Babies in Waiting (42 page)

‘He won’t be you, though,’ said Gemma in a small voice, and to my surprise, I felt sorry for her. She really is just a lonely little girl.

‘No, it won’t be me,’ said James, walking her towards the door. ‘It won’t be me, because I’m in love with . . .’

And then, because they were moving towards the door, his voice got muffled and strange over the monitor, so it sounded like he said, ‘I’m in love with Mabel Whiton.’

Mabel Whiton? Who the fuck is Mabel Whiton? And was I going to have to kill her too?

No need to panic, though, reader. I’m not as stupid as I look, because by the time they’d come downstairs, Gemma had called out a quiet goodbye and James had seen her out (and
not
walked her to her car this time), I’d worked out that what he’d actually said was this: ‘I’m in love with my beautiful wife Toni.’

James came back in, and stood behind me at the sink and held me gently. It was then that I realised he probably did know the monitor was on, and that I would hear what he and Gemma said in the bedroom. We went upstairs then. We didn’t speak, but we went into the bathroom together and undressed, and had a slow, lovely shower together, like we always used to in the old days. I washed his hair and he soaped my back, then we dried each other lovingly. He turned off the light then, and in the dim glow of the hallway light, he put me in front of the mirror, and stood behind me. For the first time in months, I looked at the reflection of my naked body.

James stroked my hair, which was longer than it’s been in years. It curled crazily, and he wound one tendril around a finger and then bent to kiss it. He ran his hands over my shoulders, and then gently down over my breasts. They weren’t so enormous any more, but they definitely sat a bit lower than they used to. My nipples were bigger and darker, and each breast was covered in a network of blue veins. But as James gently lifted and stroked each one, I could see they were beautiful. They’d changed because
they were doing what breasts were designed to do – feeding our baby, and I liked them for that.

James slid his hand down to my waist, or where my waist used to be. I’d never been slim, but the bit that used to go in now went out. But as he stroked my sides, I could see that there was a certain lush beauty in that curve. Not size zero, but lovely in a different way.

With infinite tenderness, James ran his hand over my belly, still a bit jellified, and marked by a few purple tigerstripe stretch marks. They would show if I wore bikni but then I’d never worn a bikni in my life so that was no loss. Finally he slid his hand down to the edge of my pubic hair and traced the line of my caesarean scar with one finger. It wasn’t sore any more, and the hair hid it almost completely, but it was there. A mark on my body that would never go away. Did I care? Not at all. It was nothing compared to what we had gained when that cut was made.

And then he slid his fingers lower, and I was amazed at how powerfully my body responded. I turned around to face him, and he drew me into his arms. I buried my face in the curve of his neck, and it smelled of home.

After the crazy turmoil of the previous year, the first three months of the new one were remarkably kind and gentle to Louise. Peter started sleeping a little better and grew into a bonny, chubby, laughing baby. She started tentatively looking for work, and found a part-time opportunity, lecturing in business and management at a local further-education college. She loved the work, spending two mornings and one afternoon a week there. It didn’t pay a fortune, but together with her savings, it meant she didn’t have to look for anything more full-time until Peter was at least a year old. Rachel looked after Peter when she worked, and they had become much closer, losing the awful combative edge to their relationship.

As for Adam, they had kept on with their slow, careful dating, until one rainy Wednesday evening, they had lost all self control and ended up ripping one another’s clothes off on Louise’s sofa. Adam, with enormous presence of mind, had condoms with him, and after the initial desperate coupling, they had gone to the bedroom for
several more leisurely attempts. Peter woke up bright-eyed and early the next morning to two very bleary, but very happy adults. So things had moved on, and she was almost ready to admit to herself, and to him, that she loved Adam.

As the weather warmed up and blossoms and flowers began to appear, she admitted that she was beginning to love Surrey too. She had given up her home and her career up north, and it had seemed like an enormous loss, but, unexpectedly, she had found a real home down south . . . she loved being closer to Simon and Rachel and having a sense of family for the first time since their parents had died. Her friendship with Toni was strong, and she found she got along famously with Toni’s friend Caro too. There was no doubt, she had blessings, and possibly too many to count.

Rachel invited Louise and Peter, Adam and Simon over for lunch on Easter Sunday. The weather was glorious, so Richard wheeled out his enormous barbecue and the men all gathered around it and made an enormous fuss about grilling a few bits of meat. Rachel and Louise stood on the patio, looking out over the beautiful garden. Peter, who had recently learned to sit up by himself, sat on a soft rug at their feet, shredding one of Rachel’s expensive magazines.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot! I bought Peter a little inflatable pool,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s probably not warm enough for him today, but I thought during the week he might like to have a splash and play with some toys.’ She went round to the other side of the patio and came back dragging the brightly coloured pool, already filled with water.

‘He loves his bath,’ said Louise. ‘I’m sure he’ll be thrilled with it.’

‘I won’t leave him for a second,’ said Rachel anxiously. ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t get chilled, and I’ll cover him in sunscreen, or get one of those little wetsuits.’

‘I know you will. I trust you absolutely. Still, as it’s all set up, it seems a waste not to use it. If it’s too cold for Peter, we could put our feet in it and sip Pimm’s, and pretend we’re on holiday in the Bahamas!’

‘I like it!’ said Rachel, giggling a little. She went to get them each a glass of Pimm’s from the jug on the table. She had loosened up so much, thought Louise. It was lovely to see her having fun.

They pulled chairs closer to the splash pool, moved Peter nearby and kicked off their shoes. Louise wiggled her toes in the cool water and sipped her drink.

‘This is definitely the life. We just need a few fine-looking lifeguards to jog by and my happiness would be complete.’

‘Get your handsome Adam to whip his shirt off,’ suggested Rachel.

‘Oh, he’s much too dignified for that,’ smiled Louise, allowing herself a private moment to think about Adam with his shirt off, and what a lovely thing that was. ‘Nice pedicure, by the way,’ she said, looking at Rachel’s toes.

‘My beautician Lara is an artist,’ said Rachel, extending a foot and admiring it.

‘I can’t remember the last time I had a pedicure,’ Louise said sadly, looking at her own chipped polish.

‘I’ll treat you. One Saturday morning, you can go to Lara and Peter and I will go for a walk around the shops.’

‘Sounds like heaven.’

‘Look at our feet, though,’ Rachel observed. ‘They’re exactly the same. You’ve also got that twisted little toe.’

‘They are the same, you’re right. I’ve never noticed that before.’

‘So, how’s your friend Toni? The one who had PND?’

‘She’s doing great. Harry’s a sweet little chap. Had a few problems in the beginning, but she’s really got into the whole motherhood thing. She’s still friends with loads of women from our antenatal classes, so she’s started running a mums and babies group, and she’s always trying to drag me along. Peter and I don’t really go in for group activities, though. I’m too old to sing, “Wind the bobbin up”, and Peter’s too cool.’

Rachel smiled down at Peter. ‘You all right, sweetheart?’ she said, stroking his flaming red hair. ‘Oh, Lou, next Easter, he’ll be twenty months old. He’ll be running everywhere! We can have an Easter-egg hunt for him in the garden. It’ll be lovely.’

They sat in silence for a bit. The men’s conversation, inevitably about sport, drifted across to them. Peter babbled happily to himself as he set about eating a picture of Penelope Cruz. Taking a deep breath, Louise turned to her sister. ‘Rach, I want to ask you something. Can you let me say my piece before you stop me?’

‘Okay.’

‘We haven’t spoken much about your problems trying
to conceive lately, and I know you probably still think I’m the last person you want to talk to about it . . .’

Rachel took a breath, as if to interrupt, but Louise kept talking. ‘Simon’s told me some of what you’ve been going through. I know you don’t want to have a baby that’s not yours, but how about having a baby that comes from your genetic pool?’

She reached into her handbag and drew out a magazine. ‘There’s an article in here about women who have been egg donors for their sisters. I know it sounds weird when you say it like that, but read the stories. I think . . . well, I think it could work for you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Rachel, would you let me be your egg donor?’

‘Lou, I—’

‘Don’t say anything now. Don’t decide now. Read the article. Do some more research. Talk to Richard. The offer stands, whenever and whatever you decide.’

Rachel nodded, clearly unable to speak. Louise sat and looked at her for a moment longer, then scooped Peter up and went over to join the men at the barbecue. She glanced back, and Rachel was sitting staring at her own feet in the water, as if she’d never seen them before.

Gemma stood in the doorway of the church hall, clutching the handle of her pushchair tightly. The noise level seemed astonishing, maybe because the hall was so large and echoey. There were four or five boisterous little boys, who looked about three years old, racing around the room on push-along cars. Two other children seemed intent on scattering Lego over the entire floor surface, and there was a screaming match between an angelic blonde girl of about two and a thickset little boy over a set of plastic power tools. The mums all stood clustered around a table at the far end of the room, sipping coffee and chatting, seemingly ignoring their rampaging offspring. It was all terrifying, and Gemma was suddenly sure she didn’t belong there.

She was about to back out of the doorway and go back home when a smiling woman with grey hair and bright green eyes came hurrying over. ‘Hello, new ones! Welcome to St Gerard’s baby-and-toddler group,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m Diana.’

‘I’m Gemma, and this is Millie,’ Gemma said. It seemed she wouldn’t be able to leave now. But Diana made her feel a bit easier when she glanced ruefully around the room and said, ‘I know it all looks a bit raucous, but I think you’ll find it a bit more peaceful in the baby corner. You can leave your pushchair here in our buggy park.’

Gemma unstrapped Millie, and holding her close followed Diana to the other side of the room. Next to the table where the women were having coffee there was a little circle of chairs and sofas. Someone had put a rug down in the middle of the space and covered it in colourful baby mats. There were a few other women with smaller babies sitting there, and they all smiled welcomingly as Gemma approached. She sat down hesitantly, holding Millie on her lap. Diana rattled off a list of names, pointing at mums and babies, but Gemma didn’t catch any of them.

A woman with dark, curly hair and beautiful eyes, who had a fat little baby on her breast, leaned over to say hello. ‘We were just talking about weaning. Gemma, is it? How old is your little one?’

‘Six months,’ said Gemma.

‘Really? She’s a small one. But I suppose you’re a small-boned girl too. This little bruiser’s also six months, believe it or not. So, have you started weaning?’

‘A bit of baby rice and some mashed fruit,’ said Gemma hesitantly.

‘She eats fruit?’ Another woman sitting opposite chimed in. Her baby was sitting in a bouncy canvas chair opposite,
and she was dangling a turtle toy just out of his reach. ‘Mine won’t touch any fruit, just spits it out. What have you given her?’

‘Some banana, and a bit of papaya. She liked that.’

‘Wow!’ said the first woman. ‘I hadn’t thought of papaya. Good thinking!’

The conversation barrelled along, and Gemma was mainly content to listen. Every now and then the darkxhaired woman, who was called Vicky, would ask her a question, drawing her into the chat. She felt oddly at ease. She could contribute intelligently to the talk about babies, and even though the other women were a bit older than her, they talked about the same kind of things Gemma’s other friends might talk about: what had been on TV, celebrity gossip, a book several of them had been reading. She’d been very reluctant to come to a baby-and-toddler group with a bunch of strangers, but she’d been worried that Millie wasn’t getting enough stimulation. She was glad now that she’d been brave enough to give it a go.

Millie, who had sat quietly on her lap for a while, was now leaning over precariously, staring at the brightly coloured jungle-animal mat on the floor. The mat looked clean enough, so Gemma put her down on her tummy. Millie immediately grabbed the loose ear of an elephant, which had a cellophane crinkle to it, and began to chew on it. She seemed content.

‘While she’s happy, go and grab a tea or a coffee,’ Vicky said. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’

Gemma would have said no, but the coffee table was
right beside the baby corner and she would be able to see Mille the whole time. She picked up a paper cup, popped a teabag in, and waited her turn for hot water from the urn.

‘Biscuit?’

She looked up and a gawky young man standing behind the table was holding out a plate of digestives. ‘Um, no thanks,’ she said.

He seemed out of place at a toddler group: he was too old to be a big brother, but too young to be a dad. Although, as Gemma reminded herself, most people would say she looked too young to be a mum. Maybe he was a single dad. He seemed to read her enquiring expression, because he said, ‘I’m Seamus. I’m here to help my nan today . . . Diana. She runs the group.’