Read Online Trio by Cath Staincliffe - Free Book Online Page A

see if there was more. She needed a loophole. The priest talked about the rhythm method – that was acceptable in the Church’s eyes. She pointed out that it had failed them and they dared not risk another failure.
    ‘Another option –’ he cleared his throat – ‘would be coitus interruptus. Did she understand?’
    ‘Yes, but wouldn’t that be wrong, Father, because there’d be no chance of babies?’ At least with the rhythm method it was like Russian Roulette – the unreliability meant babies got made.
    ‘I’d be misleading you to say the Church would approve of such behavior. I’m afraid it would be up to your own conscience. God has sent you a challenge, Mrs Gough. It may be that through meeting it you can enter a state of true grace.’
    She clenched her teeth at the platitudes. She was flesh and blood. She wanted her marriage back and she wanted a family. How could that be so wrong?
    One night when Peter had been out to the pub with his friends she ambushed him. Her period had just finished and she hoped it would be safe. She waited in bed and when he climbed in she reached for him. She kissed him. ‘Love me Peter, please, love me.’
    ‘But what about . . .’
    ‘Pull it out, before, you know . . .’
    She was relying on the hope that the drinks he’d had would weaken his resistance. And they had.
    It was wonderful.
    Afterwards, while he slept, she thought of a solution. If she had her womb removed, then there would be no risk of pregnancy. Peter might still have to face the problem of wasting his seed but she was no longer prepared to feel guilty. She couldn’t have his children but she would damn well have his love. If that made her a bad Catholic, so be it.
    She went back to Mr Russell, who hemmed and hawed but eventually accepted that a hysterectomy would remove the risk of further complicated pregnancies.
    And once she was over that her new campaign began in earnest. The plan to adopt.
     
    Lilian had been physically sick the morning that the social worker called. A mouthful of cornflakes and her stomach, which had broiled in acid anxiety all night rebelled. Peter had managed to get the morning off work but his presence made her even more wound up. She rinsed her mouth with water and toured the rooms for the umpteenth time. All tidy. Could it be too tidy? The social worker might think they’d be too fussy to have a child messing up the house. Oh, God.
    ‘She’s here,’ Peter called.
    Lilian practically fell downstairs, pulled the door open hard and greeted Mrs Jenkins with a fixed smile. Her eye was twitching and she felt like something out of a Jerry Lewis slapstick film.
    ‘Come in, please.’ She couldn’t work out how to wipe the stupid grin from her face without it looking peculiar, so she covered her mouth with her hand and tried to relax her lips.
    They sat in the dining room, at the mahogany table that had been her mother’s. Mrs Jenkins had two sets of forms to fill in and one to leave with them. Questions she asked related to all the facts and figures of their situation. Age, health, occupation, income, family in the area.
    ‘Any existing children?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Reasons for adopting.’
    They explained.
    ‘You’d want a baby, then?’
    ‘Oh, yes. As young as possible.’
    They had to supply references.
    Then Mrs Jenkins wanted to see round the house.
    ‘This would be the nursery,’ Lilian heard herself saying, ‘right next to our room. We haven’t decorated yet, but we will do, of course.’
    Before she left, Mrs Jenkins gave a speech. Adopting a child was a legal act, governed by the law. They should be fully committed before going any further. In rare cases if there was a problem with a placement then the social work department would try to assist, but that was exceptional and once they were approved and a child was placed with them they would have all the duties and responsibilities for the care of that child. Exactly as with natural parents. There would be no