snuggling and laughing and discussing names and flicking through the Argos catalogue for ideas as to what they might need. It should not be like this; she had nothing to give a child.
She got the Yellow Pages and looked up Abortion Advice , shaking so much she nearly scribbled down the number of the abattoir, which was almost the same thing really. See Clinics , the entry said, so she saw Clinics , expecting it to say See Abortion Advice and land her in one of those circular living-nightmare dreams where you never get a straight answer until it’s too late. It didn’t though, and there was a number. She took it down. She would ring them in the morning and in a couple of days, it would all be done with. She held tight to that thought and kept it in her sights like a runner keeps the finishing line in his focus and nothing else. Nothing.
George and Janey both took a day’s holiday off work and stayed in bed and talked. He looked more radiant than she was supposed to, and somewhere in the middle of all that rabbiting, they made love. On Janey’s part, it was not so much desire as diversion; on George’s part it was guilt and desperation. There did not seem much point in putting on a condom and their orgasms were a particularly intense escape for both of them.
George stroked her hair afterwards and said, ‘It’ll all come right in the end, you know,’ which is the sort of thing George said and, more often than not, it usually did. Janey doubted it would this time, though. How could they live on his pitiful wage for thumping out bits of plastic moulded on a big machine day in, day out, whilst she was meant to give up the career chance of a lifetime? How could this mess ever ‘come right in the end’?
Oh God!
Somehow, Elizabeth got to sleep but she woke up at an unearthly hour and killed time with terrible television programmes until 9 a.m. She telephoned the clinic, made an appointment and then rang around some employment agencies, making arrangements to go and see them early the following week when it was all over, and for good this time. She was totally cool and calm and collected. It was surprisingly easy. So long as she didn’t think, it was easy.
Chapter 11
After putting the phone down, Elizabeth badly needed to get away from the house and despite it being a freezing, frosty morning, she grabbed her scarf, gloves, and big coat with the furry trim, and headed for the park. Just along from Janey’s house were the first lot of entry gates, but these were locked so she had to walk round to the other set on a road where infinitely more expensive houses than Janey’s enjoyed the park view. The grass was iced and crunchy underfoot, cobwebs shivered in the hedges like delicate, intricate necklaces and the air was just what she needed–cold, sharp and cleansing.
She took herself along the path and down the twenty-six ‘alphabet’ steps to where the old stone lion had lived, before he was vandalized and replaced for the last time. This was her favourite bit of the park where, in summer, great banks of flowers flanked a winding path that led to a large, ornate fountain. It used to have water in it when she was a child and kids would paddle in it, but now it was full of soil and little sprouts of early spring flowers. She walked on past where the birdhouses used to be. They hadbeen shabby pens, as she remembered, and it must have been a boring existence for the little things.
The park café was closed, which was to be expected at this time of morning and of year, although its window in the month for opening had always been the same narrow gap as that for ovulation in the menstrual calendar–and about as difficult to catch, unless you were one of the lucky ones like she obviously was. She had a few nice memories of eating Funny Face ice creams bought from there by her Auntie Elsie as they took Sam for a walk. Elizabeth dropped onto an old damp park bench, the same one they would sit and rest on when they
She got the Yellow Pages and looked up Abortion Advice , shaking so much she nearly scribbled down the number of the abattoir, which was almost the same thing really. See Clinics , the entry said, so she saw Clinics , expecting it to say See Abortion Advice and land her in one of those circular living-nightmare dreams where you never get a straight answer until it’s too late. It didn’t though, and there was a number. She took it down. She would ring them in the morning and in a couple of days, it would all be done with. She held tight to that thought and kept it in her sights like a runner keeps the finishing line in his focus and nothing else. Nothing.
George and Janey both took a day’s holiday off work and stayed in bed and talked. He looked more radiant than she was supposed to, and somewhere in the middle of all that rabbiting, they made love. On Janey’s part, it was not so much desire as diversion; on George’s part it was guilt and desperation. There did not seem much point in putting on a condom and their orgasms were a particularly intense escape for both of them.
George stroked her hair afterwards and said, ‘It’ll all come right in the end, you know,’ which is the sort of thing George said and, more often than not, it usually did. Janey doubted it would this time, though. How could they live on his pitiful wage for thumping out bits of plastic moulded on a big machine day in, day out, whilst she was meant to give up the career chance of a lifetime? How could this mess ever ‘come right in the end’?
Oh God!
Somehow, Elizabeth got to sleep but she woke up at an unearthly hour and killed time with terrible television programmes until 9 a.m. She telephoned the clinic, made an appointment and then rang around some employment agencies, making arrangements to go and see them early the following week when it was all over, and for good this time. She was totally cool and calm and collected. It was surprisingly easy. So long as she didn’t think, it was easy.
Chapter 11
After putting the phone down, Elizabeth badly needed to get away from the house and despite it being a freezing, frosty morning, she grabbed her scarf, gloves, and big coat with the furry trim, and headed for the park. Just along from Janey’s house were the first lot of entry gates, but these were locked so she had to walk round to the other set on a road where infinitely more expensive houses than Janey’s enjoyed the park view. The grass was iced and crunchy underfoot, cobwebs shivered in the hedges like delicate, intricate necklaces and the air was just what she needed–cold, sharp and cleansing.
She took herself along the path and down the twenty-six ‘alphabet’ steps to where the old stone lion had lived, before he was vandalized and replaced for the last time. This was her favourite bit of the park where, in summer, great banks of flowers flanked a winding path that led to a large, ornate fountain. It used to have water in it when she was a child and kids would paddle in it, but now it was full of soil and little sprouts of early spring flowers. She walked on past where the birdhouses used to be. They hadbeen shabby pens, as she remembered, and it must have been a boring existence for the little things.
The park café was closed, which was to be expected at this time of morning and of year, although its window in the month for opening had always been the same narrow gap as that for ovulation in the menstrual calendar–and about as difficult to catch, unless you were one of the lucky ones like she obviously was. She had a few nice memories of eating Funny Face ice creams bought from there by her Auntie Elsie as they took Sam for a walk. Elizabeth dropped onto an old damp park bench, the same one they would sit and rest on when they
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