Free Making It Up by Penelope Lively Page B

as sensible as anyone can be at that age. Not much longer and they would be out on the open sea of adult life, for better or for worse. We’ll have done our bit, she said, we’ve pointed them in the right direction, we just have to hang in there a while more, that’s all.
    Sophie’s school reports suggested that she was perhaps under-performing, but she’d never been exactly a highflier, and looked set to get three A levels, if modest ones. Her eighteenth birthday was coming up, and Chloe planned an indulgent party, as encouragement. The boys, on the other hand, had become interestingly competitive—no bad thing, in Chloe’s view. Trying to outdo one another would keep them on their toes.
    Sophie announced her pregnancy over breakfast, one Sunday morning. “I’m going to have a baby,” she said, and smiled modestly round the table.
    It seemed to Chloe that the entire room swayed and heaved. She was unable to speak; she simply sat there staring at her daughter. The room swung around her; the faces of her husband and her sons lurched from side to side. Over the next couple of minutes Sophie spoke again, in a kindly way, and still Chloe could say nothing, and John was looking worriedly toward her, and the two boys had mumbled some excuse and left the room, taking their breakfasts with them.
    At last Chloe found her voice—a low, shaky voice. “We can sort this out,” she told Sophie.
    And Sophie shook her head vaguely and said don’t worry, Mum, I’ve been talking to people, everything’s going to be fine.
    â€œFine?” cried Chloe. “Fine?”
    Yes, Sophie had seen the doctor, and yes, there had been discussion of abortion and the doctor was entirely sympathetic about Sophie not wanting that. Forget it. Not an option. The doctor had put her in touch with counseling people and clinics, everything was taken care of, Sophie knew where to go and what to do, she had diet sheets and an exercise program. And of course she would do her A levels, she could fit them in before the baby came. Sophie had talked to the Head and she had been really nice about everything.
    No, she didn’t want to talk about the father. He was someone she wasn’t going out with anymore and she didn’t want him in the picture.
    Chloe was beginning to feel more stable. The room had ceased to swing. She could plan; her mind was racing—making arrangements, lining up possibilities.
    â€œWe can sort this out,” she repeated. “We’ll see what’s the best way to go about it. We’ll talk to people, find out about agencies, which are the best ones. . . .”
    No way, said Sophie.
    John cleared his throat and said that this needed thinking about, there was no need to do anything in a hurry, Sophie had to think this through, they must all take it calmly.
    Chloe was silenced, poleaxed. For moments she just sat, staring at Sophie. Then she went into overdrive. “People are crying out for babies these days,” she said. “There’s a national dearth of babies for adoption. People go to Romania and Russia and South America for babies. They’d line up for this baby. This baby could have a perfect home, lovely parents who’d been yearning for it.”
    At which point she remembered suddenly that this baby would be her grandchild, and fell silent.
    And there they sat. Sophie poured herself a glass of orange juice. She said that her diet sheet recommended plenty of vitamin C. She told her parents that they mustn’t worry, everything would work out okay. Of course she’d been pretty shattered when she realized, but she’d come to terms with it now, she felt quite positive about it. People had been just so supportive. She looked rather hard at her mother, at this point. She thought it would probably be best if she and the baby moved out, eventually, but there was no need to start making plans yet—after all, there were months and