probably go home more poorly than I arrived if all of those stories in the press about hospital superbugs are to be believed.
Mind you, I don’t think I could sleep any better at home anyway. Apart from the circus in here, I can’t help going over my phone call to Ric earlier on. It took so long for anyone to get hold of him. He mustn’t have been in contact with Rachel at all because I got the message that Rosie was tucked up in Rachel’s spare bed when I came back up to the ward, about half past seven. That’s not like Ric; he always rings my mobile to say goodnight to her when he’s cooking all evening. And if he knew what was going on, he’d have been straight to pick her up. I reckon it must have been about eight when I checked my phone again and there was nothing.
What I can’t stop thinking about - and maybe it’s just me going stir crazy in here - is that when I eventually got through to him on the pay phone the nurse wheeled through, it was Jeanette who answered. Why would she be answering his phone? Surely she’d be busy serving out in the restaurant rather than in the kitchen where Ric keeps his stuff? I don’t know. Maybe she had to step in and help wash dishes or something and he asked her to get it while he was busy; she does always seem keen to please when I’ve seen her.
But then when I re-play it over in my head, as she passed the phone over to Ric, I couldn’t hear the usual background noise of the restaurant: the brash Italian music and the chattering of the diners. And Ric seemed to be there really quickly, like he’d grabbed the phone off her or something. And come to think of it, there were no kitchen noises either; usually it’s hard to hear him above the clattering of pans and shouting of orders. But tonight, he was really clear and I was able to tell him everything without repeating myself. It was all far too quiet.
I hate the road down which this dark, paranoia is taking me. He wouldn’t, would he? Jeanette’s just a girl. She’s in her final year at Uni so she can’t be more than about twenty, I suppose. Didn’t stop him with that young waitress last time though. I was so stupid back then. I still can’t believe I didn’t see that one coming. All of those late nights and extra shifts he was ‘working’ when old Fabio owned the restaurant, which all fitted into place once I found out. I still feel sick when I think about her ‘girly chats’ every time I went in. I swore I’d never be humiliated like that again.
But I suppose that was before we were married and had Rosie and I truly believed him when he promised it would never happen again. He can’t be up to old tricks again. Why is my mind doing this to me? No-one would be that cruel after what’s happened the last few weeks.
Maybe that’s why he’s done it. Because I’ve been so miserable. Let’s face it, I haven’t been much fun to be around, physically or emotionally. But then, who would be? He should’ve been there for me, ‘in sickness and in health, for better for worse’ and all that, not running around after young girls who flutter their eyes at him.
Listen to me, I’m thinking like he’s already done something wrong when I’ve got no real proof, only suspicions. I’ve got to concentrate on getting some rest, getting better and getting out of here.
Ric did come to the hospital eventually, I suppose and when the nurses said he really must go, he promised he’ll be here first thing in the morning to collect me and this will all be a middle-of-the-night blur. After all, he did apologise for being off radar. I was right, he’d been at the suppliers and I can totally understand how, after that, the Valentines’ rush had been so busy he’d lost track of time. I’m doing him a disservice thinking he’d have time to be up to no good, poor man. He works so hard for us. I think it was best to leave all the gory details of my operation until tomorrow; he’d only worry.
Perhaps reading these leaflets the nurse left for me will send me off to sleep. I’m glad they gave me general anaesthetic; I don’t think I’d have wanted to go through that while awake, even if I couldn’t feel anything. At least I know my foetus had already passed and it was just the rest of the conception tissue they were removing. Imagine the poor women who have to watch a doctor take that out. It was bad enough seeing it in private. I wonder what they do with it.
I never did tell Ric that I buried ours in the garden under a rose bush. I felt a bit silly but at the time, it felt like the right thing to do. Every Spring, when those beautiful flowers blossom, I’ll remember. I’ll remember my baby who was never meant to be, who was too good for us down here and went straight back up to Heaven.
What’s this bit on the back of the leaflet? ‘Rare risks and complications’. The nurse didn’t mention much about this; it sounds quite scary, ‘weakening of the cervix ... puncturing and scarring of the uterus ... possible infertility’. I know it says ‘rare’ but it must have happened to someone for them to bother putting it on the leaflet. What if they’ve damaged me and I can’t have any more children?
I mean, I know I’ve been afraid of going through all this again and I was half thinking we just call it a day and content ourselves with Rosie. But if the option was taken out of my hands? I don’t think I could bare being infertile. I grew up an only child and I know they say that you don’t miss what you never had but I don’t want that for Rosie. I must give her a play mate, a sparring partner! I do want another baby. Definitely. I know they say to wait a couple of menstrual cycles but what would be the harm in trying before then? I hope and pray that I haven’t suffered any damage today and that everything is in good working order.
I must ask the nurse more about it. I’ll wait until the morning though or I’ll end up just as bad as Moaning Minnie over there. For now, I’ll get some sleep before Ric brings my little ray of sunshine to me in the morning.