The One That Got Away (32 page)

‘I know you’re in shock now,’ says Bec, looking at me in the rear-view mirror, ‘but I promise you – you’re going
to survive this. Trust me. You think you won’t but you do. Look at me, I did – and I’m happy Moll, really happy.’

‘And we’re going to be here for you every step of the way,’ Joss grips my hand tightly. Which is lucky, because she actually
does have to help me out of the car when we arrive.

‘Girls! What a lovely surprise!’ Mum exclaims happily, swinging the front door open as the dogs barge out into the crisp air,
barking excitedly. Her smile falls away as soon she sees my face. ‘Molly? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

It feels like my legs are giving way under me at the sight of her, I can’t hold it together a moment longer. The dogs, sensing
drama, leap up around us madly – nearly knocking Bec over. ‘Is someone hurt?’ Mum helps to prop me up as I stumble. ‘Has there
been an accident? Is it Dan?’

Once we’re inside and the girls have gone, my parents are amazing. They ask me no questions, just tuck me up on the sofa and
wait until I am ready to talk. I manage to tell them that Dan has left me, and why – although I don’t discuss the circumstances,
or disclose that it was Leo.

They are incredibly kind and pass no judgement. Neither do they say things like ‘He’ll come back,’ because they have never
lied to me before, and they’re not going to start now.

But what I haven’t told them is that this morning, when I went to the loo, I discovered I hadn’t come on
at all. Which was really confusing, because I’d had that weird crampy feeling the night before, as well as other signs – my
boobs were massive … I was certainly due on … In fact, I was more than due on. I was pretty late.

If it hadn’t have been for the fact that I knew the test Dan had bought me was right there in the bottom drawer, less than
three feet away from me, I probably would have just dismissed it as a skipped period entirely due to stress overload and not
given it much more thought. But it
was
there. So I did it.

And it came up positive.

I’m pregnant.

Dad comes back into the living room. ‘Are you warm enough love?’ he asks kindly. ‘You didn’t have much at tea? You’ve got
to eat. Shall I make you a snack?’ He tucks the blanket in round my feet like I’m an invalid as I shake my head, silently
doing myself up in knots.

‘Mum’s just putting some clean sheets on the bed for you.’ He sits back down comfortably in his chair.

Despite knowing that I could ring Dan
right now
, as I clutch my phone, something is stopping me. How horribly emotionally manipulative would that be? I may have the one
thing that could bring him back to me – a baby – but can I really do that to him? Can I pull him back when I
know
how hard he’s struggled with the knowledge of what I’ve done, how impossible he’s found it? I
know
that infidelity can kill relationships. If he never
knows about this pregnancy he’ll be free, free to eventually get over all of this hurt.

But then a baby is also the one thing he’s wanted more than anything. Doesn’t he have a right to make the decision, to come
back or not, himself?

And then again, what about me? What sort of person would bring a child into the world just to glue their marriage back together?
Now that the chips are really down, and I’m really thinking about it, I can’t honestly say all I’ve ever wanted is a baby.
I don’t
not
want it – but they are hardly one and the same thing, are they?

But do I even have a right to make THAT decision full stop? Of course I know the arguments for and against abortion, both
scientific and religious – which I can’t pretend I am especially – but I’ve never properly considered them in relation to
myself, never questioned what I would
really
do. Until now. What AM I going to do? What on earth am I going to do? I feel absolutely numb. I’m pregnant. Actually pregnant
…

I let out a shaky breath and Dad looks up from the TV. ‘You all right?’

I nod.

‘Are you sure? Have you got—’ but before he can finish the dogs suddenly sit up, on alert. Then they both woof and jump to
their feet.

‘Shhh! Silly old things!’ Dad scolds. ‘There’s no one there!’

But they both rush over to the French windows and
start whining, sticking their noses under the curtain edge and barking imperiously.

‘What?’ Dad says. ‘Heard a fox, have you?’

He wanders over to the window, pulls back the curtain and stares out into the garden. I let my eyes flicker back to the TV.

‘What the …?’ Dad says suddenly and then he quickly starts to fumble with the door lock.

‘What is it?’ I sit up slightly, but he doesn’t answer, just slides the door back furiously, upon which the dogs burst out;
barking madly, disappearing off into the dark. Dad hastens after them.

I get up and move to the window, waiting on the threshold, the freezing air snapping at me. I can’t see anything, all I can
hear are the dogs. ‘Dad?’ I call.

A moment or two later, he reappears out of the gloom, clouds of breath forming around his head, as he walks stiffly up the
garden back towards the lit-up sitting room, dogs trotting at his heels.

‘So silly,’ he puffs, wiping his brow, ‘but for a moment, I thought I saw—’ he tries to catch his breath … ‘Hang on a minute
…’ He stops, bends slightly, and rests his hands on his knees. ‘That’s better,’ he straightens up and smiles at me, but then
the colour simply drains from his face like someone emptying out a sink and he sits down very heavily and suddenly on the
grass.

‘Dad!’ I rush out. The dogs are prancing around him, confused, barking crazily again. ‘Are you all right?’

He tries to swallow and puts a hand out to me. It’s all clammy. ‘I feel a bit funny,’ he says, blinking, and still breathless.

‘Don’t move,’ I say, trying to stay calm. Shit – shit! I dash back into the house and shriek ‘MUM!’ at the top of my voice,
then grabbing my mobile from the sofa, I stumble back out.

I take his hand in mine and he sways slightly. I can hear his breath coming in short, fast little gasps. ‘Please don’t try
and move, Dad!’ I plead, dialling 999.

Mum appears by my side as I’m giving the operator our details and, eyes widening with fear, she takes off her cardigan and
bunches it up on the grass as she kneels down next to him. ‘Lie back darling,’ she says. ‘We’re just going to wait for the
ambulance together.’ I dash inside to get my blanket and tuck it over him as he did moments ago for me.

He stares up at the sky and tries to steady his breathing. I’m clasping one hand and Mum is holding the other. The dogs have
gone quiet and the only sound is the sharp effort of his breath.

Then, without moving his head, he looks first at me and then at Mum, and barely squeezes our hands as he says in between gasps,
his gaze flickering between us, ‘I – love – you.’

‘We love you too, my sweetheart!’ my mum tries to smile but her voice has gone all high and frightened. ‘Just try to rest
Mark, they’re on their way.’

Sitting on the swing in my parents’ back garden, on which I have seen Dad push Oscar and Lily countless times, I grip the
cold rope with my hand and fix unseeing eyes on a tuft of grass, blades blowing in the fresh wind. I glance at the kitchen
window across the lawn. Even though it’s early morning, they’ve had to put the kitchen light on and I can see Mum, Chris and
Stu moving around inside. Mum is getting cups out of the cupboard. She glances up at me briefly and I think I see her say
something to one of my brothers.

I turn away and stare at a couple of the bare trees against the grey heavy sky, my feet pushing automatically into the damp
ground as I swing very lightly, looking at the spot where she and I were kneeling last night.

What are we going to do without him? Who is going
to listen to me when I have things I want to ask, that won’t make sense to anyone but him? Who is going to kiss the top of
my head and say things like ‘What’s the drama, Molly Malone?’ And where is he right now? Why can’t I feel him here?

I think about Mum, tiny, sitting in the hospital surrounded by us, smiling through tears as she clutched a very small piece
of tissue to her. ‘He really was very calm you know.’ She reached out and firmly clasped Stu’s hand as he gave way. ‘I promise.
Wasn’t he Moll?’ Everyone looked at me as I stood there rigid and silent. ‘He just closed his eyes. He wasn’t frightened.’

I don’t want him to not be here, he’s always been here. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready at all. And I don’t want him
to be on his own without us.

I’ve got things I want to tell him, things I need to talk to him about. I close my eyes and I can see myself as a little girl,
lying in bed giggling with delight as he tells me and the boys stories with funny voices. Him holding me over water and letting
me dip my toes in rushing waves, but I can’t remember that really, can I? I’d have been far too young. Maybe it’s just something
I’ve imagined from seeing photos … Then I see him doing his speech at our wedding. You can’t bloody die Dad; I need you!
You’ve got too much to do, too much to see.

How? How can this be? And why am I not crying? My eyes are completely dry and I find myself wondering, almost abstractly,
how weird that is. My dad has just died. Cry. You should be crying.

I hear the back door close and one of the dogs bursts into the garden, gambolling around happily. Mum follows, walking slowly
in my direction, smiling but teary as she holds out open arms to me.

I stand up automatically to go to her. My head falls on to her shoulder and she holds me to her. We both just stand there
rocking lightly on the spot, the cold wind blowing around us. ‘I want my Dad,’ I blurt, stunned to hear myself say the words
and voice cracking she says ‘Oh my darling girl, I know. I want him too’ as she strokes my hair.

‘I shouldn’t have let him run out there like that, I should have—’

She pulls back sharply and takes my shoulders. ‘There was
nothing
you could have done to stop this. It could have happened at any time.’

‘He thought he saw something and, then—’

‘Molly, this was not your fault. The aneurysm was there, we just didn’t know it.’

I don’t know what to say. I can’t think straight, I feel hollow, like there’s a gap where my middle used to be and my head
is floating in space.

At the hospital, they told me Dad’s body was just a shell, that I needn’t be afraid, what was him had gone … that I might
find it reassuring to see him, it might help me say goodbye.

But I didn’t want my last picture of my Dad to be him lying in a hospital covered by a sheet. And I don’t want to say goodbye.

‘Molly, please come inside,’ Mum says. ‘It’s so cold out here. Come on.’ She tries to take my hand. ‘You’re shaking. Please
sweetheart.’

I look at her. She’s devastated, completely overwhelmed – shattered. I should be looking after her. I suddenly want to tell
her about the baby, but she will only worry – she knows about Dan leaving. It will be yet more load and I can’t do that to
her. So I say nothing, just follow her into the house obediently.

I simply want to make it all go away. Make it all unhappen.

In the last two days I have learnt that if someone dies within twenty-four hours of admission into a hospital there may be
a post-mortem. That the post mortem can take up to three weeks, depending on how busy the coroner is. Also, that the middle
of winter is not a good time to die, because it’s busy. Lots of elderly succumbing to flu, which will mean the funeral directors
– once the post mortem is done and the body released to the relatives – will be busy too.

I also learn that
if you decide to have an abortion you will attend the clinic in person to meet with one of our fully qualified and non-judgemental
healthcare professionals, who will talk you through the right procedure for you. We accept unwanted pregnancies occur and
believe that women have the right to choose for themselves how to deal with the situation. Please use
our pregnancy calculator to determine which treatments may be suitable for you should you decide to go ahead
.

I click on the link.

Please enter into the required fields, the information which will help us determine how advanced your pregnancy is
.

I enter my postcode, the first day of my last period and … click

We estimate, from the information provided, that you are four weeks pregnant
.

That means the procedure most suitable for me is the abortion pill,
available up to nine weeks, which will induce an early miscarriage
. Or I can have a
surgical abortion; gentle suction to remove the pregnancy
. I suppose they describe it as gentle so it doesn’t frighten people.

Either way I have to make an appointment to discuss my options. They call me back very promptly and from the list my postcode
search threw up, the closest clinic that has the first available appointment – is in London.

‘Will you be bringing a nominated companion with you?’ the woman asks me. She’s kind and I’m grateful for that. ‘A partner?
A friend or relative?’

‘No.’

She doesn’t seem surprised. Or if she is, she keeps it to herself.

I don’t want to tell anyone. Everyone will have opinions, advice … and we can’t even bury my dad yet, we have a funeral to
arrange. I want
none
of this to be real – none of it. I want it all to go away. I keep seeing Dad in my mind over and over again, sinking to the
grass, the
confusion on his face … I’m not sleeping, I can’t eat. I still can’t cry. I am well, nothing really. I’ve just confirmed the
time of the appointment and hung up when there is a soft knock at my bedroom door.

‘Molly?’ It pushes open and Joss puts her head round. ‘Is it OK to come in? Karen said I should just come up.’

She comes into the room tentatively, dressed in work clothes.