Four Silences Broken, page 4
Her birthday had been in early September. So how many weeks did that make. Eight? Maybe more. She counted on her fingers. That could mean the baby would be here in May, maybe June, she wasn’t sure. A baby! Oh God! She and Jack wouldn’t even have been together a year. She groaned again. Oh, Jack! How was he going to handle this? She took another deep breath and finally the sickness began to subside. Slowly, she staggered to her feet. She could only deal with one problem at a time and constantly throwing up was the most immediate one. Thankfully, she had a couple of days off, but tomorrow she was due at work. She’d never make it if she felt this bad.
*
An hour later, she was standing in the pregnancy and baby aisle of the chemist’s in Thirsk and realised she was totally out of her depth. She’d hoped to grab some pills promising to cure morning sickness, but instead she was faced with a confusing array of supplements, vitamins and ointments. The creams for stretch marks and cracked nipples made her wince and she began to feel light-headed again.
She needed to speak to an expert. Pushing her way past the other customers and the staff in white coats, she hurried back outside.
*
Meera answered the door of the Grange with a polite smile, but her smile quickly faded when she saw Jo.
“Oh, my goodness! You look terrible. Come in, come in. What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant,” Jo blurted out, as Meera closed the door behind her.
“Oh, my goodness,” repeated Meera more loudly. She looked as stunned as Jo felt.
“Shush,” said Jo, raising her fingers to her lips. She could see Ben and Krish sitting at the kitchen table. Telling Meera was one thing, but she wasn’t sure she wanted her news to become public knowledge yet.
“Sorry,” whispered Meera. “Follow me into my study.”
Meera’s study was a small room off the hallway, painted pale yellow with curtains covered in a daffodil print. It was every bit as neat and tidy as Jo would have expected. Meera ushered her inside and sat her down on the armchair by the window while she settled into the chair at her desk.
“I’m really sorry to bother you at home. I know I should have made an appointment at the surgery, but I took a test this morning and, well, I panicked,” Jo said, her words tumbling out.
“Don’t be silly. It wasn’t so long ago I phoned you in the middle of the night in a total panic and you came over without a second thought.”
Jo smiled weakly at the memory. Dealing with a possible kidnapper had been far simpler than her current predicament. Meera peered over her glasses and fixed her dark eyes on Jo.
“I take it this wasn’t planned?”
Jo shook her head.
“How many weeks along are you?”
Jo shrugged. Meera had switched from friend to doctor mode very quickly and suddenly everything was beginning to feel very real.
“Eight, I think. I’ve never really kept track of that kind of thing.”
Meera shifted in her seat. “I see.” She paused. “And are you planning on keeping the baby?”
Jo stared back at her. It was the most obvious question in the circumstances, but it wasn’t until she heard her friend ask it out loud that Jo knew the answer. There was a little life growing inside, depending on her. She wouldn’t let it down.
“Yes,” she said fiercely, “I am not getting rid of it, now or later. I’m going to do a better job than my own mother did.”
Meera reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if that was the reason you were here. You’ve never mentioned having children or seemed very keen on them, if I’m being completely honest.”
“I’m not,” agreed Jo. “I mean I like Krish and Freddie, but generally I find them pretty annoying.”
Meera sat back and looked business-like again. “Are you still eating that awful, sugary breakfast cereal every morning?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because the one good thing it does contain is folic acid. I take it you haven’t been taking any dietary supplements?”
“No.”
“You really need to start taking better care of yourself, Jo.”
“I’m perfectly healthy,” she protested weakly.
“You are, but quite frankly that’s a miracle considering your diet and lifestyle. I don’t think I’ve ever known you to have your recommended five a day. You need to increase your intake of fruits and vegetables and consider taking a supplement for expectant mums.”
“Okay,” agreed Jo, quietly. “Expectant mum. That sounds so weird.”
“You’ll have to stop drinking too. How many units have you had over the last few weeks?”
“I didn’t think doctors were meant to be this judgemental.”
Meera folded her arms and gave her a stern look. “This doctor also happens to be speaking as a friend who knows all your bad habits. How many units?”
“Hardly any. I’ve either been too tired or felt too ill.”
“Good. You’re going to have to give up smoking too.”
“I know, I know.” Jo sighed, rolling up her sleeve to reveal her arm covered in the nicotine patches she’d bought along with the pregnancy test. “Is there anything you can give me to stop the sickness? I spent the whole morning with my head stuck down the loo.”
“You should take vitamin B-6 and ginger tea is meant to be very good.”
Jo pulled a face.
“It’s only early days yet,” Meera reassured her. “If it doesn’t improve, I’ll write you a prescription.”
Meera opened her desk drawer and produced a handful of leaflets. “When you are ready there are lots of childbirth support and antenatal groups you can join.”
Jo looked at her in horror and held up her hands. “No way. Thanks, Meera, but I’m really not a support group kind of person. All that sitting around in a circle, talking about my feelings.” She gave a shudder. “I’ll manage on my own.” She paused. “Maybe with your help too.”
“What about Jack? Have you told him yet?”
Jo shook her head. “No. He’s been away for the weekend. An old rugby friend’s stag do.”
At that moment, her phone bleeped. She looked at the screen and smiled. “Speak of the devil. He should be home in an hour.”
*
Back at her cottage, Jo sat watching the hands of the wall clock tick around while she nibbled on a ginger biscuit Meera had packed her off with. She was used to breaking bad news. Telling a distraught husband his beautiful wife had been killed in a traffic collision or a disbelieving mother that her adored son had been caught dealing drugs, but this was uncharted territory. She had no idea how Jack would react. They’d only been together a few months. Having children was something she had never thought about let alone discussed with a boyfriend.
One thing she did know now, was that whatever his reaction she was keeping her baby. As soon as Meera had asked her, she’d felt an overwhelming wave of protectiveness for the tiny life growing inside her. He or she was relying on Jo, and she wasn’t going to let them down. Her thoughts drifted to her own mother. She must have known she wouldn’t be able to keep her, yet she’d still gone through the pregnancy. Jo had been abandoned as a baby when she was only a few hours old. All she’d been left with was a note, saying her name was Jo, and one of the Hartwell nobles, the ancient coins that most of the village families had. Why? What was her mother thinking? The bleeping of her phone interrupted her thoughts. Jack was home.
The pub wasn’t open yet, but she found him in the bar glugging down a bottle of fruit juice.
“Dehydrated?” she queried.
“A bit,” he replied, grinning as he stepped forward and hugged her, “I must be out of practice. I feel really rough.” He stepped back and surveyed her. “You look worse though. What’s up?”
Jo took a deep breath and decided not to sugar-coat her news. “I’m pregnant,” she said bluntly.
Jack stared at her silently for a few seconds, then his face broke into a huge grin. He lifted her off her feet and twirled her round as she protested loudly. Then he set her carefully down and lowered himself to the floor, wincing slightly as he rested on his one good knee.
“Will you marry, me. I’m sorry I haven’t got a ring—this is a bit of a surprise.”
Jo put her hand on her hips and tutted in exasperation. “Get up. We are not getting married just because I’m pregnant. I can only handle one drama at a time. We need to decide what we’re doing about the baby.”
Jack staggered to his feet, his face turning pale. “What do you mean? Don’t you want it? Because I do, Jo, I really do. I know it’s your choice and everything.” He was beginning to stammer and Jo put her hand on his arm.
“I’m not saying that. I do want it. I’m saying this wasn’t planned. Both our lives are going to change. Whatever happens between us as a couple, we’ll always have a child together. We wouldn’t be able to please ourselves anymore. Already I feel so rotten, I don’t think I’ll be up to working tomorrow and it’ll probably wreck any hope I had of getting back to Scotland Yard.”
“It won’t wreck your career,” protested Jack. “You’ll only be out of action for a few months. There’s no reason for you not being able to move back to London still. I keep telling you the Met will want you back as soon as they see sense.”
“And then what? You can hardly run the White Hart from Hackney.”
“We could all move to London. You, me and the baby. I could take care of it while you were working. I’ve got a few mates who own pubs down there. One of them would give me a job even if it was only part-time. We had a great time when we were there for your birthday.”
“A weekend staying in a flash hotel and cruising the Thames isn’t the same as living there,” huffed Jo.
Jack pulled her gently towards him and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I know that, but it doesn’t mean we can’t make it work if we want to,” he said. He placed a kiss on top of her head and Jo leaned into him. Suddenly she felt very tired again.
“I’m being a miserable cow, aren’t I?” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
“But you are my beautiful miserable cow and I love you very much and I’ll love our baby too.”
Jo raised her head. “I love you too, but I’m still going to blame you when I get swollen ankles and stretch marks.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
*
As predicted, the next day she didn’t make it into work. For the first time in her life, she called in sick. It was lunchtime before she left the bathroom. Jack, who had spent most of the morning anxiously waiting outside the door, insisted on her coming back to the White Hart, so he could keep an eye on her. So, wearing his biggest winter coat, she sat at a quiet table in the beer garden, making the most of the late autumn sun as she sipped a mineral water. She closed her eyes and wondered about the chances of having a nap without Jack or his mother disturbing her.
Shirley had actually burst into tears when they’d told her the previous evening and she’d hugged Jo so hard, she’d been in danger of cracking a rib. It had felt quite surreal. Jo wasn’t used to all this love and affection.
A shadow fell across the table as Rachel slipped into the seat next to her.
“Congratulations,” she whispered softly.
Jo turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “I take it Jack told you?”
Rachel smiled and shrugged. “He’s useless at keeping secrets at the best of times and he’s very excited. As soon as I saw him with that daft grin on his face, I knew something was up. Don’t worry though, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to, not even Sarah.”
Jo shook her head. “I don’t suppose it really matters. Between him and Shirley the whole village will know by the end of the week.”
“What’s wrong? You don’t look very happy.”
“I am but it’s a lot to take in and I’m stressing about what it might mean for my career.” Her phone bleeped and Jo rolled her eyes and sighed as she read the message. “And I keep getting texts from Meera. It must be, like, ten so far today already. She’s remembered my blood group is O negative, so apparently, I need some injections or something. She’s emailing me the info along with about a hundred articles she thinks I should read.” Jo wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “I really hate having injections and blood tests,” she grumbled.
Rachel reached over and patted her leg. “They aren’t a big deal. It’s in case the baby has a positive blood group. Mum is O neg—she had to have them too when she was expecting me and Becky.”
“How come everyone knows more about being pregnant and having babies than me?”
Rachel smiled, then gave her a quizzical look. “To be honest, I never really thought motherhood was on your radar.”
“Me neither, but here we are.”
“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but for what it’s worth I think you’ll make a great mum.”
“Thanks, Rach!”
The two of them sat in silence for a moment, before Rachel gave her a sidelong glance.
“Make sure you remember this conversation when it comes to choosing godmothers, okay?”
Jo snorted with laughter. She’d forgotten how competitive Rachel could be.
Rachel grinned. “I’m serious! I’m Jack’s oldest friend, so I’m not prepared to lose out to Meera’s superior medical knowledge or Lucy because she’ll look better on the christening photos. And even if they are both better on the whole giving parental advice thing, remember, your childless friend will be the most reliable babysitter.”
“Okay, okay. If, there is a christening, you can be godmother.”
“Can I have it in writing?”
“Stop!” Jo laughed, giving her an affectionate slap.
“That’s better,” declared Rachel, rising to her feet. “My job here is done. You were looking far too miserable when I found you.”
*
That night when Jack had finished work, he and Baxter returned to Jo’s cottage and found her already snuggled under the duvet. The black Labrador immediately leapt on to the bed and settled by her feet.
“How are you feeling? Did you manage to get some rest this afternoon?” he asked as he climbed in beside her and pulled her close.
“A bit,” she replied sleepily, “in between visitors. First the new curate arrived—her name’s Belinda. She said the rev had heard our ‘happy news’ and had sent her to offer his congratulations and tell us we are in his prayers. Then Lucy arrived with a recipe for ginger and honey tea from Joan along with about half of Kew Gardens.”
“Ah ha!” chuckled Jack. “I did wonder where all the flowers had come from. I take it she was excited.”
“You could say that. You know Lucy. There was a lot of squealing and hugging.”
Jack gently stroked her hair. “Are you coping with all the attention?”
“It feels a bit weird,” she admitted with a yawn, “but I guess it’s nice that everyone is so happy for us.”
She laced her fingers through his and, resting both their hands over her stomach, drifted off to sleep to the sound of Baxter snoring.
Chapter Five
Lucy had a long list of people she needed to telephone. There was the location manager for the film company, two wedding planners and the owner of a marquee hire company, but the first number she called was the Rosemary Centre. The Rosemary Centre was the area’s only refuge for victims of domestic violence. Lucy had helped them with a fundraising event in the summer. It had been her and Rob’s first official date.
Alison, the director of the centre, had left her a message the previous day and had sounded quite agitated. She didn’t sound much calmer when she answered Lucy’s call. She quickly explained that they had been dealt a double blow. Not only had their landlord refused to renew their lease, but they had also learnt that their funding from central government had been withdrawn and it looked like they may be forced to merge with a refuge in York or Leeds.
“That’s terrible! What can I do to help?” asked Lucy immediately.
“Raise awareness. Write letters to the papers. Support us on social media. But what we really need is political support to get the government to reverse its decision.”
“How on earth do we get that? We don’t even have a working MP at the moment.”
“That might work in our favour. All the candidates will be chasing votes. If we can get them all to support us it could make a real difference. I went to a hustings in Thirsk last night and asked them about it, but they all brushed me off. I couldn’t get a firm commitment from any of them.”
Lucy peered at the calendar above her desk. “There’s another hustings in Hartwell tonight. Why don’t I go along and try again?”
“Would you?” asked Alison sounding relieved. “That would be fantastic. The more people who ask the better, especially someone who isn’t directly involved. One of the candidates tried to imply I was only interested in protecting my own job.”
“Cheeky sod!” exclaimed Lucy, who knew how committed Alison was to the centre. “Leave it with me. I’ll report back tomorrow.”
Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to give the Rosemary Centre much more thought. The location manager from the film company who were making the Jane Austen adaptation was due any minute. Although most of the filming would take part in the spring, they wanted to shoot some interior scenes in January, but the Hall would need some work before then to make it look right for the Georgian period. She hurried downstairs and out of the front door, ready to greet him when he arrived. Standing on the steps beneath the portico, she waved to Bill who was hard at work.
“Don’t you worry, Lady H. I’ll have the place looking shipshape for them film people,” he shouted above the noise of his new petrol leaf blower. He had been over the moon when Lucy had bought it for him, along with a sit-on mower.
