The Family Trap (18 page)

‘It’s not that bad,’ I lie. ‘Once you get used to it and all.’

‘Don’t get mad with her, OK, but Grandma said she drove past your place last week and there were drug dealers hanging around outside.’

‘Oh, that would have been Stig and Barry. They’re all right once you get to know them.’

‘Mum! You’re on first name terms with the resident druggies?’ She drops her head into her hands and groans. ‘It’s worse than I thought.’

‘Well, they aren’t druggies, Lipsy. Dealers never take their own drugs. They’re far too sensible.’

‘Listen to yourself, Mum. What’s happened to you? One minute you’re the bride to be, the next minute you’re pregnant, single, and living in squalor. I blame myself entirely – Rob and I should never have made you move out.’ She bashes her fist on the wooden table and I wince. ‘I honestly expected you would get back with Paul in no time. We both did. We all did. That’s why I gave him your address when he phoned, that’s why I even …’

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ she says morosely. ‘It doesn’t matter. But listen, are you sure about him and Sharon? I just can’t see him going back with her. He loves you so much, Mum.’

‘Loved me. Past tense. No matter what the rights or the wrongs of what I did, Lipsy, he’s never going to forgive me for walking out on our own wedding. And I don’t blame him.’

‘But it was only because of what he said to you. Because you were confused about the baby, about the future. If you could just tell him that, just explain …’

‘I didn’t expect him to disappear so quickly afterwards, that’s for sure. I kind of thought he might stick around and sort it out. But when you think about it, Paul’s always been a bachelor at heart. That’s what kept us apart so long, and it was only when he found out about Hannah he began to think differently. I guess asking him to start a family with me was pushing it too far.’

‘But if you’d just told him the truth?’ Lipsy’s eyes are wide and innocent. Uncomprehending. How can I expect her to understand? I barely understand myself.

‘We’ve been through this, Lipsy. Once I knew how he felt, it was too late. Don’t you see? I couldn’t trap him. I loved him too much.’

‘Loved. Past tense?’ she says, eyebrows raised.

I shrug. ‘What difference does it make? He’s made it perfectly clear how he feels about having a family, and even if I did tell him about the baby – even if I told him right now and begged him to reconsider – there’s no guarantee he’d come back to me. But even if he did, I’d never know if it was for the right reasons. No, Lipsy. I just need to focus on what’s important and leave Paul and Sharon to it.’

‘Isn’t Paul important to you anymore?’

‘Of course he is.’ I can’t keep the sadness out of my voice. Attempting to keep positive is wearing me down. ‘But right now there are more important things to worry about. You and Phee, for example, and the baby of course. And figuring out where we’re all going to be living in about four months’ time.’

For once she doesn’t berate me for calling him Phee, but I don’t know whether this is a good sign or not. A group of young lads wearing fake stag antlers push through the door and herd around the bar. The noise level increases and someone turns up the music to compensate. I look at my phone to check the time.

‘But he wouldn’t really go back to her, would he?’ Lipsy says. I have to strain to hear her; she seems to be talking mainly to herself.

‘I think if he does it will be because of Hannah. When you have a child with someone you’re linked forever. I guess you’ll always feel something for that person.’

As I say the words I wonder about Paul and his sense of duty. And I wonder what his sense of duty will demand when Sharon tells him about my baby.

How long will it take for him to get in touch?

And what will I do if he doesn’t?

‘Sounds like a trap,’ Lipsy says, wrinkling her nose. ‘If Robert did the dirty on me I’d never get back with him, child or no child. I’d rather be on my own.’

She means it as well. I sip my spritzer and make a silent wish that Robert never falls foul of Lipsy. He won’t know what’s hit him.

‘Come here,’ I say, pulling her in for another cuddle. But the guys at the bar are giving Lipsy the once over, and she pushes me away, embarrassed.

It’s still light when Lipsy and I head back to the car, and I drive the short distance to drop her off. The clocks went forward last weekend, giving us an extra hour of daylight, and only now is the sky starting to turn that dusky purple that makes everything look fuzzy. Before long it will be summer, and I’ll be wafting around in cotton dresses, showing off my bump to the world, making the most of the sunshine. A feeling washes over me, and it takes a couple of minutes to place it.

Happiness. Just a tiny sliver of happiness, bubbling up in my chest. Or maybe it’s excitement. Same thing. As I pull up outside number three Chaplin Grove I’m suddenly convinced that everything is going to work out fine. How, I’ve no idea. But I’m having a baby, I have a family who loves me and a job I think might be my true vocation – maybe these things are all that matter.

I lean over and give Lipsy a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and laugh when she wipes her face with her sleeve.

‘Mum?’ she says as she gets out of the car. Her eyes look enormous.

‘Yes,’ I answer with a smile.

‘Don’t give up on Paul just yet, OK? You never know what might be around the corner. He might surprise you. He might change his mind.’

I smile again and shrug, and watch her safely into the house. Then I turn the car around and head for home.

My daughter has hope and blind faith, which can’t be a bad thing. But all mine has been used up, I’m afraid. From now on, me and Bump are on our own.

*

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 3 April 2012 20:06

Dear Paul,

How are you? I hope things are going OK. The reason I’m emailing is, I’ve heard that Sharon and Hannah are coming to stay with you for Easter, and I think you should know that my mum thinks you and Sharon are about to get back together. Is this true? I can’t believe you would do that to my mum, no matter what’s happened between you. I know that my mum still loves you, and we are all surprised you haven’t sorted it out by now, to be honest. Are you sure you won’t just come and visit her? I’m sure you’d be glad if you did. You might get the answers to all your questions.

It might also be best if you came to see her before Sharon’s visit. Will you come?

Lipsy

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 3 April 2012 22:31

Dear Lipsy,

Hannah is due for a visit at Easter, but there’s been no mention of her mum coming too. I’ve just rung her but she was very strange on the phone and I’m not sure what’s going on there.

Rest assured I am not going to “get back together” with Hannah’s mum. Why would Stella even think that? I just can’t understand what’s going on in her head. But I’m not going to visit your mum, Lipsy, for the reasons I stated in my last email. If your mum wants to talk then I need to hear it from her, not you. I just can’t risk it. I’m sorry. What happened was too painful and I can’t risk getting hurt again.

You asked how things are going – they aren’t too good, actually. It seems I don’t have the “killer instinct” to succeed in the rental market (Tom’s words, not mine). He thinks my “personal problems” might be getting in the way. I’m not sure how much longer I can stick it up here, to be honest. But please keep this to yourself.

I miss your mum so much. I think about her all the time. Could you tell her that? That I think about her every second and I wish I could go back and do it all again. This time I’d figure out what was wrong and put it right, I know I would. But I still don’t know why she called off the wedding, and that just tears me apart. Can you imagine how that feels? Do you know why? Can you tell me?

Paul x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 3 April 2012 22:40

Dear Paul,

I can’t tell you, Paul, but I do know why. And I really think that if you came back here and met up with her it would all become clear to you. I can’t force you. Just think about it, OK?

Lipsy

Chapter 18

At the end of April I finally go shopping for proper maternity clothes, something I’ve been dreading. But once I’ve tried on my first pair of jeans I realise it’s not so bad after all. In the changing room at Mothercare they have strap on bumps so you can tell how the clothes will fit at different stages of the pregnancy. Right now I have a pretty big round bump that pushes proudly over the top of the elasticated blue jeans, but in a few months, according to the label on the bump-strap, I’ll be sticking out so far I won’t be able to see my feet.

I buy the jeans, along with some smart grey leggings and two tunic tops in blue and beige. Ordinarily I wouldn’t be seen dead in beige, but it’s either that or shocking pink, and I draw the line at looking like an extra from CBeebies. Into my basket I pop some roomy tights and a maternity bra, and I’m done.

On my way back to the car I pass Cafe Crème. Last year I had a part-time job in my favourite coffee shop, but I’ve hardly been in there since I handed in my notice. Should I pop in now, treat myself to a mocha frappuccino? I’m just about to decide against it when I spot my mum and dad sitting at what was, in happier times, mine and Paul’s favourite table. They have their heads together and appear to be reading something on my dad’s phone.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I take a deep breath and walk right on in.

‘Stella!’ Dad spots me first and jumps up, taking my bags out of my hand and pulling over an extra chair. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ he says, beaming.

He’s glad to see me, but my mother is harder to read. ‘Mum,’ I say with a nod. She smiles, but her lips are thin. Dad asks what I want to drink, then speeds up to the counter, leaving my mother and me sitting in an uneasy silence.

‘How are you?’ I ask, at the exact same moment she says, ‘We were talking about Billy.’

‘Oh, right. Billy.’ The golden boy. ‘Is he going to make it back for the blessing?’

The blessing that I’ve managed to push out of my mind completely, but it’s only a couple of months away. Not long until the day I’ll have to sit in church and listen to my mum and dad eulogise about each other. Yuk. It would be great if my brother could be there to suffer along with me.

She mumbles something about the cost of air travel and I lose interest. If Billy wants to come back he’ll be there; if he doesn’t, he won’t. Billy always does whatever he likes, no responsibilities, not a care in the world.

I’m not jealous. Much.

Dad returns with my coffee and a pile of chocolate muffins, which lifts the atmosphere somewhat.

‘What did Billy’s text say?’ I ask him through a mouthful of muffin.

Dad looks at me blankly.

‘You were just talking about him with Mum. And I saw you looking at your phone. What did he say?’

My parents look at each other and something unspoken passes between them. They remind me of Edie and Franklin, but with fewer wrinkles. Funny how it’s sweet in a pair of octogenarians, but in one’s own parents it’s really irritating.

‘What?’ I say, putting down my cup. ‘What’s going on?’

Mum is the first to jump in with an answer. ‘Nothing,’ she laughs, reaching out to pat my arm. ‘You’re in a funny old mood today, Stella.’ But her tone is too upbeat, considering how annoyed she’s been with me lately, and her other hand is twirling furiously at her hair. She’d be a rubbish poker player. My father is looking pointedly out of the window, humming.

What are they up to? Whatever it is, it doesn’t look like I’m going to get it out of them without the thumbscrews, so I give up and return to the muffins. I’m just tucking in to my third when my dad, who obviously thinks the coast is now clear, speaks up.

‘Actually, Stella, there is something we wanted to talk to you about.’

I nod and raise my eyebrows. Can’t talk. Eating.

‘Your mother and I, we were wondering about what’s going to happen when the baby comes along.’ They look at my bump as if half expecting to see the baby’s little head poking out. I give my stomach a reassuring pat and smile radiantly.

‘Well, I think what usually happens is, the mother goes into labour, and the baby makes its way down the birth canal, finally exiting via an opening which is located between her
–
’

‘See,’ says my mother, interrupting with a sour look on her face. ‘I told you she couldn’t have a serious conversation about it.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did I offend your sensibilities?’ I grin at my dad. ‘Bet I didn’t offend yours.’

He shakes his head, not rising to it. If we were alone now he’d be laughing his stripy socks off.

‘What we meant was,’ my dad says, ploughing on regardless, ‘where you will live when the baby comes along. You and the baby can’t live in that bedsit, and you can’t very well share your house with Lipsy and Robert and their baby too. And you won’t be able to work, will you? So, your mum and I, we’ve come up with a plan.’

I sit back and absorb this. Really, I should tell them to butt out. It’s my business, after all. But I figure I might as well hear them out.

‘Go on then,’ I say. ‘What’s your plan?’

‘Well, we figured that the best way forward is for us to convert our garage and family room into a self-contained flat for you and the baby. I’ve drawn up some plans, look.’ He pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolds it and slides it across the table. ‘We’d use the existing utility for the kitchen – your mum doesn’t mind at all, do you, Maggie?’ He looks up at her and she smiles. Reluctantly benign. ‘And here is where I’d put in a little bathroom – proper full size bath for the baby – and you’d be able to fit two small bedrooms in here and a living room. Also,’ he adds, his voice rising with excitement, ‘we would partition off part of the garden here, so you’d even have your own outside space. Really, you’ll be completely self-contained. Don’t you think it’s a great idea?’