Lying for the Camera: chapter 10

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8(i)

Chapter 8(ii)

Chapter 9

He couldn’t stop worrying about her. He rang twice before he’d even got home and texted twice more. She wasn’t answering, but he couldn’t stop trying. He’d go and knock on her door all night if he thought it would work, but Hattie had always been more stubborn than he was. If she didn’t want to talk to him, she wouldn’t.

Tom climbed the three flights of stairs up to his loft apartment. He’d loved it at first sight because of the light. Huge industrial-sized windows on three of the four walls flooded the space during the day. He’d left it mostly bare brick and hardwood floor. A few, carefully selected pieces of furniture made it liveable, but no hint of domesticity or cosiness had been allowed in. Tom tried to imagine Hattie in it. She’d fill the space with her laughter and her warmth, but she’d bring piles of stuff with her, too. Magazines and fruit bowls and community service prizes. Dirty mugs and unironed laundry.

A baby.

It would be a terrible home for a child. No garden, for one thing. And no lift up to the third floor. No carpet and plenty of hard edges. No privacy, either. He slept on an open mezzanine above the kitchen area. The whole flat was open plan, apart from the bathroom. Babies probably didn’t appreciate rainfall showers and wet rooms, either.

It would be a disaster.

But Hattie was going to take care of it. That meant she’d go through with the abortion, he assumed. He hoped. He needed to speak to her again, when they weren’t tearing strips off each other, and make sure.

He put the kettle on and spooned ground coffee into his cafetiere. His favourite handpainted mug was on the draining board. He wiped it dry and got the milk from the fridge. The noise of the boiling kettle echoed around the apartment. He’d never felt so alone in his own home. Every part of him was yearning for Hattie. Here, where he could touch her hand and kiss her lips. He’d tease her and watch her eyes light up as she came back, faster, sharper, funnier. Then he’d kiss her again, waiting for the moment when she sank into it with him. He’d slide one arm around her waist and the other hand into her glorious hair. He’d hold onto her for a long time like that.

He couldn’t, though. On impulse, he switched the kettle off and poured himself a glass of brandy instead. He needed the comfort.

Tom took the brandy over to his desk, opened up his laptop and found the folder he wanted. He plugged in the oversized monitor that he used for detail work. There she was, curves spilling over the screen, almost life-sized. He could reach out and touch her. Feel the smoothness of her skin and the warmth of her breath.

He scrolled through the images, mentally making a list of the ones he might use for the gallery. There were four or five that had what he was looking for, that undefinable magic where light and colour and composition combined to make something more than the sum of their parts. He paused over a nude shot. It had a glow to it which warmed Hattie’s skin, giving her the look of a goddess. It was a beautiful image though it wasn’t right for the exhibition. He’d send it to her for her portfolio.

He clicked through to the next and his finger froze on the mouse button. Hattie on the stallion, frigid with fear. He clutched at his brandy glass and gulped. He knew what was coming next. Shot after shot of her with fear mounting. The stallion stepping on to the first tread of the staircase. Hattie gripping the reins with white knuckles.

Then falling.

Falling.

Too many shots. Too long watching, observing. Too slow to act.

It was spectacular. It might just be the cover shot for the catalogue: the violet gown billowing out, the gleaming black stallion rearing upright, Hattie’s red hair tumbling down. Her blue eyes stared out at the viewer, vivid and alert, with the whites of her eyes bright in the corners. It was everything. Civilisation in the faded grandeur of the background, the untrammelled power of nature, the downfall of the elite.

It made his stomach turn. She’d been hurt. She could have been killed. That shot – that was what he did to the people he cared about. If it hadn’t been for that shot, he might never have slept with Hattie. He certainly wouldn’t have made her pregnant.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at her any more. The hard stone of guilt that had been pushed back into the far corners of his heart since Lianne was threatening to burst through. Hattie said he wallowed in it. He’d thought he’d beening dealing with it pretty well. For the first few months, he’d struggled to sleep, but since then he’d more or less just got on with life. His career had taken up most of his time, but there had been a handful of casual relationships that he’d enjoyed. No one like Hattie.

There was no one like Hattie. That was the point. She was unique.

She deserved better than him.

She didn’t deserve to be pregnant and alone.

Damn.

He picked up his phone again and dialled her landline number. He let it ring. Even if it went to voicemail, he’d leave a message. Tell her… something.

“Hello?”

Her voice was deeper than usual. Husky. “Were you asleep?” He hadn’t even thought to check the time.

“It’s two o’clock in the morning. What do you think?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll ring again tomorrow.”

He could hear her sigh, and then some rustling. He pictured her shoving things off the sofa to make room to sit down.

“I’m awake now. So talk.”

“I’ll do whatever you need. Be there. Help. Whatever. I just… I just wanted to say you’re not on your own.”

There was silence. But he held on. As long as she didn’t hang up, he had a chance.

“Even if I go ahead and have the baby?” she said eventually. It didn’t sound like a test. There was uncertainty in her voice, a vulnerability he wasn’t used to from her.

“I’ll be there. Terrified and incompetent. I’ll probably need you to hold my hand. But I’ll be doing my best.”

“And if I don’t have it?”

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I’ll be there, too. If you want.”

“You don’t deserve another chance, you know.”

“I know. I really am sorry, Hattie. I realise I’m the worst person to be stuck in this situation with.”

Another pause. “Not the worst.”

He could hear the smile in her voice and felt himself relax just slightly. “Who would be worse?”

“Well, you’re not an axe murderer.”

“You’re setting the bar quite low.”

“You should be grateful there’s a bar at all. I haven’t forgiven you, you know.”

He grinned and relaxed even more. “I know. Hattie, I should have asked earlier. Are you okay? Not sick, or anything.”

“I’m not the one with the stomach bug.”

“No, you’re the one who’s pregnant.”

“So far, so good. Not even any cravings. Apart from the ones I always have. Chocolate. Pizza. Wine.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“I’m going to see the doctor on Wednesday.”

He took a deep breath. “Would you like me to come?”

She gave a short laugh. “No. Not this time.”

“Okay. Hattie… what are you going to do?”

There was a long silence. He held his breath.

“I was planning to end it. But now… I don’t think I know.”

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Eventually, Hattie said, in a shaky voice, “I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

Hattie went to the GP on Wednesday. He confirmed the pregnancy and she asked him to sign off her abortion. But she didn’t make an appointment with the clinic. There was still plenty of time to decide. She visited her parents, not to ask their advice but because she wanted to remember what it had been like to grow up there. Her old bedroom had been redecorated, but at the back of the wardrobe, she found a box full of her things. Barbies with their hair chopped into mohicans and biro tattoes up their arms. A pile of Smash Hits magazines with all the quizzes filled in to find out which Spice Girl she was most like and who her ideal celebrity boyfriend would be.

“Are you okay, Hattie, darling?”

Her mother was standing at the door looking worried.

“Fine.”

“Then why are you crying?”

She hadn’t even registered the tears running over her cheeks. She brushed them away. “I’m fine.”

Her mum came to sit beside her on the bed. “I know we haven’t always been the best of friends, Hattie, but if there’s a problem, you can always talk to me about it.”

Hattie found a tissue in her pocket and blew her nose.

“It’s not a problem. It’s just that I’m pregnant.”

She braced herself for her mother’s disappointment. Of all the mistakes she’d made in her life, this would surely rate the highest.

“Oh, Hattie,” was all she said. Then her mum’s arms were round her and they were both hugging and crying, and it might not be what they normally did, but it was good.

When she’d stopped crying, she smiled. “It’s okay, really it is.”

“Who’s the father, dear?”

“Tom Metcalfe.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

Hattie couldn’t help but smile as she shook her head. It was so like her mother to say entirely the wrong thing for the situation. “We’re not exactly together.”

“But you will be. For the baby.”

“I don’t know if I’m keeping the baby, Mum.”

Her mother looked at the Barbies on the bed and back at Hattie. “Don’t you?”

“I want to.”

“Then why are you considering the other?” Of course her mother couldn’t actually say the words.

Hattie shrugged. “Because I’m too young. Too single. Too stupid.”

“You’re older than I was, when I had you.”

“You had Dad with you.”

“You’ll have Tom. And Hattie, you aren’t stupid.”

“I don’t know how to bring up a child.”

Her mum laughed. “No one does. You’ll work it out, like everyone else. We’ll help you.”

“Really?”

“Of course, darling.”

“I thought you’d tell me it was another thing I couldn’t do,” Hattie said.

“I never said that. Did I?”

Hattie raised her eyebrow. “All the time. Anything I said I thought I could be, you suggested something easier.”

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed. I didn’t mean you to think you couldn’t try.”

“I’ve signed up with a modelling agency to do adverts and promotional work. They’ve got me three auditions next week.”

“That’s wonderful, Hattie.”

“They said they’ll definitely be able to find me jobs while I’m pregnant, too. And afterwards, I can work as much or as little as I want to.”

“You’ll need someone to look after the baby while you’re working.”

“Yes.” She turned to stare at her mother. “Are you offering?”

Hattie sat on her sofa, hands on her stomach and decided. She could make this work. She’d already mentally rearranged her flat to create space for a cot and a changing table. She had a job that was flexible and parents eager and willing to babysit. She had Tom, who’d promised to support her.

She was going to have a baby.

She grinned. It was ludicrous and wonderful and she wanted to fling open the windows and yell the news out to the whole city. Later, she’d have to tell Tom, but not just yet. She wanted to glory in the moment first, before dealing with his issues and doubts. She felt like opening a bottle of champagne but she didn’t have any and it probably wasn’t a good idea for the baby.

There was a baby now. She hadn’t liked to think of it that way before, not when she’d been thinking of ending the pregnancy. But now it wasn’t just a pregnancy, it was a child. She wondered what it would be like. Her or Tom? That would be fun to find out. She’d get Tom to take pictures of it constantly. First steps, first words, first smile. Oh, God, she was already unbearably soppy and it was barely the size of peanut. Her peanut.

She’d said she was going to the doctor today. Should he ring? He should wait for her to call, right? Only she’d been angry that he hadn’t called from Morocco. He should ring. But what if she hadn’t rung because she was still deciding. He didn’t want to put any pressure on her. He wouldn’t ring. He’d wait until tomorrow and then phone to check everything was okay.

That would be better.

He opened up his laptop and tried to focus on his work. He was supposed to be making final edits to the photos for the exhibition but all he could think about was Hattie and the baby.

He’d ring her.

Just as he reached for his phone it began to ring.

“Hattie? I was just about to phone you. How did it go? Is everything okay?”

“Tom.” Her voice was faint. “Oh, Tom, I’m bleeding.”

“Bleeding? Hattie, what do you mean? Are you okay?”

She made a noise like a sob. “I need you to come.”

He’d come as fast as he could, running down the stairs of his apartment block two at a time and telling the taxi driver to put his foot down. Hattie was ill. Bleeding.

Oh, God, he suddenly realised what that meant.

She was losing the baby.

He leaned against the door jamb, scared to ring the bell, scared of what was happening, scared of doing the wrong thing.

But Hattie said she needed him.

He pressed the buzzer. She must have been waiting for him in the corridor because she opened the door so fast.

“Oh, Tom.” Her knees buckled and instinctively he stepped forward to catch her.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” He helped her into her bedroom and lay down beside her.

“There was blood.” She was crying and her hands wouldn’t let go of his coat.

“Ssh, I know.” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Has it stopped?”

“I think so.”

“Good. That’s good.” He rubbed a hand against her back, hoping it would reassure her. He hated seeing Hattie so afraid, so uncertain.

“I thought I was losing it,” she whispered.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry I rang you.”

That hit him. She shouldn’t have to think twice about calling him. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I want to keep it, Tom. I want the baby.”

He nodded. “I know. It’s going to be okay.”

“But you…”

“I told you, I’ll do my best. And right now, I think that means being here with you. Holding you.” He drew her into his arms. “Okay?”

“Okay.”