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She was always here. Always with me. Wherever I went, she came with me. She never left me…
But she had. And she would not be coming back. She would live her life, far away from him, not wanting anything to do with him…
The vice crushed again, so he could scarcely breathe.
She doesn’t want me. Not for a husband or a father to her baby.
Again in his mind he replayed her harsh, condemning words, painting a portrait of himself that excoriated him.
Some fathers are not worth having…
And then, into the echo of her denunciation came another voice, his cousin’s. Grim, harsh, but offering a single stark ray of hope.
You are not your father.
For a long, long moment he did not move. Then, with abrupt resolve, he strode into his bedroom. He walked to the closet and stared grimly around.
Somewhere, surely, there must be a suitcase.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VANESSA SPREAD OUT the rug onto the sand and carefully lowered herself down on to it. Her movements were becoming increasingly ungainly, and the heat made her uncomfortable and restless these days. But after a fortnight of baking temperatures the weather had changed, bringing a refreshing breeze off the Atlantic and a shading haze over the summer sun. As she settled a cushion under her and reached into her beachbag for her book, she felt nothing more than pleasantly warm in her loose blouson top and wide, elasticated cotton cropped trousers.
She glanced down at the bump. It was far too large now even for modelling maternity wear. Advertisers always fought shy of showing women in the final stages when, no matter how well-designed, no maternity clothes could be flattering, only revealing. In any case, she’d be too tired to do any modelling now. At the time she’d been glad of the opportunity, even if it had come out of the blue via another of the girls who’d modelled the Levantsky collection.
A haunted look came into her eyes suddenly.
If I hadn’t done that assignment Markos would never have found out about the baby.
Because she would never have told him. She knew that with a dull, drear certainty.
Opening the book, she did not immediately start reading, but looked out to sea instead, glad of her sunhat and the dark glasses taking the glare off her eyes. The tide was out and the beach was thronged with families and children enjoying the seaside.
She felt tired, but that was not surprising. The last stage of pregnancy would be like that, she knew, having assiduously read every pre-natal book she could find. She also knew it was important to keep as mobile as she could, so she made her twice daily constitutional up and down the seafront, and swam every other day as well, even though she was slowing down now. The water was comfortable, reducing the feeling of being so heavy. If the tide weren’t so far out she would have gone in the sea now. Perhaps she would do so later, she thought, when it was closer in again.
She folded a hand over her swelling belly, as if to cradle her baby. It was strange to think of it upside down inside her, and she could distinctly see the outline of a foot every now and then. There was no activity now, though. That might be a sign, she had read, that she would get peaceful afternoons. Conversely, judging by the bouncing that regularly went on close to midnight, she wouldn’t be able to look forward to early nights.
She let her thoughts run on quite deliberately, about the daily details of pre-natal life, and what was likely to happen once the birth was over. She was booked in to the local maternity hospital. Her bag was already packed, just as the books advised, and she had the numbers of three local taxi services, all of whom were willing to do either the scheduled run on her due date or an emergency one beforehand if necessary. Later, when winter came, she would buy a car. It was fine strolling around town in the summer, but in the winter it would be a different matter. Besides, local transport wasn’t brilliant, and with a small child in tow having her own car was going to be essential in such a predominantly rural area. Some of the other mums she knew lived out of town, and if she wanted to keep in touch she’d need to be independently mobile.
She watched a group of children set up a game of beach cricket a little way away. Independence was going to be her watchword, she knew. Even with friends, and a supportive midwife and health visitor, she would have to rely on herself.
A pang went through her, but she put it aside. She could not afford to indulge in such things. She had remade her life and now she must live it.
You did the right thing. You know you did. There was nothing else to be done.
The familiar mantra formed in her mind.
Everything you said to him was true. You’ll be perfectly all right on your own. You don’t need him to sacrifice himself.
And it would have been a sacrifice, she reminded herself mercilessly. Everything Markos had said, during both those horrible descents on her, had made that pitilessly clear. And how could she ever forget what he’d said to her that last morning in his apartment, when he’d trampled on her frail, pathetic hopes so completely? For Markos, the worst thing in the world would be to get trapped into marriage by a pregnant mistress.
And that’s what I did. It was my ignorance about the Pill that got me pregnant. That’s the situation I’m in, and that’s the situation I have to work out in the best way possible.
Her expression hardened.
And I don’t need Markos to marry me out of an unwilling sense of responsibility to a baby he never wanted by a woman who never meant anything to him.
The pang came again, deep and agonising, as it always did when she made herself face up to the truth, sliding deep within her like a knife to the heart. It had hurt so much, facing up to the truth about Markos, but she had known it had to be done. For so long she’d lived in some kind of blind fantasy, adoring a man to whom she had never mattered. Then the veils had been ripped from her eyes and she had seen the truth of what she had become.
