Broken Country (Reese’s Book Club)

59. Before

Before

I know I am pregnant even before I miss my period. It is not because my breasts are tender or the feeling of nausea when I wake up, or any of the other telltale signs I have been reading about furtively in the library. I just know.

The last time we made love—how it hurts to remember—was in the middle of the night when I stayed with Gabriel in Oxford. It was that magical semiconscious intimacy, our bodies taking over before our minds could catch up, reaching for each other in a dream. Afterward, I couldn’t remember if my diaphragm was in. Later, at home, I realize it wasn’t—the diaphragm is sitting smugly in its case—but by then I am far too heartbroken to care. Gabriel and I are over and all I want, all I can think about, is finding my way back to him.

As each day passes without my period arriving and with new, incontrovertible evidence—my breasts swollen and mapped with blue veins, the constant need to urinate, an intolerance for aromas I have always liked: frying bacon, coffee, even perfume—I know I must tell my parents. But, somehow, I can’t find the words.

I think about Gabriel almost constantly. I pick up the phone to call him a hundred times, two hundred. But he hasn’t been in touch since we broke up and I fear there is only one reason for that—he is in love with Louisa. Without realizing it, I gave him the ending he wanted.

What would Gabriel make of my pregnancy? He’s honorable, I do know that. He might offer to marry me. But would I want to marry him, knowing he loved someone else?

At night I write letters to him, pouring out my regret and sadness. How sorry I am for the things I said. How I wish I could take them back. How desperately I miss him. Also, there’s something you should know…

I think I might be pregnant.

No matter how many times I write that sentence, the words always look too shocking, too final. Every time, I rip the letter into tiny pieces.

After two weeks of indecision, I walk over to Meadowlands, knocking on the front door before I can change my mind.

I am expecting Gabriel home for the Christmas holidays, but it’s Tessa who answers, and she looks startled to see me. “Beth. What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to talk to Gabriel.”

“He’s not here, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” I reply, and a lump forms in my throat as I try to work out what to do next. I hadn’t thought about the possibility that Gabriel might not be home.

My breathing quickens and Tessa must notice because she says suddenly, “Why don’t you come in, Beth.” She turns and heads inside, and I follow her automatically.

In the little pink sitting room where Gabriel and I once lay head to toe on the velvet sofa drinking wine, Tessa motions to the armchairs in front of the fire. “Sit.”

I perch awkwardly and wait as she pauses to examine me.

“When will Gabriel be here?” I manage to ask, breaking the silence.

“Next week, I expect. Although I must admit, I’m a little surprised to see you. My understanding is that you and he are no longer together.”

I am lost for words. Wounded by her casual confirmation of our breakup. And the fact that she knows.

I don’t know what to do. Or where to turn. I’d hoped Gabriel would be here and I could tell him about the pregnancy and together we’d decide what happened next.

Unconsciously, I rest my palm against my belly. Thinking of the embryo growing within me. No more than a quarter inch long, the library book tells me.

Tessa is watching me, with her eyes narrowed.

“For heaven’s sake. Are you pregnant, Beth? Is that what this is all about?”

Before I know what I’m saying, I gulp out a “Yes.”

As soon as I admit it, I feel relief. Someone other than me knows the truth. Surely, Tessa will want to help me now she knows I am carrying her son’s child?

“How did it happen?”

“I—we—were careless in Oxford.”

Tessa tuts. “How irresponsible. I’m rather surprised Gabriel hasn’t thought to tell me himself.”

“He doesn’t know yet.”

It’s strange how Tessa’s face floods with sudden light. She leans forward to pat my hand. “You’re keeping it from Gabe, sensible girl. We don’t need to worry him with it, now, do we?”

“Actually, I was planning on telling him today. That’s why I’m here.” Tessa gets up and begins to pace the room in tight little circles. “Let me think for a minute. Do your parents know?”

“Not yet.”

“Even better.”

“They might begin to notice after a while.”

Another snap change in Tessa’s lovely face. “Surely you’re not thinking of keeping it?”

“What else would I do?”

“My dear, I sometimes forget that you’re a village girl and have seen nothing of the outside world yet. There are places we can go to sort the whole thing. Nothing backstreet, don’t worry. All one needs is money and a willingness to travel abroad for it. I’m so glad you thought to bring this to me.”

I stare up at Tessa in distress. “Are you talking about abortion?” I whisper the word as if even saying it out loud could offend my unborn child. I was brought up a Catholic. Not a very good one, it’s true—my pregnancy is evidence of that—but the years of indoctrination have made me sure of one thing. This tiny fertilized egg inside me will one day become a baby. And I will love that baby and give it the best life I can.

“Yes, that’s right. Far easier than you might think. There is no need for you or Gabe to wreck your lives over one stupid little mistake.”

“I don’t think this baby is going to wreck my life… or Gabriel’s.”

A pause.

“You seem determined to tell him.”

“Don’t you think he’d want to know? He might want to be involved, it’s his child we’re talking about.”

“Ah. I begin to see where you’re coming from. Did you think you could talk Gabriel into marrying you? I can’t see that happening, Beth, I really can’t. Don’t take this the wrong way but Gabe seemed rather relieved when he said you’d broken up. I think it was a strain on him, to be quite honest, trying to keep the thing going when you never saw each other. And of course, he’s got a whole new scene at Oxford. Lots of new friends.”

My resolution to be brave has vanished. “Is he still with Louisa?” I choke out the words.

At this, a look passes over Tessa’s face that I cannot read. Is it confusion? Or relief? Or something else? “Early days, of course, but they are a good match. And Louisa’s father can do so much for Gabriel’s writing career. I know you wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.” She laughs a fake, tinkly laugh. “Perhaps they’ll move to Hollywood when they leave Oxford. Perhaps we all will. Get away from this beastly weather.”

I shiver, despite the warmth of the fire. I should never have come. I need to get as far away from Tessa Wolfe as possible. I need to lie in a quiet room and cry for everything I have lost.

“Oh, are you leaving?” Tessa says, when I stand.

I nod.

“Hold on two secs, I have something for you.”

I watch as Tessa sits down at her desk beneath the window. I remember coveting it the first time I saw the desk with its pretty mother-of-pearl inlays, the secret hidden drawers with their dainty gilt handles. One day , I thought, I will buy myself a desk like this and fill it with treasure. Love notes and rare feathers, strangely shaped pebbles, secret poems. Ribbons and stamps and bottles of bright-colored ink.

Tessa crosses the room and hands me an envelope. “No need to look at it now. But it will help, whatever you decide.”

I open it, of course. Inside is a check for a thousand pounds, the name left blank. I gasp. My parents earn less than this in a year. “It’s too much.”

“Nonsense. I insist you take it. A lot of girls in your situation choose adoption. I can recommend a very good agency in Knightsbridge.”

I stare at the rose-pink carpet, dangerous feelings whirring through me. “My” situation. Not Gabriel’s. This is how it works in this world of hers.

“Beth?” Tessa waits until I look up at her. “I ask one small thing in return. Promise you won’t tell Gabriel about the pregnancy. His life at Oxford is just beginning, I couldn’t bear for this to ruin his prospects. And if you do decide to keep it, could you be discreet about the baby’s father?”

I don’t answer her. I can’t. It’s fine for my life to be derailed so long as her precious son’s remains intact.

“Is that a yes?”

I nod my assent. It’s the only way I can get out of the room, the house, the entire toxic universe of the family Wolfe.

Outside, I stand on the steps for a moment, taking in the paradisial acres, the lake with its gliding white swans, a glorious setting for our short-lived love story. Turns out, it was nothing but an illusion.

I draw fresh air deep into my lungs. Breathe out all the ugliness of the past thirty minutes.

It is over. It is over. It is over.

On the last day of term, I am called to the headmistress’s office.

“What now?” Helen says, worried.

She is my best friend and I have always told her everything. But the secret growing inside my belly is mine alone, for now.

My thoughts are no longer on Shakespeare or the Bront? sisters or St Anne’s College, Oxford. I am not interested in Charles Dickens and his depiction of the industrial revolution. I do not care about the Christmas parties I have been invited to, nor the dresses my classmates plan on wearing to them. I gaze out of my classroom window, knowing my life is about to change forever. But, for a short while, there are only two of us in this private bubble of mine, me and my unborn child. It feels sacred, somehow. I don’t want to share it.

I knock at the headmistress’s door thinking how much I have changed in a matter of weeks. There is nothing she could say to hurt me now. It’s strange but I feel protected by the tiny, precious secret within me.

“Elizabeth. Come in and sit down.” She gestures to the chair on the other side of her desk.

She has a small Christmas tree in her office, decorated with red, silver, and gold baubles by some of the first form. Once upon a time, I was one of those girls, eleven years old and thrilled to be invited inside Sister Ignatius’s private enclave.

“I considered bringing in Father Michael, the school governor, for this meeting but I decided, in the circumstances, discretion would be best. This matter is for you and me alone.”

For a moment we regard each other, the nun and I, my head spinning with questions. Does she know? How could she? There are only two people in the world who know I am pregnant. Me and Tessa Wolfe. It can’t be Gabriel’s mother. All she cared about was keeping my pregnancy hushed up for as long as possible.

“I have written to your parents this afternoon to inform them that regrettably you won’t be returning to the convent next term, Elizabeth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do.”

“Please explain it to me.”

“You’re courageous, I admire that about you. The school has decided it is no longer appropriate to keep you here. Places are discretionary and fiercely sought after, as you know. We have decided to offer your place to a pupil who is able to adhere to the school’s moral code of conduct. We expect our girls at the top of the school to set a strong example for the younger pupils. And you made no attempt to conceal your unseemly behavior, Elizabeth, quite the opposite. However, this is not an expulsion as such and I have explained that to your parents. We invite you back to sit your A level exams here in June if you should so wish.” She stares at me, hard. “Although I think that most unlikely. Don’t you?”

“Who told you?”

The words are out before I can stop them.

“I had a visitor yesterday who gave generously to our donation fund for the new science block. She was most anxious your delicate situation should not be found out in school. Better to have you off-site as soon as possible, before the rumors started.”

“She bought me off, too,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. “You can do that when you’re rich.”

To my surprise, Sister Ignatius laughs. A genuine laugh that appears to have actual warmth in it. “You’re better off without people like that, in my opinion. You know, I’m not too worried about you, Elizabeth. You’re smart. You’re full of grit. You’ll come out on top in the end. I don’t doubt it for one second.”

Frank arrives at our cottage a few days after Christmas. How different he looks without his school uniform, as if the mundanity of black blazer and gray trousers concealed the well-madeness of his form. His hair is still damp from his bath, and the scent of soap clings to his skin.

“There’s something I’d like to show you,” he says.

“What is it?”

When Frank smiles his eyes scrunch so tightly together, they almost disappear. I’ve never noticed that about him before.

“If I told you that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

Outside the cottage is an old Land Rover, its original color hidden almost entirely beneath layers of dried-on mud.

I notice Frank’s hand on the steering wheel, tanned and strong looking but with surprisingly elegant fingers, the nails cut short. When he changes gear the muscles of his forearm move beneath his skin.

We turn into a long dirt track leading to the Johnsons’ place, Blakely Farm. I know where Frank lives even though I haven’t been here before.

“We’re going to your house?”

“Nope.” He parks the Land Rover beside an iron gate. “We’ve arrived,” he says, grinning at me.

I follow him around the perimeter of a long, sloping field until we reach a vast oak tree at the far end. “What a tree,” I say, to be polite. “It’s enormous.” If Frank Johnson thinks I’m a tree-hugging kind of girl, he’s got another think coming.

He points to a dark hole at the throat of the tree, just above my eye level. “Look in there,” he says. “But don’t put your face too close.”

At first, it’s so dark I can’t see anything but then I begin to make out the shape of a nest and within it two tiny birds, barely covered in fluff, their minuscule yellow beaks open.

“A nest. Isn’t it the wrong time of year? It’s so cold. What are they?”

“Blackbirds, probably. They’ve come early. I think they’ve been abandoned. I’ve been checking in on them for a couple of days. They’re starving.”

“Will they die?”

“Not if we save them.”

“We?”

Frank smiles. “Or you? I thought you might like looking after them. It’s kind of a full-time job at the beginning. And I’m working all day on the farm. But I’ll take the nest home and chance it, unless you want to.”

“I’ll do it,” I say, decisively. “Why don’t we take them now? They might not last the night out here.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that. I’ve got everything we need in the back of the Land Rover.”

He makes to go but I reach out to halt him, my hand on his arm. “Do you love me, Frank?”

He doesn’t seem in the least surprised by the question, even though I have asked it out of the blue.

“Yes. But I’d settle for being friends.”

“I’d like that.”

“Friends, you mean?”

“Or more than friends. When we know each other better.”

It seems so simple and innocent, his sudden laughter. So this is Frank Johnson , I think, a little wistfully, with his wholesome, uncomplicated life .

Frank calls for me at the cottage when he’s finished on the farm. First, we inspect my nestlings, who are thriving; every day they gain weight and a few more feathers. Then we drive around the country lanes in the thick winter dark, talking. We talk about our families, the friends we like from school, the ones we don’t. Music, our favorite records, surprised to discover we have similar tastes. Frank doesn’t ask me about Gabriel or why I have left the convent, or whether I still plan on going to Oxford. I don’t ask Frank why he didn’t stay on to finish his A levels.

I notice he is most animated when he talks about the farm, even boring things like the stray sheep that took him hours to find or how he is so used to the stink of slurry he doesn’t notice it anymore. I see how this is his world, his oxygen, and when he’s outside it he struggles to feel like himself.

“Show me,” I say to him one evening.

“Show you what?”

“Your favorite place on the farm.”

This smile of his, so broad and comforting, like a shot of euphoria. It makes me feel happy just seeing it, and I want to keep flicking the switch.

“I have Sunday afternoon off,” he says. “You need to see it in daylight.”

I should have known he would bring me back to the oak tree.

We stand beneath it looking out at a stripped landscape that seems rigid with cold. But I see how the field slopes gently downhill, offering a view of beyond, a patchwork of brown-and-ochre squares bound by hedgerows, the rise of a hill in the distance, a feeling of infinity. I see why he loves it.

“Does all that land belong to the farm?” I ask, but Frank doesn’t answer me.

He says my name. Softly.

I know instantly from the way Frank is looking at me what is about to happen. My whole body is alert to it, even the air feels dense with expectation.

Frank steps closer until we are only inches apart. He is going to kiss me.

“Wait.” I hold up a palm. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I say quickly, when his face falls. “I do want to. But there’s something I need to tell you first.”

“All right.”

He stands there, calmly waiting. Unconcerned.

“I’m pregnant. I’m keeping it.”

Frank’s face does not change. He nods, considering what I have told him. Takes his time. Seconds pass, perhaps a whole minute.

“And the other fella. Doesn’t want to know, I suppose?”

“Doesn’t know. And never will. We broke up so…”

“Ah. I see. Well, in that case…” He smiles at me until I find myself smiling back. The two of us grinning like idiots when I thought I had nothing to grin about, beneath an ancient oak tree on a wintry afternoon. “Isn’t that something to celebrate?”

Frank opens his arms wide, an invitation. And laughs as I step into them.