Easter time saw the six month anniversary of Laura’s relationship with The Boyfriend.
Laura was out with friends, The Boyfriend was out with his. Laura entered a club, The Boyfriend saw her, he pretended not to. A messenger approached Laura and asked whether The Boyfriend was in a relationship with Laura? Confirmed. ‘Oh,’ said the stranger, ‘You know there’s a girl pregnant with his baby?’
‘Get rid of him.’ Was my advice.
‘Hang on,’ Husband jumped in. ‘Let the lad have his say.’
The Boyfriend came to call looking all shifty. Out Laura and him went for a walk and a chat.
Laura came back home, alone. She shared this time-honoured fable: drunken one night-stand, wham! They had conceived. The Boyfriend felt real bad about this, didn’t know how to tell Laura. Said the guilt weighed heavy on him.
What did Laura do? She chose to believe him. She tried to forgive.
But the deceit?
The baby issue whimpered on.
There was a family celebration, my nephew’s eighteenth. Laura stayed home, ill. The Boyfriend did not visit. I came home early from the party to be with Laura. She was on the telephone, crying. I tiptoed to the bottom of the stairs to listen. Heard her plead, heard her promise not to question the baby issue. Begged the Boyfriend to forgive her.
Hold me back. It took power not to run upstairs to rip the phone out of Laura’s hand. To tell him to **** off.
My daughter deserved better. My beautiful unique daughter deserved better than this. She had done no wrong. The Boyfriend held Laura’s future in his clumsy hands. She masked her feelings of betrayal. She obeyed him.
Laura would wear a mask and come familiar with it. She would hide behind it. The mask of alcohol.