The Baby Laundry for Unmarried Mothers (18 page)

For me, it was the best decision ever.

Well, the second drink was, at any rate. We had decided upon having another once a few more people had arrived in the pavilion. It had livened up a bit as a consequence, and now we were settled
no one had much enthusiasm for moving on, particularly as it was such a cold night.

‘Ah, there’s Michael,’ John announced, seeing an obviously familiar face at the other end of the bar.

‘Michael?’ Emmie asked. ‘I don’t recognise him. Should I know him?’

John shook his head. ‘No, you wouldn’t. He’s a friend of Terry’s,’ he explained. ‘Works for another firm of stockbrokers. I see him on the floor
sometimes.’ He turned towards me and Janice with a twinkle in his eye. Like me, Janice was still single, and my brother wasn’t averse to a spot of matchmaking. ‘Shall I ask him
and his friend if they’d like to join us?’ he asked. ‘Since we’re staying now, we could get ourselves a table, couldn’t we?’ He pointed. ‘You want to grab
that one over there?’ He winked at me as we crossed the noisy floorboards in our heels. ‘Who knows,’ he said. ‘They might take a fancy to you two!’

Emmie rolled her eyes at me. ‘Men!’ she observed. Yet, my brother, for all his indiscreet attempts at getting me hitched, served me well. The two men came and joined us, and
introductions were made. Dave, an old school friend of Michael’s, made a beeline for Janice, while Michael, it seemed, was immediately drawn to me. And the feeling was mutual. He was
instantly engaging, with sandy hair, a touch ginger (though I soon learned he hated it if you called it that), and good-looking, too, with arresting blue eyes. These he trained on me now, most
disconcertingly.

He was dressed smartly, in a navy mohair suit that fitted beautifully, over a button-down shirt and slim knitted tie. The whole look gave the impression that, just like us, he’d originally
had more exciting plans than standing in an almost empty cricket pavilion awaiting the opening number by a quartet of septuagenarian musicians. And it seemed he had; he hadn’t known about the
cancellation either, so, like us, he’d planned to move on.

Though now, he said, it looked as if he might be staying. He had spotted me, apparently, as soon as he’d walked in, and he wasn’t slow in letting me know it. His chat-up line was to
take a measured look at me – we were around the same height – and make me an offer. ‘If you promise to take those off,’ he said, nodding towards my black patent shoes,
‘I’ll have a dance with you later.’

‘Is that right?’ I said, coolly. Privately I was impressed by his acuity. Were we to stay the whole evening, I would be doing that, for sure. But I would enjoy teasing him a bit
first. ‘Well, we’ll see, shall we?’ I finished.

He grinned. ‘Will it help if I tell you it’s my birthday?’

It wasn’t his birthday. When pressed, he admitted that it was still ten days away. But it seemed he wasn’t about to let a little detail like that put him off. And soon it became
apparent, as the place filled up even more, that everyone was quite happy staying for the evening, me very much included. The band started, I duly slipped off my shoes and we danced.

It felt nice. We made a date for the following weekend. He asked if I’d like to go and stay with him for the weekend, in fact, which rang sufficient alarm bells that it almost scuppered
our fledgling romance before it started. What did he take me for?

‘Angela, he’s
fine
,’ John was quick to reassure me on the journey home.

‘If a bit cheeky,’ I said.

‘Yes, but it’s not like he was suggesting a dirty weekend, or anything. He lives with his parents, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, I think so. But even so . . .’

‘Honestly, sis,’ John said. ‘He’s a decent guy, trust me. Straight as they come, promise.’

And he was right.

But Michael wasn’t interested in waiting till the weekend to see me again. He called me on the Monday evening, very keen to meet up, and we went for a drink after work at
a pub near Liverpool Street station on the Wednesday. When the weekend did come around, he suggested he could drive me down to meet his parents. The family had recently moved from South London to a
new home in Crayford, in Kent, and they would, he said, really love to meet me.

This is too soon, I remember thinking on the way down to see them. This was all happening a bit quickly. Much as I liked him, I was in no rush to get serious with anyone till I was sure, and
meeting his parents felt like a giant step. Meeting a man, and going out with him, was scary enough in itself.

I was a naturally honest person and it was bad enough dealing with the amount of subterfuge in my life already; the thought of having to tell my secret to someone important to me still hung
heavy. He doesn’t know me, I kept thinking. He doesn’t know who I really am, or what has happened to me. And he would need to. Yet the thought of that happening was stupefying.

In hindsight, my anxiety about having to open up to Michael was probably an indication that my feelings for him were already much stronger than they’d been for Dave. And there was no doubt
that Michael was serious about me – he made that very clear from the off. He wore his heart on his sleeve. He’d told me he loved me and intended to marry me on our second date, and
though we both laughed (in my case, in a somewhat shocked fashion) I got a strong sense that he absolutely meant it. I didn’t know how he could be so sure how he felt about someone he’d
only just met, but it was one of the most attractive things about him. I loved his impulsiveness, his confidence, his happiness in his own skin, his lack of guile. But it was also terrifying to
know just how strong his feelings were, because if there was one thing I didn’t want to do it was to play with or be cavalier with his emotions.

Only a couple of weeks later, it hit me. I had to end things. I couldn’t bear the weight of my secret, and it was beginning to make me panic. I really liked him, and that was why I needed
to finish it. I had to protect myself – and him – and walk away. It never occurred to me that there was an alternative. Once he knew the truth about me, he would obviously want to end
it. Better to do it now myself than make things worse.

We’d just left the pub when I decided I had to do it. It was a place called the Square Rigger, on London Bridge, where we’d met up after work for a midweek drink. It was a chilly
night, and I had my coat wrapped tightly around me, my hands clasped together at the neck, keeping the cold out. Michael’s arm was linked through mine, making its presence felt, even though
neither of us had spoken for some minutes. I felt determined in that instant. I couldn’t keep this going. I felt too much for him already. And he clearly felt the same about me. Why prolong
the agony? I needed to do it now.

We were heading for Monument Station, and I could see it fast approaching, so I stopped in the middle of the pavement. There were still lots of people around, hurrying to wherever they were
going, but the bridge itself was as good a place as any to face the music. I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say it.

‘I think I need to end this,’ I blurted out, before I could change my mind.

Having delivered the words, I wanted nothing more badly than to run away, but I couldn’t. He stopped too, pulling up sharply beside me. His arm slipped from mine. He looked stunned.

‘What?’ he said. ‘
Why
?’ His expression was understandably horrified. I’d given him no clue this was coming. But how could I? I’d known myself only
moments ago.

I couldn’t seem to order the next words I needed to say to him.

‘
Why
, Angela?’ he said again. ‘Don’t you like me any more?’ His expression was still one of incomprehension. I had done nothing, said nothing, to prepare him
for this.

‘It’s nothing like that,’ I said, anxious to reassure him. He looked so crestfallen. ‘It’s me,’ I explained. ‘It’s all about me.’

‘What about you?’

‘Something in my past.’

‘What something?’ he began.

‘Something I should have told you from the outset,’ I said, ‘but didn’t. I’m so sorry, Michael. Something I’ve done. Some -thing bad.’

‘Bad?’ he looked confused now. ‘What can you possibly have done that’s bad?’ His expression shifted then. ‘Is it someone else?’

‘No! Not at all!’ I said. ‘
Nothing
like that!’

He looked relieved now. ‘Fine, then. So I don’t need to know, do I? As far as I’m concerned, what’s past is past, okay? It’s not going to make any difference to me,
trust me.’

I shook my head. ‘No, Michael. You’re wrong. It
will
. It’s too big. A really big thing—’

He grabbed my hand. ‘I don’t
care,
Angela,’ he said. ‘I really don’t. Everyone has things in their past.
Everyone
.’

He has no idea what’s coming, I thought. Not a clue; not an inkling.

‘Not like this,’ I said quietly, blinking away the tears that had now come. ‘Michael, I’ve had a baby,’ I said, enunciating the words slowly and carefully.
‘I’ve had a baby and he’s called Paul and I had to give him up for adoption. Last year. Last January.’

I explained what had happened through a mist of hot tears. Michael took my other hand and hung on tightly to it as I told him. His eyes never left my face as he listened. His expression never
wavered. ‘I
told
you,’ he said finally, once I’d finished. ‘It makes no difference to me. It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t
ever
make any difference
to me. You must know that.
Surely
?’

‘But it
must
do,’ I persisted. ‘Michael,
listen
to me. I’ve had a
baby
. You can’t possibly want to be with me now you know
that—’

‘Angela, you’re not hearing me
. Nothing
could be further from the truth, okay? Nothing. I love you. You know that. You do know that, don’t you?’ He looked so upset
himself now, as if I’d offended and hurt him by even suggesting he’d want to finish with me. Seeing that made me cry more. He’s not taking this in, I thought. The problem is that
it hasn’t hit home yet – the enormity of it, the implications – but it will. Once he’s had a chance to sleep on it, of course it will.

‘But what about your parents?’ I said. ‘What are they both going to
think
of me?’

I had met his parents twice by now, and I liked them so much, particularly his mum, who was so different from mine. She’d seemed so bubbly, so welcoming and so much fun to be with. It
wasn’t that my own mother was cold or unwelcoming, it was just that Michael’s mother, so much younger and so much less constrained by religion, seemed as if she came from a different,
more accepting generation. But then she didn’t know the truth about me yet, did she? It hurt so much to think she must have thought I was one thing and now she’d have cause to look at
me in a completely different, damning light.

Michael shook his head. ‘This is nothing to do with anyone but you and me,’ he answered. ‘This is about
us.
Not my parents. Why do they even need to know?’

‘But—’

‘Angela,’ he said, pulling me close. ‘We don’t need to
tell
them. Not if you don’t want to.’

‘But they have to
know
.’

‘No they
don’t
. Nobody
has
to know anything. They really don’t. And shall I tell you something else? If you did tell them, it wouldn’t matter to them
either. I know it wouldn’t. I know there are people in the world that like to stand in judgement over others, but my parents aren’t like that. And neither am I. There but for the grace
of God, frankly . . .’ He looked exasperated. ‘Please don’t tell me we’re finished, okay?’

‘But—’

‘Just don’t tell me we’re finished. I love you. I don’t care about any of what you’ve told me. It makes no difference to me, okay? None at all.’

This was such a shock to me. How could that be? I had spent so long hanging my head in shame, so long carting my status as a fallen woman around with me like a ball and chain. And I’d seen
so much evidence of society’s disapproval. I’d had to scuttle away from work, lied and been shunned by so many people. I’d had it drilled into me, again and again and again, that
I had sinned, I was a sinner, I’d got myself into trouble, and the world had every right to disown and look down on me.

How could he stand there and say what he was saying? He couldn’t mean it. He just couldn’t. He wasn’t thinking straight.

‘But how can it
not
make a difference?’ I said.

He grabbed my other hand then, and kissed me. ‘It makes
no difference
,’ he said again. ‘And I’m not letting you go into that station till you promise you believe
me.’

‘Okay, I believe you. But—’

‘No buts. Just promise.’

‘I promise.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘In that case you can go and get your train. And I’ll call you tomorrow, and I’ll tell you again. Just don’t end this, okay, Angela.
Please.’

So I promised that, too, and he let me go and I got the train and travelled home, my mind a blur of anxious thoughts. Perhaps he
was
telling the truth. Perhaps right now it
didn’t
matter. But then, realistically, he probably hadn’t taken it in yet. All I could do now was wait and see.

Michael called me when I got home from work the next evening, just as he’d promised he would. The phone was ringing as I walked through the front door. ‘I’ve been awake half
the night,’ he said, without preamble. ‘I nearly called you at five this morning before I left for work. I’ve been going mad all day, Angela.
Mad.
’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. My stomach lurched, hearing his voice. ‘I hardly slept either. I wouldn’t have minded if you
had
called.’

‘I wish I had! Because I kept going back to the same question,’ he went on. ‘How could you
think
that? That’s what I kept thinking.’

‘Think what?’

‘Think that about me – that I’d treat you like that. That what you told me would make the slightest difference to how I feel about you? I’ve been running it round and
round my head, and I’m still in shock. How could you
think
of me that way? That I’m someone for whom something like that would
matter
? I feel the opposite, if anything.
Just thinking what you’ve been through. I’m so
angry
for you, Angela. I really am.’