Page 47 of Vengeance is Mine

I finally told Anthony about the miscarriage today. He looked upset. No, that’s the wrong word. He looked mortified. He hates me. I know he does. His hair is going grey at the temples. We’re getting old. It’s going to be too late soon.

Friday, 12 March 1976

I’ve told Anthony to leave me. He needs to be with a real woman who can give him a child, two children, a whole rugby team of children. He said I was being silly, and he was with me because he loves me. How can he possibly love me? I’m a freak!

Saturday, 13 March 1976

I don’t think I’m going to write in this diary anymore. There’s no reason for it. It was my intention to chart my married life: talk about the pitfalls, the highs and lows, my feelings and emotions as Anthony and I had children and grew old together. It was supposed to be something I could pass on to my kids and grandchildren, but as there aren’t going to be any because of my poisonous womb, then there is nobody to hand this to. So, I may as well stop. This is to be my last entry. I have nothing left to say.

Wednesday, 8 September 1976

I’m three months pregnant. THREE WHOLE MONTHS pregnant. This is the longest I’ve gone. It’s been a long, hot summer, and Anthony and I have had a few holidays – only weekends away, but they’ve been happy and relaxing, and we’ve enjoyed ourselves. I think it’s this change that’s helped me fall pregnant. I’ve not been worrying. I’ve just relaxed and gone with the flow, and it’s worked. I’m bloody pregnant. I’m so happy. Anthony is thrilled. There’s joy and excitement in our house again.

Thursday, 9 September 1976

It’s funny watching Anthony fuss over me. I could get used to it. He’s making sure I’m comfortable and not doing anything too strenuous. He’s even arranged for a cleaner to come in twice a week to help around the house. He says he wants me to do nothing for the next six months. I can see the love and happiness in his eyes. He’s going to make a great father. I hope I’ll be a good mother. I’ve read so many books. I’m sure all first-time mums worry. I’ll be fine. I know I will. Fingers crossed.

Wednesday, 15 September 1976

Life is incredibly, incredibly cruel.

A knock on the front door made me jump. My cereal had gone soggy in the bowl while I’d become engrossed, once again, in Carole’s diaries. Maybe I should use them as a way to lose weight: read them at mealtimes so I’d forget to eat.

I opened the door to see Robyn on the doorstep, dressed up smart and conservatively but wearing far too much fragrance. I coughed.

‘You either got lucky last night or you’ve forgotten all about it,’ she said, taking in my bed hair, dressing gown and novelty penguin slippers.

‘What?’

‘I don’t believe this. You badger me into meeting Barbara White and then forget all about it.’

‘I haven’t forgotten. We’re not meeting her until half eleven.’

‘It’s eleven o’clock now.’

‘What?’ I leaned back and looked at the clock on the wall in the kitchen. ‘Fuck!’

Robyn looked at her watch. ‘I’d say you’ve got about ten minutes to get ready before we can leave without being late.’

‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,’ I said as I ran to the bedroom.

‘What are these?’ Robyn asked, when I came back into the main part of the flat.

I’d had the quickest shower I’d ever had and taken great care not to get my hair wet. I pulled on a pair of black jeans and a cream sweater I’d forgotten I had, deciding once again that it was probably better to tone down the severity of my usual dress code. I’d applied the basic amount of make-up and sprayed myself liberally with an expensive fragrance Mum bought me for Christmas. I smelled nice, looked decent, but felt scruffy. It would have to do. I grabbed my bag, rushed into the kitchen and saw Robyn poring over one of Carole’s diaries.

‘You shouldn’t be reading those. They’re private,’ I said, snatching it from her hand.

‘Who wrote them?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It’s Dominic’s mother, isn’t it?’

‘What makes you say that?’

Robyn took the diary back and opened it. ‘“Thursday, the second of June 1988”,’ she read. ‘“James Flint came around earlier and told me to stop bad-mouthing him to the neighbours. He told me the real reason why he hadn’t invited Dominic to his youngest’s birthday party, despite inviting all the other kids in the street. It turns out all the other children are frightened of Dominic. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just quiet, that’s all. I’ve tried to get him to play with the other kids, interact, but he’s not interested. He just sits there, staring at them. I tried to defend Dominic to James, but I don’t think I did a good enough job. I don’t even know what words I used. The thing is, I perfectly understand. Dominic scares me, too, sometimes, with his silence and his staring.”’

Robyn stopped reading and looked up at me.

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