Chapter 25
I was going to have a baby. Jackson’s baby. In six months’ time, I’d be somebody’s mother. Since taking a pregnancy test and having it confirmed by a doctor, I’d alternated between fits of panic that I couldn’t cope and heady waves of love for my unborn child.
This new development changed everything.
I was going to have to rethink my last year at uni, where I lived, how I was going to earn enough money to support a child …
There was no question that I wasn’t going to keep it.
Being heavily pregnant wasn’t quite how I planned to spend my twenty-third birthday next spring, but some kernel of self-confidence told me I could do it.
The biggest thing gnawing at my conscience was Jackson. He was going to be a father and I couldn’t tell him.
If I hadn’t had to cut my summer short, maybe I’d still be in touch.
But no, instead of going to Thailand with him, I’d scurried back home to sort my mother’s mess.
Why hadn’t we swapped numbers or home addresses?
I didn’t even know his last name, or his parents’ names or where exactly he lived in the US.
For the first and probably only time in my life I’d existed entirely in the moment, in our bubble of paradise, and now I was paying the price.
Would he be pleased about the baby? Deep down I knew the answer.
Jackson wanted adventure, and freedom; to live on a beach, spending his days surfing and scuba diving.
I could almost hear him telling me that one day he’d love children, but he was too young to be a father when he still felt like a kid himself.
So maybe it was for the best. I’d bring up our baby as well as I could, and tell him or her what a lovely man their dad was.
Predictably, Mum had been crap.
‘Well, well, well.’ She had shaken her head, bemused. ‘You really did have fun on that trip, didn’t you?’
‘Mum,’ I’d warned, willing my cheeks not to heat up. I wasn’t going to let her embarrass me. I was twenty-two, my body was my own, and it wasn’t as if Jackson and I had been a one-night thing. I’d been in love with him. Still was.
‘At least it’ll be easier for you than it was for me. There was no chance of a termination when I got pregnant the first time.’ She pulled a face as if she had a nasty taste in her mouth. ‘Your father wouldn’t even discuss the idea of getting rid of you. Biggest mistake of my life.’
‘Mum!’ I stared at her, speechless. The last vestige of respect for her leached away.
‘Oh, my mistake wasn’t just getting pregnant,’ she said, squeezing my arm, as if that made it better.
‘Getting married, settling down –the whole thing. A couple of years later, I gave up pretending to get along with your dad, but in some bizarre twist of fate, ended up pregnant again with your sister.’
‘So you never wanted either of us.’ I could feel a pulse throbbing in my neck. I couldn’t believe my own mother could be so matter-of-factly cruel to me. ‘And you choose to tell me this now, when I’m having a baby of my own?’
‘Well, no, I didn’t really want children at all,’ she said apologetically. ‘But we all got along all right, didn’t we? Anyway, the point is, you don’t have to go through with an unwanted pregnancy.’
‘I’m not having a termination.’ I gave her a challenging look. ‘I’m keeping the baby.’
‘As you wish, but don’t expect me to look after it,’ she warned. ‘I’ve only just got rid of Kat. I’m not ready to be a grandmother yet.’
‘It didn’t cross my mind that you would look after my baby,’ I said, fuming. ‘You haven’t even looked after your own children. I had to cut my trip short to sort a place for you to live.’
‘Oh, not this again.’ She sighed. ‘You do exaggerate.’
I bit my lip, determined not to rise to the bait. I’d been home for almost three months now and the memories of those first few weeks were still raw.
As soon as I’d arrived back, after seeing how she and Kat were cramped up in a small double bed at Phyllis’s house, I’d berated Mum for not getting help sooner.
‘The Aikwoods don’t take charity,’ she’d replied, referring to her own family name.
Posh but poor had been her throwaway line ever since I could remember.
Her own mother passed away when she was only six.
She died giving birth and the little boy died too, which must have been harrowing for her.
Her dad had remarried twice since then, each time heaping more misery on my mother, and giving away half of his estate with each divorce.
He’d died when I was four. I had only sketchy memories of visiting him in his big old draughty house with bare floorboards, damp patches on the ceilings and an overbearing smell of mould.
‘Granddad Aikwood left thousands of pounds of debt,’ I’d reminded her at the time, ‘so maybe he should have. And, I should point out, you’re now accepting charity from Phyllis.’
But she wouldn’t be drawn, preferring to bury her head in the sand as ever, and I gave up trying. I’d tried to reason with our old landlord too, but he’d point-blank refused to take us back. Too many chances already given, too many promises broken, Mum was too much trouble.
Now at least, after a lot of door-knocking on my part, she was in social housing and Kat had been accepted onto an Art Foundation course.
So they were both okay. I’d taken on more shifts to give Kat money to help her through the expense of her first few months of uni, all the while nursing my own post-holiday blues.
And yet despite doing all that, Mum’s response to my pregnancy was an immediate refusal of help.
What I needed was a hug from my mum. For her to tell me that everything was going to be all right, and that she’d look after me. And she couldn’t even offer me that. Anger flared in my chest, and it took all my self-control not to cry.
‘Oh darling, don’t get all touchy,’ Mum said now airily. ‘I’m being honest with you, that’s all. I want you to understand what you’re getting yourself into with motherhood. What about finishing your course, and money? And where are you going to live?’
She gave me a telling look as if to say, You hadn’t thought about that, had you?
‘I’ll work it out,’ I replied.
What I did know was that I’d been given the blueprint from my own mother on how not to do it.
My child would be able to come to me with their problems and know that I would help.
They would always know that Mummy would keep them safe and provided for and teach them how to live an independent life.
I would love my child fiercely, encourage them to be curious and hopeful, and always, always protect them until they were big enough to protect themselves.
I also knew one more thing; I wasn’t going to let Mum treat me like this anymore. And I didn’t want her to have the chance to treat her grandchild like this either. We were done.
Mum’s Gap Year
My darling girl,
I’ve never been able to look at you without thinking of your father.
You had his beautiful smile, and his soft dark curls.
What you wrote about living next to the ocean made me think of him straight away.
The two opposite sides of you are essentially Jackson and me.
I’ve always been about having a plan and sticking to it – I had life all mapped out.
He, on the other hand, wanted to let life unfurl, go with the flow.
He imagined spending his days diving and surfing, because that was what made him happy.
You get your adventurous side from him! My plans changed with the arrival of you – absolutely no regrets, I hasten to add.
But I do sometimes wonder whether his dreams worked out.
I’m sorry that you haven’t had a father figure.
Jackson was a free spirit and would not have chosen fatherhood at that age, but he was a good man.
He would have moved on quickly romantically no doubt – he was too good-looking not to have caught the eye of another girl.
But I’m sure he would have loved to have known you.
I have a confession. Do you remember when you were about fifteen and got angry with me for not trying to find him when you were born? You told me that you could find anyone on the internet if you really tried.
But I didn’t tell you the whole truth. I did try to find him.
I rang the volunteering agency that I’d used to book my turtle conservation project in Bali.
But they told me that the project had closed down and that they were having to send volunteers to other places instead.
So the trail quickly went cold. Maybe I could have tried harder, but I was a single mum, no one to help me.
I was working and trying to be good at everything.
Jackson didn’t even have a mobile phone.
I didn’t know his last name, or whereabouts in America he was from.
At the time, I knew I’d never forget him, but little did I know that I’d be blessed with a baby girl who’d remind me of him every second of every day.
Leaving you with a childminder so I could start working again was one of the scariest things I’d ever done.
I’d really loved being at home with you in our tiny flat in those early months after you were born.
It had been the first time in my life I hadn’t had exams or homework or deadlines.
You were tiny and vulnerable and completely dependent on me.
I was more determined than ever to do well at work.
I wanted to be your role model, to show you that hard work paid off.
So I started work in a sales office, feeling guilty for leaving you to be cared for by others.
Then I began enjoying my job and felt guilty for that too.
At the back of my mind was the knowledge that I was providing for us, so that you’d always know you were safe and that you’d have a home.
It wasn’t perfect, but I was proud that I was doing it on my own.
We didn’t always have time to do the fun stuff in those early years.
I saved my money for the important things like a deposit on a house for us both.
You’re right when you say I’m not happy if I don’t have something to worry about.
Take, for example, when you told me about your gap-year plans and I reacted badly.
I told myself – and you – it was because I didn’t want you to give up your dream job at Saatchi.
I thought you’d regret it after working so hard to get through all the interviews.
But now with the hindsight of the awful months that have passed since then, I can admit that my reaction was about me and not you.
I panicked at the thought of you being out of reach, thousands of miles away on the other side of the world where I couldn’t protect you.
I know, I know – you were an adult and perfectly capable of looking after yourself.
But I’d still been coming to terms with letting you go, with watching you taking your own path instead of following mine.
My trip to Bali changed the course of my life, and ultimately caused the breakdown in my relationship with your grandmother. I guess deep down a small, irrational part of me was worried that it might happen to us. I didn’t want to lose you. But fate had other ideas and I lost you anyway.
Saying goodbye to Jackson in Bali knowing I’d never see him again was the second-saddest thing I’ve ever done. The saddest was organising my girl’s funeral. The two people who’ve meant the most to me gone, but always in my heart.
Love, always and forever
Mum xx