Page 20 of Little Wing
Why were you so stupid she said over and over again and, for the first time, I felt really ashamed. I realized that’s how the outside world will see it, will see me.
Your mum will kill you, you stupid stupid thing, Joan sobbed.
I know, I said. I know that.
But.
Joan said, but what? And she stared at me good and proper. Oh God, she said – you’re not thinking of keeping it! You can’t! You have to get rid of it!
She called you It and I loathed her for that. And I detested her for making perfect sense about everything else.
She would not stop crying.
That bloody bastard! she said.
I just didn’t have the energy to argue. In truth, it’s become a daily battle to continue to love Peter.
Joan turned up at my house a couple of days later and I was terrified she was going to say something. Luckily Marjorie was visiting and the focus was on her and everyone was downstairs so Joan and I went up to my room.
She had a bag.
In the bag was a bottle half full of gin. She told me I had to take a Gin Bath – we were neither of us sure what that was, whether I was to drink it or bathe in it. She told me the water had to be very very hot. She said I was to have the bath and she would wait. She was whispering the whole time – like none of it could be spoken of out loud – though no one could have heard us anyway.
Listen, Joan, I said, listen. I’m not sure, I said. I’m not sure this is a good idea. I’m not sure what I want.
You do not want to have a baby, idiot, said Joan. She hissed it out, as if each word was a sentence. I cannot hate her – she is so very worried for me. She is my oldest and closest friend.
Run the bath! Run the bloody bath! Run it bloody hot! Drink the bloody gin.
Stop swearing, I said.
You’ve had intercourse – and you’re chippy with me for swearing?!
OK, OK, OK! I’ll run the bath!
And I called downstairs, ‘I’m just having a bath!’ We do this in our household.
I heard George call up, ‘Right you are!’
I’m going to stay, Joan said. She said she didn’t know how long the bath would take to work. She had her school clothes with her – she told her mum we were studying.
I left her chewing her nails, sitting on my bed, calling me a stupid, stupid girl.
I ran the hottest bath and poured half the gin in. It smelt queer and it made me queasy. I didn’t want to drink any of it. I had a sip and it was so sharp in my mouth, like fumes. Just one sip and I could feel it burn right down my throat, I could feel it hot in my stomach. I thought of the sweet punch at her party. I thought of Peter. Joan was at the door whispering you must drink it all down.
Get in the bath and drink it all down!
I got in the bath and I drank it all down. There was probably about half a glass left in the bottle.
And I cried silently as I watched my legs turn very pink. The water was scalding. My stomach looking like it was blushing. My arms looked broiled. And I said, I’m sorry, little baby I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
Joan at the door. Has anything happened? Are you crying? Is it hurting? Has it come out?
Me in the bath. Sobbing as secretly as I could.
So hot. Feeling sick. Stroking my tummy and saying sorry to you.
It was Wendy who told me Mum had found the gin bottle which I’d forgotten I’d hidden at the back of the bathroom cupboard under the basin, ready to throw away. I begged her to say it was hers, or even say it was Jimmy’s. But she just said your life, your funeral and my goodness did my mother give me a roasting the next morning.
