Babies in Waiting (9 page)

Gemma knew that all her friends thought her life was perfect. She was an only child, living in a big house. Her parents drove great cars, and her father had already promised her a new Mini convertible when she passed her test. But the friends had no idea how lonely it was. They seldom ate meals together: her father was never home for dinner and her mother was always rushing somewhere. They lived on M&S ready meals, eaten separately in the enormous kitchen. They certainly never watched TV together, or went out as a family. Gemma couldn’t really remember the last time she’d heard her parents having a conversation. They seemed to pass by one another, exchanging bits of information occasionally. It wasn’t like they hated each other or that she thought they would get divorced – far from it. More like they just didn’t see each other – as if the other one was invisible.

She didn’t set out to introduce Ben to her parents – it would have been quite difficult. It wasn’t as if she could invite him for a family dinner – they didn’t do dinners like other families did. And she definitely wasn’t ashamed of him. It wasn’t as if he came from a dodgy background or anything . . . far from it. His parents were divorced; his dad was a university lecturer and lived in New York, and his mum was a lawyer. His older sister was at Cambridge.

He and his mum lived in a big, very modern house about a mile from Gemma’s house. It wasn’t even as if he was one of those sullen teenage boys who slouch around and say nothing . . . she knew her dad would hate that. Ben was personable, well-spoken and handsome. She’d seen him with his mum’s friends, and he was very charming to adults. It was almost as if . . . well . . . they’d really approve of him, and that was why she didn’t want them to meet him. The relationship was her own private thing, and she didn’t want Ben to be ‘Gemma’s lovely boyfriend’, who her mum could gossip about at the beautician’s, and her dad could be condescending about to his golf mates.

But a few weeks after they started going out, he came round and they were sitting in the kitchen when her mother breezed in, en route from one appointment to another. She saw Ben and raised one perfect eyebrow. ‘And this is . . . ?’

‘Mum!’ said Gemma, scrambling to her feet and dropping Ben’s hand like it was burning her. ‘This is Ben.’

‘Ben . . . ?’ Samantha said, extending a slim hand.

Ben stood up and smiled his devastating smile. ‘Ben Norman, Mrs Hamilton. So pleased to meet you.’ He shook her hand. ‘You have a lovely home. Thank so much for letting me come round.’

But Gemma’s mum had spent too much time around charming men, including her own husband, to be won by easy compliments.

‘Yes, nice to meet you too, Ben. I’m sure Gemma’s dad will also be very interested to meet you.’

And sure enough, he was. It seemed, to Gemma’s surprise, her parents actually had had a conversation about her, because the next evening her father came into her room and asked about Ben. He suggested that she invite Ben round for tea that weekend,

‘Tea?’ Gemma asked incredulously. ‘We never have tea.’

‘Well, we’re having tea this Sunday. I want a look at this boy.’

Ben took it in his stride. Gemma didn’t like to think how many girls’ houses he’d been invited to for tea before, because he agreed like it wasn’t surprising at all. Where he’d failed with Samantha, he succeeded with Gemma’s father. Within minutes, they were chatting about rugby and cricket and David was offering Ben a beer. It turned out David knew someone who knew Ben’s dad, and in the world of men, it seemed that was enough for them to get on like a house on fire.

At the end of the afternoon Gemma walked with Ben to the bus stop. ‘Thanks for doing that,’ she said hesitantly.

‘No problem,’ he said, giving her a squeeze. ‘I’m good at parents. They love me. And they have no idea what I have planned for their lovely daughter.’ And checking they were well out of sight of the house, he kissed her deeply and stroked her breasts through her shirt.

When she got home, David rumbled something about Ben being a splendid chap and went off to his study. Samantha sat quietly at the kitchen counter, reading a magazine. She didn’t say anything. Gemma went to the
fridge to get a drink, and when she turned back her mum was staring at her.

‘What?’ she asked defensively.

‘Just . . . be careful, darling, won’t you?’ said Samantha brightly, and went back to her magazine.

Gemma was about fourteen when she worked out that her father had other women in his life. He just wasn’t all that worried about hiding it. He’d get a phone call on his mobile and his voice would change and go all honeyed and fake, then he’d leave the room to take the call. He’d tell Samantha he was going out to play golf at the weekend, then drive away, leaving his golf clubs in the hall. Gemma reckoned that if
she
had worked it out, her mother must definitely have worked it out. But her mother just didn’t seem interested . . . or didn’t seem to care. Gemma had wondered about it for a long time, and couldn’t understand it. If she thought about Ben with someone else her stomach tied itself into a knot of pain and she wanted to scream. How could her mother bear it? She wished she could ask her, but she knew exactly what would happen. Her mother would give her an especially blank stare, open her blue eyes very wide and say, ‘I can’t imagine what you’re talking about. Now I have to go, sweetie. I’m very busy.’

Her mother was always very busy. Maybe that was why her father had to look for other women . . . women who weren’t quite so busy and wanted to pay him some attention. Women who could find the time for him. The only
hint that his behaviour touched her mum at all was that on the evenings her dad was ‘out’ Samantha would have several very large glasses of wine with her ready meal. She’d often leave most of the food, but she could finish off a bottle of wine easily on her own.

After a few weeks, Ben and Gemma’s kissing and touching started to get serious. Gemma knew he wanted to have sex with her. She knew without a doubt that she loved him, and he told her all the time that he loved her, so if that was what he wanted, she’d do it. There was no way she could go to their family doctor and ask to be put on the Pill, and Ben had said he didn’t like condoms and didn’t want to use them. He’d suggested they go to his doctor, at a busy practice close to where he lived.

‘You can go there and say you’re my cousin or something,’ he said. ‘Come on, Gem. It’ll be easy.’

To be honest, to Gemma it had sounded terrifying, but if it would make him happy, she wanted to do it. Ben forged a letter from his mum saying Gemma was a niece who had come to stay for a few months. He made it all sound so easy. He made an appointment and then walked with her to the doctors’ surgery. At the glass doors, however, he stopped.

‘See you later. Text me when you come out,’ he said, not meeting her eye.

‘What? Aren’t you coming in with me?’

‘Nah,’ he muttered. ‘They all know me in there. You’d better go alone, it’ll look weird otherwise.’

She wanted to cry, but they’d come so far, and she didn’t know how to say that she wasn’t brave enough to do it alone. She went into the doctors’ waiting room, gave her name and sat down. Through the glass doors, she could see Ben walking away quickly across the playground opposite. The waiting room was bright and cheery, but very busy, filled with harassed-looking mothers and toddlers and sick-looking old people. She was terrified that someone who knew her family might walk in at any time, so she kept her head down and stared at her phone in her lap. She willed it to ring or beep, willed Ben to change his mind and come back and sit with her, but it didn’t happen.

She had to wait for forty-five minutes. She was too upset and apprehensive to read any of the magazines scattered around the waiting room. The long wait gave her time to think about what had happened. Surely if she was actually Ben’s cousin, he might have come to the doctors’ with her? If she was new in town, or something? It wouldn’t have looked that odd for them to have sat in the waiting room together. She had a creeping, sneaking feeling he might be a bit of a coward, but she put the thought out of her head. This was the boy she loved. He loved her too. He’d said so. This was just a little hiccup, and they’d be fine.

The long stay in the waiting room was by far the worst bit of the experience. When her name was finally called, she was ushered in to see a harassed woman doctor, who barely looked at her. Gemma hesitantly said that she wanted to go on the Pill. The doctor nodded, brusquely
took her blood pressure, typed quickly into the computer and printed out a prescription. She was obviously hugely relieved that this appointment had been so simple, and was already watching the door, hoping Gemma would leave quickly so she could make up some time on her overrunning schedule.

Gemma took the hint and left. There was a pharmacy nearby, so she went in and got the first three months’worth of pills. She sat down on a low wall, read the leaflet and took the first tablet. Only then did she text Ben.

Sex the first time was uncomfortable and a bit scary, but he’d seemed to love it so much she felt encouraged, and after a few times it got better and she started to enjoy it more. Afterwards, they’d lie for ages and giggle and talk. Gemma loved this bit best of all.

‘Let’s run away,’ Ben said one day. ‘Just you and me. We’ll get a grotty little studio flat somewhere and I’ll work at Tesco to support you and keep you in ballet shoes.’

‘Ballet shoes?’ laughed Gemma.

‘You can stay home and dance around our tiny flat like a fairy. And I’ll come home all tired in my Tesco uniform, with bags of dented cans of beans and you can make me meringues.’

‘Out of beans?’

‘I’m sure you’ll think of a way to do it. You’re very clever. And we’ll sleep on the floor because we’re too poor to get a bed.’

‘I’m not sleeping on the floor,’ Gemma said firmly. ‘You can get a bed from Tesco Direct with your staff discount.’

‘Ooh,’ said Ben. ‘She’s a nagging wife already!’

She got a little thrill when she called her his wife, but she knew better than to say anything about it. Instead she said hesitantly, ‘I’m sure we can do a bit better than a nasty studio flat. I’ve, um . . . I’ve got some money in trust from my grandma, which I’ll get when I’m eighteen.’

‘Me too!’ said Ben, sitting up, suddenly excited. ‘Mine’s enough to get a car and pay the first year’s insurance. My mum and I are going to start looking for one as soon as I pass my test.’

‘Mine’s . . . um . . . a bit more than that.’

‘How much more?’

‘Well, not enough for a house, but definitely enough for quite a nice one-bedroom flat. Or a not so nice two-bedroom one.’

‘Wow!’ Ben whistled, suddenly impressed. ‘You can be my sugar mommy!’

Gemma giggled. ‘I’m only three weeks older than you.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I’m seeing you in a new light. Well, change of plan. You buy the flat, and then go out to work as a high-powered business lady, and I’ll stay home and look after the kids.’

‘The kids? Now we’re having kids?’

‘At least six,’ he said, pulling her close to him. ‘Let me show you how babies are made, sugar mommy.’

And after they’d had sex again, Ben sat cross-legged on the end of the bed and played his guitar for her. He had a lovely, soft, husky voice, and he sang softly as he played.

Lying in his bed, watching his lovely profile, Gemma thought she’d never been so happy in her life.

A few weeks later, he got the chance to play a few songs in a local bar, as the first act in an open-mic night. Gemma sat in the front, beside herself with pride, and filmed every minute on her phone. There weren’t a lot of people there, mostly Ben’s mates, but he got a great response, and set up a Facebook fan page. Slowly, the number of fans climbed from ten to fifty, and then two hundred. He wasn’t a big star, just popular among the local kids, and he started to get a lot of attention from other girls. Gemma went to all of his gigs and glued herself to his side as soon as he stepped off stage. She saw other girls whispering and looking at her, and she knew they were saying she was the paranoid, psycho girlfriend, but she didn‘t care. Ben was hers and it was going to stay that way. He laughed and chatted to people with her by his side. He didn’t talk much to Gemma, in fact he almost seemed to ignore her, but still. She was his girlfriend and that was what mattered.

One Friday night, Ben played his biggest-ever gig. She’d spent the evening glaring at girls who tried to talk to him and by the end of the night she was ragged with tension. Eventually he extricated himself from his crowd of tittering fans and they left and he walked with her to her bus stop. He was a bit merry and in the mood for sex, and when she said no and that she had to go home because she had ballet first thing on the Saturday, he shrugged and walked off, leaving her at the bus stop without saying goodbye. She cried herself to sleep that night.

It was a good thing she had a busy day the next day . . . it meant she couldn’t fall apart. Her mother gave her a lift to the ballet studio on the way to some charity planning meeting. She spent the whole journey talking to someone about flower arrangements on her mobile phone, so Gemma didn’t have to make conversation.

Once she got to the studio, she went into autopilot. She’d been coming to studios like this since she was five, and the process of changing, doing her hair and warming up came automatically. She took her place at the barre and the class began. They weren’t supposed to talk, but the girls were practised at whispering conversations in the moments when the teacher was at the other end of the line. Behind Gemma, two girls were catching up on the events of the night before.

‘So . . . Nat . . . Josh Morris . . .’ murmured Eleanor between clenched teeth.

‘Yeah. So?’ Natalie was slender, with unusually large breasts for a ballet dancer. She had thick dark hair that coiled like serpents and her eyes were black and heavily fringed with long lashes. Gemma knew that boys loved her and were desperate to go out with her. She’d seen them clustered around Natalie at parties, clowning around, trying to get her attention.

‘Josh Morris . . .’ Eleanor repeated. ‘Mm-mm-mm. He’s fit.’