The art of deception Read online

  ‘What if I don’t want to take two weeks off?’

  ‘Angie, this isn’t a request, it’s an order. Now please go home and we’ll see you in a fortnight, all right? Go and see the doctor, and get him to sign you off sick.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go on sick leave. I can’t stay at home on my own, I’ll be bored to tears.’

  ‘Angie. Go home and rest.’

  She stood up. ‘Duncan, you’ll regret this, I promise you.’

  She stormed out, leaving the door open. She collected her belongings from her office and marched out past reception. Tears came into her eyes as she glimpsed the smug look on Bethany’s face. She wanted so much to react, but she didn’t. Bethany wasn’t worth the effort.

  Back in the car, Angie was frantic, but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry.

  John was going to be unbearable, but there was no way to hide it.

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  She lay on the bed, horrible thoughts sweeping through her head. Was it really worth having this baby if it was giving her so much trouble? She already felt like she was losing control over her own body and her own life; how much worse would it be once the baby was born?

  She got on the laptop and searched ‘natural ways to miscarry’. It seemed there were several possibilities: taking high amounts of vitamin C, doing vigorous exercise, eating cinnamon, parsley and some other herbs she’d never heard of.

  Then came a suggestion to have hot baths. Finally, there was the big one: having an actual abortion.

  pg. 60

  This might end her problems, but John wanted to be a dad; he would be devastated. If only she’d listened to her dad in the first place.

  It was only ten-thirty. She picked up her phone, wondering if she might get an appointment this afternoon.

  pg. 61

  Chapter 13

  he arrived at the surgery to see the appointments were running twenty minutes late. Never mind – with luck, she’d still get back home on time.

  S At four forty-five they called her name. She knocked and faced another female doctor she’d never seen before.

  She explained her difficulties with work.

  ‘So you’re still feeling sick.’

  ‘More than that. It’s horrible. I’m taking the tablets as directed but although they are helping a little and I’m eating better, I’m still throwing up once or twice a day. It’s a nightmare.’

  ‘Well, we can’t increase the dosage any further – you’re taking the maximum amount. You may have to live with it for the next few weeks, or even for the course of your pregnancy, I’m afraid. It’s a common complaint.’ The doctor studied the screen in front of her. ‘How has your mood been lately?’

  ‘Well, I was coping, but now my boss has told me to take two weeks off because I keep being sick, and it’s stressing me out. I don’t want to spend two weeks at home on my own. It’ll drive me mad. My boss suggested that you give me a sick note. He sent me home and told me not to come back until I’m better.’

  ‘Well, there are options. We can put you on a low dose of antidepressants, as I believe Dr Strange suggested before. I can assure you there would be no risks to your baby. In the meantime, I’ll give you a note for a week. Come and see me next week, and I’ll assess you again then. Oh, and I see from your notes that you’re due for your twelve-week scan soon. Is that booked?’

  ‘Yes.’ Angie said. ‘It’s on the fifteenth.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, about the antidepressants. A low dosage for the next few months might help you overcome your anxieties – and when you feel better, you can come off them.’

  ‘I don’t know. If I could get over these sickness feelings and get back to work, I think I’d be all right.’ She debated whether to speak to the doctor about the other thing, which might be the only way out, or face six months of hell.

  ‘Here’s your prescription and the note for your employer.’

  Now or never. ‘I … I wanted to ask another question. About … having an abortion. Could I …?’

  The doctor raised her eyebrows. ‘What makes you think you would want a termination?’

  ‘I’m not cut out to be a mother. I’m dreading the birth, and I can’t stop feeling sick, and the thought of looking after a baby scares me to death. I won’t cope, and I won’t be able to work, and I just won’t be me anymore. And what if I go mad like my mum did?’

  ‘Yes, I read the notes from your chat with Dr Brodie. But there’s nothing to suggest your mum’s illness has been inherited, Mrs Greaves. You’re most pg. 62

  likely just anxious, that’s all. It’s perfectly normal to feel like that. Have you talked this over with your husband?’

  ‘No, I can’t tell him about mum’s bipolar. He thinks she died in a car crash; he’d be heartbroken if he thought I might end up the same as her …’ Angie paused, then nodded. ‘I just need it taken away and then I’ll tell him I had a miscarriage. It’s the only way.’

  ‘Well, I can’t make the decision for you, and I can’t tell you what to do, but legally there’s nothing to stop you at this stage of your pregnancy. But what I would say is that honesty is usually the best policy – I’d strongly advise you to talk it over with your husband first. And don’t forget, there’s plenty of help available without having to take such a drastic step. Antenatal classes, support groups, all that kind of thing.’

  ‘All right, I’ll think about it. You must think I’m cold and callous, but I’m not. I’m just more frightened than I’ve ever been in my life.’

  ‘That’s understandable. Pregnancy is an emotional as well as a physical experience. Next time, bring your husband, and we can talk about it together. I still think medication may be the answer, but you don’t have to take my advice – it’s your call. Please just have a think about it. You take care of yourself, now.’

  Angie left, wondering if confiding in the doctor had been a stupid move.

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  John finally arrived home after another gruelling day at work. He still had a mountain of self-employed accounts to finish for the end of the financial year. He wondered what reception he’d get when he faced Angie; frosty, he suspected.

  Opening the front door, he left his briefcase in the hall, and went in search of her, but there was no sign of her in the living room or kitchen. Then he caught sight of her coming downstairs in her dressing gown, her hair covered by a towel.

  ‘Hallo. Been washing your hair?’

  ‘Yes, just had a bath. Got fed up of waiting for you, darling.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s that time of the year at work. Be glad when it’s over. Especially with you in your present predicament.’

  ‘Very funny. Your dinner is in the microwave. Just reheat it for five minutes.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  He brought his meal in on a tray and ate in front of the TV. Angie was watching a soap, feet curled beneath her on the sofa.

  ‘So how have you been today?’ he asked.

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

  ‘That doesn’t tell me a lot.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Will you elaborate?’

  ‘Are you that interested?’

  pg. 63

  ‘As a matter of fact, I am. You know I’m worried about how this pregnancy is affecting you.’

  ‘Want to hear the latest, then?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Duncan told me to take two weeks off.’

  He suppressed a smile. ‘Oh dear. But it can’t be helped. Maybe it’s what you need to recover from this sickness thing.’

  ‘I saw the doctor this afternoon, to get signed off. She said I’m taking the maximum dose for the sickness tablets and thinks antidepressants might help my anxiety. I said I’d discuss it with you.’

  ‘You have been very anxious about having the baby, and looking after it and everything. If you took the morning sickness away, would it make you feel less anxious?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. It’s a hypothetical question.
I won’t know until it happens. What do you think about the antidepressants?’

  ‘You know what I think. As I said when we saw the doctor before, so long as there’s no risk to the baby, I’d say go for it. I’ve been banging on about it for the last few weeks – you must be sick of hearing it. Millions of people take them these days, so it’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  Angie sighed but didn’t answer. ‘Oh, and don’t forget I have to go for my twelve-week scan on the fifteenth. You are coming with me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve already booked the day off.’

  Thanks,’ she said, squeezing his arm. ‘I wish I didn’t have to take this time off. What will I do all day on my own? It’ll drive me mad.’

  ‘Well, take it easy for a start. That might help with your sickness problems.

  You’ll find something to occupy yourself. Read a book or something. How about you get a couple on pregnancy and childbirth? Might put your mind at rest.’

  ‘I doubt it. And I don’t want to be doped up to get through this.’

  ‘Well, you might only need to take a low dose. Then after a few weeks you can come off them slowly and you’ll be fine.’[AB9]

  ‘John, can we stop talking about this now?’

  ‘But we should talk. Having this baby is going to be one of the biggest events of our lives, something we’ll never forget. And I want to treasure every moment. Why don’t you feel the same?’

  She grimaced. ‘If you felt sick all the time, you’d understand. It knocks the shine off a bit.’

  ‘I imagine it would. Wish I could help. It’s very frustrating.’

  ‘Never mind. You just get on with your lovely life and I’ll get on with mine.’

  He didn’t respond; there was no way he could stomach another row.

  She got up, her eyes narrowing.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Upstairs, John, away from you.’

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  He sighed. ‘What have I done now, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Nothing. You’re getting on my nerves. Rabbiting on and on about things I don’t want to talk about. I can’t stand being in the same room as you.’

  John shook his head, bewildered by the way Angie had behaved just lately.

  This couldn’t just be the sickness and her pregnancy; there must be something else, but what? Maybe a doctor could answer that one – but what chance did he have of getting her to open up and admit all her problems, whatever they were?

  pg. 65

  Chapter 14

  ngie had a restless Sunday night, dreaming of strange things, but woke with a jolt to see the sun shining through the window. Her eyes screwed A up as they grew accustomed to the light. Looking to her left, she saw no sign of John. She glanced across at the alarm clock that she didn’t need today; eight-thirty already. Good God, she’d overslept. And John hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. Well, stuff him.

  Panic spread through her; being alone in the house filled her with dread.

  What would she do? She had to calm down, take one step at a time. First wash and get dressed. Then food, if she could stomach it.

  Breakfast consisted of toast and butter, which she forced herself to eat, followed by a drink of squash. Now she had to keep the food down and hope for the best.

  Bitter thoughts came into her head: her treatment at work, her terror of being pregnant and being a parent. And then that same horrible sick feeling came on again. She couldn’t live with this; she must put a stop to it before it was too late.

  She drove to Dexford, and went to the health food shop. She bought three packets of high-dose vitamin C and some cinnamon, not wanting to risk any of the more obscure herbs for fear of the shop assistant realising why she wanted them.

  On her return, she hid her purchases in a cupboard; although even if John found them, he’d never guess what they were for. How long before the vitamin C

  took effect – an hour? More? She needed a result as soon as possible, so best take the maximum dose and see what happened. The longer she waited, the harder it would be. Right now, the thing inside her was just a foetus – not a baby at all.

  That’s how she must think of it.

  At twelve, the phone rang – John. How jolly decent of him, after rushing off without a word. Still angry, she thought twice before answering.

  ‘Hi. I’m just ringing to see how you are. Sorry I left without saying goodbye, but you seemed to be having a lovely sleep. Didn’t like to wake you.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter – it was probably the right thing to do.’

  ‘Any better now?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘What have you been doing?’

  ‘Not much. Went into Dexford, shopping. Boring. I’d rather be at work.’

  ‘You can’t, Angie. Try to relax, take the weight off your feet.’

  ‘Can you really see me doing that?’

  ‘No, but think of yourself and our baby.’

  There he was, talking about babies again. Well, not for much longer.

  ‘I’m trying my best, but it’s not easy. Please be patient.’

  pg. 66

  ‘I am. I know what you’re going through and I just want to help.’

  ‘I realise that. Putting up with me these days must be hard. How have you kept your temper?’

  She heard affection come into his voice. ‘When you love someone, that’s what you do, Angie. Anyway, look, I’d better go – it’s so hectic here, what with the February deadline coming up. I won’t be back much before seven, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes, I guessed as much. You’ll have to have a warmed-up tea again.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  She felt guilty. Perhaps she didn’t deserve him.

  The tears flowed as she thought about the awful thing she was planning, but she had no choice. If he loved her, he’d get over it and get on with his life.

  As she ate lunch, she thought about her next steps. She’d read something this morning about how strenuous exercise could cause a miscarriage. So, having taken the required dose of vitamin C, she dug out the tracksuit and trainers she’d last used two years ago during a fitness fad.

  The weather was cold, but dry; out she ran, as determined as ever. Where she went wasn’t important, as long as she pushed herself to the limit. She turned left onto the main road and carried on to a track that led to the canal.

  A steady pace at first, to gauge her stamina. Not too bad; she was confident enough to run even faster. Along the canal the pain kicked in; she gritted her teeth but continued. Adrenaline pumped through her body as the agony became unbearable. Her legs were like rubber, her breath scorched in her throat, and she had to stop; there was a bench just past the next bridge.

  Ten minutes passed before she got her breath back, and when she moved, her whole body ached. Her legs were like lead weights – and now she had to go back. At first, she walked, then sped up again. This time she ran at a more leisurely pace, conserving what little energy she had left. With the house in sight, she built up speed until she reached the front door.

  Angie dragged her weary body upstairs and lay flat out on the bed. It had been such hard work, but there was no sign of a reaction, no hint of any blood, no pain anywhere but in her legs. Mortified, she cried with frustration. She had a sudden urge to go to the toilet, then spent the next hour running up and down the stairs. She felt sick, but that was nothing new.

  Perhaps a bath would be a good idea.

  She allowed the water to get as hot as possible and lowered herself into it.

  The pain was immense but she stayed there for five minutes, until the water cooled. Then she washed and dressed. Still nothing.

  Although frustrated, she tried not to panic. This was only the first time, after all. She had several more weeks to go yet, and many other things to try.

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  pg. 67

  By the time John had finished work the following day, he realised he hadn’t phoned or texted Angie a
ll day. Shit, he muttered under his breath, fearing he’d be in trouble when he returned home. She’d been in an odd prickly mood last night, and asleep when he’d left this morning. Still, it was a genuine mistake.

  As he got out of the car at seven-thirty, his stomach churned. None of the lights were on as he entered, which was strange. He flicked on the switch in the hall and went in search of her. Not in the kitchen, the living or dining room. Nor the downstairs toilet or the utility room. That left the bedrooms. She had to be there.

  Their bedroom came first. The door was open, but the room was in semi-darkness. From the light on the landing, he saw her on the bed, lying in a foetal position facing the wall and wearing her dressing gown. She looked so beautiful lying there, so innocent, like the woman he had married. They had been so happy together, right from the start, and a baby should have been the icing on the cake.

  Just where had it all gone wrong?

  Then, as he came back to reality, he noticed her legs. They were red and blotchy.

  ‘Angie!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. When she didn’t answer, he tried again, even louder. This time, to his relief, she flinched.

  She yawned, squinting as he flicked the light switch. ‘Where’s the fire?’

  ‘I thought … I don’t know what I thought.’

  ‘No need to worry, I’m fine. I was tired and when you didn’t come home, I had a bath and I must have fallen asleep.’

  ‘And what’s happened to your legs? They’re bright red.’

  Angie jumped. ‘Oh, the water was a bit too hot. Didn’t realise until I got in. It’s nothing, the redness will be gone by the morning.’

  ‘I hope so, or that’s something else you’ll need to see the doctor about.’

  ‘Your dinner’s in the microwave. Go and warm it up, I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘Thanks. Sorry I didn’t get in touch today. I’ve been in and out of meetings; you wouldn’t believe how frantic it’s been.’