8
With my secret about Christmas out, I knew I had to tell Inga as soon as possible. She mustn’t, couldn’t find out from anyone but me. So, as soon as the festive season was over, I phoned her to confess.
“So Aunt Alice was all a lie?” she said, staggered. “The cold and the smell of cat wee? Everything?”
It was like the Violet admission all over again. Only much worse. I was bitterly ashamed of myself. “Yes. I’m so sorry.”
“I worried about you all the time, Lil. I lay awake imagining you freezing fucking cold all over Christmas. I made you those gloves to take with you, and I can’t even knit!”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
There was a pause, then she said, “They were awful, though, those gloves, weren’t they?”
I laughed, a tear dripping down my cheek. “They were both for right hands.”
“And the thumbs were far too long.”
“Only three inches or so.”
We laughed together, then I said, “I shall never, ever throw them away, Ing.”
I heard her sigh on the other end of the line. “What the fuck happened to you that was so bad you had to go to those lengths, Lil?”
“I can’t talk about it,” I said. “I really can’t, I’m sorry. I only want to forget it. Most of the time I do. It’s just that at Christmas, I can’t.”
“Shit, Lil. That really sucks.”
“Don’t think badly of me. Your friendship means everything. You know that.”
“I could never think badly of you, sweetie. I only wish you’d felt you could talk to me, that’s all. Have you spoken to Alex about it?”
“No.”
She sighed. “Poor Alex. Poor you. Though I’m glad you haven’t had to go and sit in an icebox and play patience with an old biddy every year.”
“It was canasta, not patience.”
“What?”
“We played canasta, not patience.”
She laughed, filling me with relief. “Well, that’s all right then. But seriously, Lily, if anything terrible like whatever it was ever happens to you again, promise me you’ll tell me about it.”
“I promise.” It was an easy promise to make. Because I was pretty sure nothing as bad as that could ever happen to me again.
Anyway, it turned out I wasn’t the only one to keep secrets in our friendship. Three months later, just as the spring flowers were starting to put in an appearance, Matt phoned in the middle of the day, and I could tell from his very first words that something was badly wrong.
“Lily?”
“Matt? How are you? Alex is at work, I’m afraid.”
“It was you I wanted to speak to, actually. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Good. We both are. Matt? Is something wrong?”
He sighed. “It’s Inga. I think she’s feeling really low.”
“She didn’t get that job, then?”
He sighed. “No, she didn’t. Or the others she applied for. They have thousands of applicants for the kind of thing she’s after. And then there’s her mum, of course.”
Inga had called me the previous month to tell me her mother had lung cancer. They had never been close, the two of them, or not since Inga’s father had died, anyway, and she hadn’t really wanted to speak about it, apart from the bald facts that her mum was receiving treatment, and the prognosis was uncertain. “It’s too depressing, Lily. She’s outraged about it, as if for some reason there’s an injustice that she couldn’t smoke forty cigarettes a day for most of her life and get away with it.”
“You knew she went to Denmark to see her mum?” Matt said.
“I knew she was planning to, but I haven’t heard from her since she got back. It didn’t go well, then?”
Matt sighed. “She won’t talk about it. But no, I don’t think so. She’s alone too much. I think that’s part of the trouble. I’ve been trying my best to get home earlier, but it’s really difficult. Everyone stays late here, and then there’s the tube journey home. She really misses you, Lily.”
I felt a lump in my throat. “I miss her too,” I said, because it was true, I did. My new friendship with Amy was lovely, but there was nothing like a long-term friendship—a friendship within which you’ve grown and tested the waters together.
“I was wondering whether you’d be able to visit for a few days? I think she could do with seeing you.”
“Of course,” I said, my mind already running through train times and cancelling any arrangements I’d made. Amy’s birthday party. Bugger. But she’d understand, I knew she would.
Matt sounded relieved. “You’ll be able to get the time off work?”
“Sod work. It’s only a crappy temp job, anyway. I’ll get another one if they don’t like it.”
“What about your college course?”
“I’m up to date with my assignments. It’s fine, Matt, honestly.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’m really worried, you know? I just can’t seem to reach her. I’m out of my depth.”
I’d always thought of Matt as strong—he was a big man with a deep voice—one of life’s doers and organisers. A coper. An achiever. I hadn’t seen this vulnerable side of him before. And that made me wonder what else I didn’t know about him. Whether some of that strength and capability was a front. But I didn’t think about it for long because I was too worried about Inga.
I was even more worried when I got to London and saw her. Grey faced and ill looking, she was still in her robe at midday, the curtains in the living room closed.
When we hugged, Inga’s arms seemed weak, as if it was an effort to hold them up. And when I went to make us tea, she waited on the sofa for me to bring it to her, instead of leading the way to the kitchen to make it herself, keeping up a constant stream of chatter the way she would normally do.
“Sorry Matt’s dragged you here.”
“Don’t be daft. I’m surprised you didn’t call me yourself.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t like to bother you.”
“Since when has moaning to each other been a bother for either of us?” I set our tea down on the coffee table and nestled against her on the sofa. “I’m so sorry about your mum.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s shit. She’s always been a bit anal about her hair, spending a fortune on shampoo and conditioners, and now it’s coming out in clumps.”
“She’s not coping well, then?”
“Er, no.” She sighed. “And I am sympathetic, obviously. Not that she wants my sympathy. Honestly, Lil, if I was deluded enough to think this might bring us closer, she soon put me right about that. I might just as well have stayed here and sent her a text saying, ‘bad luck about the cancer.’”
She looked at me, her pain undisguised. “She didn’t want my sympathy at all. Wasn’t interested in my carefully chosen gifts. Certainly didn’t want to talk about the past or be reconciled with me or any of the dumb things I imagined on the plane over. I’d booked the hotel room for three nights, but I almost didn’t go to see her after the first time. The first thing she said to me was, ‘You shouldn’t have come.’”
“People say that, though, don’t they? To be polite?”
“Yeah, but she meant it.”
Inga looked down at her robe, her fingers plucking at the silky material. I noticed some sort of food stain on it that hadn’t been there when I’d last seen her wear it.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again, feeling utterly helpless. I knew all about getting zero emotional connection from your mother, but what good did that knowledge do, really, except to provide empathy?
“Don’t be. It’s my own fucking fault, being deluded enough to think a little thing like cancer might be character transforming.” She took a deep breath, swiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “And, anyway, the cancer wasn’t the only reason I went.”
“No?”
She shook her head, the strands of her unwashed hair moving in greasy clumps, tears suddenly streaming down her cheeks.
“What is it?” I said, suddenly afraid. “Has something happened?”
She nodded. “You could say that. I ... I was pregnant. I had an abortion while I was in Denmark.”
My jaw dropped. My stomach churned. “An abortion? Christ, Inga.”
Her eyes were suddenly urgent. Appealing. “Matt doesn’t know, Lil. You mustn’t tell him.”
I was shocked at that, remembering his voice on the phone. Strong, loving Matt, asking me to come here because he was so worried about Inga. Oblivious to the fact that she’d just aborted his child.
Inga’s eyes switched from appealing to challenging. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing if you were in my position, because I know you would. I couldn’t risk Matt wanting to keep it. You’d be exactly the same with Alex.”
I wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Like Inga, I didn’t want to have children, but the idea of deceiving Alex like that appalled me so much, I thought I probably would tell him. But perhaps you could never be sure what action you’d take unless you were in that situation. Which was why I was so consistently careful about protection. I’d thought Inga was too.
“Did you forget to take your pill or something?”
“No, I came off the pill. I didn’t think it was helping with my depression. We’ve been using condoms.”
“I see. And did it help with your depression?” I wasn’t really sure why I was asking the question. It was sort of irrelevant now, wasn’t it?
She shrugged. “I’m just a bit poleaxed. Worn out. Tired of being stuck in this flat with nothing to distract me. I’ve got too much time to brood. Lil, I think ...”
“What?”
Inga’s eyes filled with tears again. “I think I want to come home. Living in London isn’t what I thought it would be. I haven’t managed to get a decent job, and I can’t face going back to waitressing. I’ve got all this time to be creative, and I never lift a fucking finger. Even before this happened, when Matt gets home, I’ve got nothing to talk to him about. And now, well, it’s even worse.”
I thought of all the women I’d met through my various jobs who’d used reasons exactly like this to start a family—plugging the emptiness of their draughty lives with new life. Inga had done the very opposite of that. In a way I admired her for standing by her principles, but I couldn’t help feeling unspeakably sad about it, thinking how lonely it must have been to do it all on her own. How awful to have had to arrange it behind Matt’s back.
What would he have said if Inga had felt able to tell him she was pregnant? Would he have supported her decision? Or, deep down, did he want to be a father?
“I can’t imagine you and Matt not having anything to talk about together. He’s so worried about you, Ing.”
She made an impatient gesture. “Matt tiptoes around me like I’m made of glass,” she said, covering her face with her hands. “It’s unbearable. I’m a total bitch to him, and he just takes it. All of it.” She burst into sudden tears.
“Oh, sweetie, come here,” I said, and I drew her as close to me as possible, as if to try and absorb her pain.
When Matt came home from work, he enfolded me in one of his bear hugs. “Thanks so much for coming, Lily.”
I hugged him back, feeling the tears close. “You two need to talk. I’ll go for a walk.”
He frowned, his eyes searching mine. “There’s nowhere much to walk around here. And it’s not that safe to wander the streets alone after dark. Stay in here. Watch some TV. Inga and I can go into the bedroom to talk.”
So, they went into the bedroom while I sat in front of the TV with the volume up loud, hoping against hope Inga would find the courage to tell Matt the truth. If she didn’t, I was going to have to keep it secret from Matt for the rest of my life, and I was already keeping so many secrets from him. From everyone.
Finally, when I couldn’t stand hearing the rumble of their voices any longer, I put the front door on the latch and phoned Alex from the communal landing of the apartment block.
“How’s Inga?” he asked straightaway.
I could hear a football match on TV in the background and imagined him with his feet up on the coffee table, beer in hand.
“Not good. She and Matt are talking, so I came outside. I think Inga wants to move back.”
“Give up on London? Really? That would be fantastic!”
“What about Matt’s job?”
“He’ll sort something out. Don’t worry about Matt. He loves Inga. He’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy. The crew back together again. It’ll be great.”
And suddenly it occurred to me that it wasn’t just Matt I was going to have to keep the abortion a secret from if Inga didn’t come clean. I was going to have to keep it a secret from Alex too.
“Lily? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Look, you worry about everybody too much. They’ll be okay. When d’you think you’ll be home?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I miss you.”
“You’re all right. You can watch football in peace without me there.”
“I can do that when you are here. You just leave me to it and go and do some painting. The difference is, I know you’re here, in the house when you do that. That you’re going to emerge at some point with a smear of paint on your cheek and your hair sticking up, and we’ll go to bed and spoon together so I can go to sleep.”
I had to smile at that. “Alex, you always go to sleep the second your head hits the pillow. My not being there won’t make any difference.”
“I go to sleep, but not with the same joy. I love you, Lily.”
“I love you too.”
“And Matt and Inga love each other. It will all be okay. I promise.”