Not My Daughter

‘That must have been difficult.’

‘It wasn’t easy.’ And then, inexplicably, I feel that well of emotion rise within me again, and before I can stop it, my eyes are full of tears.

‘Hey. Hey.’ Jack leans forward, putting one hand on my arm. My hands shake and hot tea slops onto my fingers. He takes the mug from me and puts it on the table. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was such a difficult subject for you.’

‘It’s not that,’ I say, sniffing. I am trying to hold back the tide of tears, but I can’t. ‘I’ve been jacked up on hormones for six weeks,’ I manage thickly. ‘It’s no wonder I’m a blubbering wreck.’ I wipe my eyes, because they have started to stream. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to cry.’

‘Are you sure it’s just the hormones?’ Jack asks gently as I keep wiping my eyes and taking gulping breaths.

I open my mouth to say, yes, of course it is, and then something else comes out. ‘Today was hard because it reminded me of when I was eighteen.’ I pause, wondering if I really want to say this to Jack of all people, and then I find myself blurting, ‘I had an abortion.’

Something flashes across Jack’s face, and in a cringing rush, I realise that he was just being kind, that he didn’t actually want me to spill my guts.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble, reaching for my tea and trying to hide my face behind the mug. ‘I shouldn’t have told you that. I don’t know why I did. It’s just… today…’

‘Have you told anyone before?’

I shake my head, my nose buried in my mug.

We sit in silence for a moment; the wind rattles the windowpanes and I can hear both our breathing.

‘Perhaps you needed to tell someone,’ he says at last. ‘Since this brought it back up for you. Do you… do you want to talk about it?’

Do I? I’ve bottled it up inside for so long, pushed it down, pretended it never happened. Milly has never known, never even guessed, and thankfully, kindly, she’s never asked. I suppose she always knew there was something – why else would I go off the rails so spectacularly at the end of sixth form? But she could tell I didn’t want to talk about it, and so she never pushed, which was a huge relief.

Even so, it was always there – an invisible, oppressive weight, a pain behind my eyes, a burning in my chest. It has always been an active thing, not to think about it. It requires effort.

‘Perhaps I do,’ I say, and then we sit in silence some more. I pick at a loose thread on the sofa, pulling it taut before I let it go. ‘It was a hard time in my life,’ I say finally.

‘Because of your parents?’

‘Yes, and because I…’ I blow out a breath. Do I really want to go into this? Dredge it up, like the sludge from the bottom of my soul? ‘I was in a relationship that I shouldn’t have been,’ I say, which is one way of putting it. ‘And when… when I fell pregnant, he wasn’t… well, he didn’t want to know.’

Jack grimaces. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘The truth is, I didn’t want to know. I put it off and off, thinking somehow it would just go away, and then when I finally decided I had to do something…’ My throat thickens once more and my eyes sting. ‘I was farther along than I realised. And that made it…’ But now I can’t go on. Because remembering hurts. Because no one wants to hear about the messiness of it, the guilt and regret, and certainly not the pain and the blood.

‘Anna, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up.’ He reaches over to place his hand on mine, the dry, warm weight of it reassuring.

‘You did

n’t,’ I manage. ‘I did.’

‘Still, I feel as if I was prying.’ He smiles apologetically, and with a jolt I realise he is backing off, because, like everyone else, he doesn’t want to know. And so I slip my hand from his and sit back against the sofa, giving him a repressive little smile as the tears thankfully dry up.

‘It’s okay, Jack. Today brought up some bad memories, that’s all, and the hormones I’ve been on made it worse. I’m fine, really. Sorry to have offloaded on you there for a moment.’ I take a sip of my now lukewarm tea.

Jack looks at me for a moment. ‘Is that why you agreed?’

‘Agreed…?’

‘To donate.’

I stare at him, shocked by the question, and because, no matter how I’ve tried to keep things separate in my mind, I acknowledge in this moment that they are related. All along there has been some part of me that felt as if the scales needed to be balanced. That one procedure makes up for another, in my own mind, if not in the cosmos.

‘Perhaps it had something to do with it,’ I say slowly, and it is a confession. ‘On a subconscious level.’ I wonder how Milly would feel about it, if she knew. Would she mind? Does it matter?

‘I’m glad you told me,’ Jack says, and I give him a small smile. I’m surprisingly glad too, even if I might cringe about it later. It felt a little bit how I imagine a bloodletting would feel, a release of pressure, or a held breath. ‘I should probably go…’ he begins, half-rising, and I nod.