“If he slashes your heart I’ll slash his tires,” I said.
Marcia frowned. “There’s been no shoplifting or graffiti in two years and no visits from the cops. You don’t want to spoil your perfect behaviour with a trip to the clink do you? You’ve got a weight-gain problem to worry about.”
I was immediately wrenched back into my desperate situation. “Are you sure I can’t get an abortion on the NHS?”
Marcia nodded. “Two doctors have to agree to it and refer you. They only do that when they think the mother will be endangered by carrying to full term. You’re eighteen, healthy and you live with your parents. You’re not likely to bump yourself off ’cause you can’t cope with motherhood. With your drug history they’d get social services involved but you’d still have the baby.”
I let out a snort. “I’ll sell my sapphires and get it done privately.”
Marcia frowned. “Are you sure you’d go through with it?”
I watched the children on the pier and tried to imagine myself pushing a buggy or changing a nappy. It creeped me out and yet...a part of me longed for somebody to love, somebody of my own flesh and blood who would have to love me back. Selfish, I know. Stupid too, since I also know that blood is just as thin as venom. But the tiny yearning held me back, as did the sense that abortion could change me in ways I wasn’t sure I could handle. But would I do it anyway? I stared at a tumultuous sea that didn’t give me any answers.
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “Sometimes I just want to run away, go anywhere else but Brighton.” James’s hotel dream popped into my head. “Spain, maybe, or another warm country where I could forget about everything.”
Marcia poked my stomach. “You can’t forget about that.”
“I’m going to get in touch with Alex tonight, okay? He won’t want a kid either, especially since he’s getting married. He’ll have to fork out.” I pushed down the little stab of sadness. “I can’t decide anything until I hear from him.”
“And in the meantime you’re going to secretarial school.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes, Mum,” I said drily. “I can start with the April intake.”#p#分页标题#e#
She glanced at me sideways. “And what about you and James? He might call off the wedding if he finds out his glorious goddess was really a succulent succubus.”
“There is no ‘me and James.’ We were drunk and I hate him, remember? He’s an arrogant toff who thinks he’s better than me.”
Her smile turned into a full-blown grin. “Icksnay on the iarlay, hon. Tell those sweet little lies elsewhere.”
Shit. Why do I always end up telling her everything? I’d returned to James’s Facebook page and read his threads properly. The “underclass” post was somebody else’s and James had copied it onto his page in order to tear the guy’s argument to shreds.
“Yeah, well. James was arrogant to me. First he insulted me to my face and then again when he thought I was Caroline. He thinks I’m beneath him,” I huffed angrily. “He may have been hot and passionate and...whatever, I still hate him.”
Marcia’s laughter made it hard to cling to indignation. I was blushing, damn it, my lips curling into a silly little smile.
I raised my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay maybe I don’t hate him. But I don’t like him either and I don’t feel any differently about his job or his awful taste in brides.”
She put her hands on my shoulders and peered into my eyes. “What’s that, flashing its scaly claws? Ah yes, a green monster trying to hide in the deep. Oh dear, she’s blind and stubborn on top of delusional, poor thing,” she said. “I don’t need your magical ‘pierce and prod’ to see clearly, y’know.”
“Sounds like a sex toy.”
“For use with snobby knobby?”
Marcia sniggered and I burst into helpless giggles. Thankfully, I was saved from further embarrassment by Kai. He ran up to us and tugged on my arm.
“Come on, Pais,” he whined. “You promised you’d bounce on the trampoline with me.”
“Sorry, Mar, duty calls.”
She waved me away. “Go forth and tramp.”
Chapter Five
The Scale of Truth
Social networking sucks.
Alex was travelling in Mexico when he got my PM and he put his street Spanish to use in his reply. Growing up bilingual has its advantages; I was able to translate straight away.
“Jódete puta,” he wrote. Literally, “Fuck yourself, slut.”