40 Things I Want to Tell You (15 page)

The night was aromatic with spring flowers and with the leaves of the large basil plants that the hotel owners had in pots outside the front door. The mildness of the air and the bouquet of stars above made me feel like we were a million miles from my life in London. Joy bubbled up inside me like sparkling white wine. We stood outside the bar and Cleo grinned at me.

“I love this,” she said.

A couple of guys came over and, in Spanish, offered us cigarettes. I was glad to understand what they were saying. Somehow during the week, the babbling, unintelligible sounds had become clearer.

Cleo took a cigarette, smiling at the skinny dark-haired guy handing them out. I refused.

The other guy, who had a moustache and a flat cap jauntily perched on his head, opened his mouth to speak to me. His teeth were surprisingly white and straight. He said, in Spanish, “Where are you from?”

To my delight, I could answer him easily. He offered me a bottle of beer, but I declined. He shrugged and carried on asking me questions, most of which I could understand and
answer. I wondered what I might look like to someone walking past, for here I was speaking Spanish, dressed in a cute designer dress of Cleo’s mum’s collection, animated and happy. That was it: I was happy.

After a while, we went inside with the guys, Miguel and Pedro, joining a group of their friends. The music was loud and the bar sparked with flashing lights. Everyone was sweaty and dancing. Cleo and I danced together and laughed at the guys who were circling us. Miguel, the one with the white teeth, and Cleo started kissing at one point and I pulled back a bit. One of their friends put his hands on my waist but I spun away. I was glad not to be thinking about guys or having to deal with them, and I put my hands up toward the ceiling to feel the music pulse. Happiness surged through me again and I could feel myself smiling.

As we sneaked up to our hotel room, I let out a huge yawn. “I’m so tired,” I said. We stumbled into our beds and lay there in the dark. “We should do that every night,” I whispered.

She said, “It was fun.”

“I mean it—why can’t we just have fun all the time?”

“Uh, I don’t mean to bring you down, but you’re, you know, having a baby.” She threw a pillow at me. “Go to sleep,” she said.

“I can’t.”

She was quiet, then said, “You’re right. I can’t sleep either. I love it here. I could live here forever.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, that’s right, stuck in this room with you forever. No. I want to live in a foreign city, like here, and speak foreign languages. Maybe study in Barcelona, or Madrid, or Berlin, or Paris. I don’t know.” She sat up and I could see her eyes glittering in the soft dark of our room. “It’s so great. Exciting.”

She fell silent and I pictured the life she had ahead of her. The weight of the baby inside me was suddenly immense. Just like that, I made my decision.

I said, “I’m thinking … well, I might … no, I am. I think I am. For sure.”

“What?”

“I’m going to give the baby up for adoption,” I said, testing out the words.

She sat bolt upright, enthusiasm spilling everywhere. “You are? Really? That’s great. Really great. Good for you.”

I threw her pillow back and said, “We’ll get a place together when we finish university—live in Spain. Meet some people,” I added slowly, fatigue overwhelming me.

“Do you want to talk about it more? About giving up the baby?”

I lay looking up into the dark. “What’s there to say?”

ON THE LAST DAY, WE WENT TO LA SAGRADA FAMíLIA, THE BEAUTIFUL
pink church synonymous with Barcelona (according to Ms. Devlin). The towers pointed like bejewelled fingers right up into the blue of the sky. Totally photogenic. We admired it
from the outside first of all, and even the people in our group who were normally too cool to enjoy the morning tours seemed impressed. Then we began to climb the stairs, which spiralled up into one of the tall towers. I puffed my way up about fifty steps and then began to feel dizzy: the late night, the exertion, the pregnancy … My head began to spin and I sat heavily. Ms. Devlin, who was just behind, bent over me with concern.

“Bird?”

I caught my breath. “I’m fine. It just that I’m …” I stopped. I wasn’t going to spoil the holiday, not when there were so few hours left. “I’ll just wait here,” I said.

She frowned momentarily, then nodded.

I smiled up at her. “It’s great being here,” I said, knowing suddenly that I couldn’t pretend for much longer that none of this was happening.

THE FLIGHT HOME WAS MASSIVELY DELAYED BECAUSE OF TECHNICAL
problems. We spent most of the day being shunted from one plane to another, and even Ms. Devlin had lost a little sparkle when we finally got back to London at 11 p.m. Cleo’s dad dropped me off at home and I tiptoed up the stairs.

My dad was sleeping, but he’d left me a note.

Saw the flight was going to be really late. Waited up, but it kept getting later and later. Cleo’s parents called and told me they’d bring you home, so I’ve gone to bed.

Hope you had a good time.

Love Dad

I tumbled into bed, too tired even to text Griffin, woke up early, squeezed into some clothes—I seemed to have got a load bigger during the holiday—did some homework, got straight
to work on the Internet looking up Adoption Services, made a call, then wrote the email that was on my mind.

I texted Griffin but he didn’t reply—even though we hadn’t seen each other for a week. I tried knocking on his door, but he wasn’t there to walk me to school—his mum said he’d already gone. She seemed totally fine. Griffin was right; maybe she wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.

I walked to school alone. I was exhausted from the trip, but I wasn’t going to miss classes. I was surprised to see Cleo when I got in. I figured she’d take the day off. She gave me a big hug and we pressed in close to the lockers in the school corridor. The first bell hadn’t yet gone and she was watching me gather my stuff.

She said, “God, I’m sooo tired. Did you do your essay on
King Lear
?”

“Really early this morning, like at 6 a.m. I never do homework last minute. I wrote about the part when he goes mad.”

“The part where King Lear takes his clothes off?”

I giggled. My good mood from Spain was lasting.

She said, “Better to do it last minute than not at all, but I figure with the flight delays I’ll get away with not having done it. Have you spoken to Pete since we got back?”

“Pete? No. Why would I? You know it’s all over. I told you.”

“Just, I guess, you lied about it so well before, I just wondered if you were still seeing him.”

I pushed my locker shut. “Stop it, all right?”

She sighed and put a perfect blue nail up to her lips. “Your secret’s safe. You know that. But you do have to tell Griffin. Er, unless he’s blind, he’s going to notice soon. You’re pretty round already.”

“Doesn’t this top hide it? I can’t believe how some girls don’t
show until they’re like six months along and I’m not even eighteen weeks yet.”

She surveyed me critically. “Um, yeah, I guess it’s covered enough. Sort of.”

I sucked in my tummy. I already had the button of my jeans undone. I said, “You know, I haven’t heard from Griffin since we got back. It’s weird. He’s not answering his phone and he didn’t call last night. I’m expecting to see him any minute.”

“Does he know we’re home?”

“He should. I hope he’s okay.” A finger of worry tickled my neck. “Perhaps he thinks that we get back a different day, and that my phone still isn’t getting his messages. He hasn’t emailed you instead, then?”

“Well, my stupid phone stopped working yesterday and I haven’t been online. Hmm, even the last couple days in Barcelona I didn’t check. Then I was too tired last night and too rushed this morning. I feel like I … I’m just so
unconnected.
”

I said, “What’s wrong with it?”

She shrugged. “I’ll get Xavier to have a look at the stupid thing later.”

I said, “Griffin’s probably caught up with things with his mum.”

“You know, you have to tell him. Really, Bird, you’re getting bigger, and although it could be just fat if you didn’t know—”

“I get it, Cleo.”

My back was to the passing hordes of students. Someone came up behind me. Glad for the interruption, I pivoted, only to find horsey-faced Neen Patel leaning close to me. She was standing with a group of girls and said loudly, “She is. You can
tell, look.” She pointed at my belly and the other girls laughed. One of them sneered at me and said, “Whore.”

My heart shunted the blood through my body. Red heat went all the way to my fingers and toes. Cleo stood there open-mouthed, showing two rows of perfect teeth, and I was reminded of the boy, Miguel, in Spain, the thrill of the music, the sweaty dance floor.

Cleo launched herself into action. “What did you say?” she yelled.

The girls huddled together defensively. The tallest one, Simone McLeod, yelled, “She’s the one who’s having a baby.”

“What do you know about it?” Cleo shouted.

“It’s true,” cried another girl with glee. “Miss Perfect’s knocked up.”

I grabbed Cleo and pulled her down the corridor. She started yelling at the girls, calling them names, but I yanked her into the girls’ toilets.

“Did you tell anyone?” I asked before I could stop myself. “You must have.”

She turned her huge brown eyes on me and her pupils widened with surprise, then hurt.

“I’m sorry. Of course you didn’t tell anyone,” I said. “I’m just shocked.”

“I can’t believe you’d even think I would,” she said, and she looked down at her bright blue nails. “God, Bird.”

“I’m sorry, okay? Sorry. I just don’t know how they know.”

“I can’t believe you had to ask. Of course I didn’t tell anyone.”

With a sickening lurch I remembered the horrible conversation
in the park with Pete before we went to Spain. Could he? Would he?

Just then, Kitty Moss came past the open door. Her bright blonde curls were up in a high ponytail and her red lipstick made her mouth shine like a fire extinguisher. “Slag,” she said through her vivid mouth. And she walked away.

Everyone knew.

Griffin. I had to tell Griffin.

I had to tell Dad.

The teachers.

This was really happening.

How could Pete have done this to me?

I heard the first bell as I pushed my way through the mocking faces of everyone around me. My heart was racing. I marched out of the school building, trying to keep my head high. As I passed the park opposite school, I could feel my cheeks burning. I thought of Pete and his metallic-grey eyes when they looked at me. I felt desire. And something else. Hatred. I hated him for ruining my life.
Hated
him.

I walked home as fast as I could. Before I could stop myself, before I had time to think, I hurried into the living room.

Dad was staring at the photo of Mum on the wall.

My throat was tight. “I have to tell you something,” I managed to say.

He didn’t seem to hear me. “I have a new idea for an aluminum water bottle. You could personalize it with an engraving, meaning
you’d keep it. You’d never have to buy a water bottle again. They’re bad for the environment. Can you engrave aluminum?”

I’d recently read the same idea in a magazine, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I said, “Dad, please listen.”

He looked at me and his eyes were bleary with lack of sleep.

The silence was agony. He’d never see me the same way again.

I was nearly crying. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“What’s wrong, honey? Why aren’t you at school?”

“I’m …” It was so hard. “I’m having a …”

“What?”

“Baby.”

I could see shock in his hazel eyes. As if he’d been punctured, he deflated on the sofa. He spoke very quietly, not looking at me.

“You stupid, stupid girl.”

I put my hand to my cheek like I’d been slapped.

He pushed himself up using his hands against the sofa. He made to head out of the room, his heavy body moving slowly.

“Dad,” I sobbed. “Please.”

He stopped and rotated back to me. His lips were pressed together.

I stammered, “It w-was an accident. I … I just—”

Vitriol erupted from him like he’d sprung a leak. “You just
what
?” he yelled. “You were just so busy pretending to be the perfect daughter that you accidentally had sex?”

My cheeks heated up. “I never pretended anything.”

“You sit there checking Oxford University online and get me to help you fill out your job application, and all the while you’re sleeping with your boyfriend like that would be okay? You thought I’d just be fine with that? What’s wrong with the
women in this family? Cheerful old man, me, hey? I don’t care that my wife left me and my daughter is a little slut. Oh no, rely on me to just roll with the blows.” He took a gasp of air. “Bird, you’re supposed to be the good one in the family. All of it’s meant to be worth it because you’re going to do a better job of your life than me. Than your mother. She gave it all up.” He yelled louder, his face turning red and his hands gesturing about him like fireworks. “She gave it all up
for you.
And I worked like a dog so you could have everything.”

Stupidly, I rose to the bait and didn’t keep my mouth shut. “What, Dad? What did you do that was so great? You worked yourself half to death for failed businesses and a broken marriage. This is not all my fault.”

“Failed businesses? What are you talking about? I have
ideas.
And as for your mother, you seem to have forgotten that
she’s
the one who left
me.
I didn’t ruin the marriage. Don’t you dare blame me, young lady. I’m not the one who’s pregnant, am I?”

I tried to backtrack—I was just making everything worse. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean it. I just—”

“Just what? Didn’t you say this already? I’m still not hearing any answers, Bird. You thought I’d give you a hug and tell you everything was going to be okay? A pat on the back and then we’d go on like you hadn’t just ruined your life.”

“I’m giving the baby up for adoption.”

“Oh, are you? You’ve got it all worked out, have you? Just give it away, that’ll sort things out. That’s what’s wrong with you, Bird. You think life’s so easy. Simple solutions to difficult problems. That’s always been your mistake.”

“Dad, please. I’m so sorry.”

He looked me up and down. His voice became very soft again. “I’m such a fool. I’ve been so blind to you and your mother.”

“It’s not you. It’s my fault.”

“I’m so disappointed,” he said, and to my horror a sob broke from his chest. “Just get out of my sight.”

“Dad—”

“Seriously, get out. Go to Cleo’s. Or Griffin’s.”

He stormed out of the room and I heard the back door slam. He was probably headed off to his shed to stare at his sketches of solar bricks or whatever. I stood there shaking.

The phone rang then, the sound like a fire-blanket being thrown over me, blocking my distress from flaring up inside. The ringing propelled me into action and I ran to grab the phone. It was some telesales guy trying to see if we needed new windows. What a crazy world. How could people be talking about windows as my universe was shattering? I couldn’t summon words, so I gently returned the handset to its cradle, hanging up on the guy mid-spiel.

Trying not to cry, I took in quick, short breaths. Then I ran to the back door to follow Dad. I had to talk to him. I yanked open the door and blinked in the bright morning sunshine. Griffin stood outside like a terrible apparition. I jumped, horrified to see him there. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, big purple lines under his washed-out eyes, his skin pale and his black hair greasy.

“Griffin,” I said, steadying myself against the door frame. “What are you doing here?” It was a stupid thing to ask.

“Is it true what they’re saying? It can’t be true. Tell me it’s not true. It was up on
Facebook
, Bird …”

I searched for words. Someone had put it up on Facebook. Oh my God, everything was ruined. Facebook? I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from throwing up.

“A
baby
?” he said.

“Griffin … I …”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

My insides heaved. “I’m going to give it away,” I said, desperately, like that would help.

He put his hands to his face and spoke through his fingers. He said, “I love you. Forever. We’ve always known that we love each other, but …” He gestured at my belly, which was churning.

My words rushed up like vomit. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was paralyzed, completely stuck. I just …”

He stood there as if he hadn’t heard. For one second … two.

I said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He said, suddenly sarcastic, not like him at all,
“I’m
sorry, Griffin. I’m not ready for sex. Not with you, Griffin, so don’t rush me.
“

“Griffin, don’t.”

“I
was
pushing
you, was I? You didn’t want to
rush.
”

No words came from my mouth. A cloud obscured the sun and Griffin’s face was brought into bleak focus by the greying of the light. His sarcasm finished, suddenly he sounded confused. “Is this really happening? Jesus, Bird, it’s public knowledge but you didn’t think you’d tell me? Do you know what it felt like reading that about you
—about us
—online?”