Page 32 of The Pieces of Us

I’ve been rereading Forever since we got back from the doctor, after I threw up spectacularly in the bath and Mam led me to bed and told me to lie still with a cold face cloth on my forehead.

I dozed for a bit, then yanked the book out from under my pillow.

Tropic of Cancer fell down the back of my bed weeks ago and I’ve never felt the urge to retrieve it.

Some of the things that didn’t really make sense to me the first time I read Forever are putting different thoughts in my head this time around. It’s like everything is falling into place – a place I don’t want to be. A place I can’t leave.

A pregnant place.

I didn’t know I was capable of roaring; the sound comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. I throw the book at the back of my bedroom door and watch helplessly as it slides to the floor.

The next sound I hear is a clatter of footsteps. This is it , I think. Here comes the end of my life .

Before the end of my life my mother picks up the discarded book. ‘I didn’t buy you this.’

‘No,’ I agree, not caring.

She studies the front cover, then flips it to look at the back. ‘Where did you get this?’ Each word is a stab in the air.

‘Janice’s sister Marie.’ For the first time in my life I don’t care how she reacts. What’s a book compared to everything else?

‘This book –’ Mam tucks the offending item into the front pocket of her apron – ‘is not suitable for you. I’ll need to speak to your father and decide on a punishment.’

‘You’re punishing me for reading ?’

‘Elizabeth Muir, what has got into you recently? We did not raise you to behave in such a way. To bring this kind of thing into our home. Imagine if one of your younger sisters came across it?’

‘They wouldn’t understand it.’

‘Do you understand it?’

I shrug. She knows I’m pregnant. I know she knows. But she’s never going to say it. She’s going to pray to the Lord for a divine miracle instead.

‘Dr Webb … he …’

‘Beth, I need to make a start on dinner. Stovies tonight.’

‘OK.’ I start to get out of my bed.

‘No. You stay here and rest. I don’t need your help today. Your father and I will talk to you about your situation later.’ She’s turned away from me before the words are even out of her mouth.

We eat our stovies at the dinner table and it’s as noisy as ever but Mam, Father and I don’t contribute much.

Sandra and Patrick argue over who’s the strongest and challenge each other to an arm wrestle until Father intervenes.

Aoife and Reenie’s type of wrestling involves talking over each other about what happened to them at school until nobody can understand either story.

Wee Joe sticks his fingers in his bowl and rubs beef dripping through his hair until Mam excuses herself from the table and takes him upstairs for a bath.

After tea I play Monopoly with Sandra and Patrick.

As usual, the game only lasts until they get bored and start stealing money from each other.

I know Joe will have been settled in bed at his usual time, but Mam doesn’t come downstairs for the rest of the evening.

I don’t see her again until I’m going to bed.

At the top of the stairs I hesitate outside her and Father’s bedroom door.

Father won’t be back from his usual Monday pub night with the men from the factory until late.

The door is ajar, and I can see Mam kneeling on the floor at the side of her bed, her hands clasped on the patterned bedcover – tiny yellow flowers – they’ve had for as long as I can remember.

I creep closer to the door. It takes me a moment to distinguish the words, but as soon as I realize there are only four, it’s easier to identify them.

‘Jesus, mercy; Mary, help,’ my mother says, over and over.

I lie in my bed, pretending to be asleep, until I hear Father’s key in the front door. Mam knows I’m awake, that her whisper is enough to alert me without disturbing Sandra. ‘Come downstairs, Beth.’

She doesn’t wait for me. When I enter the room, they’re sitting at the table, stiff backs and equally stiff mouths.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.

‘It’s too late for sorry, Beth,’ Father says. ‘What are we going to do about this? What kind of example does this set to your sisters?’

I don’t know why I need to be an example to anybody. It’s hard enough being the eldest without that added pressure.

‘Your mother and I have been talking and we’ve decided there’s no reason for this to go any further.’

‘I don’t understand.’ I weave my cold fingers together under the table. It may be November, but Mam has a strict schedule for the storage heaters and I’m too far away from the fire to feel its benefit. ‘How am I going to keep a baby a secret forever?’

My parents exchange a look.

‘Am I having an abortion?’ I stare at the tablecloth, scared to meet their eyes.

‘You know what an abortion is?’ Mam demands.

‘Of course I do,’ I say, even though I don’t, really. Janice’s sister Marie was pregnant and then a few weeks later she wasn’t. Janice told me their mother said it was for the sake of Marie’s sanity. That’s as much as I know.

‘That’s not an option,’ my dad says.

‘Why not? Don’t I have a say over my own body?’

Marie told Janice and me about the women’s liberation movement, and apparently last year was the International Year of Women.

Marie is a feminist, although I’m not quite sure what that entails.

When I asked Mam, she pulled a face. ‘Men and women are different, Beth,’ she said.

‘But we are all equal in the eyes of God.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘But feminism is separate from religion, so –’

‘You’d best get on with your English homework,’ she told me, and that was the end of that.

I stare at my mother across the kitchen table. In her eyes nothing in this mortal life is separate from religion.

‘ Jesus said , Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs ,’ she says. ‘The Gospel of Matthew.’

I look at my father, who dutifully goes to Mass in the guise of a Catholic husband every Sunday but never quotes Bible verses to me. His mouth is back in its stiff line.

‘Beth, did you choose to get pregnant?’ Mam’s voice falters on the last word.

A wave of nausea rolls through my body. I shake my head, hard. ‘Of course not!’

‘Then let’s make the right choice now,’ she says firmly.

‘You need to tell us who the father is.’ There’s an intensity in my father’s voice that I don’t recognize. ‘What’s the boy’s name?’

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, the throb travelling upwards to my throat. ‘Why does it matter?’ I croak.

‘You’ll marry him, that’s why it matters,’ he barks.

‘John.’ Mam puts a hand on his arm and jerks her head towards the ceiling. ‘The other children.’

If I tell them, will they hear me? I imagine my father flipping the table over, grabbing the heaviest glass bottle he can find, storming to the big house with the stained-glass window to wreak vengeance.

My mother’s face changing as she makes the connection – heartbroken eyes, mouth forming a stunned ‘O’.

I don’t know which Bible verse would ease her pain.

Saying his name would be like launching a grenade into the heart of my family.

My parents are charitable, hard-working people.

They keep our family’s home and reputation impeccable.

And if I got that far, I don’t know what I’d say next.

How I’d find the words to explain what I don’t even understand myself.

It’s easier – for everyone – to remain in safe territory. To keep up appearances.

‘I don’t want to talk about this. It was a mistake. An awful mistake I want to forget about.’ I drop my voice to a whisper. ‘I didn’t even know what was happening.’

Mam sighs. ‘If you don’t get married, you’ll have the baby and it will go to a good family.’

‘I can’t marry him,’ I sob.

‘Does the boy know?’

I shake my head violently.

‘It must stay that way, Beth. Nobody can know. Not even your sisters. Do you understand that?’

I nod my head. ‘What’s going to happen?’

‘You’ll have the baby and it will go to a good family,’ says Mam.

I stare at her. ‘I’m not having an abortion?’

‘Beth, please stop talking like this.’

‘ I’m having the baby? ’

‘It’s the right thing to do, Beth.’ My dad puts his hands on the table, palms down. I look at his square fingertips, his neat nails. I want him to hold my hand.

‘You have to trust us on this, Beth,’ he says at the same time as Mam tells me, ‘We don’t agree with abortion in this house.’

‘You don’t know what I agree with,’ I snap.

‘ You don’t know what you agree with,’ Mam says in a voice that’s gentler than I expected. ‘You’re sixteen.’

I start crying noisily without holding back, not caring if my brothers and sisters hear me from upstairs. Mam passes me a handkerchief; I bury my face in it, and press the heels of my hands into my eyes until I see stars in the darkness.

‘The most important thing is to keep this to ourselves.’

‘How is that even possible?’ I lift my head and blink at her. ‘I’m pregnant .’

My parents exchange a look. ‘We’ll make arrangements,’ Mam says.

‘Arrangements? What arrangements?’

‘There are places you can go, when you’re …’

‘Pregnant? Why is that word so difficult for you to say?’ I scrape my chair back and stand up. ‘Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. I’m pregnant .’

I look between them, demanding that they fight back.

‘Yes, Beth. Yes, you are. And we’ll make arrangements. Everything will be all right.’ Mam stands up too, still taller than me.

My lip wobbles. ‘Can I go to my room, please?’

‘Go on,’ my father says, and he moves one of his hands towards me but it’s too late for that now. I turn my back on him and run up the stairs.

I get back into bed and sing ‘Mamma Mia’ under my breath, focusing all my attention on the lyrics. I let myself think of Mr Dunlop – I haven’t seen him for a few weeks because he’s away on important business. If he was here, he’d know what to do.