The Millstone by Margaret Drabble Read Free Book Online Page B

Then he said he would try to get me a hospital bed, though I must understand there was a great shortage, and this and that, and had he got my address. I gave it, and he said was I living with my family and I said No, alone. He said did I know about the Unmarried Mothers people in Kentish Town, and I said Yes. They were very nice and very helpful about adoption and things, he said. Then he said that he would let me know about the hospital bed, and would I come back in a fortnight. And that was that.
    I walked out into the cold evening air and wandered aimlessly up towards Marylebone Road, worrying not because it seemed that I was really going to have this baby, but because I had been so surprised and annoyed that I had to wait so long. Everyone else there had looked re-signed; they had expected to wait, they had known they would have to wait. I was the only one who had not known. I wondered on how many other serious scores I would find myself ignorant. There were things that I had not needed to know, and now I did need to know them. I emerged upon Marylebone Road and walked towards the lovely coloured gleaming spire of Castrol House. I felt
threatened. I felt my independence threatened: I did not see how I was going to get by on my own.
     
    Once I had thus decided to have the baby—or rather failed to decide not to have it—I had to face the problem of publicity. It was not the kind of event one can conceal forever, and I was already over three months gone. The absence of my parents was certainly handy from that point of view: there was nobody else in the family that I saw at all regularly. My brother in Dorking I saw dutifully about once every four months, but he would be easy enough to evade. My sister, on the other hand, I thought I might tell at some point as she had three children of her own and I thought she might be sympathetic. We got on quite well together, as sisters go. Nevertheless, I delayed writing; I could not bear the idea of the fuss. I hate to cause trouble.
    My own friends were another matter. I simply could not make my mind up about Joe and Roger; I did not much fancy going around with them while expecting somebody else's child, nor did I think they would much fancy it themselves, though one can never tell. On the other hand, I did not relish the thought of all the spare evenings I would be left with if I disposed of them both. It was difficult enough to keep myself from getting depressed as it was, without having even more solitary time on my hands. Also, I did not know quite how to set about imparting the news: should I leave it till it became evident to the naked eye? Surely not. Therefore I would have to tell them before it became evident, which did not leave me much time. Already I could not fasten my skirts or get into my brassières. I rehearsed each scene a hundred times in my head, but could never even in my imagination manipulate the data with anything like grace, skill, tact or credit to myself. I thought Joe would be the easier proposition, being more familiar, and I plunged into the subject one night almost
unintentionally, prompted by a chance remark of his made as we were walking along Park Lane.
    "Did you ever see," he said, "that Bergman film about a maternity ward? The one where all the wrong people kept having miscarriages?"
    "Don't talk to me about maternity wards," I said, almost without thinking.
    "Why not?" he said. "Does it upset you? You don't like all that kind of thing, do you? A very unwomanly woman, that's what you are."
    "Nonsense," I said. "Just don't talk about maternity wards that's all. All too soon I'm going to find myself in one."
    "What?" said Joe.
    "I'm pregnant," I said crossly.
    "Oh," said Joe, and kept on walking. After a few yards he said, "You're not going to have it, are you?"
    "Yes, I am," I said.
    "Whatever for?"
    "Why not? I don't see why I shouldn't, do you?"
    "I can think of a hundred reasons why you shouldn't. I think it's an utterly ridiculous romantic