Blue Moon Page 5

  Will shut the bedroom door quietly and they sat down on the bed. He looked at her critically.

  ‘You look terrible. Your hair’s all wet. And you’re all muddy. What’ve you been doing?’

  ‘I ran away.’

  ‘You’re joking! Aren’t you?’

  ‘I dunno. I mean, I ran out of the house and I’m not going back. I’ve had enough.’

  ‘What about your dad? He’ll be really worried.’

  ‘I don’t care. I hate him.’

  ‘What’s he done now?’

  She bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry. It had been a mistake to come here. How could she possibly tell Will? He looked so – so young and innocent sitting on his bed, him all clean and golden-looking next to her with her dark ragged hair and thin white face and muddy clothes. It had been a shock to see his room. His history essay was spread out on the wooden table under the window; he must have been working on it. His saxophone case lay open on the floor.

  ‘He doesn’t hit you or anything, does he?’

  Mia shook her head. ‘It’s not that. He’s not violent or anything.’

  ‘What then?’

  Mia shook her head. She was close to tears. She longed to tell him and have him put his arms round her and say it would be all right and he’d help her. But she knew it was hopeless. She couldn’t even begin to say.

  ‘I can’t explain. He just came home late and started up again, going on and on at me. All that stuff about school –’

  – and, oh, Will – I’m pregnant and it’s the end of everything – I don’t know what to do – But the words stuck in her throat.

  He looked at her, uncomprehending. She knew it was impossible for him to understand. There he’d been, playing music in his room after a cosy family supper, calmly working on his essay, his parents laughing downstairs, and then she arrived, like a stray dog or something, out of the blue – cold, wet, in tears – impossible.

  ‘Do you want to stay here tonight?’

  ‘I dunno. Can I?’

  ‘Well, I guess so, but what about your dad? He’ll be going mad. He might phone the police or something. You have to tell him you’re OK.’

  Mia felt suddenly furious at the unfairness of it all. She turned on Will. ‘You phone him then if you’re so concerned about him. On your mobile.’

  ‘No way, Mia! Have you gone crazy or what?’

  ‘I don’t want to speak to him, Will. Can’t you get that?’

  ‘You have to, if you don’t want him sniffing around after you, with police and social workers and the lot. He’ll look for you at Becky’s, and then here, won’t he? So just tell him you’re safe.’

  ‘All right. Stop going on. You’re starting to sound like him. Give it here.’

  She dialled the number, held her breath, let out a sigh as the answerphone cut in.

  ‘Dad, I’m staying at a friend’s for the night, so don’t worry about me and don’t come looking for me either. I’ll see you tomorrow after school, OK?’ She quickly cut the line dead before he could pick up the phone.

  It was a relief to have done it. Now she felt hysterical giggles rising. Will looked so – so serious, and scared. She felt a hundred, million years older than him. Braver, harder.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘You. Like a little boy. Like you’re going to be in trouble!’

  ‘Well, I’ve not had as much practice as you!’ He gave her a shove and they fell together on to the bed, stifling laughter.

  ‘Sshh. Someone will hear! Look, I’ll go down and tell them I’m going to have an early night. Then Mum won’t come in.’

  ‘Can’t you lock the door?’

  ‘If I can find the key.’

  Mia listened to the noises in the house while Will was downstairs. His brother was playing music in his room; she could feel the thump thump of the beat. Someone crossed over the landing and went to run a bath. Will’s footsteps came back up the stairs, two at a time. She looked into the mirror on his wall and tried to smooth her wild hair with his comb. He came back in, flourishing a key.

  ‘I nicked it from Ben’s room. Same lock as this door.’

  They lay back on the single bed together. Mia’s shoes left muddy stains on the cream cover.

  ‘We’ll have to turn the light off so it looks like I’m asleep,’ he whispered. ‘We should have done this before. Smuggled you in. It’s easy, isn’t it? And much warmer than our field.’

  ‘I like our field.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I did too, but that was summer.’

  Any minute now. In the darkness. She was going to tell him. She rehearsed the words in her head. Will, I’m pregnant, neutral tone. Oh God, Will, something awful’s happened, tragic tone. Will, guess what, sort of bright, I-can-cope tone. None of them sounded right.

  ‘Shall we get under the covers? Get undressed.’ Will’s whisper sounded loud in the darkness.

  ‘Yes.’

  Mia sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her muddy shoes, wriggled out of her skirt and tights, pulled the black school sweatshirt over her head. Naked, she crept to the window and pulled the curtains slightly apart.

  ‘Mia? What’re you doing?’ Will hissed. ‘Are you mad? Suppose someone sees you?’

  ‘It’s too dark. I don’t like it so dark. It’s just a tiny chink, no one will see.’ Mia crept back under the covers with Will. Her skin felt cool next to his. They put their arms round each other.

  He doesn’t know. Inside me. His baby as well as mine. Ours.

  The strip of grey light through the curtains revealed the soft shadows of his bedroom. His things. Books and CDs and old junk – rocks and fossils, model aeroplanes he’d made when he was ten or eleven, a music stand. She could just make out the title of a piece of music propped open: ‘Blue Moon’.

  They listened as one by one the different family members went to bed. When finally the house was completely silent, everyone asleep, Mia crept into the bathroom to use the loo and wash her tear-streaked face. She longed for a hot bath, warm clean towels, someone to tuck her into bed. Now she lay next to Will. The first time they had spent a whole night together. It was strange, being warm and close like this, but still not saying. Not telling him what was happening inside her body right now.

  ‘Do you want to do it? Make love?’ Will’s whisper sounded loud in her ear. He stroked her back and for a moment she felt comforted. ‘It’s OK, you know, I’ve got a condom in the drawer.’

  Too late for worrying about that, she could say. Should have thought of that right at the beginning.

  ‘Not here,’ Mia said. ‘It doesn’t feel right. Not with your parents just down the landing.’

  Will sighed. He went on stroking her back though, and it wasn’t long before she turned round and kissed him, and his hands moved round to her breasts and then down over her belly and between her thighs, and then it was easy, and delicious and exciting and somehow comforting to Mia – quiet, gentle lovemaking so that no one would hear.

  After it was over Mia lay next to Will, staring into the dark, arms wrapped around her own body.

  She couldn’t tell him because she knew already what he would say. Because she couldn’t bear to see the look of horror and panic spread across his face. The way he’d withdraw, retreat, reject. This hadn’t been part of the deal. And what could he do? Maybe his parents could cough up the money, if she needed money. Though she couldn’t imagine how he’d tell them. And soon it would be all over Whitecross. That girl. In trouble. Again. But what did you expect?… The mother left them you know.

  Lying in the cramped bed in the darkness, Mia knew she was alone really. Will couldn’t begin to understand her. She didn’t even want to try to make him. Tears dribbled down her hot cheeks and soaked the pillow.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  September 30th

  ‘There’s a message for you, Mia. Your father will collect you from school at three thirty and would like you to wait at reception. OK?’

  Becky and Mia glanced at ea
ch other. Mia rolled her eyes. She’d told Becky everything at break. She’d had to explain her muddy shoes, and why she hadn’t brought her bag with all her books and stuff. She had been sick before school again this morning. She and Will had got up really early, left his house before anyone else was up. They had breakfast in the transport cafe on the main road. Will paid. She’d thrown up the whole lot in the school toilets.

  After English, last lesson of the afternoon, Mia dragged herself towards reception and the main entrance doors. No chance to do a runner – Dad was already standing by the noticeboard, pretending to read the newspaper clippings. He must’ve got off early, to be here at three thirty. He looked terrible, Mia thought. His hair was all sticking up and dishevelled where he’d run his hands through it. Her heart started to thud. What was he going to say about last night? Just at that moment Miss Blackman appeared. She dangled a key on a piece of string.

  ‘I’ve got us the counsellor’s office,’ she said, smiling towards Dad.

  Mia scowled. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Thought it would be useful to have a third party. For our chat, Mia. Since you won’t speak to me on my own. And Miss Blackman kindly agreed to assist us.’

  Miss Blackman smiled again. Stupid woman, Mia thought. Pushing her way in like this. It was nothing to do with her. They must have planned the whole thing. And lied about it. Dad must have phoned her last night. It was outrageous.

  Miss Blackman gently closed the office door and indicated to them to sit down. Mia perched on the edge of the low chair, her head hanging down.

  Miss Blackman started first. Her voice was soft, condescending. ‘We’re very concerned about you, Mia. We’ve noticed you’re not… well, happy at the moment. Not your usual self. I know things came to a bit of a head last night. Your father was very worried. Did you think what he might be going through? Running off, out all night – and you’re just fifteen!’

  She leaned forwards towards Mia, who shrank back. ‘We understand it’s hard for you without your mother at home, and both your sisters have left now, I believe? But it’s affecting your school work and that threatens your whole future,’ Miss Blackman hesitated, ‘and we wondered, Mia, well, your father did, whether there was something more serious we should know about?’ Embarrassed, Miss Blackman looked towards Dad.

  He took over. ‘Last night after you ran out I found this – and I wondered, Mia?’

  With horror, Mia saw that Dad had tears in his eyes. He fumbled in his pocket and then held out the crumpled leaflet towards her, his hand shaking. ‘Is – is this it? The trouble? Because if it is, you need help, Mia, and you need to talk to us.’

  Teenage Pregnancy – the Facts. Becky’s leaflet. This was it, the moment she’d been dreading for days and days. Dad knew.

  Mia hunched over, refusing to look at either of them, stomach churning, about to be sick.

  ‘Shall we assume then, since you won’t deny it, that it is?’ Miss Blackman, too, had gone pale.

  ‘Please. Say something.’ Dad leaned forward in his chair and put his hand on Mia’s knee.

  The touch made her anger flare again. It was almost a relief to feel it, the familiar rage burning inside her at the unfairness, the injustice of it all. All she could think of now was escape. ‘Don’t touch me! I don’t have to listen to this crap!’ She knocked the chair flying as she stormed out of the room. Her head pounded. She let the school doors bang back violently as she ran up the drive towards the bus stop. A small group of girls were standing around there, watching her. She felt her face flush. She bit hard on her lip so she wouldn’t cry. The sick feeling rose in her throat. She heard the school entrance doors swing back and Dad’s footsteps running up the drive behind; now she was trapped between him and the bus-stop crowd. He grabbed her arm.

  ‘Get in the car.’

  She didn’t resist. She went with him to where it was parked in the road, leaned against the door while he unlocked it, and crumpled into the front seat. He sat still for a moment, staring ahead, then he started the engine. He turned towards her.

  ‘Tell me it’s not true, Mia. That you’re not – pregnant.’

  He spat the word out. Like he was disgusted by her. Would like to spit her out too.

  She couldn’t stop the tears now. Not even when she bit down so hard she made her lip split and blood oozed in a thick bubble. She licked it with her tongue. She stared straight ahead. Two boys on skateboards glided gracefully past on the road.

  ‘I am.’

  He leaned forward, collapsed his head on to his arms on the steering wheel. When he sat up again his face was grey. Mia’s hands shook in her lap. She was cold all over. This was worse than anything she’d imagined. She thought he’d shout and storm at her. Not this icy silence. The car engine revved and throbbed. Still he sat there, unmoving. His eyes were blank when finally he looked at her again.

  ‘Who was it? That boy you’ve been seeing? From school? Will?’ He could hardly bring himself to speak the name out loud. ‘Well? Speak up, Mia. I can’t hear you. I’ll kill him – the irresponsible bloody mindless idiot. What does he have to say about this? Eh?’

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ Mia mumbled through hot tears. ‘I haven’t told him.’ The tears started to run down her face.

  ‘You stupid, stupid girl.’

  He jerked the car into gear.

  They drove past clumps of schoolchildren walking home, laughing, mucking about, kicking stones along the gutter. Two Year Ten girls waved at Mia and then turned to each other and laughed at some private joke. For everyone else it was just a normal afternoon; they’d walk home and turn the telly on and get something to eat, and everything would be as it always was. She was utterly alone in the world. She wished she’d told Will. That he was here now.

  With a jolt she realized that instead of turning towards Whitecross as usual, Dad had taken the main road, into Ashton.

  ‘Where are we going, Dad?’ Her voice came out thin, frightened.

  ‘Ashton General Hospital.’ His eyes were fixed on the road. ‘Been here before, seen it all before. Every year at my school there’s some stupid girl in trouble in Year Ten. Or Eleven. Didn’t expect it to be my own daughter. Thought you had more sense. Intelligence.’

  He wasn’t like Dad any longer. He was a grey man, made of steel. Ice in his heart.

  ‘So I’ll take you to the hospital and they can sort you out.’

  What did he mean? She was too scared to ask.

  She’d be sick any minute. There was the sign for the hospital, and then the mini roundabout, and the road that went into the hospital. Instead of going the usual way, towards Accident and Emergency and the main ward entrance, he was turning left, to the car park signposted Maternity and Antenatal.

  The minute the car stopped Mia opened the door and was sick into the gutter. Dad waited till she finished, then without saying anything, he gripped her sleeve and steered her across the tarmac towards the hospital entrance.

  Now Dad sat next to her in the crowded waiting room of the Early Pregnancy Diagnosis Unit. The woman at reception had told Dad where to take her. She hadn’t listened to what he’d said, too busy trying to stop herself being sick again. Two other young girls sat huddled with their mothers. One had spiky blue hair and a lip swollen with rings and studs; the other had shiny dark hair, perfect make-up, lovely clothes. The mother with her, in an immaculate linen suit, leafed through a Vogue magazine so fast that Mia knew she wasn’t really reading it. There were young women with husbands, and several with a troupe of noisy children in tow. The men looked embarrassed. Mia wondered what it would be like to sit here next to Will. How young he’d look, how impossible. Even so, she wished he was. Holding her hand. Telling her it would be all right.

  Dad sat two seats away from her; he’d brought his briefcase in from the car and was reading a pile of papers from school. His face was still red with anger.

  The nurse took away the form Mia had filled in with her name and address and date of birth. She had
to put down the date of her last period. That was easy; the date was etched on her memory now. Next she had to have a scan, and that would tell them how pregnant she actually was. Depending on that, they would arrange for her to have a medical or a surgical termination. That’s what they called it. They’d already given her a leaflet explaining what happened. That was after the first meeting, in a little room with plain walls and just three chairs. A woman in a white coat explained everything. So much talking.

  ‘You have three options,’ the woman said. ‘You can have the baby – at fifteen! Imagine! You can carry the baby to term, then have it adopted; you can have a termination.’

  The nurse, or doctor, whoever she was, explained how bad it would be for Mia to have a child when she was so young. ‘You are still a child yourself,’ the woman continued. ‘Already anaemic. And much too thin. Are you perhaps mildly anorexic? Anyway, you couldn’t possibly manage.’ The voice went on and on. ‘You have your whole future to think of. Your whole life ahead. What sort of life could you possibly give a child?’

  Eventually Mia stopped hearing anything. Something small and precious inside her felt like it was curling up and dying.

  *

  When it was Mia’s turn for the scan, she went into the consulting room alone. It was dark. It felt horrible, the way they made her take off her things and lie on the couch with her knees up. An internal scan, they said. The latest technology. She tried to strain round to look, but the screen was turned round so she couldn’t see. She wasn’t supposed to see, the woman said. Afterwards, she had to get dressed again and sit at the desk to see the nurse.

  The nurse turned a cardboard dial of dates and numbers. ‘You’re about nine and a bit weeks, going by the measurements and your dates.’

  The nurse continued to talk. Measurements. Mia was remembering the page in the book at home. She’d looked at it yesterday: ‘… just under an inch (2.5 cm) long…’

  ‘Do you understand? Too late for the medical method, where you have to take pills; that has to be before eight weeks. So it has to be surgery. It’s very straightforward. The actual operation doesn’t take long, but you have to have a general anaesthetic. You can go home the same day. I know it’s all very distressing, but don’t worry. You’ve read the leaflet, haven’t you? Have you any questions? Anything at all.’