Читать книгу Taken - Jacqui Rose, Jacqui Rose - Страница 11

Weds 16th Aug 1995

Told Mum and Dad last week. Dad refusing to talk to me and Mum walking round with a glass of vodka stuck to her hand as if she’s an old drunk. Anyone would think I killed someone rather than just being pregnant. Dad came into my room last night trying to make me tell him who the father is. When I didn’t tell him, he got mad and started to call me names. Then he got really angry and started chucking my stuff round the room. He broke the china doll he got me last year. An hour later he came in to say sorry. Wouldn’t talk to him. I hate him but not as much as I hate myself.

Thurs 7th SeptNov 1995

Mum and Dad sat me down and told me they’d made a decision. I thought they were going to tell me they were getting a divorce, seeing as they’re both so unhappy with each other but they think nobody knows. Everyone knows!! Especially Dad’s friends; they all cover for him when he goes to meet some woman. He’s an idiot a prick. Instead of talking about a divorce, Dad said Mum thinks I should get an abortion, couldn’t believe it. Told them I was five months pregnant, so there was no way. Mum started to cry, Dad started shouting as usual. Mum managed to stop crying enough to tell me if that was the case she was going to arrange for my baby to be put up for adoption!(bitch) Ran out of the room and won’t open bedroom door to Dad’s stupid knocking on door. Anyone would think this is the 1930’s not 1995. So much for parent support. Don’t know what to do. Very, very scared.

Fri 22nd Sept 1995

Woke up in hospital. Everyone thinks I want to kill myself. I don’t, I just wanted to tell my side of the story to someone who might listen. I wanted to tell them I love my baby and want to keep it but no one seems to be listening. Ugly social worker came to see me (she had big wart on side of nose) She seems to agree with Mum about giving baby up for adoption. Says drinking the vodka and taking Mum’s sleeping tablets shows that I’m not emotionally mature. What does she know? Says I might have harmed the baby. Devastated. All I want to do is love my baby. I can’t believe I might have hurt him or her. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I love you. Still scared might have to run away but I have nowhere to go.

Thurs 18th Jan 1996

Think I’m in labour!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Casey closed the diary and sat motionless on the bare floorboards of the flat. Her head was spinning from all the excess alcohol she’d drunk, but reading the extracts seemed to have a sobering effect on her. The writing was immature and there was a tragic innocence about it; she didn’t recognise the naive girl who’d become the woman she was today, but she still felt that pain as if it had happened only yesterday.

The diary looked unremarkable on the outside with the dog-eared corners and faded cover, but the pages inside told a different tale: they grasped on to her past, refusing to let go, like a dying man wanting to hold on to his last breath.

It held the key to who she used to be, even though she hadn’t been able to read it for years; it had been a hot piece of coal burning into her, making her hurt all over again. She didn’t want to hurt any more.

She was tempted to go to the off-licence she’d seen on Shaftesbury Avenue to buy a bottle of scotch, but that would only make her a casualty of the situation again; something she’d fought so hard over the years to avoid. She’d come to London to try to find out the truth, she’d found out so little over the years but from the one lead she’d managed to find, she hoped finally she was in the right place and drowning herself in alcohol – which she’d done for too long now – had victim written all over the label.

Wiping away a tear, Casey decided the best thing she could do was try to get some sleep; she’d a busy day ahead of her. Undressing rather unsteadily and checking there weren’t any nasty creepy crawlies wanting to share the bed with her, Casey lay down and closed her eyes. But within a moment the unwanted memories came running into her head.

‘It’s best this way, Casey, you’ll see.’

‘Best for who, Mum?’

‘For everybody.’

‘But it’s not. It’s only best for you and Dad. Please, I know I’ll be able to look after it, just give me a chance. Let me keep my baby.’

‘Casey, you don’t know what you’re talking about. A baby isn’t something you can put away in a drawer once you get bored of it. I know it seems hard at the moment but later on you’ll thank us and realise we were just doing what’s best. You’ll be able to go on and make a life for yourself, get a career and get married. You’ll have the chance to have more children one day and put all this business out of your mind. I doubt you even know who the father is.’

‘Of course I do, but I’m not telling you.’

Her mother snorted in disgust. She wasn’t going to tell her who it was; she could think what she liked. Granted, Paul was just a boy at school – he hadn’t been the love of her life, but he wasn’t the one-night stand her mother thought he was. They’d dated for a few months until he’d moved to Swansea with his parents. She hadn’t bothered to keep in touch with him and when she found out she was pregnant, she certainly had no desire to complicate anything further by adding him to the equation. So her mother could continue to think she spent her time jumping into bed with strangers; Casey knew whatever she said she wouldn’t be believed anyway.

She spoke with as much hostility as she could conjure up between the painful contractions.

‘I’m not like you, Mum; I’m not going to pretend things aren’t happening because it’s easier. Maybe that’s what you can do with Dad but I can’t.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean, young lady?’

‘You know exactly. Dad’s been shagging about for as long as I can remember. And you know something? I don’t blame him one little bit.’

The pain of the slap on Casey’s cheek from her mother stung less than the pain from the hurt and humiliation it caused. The midwives rushed forward and started to usher Casey’s mother out of the room.

‘No Mum, please stay! Can you let her stay please?’

The Chinese midwife first looked at Casey and then her mother before speaking.

‘You can stay if she wants you to.’

‘Mum?’

Casey watched her mother’s eyes narrow and a stony expression appear on her face as another contraction began to take hold.

‘It’s fine. My daughter’s made her feelings abundantly clear. I’m sure she’ll manage just exceptionally on her own. She always does.’

‘Mum please, don’t go! Mum! Please, I’m scared!’

The banging of the labour room door reverberated round the little room. Less than an hour later Casey’s 9lb 8oz baby was born.

‘Can I see? Is everything okay?’

‘Everything’s fine, Casey, you did really well.’

‘Please can I see?’

The midwife looked sympathetically as she spoke.

‘It’s probably best you don’t; it’ll make it easier.’

The tears poured down Casey’s face as she begged the midwife in charge to listen to her.

‘Please, at least tell me if it’s a boy or a girl.’ It was the second time the labour room door had banged shut but it this time the noise sounded even louder to Casey as it hung in the air, mixed in parts with her scream.

Casey jolted herself up out of bed. She refused to lie there all night being melancholic. Moving back to the living room she started to search in her bag, hoping there was still some vodka left in the bottle she kept tucked away in case of emergencies.