Swan (32 page)

‘I can’t believe I’m lying here with you,’ I sighed.
‘It feels like a dream.’

Chet didn’t answer. He gently stroked my hair. I
listened to the sound of his heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of his
breathing. Then he chuckled.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘I was just thinking about something Beth said.
About how when you were kids, you used to tell boys you were saving yourself
for me. Pretty ironic, isn’t it?’

I gave his nipple a little pinch. ‘Shush.’

‘Seriously, I think that’s really cute. It’s nice to
know that you were so devoted to me.’

A smile tugged at my lips. ‘Well, it was a long time
ago.’ I put emphasis on the word ‘long.’

Chet cracked up.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

When I woke up it was late afternoon. I looked
across at the empty pillow next to me. Chet had gone. Throwing back the covers,
I frantically switched on the light and stepped out into the corridor. I
breathed a huge sigh of relief when I heard the sound of running water coming
from the bathroom. Chet hadn’t left yet. Thank God.

I went back into the bedroom and checked the time on
my mobile. It was quarter to three. There was a voicemail from William (which I
didn’t bother listening to) but no missed calls from Alice, so I assumed I
still had some time to kill before we were due to return to the police station.
I can’t say I was sorry. I wanted as much time with Chet as possible before he
flew out, and, to be perfectly honest, last night’s ordeal seemed like an
inconvenience. I wished to God it hadn’t happened so that I could have a clear
schedule.

Suddenly I realised how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten
anything since the melted Kit Kat Alice had bought me from the kiosk in
A&E. I went to the kitchen, rustled around in the fridge and decided on
bacon sandwiches.

By the time Chet returned from the bathroom I had
rations of streaky bacon in the fryer. I could sense he was topless without
even turning round. I imagined how magnificent he must look, how good he must
smell. Sadly, right now all I could smell was the gristle and fat of bacon.

Silently, he took a seat at the table and watched
the back of my head for a while. Watched the bacon spit and crackle. Watched me
shake the oil off and wedge them between two slices of wholemeal bread.

Placing Chet’s sandwich on a plate, I turned round
and, without making eye contact, presented it to him.

‘Thanks,’ he said quietly. ‘You don’t have any
ketchup do you?’

‘Er, no, we’re out. Sorry.’

‘Mayo?’

‘Uh-uh.’

Chet took a large bite out of his sandwich, chewed
on it. ‘Actually, it kind of tastes better without ketchup. I could get used to
this.’

I nodded and turned back to the cooker to start
frying more bacon. He attempted to make light-hearted conversation, but I could
sense a dark undercurrent. His mouth was not saying what his eyes were. I
swallowed hard, breathed in, and tried to focus on the task at hand. I wanted
him so bad it hurt. I feared I wouldn’t be able to eat, wouldn’t be able to
keep anything in my stomach, much as I wanted to. When I finally sat down with
my sandwich I nibbled at the corners like a mouse.

When we’d finished eating, I stacked up the dishes.
Took them over to the sink. I turned on the tap and filled the bowl with
lukewarm water to let them soak.

Then, out of nowhere, he came behind me and swung
his fist up against my leg so fast it almost knocked me over. I veered forward
onto the sink, splashed water over my blouse. Then, as if gripped by some
sudden, mad hunger, Chet grabbed me roughly by the waist and started tearing
off my blouse, my skirt, my underwear. I turned round and we kissed each other
passionately. Frantically. I undid his flies, pulled down his trousers, let my
hands wander. Surrendering to the violence of our desire, he bent me over the
sink with the water still running and fucked me hard. Strong, savage thrusts.
Thrusts that made me scream and beg for more. This was absolute, unadulterated
pleasure. We changed positions. I closed my legs around his back, accompanying
him in his up and down movements, spurring him on. At length, we both exploded
in a chorus of languorous moans.

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Four weeks later I found out I was pregnant. I wish
I could say that I embraced the news with jubilation, but sadly, this was far
from the case. As I watched the positive test result materialise in the
Clearblue indicator, my heart almost stopped. Much as I knew it was a
possibility, nothing ever really prepares you for the reality of motherhood.

Then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Chet
and I had never taken precautions during sex. At the age of forty-one, I am
ashamed to say that the thought of contraception had never even entered my
head. I was so caught up in the heat of the moment, in the romance of it all,
that it was like I had taken the possibility of getting knocked-up out of the
equation.

I took the test in the work toilets during a tea
break. I had been feeling nauseous for a while, but hadn’t instantly linked it
to pregnancy. It was only when I’d mentioned it to Beth and she’d joked about
me being in the ‘family way’ that I’d given it serious consideration.

The first person I told about my dilemma was Alice.
Unified by our mutual nightmare in the tunnel, the two of us had formed a
closer acquaintance at work. She sought me out at lunch times, made a special
effort to say hello and generally asked about my well-being. So it was little
surprise that my vacant eyes and terse demeanour should come under her
scrutiny.

As I sat miserably in the toilet cubicle, my
self-pitying whimpers were interrupted by a quiet knock at the door.

‘Maddy, are you okay in there? Is there anything I
can do?’

Mastering my tears, I tried to pacify her by saying
that my cold had flared up again. It was nothing, really. I was fine.

But it was no good. Alice could tell there was more,
much more, that I wasn’t saying.

When I finally opened the door, I collapsed into her
arms. Sobbed my heart out. Then it all came flooding out in a jumble of words.
I was pregnant, scared and confused.

Alice’s response was astoundingly calm and
supportive.

‘Oh that’s fantastic news! What are you crying for?
A baby! How lovely.’

How lovely indeed. Oh, it wasn’t that I had
reservations about keeping the child – far from it; I had always been
staunchly against abortion. No, what bothered me was the terror of being alone.
The terror of Chet’s reaction. Wondering whether he would abandon me. No matter
how many times a man may say he loves you, the imminent prospect of children
has a way of bringing a much needed reality check to proceedings. What would he
say when I told him? Would he be supportive? Understanding? Want me to keep it?

All of these thoughts were swimming around in my
head as Alice continued to congratulate me. I smiled weakly, wiped away my
tears. She was right. A child was a blessing and regardless of the outcome with
Chet, I should be grateful. Madeline Smith, who had once thought she’d die
alone and childless had just been given a wonderful gift. A new lease of life.

‘How far gone do you think you are?’ Alice asked
presently.

That was a very good question. Chet had been gone
for just under a month and the last time we’d made love was the day before he’d
flown out with Panelli, so I knew I couldn’t be that far along.

‘You should probably take a second test, just to be
sure,’ Alice continued. ‘I mean, pregnancy tests are usually reliable, but you
never know, do you?’

This was yet more good advice. What would I have
done without her in my hour of need? After swearing Alice to secrecy, I took a
second test at lunchtime, which confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. I was
blown away; like the veil of denial had finally been lifted. My fairytale with Chet
had come crashing down to reality.

I spent the rest of the day deliberating about my
future. Thinking about Chet and this little seed inside of me - not yet
developed but already, irrevocably a part of me. I fantasised about what the
child might look like.

With these thoughts came another feeling. A feeling
of calm. This darling, darling child growing inside of me would be my saviour;
my reason for living. Even if I lost Chet, I would still have a part of him
with me forever.

At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself as I
stared blankly at my computer screen. I shook my head. Who was I kidding? Yes,
I wanted this baby, but I wanted Chet too. I wanted them both desperately. And
why shouldn’t I? I wanted, needed my fairytale ending.

After work, I passed by the Newsagents to pick up a
Mars bar and a copy of Friday’s
Guardian
.
It made for interesting reading: the Academy Award nominees had just been
announced and Chet was up for Best Actor. A triumphant smile crept across my
face. So, Pantelli was halfway to winning his bet. I was filled with pride. Chet
had finally been nominted!

I got on my train and continued grinning at no one
in particular. The man sitting opposite looked at me like I was crazy. People
rarely smile at each other on the Tube and those that do are considered mildly
unhinged.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I tossed and turned, my
mind a torrent of indecision. What to tell Chet. How to tell Chet. Before he’d
left for Brazil, he’d promised to stay in regular contact with me. Promised to
keep me updated on everything. When he’d first arrived at his destination, he
had sent me his number but advised that we should only communicate via text because
of Pantelli’s watchful eye. Up until now, Chet had been true to his word,
sending me declarations of love on a daily basis. His messages usually came at
night, and were a source of great comfort to me. Knowing that Chet was on the
other side of the world thinking about me gave me hope of a reconciliation.
Hope for our future together.

Now I agonised about whether it was sensible to
break the news about my pregnancy to him via text. It seemed like a terribly
impersonal way to communicate something so important. I really felt that I
should tell him face to face, to assess his reaction. But how?

I decided to sleep on it. Perhaps in the morning I’d
get a better perspective on things. The next day, I did something I don’t
usually do; I decided to ask my big sister for advice. I needed to get a second
opinion. I wouldn’t tell Beth the whole story, of course. Just enough to get
the general idea of how to play it. After all there was times I just had to
admit my sister knew more about men than me.

So I tagged along to a kid’s birthday party that
Beth and Vicky were going to on Saturday. In the past, I’d avoided such
invitations like the plague, simply for the fact that I always felt like the
childless maiden aunt. Surrounded by so many kids, the small talk with their
parents inevitably turned to when I was going to have my own: Didn’t I like
children and wasn’t forty leaving it a bit late to get started? Etc., etc. These
were the sorts of questions I dreaded; they made me feel inadequate. Like a
leper incapable of bringing anything remotely normal to the table.

Today, however, the situation was very different.
Now I could look around at all these children’s happy, smiling faces and their
parents’ smug ones, without a sense of isolation. I could smile back
munificently, secure in the knowledge that I too would soon be joining the
exclusive club of motherhood.

The party started at one and was over by three. A
jovial time was had by all, despite the weather being shit (intermittent
drizzle). Some of the parents lagged behind afterwards for canapés and wine,
but tellingly, I steered clear of the alcohol. However, the real revelation was
how well I got along with Vicky. Children have a way of sensing your dislike,
your intolerance of them, no matter how well you try to mask it. With Vicky, it
was almost like she had been acting up to my low expectations, like a
self-fulfilling prophecy. Now when I gazed at her my heart was filled with love
and she reciprocated this: I saw only her pretty face and Shirley Temple curls.
Her strength and feistiness were a blessing not a curse. And for the first
time, I acknowledged how much she looked like my late mother.

I finally managed to corner Beth alone as she helped
fold up the garden chairs and clear away the plates.

‘What time are we leaving?’ I asked.

‘Oh, not long to go now, Maddy. I suppose you’ve
been terribly bored. It’s not really your scene, is it?’

‘No, no it’s been lovely actually. I’ve really
enjoyed myself. It’s just there’s some stuff I need to talk to you about
– in private.’

Beth raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I’m intrigued.
Well, no problem darling, we’ll make a move as soon as I’ve taken this stuff
in.’ She disappeared into the house with two fold-up chairs.

We drove back to her house in silence, which was
unusual for Beth. I think she sensed there was something serious I needed to
talk about. When we got back, it had well gone four. After putting Vicky to bed
for a nap, Beth opened a bottle of wine for us in the living room.