Thanks again. I guess I'll cope when the news sinks in. Liz x.'
We looked at each other.
'She hasn't got a mother,' I said. Tom was right behind me. I turned round and looked up at him. 'Her father lives in Sussex,' I added.
'Then I would say,' he told me, 'that she is our best bet.'
I nodded, thrilled. 'I'd say she's our only bet.'
My life had a purpose. I had a mission.
chapter seven
Liz
1 January
I hoped the café was open on New Year's Day. Matt used to have a sign up that promised, 'We never close,' but after a few weeks, he crossed out the word 'never' and changed it to 'rarely'.
I put my hands in my pockets, pulled my scarf tightly around my face, and stomped up the street. It was eerie, the silence. Curtains were drawn; in some cases, sarongs were nailed to window frames. Some windows didn't have curtains, but there was a gaping darkness behind them. Everybody except me had stayed up long after midnight. Everyone else was groggily sleeping it off.
I could hear cars in the distance, but other than that, I seemed to have Kentish Town to myself. There were light grey clouds overhead, and the cold was making my nose shine and my fingertips tingle. I felt as if I were out at five in the morning, and checked my watch. It was almost eleven o'clock. A car passed, the first I had seen.
I was nauseous, and still no one had guessed my secret. I had shut myself off from all my old friends, had pushed them firmly towards Steve, because I couldn't bear to confide in anybody. I didn't want anyone to know about my night with Rosa. I didn't want to talk about my pregnancy, to deal with the questions that would arise, so I had busily ignored everyone. At work, though, I felt it must be written on my face. No one had noticed that I spent most of the morning holding a handkerchief over my nose, trying to screen the smells that made my stomach heave. Nobody had commented on the fact that I stroked my stomach ceaselessly, and they were probably all relieved that I'd stopped moaning about the fact that I would never have children.
My New Year's Eve had been mainly miserable, leavened with a tiny glug of excitement. I had a bath, watched some television, and went to bed at ten, as usual. I was woken at ten seconds to midnight by a roared countdown from the pub up the road, swiftly followed by Big Ben in surround sound from radios in the area, and then fireworks which sounded as if they were in the neighbours' garden. At that point, sleep eluded me entirely and I tossed and turned, got up, agonised and felt sorry for myself until four in the morning. I went on the forum, briefly, and exchanged odd messages with Frenchmaid, who was the only other one sad enough to be online in the early hours of New Year's Day.
'Happy New Year,' she'd written. 'The year when your baby's going to be born! It's going to be a brilliant year for you, I can tell.'
'Thanks,' I wrote back, pleased with the illusion of company. 'You too. What are your resolutions?'
'Leave home,' she replied. 'Go abroad, probably. I've got plans for an adventure.'
'Well, come to London then,' I told her. 'And whatever you do, try not to give in to your broodiness. You've got your whole life ahead of you, you lucky, lucky person.'
She was enthusiastic and friendly, and I hoped she had no idea how pained I was by the contrast between her life — a twenty-year-old girl who seemed to have the world at her feet — and mine.
My life was all bad, except that it wasn't. Frenchmaid was right: this was the year in which I was going to become a single mother. Somehow, that prospect was at the same time the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to me and wildly exciting. There were going to be two of us, against the world. I knew it would be difficult. I dreaded almost everything about my immediate future. Yet I could not stop a few moments of elation. I was going to have a baby. I would be a mother. Two months ago, that had seemed utterly impossible, and now it
We looked at each other.
'She hasn't got a mother,' I said. Tom was right behind me. I turned round and looked up at him. 'Her father lives in Sussex,' I added.
'Then I would say,' he told me, 'that she is our best bet.'
I nodded, thrilled. 'I'd say she's our only bet.'
My life had a purpose. I had a mission.
chapter seven
Liz
1 January
I hoped the café was open on New Year's Day. Matt used to have a sign up that promised, 'We never close,' but after a few weeks, he crossed out the word 'never' and changed it to 'rarely'.
I put my hands in my pockets, pulled my scarf tightly around my face, and stomped up the street. It was eerie, the silence. Curtains were drawn; in some cases, sarongs were nailed to window frames. Some windows didn't have curtains, but there was a gaping darkness behind them. Everybody except me had stayed up long after midnight. Everyone else was groggily sleeping it off.
I could hear cars in the distance, but other than that, I seemed to have Kentish Town to myself. There were light grey clouds overhead, and the cold was making my nose shine and my fingertips tingle. I felt as if I were out at five in the morning, and checked my watch. It was almost eleven o'clock. A car passed, the first I had seen.
I was nauseous, and still no one had guessed my secret. I had shut myself off from all my old friends, had pushed them firmly towards Steve, because I couldn't bear to confide in anybody. I didn't want anyone to know about my night with Rosa. I didn't want to talk about my pregnancy, to deal with the questions that would arise, so I had busily ignored everyone. At work, though, I felt it must be written on my face. No one had noticed that I spent most of the morning holding a handkerchief over my nose, trying to screen the smells that made my stomach heave. Nobody had commented on the fact that I stroked my stomach ceaselessly, and they were probably all relieved that I'd stopped moaning about the fact that I would never have children.
My New Year's Eve had been mainly miserable, leavened with a tiny glug of excitement. I had a bath, watched some television, and went to bed at ten, as usual. I was woken at ten seconds to midnight by a roared countdown from the pub up the road, swiftly followed by Big Ben in surround sound from radios in the area, and then fireworks which sounded as if they were in the neighbours' garden. At that point, sleep eluded me entirely and I tossed and turned, got up, agonised and felt sorry for myself until four in the morning. I went on the forum, briefly, and exchanged odd messages with Frenchmaid, who was the only other one sad enough to be online in the early hours of New Year's Day.
'Happy New Year,' she'd written. 'The year when your baby's going to be born! It's going to be a brilliant year for you, I can tell.'
'Thanks,' I wrote back, pleased with the illusion of company. 'You too. What are your resolutions?'
'Leave home,' she replied. 'Go abroad, probably. I've got plans for an adventure.'
'Well, come to London then,' I told her. 'And whatever you do, try not to give in to your broodiness. You've got your whole life ahead of you, you lucky, lucky person.'
She was enthusiastic and friendly, and I hoped she had no idea how pained I was by the contrast between her life — a twenty-year-old girl who seemed to have the world at her feet — and mine.
My life was all bad, except that it wasn't. Frenchmaid was right: this was the year in which I was going to become a single mother. Somehow, that prospect was at the same time the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to me and wildly exciting. There were going to be two of us, against the world. I knew it would be difficult. I dreaded almost everything about my immediate future. Yet I could not stop a few moments of elation. I was going to have a baby. I would be a mother. Two months ago, that had seemed utterly impossible, and now it
Similar Books
