One hundred and fifteen. Sephy

Dad barged into my room without even knocking on the door first. It was very late, almost midnight, but I wasn’t the least bit sleepy. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had a good night’s sleep. I sat at my table, writing in my diary when Dad came in. I shut the book and swivelled round in my chair. Dad stopped in the middle of the room. We regarded each other. We hadn’t exchanged a word since he’d slapped me. Dad sat down on the corner of my bed, suddenly looking very weary.

‘I’m not going to beat about the bush, Persephone,’ he told me. ‘Callum McGregor is going to hang for what he did to you.’

I swallowed hard but still didn’t speak.

‘And you’re the only one who can stop it,’ Dad continued.

Every cell in my body was put on full alert at Dad’s words. I sat very still and watchful, waiting for him to carry on.

‘It’s within my power to ensure that he doesn’t hang. I’ll make sure he only goes to prison. He’ll get a long sentence but at least he’ll be alive.’

And where there’s life . . . there’s a price. I kept my mouth shut, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

‘And all you have to do is agree to have an abortion,’ said Dad.

Like all I had to do was agree to eat my greens or go to bed early – that’s what he made it sound like.

‘Why?’ I whispered.

‘Why!’ The incredulous word exploded from Dad’s mouth. ‘Because you’re too young to have a child. Because it was a child forced on you . . .’

‘I’ve already told you, Callum didn’t . . .’

‘You didn’t set out to get pregnant either, did you?’ Dad interrupted harshly.

‘It’s too late to get rid of it. I’m too far gone,’ I pointed out.

‘There are ways, drugs to take care of that.’ Dad pointed to my stomach. ‘Then they’d induce labour. It’d be relatively painless for you.’

And lethal for my child.

‘If I say no, what will you do then?’ I asked. ‘Kidnap me like the noughts and force me to get rid of my baby?’

Dad stared at me. ‘I know we’re not close, Persephone, and I know that’s my fault, but I would never, ever do a thing like that.’ His voice held such incredible hurt that it got to me, in spite of myself.

‘But what you’re doing is no different,’ I cried. ‘You may not be using direct force but you’re pressuring me into having an abortion. It’s the same difference. Callum’s life or my child’s. You’re trying to coerce me into making a decision. Your decision.’

‘That boy’s life is entirely in your hands.’ Dad stood up. ‘It’s up to you. I know you’ll make the right choice.’

And with that he left my room. I locked my diary and put it in its hiding place, moving around my bedroom on auto pilot. I wanted my brain to shut down so I wouldn’t have to think, so I wouldn’t have to decide. But it didn’t work that way.

If I had an abortion I’d be saving Callum’s life. He wouldn’t spend the rest of his life in jail, either. I’d work every hour of every day for the rest of my life if I had to, to make sure that he was released from prison. And if he came out . . . when he came out, we could be together again. We could have more children. It was the chance of some kind of future together against no future at all. But if we were together would we be able to live with the fact that our first child died for us? Or would the ghost of our child eventually drive us apart?

Callum’s life or our baby’s? That was the choice.

Oh Callum, what should I do? What would you do?

And then just like that, there was no choice. I had my answer. I knew what I was going to tell my dad. God help me, I knew.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 580