Telling Martin

There were four hours between my finding out that I was pregnant and telling Martin about it. I expect I don't need to spell out some of the thoughts that went through my head during those four hours. It's amazing the things that come up when you type 'abortion' into Google. Well, no, 'amazing' isn't the right word. But yes, that was one of the things I considered... if 'considered' can be a word used to describe the insane mental processes that were storming through my mind on that day.

At lunch time, I stepped outside the building, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and my mobile phone in the other. It was a sunny day, but very windy, and I remember the wind kept blowing into the phone, making it difficult for me to hear clearly. I was wearing my beige, knee-length raincoat and it kept being blown around me, flapping around my waist. I dialled the number of my local surgery and asked if I could speak to someone confidentially. Eventually, they put me through to a nurse. Her voice made her sound as though she was only about twenty.

"Are you definitely alone?" I asked. "This is to be a confidential conversation. I don't want anyone else listening. Do you understand?"

She sounded distracted. "What? Oh yes, yes, of course." I heard her shuffling some papers. "Is someone else in the room there with you?" My voice was terse and rigid. "Please don't lie to me. I need to discuss something totally private and I don't want anyone else there."

She began to sound a little more interested. "No, there's definitely no-one else in here. Sorry, I was just... just printing off a prescription, that's all. I am listening to you now."

I thought if I squeezed my phone any harder, it would probably collapse into hundreds of shards of plastic. "I'm not interested in talking to you right now if you're busy doing something else," I said. "I'd rather phone someone else at another time. So please tell me if you're not able to give me your full attention right now."

She cleared her throat. "No, no, please. I'm listening to you. Honestly. And there's no-one else in the room." A pause. "How can I help?"

And then my arms began to shake. I tried to keep my voice steady. "I need... I need to ask you a question."

"Okay."

A few seconds passed. "I think I'm pregnant."

She waited for me to say something else, but I didn't. "Okay," she said, her voice slower and more deliberate than it had been before. "Are you wanting some information on pregnancy?"

"No, no. That's not it. I... I mean, I just did this pregnancy test thing a few hours ago, and it said I'm pregnant."

"Okay. You do know that those tests aren't always 100% reliable. I'd suggest going into your local..."

"But I haven't had a period for two weeks."

"Right. I think it might still be a good idea for you..."

"No no, listen, just listen, please." I had to take a deep breath.

"Okay." A few more seconds passed.

"Let's just say I am pregnant, okay? Let's just say the test is right. I don't want information about pregnancy."

"Right."

"I want... I want to know what I can... what I can do... if I'm pregnant..." She let my last few words drift into the silence. And then she gave me a whole load of information - most of which I didn't listen to - and some website addresses and she said that if I'd give her my address - which I didn't - she'd send me some leaflets, but that I could pick them up myself from such and such a place, but at that point I didn't care at all, because I was just thinking, 'Okay, it CAN be done. If I really want to do it, if I really decide that's what I'm gonna do, then I CAN do it.' I think I may have ended the call without saying Goodbye.

I finished my coffee and tried to steady my breathing. Maybe the reason why I felt better about the whole thing was because I thought that somebody had given me some control. I actually thought to myself: 'This thing has happened to me, but if I wanted to, I could kill it.'

God help me, but those were the words that came into my head: 'I could kill it.' Somehow, that made me feel better.

---

I was scheduled to attend a meeting at the end of that day, but I managed to get out of it. I can't remember the excuse I made. At first I thought I'd say I'd double-booked myself, but I knew no-one would believe that. I probably just made something up about being unwell.

All the way during the drive home, I was hoping Martin wouldn't get home before me. I don't know why. I just didn't want him there until I'd entered the house, until I'd checked the post, until I'd put the kettle on, until I'd pulled back the curtains in the front room. The news I had to give him was my news and I wanted to tell it to him in my space. And because our house never really felt like MY space to me, I was determined to score these little victories which would make it easier for me to believe that I was allowing Martin to enter my territory, that I was inviting him into my presence and into my confidence.

When I turned into our road, I saw his car was already parked in the drive. I remember thinking that was so unfair. I parked my car next to his. I sat still for a few moments, holding onto the steering wheel, staring out the windscreen. The thoughts that came into my head! 'Has he seen me pull up?' I wondered. 'Because if he hasn't, I could quickly drive away again and park somewhere up the road. Then I could phone him and say I'm running late and would he mind going to Waitrose to pick up a few things, because I'm really tired. And then he'd go to Waitrose and I'd drive back home and then I'd be able to pretend that I'd got there before he had.'

Looking back I can't believe I thought such things. But I remember very clearly that I did. I decided against the idiotic plan, not because it was idiotic, but because I knew that he'd definitely have put the kettle on by now and he'd definitely have sorted through the post, so I wouldn't have been able to pretend that I'd been first through the door anyway.

I turned off the car, gathered my things and got out. Martin was standing over the kitchen table, flicking through the pages of the evening paper. "All right?" he asked, without looking up.

"Umm... actually, no, not really."

He raised his head. "What's up?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just a migraine. Listen, d'you mind if we just have a takeaway tonight? I really fancy a bath right now."

"No, that's fine. What d'you want? Chinese?"

"I don't really mind."

"Chinese then. Usual?"

"Yeah. Listen, I'm just gonna go upstairs, all right?"

"Yeah, fine. I'll go round and pick it up in half an hour or so, all right?"

"Fine. Thanks." I walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs. Half an hour later, when I was lying in hot, soapy water and I heard the back door open and shut, I thought to myself: 'Well, that's better than nothing.'

---

As soon as Martin left the house, I got out of the bath. I towelled myself dry, put on some clothes and rushed downstairs. I noticed that he hadn't gone through the post after all. I went into the kitchen and saw that he'd laid the table. He'd also left the radio on. I turned it off and then I switched off the lights too, trying to make the room feel less like a place in which two people were about to have a meal. I walked into the lounge and turned on the small lamp on the coffee table. It cast its light on the sofa next to it. I sat on the sofa, which meant that I was facing the door. I wanted me to be first thing Martin saw when he walked into the room.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard Martin's car arrive. The back door opened and shut again. "You out of the bath?" he yelled.

I kept quiet.

I heard him turn on the kitchen light. I heard the rustle of a carrier bag as he took the food out. I heard a drawer being opened. I heard a chair being pulled across the kitchen floor.

"I'm back!" he yelled again. "It's on the table."

Two or three minutes passed. I heard him get up off his chair and walk towards the stairs. "Pauline!" he shouted. "Are you out yet?"

I didn't say a word. I heard him walk up the stairs. A few moments later, he walked back down again, a little faster.

"Pauline?" His voice sounded a little more urgent. I heard his steps approaching the lounge.

The door opened. He saw me sitting on the sofa.

"What're you doing?" he asked. "I've been yelling my head off looking for you. The food's on the table." He took a few steps into the room. His voice became lower. "Pauline?" It was only then that he took in the atmosphere I'd created. "What's wrong?"

I looked away from him. I don't know why, but suddenly tears were pouring down my face again. My cheeks, my chin were drenched. I was sobbing. I couldn't breathe properly.

Martin knelt down beside me and took my hands in his eyes. "Babe, what's happened?" I couldn't gather enough breath to say a single word. "Babe, please, you're scaring me. Has something happened?" He put his arms on my shoulders and eventually, I managed to calm myself down.

"Babe, please," he said, "just tell me what's wrong."

And I think I blurted it all out in under ten seconds. "I haven't had a period for two weeks and I bought a pregnancy test today and I did in the loo at work and I'm pregant it said I'm pregnant the bloody thing came out positive."

Martin immediately let go of me, which made me curl myself into a ball and try to squeeze myself as deeply into the sofa as I possibly could. But I didn't cry any more. I looked away from him and started biting my nails, rubbing my forehead with my hands, rubbing the back of my neck. My body felt like it was on fire and itching at the same time.

I think we sat in silence like that for ages.

In the end, it was Martin who spoke first. "Why didn't you tell me you hadn't had your period?"

I still couldn't bring myself to look at him. I just shrugged my shoulders. Some corner of my mind realised I must have looked like a six year old doing that.

"The tests aren't 100% accurate, are they?" he asked.

I tried to speak, but no sound came out until I cleared my throat. "No... they're pretty accurate these days."

"Well... are you sure? I mean, don't we need to get it verified by a doctor or something?"

That made me angry, which was when I was finally able to turn around and look him in the face. "No, I'm fucking pregnant, okay!"

He raised his hands slightly. "All right, all right. I was just asking."

"No, it's not bloody all right!" I yelled. "Did you hear what I said? I said I'm pregnant, Martin!"

I remember how calm his voice was. "But babe, listen, isn't this what we'd wanted? I really don't want to upset you any more, but... I'm just quite confused. Why... why are you so upset? I thought you'd be pleased."

And there was something about those words that brought the tears streaming back again, only this time I threw myself into his arms and squeezed him so tight I thought I'd never be able to let go of him again.

I don't really remember much else about the rest of the day. I know Martin eventually dragged me up to the bedroom and got me to get into bed. He phoned work the next day and told them I wasn't well and wouldn't be going in. I didn't wake up until about 11.