Crashing Down (14 page)

He grabs her other hand and tries to pull her closer. She fights the nausea.
This is what you expected,
she reminds herself. But that other slim option — that he might be horrified, might instantly declare
I don't want to be a father
— has disappeared. Dust.

‘No.' She shakes her head.

His eyebrows meet in the middle.

‘I'm not having it.'

‘What?' Angry.

She pulls her hands away and covers her stomach.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I'm not having it,' she says, shaking her head as if that will change his opinion. ‘I'm going to have an abortion.' There, she's said that word now, too.

‘No!' he shouts, trying to rise.

She sits still.
Don't back down, physically or mentally.

‘You can't do that!'

‘Yes, I can.' She doesn't want to cry.
Remember the script, think on your feet.
‘I don't want to be a mother. I don't want to give up my life. I'm not having it.'

‘What about me?' He sounds so plaintive, she could cry. ‘What about our discussions?'

‘What discussions, Carl?' She shakes her head at him.

‘Before, before I got sick.' He waves his hand around wildly. ‘After we got married, we talked about having children. We wanted …' He is shouting
and shaking his head at her.

She watches him, horrified. ‘That never happened,' she says softly. It kills her to see him like this, so confused, so different. ‘We never got married.'

‘It did. We did. I remember it clearly. At Trigg. The dress. All of it.' He is pushing his fists into his eyes. ‘I remember it. I do.'

‘No, Carl.' She wishes she could pick up his hand but knows she can't. ‘It's not real.'

His face is buried in his hands, his back trembling. ‘But I want this baby. What about me?' he mumbles.

‘I've thought about you. About everything. About this,' she says gently. ‘You couldn't do it, either. You need time to get better and this wouldn't help you. We're not ready. And it wouldn't be fair on anyone. On me. On you. Our parents. The baby.' There, she's said another key word.

‘No.' He looks up, tears in his eyes. ‘Don't do this.'

‘I have to.' She gets up. Has to move away from him. His presence is overwhelming her. She needs to stay in control.
My body. My choice. My decision.
‘Don't think I've come to this easily. I've thought
about every option. And this is the least worst for us all.'

He turns his face away. ‘And so it doesn't matter what I want?'

‘Of course it matters,' she says, crying. ‘But it doesn't count. I have to do this.'

He cradles his head in his hands again. He won't look at her.

‘You should leave,' he suddenly snaps. ‘I can't bear to look at you. I've got a massive headache. You make me sick. Get out!'

‘Okay.'

She walks slowly to the door. A small part of her wants to stop. She looks at him in the chair, holding his head as though it's about to fall apart.
Go back,
the voice in her head says,
put your arms around him, tell him it'll all be okay.
But at what cost?

She shakes her head sadly and leaves. This is the best decision she can make.

Carl rages. He wants to pace the room, smash things, but he is too weak. His weakness sickens him. He punches Lucy's number on his phone, listens to it ring out several times, then it goes straight to message bank. She's turned it off. Which infuriates him even more. He feels desperate, has nowhere to go. His head pounds.

‘Hi.' Dr Field walks into the room. ‘Nice to see you out of bed. Hey' — she notices his white face and streaming eyes — ‘what's happened?'

‘Lucy.' Carl chokes on her name. ‘I can't believe it. I can't believe her. I never imagined she would betray me like this. She has never ever made me so mad. So angry I could do something bad.' The rage
washes over him as he sits on the chair and looks at the bed where she sat.

‘What's happened?' the doctor asks again.

‘She's pregnant,' Carl says, ‘with my baby. And she's not having it.' He starts to sob.

‘Have you thought this through?' the doctor says. She starts jotting notes. ‘You've only just heard the news. Have you had time to really consider the ramifications? This is a huge issue.'

‘What?' he snarls. ‘What are the ramifications? It's my baby. My baby. And she just gets to chuck it away? I want my baby.' He pushes his fists into his eyes.

‘Are you okay, Carl?' the doctor asks.

‘I've got a fucking massive headache,' he moans. ‘I'll get you something, but first you need to calm down.'

‘I'll have it,' he says eventually, ‘even if she doesn't want it. I'll have it and raise it on my own.'

‘Okay,' the doctor says. ‘This is certainly something we can discuss. The logistics of it all. But Carl, you have to remember, this is her body. Ultimately her choice.'

The doctor's words don't sit well with him. He
rages again. ‘It's my baby — did I make that clear? I want my baby!'

‘Calm down,' the doctor says.

Carl sits in the chair and breathes deeply. ‘If she doesn't want it, why can't I look after it?' He looks at the doctor. ‘I can get a job, live with my parents. Look after it.'

‘It's a huge commitment, Carl,' Dr Field says. ‘The financial responsibility — let alone the emotional and physical. Just you, totally responsible for another human being.'

‘People do it all the time. Why can't I?' He groans and grabs at his head again. ‘Fuck, the light is blinding me. I need to shut my eyes.'

‘I'll get you something,' the doctor says, reaching over to buzz for the nurse.

Lucy has to sit in the car park for fifteen minutes. She can't drive, she's crying so hard. It's so unfair. Everything. To both of them. She doesn't want him to feel like this after everything he's been through, and is still going through. But what's she to do? Offer herself up as the sacrificial lamb to make him better? Then what would become of her? Her identity, her sense of self? No. She won't do it. She can't. None of this is fair — but this is what's on offer.
Deal with it.

Her phone is going mad, alternating between text messages and phone calls. She looks at the screen: all are from Carl. Panicking, desperate to stop her, or angry and aggressive — perhaps more abuse? She turns her phone off and drives to her dad's.

He's in the study writing a report when she lets herself in.

‘Hey,' she calls, but her voice is small and wan.

‘Rabbit?' he calls back. ‘Through here.'

She walks into the study.

His hair is dishevelled and he has glasses perched on the end of his nose. ‘First sign of ageing,' he said when he got them. ‘Damn body.'

‘They look hot,' she'd said. And they did — made him look like a sexy professor; she could imagine the nurses (male as well as female) falling over him at work.

‘Okay?' He takes the glasses off. ‘What now?'

‘I told him.' Lucy dissolves into tears again. ‘It was as bad as expected. He wants it. Got mad. Ordered me out.'

‘Okay.' Dad gathers her in his arms. ‘It'll be okay. Let's talk.'

In the kitchen, he puts the kettle on and they talk through the time line. Looking at the dates, they agree she's best to wait until after the mock exams next week — there is still time for the chemical abortion.

She shivers at the words. She is really going to go ahead with it.

‘After the exams, we'll go see Janice. I've told her already. It's not an issue. You'll stay here with me, and we'll get through it.'

Lucy nods. Despite the weight of the decision, she senses a lightening in the burden. She has made a plan. She'll get through it.

Dad makes dinner, but Lucy can't eat. She feels sick to her stomach. And whenever she thinks of her stomach, she has visions of what is developing inside her body. She tries to blank the imagery — but it's so powerful. Blobs, shapes of amoeba, curled up jellybean foetuses dance through her mind.
Stop thinking,
she orders her brain. But she can't.

She has a restless night, worrying about Carl in the hospital. Tempted to call, but terrified to speak to him. She considers ringing his parents, but then she'll have to tell them about the pregnancy. She shivers. She'll wait it out a bit longer.

In the morning, rain thunders down, an unexpected spring storm. It's grey and dreary. Exactly like me, Lucy thinks, drinking tea with her dad.

There's a loud knock at the door. They look at each other. Lucy's first thought is that it's Carl. He's come for her.

‘I'll go.' Her dad gets up.

She listens to him open the door. Hears a voice. Sounds like Mum. Dad's voice. Slow. Punctuated. Grim. Fear clutches her stomach. Something really bad is happening. She feels herself panicking. Rises.

When both her parents walk into the room, she notes their identically pale faces. Mum's been crying. Dad has that tremble in his chin he gets when he's
trying not to cry. Lucy fears she might vomit.

‘Lucy …' Mum comes towards her, hands outstretched.

‘What?' she whispers.
What now? How can anything get worse?
But she knows it is about to. Knows it already has.

Her mum sits next to her, hand on her knee. ‘It's Carl,' she says. She bites her lip. ‘Oh God. He's dead.'

‘Why?' Lucy asks stupidly, realising the question is
How?

‘Aneurysm,' her dad says, on the other side of her. ‘Probably caused by the accident, possibly hereditary — apparently, his grandfather died from one. But it can be an after-effect of head trauma too.'

Carl's dead.
New words that don't sound real even when said out loud.

‘Carl's dead? He can't be. I was just there yesterday. I was just talking to him. He was fine. He was mad.' Her voice is rising with each new note of hysteria.

‘Yes.' Her mum is in tears. ‘Oh, baby.'

‘Mum …' Lucy disintegrates. No control. ‘This can't be real. Can't be really happening. Can it?'

No one speaks, and a horrible truth hits her. ‘I killed him.'

‘No, Rabbit.' Dad is quick — too quick. Lucy knows he's already gone there in his head. So she must have.

‘Can shock do it?' she demands.

‘No.' Dad is vehement, but for once Lucy is unsure whether he's being totally honest. ‘There is little that can be done for a massive bleed like Carl's. They were aware there was a bulging vessel — were monitoring it — had him scheduled for a scan tomorrow. These things lurk and sometimes do nothing. But his head was traumatised; your words didn't do it. His actions did. His genes did. This is not your fault.'

‘It's really
Offspring
now, hey, Mum?' Lucy feels hysterical. Someone give her the script — tell her what's about to happen next, please. No more surprises. She doesn't know what to do. She rises. Then sits. Looks at her mum and dad, and realises with horror they don't know what to do, either. She stands and walks to the window, looks out. Where can she go? How can she escape? How can he be dead?

Carl.

Oh, Carl.

‘I left at three-ish,' she tells Lydia and Georgia. They've come over straight away after her dad called them. ‘He was so angry. He kept calling me. I turned my phone off.' She feels such a bitch.

‘What happened?' Lydia asks. ‘Do you know?'

Lucy wipes her red nose with another tissue. There is a mountain of them next to her.

‘The psych had been in. Given him some sort of sedative. Apparently, he was really tripping out. He was asleep when his parents arrived. Woke up complaining of a massive headache. Refused to let them call the nurse. Wanted to talk first. Told them about the …' — Lucy pauses and swallows hard — ‘pregnancy.'

‘You told him?' Lydia asks. ‘What did he say?'

‘That he wanted it. And he got mad. Told me to get out. Said then he had a headache.'

‘What did his mum and dad say about it?' Georgia asks.

‘I don't know — Mrs K didn't tell mum. Carl's dead. I guess there's nothing else to think about. Oh, poor Mrs K.' Lucy grabs more tissues.

‘She'll be devo,' Lydia agrees. ‘Her only child.'

‘Lydia!' Georgia snaps. ‘Don't.'

‘Don't what?' Lydia's tear-streaked face crumples with worry. ‘Oh, right. I'm sorry, Luce. I don't think. Ever.'

‘It's okay.' Lucy sniffs; she feels full of mucus. ‘His headache was really bad. So bad they called the nurses. Everyone freaked out. There was a dodgy vessel in his head. He was scheduled for a scan tomorrow and they were going to decide whether he needed surgery. I didn't know — no one told me. The doctors rushed him to theatre, but it was too late.'

‘Too late?' Lydia says. ‘When you're in a hospital?'

‘Yeah.'

Lucy feels incapable of speaking. Speaking means
thinking. And thinking requires imagery. She can't bear the images. Rushing him through the hospital as a massive blood vessel erupted in his head. Killing him instantly. Before he even hit the theatre doors. There was no saving him. He was gone.

‘I can't believe it,' she says. ‘Everything is so fucked up. I could top myself.'

‘You're not serious, are you?' Georgia grabs her hands. ‘Look at me. You don't really mean that, do you?'

Lucy shakes her head. ‘No. I don't. I don't mean it. I'd never do that.'

‘Promise me,' Georgia says sternly.

‘I promise. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it. I'm just overwhelmed,' Lucy says.

Lydia and Georgia stay the night — despite the fact that they should be studying for exams.