The Family Trap (26 page)

The only cloud on my horizon is what to do about Paul. Yesterday I remembered the letter I was about to write before Sharon came to see me and sent everything spinning; I’m thinking a letter is still a good idea. I can explain everything properly – no more misunderstandings, as my dad instructed – and then I can leave it up to him. If he wants me, when he knows how I feel and knows what’s on offer, then he can damn well come and get me.

And if he doesn’t …

I can deal with that. I really can. Real life is not a love story. It’s a series of tough decisions, disappointments and compromise. It ain’t glamorous or fluffy, and it doesn’t always have a happy ending. We live. And we learn. And sometimes that’s the best we can hope for.

When we reach the far side of the lake, I stop, feigning tiredness. I am tired, but secretly I just need to stand here for a moment and let the memories wash over me. The scene of my impassioned last-ditch attempt to win Paul over; the setting for Paul’s Christmas proposal. If I’m quiet enough I might hear the echoes of our love coming back across the lake.

There are no tears today.

‘Mum,’ says Lipsy, laying her head against my shoulder, ‘do you still love Paul?’

I reach my arm around her, pulling her in for a sideways hug. It’s the only way I can hug these days.

‘More than anything else in the world, Lipsy. Except for you and Phoenix, of course. And the baby. And perhaps my sanity, which is seriously at risk if this doesn’t get sorted out soon.’

Joking about it helps, but I don’t think Lipsy’s fooled for a minute.

‘Jesus. How did it all get so complicated?’ she says, gazing off across the lake.

Well, I was born and then …

‘It’s just life,’ I tell her, smiling bravely. ‘But don’t you worry your pretty head about it. It’ll all work out for the best. You’ll see.’

Wish I believed that. I don’t half talk some shit at times.

*

The letter doesn’t take long to write. Back at the bedsit, the tiny window open to the sound of boy-racers screeching up and down outside, out it all pours: every fear, every hurt, every wrong assumption and misguided decision. I tell him exactly why I called off the wedding, and writing it down reminds me that at the time, I really did feel it was the only option.

Now I can see about a hundred different options. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

It’s hard
– my pride is just as sore as his, if not more so – but I also tell him how much I love him and how I wish it could have been different. Like, if he’d wanted a family with me. If he didn’t think I was too old, and that families were dull and boring and a waste of time. OK, maybe he didn’t say that exactly, but that was the impression he gave.

When the letter is finished, I reach into my make-up bag and pull out two objects I’ve been carrying around with me for months. The locket I hang around my neck like a talisman. I don’t tempt fate by trying to slip the ring onto my finger – there’s not the slightest chance it would fit anyway. Instead I wrap the letter around it and seal the envelope. Then I put the envelope in my bag and finish packing up the last few items left in the bedsit. I’ll miss Termite Towers, with its piles of rubbish and odd, quirky characters. I’ve made no impression here; no one noticed me arrive and no one will notice I’ve gone. Except Stephan, perhaps. I’ve already pushed a card under his door with a ten pound note in it. Have a drink on me, it read. I think Stephan can have several on that.

Before I head home, I drive to the city centre and head for Silbury Boulevard. Working in Bletchley, I hardly ever come up here anymore. It seems busier. More people, all bustling about with their heads down, fixed on their own narrow paths. It’s cool for mid July, but the sun is high and the sky is a deep azure blue. The mirrored buildings reflect the trees and the cars over and over again; the effect is mesmerising. I find a parking space not too far from Paul’s office and heave my enormous frame out of the car.

Right. This is it.

Smart Homes. The facade hasn’t changed, even though my dad said Paul is relaunching the business as something completely different. I guess he couldn’t just open the doors and go back to how it was before. Going back isn’t in Paul’s nature. Ever.

Stop it, Stella. That way madness lies.

The office is in darkness, so I slip the letter under the door and turn to walk back to the car. That’s when I see him. He’s sitting on the floor facing away from me, surrounded by boxes and files. The one remaining desk, just to his left, is piled so high with stuff it looks likely to collapse under the weight. For a moment I picture this office full of life and people. A year ago, when I worked here with Susan and Joe and evil Loretta, there was never a dull moment. Who’d have thought we’d all have moved on so quickly, so resolutely. Loretta works for Smart Homes’ arch rival now. Susan and Joe got married at Christmas and moved up the road to Northampton.

Stella Hill got herself knocked up and messed up her life big time.

Stella, you’re doing it again.

I slip away before Paul notices the heavily pregnant woman spying on him from the street. Trudge back to my car and head for home.

When I arrive, Lipsy and Robert are running around like lunatics.

‘It’s OK,’ I say for the hundredth time, ‘you don’t have to move out straight away, you know.’

If you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa, I don’t add, because at eight months pregnant I’ll be damned if I am.

‘No, Mum, it’s all under control,’ Lipsy reassures me, before turning away and shouting, ‘Robert, you moron, you’ve packed all Phee’s nappies already.’

‘Phee?’ I look at her, eyebrows raised. She shrugs.

‘I like Phee. There’s nothing wrong with it.’

‘Well, I never said there was,’ I start, but she’s gone already, racing up the stairs with Phoenix in her arms. Over her shoulder he smiles down at me, and I give a little wave. My grandson. Soon to be the number one playmate of my new son or daughter. Funny, there was a time when I couldn’t get my head around that. Now it doesn’t seem so very strange or complicated. Just different. And quite useful, in a way.

A pain pulls at my abdomen and I bend over with an oomph. Practice contractions, the midwife calls them. I had an appointment yesterday, where she measured my bump, yet again – and looked surprised, yet again – and told me what to expect for the coming weeks.

‘Are you all ready for the birth?’ she asked. ‘Bag packed, birth partner lined up, breathing exercises under way?’

I nodded and reassured her that I was, definitely. Absolutely.

Bag? I’ll throw a few things in my holdall when the day arrives: clean knickers, a bottle of water, a blanket for the baby and a big bar of chocolate for me. Breathing? I’ve been doing that for thirty-eight years. I think I’ve got it figured out.

Birth partner?

There’s only one person I want as my birth partner, and I’m not holding my breath. No pun intended. But if it comes to it – and it sure looks like it will come to it – Lipsy will step into the breach. She’s had recent experience, after all.

Bump kicks again, and I actually see the fabric of my top move. I love it when that happens. Then I’m doubled over in pain. It’s like the worst period pain you’ve ever had, times a million. And these are only practice contractions? I’m in for a bumpy ride.

Chapter 28

‘The red or the black? What do you think?’

I look across to where Edie is holding out two dresses. The red is a spunky number I’ve never seen before; the black is demure and screams classy. Both are lovely, but her face above the coat hangers is pinched with nerves.

‘Which do you feel most comfortable in?’ I ask. She pulls a face, then holds them up to her body one by one and looks at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

‘The black one. I think. But the red is just so … so …’

‘Outrageous?’ I offer.

‘Do you think I could carry it off? Be honest, Stella. I don’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb.’

The expression has me doubled over with laughter. ‘Oh, Edie, you kill me. My nan used to say that all the time. But worse than that was “mutton dressed as mutton”.’

She smiles and slips the red dress off the hanger. ‘Oh, what the hell. It’s just a dinner with friends, right? And you deserve something a bit special, Stella, after everything you’ve done for me.’

I look away, embarrassed. I just hope Edie’s not going to be too mad at me when she finds out what I’ve done. Before I came up here to help her get dressed I went outside to check how Sally was getting on. Everything was perfect. It’s a beautiful evening, with the sun still shining on the secluded spot I’ve chosen under the arbour. There’s a table laid with silver cutlery, and Sally’s offered to bring out the food herself. We lit candles and hung some pink heart bunting from the trees to the arbour. No one in the main house can see without walking right down to the bottom of the gardens, and no one’s going to do that because they’ll all be having their dinner too.

It looks so lovely, so special and glamorous, I wish I really was having dinner with them.

But the table is set for two.

I blow-dry Edie’s fine hair into a fuller version of her usual style, and then I help zip her into her dress.

‘You look a million dollars,’ I tell her, and I mean it.

We slip out of a side door to avoid the main dinner crowd. As we round the hedges I can see Franklin waiting. Earlier, I had a quiet word with him. I kind of told him the lie of the land. Well, come on – Edie said herself she thought it was OK to get involved if you can see two people are made for each other, but they’re just a bit useless at sorting themselves out. And if there are two people in this world who are made for each other, it’s Edie and Franklin.

‘Off you go, then,’ I say to Edie now, giving her a gentle push in the direction of the table.

She looks startled. ‘Aren’t you coming with me?’

I shake my head. ‘I wish I could, Edie. But it’s my leaving do tonight, isn’t it? And I’ve invited my mum and dad, and Lipsy, and I really need to go and make sure everything’s going to plan.’

If looks could kill I’d be dead on the spot. ‘Stella Hill, you planned this whole thing. You are incorrigible.’

‘Yup,’ I tell her, nodding. ‘I sure am. Now you have a nice time with Franklin. Go on,’ I say when she hesitates, ‘or I’ll tell Maude he’s out here all on his own.’

That gives her the incentive she needs. I watch as she picks her way along the path, and stay just long enough to see Franklin’s face light up when he sees her. He pulls out her chair, leans down, and gives her the gentlest of kisses on the back of her neck.

I slip away, satisfied. At least there’s one happy couple in the world, about to make a go of it after years of messing about. I guess I’ll just have to be content with that.

*

My leaving party is a sober affair, organised by the residents with a little help from Jean, Martha and Sally.
My family add a festive element, and Lipsy is our token young person
– it’s so sweet how the residents crowd around her, eager for a piece of her youthfulness. Everyone’s dressed in their finery; they love a party even more than youth. Violet is wearing a bright pink frilly dress that trails to the floor and keeps tripping her up.

‘Be careful you don’t break your neck,’ I tell her as she hands me a glass of Buck’s Fizz – which in my case is more orange juice than champers.

‘What?’ she hollers. ‘What did you say?’

I smile and move on. Bump gives me a little press just below my ribcage and I stop and wait for him to settle down. Him? I’m convinced it’s a boy. I figure I’ve done my time with a girl child and this time around I deserve to have a go with one of the male variety.

It’ll be compensation for having no actual man of my own.

I haven’t heard from Paul since I dropped off the letter. Knowing I took it to him with my own fair hands means I can’t even blame it on the vagaries of the postal system. Mind you, it was only yesterday. Men take longer to react, don’t they? They lack that necessary sense of urgency to jump in their cars and race around to see the one they love, begging forgiveness and promising that all will be well if they can only have just one more chance …

Unless of course they don’t love her all that much. Then it’s fine to hang around and take your time.

Dinner’s been cleared away, and the residents are gathered in the lounge to say goodbye to me. Martha calls me over and clears her throat.

‘Stella,’ she says, ‘you left us once before, and we got you twenty pounds in gift tokens and a bottle of cava.’

‘And a bed jacket,’ Rosa pipes up. ‘I knitted the arms myself.’

Martha nods. ‘Quite. So Stella will have to take that off the value of this present, OK? We can’t have people leaving and then coming back and then going off on maternity leave all the time. It just gets too expensive.’

‘You’re all heart, Martha,’ Bernie shouts from the back.

‘Thank you,’ I say, taking a shiny red gift bag out of her hands. She winks at me, then slips away.

‘Speech,’ someone calls and I smile, embarrassed. I look out across the sea of faces, all so dear to me. It’s great that my mum, dad and Lipsy are here, but it’s the residents I’m focusing on now. With their funny ways and their stories of the war and their ingrowing toenails and hairs spouting from every orifice, I’ll miss them so much.

I wasn’t this upset the first time around, but I guess during the last six months I’ve gotten to know them so much better. And the good thing is, I know I’ll be back.

‘Speech!’

As I prepare for what I want to say, I see Edie and Franklin enter via the garden door. They are holding hands, and Edie’s face is brimming over with happiness. A lump forms in my throat, and for a moment I can’t speak.

‘Thank you all so much,’ I get out finally. ‘Martha’s quite right – you’ve all been very patient with my comings and goings, but this time I can say with absolute certainly, once this little one is old enough, I’ll be back!’

‘Like the Terminator,’ calls Violet. I smile at her and nod.

‘And, to that end, I’ve got one more surprise piece of news to share.’