Free Women and War by Janet Tanner

jerked her head up, blinking the tears away.
    â€˜That’s all right then isn’t it? Race … I think perhaps we ought to be going home.’
    â€˜Yes,’ he said.
    They walked back to the car in silence and Alys could feel the great pool of sadness deep inside because something that should have been special had somehow gone wrong and there was no way that she could ever turn it around and make it different.
    Alys raised her head from the basin, wiping the bile off her lips with the back of her hand. As she straightened she caught sight of her reflection and was shocked by it – cheeks drained of colour, hair lacking its usual bright lustre and great dark smudges beneath her eyes. Hardly surprising really – in addition to the nausea and sickness she had scarcely slept for the last week, not since she had realized that her period had not come. At first she had lain awake willing herself to feel the first niggling ache which usually warned of its onset, then as the days went by her brain had begun chasing in great terrifying circles. But still her period, never usually late, had not come. When the nausea had first begun she had told herself it was because she was so worried, but as it continued she was unable to deceive herself any longer.
    Pregnant. The very word frightened her. There was such an awful finality to it, like the clanging of a dungeon door, shutting out light and air and leaving her in a morass of terrifying darkness.
    Alys ran some warm water into the basin and washed her face, trying to will the sickness to go away. Yesterday it had not. It had persisted all day. And when she felt so dreadul there was no way she could even begin to think what she had to do. Every ounce of concentration had to be used up in pretending that everything was quite normal. But it could not go on like this. It was early days yet, because her period was usually so regular and because of the sickness she had discovered the truth much sooner than she might otherwise have done. But that did not alter the facts. Sometime, somehow she was going to have to tell someone.
    The thought sent a fresh pang of nausea through her and she bent over the basin retching again. Oh God, it was horrible, horrible! Just like a nightmare. And she was so terrifyingly alone. If she had been able to see Race and tell him it would not have been so bad. But she had not seen Race since she had been certain. He had sold the Morgan now so he had no transport to get over from Yallourn to Melbourne and in any case he was working every spare moment on his racing car to get it ready for the Grand Prix.
    And when she did tell him – what then? Another shudder ran through Alys as she remembered what Race had said that day in the Dandenongs – the day it had happened. Suppose he still reiterated that he could not afford to support a wife? Worse – suppose he was simply using that as an excuse because he did not want her for his wife? The niggling fear was constantly there now at the back of her mind that perhaps there had been some truth in what Mummy had said – he had only used her as a way of getting at Daddy’s money. Unwillingly, Alys found herself remembering how reluctant Race had been to talk about how he had come by the Morgan. Could it be that he had cultivated its owner in the same way, ‘wormed his way in’ as Mummy had put it so that it was bequeathed to him in the old man’s will? If so and if the same was true for her, then …
    At this point Alys always tried to pull her train of thought up short because to let it go on led her to something quite unthinkable. That Race had not only used her for her money but for other reasons too. Why had he mentioned marriage that day by the lake if it seemed so truly impossible to him? Because he had momentarily fooled himself into believing it could work? Or because …
    A tap at the bathroom door interrupted her reverie.
    â€˜Alys? Are you all right in