The Green Pencil
Twelve weeks. Maybe a bit more, the doctor said calmly.
What do you mean? Jenny stopped rubbing the gel off her stomach and stared, frozen.
Your pregnancy, Jenny. Surely you knew? Youre a doctor, arent you? Haven’t you realised what’s going on?
Jenny shook her head. No. That cant be rightI can’t be pregnant!
Why not?
Im not married. Not anymore. And I Jenny’s voice caught, and she trailed off. Could it be?
She shut her eyes for a heartbeat, trying to banish the sense that none of this was real, that shed walked into some fevered dream from which shed never awaken. Her fingertips tingled, as they did whenever panic threatened to coil in her chest. But she opened her eyes. No point in throwing a fit just yether mum would never have stood for that. Mum always said Jenny was like an ostrich stranded on a London pavement.
A half-smile flickered across Jennys lips as she remembered the little sketch Mum drew her years ago and pinned up above her desk: a gawky, big-eyed bird standing right in the middle of the city, nervous and ridiculous, not realising there were patches of emerald grass and open roads everywhereshe simply refused to move.
Look, Mum had said, that ostrich thinks shes out of options, but shes not. All she has to do is look around a bit. Cant you see?
At six, Jenny had turned the drawing around and around in her hands, brow furrowed. It just looks lost, Mum. I feel sorry for it.
Who, love? Mum had grinned. The bird, or the opportunity?
The bird! Jenny had nearly bawled.
Will feeling sorry change anything?
No.
Try this then. Mum pressed a green pencil into Jennys hand and picked up a rubber. Watch.
In moments, Mum erased the city around the ostrich. Where old buildings and buses vanished, she guided Jennys hand to sketch new grass, a couple of oaks, giant white clouds edged in green. The world changed.
There. Does the bird look happier now?
Jenny had nodded, caught up by the new scene. Yes. It could run forever now. It looks free.
And who made it so?
You did?
No, darling. You did. With your own green pencil. I just helped a bit. Remember, you can always remake your world. For yourself, not just imagined birds. Onedraw the grass where you need it, tworun wherever you please, and threewish for something marvellous, and at least try to make it real.
Years had passed since Mum died, but Jenny carried every word with her, every odd little story, every kitchen-table chat. The kitchen was always spotless, unlike the rest of the flat, which was a chaos of paints, canvases, brushesno studio for Mum, so the home had become her haven.
Mum called those talks kitchen sessions.
Oh! Another kitchen session? shed laugh, struggling to scrub paint off her nose or cheeks. Jenny always burst out giggling: Mum, you look more like a painting than half your canvases!
The days together were always good, even if Mum wasnt the proper typeJenny ironed her own school uniform and learned to bake treacle tart alone. But beside her mother, Jenny always felt safe, always knew someone would back her, flaws and all.
Shed tested that certainty a few times, like the occasion Jenny came home from Year One, blouse ripped, black eye blossoming fiercely.
Dear me, what a royal shiner! Darling, who managed that?
Jenny, mortified about the ruined blouse, cried until her freckles nearly disappeared. The real storyhow the class bad boy Toby had tried to grab her satchel (he thought he was helping) and shed resistedfelt too silly to tell. Toby declared her odd and said people should steer clear, and Jenny believed him. After all, who could fancy the likes of her: ginger tangle of curls (Mum called them her exploded carrots), green eyes like duckweed at the zoo, legs that never seemed straight? The idea that someone might like her was laughable.
Her satchel, a battered brown leather relic Mum had convinced her into using, held her secret treasure: a brand new tin of pastels. Shed quietly borrowed them from Mum, dreaming to make a splash at art class, even though she was a far cry from her mothers talent.
She never did follow in her mothers artistic footsteps. At seventeen, timid but determined, Jenny asked if she could study medicine instead. Mum just shrugged: Its your life, sweetheart, and later, Jenny overheard her, half-tearful, half-laughing behind the closed bedroom door, talking to her only friend, Aunt Sue.
Where did the urge come from? Shes never even met him! Mum exclaimed. Got the same spark as her dad, I suppose. Pure orange and all.
Sue was the only person Mum really trustedJenny had often wondered why.
Shes enough for me! Were both solitary souls. Some friendships dont need words or greetings we just are.
I think I get it, Jenny said, though the truth was she didntnot then.
It was Sue who later told Jenny about her father, after her mother passed.
He was a surgeon, love. Good with his hands. Pieced your mums wrist together after the crash. Clever, but hopeless as a husbandbolted the moment he heard about you. Didnt want the hard parts. Disappeared properly when you were five. He patched me up once, too, the only reason I remember. Saved my life, then vanished. Didnt even say goodbye. Your mum was hurt by that.
I dont care, Jenny had snapped, pulling off the silly black scarf someone made her wear at the funeral. Her infamous ginger hair flamed in the sun. Mum would want me to live! Anything elseout!
So Jenny lived: university, late nights bent over books, solitude. Shed never fit in, too tall, a bit awkward, forever those unruly ginger curls. Kids at school had taunted her:
Oi, ginger Ellie the elephant! Seen one before, have you?
At the back of the classroom, she built a fortress of defiance and hoped just once someone might come along and like her as she was.
No one did. Her best friend remained Mum. What was the point of chasing someone elses affection?
Max appeared at uni when Jenny was in her third year, shuffling in oversized glasses, a good half-head shorter than she was. One morning, as she rushed down the hall, he bumped into her, scattering her revision notes everywhere.
Im so sorry! Herelet me
Handing back her tattered notes, cheeks bright pink above his specs, Max stammered, Do you study here?
Jenny only managed a weary nodshed been up all nightthen trudged off, unaware how Max watched her go, cursing his own bag, which remained sprawled on the floor.
Later, after her exam (which, for once, went better than expected), she caught herself hungry beyond reason, thoughts on nothing but food.
Max waited on the landing near the main entrance, but she didnt notice him, eyeing the bus as she debated heading home for leftovers. At least then, she wouldnt have to spend money she couldnt spare.
He caught up with her at the stop, breathless. Sorry, silly questionwhats your name?
Jenny. Jennifer.
Max. Pleased to meet you.
They stared awkwardly at each other amid the crowds amused glances.
Whatre you up to now? he blurted as the bus rumbled closer.
Going home for lunch.
Whatre you having?
Cold summer soup. Mums recipe.
I love that, Max admitted, heart on his sleeve. If youre offering, I make a decent one myself.
Surprising even herself, Jenny replied, Well, what are we waiting for? Off we go, then. You can show me your version!
They married six months later. Max didn’t want to wait, and soon Jenny realised he made her feel truly seen. Not the warm security of her mother, but something close, something good.
Her mother-in-law, Anne, was unimpresseda ginger, eccentric girl whod stolen her only son, a head taller than him to boot, who never seemed to care what people might say.
Jennifer, you cant possibly skip the ceremony! Anne protested. What will people think?
What people? Jenny replied coolly. I havent got any family of my own.
But we do! And youre marrying into us. You must respect our traditions.
Jenny shrugged, glancing at Max, who looked beaten.
Fine. Whatever you think best.
No point arguing, though Jenny regretted it straight away. Anne micromanaged every detail, from the dress to the cake, chiding when Jenny disagreed.
The day itself was chaos, Jenny bored and desperate to run. Guests gossiped about the flaming ginger hair shed refused to stuff into a chignon.
Why would I want a loaf on my head? she muttered, to Maxs delight.
At last, Jenny yanked off her veil and sat disheveled, quietly amused at the whispered remarks.
Jenny, youve scandalized the lot! Max grinned.
Well, I wanted a bit of fun!
Anne pushed hard for them to move in, but Jenny refused.
Ive got a flat near the hospital. Its bigger, and the commutes a doddle.
But wholl cook, clean, care for Max? Hes used to a certain order!
Is he? Ask him.
And without hesitation, Max dismissed it: Were living apart, Mum. Jennys my wife, not my housekeeper.
Jenny later realised that standing her ground that first move sowed the seeds for years of Annes passive-aggressive comments. Little things built into a mountain Jenny couldnt ignore.
Max, its been seven years. No children. Are you sure she can ever give you a family?
Its not just about kids, Mum. I love her.
But what about our familys future? If not Jenny, then when?
When Anne pressed once too often, Jenny cut in: Are you absolutely certain Im the only problem, Anne?
Anne bristled: Max is perfectly healthy!
At which point Jenny produced hospital reports to prove otherwise. Anne waved them away dismissively: Nonsense. Children are a blessing. If you havent one, its only because God hasnt blessed your marriage.
Anne became increasingly religious, made pilgrimages, and filled her room with icons and saints. Max just shrugged: Let her believe as she likes, Jen. It doesnt bother me.
But Jenny was exhaustedby justifying herself, by the endless grievances, by shouldering every fault that crept through the marriage. She never told Anne about her miscarriages; shed grieved those lost children silently and passed on the little knitted booties to a pregnant friend, finally packing away those dreams for good.
She filed for divorce in early February. The snow vanished, rain swept the city, and her mood soaked into the bleakness outsiderivulets of tears on glass that no hand could wipe away. On the inside, Jenny drew nonsense words on the steam-kissed window, her finger aching.
Max tried to reason with her, pleaded to work things out, but Jenny drew the line.
Im done, Max. This is my only lifeand I cant live it being the villain in your mothers tiny drama.
That is mad, Jen.
Mad or not, Im done. Im going to draw the grass, like Mum said. I need my own green pencila world where Im good enough. Where things belong to me.
She changed her number, had the locks redone, boxed up Maxs things, and cut herself off. Solitude settled in so thickly Jenny forgot what real sleep felt like; nights blurred as she wandered the flat, half-mourning, half-hoping for one more sleepy moment beside Max.
But he was gone, and would remain goneor so she thought.
Days passed. Jenny found Mums old box of pencils and paints up on the top shelf. Setting it on the lounge carpet, Jenny dusted it, stroked tattered brushes. There was no drawing paper, but she resolved to buy some tomorrow. Drawing was the only way she really thought things throughjust like Mum.
Havent done this in ages, Mum. Maybe I should
She brushed dust off her Mums framed photo, then paused to clean up, before realisingno one could scold her now. She was free, at last, to do exactly as she liked.
The next morning, plans for the art shop evaporated. Jenny was late for work, dashing down city streets, too rushed to think. She threw on her white coat, rang her friend at the surgery.
Claire? Could you give me a checkup? I feel dreadful
Patients lined up at her clinic, one after another, and Jenny forgot her worries in their routine complaints. But by days end, Claires news left her reeling: twelve weeks along, at least.
Jenny drifted home, numb, climbing the narrow stairs, barely seeing as she staggered past her own door to find Anne waiting on the landing.
Jenny
She turned, weary. You?
I Im sorry for troubling you, Jenny. Annes words tumbled over each other, far too quickly, afraid Jenny would slam the door first. I have to talk to youjust this once. Please?
Jenny swallowed her retort, unlocked the door, stood aside silently. Anne stooped to pet Hamletthe fat tabby perching on the hall cabinet.
Goodness, look at you, Hamlet! Time for a diet, my boy, else youll turn into a football!
Jenny kicked off her boots, hung up her coat, and fetched Anne a pair of old slippers.
These are mine
Yes, Jenny replied, I kept them. Didnt want to throw them away.
She led Anne into the kitchen, flicked the kettle on. What was it you wanted, Anne?
Anne sat, shoulders hunched. I Jenny, I was wrong. About everything. I came between you and Max. I’ve lost my son. I wanted to protect him, but all I did was push him away.
Did it never occur to you, Anne, that we’re adults? That a marriage ought to be about the two people in it, not anyone outside?
Anne wiped her eyes. Youre right, absolutely. But somethings shifted. The new vicar at our churchthe way he speakshes made me see it. I always thought I was doing right. But all I did was damage. Jenny, Max loves you. Hes been utterly lost without youhes barely working, barely sleeping. He even started drinking, though he gave it up quickly. He saves lives, but his real life is you. Did I ever tell youMax wasnt my first child. I lost four before him. There was a girl before him lovely child, but she didnt survive. My husband left for a while, bitter and blaming. He eventually came back, and then Max arrived, and life gained new meaning. When you lost your babies I should have supported you, but I failed. I thought it made sense to be strict, to be a judge, but who am I to play God?
This is what the new vicar explained?
Anne nodded. He said no one has the right to judge another marriage, or say whos worthy of a blessing. I know youre not religious, but
Says who? Jenny interjected.
Surprised, Anne faltered. Its justwell, you never talked about it.
Because I think faiths private. Not for teacup debates.
Youre right, Anne smiled faintly, relief in her eyes.
In my job, you cant help but wonder, sometimes. But if you dont mind, maybe well shelve this discussion for another day. Im exhausted, Anne. And I want to sleep. All the time, latelysee? Jenny slid a ring of spare keys across the table. Give these to Max. Tell him Im waiting for him.
Jenny barely remembered staggering from the kitchen to the sofa. Hamlet grumbled as Max slipped quietly into the flat an hour later, nudged the cat aside, and lay down next to her.
Youre here, she murmured, snuggling into her favourite spot on his shoulder.
Nowhere else Id rather be.
Four years later, Anne would be perched at a childs table next to their little girl.
What should we draw today?
A bird! the girl would declare.
What kind?
A big one!
Why do you need a green pencil?
For the grass! So the bird can run without hurting its feet!
Oh, Anne would laugh, I think we might have another doctor in the family! Your parents will be thrilled. Come on, lets draw your bird. And, kissing the childs copper curls, shed smile.
