The Reading Group Part 22

'And what a name that is! All those connotations. Temptation, forbidden fruit, Paradise. Eden Close.'

'Oh, yeah. I only just realised that!'

'You are kidding?' Susan was delighted. Even she had got that.

'No, really.'

'Hopeless.'

'Shut up. We can't all be geniuses.' Harriet was laughing at herself. It was pretty obvious, now that she thought of it. She must have had a bit too much sun that day she was reading it.

'I can't wait to hear what you make of my book.'

I know exactly what I'm likely to make of your book, Nic, Harriet was thinking.

Nicole 'Dilatation and curettage' sounded like an upmarket fashion label. It was a gorgeously opaque name for what it actually was. The word 'abortion' made Nicole think about Second World War pilots in Spitfires, ejecting clear of doomed missions. 'Termination' that was the best word, if such a thing could have a best word. She had looked it up in the dictionary, last night: 'Termination: 1. the act of terminating or the state of being terminated. 2. something that terminates. 3. a final result.' It didn't say anything about babies, or murder, or wickedness, or ultimate selfishness, or playing G.o.d.

'A final result.'

Nicole was sitting in her car outside the surgery where she had been registered for seven years, since she moved to the area with Gavin, where both pregnancies had been confirmed, where all her antenatal appointments had been held, where she had sat, bleary-eyed with tiredness after sleepless nights, for a hundred weigh-ins, all painstakingly recorded by the nurse in the children's red books, a dozen immunisations, countless prescriptions for antibiotics and worming tablets. The kids' medical records were, doubtless, pretty standard stuff, no terrifying illnesses or traumatic accidents so far, thank G.o.d.

Her own records probably read like a physical diary of her marriage: nothing but routine appointments for well-woman checks and the odd virus until she was pregnant with the twins, then the flurry of activity that being pregnant and newly delivered involves. The six-week check, and the chat about contraception mini-pill after the twins, IUD fitted after Martha, removed a few months afterwards when she didn't like the side-effects, then back on the pill all that evidence of a happy s.e.x-life within a secure, fecund marriage. Gavin's infidelities were written up too, between the lines, in the form of a script for anti depressants (a girl from the office, when the twins were a few months old), chronic daily headaches, diagnosed as stress-related (a client from some major drugs company, the summer before she was pregnant with Martha), sleeping pills (when his car was stolen from a car park several hundred miles from where he should have been, though she never knew who that was).

And now this was written down for ever in those records: the request for a referral for termination. Whatever she decided, it would always be there the fact that she had considered it. She hadn't known you still have to have a letter from two doctors, both saying that the abortion was important to your mental health. That seemed to belong to a different time, although her doctor had said it was just a formality now. She'd been dreading the appointment. She was a nice woman, Dr Simons, had the knack of being sympathetic but not cloying, asking the right questions without making you feel vulnerable. Nicole had not told her about Gavin, of course. She hadn't told anyone, except Harriet. If Dr Simons had guessed some of what was going on at home, she had not pushed her into confessing, and Nicole had been grateful for that. She hadn't wanted to explain. She didn't want to now, either.

Dr Simons hadn't tried to talk her out of the abortion, or tell her it was a mistake. Perhaps if Nicole had been a kid she might have done, or even if she had seemed less composed, less sure. But she had pulled herself together before she went in, pulled herself so tightly that no single drop of emotion could seep out. 'I'm pregnant, and I can't be.' That sounded desperate, and she didn't want to sound that way. 'I don't want to be.'

Dr Simons had put down her pen and sat back in her chair. She had looked at Nicole quite hard, taking in the perfect hair and makeup, the beautiful clothes, the expensive handbag, probably remembering William, George and Martha. Who knows what she thought? What she said was, 'Are you quite sure of that?'

'Yes, I am. Please believe me, Dr Simons. I have thought this through, and I am very clear on what I want.'

'What about your husband?'

She had to ask, of course, just as Nicole had to lie. 'He's happy for me to do what I think is best for all of us.' Something in her att.i.tude as she sat there added, 'Besides, it is my body, and therefore my decision.'

These were sentiments with which Dr Simons happened to agree. Nicole was unreadable, and the set of her jaw was determined.

'Do you want to talk a little bit about why you've come to this decision?'

'I don't. Not really. Is that okay? I mean, do I have to explain my reasons?'

'No. That's fine.' Dr Simon wouldn't push her. It was early days. She had known women change their minds at every stage. Sometimes you didn't know how you really felt until you started doing something about it. She picked up her pen again.

'Right. How pregnant do you think you are?'

'Exactly twelve weeks.' She gave the date of her last period, and Dr Simons played with her two plastic circles to confirm that Nicole was right. She obviously knew almost to the minute when she had conceived. Which suggested all sorts of things. None of which was any of her business. She looked briefly at Nicole's notes. C of E. Thirty-five next birthday. 'Have you seen someone at the practice already?'

'No, I haven't.'

'So you've had no antenatal care, no bloods, no scan booked in?' She tried not to make that sound negligent.

'No.' Nicole didn't know how to explain that, before Spain, she had known with complete certainty that she was pregnant, revelled in keeping her secret from everyone, and that, since Spain, she had been grappling with this decision, which had first presented itself to her on the aeroplane on the way home.

'But you're sure you're pregnant? I'm sorry to ask, I know you've been pregnant twice before. But you are sure?'

'I'm sure. I've taken two tests. I've missed three periods. And I feel pregnant, just like before. I've put on some weight, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are sore and swollen, that sort of thing.'

'Just the same I think I'll take some bloods this morning, if that's okay with you.'

As she tightened the red rubber strip around her arm and patted the inside of her elbow to raise a vein, Dr Simons looked at Nicole and wondered. But she knew her curiosity had no place in the room. The lion's share of women she referred to the clinic were married women in their thirties who already had children within their relationship. It was one of the great myths that all abortions were performed on unmarried fifteen-year-olds who were using it as a form of birth control. She herself had four kids, the youngest still a baby, and most of the time she thought she would rather saw off her right arm with a blunt bread-knife than be pregnant again. But if it happened she knew, or she hoped she knew, that she would be flooded once more by the love and strength you needed to cope. Yet she had seen a lot of women in here who hadn't felt that way. Women for whom the money worries, the marital concerns or the fear of losing themselves and their bodies and their minds all over again were too much. They had come to this decision painfully, with a partner sometimes but mostly on their own. Grown-up, strong, loving, intelligent women, who didn't need her opening up their hearts again, in an attempt to save the life of the baby they were carrying. The mothers were the patients, she told herself. She treated them, just as she would treat Nicole. She might hope that Nicole would change her mind, somewhere between her door and the door to the clinic in a few days she might believe that in the long term it would make her happier, and she might know from the experience of women who had gone before her that the guilt and the sadness would be with her for ever if she went ahead, but she would still make Nicole's care her priority.

She laid the dark red tubes on her desk, their labels facing down. 'Those'll just confirm it for me.'

'Thank you.'

'How much do you know about the procedure? I take it you haven't had a termination before.'

'No, and I don't know much.'

'Well, it's pretty straightforward so early on. We can refer you by letter, once we've confirmed the pregnancy and established that you're in good shape overall. It's quick enough. They'll probably knock you out and do a D and C, which basically means they remove the lining of your womb, taking the foetus with everything else. You'll be able to come out the same day you'll need someone to pick you up, though, because you'll feel a bit groggy. Afterwards, it's a bit like a period you'll have cramping, and you'll bleed like a normal period for a few days, a week maybe. That's it.'

It sounded ridiculously simple.

'Will they try to counsel me there?' Nicole was afraid that each stage would be presided over by moral judge and jury, standing in her way.

'No, that's my job. Finding out whether you're sure. Once I refer you, you won't be asked anything. Although I think it's important that you recognise you can change your mind at any point if you want to. There will be people there you can talk to, if you feel that way.'

'I won't do that.'

Dr Simons thought she probably wouldn't. She was sorry. She'd seen Nicole with her children. She thought she'd seen Martha, for her preschool check probably, just a couple of months ago. Nicole seemed like a lovely mum. It always seemed a bit surprising: the immaculate mums (yummy mummies, as they categorised them in the surgery) often held their children at arm's length metaphorically as well as literally, but Nicole was gentle, and tactile and very much involved.

After Nicole had left, as she wrote up the appointment in her notes, filling the thirty seconds before the next patient knocked on her door, she found herself hoping she wouldn't go through with it.

Nicole started the car and drove off. She had arranged to meet Harriet for lunch. She had decided to tell her today, while she still had some of the strength she had summoned for the doctor's visit. She wanted Harriet to come with her. And not to judge her.

It was a beautiful day, hot and bright, with a vivid blue sky. The children had gone back to school in their summer uniforms, moaning about having to be inside working when it was so warm outside.

They ate their sandwiches on a bench facing a rose garden. The gardens were quiet just a few mothers, with pushchairs and bow-legged toddlers, and some pensioners, with their Thermos flasks of tea. Nicole chewed slowly, and listened to Harriet's cheerfully inane start-of-term chat. With Martha and Chloe safely and happily ensconced in the ample arms of Mrs Allington, the reception-cla.s.s teacher, Harriet saw a whole world of liberating possibi lities opening up for her and Nicole.

'And I thought we could go somewhere to do our Christmas shopping you know, a bit further afield?'

'You mean like Bath?'

'No, I meant like Paris.'

Nicole laughed. 'No, Nic, seriously, I've got the brochures and everything. You can easily do it in a day. Galeries Lafayette, Les Halles, quick plate of snails for lunch and back for bedtime. Well, practically!'

Harriet was lovely when she was like this. All smiley and exuberant. She wasn't at her best stuck at home. Nicole hoped this was the beginning of a happier time for her and Tim. Once she had got a bit of s.p.a.ce back for herself, she might feel better about her marriage. She didn't want to break her mood, but she had promised herself she would ask her today.

'Harry?'

'Yes.'

'I've made some decisions. About what I'm going to do.'

'About Gavin?'

'And about the baby.'

'The baby?'

'I'm not going to have it, Harry. I can't. I saw the doctor this morning to get a referral for a termination.' Say it out loud. Make it real.

Harriet was shocked. She hadn't computed this at all. She had been hoping Nicole would say she was throwing Gavin out for good. If she'd thought about the baby at all it had been in relation to how much help and support Nicole would need. She'd promised herself she would be there for her. How weird to have been with her for the twins' birth and then end up with her for this baby's as well. Harriet liked babies. 'Why?'

Nicole took a deep breath. Harriet wasn't Dr Simons. She was asking, and she had a right to be told: they were friends and, G.o.d knew, Nicole had laid enough of her troubles at Harriet's door over the years.

'I just can't. I should never have got pregnant in the first place. It was very wrong of me. Stupid and wrong. You were right about that. It was never going to fix my marriage, because it was broken beyond repair a long time ago. I was just too stubborn and too desperate to see it. I could never see past him before, never contemplate a life without him in it. Whatever he did to me.'

Harriet knew that was true.

'I know it sounds stupid, but catching him in bed with that woman in Spain well, it changed things for me. I think it changed me. It was like I could suddenly see things clearly. Like at that moment I realised it wasn't my fault that Gavin is like he is. It isn't because I've changed, or because something's missing it was never about me. It was about him having no strength, no willpower, no morals and, most of all, Harry, having no love or respect for me.'

Harriet stroked her arm. 'That's what I always hated most about it.'

'I know. You've watched it all. You and Tim must think I'm totally stupid.'

'We never thought that.'

'But I was, you see, I was totally stupid. Like a colour-blind person everyone else is seeing green but you keep insisting it's red. Because you really, really believe it is red.'

She was right, Harriet thought.

'In a funny way, I'm glad I saw what I saw in Spain. It made it impossible for me to stay blind, stay stupid. I see now with complete clarity exactly who he is. And of course, that I have to get away from him, because however much I wish I was cured, I'm not. I'm better, but I'm not strong enough to call myself cured.'

Harriet saw where she was going.

'We'll always have the twins and Martha, and we'll always be joined together by them. He loves them and they love him. And I can cope with that. But not a new baby, Harriet, whose father he is. Not with all those feelings and those hormones. He'd get me again, I know he would. It would be easy.'

Harriet saw something like real fear in Nicole's eyes, a haunted look.

'I have to start again with my life. I want to find out how it feels to live free of all that bad feeling. The fear, the inadequacy and the anger. I've had the happiest moments of my life with him, Harriet, but I've also had the worst, lowest, most miserable times with him too because of him. And I've paid for each of those glorious moments with years of feeling like s.h.i.t. And I've finally realised it isn't worth it. I have to go with that feeling while it's strong, and make myself change.'

'And you can't do that if you're pregnant with his child.' Harriet wasn't asking a question, she was acknowledging a reality.

Nicole felt almost euphoric that Harriet understood her. She wanted to hug her, but she hadn't finished. 'I need your help.' She took Harriet's hand. 'I can't do this on my own. I'm asking you to come with me. Please. For the abortion. I know it's a huge thing to ask.'

'It's not such a big thing to ask.'

Harriet didn't have to think about it at all. Where else would she be but with her? 'You don't have to ask. Of course.'

'Thank you.'

'But are you sure that's what you want? Do you really believe none of what you are talking about is possible with a baby?'

'Do you?' Nicole bounced the question back to her friend.

'I do know that what you're talking about isn't going to be easy.'

'So do I. I've sat up night after night since I got back from Spain thinking about it.'

'I'm sure you have. But thinking about it is different from going through with it.'

'And going through with it is going to be easier than dealing with how it feels afterwards. I know that, too. I promise you, I'm not seeing it as some quick fix. I promise you that. I just think it's the only way for me.'

Harriet wasn't sure. It wasn't that she thought it was wrong, not in a moral way, she was resolutely pro-choice, thought the Pope was irresponsible, could think of a thousand different circ.u.mstances where it had to be the right thing to do for the woman, for the family, and even sometimes for the unborn child. But this was Nicole. This was as close as it had ever come to her. And she wasn't sure. Could she do it? She didn't think so. Whatever she felt about Tim and she knew Tim wasn't Gavin a baby they conceived would be another Josh, another Chloe, which would stop her getting rid of it, she was almost sure. She didn't know whether she should tell Nicole that. Ask her to think about it some more. Say she thought it might be a mistake she would have to live with for the rest of her life.

Nicole was afraid she was losing her not her support, she felt instinctively that Harriet would support her in whatever she decided to do, but her understanding of why she had to do this. 'What do you think you would do if you were me?'

Harriet wouldn't lie, so she went for a best friend's half-truth. 'I don't know, Nic. I honestly don't. But I'm not you. I haven't walked the mile in your shoes, or whatever you want to say. I'm not going to tell you you're wrong.'

'Thank you.' Nicole's voice was small and grateful.

'How long have you got?'

'They should come back with an appointment by the end of the week, beginning of next, maybe. For the week after, I guess. I don't suppose they hang around with this kind of thing.'

'No. I don't suppose they do. Well, let's you and me just sit with it a while, then. You don't have to make any really final decisions just now, do you?'

So Harriet, too, thought she might change her mind. She wouldn't. 'Okay, you're right.' She'd see, in the end.

Harriet didn't tell Tim what Nicole was planning she didn't think he'd understand. She didn't completely understand herself: she thought Nicole's explanation, which she evidently believed, was only part of the reason. It felt as though she was also punishing herself for her supposed stupidity in falling for Gavin, staying in love with him, putting up with it all and getting pregnant on purpose.

She wasn't sure she believed Nicole could go through with it. It didn't fit her. Harriet was afraid that she wouldn't be able to stop herself judging her: her best friend, the person she thought of as her soulmate, was talking about doing something that Harriet never could. In a way, it was like finding out that Nicole believed in the death penalty or went shoplifting. She suspected that it separated their moral codes: hers and Nicole's. And she was afraid that it would drive a wedge into their relationship. She tried to put the situation into the context of her own life. Suppose she had gone to bed with Nick and become pregnant. What would she have done? She couldn't imagine having an abortion, even if that meant telling Tim a lie rather than telling Nick the truth.

She didn't want to be the kind of friend who judged. Nicole hadn't been unfaithful, neither as a wife nor as a friend to Harriet. She was trying to find a way out of the catastrophe of her marriage. Harriet thought about how she would feel if she had found out that Nicole had had an abortion years ago, before they had been friends. Would she feel differently about her? She didn't suppose she would. But as the days pa.s.sed and the appointment came nearer, Harriet found herself hoping that Nicole would change her mind so that she didn't have to deal with how it made her feel.

They told Tim they were going out for a day of pampering. They arranged lifts home for the children so that they wouldn't have to be back for three o'clock. Harriet said she would have William, George and Martha overnight at her house, but Nicole said no. She had Cecile to help, she said, and she didn't want them to worry. They wouldn't have worried for Nicole's children a sleepover at Harriet's house was a great treat: it had become almost a refuge for them over the years. It was so messy and warm and full of noise and children's paintings and food with e numbers in it, they felt more comfortable there, sometimes, than in their impeccable Homes and Gardens house. But the truth was Nicole wanted them home when she got back there. She wanted to be able to stand at the end of their beds and watch them sleeping. She hoped she would feel she still had the right to feel full of maternal love and protection afterwards. She was afraid that she wouldn't.

Nicole didn't have to tell Gavin anything about where she was or what she was doing because he was staying at the RAC in town. He'd been home once, straight from the airport, but Nicole had been at Harriet's, hiding. She had packed a few suits, shirts and ties and left them in the hall so that the message was clear. He had taken the hint. Probably relieved, she thought, to get off so lightly. No doubt he had a.s.sumed it was only a matter of time before she forgave him again and he could come home. He called every day to talk to the kids. He always asked for her after he had spoken with Martha, knowing that Nicole had to take the phone from the child to avoid the pain it would cause her if she refused to talk to Daddy. She hated him for that, one more piece of manipulation in what felt like a lifetime of being played. Each time he asked to meet with her to talk about it. And each time she told him she wasn't ready to see him, that she, for once, would say when, where and if that conversation would take place. It was only part rage, though, that enabled her to keep him at a distance. There was a fear, too. A very real fear of what would happen if she saw him again. That would be the real test of what she believed now was true. And she was afraid of failing it.

Once the arrangements had been made, it was just a question of waiting. Nicole felt almost hysterical with anx iety. She became acutely aware of time pa.s.sing, as she could feel the child inside her growing not just by the week but by the hour, by the minute. She couldn't keep still, because she was afraid that if she did, she would feel it somehow, see her stomach expanding. She was terrified that she would feel the baby move, although she knew it was too soon. She couldn't bear that it would feel like communication, and she was trying to concentrate incredibly hard on not having a relationship with the baby she wasn't going to have. She couldn't keep her hands off her children when they were at home, kept swooping on them and covering them in desperate kisses. 'Get off, Mum,' the boys moaned, rubbing at their cheeks with the overlong sleeves of their shirts. Martha liked it, though. She had taken to climbing into her mother's bed at around two in the morning. Mummy usually seemed to be awake, and she smiled in the landing light when she saw Martha at the open door, lifting the corner of the duvet in welcome. Nicole let Cecile off all her teatime duties, and made spaghetti Bolognese, elaborate fruit faces and milkshakes for them, and read them three different bedtime stories. She and Harriet didn't talk about it any more, but she knew Harriet was waiting for her to change her mind.

And so she packed a small bag and dropped off the kids, managing not to cry as Martha said, 'Have a lovely day, Mummy,' and went home to wait for Harriet.

Harriet had chocolate. There weren't many problems in life that couldn't be at least alleviated by chocolate, she thought, except of course, being fat, which, since Harriet blamed most of her own problems on that apart from poor old Tim made it a baffling remedy as far as Nicole could see. She didn't think a few Mars bars would help today. But Harriet was trying.

Harriet was nervous. She concentrated on driving, sitting forward and close to the wheel like one of those little old ladies you see sometimes. She wanted to ask Nicole whether she was sure but she guessed that would become obvious, so she talked about the weather, and the school committee AGM, and whatever else she could grasp.