Хилари Боннер - Death Comes First

No you didn’t, you devious bastard, thought Joyce. But she didn’t say so.

‘Life on a leaky boat was all right for a few months, Joycey, but it couldn’t have gone on, don’t you see that? Your father calls you his princess, you’ve always been treated like a princess, you are my princess now, and I had no right to make you suffer for my crazy ideals.’

And he carried on in that vein, implying that he had sacrificed his own independence to show his love for her. How could she spurn such a gift? But the whole time Joyce had a nagging suspicion that he was spouting the lines he’d been told to deliver by her father.

She grudgingly agreed to move into the brand-new, five-bedroomed mock-Georgian house Henry had bought for them. A former show home, it had been partially furnished by the developer with state-of-the-art fixtures and fittings — none of them chosen by Joyce. It seemed to her that there was to be no aspect of her future life that bore any stamp of her personality. The thought of being sucked in, of slotting into this pre-programmed life and turning into her mother, appalled her. To Charlie’s dismay, she informed him that she still wanted to go back to Exeter at the end of the summer to continue her studies. Despite his pleas to see reason, she remained adamant — until her results came through. She had obtained an acceptable history degree, but the grades were not high enough to qualify for an MA course.

Undeterred, she enquired about teaching courses and other academic options at Exeter and elsewhere. Anywhere, in fact, as long as it wasn’t Bristol. She hid none of this from Charlie, but though unhappy he raised no objection. She suspected her father had told him not to. Henry Tanner always avoided confrontation with the women in his life.

Then, one morning, feeling nauseous, a devastating thought struck her. She had been so caught up with trying to escape that she hadn’t paid her own body much attention. In that moment she knew: she was pregnant.

They had decided not to have children for at least a year or two. At least, she thought they had. She confronted Charlie as soon as he came home from work that evening.

‘Have you been forgetting to use something in bed?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve always taken charge of the condoms. Maybe you haven’t been putting them on right or something.’

He stared at her. Then he began to grin.

‘Oh my God, Joycey, do you think you’re pregnant? That’s wonderful.’

She glowered at him. ‘Oh yes, you would think that, wouldn’t you? It would suit you down to the ground, wouldn’t it? You and Dad. Well, I’m not sure, but I might be.’

The grin widened. ‘That’s the best news ever!’

‘For you maybe. It pretty much puts an end to any plans I might have though, doesn’t it? We’d agreed not to have a child yet, or at least I thought we had. Or maybe my opinion doesn’t count for anything any more.’

‘Of course it does, sweetheart. Don’t be silly. And I know what we agreed. But mistakes do happen. And this would be the happiest of mistakes, wouldn’t it?’

‘Thing is, I’m wondering if this was a deliberate mistake on your part, Charlie.’

‘I wouldn’t do that, Joycey, honestly I wouldn’t. But if you are pregnant, well, I can’t pretend to be anything other than deliriously happy.’

Once it was confirmed that Joyce was pregnant she was left with little choice but to put all thoughts of further education out of her mind. She was bitter about it at first, but her natural maternal instincts slipped into place more swiftly than she had expected.

She’d always wanted to have children. Just not yet. And neither had she intended to bring them up in the stifling atmosphere of Tarrant Park. However, she was aware that she was becoming seduced, in spite of herself, by her family, her parents, particularly her father, her husband, and, much to her annoyance, by the house. Perhaps in her heart of hearts she had known from the beginning that’s what would happen — maybe that was why she had kicked so hard against it, and hit out at Charlie the way she had.

Her father, overjoyed at the news as was Joyce’s mother, insisted that Charlie should take Joyce back to their Maldivian honeymoon island, which they had so fallen in love with, before she was too pregnant either to fly or to enjoy the trip.

‘And before you’ve got a newborn screaming its head off,’ said her mother. ‘I only hope your baby sleeps better than you did,’ Felicity added with a chuckle. ‘You were a total nightmare, Joyce.’

Joyce smiled. And she went on the holiday. To her annoyance, she had a wonderful time. Charlie was proving the most attentive and loving of husbands. He never retaliated when she snapped at him, venting her frustration. Instead he coaxed and cajoled her, telling her how happy he was and how his one aim in life was to make her happy too. Nevertheless, Joyce couldn’t shake off the feeling she was being manipulated, that her husband and father were trying to turn her into her mother.

Charlie had protested that, much as he adored Felicity, the last thing he wished for was for Joyce to be transformed into her mother.

Joyce flounced from the room, but returning a short time afterwards she overheard a snatch of phone conversation. Charlie, in the sitting room, was obviously talking to her father.

‘It’s all very well you telling me to walk away — you don’t have to live with it, Henry.’

Then there was a pause.

‘Well, yes, you’re right. Things have improved. But it’s still not how it should be.’

Another pause.

‘OK, OK. I’ll do as you say... Of course I knew what I was getting into, but... Yes, I’m sure everything will turn out fine — I don’t have any bloody choice do I? Not any more.’

Then he said his goodbyes and ended the call. As he did so he glanced up and saw Joyce standing in the doorway.

‘Talking about me, I presume?’

‘What, dear?’ he stammered. ‘No, no. A work problem. A client who’s being a pain in the arse.’

‘You said, “ You don’t have to live with it, Henry ,”’ repeated Joyce coolly.

‘Oh, just a turn of phrase,’ said Charlie. ‘I wouldn’t talk about you like that, not to your father or anybody.’

‘Not much,’ muttered Joyce.

Charlie was obviously lying. But by then Joyce was eight months pregnant. She did not have the energy to pursue the matter. In any case Charlie continued to be the model husband. And she was aware that she had the kind of life most pregnant women would sell their souls for.

Mark was born exactly nine months to the day after their wedding night. It had been an easy pregnancy and his birth — at a private maternity clinic in Bristol — was a straightforward one. At the end of it, Joyce found herself with a healthy eight-pound bouncing boy in her arms. Indeed, Mark could have bounced for England. And yelled. And on top of that he hardly ever slept, or not at the right times anyway.

Joyce would have gone barking mad were it not for the unfailing support of her family.

Henry had given Charlie a month’s paternity leave, saying: ‘Well, it’s the modern thing, isn’t it?’

‘Since when was there anything modern about you, Dad?’ Joyce asked, realizing as she said it that it was the first affectionate banter between them since she’d moved into the house in Tarrant Park.

Charlie was besotted with his son, spending four nights a week in baby Mark’s room so that Joyce could get the sleep she so needed. In spite of all the help from her husband and mother, she was frequently exhausted. But it was a happy time, for all that, and so busy that she had no opportunity for introspection. Soon she was totally immersed in her baby and her family life. As her mother had been before her.