Isla
Isla
Isla sat on the closed toilet seat, her hand shaking, holding the thin plastic stick between finger and thumb. The first dawn light glowed feebly through the window, her eyes trained on the test in her hand which would, within the next few minutes, determine her fate.
Sitting, waiting, she could not believe she had been so remiss. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to her for days. It had been Sonia – her training partner at swimming – who had expressed relief that she wouldn’t have her period for the upcoming county meet. It was only then that Isla realised she couldn’t remember when her last one had been. Scrolling through the calendar on her phone and trawling her memory, it dawned on her that she’d missed her period by a fortnight without even realising. Almost two weeks since it was due, and she hadn’t even registered it was late. There had been so much else preoccupying her. The upcoming night away with Andrew for which Isla still hadn’t fashioned an excuse for her mum. The university application forms to consider, and the increasing awareness that when she returned to school in September, she was only two terms away from sitting her A levels. The swimming sessions five or six times a week and her determination to qualify for the British nationals. And, beyond that, the daily deceptions that made her feel sick to the stomach: the lies, the deceits, the distortions of the truth she concocted every day for her mum, her sister, her friends.
Isla looked out of the bathroom window, across the garden. She was reminded of a weekend in early spring when she and Callum sat out there, books strewn around them, laptops open, studying together. It was only a few months ago, but already it felt like another lifetime.
Isla had barely seen Callum in the two and a half weeks since he spotted her getting out of Andrew’s car; she was grateful the summer holidays had begun the same day, and that Callum had gone straight to summer school for a few days. But last Friday, she’d bumped into him outside the local library and had not been able to escape a conversation.
Isla, come on, you must be able to see that it’s just... really off? He’s Nathaniel’s dad. He’s literally old enough to be your dad. I know you think I’m just pissed off because you dumped me for him. But it’s not that. It’s just... this whole thing is screwed up. Surely you can see that?
Isla had let him rant, knowing she had wronged him, that the least she owed him was the space to vent his grievances. And then, thankfully, her phone had rung – her mum asking if she’d be home for lunch – and she’d had a viable reason to escape.
That evening, unable to placate the gnawing anxiety that Callum might tell someone about her and Andrew, she’d messaged him, implored him again to keep it a secret. His response suggested that all she’d managed to do was offend him even more: Jesus, Isla, what do you take me for?
And then, last night, she’d received an anonymous email from an account she didn’t recognise.
What kind of 17 yr old sucks off a married man old enough to be her dad?
Isla had read the message, sick with apprehension.
The only person who knew about her and Andrew was Callum.
Without hesitation, she had pulled out her phone, opened WhatsApp.
So now you’re sending me anonymous emails? Just stop it, Callum. I’m sorry for the way I treated you – I really am – but we both just need to move on.
It had taken only a few seconds for a reply to come through.
What are you talking about? What anonymous emails?
Isla had stared at the screen, trying to order her chaotic thoughts. A part of her brain told her that Callum wouldn’t write something like that, it wasn’t his style to be cowardly, abusive. But then she remembered his anger the day he’d seen her get out of Andrew’s car: He’s Nathaniel’s dad , for fuck’s sake. It’s... it’s weird, you know that, right? And now she didn’t know what to think.
Isla forced her eyes back down to the pregnancy test in her hand, felt her world begin to disintegrate.
The unmistakable second blue line. The irrefutable confirmation of her worst fears. Her life veering onto a different, untenable path.
Isla studied Andrew’s face, wishing she could know what he was thinking. It was a bombshell, she understood that, but his silence was unnerving.
Around them, in a pub in Barnes where they’d hastily arranged to meet, men in suits and women in maxi dresses drank overpriced cocktails and bottled beers. Isla sipped a glass of sparkling water, tight with anxiety, waiting for Andrew to respond.
Finally, he looked at her, ironing out the furrow in his brow. ‘How are you feeling? Are you okay?’
Isla nodded, words like fishbones stuck in her throat.
‘Do you know... have you any idea how many weeks you are?’
‘About six, I think.’
‘Okay. That’s good.’ There was a twitch in Andrew’s right cheek. ‘And you haven’t told anyone else?’
Isla shook her head.
Reaching across the table, Andrew took hold of her hand. ‘It’s best we keep this just between us, okay? And don’t worry. We’ll get this sorted. I’ll take care of everything.’
Isla found herself nodding even though she wasn’t quite sure why.
‘I’ll book you into a private clinic. And I’ll pay, obviously. I promise I’ll find the very best place.’
Isla continued to nod, the meaning of Andrew’s words slippery in her ears.
‘You’ll be in and out on the same day. It’s a very quick, simple procedure, and completely safe. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you’ll be fine. It’s just lucky you realised so early.’
As Andrew squeezed her hand, Isla was aware that a decision had been made, one in which she wasn’t aware of having had any involvement. A part of her wanted to protest, to insist they discuss it further, explore all the options. That she be allowed an opinion on the matter, at least. But when she tried to think about what she might say – what alternative conclusion might be reached – she realised there was no other viable choice. Andrew was being so matter-of-fact because it was the only feasible outcome.
While Andrew continued talking – suggesting that a surgical abortion was preferable because a medical abortion at home would arouse suspicion, telling her he’d send the appointment details first thing tomorrow as soon as it was booked – Isla could feel shame seeping into her cheeks. It wasn’t that she expected Andrew to announce he’d leave Nicole and set up house with her. That wasn’t even what she wanted. It was the cavalier attitude with which Andrew was speaking, as though the prospect of her keeping the baby was not even a remote possibility. As though her feelings – her thoughts, her views – didn’t matter.
‘Stop looking so worried. It’s going to be okay.’ Running a finger inside the crook of her elbow, Andrew smiled. ‘I love you. We’ll get through this together, I promise.’
Isla tried to return his smile, tried to imbibe some reassurance from his words. But somewhere deep within her was a sense that this was a defining moment in her life. A moment in which her future was swerving onto a different path, and there was no way of returning to where she had come from – the person she had been – before the events of the past few months.
‘Hey, Isla, wait up.’
Isla glanced behind her, felt a tug of dismay as she saw Nathaniel pedalling towards her on his bike. He had an irritating habit of popping up when she least wanted to see him – which, these days, was pretty much any time.
‘Where are you going?’
Isla looked at the quiet residential street, realised she didn’t know. She had left home over an hour ago, been walking ever since, but with no sense of direction, no sense of purpose. There had just been a visceral need to get outside, clear her head, to figure out how she felt about her conversation with Andrew last night.
It had been just after nine-thirty this morning when her phone had pinged with a message from him.
Here are the details of the appointment. I’ve booked it in your name, but I’ve paid for it, obviously. It’s a very well-regarded clinic and they’ll take exceptional care of you. I know how hard this is, and I’m so sorry you’re having to go through it. But I think we both know that a termination really is the only option. You’ll be okay, I promise. I love you. xx
She had read the message, taken a screenshot so she could access the details of the appointment without scrolling through WhatsApp. She’d tried to unpack how she felt about it – tried to envisage what it would be like, arriving at a Marylebone clinic, going through that procedure, recovering afterwards, all without telling her mum – but her imagination fell short.
What she really wanted was to escape her own thoughts, but they seemed determined to follow her wherever she went.
‘Just going for a walk along the river. I needed some fresh air.’
‘Mind if I tag along?’
Every instinct in Isla’s head screamed that she wanted to be alone, she needed space, that the last person she wanted for company was Nathaniel. But she couldn’t improvise a viable reason to refuse him, didn’t dare do anything to arouse his suspicions. ‘Sure.’
For a few moments they walked in silence, over the bridge as the husk of late-afternoon sunshine clung to the surface of the water. Turning onto the path that led along the Thames, they hugged the river, Nathaniel wheeling his bike beside him.
‘You got it fixed then?’
‘What?’
‘Your bike.’
Nathaniel studied the handlebars for a few seconds. ‘Yeah, all sorted.’
On the river, a pair of rowers glided past, and Isla’s thoughts turned to swimming and the abortion and how soon she would be able to train after she’d had the procedure. She thought about all the excuses – all the lies – she would have to invent if she had to take time off. But she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that, not now. ‘I heard about your driving test. I’m sorry. That sucks.’
Nathaniel shrugged. ‘The examiner was an idiot. I could tell she didn’t like me straight away. Anyway, I’ve applied for another one. There’s no way I’ll fail next time.’ He picked at a spot on his cheek, and then stopped abruptly, self-consciously. ‘Can I talk to you about something?’ He glanced quickly at her and then away again.
Isla was aware of the muscles tightening in her throat, lest she betray the secrets she was keeping. ‘Of course.’ In accelerated time, she imagined Nathaniel finally declaring his feelings for her and the impossibility of dealing with that, right now, on top of everything else.
‘It’s just that stuff’s a bit weird at home at the moment and I don’t really have anyone to talk to about it.’
Isla tried to look attentive, tried not to let the consternation show on her face. The last thing she wanted to discuss with Nathaniel was the status of his home life.
‘You know my dad’s always been a bit of a workaholic? That’s nothing new. But lately he seems different. Even when he’s at home, it’s like his head is somewhere else. Do you know what I mean?’
Isla nodded. Her palms were beaded with sweat, and she wiped them on the cotton of her shorts.
‘It’s like he’s always thinking about something else, as though he’s never really with us.’
Isla’s skin crawled with an acute awareness that she didn’t want to be having this conversation.
‘I know he can get totally obsessed with work when he’s got some big investment going on, but he’s been like this for months now. I can’t help thinking... I don’t know... maybe there’s something else going on with him.’
Panic quickened Isla’s breathing. ‘Like what?’
Nathaniel shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s ill or something, and he doesn’t want to tell us.’
She tried not to display her relief. ‘I’m sure he’s not. He’s probably just got a lot on. Your dad’s always seemed super-healthy to me.’
‘Yeah, but so was yours.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Sorry, that was shit of me—’
‘It’s fine—’
‘No, it was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You haven’t. It’s okay.’ Grief tangled in Isla’s chest, and she forcibly ignored it, would unravel it later when she was alone.
Nathaniel stopped walking, turned to face her, leaned his bike against his hip. ‘There’s something else that’s weird. Even though he’s hardly ever at home, when he is, he’s all over my mum. It’s gross.’
Heat wrapped itself around Isla’s neck like an unwanted scarf. ‘Really?’ The word sounded thin, reedy, as though there was not enough space in her throat to let it free.
Nathaniel nodded. ‘He’ll barely be at home for a few days and then suddenly he’ll be telling Mum how beautiful she is, how amazing he thinks she is, acting like he can’t be separated from her.’
Isla tried to repress the stab of jealousy, told herself to stop being stupid, that Nicole was Andrew’s wife, that of course he had to be affectionate with her sometimes. Of course he had to go through the pantomime that their marriage was happy, especially in front of Nathaniel and Jack. It would be ridiculous to imagine otherwise. And yet she recalled all the times Andrew had told her his marriage had slipped into the realms of the platonic, that he loved Nicole as the mother of their children but that any romance, any desire, had long since evaporated.
Nathaniel squinted at his watch against the glare of the sun. ‘Shit, I’d better go. I said I’d be at Elliot’s at six.’ Swinging one leg over the crossbar of his bike, he perched on the saddle. ‘Thanks for listening. I really appreciate it. Sometimes I think you’re the only person who really understands me and my family.’
He turned to leave, and Isla felt nothing but relief that he was going.
As she watched Nathaniel cycle away, his words echoed in her ears: He’ll barely be at home for a few days and then suddenly he’ll be telling Mum how beautiful she is, how amazing he thinks she is, acting like he can’t be separated from her.
As Isla continued walking along the river, she told herself that it wasn’t important. It was irrelevant how Andrew felt obligated to behave at home for the sake of appearances. He loved her – he had told her so, again and again – and that was all that mattered.