‘Of course he is,’ comforted Susannah. ‘That’s why he didn’t propose to you before bedding you. That’s why he suddenly changed his mind when he found out you
had enough money to support him in Paris for a few years.’
Annie stood up and walked to the other side of her room. She was now a full two paces away from Susannah. Her voice shook with the effort of defying Susannah.
‘Jake loves me.’
Her breathing was heavy.
‘Of course he does, my darling. That’s why he avoided you for three whole days after you told him the news. That’s why he only proposed after you begged him to.’
‘I didn’t beg—’ breathed Annie.
‘Annie, darling. A woman can only beg in situations like these.’
Annie closed her eyes tight. She tried to visualise Jake. How he had come to her shaken, pale and even skinnier than usual, after the longest three days of her life and said simply, ‘We’ll do whatever you want. I can’t lose you.’ She tried to visualise how scared he’d looked. And she had told him then of her savings and of her plan to elope to Paris. At first Jake had been horrified, then insulted, due to a macho pride that had been so incongruous it had made her laugh. But after persuading him with all the wiles she could, he had finally been too weak to argue. And then they’d laughed with the thrill of it, both as scared as each other, yet excited by the other’s sense of adventure and faith.
She tried to visualise it, as she’d seen it then, but it was fading fast.
‘I … I …’ she started. ‘I have to sit down.’
Susannah rushed over to her and brought her back to the bed.
‘I’ll get you a glass of water, my dear.’
She poured Annie some water and handed it carefully to her.
‘There, there,’ said Susannah, rubbing her back.
When Annie had finished the water, Susannah placed the glass gently next to the clock.
Six minutes to go.
‘My darling,’ started Susannah, her voice as soft as silk. ‘I loved your mother as dearly as I love you. It is my biggest sorrow that I knew her so much better than you ever did. And I know what question she’d be asking you now, at this most precious time of your life.’
Annie couldn’t help herself. She was so desperate for a hint of her mother now.
‘What?’
Susannah imbued her words with the softest hint of humour.
‘Why rush into marriage?’
Annie was stumped.
‘I mean,’ continued Susannah. ‘It’s not as if there’s a stigma nowadays to living together – even being a single mother – so why …
rush
into marriage?’
Annie couldn’t answer.
Susannah whispered gently, as if reading a storybook to a sleepy child.
‘Are you scared you’ll lose him?’
Annie stared at the lino under her feet.
‘Does he have a bit of a reputation?’
Annie saw in her mind’s eye that blonde bitch from Psychology whom Jake was going out with before her. And that bossy girl in last year’s play. Then there was that one who’d left college to join the local newspaper. And then …
Susannah’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
‘Does eloping with you prove he doesn’t love your fame and money more than you?’
Annie shook her head, trying to get the thought out of her mind.
Susannah squeezed her shoulder tenderly.
‘Are you scared you love him more than he loves you?’
Annie felt her insides freeze. She’d never put it into so many words, but …
She looked sadly over at the clock. Five whole minutes to go. Ages yet …
‘Come on poppet, wipe your tears. Men will come and go but I’ll love you for ever.’
Annie felt a sweet familiar weakness overcome her.
‘I have to go to the toilet.’
‘Of course,’ said Susannah. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs in the car. Then we’ll go home.’
Annie stumbled down the narrow corridor towards the ladies’ toilet.
She had to think.
* * * * *
Quarter of an hour later, Annie stared in disbelief at the toilet wall.
How could this be happening? She was sure she was six weeks late. She tried to mentally flick through her diary. The sudden realisation that she’d skipped a month – she’d kept doing that while rewriting her increasingly dense revision timetable – simply added nausea to the sudden cramps in her lower abdomen.
But the pregnancy test? Wasn’t that irrefutable?
She remembered reading the bold caution at the bottom of the instructions. Ninety-eight per cent accurate.
Jesus Christ. She was a statistical blip. A two per cent margin. The test had been wrong. She’d failed the pregnancy test. Were all of her tests going to prove as successful, she wondered bitterly, before the sound of her own echoey sobbing told her that her body wasn’t taking this quite as well as her mind.
Twenty-five minutes later, tear-stained and hollow, she returned to her room, as if in a daze.
The sight of Jake on her bed woke her up fast. She stared at him in shock, conscious of a bewildering change in her feelings towards him. She’d always loved the fact that he filled her tiny room, but for the first time, his presence seemed threatening.
He was holding her creased jeans in his hand. His grin froze at the sight of her.
After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke.
‘Don’t you know you get creases in jeans if you fold them?’ he said, his tone a touch too light. ‘You’re meant to roll them.’
Annie was unable to move or speak.
Eventually Jake stood up, leaving his innards somewhere near his feet. He was dimly aware that his gut felt like a black hole.
He stared at Annie, but she was unable to meet his gaze.
‘Changed your mind then, eh?’ he said, willing her to raise her eyes.
Annie kept her head down.
‘Just like that?’
Nothing.
‘And what about … the baby?’
Annie held her stomach and felt the pain again.
‘There is no baby,’ she forced herself to say and started to cry silently.
Jake looked at Annie as if seeing her for the first time.
‘
What?
’
‘No … baby,’ she whispered, overcome by an unaccountable sense of shame.
They stood in silence for a while before Annie felt able to try and make it better.
‘It’s better this way. Susannah said …’
‘You told
Susannah
?’
‘No!’ she exclaimed, self-righteously. ‘Cass told Susannah.’
‘You told
Cass
?’
‘I didn’t mean to—’
She broke off and they shared a horribly eloquent silence. It didn’t take much silence to fill the tiny room. In fact, silence started seeping into the empty wardrobes.
Jake stood motionless, the world around him spinning. And then, he decided to take the bull by the horns.
He exploded.
‘D’you think I’m some sort of toy to play around with?’
‘What?’
‘Thought you could chew me up and spit me out when you got bored? Is that it? Freak the crap out of me and then say sweetly “Oh so sorry! I got my dates wrong!”’
Annie stared at him.
‘It’s all turned out nice and neat, hasn’t it? So when did you find this out? Last week? Or was it all a lie? A trap?’
‘A trap? What century are you living in—’
‘Or a test? Is that it? You were testing me?’
‘Why would I—’
‘Or don’t you like the idea of supporting me while I work my arse off trying to get a career that will support us all – when the chips are down, you’d rather be with a rich old man and save your precious money for … for … shopping? Is that it?’
Annie couldn’t bear to hear any more.
‘Please leave now,’ she said in a low voice.
He went to leave, but when he got to the door, he turned and, with his eyes down, spoke in a low, shaky voice.
‘Did you get rid of my baby?’
It was Annie’s turn to lose the plot.
‘
Your
baby! I like that. It took you three days to even talk to me after finding out it existed – which it doesn’t – and now it’s
your
bloody baby. Hah! Future Father of the Year material, I don’t think!’
‘Oh? So it’s someone else’s—’
‘
No!
’
‘So it’s mine—’
‘YOURS? What am
I
, an empty VESSEL?’
‘OUR baby, then?’
‘There IS NO BLOODY BABY!’
They were both yelling now. Susannah was right. Susannah was always right, when would she learn? Who
was
this boy, sobbing and shouting at her?
Before Annie had time to absorb any of what they’d just said, Jake had gone, and she heard him race out of the halls and into the woods that nestled the campus halls like a blanket round a sleeping child.
2001
2
Café Exclusive, Haverstock Hill, Hampstead, 10am
‘OH SHIT! I’M
late!’ exclaimed Annie.
‘What?’ gasped Cass.
‘I’m late!’
Cass blanched.
‘
Late
late? Or just … late?’
Annie nodded to the clock over Cass’s head.
‘I didn’t realise the time – I’ve got to go.’ She gulped down the last of her café latte.
‘Jesus, Annie, you nearly gave me a bloody heart attack. Let’s go then.’
Annie stared wild-eyed at her friend. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t bring the car – I can’t give you a lift, I’m late—’
‘When did I ever not bring the car? I came out of the womb in a four-wheel drive. I don’t need a lift, thanks very much. For goodness’ sake calm down, I’m sure whoever you’re meeting will wait …’
‘Can you pay the bill?’
Annie slapped down a fiver on the round table between them.
‘I know it’s Hampstead darling, but one café latte still doesn’t cost a fiver.’
Annie was already out of the door.
‘Pay me back later!’ she called out.
Cass watched Annie hurl herself out of the café, knocking into a couple of tourists as she did so. What was it this time, she wondered. Had Edward Goddard finally asked her out? Was she signing up another impoverished artist for her father’s company to sponsor? Or was she on one of her curious nights away when no one could contact her or find out where she’d been?
Cass caught the waiter’s eye and asked for the bill.
Meanwhile Annie raced down Hampstead’s Haverstock Hill.
Jesus – how did she do this every time? Every bloody time she was late. She bumped into some dithering window-shopper on the pavement in front of her and called out a hasty apology as she raced across the zebra crossing, causing a car to emergency brake.
With her flowing hair, billowing knapsack and furious speed, Annie was an intriguing sight as she swore furiously at herself all the way towards her car.
Like every driver on the road, getting behind the wheel did nothing to calm Annie’s nerves. Quite the opposite in fact. No one had a right to be on her road – didn’t they know she had somewhere important to be? She almost suffered turbulence turning a corner too sharply and ‘amber-gambled’ the lights so frantically, that when a siren went off in the distance she thought it was for her. As soon as the police car sped past her, her foot hit the accelerator.
‘Get out of my road!’ she yelled at a Sunday driver who, complete with peaked cap, trusty Thermos and worried wife, was driving at twenty miles an hour down the middle of the road in front of her. ‘Why don’t you just walk – you’d get there quicker and kill less people,’ she yelled.
Eventually, after zigzagging behind him for quarter of a mile, she risked life and limb and overtook. Ennobled by her speed, the Sunday driver found a courage he’d forgotten he had and sped up to a record-breaking thirty-five miles an hour, causing Annie to swerve at the last minute in front of him, her heart in her mouth. ‘Why do you think bus passes are free for you?’ she yelled into her rear-view mirror, before spotting a bus pulling out in front of her. She slammed on the brakes.
Just as she zipped out of a turning, a boy who couldn’t have been more than seventeen almost careered into the side of her car. They both emergency braked and stared in shock and fear at each other, the blood draining out of their faces. Bloody kids! Death Wish, some of them.
As she reached the road where she needed to be, she found a parking space, zoomed into it, nudged the car behind her, cursed loudly, grabbed her bag, slammed her car door shut, locked it and rushed to the front door.
She turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open and felt almost instantly calmed by the atmosphere.
She walked into the front room. Joy was already there.
‘Hi,’ breathed Annie. ‘How are you?’
‘Depressed. Life is a black void of meaningless pain, thanks. You?’
‘I nearly killed four people on the way here.’
‘Why is your life so much more interesting than mine?’
‘Just lucky I guess.’
‘Ready?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
They went inside to the little room, sat down on the big chairs, both sighed heavily and turned their phones on.
Annie’s phone rang first. She waited for three rings, picked it up and spoke softly and warmly.
‘Hello, Samaritans,’ she said. ‘Can I help?’
44a Haverstock Gardens, Hampstead Village, 10 am
‘Did you know,’ called out Victoria to her husband, from behind her glossy magazine, ‘that men who make love frequently are half as likely to die prematurely than men who hardly do it?’
Victoria’s husband, Charles, swore at himself in the mirror and then re-did his tie.
The air around him chilled suddenly.
‘Hmmm?’ he said quickly.
Victoria spoke slowly and clearly, her vowels clipped so that Charles knew she was displeased at having to repeat herself.
‘I
said
, did you know that men who make love
frequently
are less likely to die prematurely than men who don’t?’
‘That so?’ he said, wandering into his walk-in wardrobe.
‘By my reckoning,’ said Victoria, half to herself, half to the wardrobe, ‘you should be dead in a week.’
Charles came out of the wardrobe holding his golfing shoes, his jowls trembling with anticipation, his small eyes blinking. ‘If I don’t get a birdy today,’ he grinned, ‘I’ll eat my Niblick.’