The art of deception Read online

pg. 29

  ‘It is but I just have to live with it, I’m afraid.’

  They stayed another hour, watching TV . Angie seized her chance when John went to the bathroom.

  ‘Dad, you were amazing – you ought to be on the stage. I don’t like lying to John, but he doesn’t know what we know, and I’d hate to worry him. It would upset him too much if he knew about Mum and that I might end up like she did.’

  ‘I’ll say it would. Have you thought any more about getting rid of it?’

  ‘I can’t, Dad. It’s not the baby’s fault that Mum killed herself. I know there’s a chance I’ll be affected with the same problems, but I won’t have an abortion just in case – even though it worries me a lot and it’s giving me sleepless nights on top of the morning sickness.’

  ‘Remember what we went through, love. Your mum never had any problems until after you were born, either – and then suddenly she was like a different person. Mood swings, hallucinations, delusions. We kept a lot of it from you, of course, but it was terrible.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about it anymore. This is my problem and I’ll deal with it.’

  John came downstairs and she looked at him gratefully.

  ‘We’d better make a move, Dad. I feel queasy again and I’m tired. It’ll be a busy day tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll phone you in the morning. Pop over before the new year?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Enjoy Christmas, both. Hope you like your presents, but if you don’t, I can always change them. I’ve got the receipts.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Dad. We always treasure what you buy us. You have a good one, too.’

  Angie sat in the car in silence. Tears were coming, and she couldn’t stop them. John was bound to notice.

  ‘Hey – you all right?’

  ‘Yes, sorry. I keep thinking about Mum and how she’d have loved having a grandchild. It doesn’t seem fair that I lost her so young. It’s hard to express how I felt when she died – what Dad and me went through together. She was such a warm person, would do anything for you, the best mum ever.’

  ‘I wish she was here, too. I wish I’d met her. You’re the spitting image of her.’

  ‘I may look like her, but there’s some of my dad in me too. I’m like him in my ways – or at least, I was until I got pregnant. I barely recognise myself these days.’

  ‘You’ll be fine once the sickness has gone. Your old self again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure. It’s emotional as well as physical. I want to cry all the time and I don’t know why. I should be happy, but I’m not.’

  ‘I’ve told you before – it’s just your hormones. You’ll settle down. In a year’s time we’ll look back and wonder what on earth we were so worried about.’

  Angie smiled, but she prayed she’d made the right decision.

  pg. 30

  Chapter 7

  ohn put the bag of presents down while Angie went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. When she returned, she sat in the armchair rather than next to J him on the sofa.

  This worried him. ‘Everything all right, Angie?’

  ‘I don’t know. No. I feel strange – like my emotions are all over the place, somehow. I’m frightened.’

  ‘There’s no need to be. You can talk to me about anything and you know I’ll help if I can. And if you’ll let me.’

  ‘I keep thinking back to when Mum died and how hurt I was. The thought of never seeing her again scared me to death. We used to talk about growing up, and what she experienced when she was my age. It was like having a big sister.

  It’s not quite the same with Dad; we’re very close and I love him to bits, but he can’t ever be my mum.’

  ‘You’ll never replace her, that’s true. But if we have a daughter of our own, your relationship with her might be similar.’

  ‘That’s ages away. What do I do until then?’

  ‘Talk to me, your dad, your friends, anyone you’re comfortable with.’

  Angie sighed.

  He changed the subject. ‘Hey, shall we open these presents?’

  ‘Not on Christmas Eve. We have to do it in the morning.’

  ‘Don’t you think we’re too old for that claptrap?’

  ‘No, John,’ she snapped. ‘It’s a family tradition and I won’t break with that for anyone, not even you.’

  ‘All right, don’t get mad. It was only a suggestion. No need to bite my head off.’

  ‘Look, I still feel bad. I miss my mum and I’m struggling to come to terms with having a baby, so I don’t need your sarcasm.’ She got up from her seat.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To bed. And you can forget about me cooking the dinner and having your parents here tomorrow, too. I can’t face it. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.’

  John shook his head. ‘So what are we doing with the turkey?’

  ‘Is that all you can think about – your bloody stomach? I don’t give a shit about the turkey. Just do what you want. I don’t care.’

  He felt his face reddening with anger as she stormed off upstairs. To fly off the handle like that over nothing was ridiculous.

  He needed a beer to calm himself down. He watched TV for half an hour and then went upstairs; she was in bed, with her back to him.

  What if she meant it about his parents not coming? He’d have to speak to her in the morning. And as for the turkey, it seemed he’d have to sort that out himself.

  pg. 31

  He undressed and got in beside her, being careful not to touch her. He imagined she was asleep, so he put on his alarm clock for six and tried to drop off, without much success.

  <><><>

  Bang on six o’clock, the alarm beeped. John was already awake and turned it off at the third ring. He risked a glance at Angie, but she was still asleep.

  Downstairs, he made for the kitchen to deal with the turkey, trying to remember what Angie had done last year. He checked it was thawed properly, washed it, placed it in a roasting tin, added knobs of butter under the skin, then smoothed foil over it and put it in the oven. He longed to ask Angie if he’d done everything right, but he couldn’t.

  At nine, he returned upstairs to see if she’d stirred. Quietly he opened the bedroom door; she lay in the same position, like a corpse. Pulling back the covers, he risked speaking to her.

  ‘Angie, are you all right?’

  She opened her eyes, looked at him and turned away.

  ‘Come on, darling, what’s wrong?’

  She burst into tears and he put his arm around her.

  ‘I’ve got everything under control. The turkey’s in the oven. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I … I can’t face it, John – I mean it. Please tell them not to come. I’ll be sick, I know I will. It will be so humiliating. Phone them. Please.’

  ‘But what do I say?’

  ‘Tell them I’m ill … say I’m sorry for the inconvenience.’

  ‘Why don’t I just explain you’re pregnant and having a bad time? They won’t be angry – they’ll be happy for you, honestly.’

  ‘No, no, no. You mustn’t, or I won’t be able to look them in the eye.’

  ‘Angie, why ever not? Isn’t this a celebration, our first child? We should shout it from the rooftops. And your dad already knows, anyway.’

  ‘What if there’s a problem, and I need a termination?’

  ‘That won’t happen, I promise you. Trust me, please. Let me phone them, so they can make alternative arrangements.’

  She hesitated, thinking it over. ‘They’ll be so angry; my name will be mud.’

  ‘No, it won’t. They’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘All right, do it,’ she said, burying her face in the pillow.

  He took out his mobile and pressed the number, moving out of the room so that Angie couldn’t hear.

  His mum answered the phone. When he told her the news, she wept with joy.

  pg. 32

  ‘Oh, Joh
n! How wonderful! Our first grandchild. Incredible! I’m sorry she’s not well, but these things happen during pregnancy. It’s a shame we can’t see you, but you must put Angie and the baby first.’

  ‘If she’s any better later on the week, you can pop round then, or we’ll come to yours.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. It’s most important for Angie to look after herself, and you must take care of her too.’

  ‘I will. I feel awful about it, though. What’ll you do about your Christmas dinner?’

  ‘It won’t be a problem. The pubs are open. I’ll get your dad to ring around; there’s bound to be a few that aren’t fully booked. Why don’t we come over at the weekend instead?’[AB3]

  ‘OK. And I’ll ring you later, let you know how she is.’

  ‘Thanks, son. You look after yourself, and Angie too. Merry Christmas to you both. Give her our love.’

  He heaved with relief when she’d gone, thankful at how understanding she’d been. But he felt guilty that his parents now had to go out and pay a fortune for their Christmas meal when they should be coming to them. While Angie couldn’t help being ill, her timing could have been better.

  He walked back into the bedroom, where Angie was hunched over on the bed with her head in her hands, crying again. He sat beside her, taking hold of her hand.

  ‘I’ve told them, darling. And they were fine – they’re going out to a pub instead. They wished you all the best and said for you to look after yourself. I told them to pop around in a day or two, if you’re well enough. You OK with that?’

  She shrugged her shoulders and sniffed back her tears. They sat in silence for several minutes before she lifted her head and looked at him through blood-shot eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, John. I kept hoping I’d be all right, but it’s no good. I wanted so much to give them Christmas dinner but it’s impossible. Can you forgive me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. You can’t help being ill, and it’s just a shame Mum and Dad had to be the victims of your illness. I could have cooked everything, and I’m sure Mum would have helped. As it is, the turkey’s in the oven. Just got to put the veg on, and we’re good to go.’

  ‘Always the optimist, eh? It’ll all go to waste now.’

  ‘It’s only food. If the stress of being the hostess had caused you to miscarry, then it would be worth crying over, but a few quid’s worth of food won’t hurt us.

  We can always freeze the leftovers. Anyway, that’s the least of our worries. I’ve got to say I’m concerned, Angie. The way you’ve been in yourself ever since you found out you’re pregnant isn’t normal. I think after the holidays you should see the doctor again, find out if there’s anything he can give you, you know, to settle you down a bit.’

  pg. 33

  Angie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You haven’t got much faith in me, have you? OK, so I’m having problems with morning sickness, but that’s all. I don’t need a shrink, for God’s sake. Are you trying to get back at me because your parents aren’t coming over?’

  ‘That’s not it at all. But it’s not only the sickness, it’s your mental state too.

  You’re acting irrationally, overreacting to things you’d normally take in your stride—’

  ‘I’m not listening to this. Piss off and leave me alone.’

  ‘Please, Angie. At least think about it.’

  ‘Why don’t you get on with cooking your precious Christmas dinner that no one will eat except you?’

  John knew he shouldn’t have mentioned his fears, but they were out in the open now. There was no going back.

  He strode downstairs. She would come round, and in the meantime, he’d continue with the meal. He wasn’t an expert cook, but he’d watched her enough times to know what to do.

  By twelve-thirty the dinner was done and everything was on the plates. It didn’t look bad, in the circumstances. He went back upstairs.

  She still sat on the bed, staring into space.

  ‘Angie.’ He spoke softly and she glanced in his direction. ‘Listen, dinner’s ready if you’re hungry. I’ve done the best I can, hope it’s at least edible.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t fancy eating on my own, with it being Christmas. Let’s try to salvage of what’s left of the day, shall we?’

  She hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded.

  Downstairs, Angie sat at the table waiting for John to bring over the plates.

  He’d given her a smaller portion than normal and hoped she’d eat at least a little.

  His own plate was full, although he wasn’t especially hungry.

  ‘There you go, darling. Just eat what you want and leave the rest.’

  She smiled, breathed in and picked up her knife and fork. John started on his own and tried not to look at her too much as they ate.

  ‘How is it?’ he asked. ‘Obviously it’s not as good as you’d cook it, but is it at least edible?’

  ‘Yes, it’s not bad. I’m sorry, John. You’re right – I need to eat, or our baby will suffer. And I couldn’t bear that.’

  ‘Me neither. I’ll support you, whatever you want to do to get better. I’m on your side. I love you more than you’ll ever realise.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  He ate slowly so as not to pressurise her, but still finished before her. After taking his empty plate out, he returned with two glasses of fruit juice.

  ‘Wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink. Hope orange is OK?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ She took a small sip, then looked up at him, putting her knife and fork aside. ‘Sorry, I can’t eat any more. It’s nice, though. Any other time and I’d have eaten the lot.’

  pg. 34

  ‘No worries. You’ve had at least half, if not more. So long as you’re not sick afterwards, everything will be fine.’

  She smiled again. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Want any afters? Black forest gateau. A small piece?’

  ‘Why not?’

  She ate all of it apart from the cream on the top. It made his day.

  ‘Why don’t you switch the telly on, put your feet up? I’ll do the washing-up and join you in a few minutes.’

  ‘Thanks, John. For putting up with me, I mean. I’m trying my best to get myself right but it will take time. I promise I’ll see the doctor again as soon as I can get an appointment.’

  ‘That’s no problem. Isn’t that what husbands are for? I won’t be long and then we’ll have some quality time together. I’m looking forward to having you to myself for a change.’

  <><><>

  Angie sat in front of the TV, feeling tired and sick; she didn’t want to watch anything. Instead she lay back and closed her eyes, feeling guilty for letting everyone down.

  ‘All right, Angie?’

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘Exhausted … and ashamed of myself.’

  ‘There’s no need to be. You can’t help it if you’re ill. Isn’t there anything on TV? It’s Christmas Day, after all.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood, John. I’ve lost interest. Don’t want to stay in either.

  I’m all of a go inside. Mind if I go for a walk?’

  ‘It’s cold outside, and it’ll be dark soon.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ She got up from her seat.

  ‘Want me to come with you?’

  ‘I won’t be very good company.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that. Come on, then. Put a coat on, we don’t want you catching a chill on top of everything else.’

  ‘OK.’

  Angie hated herself but she wanted to be alone. She knew what he’d want to talk about and she knew she’d get emotional again. That, she couldn’t face.

  She put on the sheepskin jacket that he’d bought her last year and they stepped out into the cold.

  ‘Looks like the rain’s kept off,’ he said.

  ‘So far.’

  ‘Where shall we go?’

  ‘No idea. Maybe the park? I need some fresh air.’

  ‘Right, the park it is. It�
��s a fair walk, though. You all right with that?’

  pg. 35

  ‘Perfectly.’

  She took his arm, shivering.

  ‘Cold?’

  ‘I’ll be fine once I’ve walked a bit. And John, please stop fussing over me.

  I’m all right, I won’t break.’

  ‘I know, but I can’t stop worrying over you. Is that such a bad thing?’

  ‘I suppose not. And it’s appreciated, really – I promise you.’

  He squeezed her hand and they walked for a time without speaking. Angie was aware of what would be coming soon enough, but for now she wanted only peace and quiet.

  The park was full; children played on shiny new bikes and scooters, and people walked their dogs, trying to take off the weight they’d just put on.

  ‘Shall we sit on one of those benches by the side of the lake? I’ve suddenly gone tired,’ Angie said.

  ‘Sure thing – I could do with a rest myself.’

  They sat close together. For a second she put her head on his shoulder, but moved it when a man and his dog passed by.

  The low late-afternoon sun broke through the clouds, but the cold remained and Angie quivered from the chill in the air. She moved closer to John, snuggling into his side. ‘It’s nice here, isn’t it? Always wondered how the birds and suchlike cope with the bad weather, without the benefit of thick clothing. The water must be freezing.’

  ‘Don’t they have a layer of fat to keep them warm?’ He laughed. ‘I know a few people with that layer of fat, too. Bet they’re nice and warm, but they’ll sweat like pigs in the summer. I’d rather be as I am than like them—’

  ‘This isn’t the right time for us to have a baby.’

  John turned to her sharply. ‘What? Angie, there’s no right or wrong time.

  The baby’s here now and we must live with it.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say – you haven’t got to carry it around for nine months and then give birth to it. And then look after a baby.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Angie – that you wish you weren’t pregnant?’

  ‘I … I think that might be what I’m saying, yes. How do we know having a child won’t be a nightmare? Not sure I can go through with it, but …’