high-paying jobs and plenty of nights atthe opera. ‘But no running off with gipsy girls,’ Jill frowned. ‘Nor army boys,’ Gregory replied.
We really were a happy foursome in that house. There were no overbearing characters, no martyrs, no one was even particularly idiosyncratic. We shared the housework and the bills. We studied quietly and helped each other. We all knew what we wanted and how to go about getting it. We were young, cheerful, optimistic.
In bed later that evening, Shirley said, ‘Poor Peggy. Really.’ And she said: ‘Praise be to God for Reckitt & Colman though. A pink one a day keeps the gynaecologist away. Or the shotgun at bay. And you still can make hay. And have a damn good lay. Oh yea!’ ‘Oh shut up,’ I laughed, trying as always to be serious. Though one of the best things about bed with Shirley was, not just the excitement, but the fact that this was when she was at her merriest. Sometimes we’d be reduced to such helpless laughter we’d have to give up and start all over again when we’d got over the giggles. ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘if Peggy’s so anti hormone-juggling and all that, you could tell her to get a bedside book of jokes. Excellent contraceptive.’ ‘Just,’ I said, ‘that you’d always be worried she might miss the punchline.’ ‘She does seem,’ Shirley agreed, ‘a rather inattentive creature.’
Still, appreciating that sometimes I’m too quickly irascible and categorical, and because I really do love Mother and Peggy and wish them well, and since I felt I might yet influence the situation for the good somehow, I decided not to overreact and cut myself off from them. A few days after getting back to Leicester, I wrote Peggy the following letter:
Dear Peg,
Sorry if I seemed like a bit of a bull in a china shop when I came down Tuesday. The fact is I’m really seriously worried about you and Mum, I mean about how you will cope if things start going wrong. Perhaps the best thing I can do is just list my fears, which I think you’ll have to agree are not far fetched:
a)What if your actor man doesn’t marry you and won’t or can’t support the baby?
b)What if you don’t have enough money and have to go back to Gorst Road to bring him/her up amongst the mad and the senile?
c)What if Mother breaks down under the strain? Who will look after Grandfather and Mavis then?
Of course if either Mother or I or even yourself were well-off none of the above would be a problem, but even after I get out of university and hopefully get a job, it will be some years before I’ll be able to spread any of the proceeds about, since Shirley and I will have to save for a home of our own. We can’t rely entirely on her parents. My one thought is, and this is the last time I shall mention it, that it might be better to have an abortion now, get yourself safely married, save up a bit and then have the baby. That’s all.
Hope you are well otherwise. Shirley and I are both gearing up for finals and making job applications. Fingers crossed.
All best, GEORGE .
She wrote back from an address in Holloway beside which she had scribbled the words: ‘Temporary. Communicate via Mum.’
Georgie bruv – she wrote in blue wax crayon on a large sheet of graph paper – ‘ might just as well ask, 1. What if a brick were to fall from a great height on your big head leaving you totally mentally handicapped? 2. What if Shirley’s dad lost all his jolly lolly and you couldn’t go horseriding at the weekends? 3. What if you were paralysed from the waist down in a hit-and-run accident and Shirley not only refused to push your wheelchair but ran off with a well-hung Rastafarian . . .? See what I mean?
George, when you love a man as I love Dave, I mean love deeply, then you want to have a baby with him andhe with you. It’s something you both feel in your souls . It’s the ultimate human experience. And once it’s started, the baby I mean, you can’t say, no, no, we’ll have it in
We really were a happy foursome in that house. There were no overbearing characters, no martyrs, no one was even particularly idiosyncratic. We shared the housework and the bills. We studied quietly and helped each other. We all knew what we wanted and how to go about getting it. We were young, cheerful, optimistic.
In bed later that evening, Shirley said, ‘Poor Peggy. Really.’ And she said: ‘Praise be to God for Reckitt & Colman though. A pink one a day keeps the gynaecologist away. Or the shotgun at bay. And you still can make hay. And have a damn good lay. Oh yea!’ ‘Oh shut up,’ I laughed, trying as always to be serious. Though one of the best things about bed with Shirley was, not just the excitement, but the fact that this was when she was at her merriest. Sometimes we’d be reduced to such helpless laughter we’d have to give up and start all over again when we’d got over the giggles. ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘if Peggy’s so anti hormone-juggling and all that, you could tell her to get a bedside book of jokes. Excellent contraceptive.’ ‘Just,’ I said, ‘that you’d always be worried she might miss the punchline.’ ‘She does seem,’ Shirley agreed, ‘a rather inattentive creature.’
Still, appreciating that sometimes I’m too quickly irascible and categorical, and because I really do love Mother and Peggy and wish them well, and since I felt I might yet influence the situation for the good somehow, I decided not to overreact and cut myself off from them. A few days after getting back to Leicester, I wrote Peggy the following letter:
Dear Peg,
Sorry if I seemed like a bit of a bull in a china shop when I came down Tuesday. The fact is I’m really seriously worried about you and Mum, I mean about how you will cope if things start going wrong. Perhaps the best thing I can do is just list my fears, which I think you’ll have to agree are not far fetched:
a)What if your actor man doesn’t marry you and won’t or can’t support the baby?
b)What if you don’t have enough money and have to go back to Gorst Road to bring him/her up amongst the mad and the senile?
c)What if Mother breaks down under the strain? Who will look after Grandfather and Mavis then?
Of course if either Mother or I or even yourself were well-off none of the above would be a problem, but even after I get out of university and hopefully get a job, it will be some years before I’ll be able to spread any of the proceeds about, since Shirley and I will have to save for a home of our own. We can’t rely entirely on her parents. My one thought is, and this is the last time I shall mention it, that it might be better to have an abortion now, get yourself safely married, save up a bit and then have the baby. That’s all.
Hope you are well otherwise. Shirley and I are both gearing up for finals and making job applications. Fingers crossed.
All best, GEORGE .
She wrote back from an address in Holloway beside which she had scribbled the words: ‘Temporary. Communicate via Mum.’
Georgie bruv – she wrote in blue wax crayon on a large sheet of graph paper – ‘ might just as well ask, 1. What if a brick were to fall from a great height on your big head leaving you totally mentally handicapped? 2. What if Shirley’s dad lost all his jolly lolly and you couldn’t go horseriding at the weekends? 3. What if you were paralysed from the waist down in a hit-and-run accident and Shirley not only refused to push your wheelchair but ran off with a well-hung Rastafarian . . .? See what I mean?
George, when you love a man as I love Dave, I mean love deeply, then you want to have a baby with him andhe with you. It’s something you both feel in your souls . It’s the ultimate human experience. And once it’s started, the baby I mean, you can’t say, no, no, we’ll have it in
Similar Books
Jaded (WTF? Series Book 1)
Andrea Smith
Fire and Ice: A New Adult Erotic Romance
Mia Myers
The Raven Series 2
J.L. Weil
The Battle of Hastings
Jim Bradbury
Stalked
Allison Brennan
New Balls Please (Ball Games #3)
Andie M. Long
Julia London
The Vicars Widow
The Mysterious Case of the Allbright Academy
Diane Stanley
Dead Girls Don't Cry
Casey Wyatt
The Last Hour
Charles Sheehan-Miles