Lessons in Laughing Out Loud (16 page)

Chloe sighed, and nodded without lifting her eyes from her plate.

“There was never any chance you and he would . . . stay together?” Willow asked.

Chloe shrugged, a study in indifference. “It wasn’t meant to be serious. We always said it was just for fun, I knew that from the start.” She sounded like she was reading from an often-recited list that she had learned by rote.

“And what does he think about your plans to have the baby adopted?” Willow pressed on ever so gently, aware of how uncomfortable Chloe was looking. Was it just the enormity of her condition that was making it so hard to acknowledge it, or was there something else, something so painful she couldn’t bear to bring it up?

“He didn’t want me to keep it. He thought I should get rid of it. He was worried that he’d get into trouble if anyone found out about us.” Chloe paused, composing herself. “Besides, he never signed up for any of this. It was just a bit of fun.”

He’d broken her heart, this mysterious boy, Willow realized. Chloe’s hard-as-nails front was a fragile edifice at the best of times, but now as Willow watched her face, her lashes downcast, the expression of pain that was etched around her mouth, she knew this was about more than being fifteen and being in trouble. Loving and losing was part of growing up, but it shouldn’t be like this. There should be a boyfriend,
an angst-ridden poem and a miserable song on repeat for twelve hours a day, at least once every couple of months. Poor Chloe—the teenage years that were rightfully hers had been brutally curtailed. Forcing herself to be brave, Willow reached across the table and put her hand over Chloe’s wrist, feeling the blood pulsing beneath her fingers for a moment as she gently squeezed—a silent gesture of solidarity that Chloe accepted by not drawing her hand away.

“I’m sorry that you’ve been so hurt,” Willow said.

“I’ll get over it.” Chloe lifted her chin, defiant. “He wasn’t . . . he wasn’t the way I thought he was anyway. He wanted me to get rid of it, said he’d sort it out. I said no, I mean, it’s not the kid’s fault, is it? I didn’t ask for this mess. And I saw this film about this woman who really wanted a kid, and it ruined her life. Every day she was sad and lonely and just wanted to be a mother. And you hardly ever get babies given up for adoption, so there’ll be loads of people who want it. Loads of really good people who will really love it.”

Willow wondered exactly how much Chloe had thought about her choice, if at all. She had the confidence of youth, an unwavering certainty that those who didn’t know much about consequences were often blessed with. She certainly seemed happy with her decision, but Willow wasn’t confident that she knew what her decision meant.

“And you haven’t heard anything from this boy since you decided to have the baby adopted?” Willow asked gently, noticing a woman sitting across from them alone at a table for four, having seated all her expensive-looking shopping bags around her. She was staring at her paper but obviously listening to them. India would be pleased to know that unplanned, underage pregnancy was apparently more interesting than the sordid and largely made-up details of her affair.

“No.” Chloe’s chest rose and fell in a determined sigh, and her chin sank toward her chest. “He’s got someone new now, anyway. Another girl at school. I don’t care.”

“Hmmm.” Willow stared at the top of Chloe’s head. A faint line of her natural chestnut hair could be seen along her part, a half inch of her natural deep brown color before the black she had coated it with cut in. Looking at her sitting there, it felt like that was Chloe all over, the little girl hidden by trappings of adulthood, some self-assumed and others forced on her. It was a look Willow remembered from her own teen years, a feeling of loss and isolation that she recalled with a jolt. She had so desperately wanted to be something, someone other than she was, to banish the little girl from her life completely and be free, just once. Perhaps that was how Chloe was feeling too.

“Have you found out how to have the baby adopted?”

Chloe shook her head, looking up, her face etched with her own brand of courage. “I saw it on
Grey’s Anatomy,
they just phone some people and they come and get it. You have to sign something and you can decide if you want to hold it or not. I’m not going to. I don’t know how to hold a baby. I’d be worried about its head. Did you know they have this massive hole in their skulls when they’re born? I read that.”

“Really? I think the adoption process might be a bit more complicated than that,” Willow said. “I think you might have to put the wheels in motion now, talk to social services probably. Do you want me to find out and call them for you?”

Chloe stared at her, uncertain. A vague notion about what might happen on a forty-five-minute medical drama all nicely tied up by the time the credits roll was clearly all that Chloe had allowed herself to consider.

“I don’t know,” she said. “What do you think?”

“I think that if this is really what you want then you need
to be prepared, you need to really understand what it means. Talk it through with someone; make sure you know all your options. I’ll call them on Monday and find out what the first steps are.”

Chloe swallowed, sucking her lips inward over her gums. “Yes, okay. Okay then.” She mustered a smile. “Thanks, Willow. I knew you’d know what to do. That’s why I came. I tried to think about who would know what to do and there was only you.”

“Really?” Willow asked. “I’m so glad that you came to me, but don’t you have a friend or a teacher to turn to if you couldn’t talk to Sam? Are you that lonely, Chloe?”

“You know the girl at school who’s never in with the in crowd, that’s me. I’m the loner, the one who hangs out with a bad lot and starts a rock band. Only I can’t play any instruments. And Dad”—Chloe held Willow’s eyes—“Dad was devastated when you left. He was heartbroken. I don’t think he ever got over losing both of the women he loved. He wasn’t the same. When he did start seeing women, he never brought them home . . . not until Carol. And Carol hates me. Mainly because I replaced her moisturizer with Deep Heat.”

Willow repressed a smile. Chloe’s life had been so full of people when she was younger. Her dad adored her, his staff were practically her aunts and uncles, there had been a countless number of tousle-headed, overconfident school friends who’d parade through for tea on a seemingly endless rota of playdates. How had it happened that she’d become so isolated from all the people she cared about that when it came to the crunch, the only person she could think to help her was her onetime very bad stepmother?

“And how is the baby’s health?” Willow thought that while they were having this moment together she might as well ask. “Have the scans been okay, is your blood pressure all right, all that stuff?”

Chloe shrugged. “I’ve not exactly been to the doctor yet.”

“Not at all?” Willow wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t even sure an underage girl could see a doctor without a parent or guardian present.

Chloe shook her head. “But I think everything’s fine because I can feel the baby moving all the time, and I don’t feel like I’ve got anything wrong with me. I feel okay. I bought a book. I look stuff up in it. I thought I was going to die of liver failure because I got all itchy, but it turned out I just needed moisturizing.”

Chloe’s face was so serious, Willow couldn’t help but smile.

“What?” Chloe smiled uncertainly.

“I don’t know, it’s not funny. You secretly reading a book under the covers about your secret pregnancy. Do you remember when you used to stay up and secretly read bloody awful Malory Towers? I’d have to tuck you in about five times before you went to sleep. It would get to be midnight sometimes, and all I could think about was how your dad would be in soon, and how he’d kill me if you were still up. But you had no regard for my personal safety—you just kept on reading.” Willow grinned at her, but Chloe’s returning smile faded as quickly as it had blossomed.

“I’m surprised you remember,” she said, forcing Willow to hold her gaze.

“Of course I do.” Willow shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “Right, okay. Well, you need to get checked out. I’ll take you to the GP too, or maybe the hospital. I’ll find out which one.”

“But not today.” Chloe looked up, her expression flowing from anger to anxiety. It was clear that despite the bump that was attached to her front as a reminder, she just wanted another day of not having to think about her pregnancy, another day of just being fifteen.

Willow nodded. “Okay, so how about I buy you some clothes so that you stop stealing mine?”

“You already bought me a ton.”

“I know, but they’re . . . for later. How about we find you something for now?”

“Fat clothes, you mean?” Chloe asked.

“Well, yes, a few things to keep you going, you’ve got to keep that image up. How are the kids of Camden going to know what to wear unless you show them?”

“Fuck, you’re lame.” Chloe smiled nevertheless. “Thanks, Will.”

“Typical,” the woman at the other table muttered under her breath.

Frowning, Willow looked over at her, her hackles instantly raised.

“I beg your pardon?” Willow asked her, with the kind of confidence that only an aged fur coat can give you.

The woman looked up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I heard what you said,” Willow challenged her. “If you are going to make a comment, then at least have the guts to stand behind it.”

The woman pursed her lips, and sat up a little.

“Very well. I will. The trouble with young people like
her
”—she stared at Chloe as if she were a piece of dirt—“is that there are no consequences. Look at her. She’s gone and got herself pregnant
for a laugh
by all accounts and you’re rewarding her with gifts. With a mother like you, no wonder she got herself into trouble.”

Before Willow could respond, Chloe crashed out of her chair, advancing on the woman until her bump was almost in her face.

“She isn’t my mother,” Chloe growled at the woman. “And if you say one more word about her I’ll rip your head off, bitch.”

“Oh my God. Help!” The woman scraped her chair back, shielding herself with the stiff yellow cardboard of a Selfridges
bag. Stunned by how rapidly her bid to defend Chloe had reversed, Willow scrambled up, taking hold of Chloe’s upper arm to stop her from lunging at the woman. Security guards were already bustling over.

“Come on, Chlo,” Willow said, putting her other hand on Chloe’s shoulder, “remember your blood pressure.”

“
Her
blood pressure. She should have a tag!” the woman screeched, emboldened by the arrival of staff. Still glaring at the woman, Chloe let Willow begin to lead her away.

“It’s a good job that baby’s being adopted. It wouldn’t stand a chance with you!”

Willow felt Chloe’s arm stiffen, but she kept a firm hold on her as she whisked her out of the shop and to a quiet spot around a corner. Chloe leaned against a brick wall, her fist clenched, her foot tapping furiously.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay, I want to go back in there and kill that bitch.”

“She’s just a busybody,” Willow said. “If it’s any consolation, I think you did shave five years off her life at least. You were like knocked-up Wonder Woman. You should have seen her face!”

“People like her, they’ve got no idea. They live in their nice little world, with their nice little hedges and nice little . . . stuff, and they don’t know what the real world is about,” Chloe spat out, gesturing furiously.

If she had been prepared to chance it, Willow could have pointed out that Chloe too had lived in a nice, privileged, safe little world, but it didn’t seem fair, or especially wise.

“You’re very angry, aren’t you?” Willow said, stating the obvious, but she felt it needed to be said.

“Of course, of course I’m angry. I’m the one who’s got to do this. Who’s got to feel it living inside me, who’s got to get it out
and then give it away. Of course I’m angry. I’m such a fucking idiot. I trusted him. He used me!”

“Its okay.” Willow put her hands on Chloe’s shoulders, but she shook them off.

“It’s not okay. How is it okay?”

“Because you will get through this. It will be okay in the end.”

Chloe sank down the wall, winding her arms over her swollen abdomen.

“But it won’t be, will it? What happens next will never, ever go away, will it?”

Willow crouched down beside her, desperately trying to think of something to say to comfort Chloe, but she couldn’t because after all, the girl was right. One way or another, whatever happened next would never go away.

Chapter
            Eight

“Y
ou look like a proper femme fatale in that coat,” India said as Willow prepared to leave her charges home alone once again and head to Daniel’s house for dinner. She’d briefly reconsidered her decision to go out, knowing that it wouldn’t take much for the situation to get quite out of hand, for one particularly persistent journo to decide to keep tabs on all of Victoria’s staff or for India to decide to pop out just for a breath of fresh air. Really, she knew she should be there all of the time to micromanage the situation. That was, after all, what Victoria expected of her. But something else more powerful had a hold on her at the moment. Even in the midst of all the heartache around her—including her own—Willow had suddenly acquired a sense of Romance with a capital R.