Where There's Smoke

He examined the lenses before letting the glasses hang on the cord again. “It’s obvious that you’re very upset, which is understandable. What I’m trying to establish is whether you no longer want a baby. Or if you just no longer want this particular one?”

Kate opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. The doctor continued. “It’s only natural for you to feel confused and frightened. And angry, I daresay. You’ve been lied to, cheated, and found out in possibly the worst way imaginable that the man you trusted to be the father of your baby is not who he claimed. But perhaps you should be looking at counselling to help you cope with those feelings, rather than rushing into an abortion.”

“I don’t want counselling!”

The confusion she thought had been resolved surfaced again. She shook her head. “I just can’t go through with this!”

“Why can’t you?”

“Why? Because he’s mentally ill!”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Isn’t it enough? He lied to me about who he was. He — he killed his own family! He’s just killed somebody else, for God’s sake!”

“The baby hasn’t.”

The doctor looked at her, calmly. “The child you’re carrying hasn’t done anything, except be conceived. Is it fair to blame it for something its father’s done?”

Again, Kate couldn’t answer. She hadn’t expected an argument, and the issues the doctor raised penetrated her decision like spikes.

“But how can I have his baby now?” Her voice was anguished. “How do I know it won’t be like him?”

The doctor kneaded the bridge of his nose tiredly. “If every family with a history of mental illness passed it on to their children, sooner or later we’d all be affected.” He sighed. “Yes, schizophrenia can sometimes run in families, but it isn’t like eye colour. It isn’t passed on directly. I think something like one child in ten may, may,” he stressed, “develop it if one of its parents is schizophrenic. Which gives a ninety per cent chance that it won’t.”

“As for the arson... Well I’m not an expert on psychology, but I doubt very much that something like that is hereditary. I think compulsive behaviour of that sort is more a matter of environment and upbringing than inheritance.”

“So you’re saying you won’t recommend me for an abortion,” Kate said, coldly. She was on the verge of walking out.

“No, I’m saying it’s a serious decision, and before I refer you to have your pregnancy terminated I need to satisfy myself that you’re not doing it for the wrong reasons. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

She remembered Lucy saying the same thing at the beginning, when the idea had seemed full of hope. It wasn’t a welcome memory, and she didn’t respond. The doctor watched her.

“No one would argue that it isn’t an awful situation,” he said, when it was obvious she wasn’t going to speak. “This man is obviously a very disturbed individual, and you’ve undoubtedly suffered a type of abuse. Which is all the more reason why you should reconsider counselling. At the very least I suggest you wait a while before making any decision about your pregnancy.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

The need to undo what had happened shrieked inside her. Everything else was blotted out.

The doctor inclined his head. “It’s your decision, but once you go ahead with this, it’s something you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. You need to think carefully if it’s what you really want.” He looked steadily at her. “Is it?”

Kate felt she wasn’t really in the room, that this wasn’t her abortion they were discussing. She gripped tight to her resolve. “Yes.”

It had begun to rain as she unlocked the door to her flat, a fine drizzle that fogged the yellow glow from the street lights. She trudged upstairs, absently bending to stroke Dougal when he appeared and wound himself around her ankles. She went through the flat, turning on lights and lamps until there was at least the appearance of warmth. The television provided a background of noise and life.

She fed Dougal and made herself a cheese sandwich. The fridge was almost empty, she noticed. She supposed she would have to go shopping soon, but the thought lacked urgency. As she was about to close the fridge door, she saw the bottle of champagne, still waiting unopened. The sight of it brought a sudden pang, piercing the numbness that surrounded her. She picked it up and quickly dropped it in the bin. The cold, wet touch of the glass burned her hand, and she wiped it on a towel until the sensation had gone.

Taking her sandwich through to the lounge, she saw that the answerphone light was flashing. There were two messages. The first was from Lucy, asking what had happened at the doctor’s. The second was a low hiss of an open line before the click of disconnection.

Kate stood there, listening to the tape rewind. Then she put down her plate and quickly dialled Lucy’s number. The recorded message from Lucy’s answerphone replied. She waited until the beep before speaking.