Karen Wheatley

Karen Wheatley phoned to say she was pregnant. I was gonna be dad. I was in a panic. I didn’t wanna be a dad. I couldn’t look after myself let alone a baby. There was also the fact that Karen was only seventeen years old. I was two weeks shy of my nineteenth birthday. Karen and me had been going out almost eight months.

Karen said she wanted me to meet her parents. After a month of putting it off I turned up at their house in Streatham. Her mum and dad were sitting on the settee in the living room. Her parents kept staring at me. They looked confused and angry. Karen’s big brother John was built like a brick-shit-house. He was sitting in an armchair across from me. He was smoking a fag and giving me filfthy looks. I was shitting myself.

In a shaky voice I told the Wheatleys that if their daughter decided to have the kid I’d do my best to be a good father. Then in the heat of the moment, with every body watching me, I got carried away. I suggested Karen and me get married. I said we could either do it now, or wait ‘til after the baby, our baby, was born.

Karen’s dad stood up and paced the room. Karen’s mum put a protective arm around her daughter.

I understand what you’re saying Danny, but as far as we’re concerned, Karen’s far too young to have a baby, said Mr Wheatley.

          

Anyway she ain’t marrying a little prick like you, Karen’s brother broke in.

He stubbed out his cigarette, folded his arms and glared at me. 

Now there’s no need to talk to the boy like that, said Mr Wheatley. 

Karen’s mum went to the kitchen and came back with a pot of tea and some custard- creams. I didn’t feel like drinking tea or eating biscuits. I was still thinking about what Karen’s Brother had said.

After fifteen minutes I got up to leave. Karen walked me to the front door. So that was it. There wasn’t gonna be a kid after all. Karen gave me the address of the clinic where she was going to have the abortion. The whole thing was making me feel ill. Karen held my hand and half jokingly mentioned eloping. I shrugged as if to say it wasn’t realistic. Anyway I worked as a cleaner. I hovered offices. In truth, I knew I couldn’t support a teenage girl and a baby. I hugged Karen and she started to cry. I did too. Then I left.      

By Michael Ford

       

(Michael has also written stories for Straight No Chaser, Jazz Magazine, 3am Magazine, Pulp Faction and Nuvien Magazine.)