The art of deception Read online

  He got up and opened his shirt.

  She gasped.

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  A long, jagged scar ran across the top of his chest. There was another smaller one on his stomach; he turned around and Angie saw another on his shoulder.

  She gasped. ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘I should have showed you these before now, but I didn’t want you to think badly of your mum. It wasn’t her – the illness was to blame. But there’s not much they can do, even today, except put you on antidepressants. And once you’re on them, you can’t get off them.’

  ‘I know, Dad. I’m scared. I didn’t mean to get pregnant, nor for John to find out, but I kept being sick, and I couldn’t hide it. And now something else has come up. I went for a scan and they told us the baby is at risk of having Down’s syndrome.’

  ‘Oh, God, that’s terrible. How upsetting for you both. I suppose that’s made you even more determined to have an abortion?’

  ‘Yes, it has. The risk is less than it is for getting bipolar but it’s still well above average. I can’t take much more of this.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘You know, it’s funny you mentioned Down’s syndrome. I’m almost sure one of my mum’s sisters – Ellie, it was – she had a Down’s child. Spent the whole of her life in an institution. Perhaps that runs in families, too.’

  ‘Yes, it could. I have to accept I’m not destined to have any children, Dad.

  John will be heartbroken. Still, in a week or so it’ll be over and after that I’ll go on the pill. And he’ll never find out.’

  ‘You could always adopt, couldn’t you? But you’ll have to tell him the truth. Of course, if he wants to be a real father – to have a child of his own with you, I mean – he’ll have to be told it might cause a problem in later life. It won’t be easy, whatever you do.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose him, Dad. I love him so much, couldn’t live without him.’ Angie sniffed back tears.

  Alan put his arm around her. ‘Everything will be fine. Have the abortion as soon as possible, get it out the way.’

  She nodded. ‘I saw the doctor before I came here. She’s sending me to a clinic for an assessment.’

  ‘Ah, you’ve already done it. That’s good news. Glad you’ve seen sense.’

  ‘It’s a case of having to. I’ve had these awful sickness feelings from the beginning, and now I just feel depressed and anxious all the time. It’s been horrible, Dad. And what if I get what Mum had? How will I look after it?’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that.’

  She smiled sadly. ‘I’d better get back. Got to cook the tea.’

  He looked disappointed. ‘So soon?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll come again when it’s over, all right?’

  ‘If you need moral support, I could come with you, since you insist on not involving John.’

  pg. 76

  ‘Thanks for the offer, Dad. I’ll let you know nearer the time.’

  He gave her a big hug. ‘Love you, chicken.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  <><><>

  She ate tea on her own because John was going to be late again. She had trouble eating as her appetite remained low.

  Then she flopped onto the settee and switched the TV on. Her nerves were jangling again; what if he was at home when the phone call from the doctor came through? John should be at work – but if he wasn’t, and he got to the phone first, and found out what she was up to, he’d go mad. And maybe their marriage would be in jeopardy, too.

  He was all smiles when he finally arrived. ‘Hiya, Angie. Phew, am I glad to be home! Thank God it’s Friday tomorrow, then it’s two days off at last. I’m done in!’

  She glanced up at him, fed up of the moaning. He ought to be in her shoes, then he’d have something to moan about.

  He ate his beef casserole in silence, as if he hadn’t eaten for days. How she wished she could do that.

  ‘This programme any good?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘So, what have you been doing all day?’

  ‘Sitting around feeling ill and wishing I was at work.’

  Still staring at the TV, he said, ‘Oh, good for you. Glad you got out. Better than staring at four walls.’

  She hurled the remote control at him. It landed on his plate and spattered gravy onto his shirt. ‘You’re not even bloody listening to me, you bastard, are you?’

  ‘What the …? Angie, we need to sort this out. I mean, we’re having a baby, for God’s sake. We should be happy, not constantly at each other’s throats.’

  She ignored him. Why should she speak to him, the ignorant pig?

  He sighed. ‘OK, fine. You carry on. This attitude will only make matters worse. God help us if it’s the same when the baby arrives. Have you heard anything from the doctor’s? That blood test should have been back by now.’

  Luckily, he was still gaping at the TV and didn’t see the colour rising to her face. She almost told him what she’d planned, just to see the look on his smug face. ‘No. I’ll chase it up tomorrow.’

  After that they didn’t speak. She guessed that annoyed him and she was right.

  ‘Oh, sod this, I’m going to bed,’ he mumbled and disappeared upstairs.

  Angie sighed with relief when he’d gone. These days she preferred her own company to his. He was so irritating.

  pg. 77

  By the time she went up she was exhausted. She tried to keep calm but found it difficult; the prospect of sleeping in the same bed as him filled her with despair. So she reached for a nightie and dressing gown and strode to the second bedroom – which he intended doing up for the baby, he’d said, more than once.

  She found blankets and settled down. When he didn’t come in complaining, she breathed a great sigh of relief.

  <><><>

  Saturday morning, and he woke up with a start. Looking at his alarm clock, he was horrified to see it was nine o’clock. God, had he slept that long? Normally he was up by seven at the weekend. Work, as usual, had sapped his strength and made him oversleep. Every year it was the same and still nothing changed. How nobody ever went sick with stress, he’d never fathom.

  The weather was dull and rain poured down. Looking out of the window, he saw Angie, in tracksuit and trainers, running towards the house. She was drenched, hair matted on her head, water streaming down the sides of her face.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  He stood in the hall, waiting for her to open the front door. When she came in, she was shivering.

  ‘Angie, what the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Just went out for a run. I needed to get some fresh air.’

  ‘In the pouring rain? Are you mad? What if you’d fallen over? Our baby’s life could be at risk, and yours too.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything, John. When I started out it was dry, the sun was shining, and I only went to the park and back. No one was in any danger, least of all the baby.’

  He shook his head. ‘You want to get out of those wet clothes and dry yourself.’

  She gave him an icy glare before running upstairs.

  He didn’t care what she thought. She had acted foolishly and had to be told.

  Ever since she’d been pregnant, it seemed to have been one stupid thing after another. And he was powerless to stop it.

  Fifteen minutes later, she came down the stairs in jeans and top, hair still damp but neatly combed.

  She sat in the armchair and switched on the TV in sullen silence.

  She was at fault, but maybe it would be best if he made the first move.

  ‘Drink? Bet you need warming up after all that running in the cold.’

  A flicker of anger came into her eyes. ‘Mug of soup.’

  ‘OK, coming up.’

  When he returned, she was shivering again. Her hands went tightly around the cup and she sipped it every few minutes.

  pg. 78

  ‘So, are we going food shopping this morning, or do you want a rest after your
Arctic marathon?’

  ‘Very funny. I can’t face food shopping. I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘OK, I’ll go on my own. Mind you, the way you’re eating these days, we won’t need much, will we?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I can’t help it, John. I’m not doing this on purpose. I want to eat, but when I feel like this it’s impossible. It’s not as bad now, but I’m still suffering.’

  ‘Didn’t stop you going out running, though, did it? Anyway, the morning sickness isn’t all, is it? It’s you, too. Always in a mood and most times you take it out on me. I try not to let it get to me, but …’

  ‘I’m sorry. I get so emotional and wound up over everything. And when I do, I lash out. But it will pass.’

  ‘I’m not so sure of that. You need professional help, Angie, and only a doctor or a psychiatrist can provide that.’

  ‘No. This is just because I’m pregnant. It will go in time.’

  He sighed. ‘I’d better make a list and get the shopping. Is there anything you want?’

  ‘Not especially. Just buy stuff I like, and we’ll see how it goes.’

  <><><>

  He got to the supermarket within fifteen minutes. Food shopping was a pet hate of his as Angie always complained he spent too much and bought rubbish. This time he’d stick to the list. She’d probably find fault in whatever he did, but so what? All he could do was try.

  As he walked through the fresh fruit and veg section, he felt a tap on his shoulder; he turned around and saw Sarah. A big smile covered her face as if she’d enjoyed surprising him.

  ‘Sarah, hi. Fancy seeing you here.’

  ‘Yeah. I don’t usually come here, but there’s a few things I couldn’t get at my usual supermarket. How come you’re on your own? What’s happened to Angie?’

  ‘Oh, she’s not well again. To be honest, it’s been a nightmare ever since she got pregnant. She’s had morning sickness, mood swings, she can’t stop crying, and loses her temper over the slightest thing. It’s a bit depressing.’

  ‘Lots of women have problems during pregnancy, but that sounds worse than normal. That’s a shame, John.’

  He smiled. ‘Sorry to bore you with my troubles …’

  ‘Not a problem. I wondered why you’d been so quiet at work. I put it down to how busy we’ve been.’

  ‘Well, I’ve tried to hide it, to be honest. You know what us men are like, and we hate bringing problems to work. Hopefully Angie will sort herself out pg. 79

  eventually and we’ll have a beautiful baby. And then I can forget all this nonsense.’

  ‘I hope so too, for both your sakes.’

  ‘Anyway, better get on, or Angie will wonder what I’ve been up to …

  Sarah. Please don’t tell the others at work. I don’t want it to be common knowledge.’

  ‘No, of course not. But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m a good listener. I might be able to help.’

  He nodded and finished the shopping, wondering if he’d done the right thing in telling Sarah about his problems. He’d been careful not to mention the possibility of the baby having a disability. Perhaps it might never happen – he certainly hoped so.

  When he got back, Angie had her feet up on the sofa. She was watching TV, and only glanced briefly at him as he brought in the bags. He gave her a slight smile, then got on with putting the shopping away.

  Afterwards he sat down wearily opposite her, her feet almost touching him.

  He had no energy to start a conversation, but to his surprise, it turned out there was no need.

  ‘John …’

  ‘Yeah, what is it?’

  ‘I have a confession to make.’

  ‘Oh yes, and what’s that?’

  ‘I had a phone call about the results of the blood test and I went to the doctor’s on my own. I know I should have phoned you, but I panicked.’

  ‘Angie … how could you? I wanted to be there with you, you know that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think. And since then I’ve been bottling it up inside.’

  ‘Oh, God. Was it bad news?’

  ‘Sort of.’ She told him what the doctor had said.

  ‘Well, it’s still not certain by any means, is it? All right, so the odds are higher than normal, but I’d still take them. Obviously, the doctors will monitor our baby’s progress but I’m sure everything will be fine.’

  ‘Why did this have to happen, though? I feel like I’m jinxed. And now I’m more frightened than ever. When will it end?’

  ‘Did you mention all this to the doctor?’

  ‘Yes. She wanted me to have counselling, but I don’t want everyone knowing my business.’

  ‘But if it helps you, it would be worth it. You should have let me come; we could have discussed everything together. Angie, you’re not helping yourself by shutting me out.’

  She looked away.

  pg. 80

  Chapter 16

  he day of the abortion, Thursday 4th March, soon came, and Angie hadn’t slept a wink. It was on her mind constantly. She’d already been for an T assessment; they’d offered her counselling again, which she’d refused.

  The decision was made and nothing would dissuade her.

  She stayed in bed while John got dressed, following his regular morning routine, secure in his ignorance. She kept up the pretence of being asleep until he’d left for work. Then she rose and had a bath, remembering her failed attempts at hot baths and the other ridiculous DIY methods of getting rid of the baby.

  The taxi arrived on time. The driver beeped his horn and she walked out with a small case to the car. He must have wondered why she wanted a taxi when there was a car on the drive. Hopefully he wouldn’t ask, because she didn’t know what to say.

  She got in the back.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘St Mary’s clinic, off Westcott Street. Know where it is?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Out of the town centre, on the way to Marlbury.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  She saw him smile in the rear-view mirror and smiled back.

  The traffic was lighter than usual so she would arrive in plenty of time. She tried to relax, taking in deep breaths, and even closed her eyes for a few minutes.

  Although it was only minor surgery, she feared the worst and longed for the op to be over.

  Afterwards, she’d need to rest and would have the painful task of lying to John; telling him she’d miscarried would upset him. But if he found out the truth, all hell would break loose.

  Her phone beeped. A message from her dad. Good luck, you’re doing the right thing. She smiled and sent a reply. Thanks.

  The taxi pulled up outside at a quarter to ten.

  Climbing out, she asked, ‘Any chance of a pick-up in about three hours’

  time?’

  ‘Yeah, no problem.’

  ‘I’ll ring at lunchtime to confirm, OK?’

  ‘Fine.’

  As she walked in through the clinic doors, a wave of sadness came over her, thinking of this life only a few weeks old, soon to be taken away. But the alternative was unthinkable. If she ended up like her mother, all their lives would be ruined.

  At the reception desk sat a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform. Angie gave her name and appointment time. Then waited.

  pg. 81

  Five minutes later, a dark-haired man in his forties came up to her. He wore white slacks and top and smiled at her over his round glasses.

  ‘Mrs Greaves?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Dr Irwin; I’ll be performing your procedure today. If you could follow me, we’ll go through a few preliminaries first and then have you in surgery.’

  She followed him into a room, where he opened a file on the desk.

  ‘All right, Angela, this is just to make sure everything is in order before we begin. I want you understand what we’ll be doing during the operation, and we have a consent form you need to sign. Once I’ve done this and you’re happy, we’ll t
ake you to the operating theatre.’

  Angie nodded but inside her heart raced like a train that would never stop.

  She trembled and felt herself perspiring.

  As Dr Irwin went through everything, she couldn’t take it in, but she acknowledged what he said, signed the consent form and waited to be taken into theatre.

  ‘OK, we’re ready for you now. Please follow me.’

  The room was small and well lit, with a bed in the middle. Angie lay down as directed, her white paper gown rustling.

  ‘All right, Angela,’ a nurse said. ‘We’ll now give you an injection to numb you. Just a local anaesthetic, like they do at the dentist.’

  The pain was sharp but soon over.

  ‘We’ll wait a few minutes for the injection to take effect,’ the nurse said.

  Angie realised she was trembling all over; tears streamed down her cheeks.

  The thought of killing the child that she and John had created hit her like a bullet.

  And what about John? Did he deserve this? All he’d done was to get her pregnant.

  And he longed to be a father. But now she was shutting the door in his face. She had no certainty that this baby would affect her the same way that her own birth had affected her mother. The possibility remained – but what if everything turned out fine? Even the prospect of Down’s suddenly didn’t seem to matter.

  She cried out, ‘No! No! No! Stop!’

  The doctor looked startled and put down the silver instrument that was in his hand. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Angie sat up. ‘I … I can’t go through with this.’

  ‘All right, that’s no problem, Mrs Greaves. Don’t worry. I can stop the procedure now if you wish. Are you sure that’s what you want?

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘The nurse will take you to the interview room. You can stay there for as long as you like. Don’t worry – this happens regularly; there’s no need to feel bad.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She sat with the nurse.

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