Id known Imogen since we were kids at primary school, and wed always talked about the day wed tie the knot.
My mum, Angela Whitaker, ran the maternity ward at StGeorges Hospital and she never liked my choice. Shed always preferred Claire, the senior nurse who was popular not only with the staff but also with the patientsa proper doctors daughter from a respected medical family.
After finishing our Alevels, I went straight into medical school while Imogen enrolled in a language college, hoping to become a translator like her mother and grandmother. Our classmates decided to mark the occasion with a weekend away in the countryside, so we all headed to my familys old cottage in the Cotswolds.
We stayed almost a month, reluctant to leave the peace of the hills. Eventually the term began, and we had to get back to our studies.
One crisp autumn evening Imogen whispered to me:
Phil, Im pregnant. How do you feel about that?
What do you think? Of course Ill take you to the register office and marry you, I replied, grinning.
Im not exactly lightfooted at the moment.
Scare a sportsman? I used to wrestle at school. Youre as light as a feather to me, I joked, delighted.
What about our studies? she asked.
School, right, love. Looks like youll need a years break after the birth.
Ill do distance learning, like my mum did. She had me at nineteen and managed everything. But lets be clear, Phil: after we marry youll move in with my parents. Keep your distance from my mothershell never accept me. Shes a character, thats for sure.
Only for your peace of mind, love, I agreed.
We filed the marriage notice at the register office and went our separate ways. Imogens flat was already buzzing with guests. A friend of her fathers arrived with his wife and their sixteenyearold son, Alexander, a lanky lad who looked older than his years.
Back at my house I told my parents the news and hinted that they should start preparing for the wedding.
That night my mother, angry, marched over to Imogens parents home to cause a scene. She rang the doorbell repeatedly, but no one answered. Inside, a piano was playing a tune that matched the bells chime, and everyone was too preoccupied to notice a stranger at the door. Alexander was in the shower and, hearing no response, wrapped a towel around his hips and opened the door.
My mother stared, bewildered, then realised she had her phone in her hand. She hit record and started filming the hallway, focusing on the towelclad Alexander.
Are you here to see MrsWhitaker? he asked, not understanding why she was fiddling with the camera.
Not any more, my mother muttered, hurrying down the stairs.
Later at home she showed me the video, emphasizing how long it had taken Alexander to answer.
Do you recognise the hallway? she asked. Whos the father of Imogens baby, anyway?
I get it, Mum. You were right. She isnt the one for me.
I sent an angry text to Imogen, then switched off my phone entirely. She tried calling, but I didnt answer, and, despite the late hour, she trudged over to my flat looking for an explanation.
Id expected her to come, and I watched from the window as she approached. When she reached the door, I threw it open myself, stepped onto the landing and said, What do you want from Phil? Hes already asleep. And you, playing both sides? Keep seeing other blokes, you twofaced whore, before slamming the door behind her.
Imogen collapsed onto the step, tears streaming down her face. After a while she limped back home. In the kitchen, her mother, Anne Whitaker, was washing dishes when her sobbing daughter clung to her.
Love, whats wrong? The weddings coming upyou should be happy.
Mum, theres nothing left but a child Im carrying. It seems your husband stirred up trouble after finding out wed filed for marriage, Imogen said, showing her mother the scathing message Id sent.
If Phil behaves like that, hell keep obeying his parents. Gods kept him away from you. Well raise the child ourselves, Anne tried to comfort her.
The fallout left Imogens pregnancy fraught. She was rushed to the maternity ward while her parents were at work. The baby was delivered under anaestheticthe only safe optionbut the doctors later told her the infant had been stillborn.
The paperwork gave us the body, which we buried quietly. Imogen remained in the ward, missing the funeral.
Soon after, my parents sold their house and moved away.
Its for the best, love, my mother told me. Youve had enough trouble with Phil, and he just walks past with his nose in the air.
I hope Ill forget him faster, Mum, Imogen replied.
Eight years later, Imogen worked as a translator for a small firm when I walked into her office.
Why are you here again? Ive long since moved on, she said coolly.
Im sorry, but tragedy has brought me back.
Thats odd, Phil. Youve got a good mumtalk to her about your problems. Ive no time for you. Please leave.
I beg you, Immy, listen. It matters to you too. Ill wait at the café across the road after work.
Ill only come out of curiosity, Imogen said, turning back to her screen and signalling the end of the conversation.
That evening we met again.
Im sorry, Immy, but my son is ill and needs a donor.
Youve got the wrong address, Phil. Your mother has more money in this town.
Weve been waiting, and theres no donor. Ive even put my flat up for sale. Youre a mothermaybe you can help.
Is this a joke? Our son was stillborn. My parents buried him.
Hes alive, eight now.
How?
Remember the day we lodged our marriage notice?
Ill never forget your nasty message.
I repeated the story my mother had told me about what shed seen that night. Imogen explained who Alexander was, and my skin went cold. I still loved her, but Id never married; shed stayed single, fearing another loss.
Phil, tell me about your mothers involvement.
When you were in the maternity ward, my mum was there and saw you being wheeled into surgery. She guessed I might be the father. The test proved it, but she refused to give you the child. Im to blame for agreeing to that. My grudge haunted me. Gods punished usour son, Samuel, is ill.
Lets go see him. Test me for compatibility. If Im not a match, he must share my blood type.
Yes, Im typeO, youre typeA.
My hands trembled as I entered the clinics ward and saw my boy.
Samuel, Ive finally found our mother. Weve been lost, but people helped us meet, I said, while Imogen stood speechless.
Dad, Ive been waiting for you, imagining you like this. We dont have your photos at home.
Son, everything will be alright. Im here and Ill do whatever it takes for you to be healthy, Imogen sobbed, hugging her child.
The doctors say youre a match, Phil. Samuel can be cured.
I sold my flat and settled the clinics bill. We now live together in a modest house with Imogens parents.
Immy, forgive me. We need to marry, and you should have another child. Our sons doctor says siblings are better donors than parents.
Ive read that, Phil. For the sake of our children, Ill do anything.
We married, and besides Samuel we now raise two more childrena boy and a girl.
