church in the High Street in North Berwick. The whole town lined the pavement opposite to see Ben Raikes's pale bride emerge from the red sandstone church in her scandalously short and tight wedding dress. It had been chosen by Ann's mother in an attempt to inject some style into her daughter's
53
wedding. Ann had refused to get married in a register office in London and had insisted on having the ceremony in this godforsaken windswept village in the middle of nowhere. During the photographs, Ann's mother clung to her collapsing beehive hairdo, eyeing Elspeth's severe undyed hair and lace-up shoes. Ann's father attempted to light a cigarette in the brisk October breeze and tried to ignore all the curious onlookers across the street.
They had a week's honeymoon in the French Alps, where Ann's hair was bleached a dazzling white. Ben couldn't quite believe his luck and while she slept he would sit above her and trace with his fingertips the network of violet rivers frozen just beneath her skin.
Ann wanted children straight away and Ben didn't argue with her, as he would never argue with her about anything. During the first couple of months of marriage when Ann failed to conceive, she didn't worry particularly. But when six months of trying to get pregnant had gone by, she began to fret. 'Don't worry, darling,' Ben said, when he saw her reach despondently into the cupboard for the sanitary towels that she clipped to a looped belt around her waist. 'It takes time, you know.'
Ben left the house at around eight and Elspeth would usually be out and about in North Berwick for most of the day doing her charity work or seeing her innumerable friends. Ann would wander from room to room of the house that was supposed to be her home but in which she never failed to feel like a guest who'd long outstayed her welcome, pressing her lower stomach with clenched fists, as if willing it to miraculously gestate. If she had a child, she told herself, she'd feel like she had a right to live in this echoey house with upright chairs, leather-backed books and watercolours of seabirds.
Nine months into their marriage, Ann became passionate and cool by turns. Sometimes when Ben came home from the university she would be waiting for him upstairs on the bed, glowing with desire, wearing nothing but her slip. Downstairs, Elspeth would turn up the wireless while Ann would seize him with hot palms, pressing herself against him, and pull him towards the bed. When they had fin ished, Ann would hold on to Ben, wanting him to stay in her as long as possible, and lie completely motionless, imagining the sperm writhing up inside her. But every month without fail she would feel the aching cramps in her back and the slow, dropping heat between her legs. Then she would turn away from Ben in bed. Confused, he would tentatively caress her stiff back and kiss her impassive, taut face, murmuring to her, 'Ann, my love. Please, Ann. Don't be upset, my love.'
This went on for a year. It was Elspeth who finally cracked. One morning at breakfast when Ben had left, she took one look at the pinched whiteness of Ann's face and said, 'Things can't go on like this, can they?'
Ann said nothing but Elspeth saw something she had never seen before: a single, silver tear, coursing down Ann's porcelain cheek.
'I think we should make an appointment to see the doctor.'
A hoarse sob broke from Ann's thin frame. 'I can't. I
can't bear it.'
'Can't bear what?'
'I can't bear to be told that I can't have children.'
Elspeth took Ann in her arms for the first and last time of their lives together. Ann stiffened momentarily then pressed her face into Elspeth's shoulder and sobbed.
'There, there. You cry. Let it all out. Crying never did
anyone any harm,' Elspeth kept saying. 'We'll sort it out. Don't worry.'
The family doctor took Ann's pulse and blood pressure, palpated her stomach through her skirt, asked discreet ques tions about her menstrual cycle and 'marital relations', making
53
wedding. Ann had refused to get married in a register office in London and had insisted on having the ceremony in this godforsaken windswept village in the middle of nowhere. During the photographs, Ann's mother clung to her collapsing beehive hairdo, eyeing Elspeth's severe undyed hair and lace-up shoes. Ann's father attempted to light a cigarette in the brisk October breeze and tried to ignore all the curious onlookers across the street.
They had a week's honeymoon in the French Alps, where Ann's hair was bleached a dazzling white. Ben couldn't quite believe his luck and while she slept he would sit above her and trace with his fingertips the network of violet rivers frozen just beneath her skin.
Ann wanted children straight away and Ben didn't argue with her, as he would never argue with her about anything. During the first couple of months of marriage when Ann failed to conceive, she didn't worry particularly. But when six months of trying to get pregnant had gone by, she began to fret. 'Don't worry, darling,' Ben said, when he saw her reach despondently into the cupboard for the sanitary towels that she clipped to a looped belt around her waist. 'It takes time, you know.'
Ben left the house at around eight and Elspeth would usually be out and about in North Berwick for most of the day doing her charity work or seeing her innumerable friends. Ann would wander from room to room of the house that was supposed to be her home but in which she never failed to feel like a guest who'd long outstayed her welcome, pressing her lower stomach with clenched fists, as if willing it to miraculously gestate. If she had a child, she told herself, she'd feel like she had a right to live in this echoey house with upright chairs, leather-backed books and watercolours of seabirds.
Nine months into their marriage, Ann became passionate and cool by turns. Sometimes when Ben came home from the university she would be waiting for him upstairs on the bed, glowing with desire, wearing nothing but her slip. Downstairs, Elspeth would turn up the wireless while Ann would seize him with hot palms, pressing herself against him, and pull him towards the bed. When they had fin ished, Ann would hold on to Ben, wanting him to stay in her as long as possible, and lie completely motionless, imagining the sperm writhing up inside her. But every month without fail she would feel the aching cramps in her back and the slow, dropping heat between her legs. Then she would turn away from Ben in bed. Confused, he would tentatively caress her stiff back and kiss her impassive, taut face, murmuring to her, 'Ann, my love. Please, Ann. Don't be upset, my love.'
This went on for a year. It was Elspeth who finally cracked. One morning at breakfast when Ben had left, she took one look at the pinched whiteness of Ann's face and said, 'Things can't go on like this, can they?'
Ann said nothing but Elspeth saw something she had never seen before: a single, silver tear, coursing down Ann's porcelain cheek.
'I think we should make an appointment to see the doctor.'
A hoarse sob broke from Ann's thin frame. 'I can't. I
can't bear it.'
'Can't bear what?'
'I can't bear to be told that I can't have children.'
Elspeth took Ann in her arms for the first and last time of their lives together. Ann stiffened momentarily then pressed her face into Elspeth's shoulder and sobbed.
'There, there. You cry. Let it all out. Crying never did
anyone any harm,' Elspeth kept saying. 'We'll sort it out. Don't worry.'
The family doctor took Ann's pulse and blood pressure, palpated her stomach through her skirt, asked discreet ques tions about her menstrual cycle and 'marital relations', making
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