My Darling Daughter

"I'm sorry, Angela, but that's the way it is. It's too late for you to do anything about it now."

I closed the bedroom door leaving my wife on her knees beside the big double bed we had once shared, praying in a loud, belligerent voice as though her God could be bullied into granting what she wanted.

I had told her that it wasn't her fault, but if I had been honest and if there is blame to be apportioned, she is more to blame than anyone. But I have no intention of telling her that. It had been bad enough having to tell her that Susie, our young daughter, was pregnant.

Our problems began four years ago when Brian, our fifteen-year-old son, was knocked off his bicycle by a hit-run driver in the Australian coastal town in which we live. He died from his injuries the following day without regaining consciousness. The eldest of our two children, he had been Angela's favourite and, after he died, Susie and I were left in no doubt that he was the only one she had ever really cared about. Her grieving seemed as though it would never end.

In her distraught state, she was easy prey for Brother Gideon and his Church of the Walls of Jericho. This weird and frightening sect seemed to base its beliefs on a few out-of-context verses of the Old Testament, with the charlatan who ran it seeking to take control of the minds, if not the souls, of his congregation. After I attended a couple of the services, I tried to make Angela see what was happening but all this achieved was that she banished me to the spare room and its futon.

When Susie turned fourteen, she dealt with her mother's disinterest and lack of affection by getting herself an after-school-and-weekend job helping to restock the shelves in one of the local supermarkets. She was relieving on the checkout within a year and soon after her sixteenth birthday was offered a full time job. I tried to talk her into staying on at school but she wouldn't listen, took the job, and soon left home to share a small flat with one of the other girls from the store. I honestly couldn't say I blamed her.

She had developed into a pretty, blonde, blue-eyed, young woman, and I sometimes sneaked into the supermarket just to lurk behind the shelves and watch her at work. Good at her job, she had a ready smile for all the customers but especially for the boys who came in simply to buy cigarettes or a can of Coke and chat her up on their way through her checkout.

I decided it was time we had a quiet talk about sex, so I arranged to meet her after work one evening, and we sat on a bench by the beach. She was soon giggling uncontrollably at my awkward and embarrassed attempts to explain the facts of life. Finally getting control of herself, she patted me on the arm and tried to reassure me.

"Don't worry Dad. I always make them wear a condom."

"Them?" I questioned. "How many of them are there?"

"I don't know. A few. I don't keep score."

My carefully rehearsed explanation had been for an innocent and inexperienced young girl. While I was deeply disturbed by her actions and attitude, I could see nothing would be gained from continuing that conversation. Instead, I took her for fish and chips at our favourite café.

Six weeks later, she rang me at the office and asked me to meet her at the beach after work. When I arrived, she rushed straight into my arms and burst into tears. "I'm pregnant," was all she whispered as she sobbed into my coat collar. I held her close and let her cry, guiding her to an empty bench, and offering my handkerchief when the sobs became more widely spaced.

"What do you want to do about it?" I asked when she stopped crying.

"I don't know yet. It was only confirmed this morning. It's too soon to decide. First, I need to get used to the idea."

I rang Angela from a phone box to tell her I was going to McDonalds with Susie. There were a few questions like 'Do you know who the father is?' that I needed to ask, but McDonalds, half-way through a Big Mac, didn't seem to be the place. As we drove back to her flat, I told her that we both needed time to think things over and that I would see her again in a few days.

"You won't tell Mum yet, will you.? Please." she asked as I was leaving. I was only too happy to agree, and my task was made easy by Angela's total lack of interest in what we had been doing.

Over the next few days, Susie's pregnancy occupied most of my thoughts. First, there was anger both with her and then with myself for having let this happen. Then I started to blame Angela, who, by her indifference, virtually forced our daughter out of the house and into the arms of who knows how many boys in her search for affection. But I find anger a hard emotion to sustain, and I was soon thinking about alternatives and solutions. Why should Susie, who was still only sixteen years old, be saddled with a child at this time of her life? My mind finally settled on abortion. It certainly would be the most satisfactory way out. I phoned the supermarket and left a message asking Susie to meet me at the beach after work.

Later in the afternoon, the enormity of what I would be asking struck me like a lightning bolt. This inconvenient embryo was my grandchild -- possibly the only grandchild I may ever have. The more I thought about it the more I wanted that grandchild.

I was still in a confused emotional state when I set off to meet Susie at the beach. I was late and she was sitting on a bench waiting with the last rays of the sun setting fire to her long, blonde hair. There were no signs of the frightened, weeping child of a few days ago. This young woman, gazing confidently out to sea, looked so radiant that she positively glowed. I knew immediately that my grandchild was safe.