‘He is great,’ she agreed. ‘He’s been incredible these last few years.’
I stroked the modest mound of my belly again.
‘Well, I’ll leave it there,’ Janice said. ‘But you’ve got my number now, so call me any time. Or Jeremy. We’re here for you, no matter what you decide.’
The sky brightened momentarily, and an offshore wind played with my hair. ‘Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’ll call you soon.’
A few days previously, a lecturer had told us about a species of seahorse that stays in monogamous relationship for the rest of its life. Everyone had been charmed, of course, but all I’d been able to think about was how the father of my child had not even stayed for breakfast. He had had sex with me; he had kissed me, and then he’d left to get a train back to London and his wife.
Jeremy must have told him how frightened I was. He must have said that I had no parents, no money and no idea what to do. David knew Janice had sent me a mobile phone, and presumably he had the number. And yet, nothing.
Not for a second had I entertained hopes of him leaving his wife and setting up home with me. I wouldn’t have wanted that even if he did. What I needed, simply, was someone to talk to from time to time. And if that wasn’t available – which, of course, it wasn’t – I’d settle for financial security.
Not even that was on the table.
Janice and Jeremy were the only people who seemed to care about me at the moment, besides Jill and Vivi, and the few coursemates I’d told – but what could they do? What did they know?
I needed a grown-up in my corner.
I sat for a while on a rock, thinking about how it would feel to let these people into my life properly, to allow them to help me, to know this sweet baby girl would have a good life with good people. I had no doubt they’d love her. I had no doubt they’d make sure she had everything she needed.
A shower clattered over the beach, backlit by the sun, and my coursemates’ hoods went up. Rain started trickling down my neck so I pulled my coat around my body and tried to do up the zip, but my stomach was too much for it and it broke.
That did it. I gave in and cried, with the rain. The meagre income I received from the woman renting Dad’s house in Plymouth was barely enough to cover my rent up here, let alone maternity clothes. I couldn’t even afford a coat to keep this bump warm and dry. And if I couldn’t afford maternity clothes, how could I possibly afford to keep a child alive? A couple of my closer friends came and huddled round: they’d been keeping an eye on me.
‘It’ll be OK,’ they kept saying. ‘You’re amazing, Emily, you’ll get through this!’
They were lovely. They also had no idea what they were talking about. I was four months pregnant and alone.
As the shower passed over us and moved inland, I stood up and told them I was fine.
They went back off to their prawns and blennies, their crabs and their whelks, reiterating the meaningless things people always say: I was ‘amazing’ and ‘brilliant’ and ‘stronger than I knew’.
I singled out Jill, who was far away with her hand plunged into a freezing pool, and scrambled over the rocks.
‘I’m seriously thinking of doing it,’ I said, when I reached her. ‘Of saying yes.’
Jill abandoned the top shell she’d been examining.
‘I really would be there for you if you decided to keep the baby,’ she said. ‘Seriously.’
‘I know. And thank you. But I think I want them to have her. I want her to have a good life, Jill. I want more than anything for her to be happy. And I don’t think she would be with me.’
‘Really?’ Jill’s voice was sad. ‘You really don’t think she could be happy with you?’
‘I don’t. No.’
After a long pause, Jill took my wet, cold hand in her own wet, cold hand, and nodded.
We stood there, surrounded by kelp, watching cloud shadows stripe the shore. And for the first time in weeks, even though tears were falling soundlessly down my cheeks, I felt something that might be hope.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After I said yes to the Rothschilds, I began the obligatory counselling and interviews. I filled in forms, I shared medical records. I made cheerful jokes with everyone and anyone, and when they dried up I’d head back outside, walking up and down the shore at St Andrews, fractured and craving anaesthesia.
Janice kept a respectful distance in the first few weeks, but eventually asked if I’d like her to call to check in from time to time. And I did want her to. She and Jeremy were the only people who actually wanted me to be pregnant. Who had some idea of what I was going through, and what lay ahead.
She had the local greengrocer deliver me fruit and vegetables every week, and sent me a book about pregnancy, along with a maternity coat, as if she had somehow been there the day my bump had burst through my zip. She always seemed to know the right moment to send chocolate, or a pair of pyjamas.
