front aspect overlooking the park. She walked up the path, collected herself and opened the door to the rich aroma of lamb cooking.
‘Hello there, Power Lady!’ George said, coming out of the kitchen in an apron with inflated pecs and six-pack that Elizabeth had bought him last Christmas. His welcoming smile slid as he studied her sad, pale face. ‘Ey, what’s up, love? I thought you’d come in bubbling over about your job.’
Janey wanted to be excited about her job, except the job was at the other side of a mountain in her head and she couldn’t see it at present.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said quietly.
George said nothing because he could not take itin. He was hearing the words he had most wanted to hear in the world but it took him a while to accept that it was not his ears playing a great big fat trick on him. Then when his brain allowed the information entry, his face did not light up like 300 Bonfire Nights, nor did he leap up in the air or make any strange animal noises. He pulled her quietly towards him and cuddled her gently as if he was thanking her. Then he started crying. Then Janey started crying.
A baby, thought George. My baby. Our baby. He wanted to scream the house down. He wanted to lift Janey in the air and spin her round like couples on the telly did. But her face said it all. George’s stomach dropped like a stone and he said to himself, ‘What have I done?’
Elizabeth didn’t know how long she stared at that paper bag. All she knew was that it was showing light through the window when Janey had left and it was dark grey outside when she picked it up and took it upstairs into the bathroom. She sat for ages on the stool in the corner before she got a grip on herself. She needed to know if this was why she kept being sick and felt tired and irritable, and why every bra she had made her chest feel sore. Knowing would not change the facts, and at least if it was negative, she could finally and forever bury that night. And if it was positive…well, it needed dealing with, but hopefully she wouldn’t have to cross that bridge.
Remembering the instructions Janey had read out, she stuck the stick into her stream of urine then shetook it downstairs, as Janey had done, and sat on the kitchen chair, staring at it so hard that she thought she had imagined the blue line at first, but she hadn’t. It was definitely there, as she knew deep down that it would be.
‘Stupid STUPID bitch that I am!’ she screamed aloud at herself. ‘Why didn’t I go for the morning-after pill?’
Her brain mocked her: ‘Because it was all over in seconds. Because he didn’t come inside you and you can’t get pregnant if they don’t.’
How many times had she scoffed at the anonymous women on problem pages for believing they could not get pregnant during periods or if they did it standing up or if a man said he had only put it in an inch?
And then I go and beat them all into second place in the Miss Stupidest Cow World Contest by not sorting this out the morning after when I had the chance, she thought. Why didn’t I, just in case? Why didn’t I? Why had she–sensible, practical and old-enough-to-know-better Elizabeth Collier–stuffed this problem away like a cat in a box and not expected it to scratch and claw its way out?
This could not be allowed to happen: she couldn’t have a baby. She wasn’t like the others. Janey would come round to the idea of her pregnancy because her lovely family and in-laws would rally and her life would jiggle about, resettle and adjust. George would put her on a pedestal and bring her cups of tea every five minutes and love her…love them . But her? People like her shouldn’t have babies. People who neverlearned what proper love is, whose mams buggered off and left them, whose dads took family to mean something different to what it should be. Only people with nice blokes at their side should be looking at that stick watching the blue line come out, then go off
‘Hello there, Power Lady!’ George said, coming out of the kitchen in an apron with inflated pecs and six-pack that Elizabeth had bought him last Christmas. His welcoming smile slid as he studied her sad, pale face. ‘Ey, what’s up, love? I thought you’d come in bubbling over about your job.’
Janey wanted to be excited about her job, except the job was at the other side of a mountain in her head and she couldn’t see it at present.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said quietly.
George said nothing because he could not take itin. He was hearing the words he had most wanted to hear in the world but it took him a while to accept that it was not his ears playing a great big fat trick on him. Then when his brain allowed the information entry, his face did not light up like 300 Bonfire Nights, nor did he leap up in the air or make any strange animal noises. He pulled her quietly towards him and cuddled her gently as if he was thanking her. Then he started crying. Then Janey started crying.
A baby, thought George. My baby. Our baby. He wanted to scream the house down. He wanted to lift Janey in the air and spin her round like couples on the telly did. But her face said it all. George’s stomach dropped like a stone and he said to himself, ‘What have I done?’
Elizabeth didn’t know how long she stared at that paper bag. All she knew was that it was showing light through the window when Janey had left and it was dark grey outside when she picked it up and took it upstairs into the bathroom. She sat for ages on the stool in the corner before she got a grip on herself. She needed to know if this was why she kept being sick and felt tired and irritable, and why every bra she had made her chest feel sore. Knowing would not change the facts, and at least if it was negative, she could finally and forever bury that night. And if it was positive…well, it needed dealing with, but hopefully she wouldn’t have to cross that bridge.
Remembering the instructions Janey had read out, she stuck the stick into her stream of urine then shetook it downstairs, as Janey had done, and sat on the kitchen chair, staring at it so hard that she thought she had imagined the blue line at first, but she hadn’t. It was definitely there, as she knew deep down that it would be.
‘Stupid STUPID bitch that I am!’ she screamed aloud at herself. ‘Why didn’t I go for the morning-after pill?’
Her brain mocked her: ‘Because it was all over in seconds. Because he didn’t come inside you and you can’t get pregnant if they don’t.’
How many times had she scoffed at the anonymous women on problem pages for believing they could not get pregnant during periods or if they did it standing up or if a man said he had only put it in an inch?
And then I go and beat them all into second place in the Miss Stupidest Cow World Contest by not sorting this out the morning after when I had the chance, she thought. Why didn’t I, just in case? Why didn’t I? Why had she–sensible, practical and old-enough-to-know-better Elizabeth Collier–stuffed this problem away like a cat in a box and not expected it to scratch and claw its way out?
This could not be allowed to happen: she couldn’t have a baby. She wasn’t like the others. Janey would come round to the idea of her pregnancy because her lovely family and in-laws would rally and her life would jiggle about, resettle and adjust. George would put her on a pedestal and bring her cups of tea every five minutes and love her…love them . But her? People like her shouldn’t have babies. People who neverlearned what proper love is, whose mams buggered off and left them, whose dads took family to mean something different to what it should be. Only people with nice blokes at their side should be looking at that stick watching the blue line come out, then go off
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