Lessons in Laughing Out Loud (23 page)

“Wait here. Come on, Willow.”

“Sam . . .” As Willow set off after Chloe, she sent Sam an apologetic look. He shook his head and turned his back on her.

“I’m having it adopted,” Chloe told the midwife as soon as she shut the examination room door behind her. The woman, whose name badge revealed she was called Joy, looked over the rim of her glasses at Chloe, her face impassive.

“Okay, well, let’s just check you and baby are doing well, and then if you like I can make you an appointment with a social worker to come and see you and talk it all through.”

“Good.” Chloe nodded, surrendering her arm while Joy took her blood pressure and asked her a host of questions. Willow sat there trying to take it all in so that she could report back to Sam, until finally Joy got up, spread what looked like a giant sheet of kitchen roll on the bed and told Chloe to lie down, so she could scan the baby.

“Willow”—Chloe’s voice had suddenly sounded very small—“I don’t want to look at it. I don’t have to, do I?”

“Not if you don’t feel you want to,” Joy told her gently when Willow looked at her. “Maybe you’d like your mum to look for you?”

“Oh, I’m not . . .”

“Yes, will you look?” Chloe said before Willow could correct Joy. She reached out and grabbed Willow’s hand. “Will you?”

Willow had waited, listening to the sound of the ultrasound machine, finding that she was holding her breath in anticipation.

“There.” Joy smiled and Willow looked at the image of the baby, his or her profile in perfect relief. The baby had Chloe’s nose and chin; as she watched, it bucked and bounced a little, one tiny hand floating upward. Willow bit her lip, squeezing Chloe’s hand.

“Is it okay?” Chloe asked.

“Beautiful,” Joy told her. “Now I’ve just got to take some measurements and do some checks on baby’s health. You should have had two scans by now, so it will take some time. I might go a bit quiet, but don’t worry. I’m just concentrating on what I’m doing.”

Chloe nodded, keeping her eyes on the ceiling tiles and her fingers intertwined in Willow’s.

Willow watched in awe as she saw a cross-section of the baby’s heart beating away furiously, the formation of its brain, and then, without warning, quite obviously what sex it was.

“Oh!” Willow found herself gasping. “Oh wow!”

“Oh, oh what? Is it deformed?” Chloe propped her head up and looked at the monitor.

“Is that a baby?” She looked horrified.

“That’s a cross-section of the baby. I’m checking the organs. Here, wait a sec . . .” Joy readjusted the scanner so that Chloe would see the baby’s profile.

“Oh.” Chloe stared at the image. “It doesn’t look deformed.”

“No, it’s not, and I think your mum just spotted what sex baby you are having!”

“Sorry,” Willow apologized, unable to keep the grin spreading over her face. “I had no idea it would be so obvious!”

“Really?” Chloe looked at the monitor, her gaze fixed on it. “He’s a boy! Bloody hell, Willow, look! You can see his . . . thingy.”

“I know.” Willow chuckled. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Joy waited patiently as Chloe took in the image, her dark eyes hooded as she came face-to-face for the first time with the life she was carrying.

“That’s . . . like . . . fuck!”

“It’s an incredible thing, I know,” Joy said, glancing discreetly at the clock. “Are you ready for me to stop?”

“Oh . . . oh, yes, okay. Whatever.”

Joy removed the scanner from her belly and handed her a rough piece of paper to wipe away the jelly.

“Well done, you have a very healthy baby in there. The scan dates your pregnancy at about twenty-eight weeks. Your due date, believe it or not, is Christmas Day, December twenty-fifth.”

“Mental,” Chloe said, shaking her head as Joy printed out two photos.

“A boy!” Chloe giggled. “There’s a boy in there.” She looked at Willow, laughing. “That’s weird, right? Mental! I’ve got a
boy
inside me! Willow, why are you crying?”

Willow shook her head. “It’s just . . . it’s a baby. Oh, Chloe, it’s amazing!”

Pulling her top down over her bump, Chloe eased her legs off of the gurney and put her arms around Willow.

“Don’t be thick,” she said. “It’s nothing to cry about. A healthy baby is good. The fags and booze haven’t mutated it at all!”

“Exactly,” Joy said, assuming Chloe was joking. “I’ll make you your next appointment, for about a month from now, and I’ll arrange for a social worker to contact you . . . at this address?”

“Yes.” Chloe nodded when she pointed to Willow’s address. “What will happen?

“It might be a few days before you hear anything. They’re
backed up, up there. A lot of children out there who don’t have a place to go. It’s hard to find foster parents for most of these kids.” Joy looked a little weary. “First they’ll talk through the adoption process with you, the practicalities, and then if you are sure it’s what you want, you’ll be offered counseling while they find the right family.”

“Well, I don’t want counseling,” Chloe said, crossing her arms. “I’m not mad. I know what I’m doing.”

“Sweetheart,” Joy said gently, “giving up your baby is not an easy thing to do, not even if it is the right thing for you and for him. So if there is a little bit of free help in this world that might just ease that pain a little, you take it, okay?”

Swallowing, Chloe nodded, suddenly subdued. “Okay.”

She was silent as Willow put her arm around her and guided her back out to where her father was waiting, standing legs apart, hand behind his back. Like a soldier on guard.

“Well?” he asked her.

Chloe said nothing, so Willow stepped in, struggling to keep her own voice bright and relaxed.

“Well, she’s twenty-eight weeks gone, the due date is Christmas Day, can you believe, and mother and baby are doing really well. Oh, and . . . it’s a little boy.” Sam quickly looked away, but not before Willow caught the bright promise of tears shining in his eyes.

Just as they got back to the car Chloe stopped.

“Dad, I’ve got something to say,” she said firmly.

“Yes?” Sam waited, his eyes fixed on Chloe.

“I know what to do,” she said. “I’ve worked it all out, just now actually.”

In the second before Chloe spoke, Willow had felt a moment of prescience as the ground undulated beneath her feet.

“Willow can adopt the baby. It makes perfect sense. She
wants a baby and I’ve got one. I’m going to give Willow the baby for Christmas.”

Willow saw the faint orange amber light of a black cab approaching and she knew exactly what she should do, she should grab the cab, go home and face the mess that she had walked out on. That was exactly what she should do, but she couldn’t. It had all been too much. Chloe’s decision, Sam’s utter rage, and India. Willow winced as she thought about India. She’d left all of that mess behind her without a second thought.

Steeling herself and with thirty seconds to go, Willow headed to Daniel’s studio.

Sam had said nothing after Chloe’s revelation. His jaw had tightened, his fists clenched, but he said nothing, so Willow thought it best to say nothing too, not that she could think what to say; she was utterly stunned. Why? Why would Chloe pick the woman who’d more or less abandoned her to look after her baby? It was a crazy idea, wasn’t it? She couldn’t look after a baby . . . could she?

So Willow was silent on the journey home too, letting Chloe talk and talk, trying to fill the void of reaction with words.

“And the best thing is I’ll still know the baby, because I know Willow. So I know he’ll be okay and . . .”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sam said finally as he pulled up outside Willow’s flat. “Chloe . . . Christ. Just as I think I’m getting my head around this you act like such a bloody child.” Sam’s laugh was mirthless. “Of course you do, you
are
a bloody child! Willow is not going to adopt your baby. It doesn’t work like that.”

Before Chloe could respond he got out of the car, narrowly
avoiding being flattened by a speeding bus as he slammed the car door shut. He marched around to the passenger side and flung open Chloe’s door, taking hold of her upper arm. “Get out. I’ve got a good mind to drag you home right now.”

“You lay one finger on me and I’ll have you arrested for assault,” Chloe said loudly enough for passersby to glance at them, as she shook off his hand.

Willow climbed out of the car, finding her keys in her bag, hoping to move the conversation into a setting a little less public. “Sam, calm down. I just think Chloe is trying to be kind—”

“Kind! To you?” Sam shook his head, his hands on his hips, and looked up at the window of Willow’s flat. “You know what? I’m done with pussyfooting around. I admit I don’t know what to do. I fully admit I never expected my fifteen-year-old daughter to get pregnant and run away to live with my ex-wife. I didn’t prepare for that! But what I do know is that I am your father, Chloe Elizabeth Wainwright, and until the law says otherwise you are under
my
care and no one else’s.” He looked at Willow.

“Let us in. I’m getting her stuff and taking her home.”

“No!” Chloe protested, but Sam took the keys out of Willow’s hands and before she got to stop him, marched up the steps, trying each of her keys in turn until he opened the communal door.

“No, no, no!” Chloe screamed, hitting him repeatedly on the back with a clenched fist. “I know what I want. I want Willow to have the baby. She needs a baby, she needs someone to love her and for her to love. . . .”

Sam pushed open the door and marched up the stairs toward Willow’s flat.

“She had that,” he told Chloe as Willow followed. “We loved her. You and me, Chloe. We loved her and all she had to do was love us back.”

“She did,” Chloe said. “She loved me.”

“No, no she didn’t. She . . . didn’t.” Sam stood there, shaking his head, fury, sadness and confusion filling his face. “She left.”

“You made her leave,” Chloe accused him.

“And have you ever asked yourself why?” Sam shouted at her.

“Because you weren’t good enough!” Chloe retorted, making Willow gasp and clap her hands over her mouth. She expected Sam to explode, to call her all the names he could think of, and worse. But he didn’t. He just stood there staring at Chloe, like a man defeated.

“I don’t know how this has happened,” he said, his voice edged with tears as he gestured, futilely. “I don’t understand it. . . . I’m a grown man and I . . . I don’t know what to do. How can I fix things that I have no control over?”

He looked at Willow, utterly lost. After a moment she went to him and gently took the keys out of his hands.

“Look, come in. Have a cup of tea.” She hesitated. “I’ve got a guest. You might recognize her. Please just pretend you haven’t seen her.”

She opened the door and let Sam and Chloe go in first. India was sitting on the floor, her head in her hands, and there was a bottle of wine open next to her.

“You didn’t tell me,” she said, looking up at Willow, her eyes raw and swollen from crying, her face pale, almost gray. “Look!”

India tossed a paper at Willow’s feet. “Cranmer’s Sex Shame Scandal.”

“Where did you . . . ?”

“A whole bundle of them came this morning after you left. I thought your neighbor must have left them . . . does it matter?” India sobbed. “Willow, I never meant anything to him. I’ve ruined my life, my career, everything, everything for a
man who just wanted to use me all along. There is no way back from this, I might as well just . . . just
die
!”

“Look, India, you’ve been dumped, it could be worse,” Chloe said, pointing at her belly and raising her brows. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re India Torrance!” Sam said, his jaw dropping, his unhappiness temporarily punctuated by finding himself standing in front of an A-list celebrity. Albeit a snot-nosed, drunken, weeping one; nevertheless he was starstruck. “Fuck!”

“And now! Now you bring in strangers to gawp at me! I mean, I thought Victoria made me come and stay in this shithole because you are the best she has! How incompetent are you, exactly?” India stood, stamping her bare foot as she spoke. “Oh my God, Willow, why don’t you just hand me a knife and watch me slit my wrists?”

“That’s India Torrance,” Sam repeated to no one in particular, utterly confused, as if he’d woken up in a dream.

“I am not a sideshow freak!” India screamed at him, snapping him back into the moment, whirling around and heading for Willow’s bedroom. “I’m phoning Victoria and I’m telling her to get me out of here now, this minute! You are utterly unprofessional, irresponsible and . . . and . . .
fat
!”

“Fucking prima donna!” Chloe said as India slammed her door. “Was she talking about me? Bitch!”

As Willow was potentially being put out of a job, not to mention added to some death list in the other room, she stood between father and daughter, at war with each other.