Dear Thing (17 page)

Romily waved her hand. ‘You don’t have to imply anything. I own a mirror. And besides, I feel awful.’ She put her drink down on the table without tasting it.

‘Is everything okay? With the baby?’

‘Your baby is fine. It’s the damn hormones that are doing me in.’

‘Ben said you had a bit of morning sickness.’

‘It started out as a bit. For the past week I’ve been sick every two hours on the dot. It’s got to the point where I don’t bother to eat anything that looks substantially different coming out than it did going in. Weetabix is the easiest. No offence to all that food you sent or anything.’

‘That’s awful. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault. Well, it is, sort of.’ She laughed, but not as if she found it funny.

‘I thought morning sickness wasn’t supposed to last past the first trimester,’ Claire said.

‘In theory, not for most women. I never even had it last time. I’m just getting unlucky this go round.’ She poked her cup with a finger. ‘How are you, anyway?’

‘Fine, thank you. We saw some friends on the weekend. Priya and Mike. You might remember them from the wedding.’

‘Oh yeah.’

‘How’s everything else? How’s Posie?’

‘Posie is fine. She misses you.’

Claire bit her lip. ‘Yes, I can imagine. Sorry.’

‘I’ll tell her you said hi.’ Romily sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. ‘So Ben couldn’t make it so you came to check up on me?’

‘He was a bit … worried. He said you weren’t answering his phone calls.’

‘He shouldn’t be offended. I haven’t been answering anybody’s.’

Possibilities zipped through Claire’s mind. Romily had changed her mind. She had antenatal depression. She’d told her work and they’d sacked her. Posie had taken the news badly.

‘Don’t look so terrified,’ Romily said. ‘Your baby is fine, I told you, though I haven’t had much energy to cook those amazing vegetables or write those heartfelt letters you thought were such a good idea.’

Her tone was so sarcastic that Claire snapped, ‘Actually I wasn’t thinking about the baby or the letters. I was thinking of you.’

‘Worried about whether I’m following all the instructions you gave me?’

‘No, I—’

‘Because there were a lot of them. Books and printouts and pamphlets. Everything in incredible detail. If Ben hadn’t repeatedly assured me otherwise, I’d have thought you didn’t trust me to get it right.’

‘That’s not—’

‘Because I have actually done this before, you know. And Posie hasn’t turned out so badly. I’m not completely hopeless when it comes to incubating a baby. I don’t need every self-help manual on the planet.’

Romily’s eyes were fierce in her tired face. She looked rumpled, almost feral. Claire sat taller in her chair, trying to keep her voice calm, to be the rational one.

‘Ben keeps on saying that I should get involved,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s fair that I should be attacked for it.’

‘
Ben
told you to be Lady Bountiful?’

‘I was only sending you things to help. I had no idea it was offending you so much. I shall certainly stop if you want me to.’

‘Oh, that’s right, it’s all my fault. You’ve always been the helpful one, the generous one, with Posie and now with this. Don’t you ever think that it might make me feel like I’m not good enough?’

People were watching them. Claire lifted her finger to her lips. ‘Shh.’

‘Don’t shush me! I’m hormonal and I feel like shit and I don’t need someone telling me how to live every minute of my life, what to eat and how to act! I can make decisions by myself, about my own body. Posie’s all right, isn’t she?’

Claire had had enough. She pushed her chair back and said, clearly and loudly, every word enunciated, ‘Don’t you think I would do anything to feel just like you do right now?’

Romily stared at her. Silence hung between them.

Then Romily put her head down on the table and burst into tears.

Claire reached out to touch her, then took her hand back. Then, seeing how weary, how defeated the other woman looked, she did touch her on the shoulder. ‘Romily, please don’t cry.’

‘Sorry,’ said Romily, to the table. ‘Sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s the hormones, and the sickness, and the lack of sleep and … everything.’

‘It’s okay.’ Claire gave her a napkin.

‘It’s not. I shouldn’t complain. Not to you.’ Romily took the napkin, wiped her nose, and sat up. ‘Let’s get out of here. The smell of coffee is making me want to puke.’

Claire got up and she and Romily went to the door
together. Claire grabbed a few extra napkins on the way out and handed them to Romily.

‘Thanks. Oh God, I’m a mess.’ Romily laughed shakily as they stepped outside.

‘You’re not feeling well. Shall we walk to the park?’

‘Okay. I think the fresh air will help.’

They didn’t say anything as they made their way to the park near the centre of town, with its Victorian borders and mossy fountain. A crowd of teenagers sat on the lawn below a CCTV camera post, defiantly passing around fags and a bottle of vodka. The women found a bench facing the bandstand, away from the scent of smoke, and sat down.

‘I didn’t mean to have a go,’ Romily said. ‘Some of the things you’ve sent have been really nice. I like the cocoa butter cream.’

‘But not everything.’

‘Well … let’s say it’s not all to my taste. But I shouldn’t have yelled at you about it.’

‘Point taken,’ Claire said. ‘I honestly never expected you to interpret my gifts as criticism.’

‘No, of course you didn’t. I can see that now. You’ve never—’

‘Been pregnant,’ Claire finished for her. Romily smiled.

‘I was going to say, “felt like an incompetent fool”. But maybe they’re not so different.’

‘Oh, trust me. I’ve felt that way.’

Romily shot her a look that said she clearly didn’t believe her. ‘Actually, this fresh air is helping.’

‘Would you like a mint?’

‘You can stop taking care of me, Claire.’

‘I’m just—’ Claire began, but Romily was half-smiling. Some colour had come back to her face. Claire took a deep
breath. ‘I don’t know what else to do. This is all new to me.’

‘Me too. Not the pregnancy, but having a baby for someone else. I’m used to being on my own, I suppose.’ Romily dug in her bag and found a plastic container with grapes in it. ‘Have a grape.’

Claire took one and so did Romily.

‘We haven’t spent much time together without Ben,’ Claire ventured. ‘Since we left university.’

‘We haven’t spent any time together without Ben.’ A ladybird landed on the arm of the bench next to Romily, and she watched it.

Claire wondered what to say next. Romily had asked her to stop helping her. But Ben was right; she did need to be more involved, and that couldn’t just be sending supplies any more. She couldn’t sit by, feeling powerless and unhappy.

‘Have you …’ She swallowed. ‘Have you felt the baby moving yet?’

‘No. It’s pretty early for that, still.’

‘The books say about fifteen weeks.’

‘They also say I should have stopped throwing up by now.’

‘Do you think there’s something wrong?’

‘No, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll ask the midwife when I see her next week, but I think it’s just one of those things. Every pregnancy is different. Apparently the babies don’t read the books first.’

‘I only know from books.’

‘Yeah.’ Romily ate a grape. ‘I am sorry about that, Claire. I know it’s been hard for you.’

‘Thanks,’ she said automatically, though she didn’t want Romily’s sympathy. But this conversation seemed necessary, somehow. And Ben had asked her to find out if there was a
problem. ‘You haven’t been answering your phone,’ she ventured.

‘No. I’ve felt pretty wretched. And there was a … a phone call I didn’t really want to receive. So I had the ringer turned off. But even when I knew it was Ben, I didn’t want to answer because he’d know there was something wrong and want to rush over.’

‘That’s Ben. Mr Fix-It.’

Romily laughed. It was throaty and deep and genuine.

‘But then you decided you did want to see him,’ Claire prompted.

‘I needed to talk to someone. It’s been going round and round in my head and I can’t talk to Posie about it, or anyone at work. Although they’ve asked a few questions after what happened in the café.’

Claire didn’t say anything, didn’t offer help. She waited.

‘The thing is,’ Romily said, ‘I can’t really blame you for thinking I’m not much good at this mothering thing, because I’m not. Posie’s turning out okay, but that’s not because of me. I’m just bumbling along, not knowing what I’m doing.’

‘Is Posie all right?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know. She seems all right, but what if she’s missing out on something big? She must be, I think, or else she wouldn’t want to spend so much time at your house. She wants a father and a mother who are normal, who love each other, with a nice house and a nice garden and nice things. She doesn’t want a mother who’s a flake and a father who’s never even known about her.’

Claire blushed. She couldn’t deny that she’d thought something very like this herself.

‘It’s not like this baby I’m carrying for you. You and Ben have wanted this for ages. It’s going to be the most wanted
baby in the history of the world. But Posie … I didn’t want her. Jarvis didn’t want her.’

‘She doesn’t know that.’

‘She’ll find out sooner or later. And how is that going to make her feel?’ There was real anguish in Romily’s voice.

‘But you do want her now,’ said Claire.

‘I had to be convinced to keep her. And I never told her dad.’

‘From what Ben said, he wasn’t much interested.’

‘But what if he might have been? What if I’d told him ages ago and he’d decided to stay and be a real dad to her? Would he have been any good? Or would he hate us for taking him away from what he really wanted to do?’

‘Romily, you can’t operate on “what ifs”. And you can’t beat yourself up about something that happened in the past, about what you did and didn’t want.’

Like me
, she thought.
Like me not wanting to know about this baby here, right now, in the belly of the woman sitting next to me. My baby. Because I’m so hung up on the fact that I should have been able to conceive it myself.

‘Nothing about being a mother is easy,’ Romily said. ‘None of it. You have to make these decisions that will affect your child’s entire life. Everything you say and do has the potential to change them in some way for the better or the worse. And there’s nobody else who can do it. You have to do it all yourself.’

‘Unless there’s a father,’ Claire managed to say.

‘Unless there’s a father like Ben, you mean. Because the wrong father can fuck it up just as much as the wrong mother.’

The wrong mother who couldn’t even think about her baby when it was growing in the womb because she was too frightened to look beyond her own failure.

Claire swallowed, hard. She gazed at Romily’s stomach. Underneath that jumper, inside Romily, was her baby. Hers.

I’m so sorry, little thing.

‘I think you just have to make up for it,’ she said. ‘You have to make sure they know that they are wanted now, even if you didn’t want them to begin with.’

‘I don’t know,’ Romily said passionately. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t know if he wants her really, or if he’s just curious or acting out of duty. I haven’t seen him for so long. He might see her and get her all excited to have a daddy, and then go away again and never get in touch. How am I supposed to know what’s best for Posie?’

Claire looked up from Romily’s stomach to her face. It was flushed. She was nearly crying again.

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Is that what you’re upset about? Has Posie’s father got in touch?’

‘He wants to see her. He rang a couple of days ago. I don’t know what to do. But I suppose you’re right. She needs to know about her father.’

Oh my God
, thought Claire. Had she said that?

‘I didn’t – I couldn’t possibly give you advice, Romily. I don’t know anything about it.’

Romily was already in the act of reaching in her bag for her phone. ‘You’re right, anyway. I have to stop being afraid and just face the truth. Posie is his child and parents should know their children.’

‘Yes,’ said Claire. ‘Yes, they should.’

AT HOME, CLAIRE
took the scan photograph off the refrigerator door. She made herself look at it full on, memorizing every curve, every shape. She imagined the baby floating inside its borrowed womb, still small enough to nestle in her hand.

The doorbell rang and she shoved the photograph into her pocket like a guilty secret. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see her mum and dad standing on the step.

‘Hello, darling!’ trilled her mother, embracing her. Her soft cheek pressed against Claire’s, smelling of her familiar Chanel.

Claire’s father reached round and hugged her, too. ‘We’re on our way to Helen’s for a few days. Thought we’d stop by and see how you were getting on. A few miles extra on the M4 never hurt anybody.’

Maisie, the latest of her parents’ Golden Retrievers, nosed between them and sniffed Claire’s hand with her greying muzzle, leaving a bit of slobber on her sleeve. Then she lumbered off to the front lawn to relieve herself. Claire remembered riding on the back of Maisie’s mother
Moo-Moo, clutching handfuls of her yellow fur, pretending she was on a pony. Moo-Moo was buried in her parents’ back garden now, under an Amber Queen rose.

‘Come in,’ Claire said, her mind rushing forward to the contents of her refrigerator and freezer. ‘You’ll stay for supper?’

‘But we’ll have to be going right away afterwards,’ her mother said. ‘Mark, would you get the boxes from the boot? I had so much extra bedding, I thought you could use some in that south-west corner? Annuals, but they’ll be pretty in September. Not the marigolds, Mark, those are for Helen. The other ones. I’ve got some jars of marmalade and some elderflower cordial you forgot to take with you last time. I’ve got a sourdough starter for you as well.’ She bustled in, set her canvas bag down with a clink, and surveyed her daughter. ‘You’ve gained weight, haven’t you?’