The No-Kids Club (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

C
lare threaded her way down busy Oxford Street in a daze. Rush-hour commuters moved like blobs in front of her, snapping into focus when she blinked then fading away again. She rubbed her eyes, trying hard to muster up energy for the No-Kids Club meeting tonight. Ever since discovering she was pregnant almost a week ago, it was an effort to concentrate on anything outside of work. The emergency department was so rammed with human tragedy it made her own fade away.

Shame she couldn’t hole up there and forget everything else, she thought now as she trudged to All Bar One. The second she left the hospital, the fact she was pregnant hit her with as much force as a blow to the head, resulting in a curious inertia. It was as if she was frozen, unable to accept the reality of her situation enough to even start thinking about changing it.

After seeing the test, Clare had sat on the toilet seat for what felt like hours, staring at those two pink lines until the image was practically burned into her retina—if she closed her eyes, she’d probably see it again. She’d told herself so many times she wasn’t pregnant that she couldn’t connect the test with
her
. That there was a baby growing and developing inside her body right now seemed like something from science fiction.

Clare had set the test on the counter and backed away from it slowly, as if it was a hand grenade. Then she’d promptly downed five glasses of water, waited, and taken the second test. Again, the same result. She’d collapsed on the toilet seat, mind spinning. Morning sickness didn’t usually occur until four weeks at the very earliest, and she’d started feeling nauseous maybe . . . a few weeks ago, around the time of Ellie’s baby shower? That would make the foetus somewhere around seven weeks old, assuming her queasiness had appeared straight after conception.
Conception
! She shuddered.

Unable to process the information, she’d crawled into bed and pulled the duvet around her. Maybe when she woke up she’d find the whole thing had been a terrible nightmare.

But when her eyes snapped open and she crept towards the loo, the two tests were still there, both pink lines as visible as ever. She’d picked them up and thrown them in a drawer, then slammed the drawer closed and crawled into bed again. And ever since, she’d been unable to think of anything else while curiously unable to act. She hadn’t even told Ellie—keeping the knowledge locked inside made it seem less real somehow. Anyway, even if she did want to tell her friend, God knows she probably wouldn’t be able to track her down. Clare had left a message telling her all about the stint on telly, but she’d still heard nothing in return. The distance between them was growing with each passing day.

The last place Clare wanted to be tonight was the No-Kids Club, but this was the first meeting since the piece had run on
Wake Up London
. The Facebook page had been flooded with supportive posts, and her inbox was overflowing with messages from potential members looking forward to tonight. At least there’d be more people besides Poppy and Anna. After last week’s debate, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see them come to blows without others around.

Taking a deep breath, Clare opened the door of All Bar One, the noise hitting her like a slap in the face. Although the space was normally busy, this was a whole new level. Punters were packed into every corner of the room, and the queue for the bar was five people deep. Everywhere she looked, people were laughing, chatting and sipping their drinks. Clare’s eyes bulged—were they all here for the club? She swung her head from left to right, trying to figure out a way to penetrate the crowd.

‘Miss?’ A harried-looking woman appeared at her side. ‘You’re Clare Donoghue, aren’t you?’

Clare nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I thought so. Saw you on telly last week. I’m the manager here, and as much as we appreciate your custom, if you want to hold club meetings for this number of people, you’ll have to book the bar for a private event.’

Clare’s eyebrows flew up. So all these people
were
here for the club! She knew there were more people like her in London—people without kids, who wanted a place to come out and celebrate that lifestyle. She wasn’t alone.

Except, of course, they weren’t like her, she realised a heartbeat later. She was the only one in this room who was pregnant. Sighing, she pushed the thought into a back corner of her mind.

‘I’m sorry,’ Clare answered, her eyes still roaming the space in astonishment. ‘Of course. I had no idea so many people would turn out tonight.’

‘We’ll let it go this time,’ the woman said, ‘as it looks like our bar is certainly going to turn a healthy profit.’ She grinned. ‘And good luck with your club. When I heard about it on telly last week, I thought it was a great idea.’

‘Thanks,’ Clare said, eyebrows rising even further. She was so used to negative reactions from women around her, it was strange to hear a positive one.

The crowd of faces turned towards her, and she caught sight of Poppy’s blonde head in the corner. Clare was about to make her way over when a smattering of applause broke out. The noise swelled until the whole café resounded with the patter of hands.

Her mouth dropped open. Were they actually applauding her?

Anna appeared through the crowd, pushing her way to Clare’s side. ‘Can you believe this?’ she asked, a grin splitting her normally sombre face.

Clare shook her head. ‘No. I really can’t.’

‘Maybe you should give a little welcome speech,’ Anna prodded gently. ‘I think they’re waiting for you to say something.’

Clare nodded. ‘Okay.’ She cleared her throat, her head still swimming with disbelief that all these people had come out tonight. The buzzing room fell silent when she clapped her hands.

‘Um, I just want to welcome you to the No-Kids Club,’ she started hesitantly. ‘I’m Clare Donoghue, the founder.’ Applause broke out again, and Clare’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. ‘I’m thrilled you could all make it tonight. I want this to be a place where we can have fun without fear or judgment. We’ll be planning trips and outings in the future, but for now, please relax and enjoy yourself. Oh, and make sure we have your contact information, either by posting on our Facebook page or messaging me. We’ll be moving to a new venue for the next meeting.’

She paused, looking at the smiling, supportive faces. The group was a real cross section, from women in their twenties to men in their sixties. Business suits mixed with hipsters, and couples chatted to singles. ‘Thanks for coming, and I hope I get a chance to chat to everyone. Have fun!’ She stepped back and the hum of the crowd started up again.

‘Was that all right?’ she mumbled to Anna.

‘It was great,’ Anna said, touching her arm. ‘Listen, why don’t we divide and conquer? That way, we can try to reach each one and give them a personal welcome to the club. I’ll get everyone to put their names and numbers on a sign-up sheet too, in case they forget to message you. I’d hate for us to lose this momentum.’

‘That would be fantastic. Thanks, Anna.’ For the first time since they’d met, Clare felt a flash of warmth towards the woman.

‘Can you two believe all these people?’ Poppy’s face shone with delight as she reached their sides. ‘It’s fantastic! I’ve already met a couple who couldn’t conceive but are about to undergo another IVF cycle, just like me. Clare, this club was such a good idea.’

‘But you’re not meant to be talking about children,’ Clare reminded her gently, a twinge of sympathy stirring inside. There was something child-like about Poppy and her determined belief that everything would be all right. Clare had learned long ago that wasn’t true—she’d tried to convince herself for months her mum would return.

‘Oh, I know, I know, and we won’t again,’ Poppy said hastily, a guilty expression sliding over her face. ‘Anyway, we’re going to have dinner together sometime next week. I can’t wait.’

‘Right, I’d better get circulating and try to say hi to everyone,’ Clare said, drawing in a big breath to prepare herself. Small talk had never been her forte, and the crowd before her looked daunting.

A few hours later, she was stunned to see the bartenders taking last orders. Clare looked at her watch incredulously—yes, it was almost eleven. Where on earth had the night gone? She’d had a fantastic time meeting everyone.

It was too bad Nicholas hadn’t made it out—again. It would have been nice for him to see the outcome of her
Wake Up
London
appearance, if nothing else. She couldn’t believe the wide array of people who had come, each with their own unique reason for not having children—it was never as simple as black and white. Every one of them said they were tired of justifying their reasons to friends and family, and how they couldn’t wait to join a club that
actually
understood. There had been the odd one or two like Poppy, still desperate to conceive, but even they’d been interesting to chat with. Clare sensed they were happy to have found a refuge where baby envy didn’t exist. This kind of group was exactly what she’d
envisioned
when she’d started the club. Finally, it had come true.

Shame she wasn’t in a more celebratory mood. The weight of the secret inside dragged on her consciousness like a cement block. She leaned back against the wall, smiling vacantly as a woman across the room raised a glass in Clare’s direction. Despite her swirling thoughts, she couldn’t escape the irony that the club had blossomed only days after learning she was pregnant.

If it wasn’t so tragic, she’d almost have laughed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

‘A
nd then you inject yourself right here with the needle.’ The nurse pinched the skin around Poppy’s belly button. ‘You can also do your thigh, if you prefer.’ Poppy nodded obligingly, even though she’d undergone the same process four times and was likely more experienced with injections than a heroin addict.

A flutter of excitement went through her at the thought of finally starting this IVF cycle. As soon as she’d left Oliver at the café, she’d rung up the clinic and booked an appointment. She had planned to tell Alistair before starting the injections, but then she’d met Marta and Luis at the No-Kids Club and invited them over for dinner next week. Marta was about to begin her fifth IVF cycle, too, and her hope had lifted Poppy’s spirits. She was sure meeting the couple would go a long way towards rekindling Alistair’s
enthusiasm
.

‘So you’re clear on everything?’ The nurse shot her a quizzical look, and Poppy jerked.

‘Oh yes, absolutely.’ She smiled. ‘I can’t wait to get started. Fifth try lucky!’

The nurse’s face remained neutral, and Poppy told herself they were probably trained to stay impartial. ‘We’ll see you back here in fourteen days to start the stimulation injections. Make an appointment at the reception, and please contact us with any questions or worries.’ She sounded like she was reading off a
cue card.

Poppy gathered up her things, then turned and headed out the door. Despite the unease at acting without Alistair’s knowledge—first asking his brother for money and now starting the process without his approval—happiness spurted through her.

This time it would work, and in ten months or so, she’d be holding her child in her arms.

That was all that mattered.

Anna dashed home from the bookshop, quivering with excitement. Happy anniversary, happy anniversary . . . the refrain rang through her mind as she rushed up the steps of the house. The timing was perfect: she’d worked until five, giving her time to relax and freshen up before Michael came back and whisked her off to whatever he’d planned. Luckily, their anniversary fell on a Friday, so he didn’t even have to worry about an early start the next day.

She couldn’t wait to see what her husband had up his sleeve! Just to be sure he remembered the date—although she knew he would—she’d mentioned several times their anniversary was approaching, making a point to say she hadn’t planned anything this year. He’d nodded and turned back to his video games, but she was sure he’d taken it in.

So what would he have organised, Anna wondered as she unlocked the front door and slipped inside the silent house? A romantic dinner at that cosy restaurant in Soho he knew she liked? Maybe a night at the theatre? Actually, it really didn’t matter what he’d planned. She’d be happy with a meal at the neighbourhood gastropub, then a little lovemaking. She hurried upstairs to the bedroom as desire rushed through her. This time, she’d make extra-certain Michael stayed awake.

Right, what to wear? Sighing, she examined her wardrobe: all blacks and greys, serviceable clothing for crawling around floors at the bookshop or at home. Surely she must have one special
outfit
! A flash of jade green caught her eye, and Anna pawed through the
garments
at the back of the wardrobe. She grabbed a corner of
fabric an
d pulled, revealing a dress she’d bought to wear on
honeymoon
.

As she touched the silky material, memories slid into her mind. She and Michael, at that tiny restaurant on the lake during their honeymoon, listening to the hush of waves breaking on the pebbly shore. The wind had whipped around them, and the night sky was carpeted with pinpricks of light. The dress had rippled in the breeze, and Michael had reached out and touched her arm, sending shivers through her. His eyes had been so intense, and—just like in the movies—they’d asked for the bill and gone up to their room, where they’d made love. She’d felt like the luckiest woman in the world, vowing then and there she’d never let anything split them apart.

It seemed fitting she wear this dress tonight, she thought, pulling the garment from the hanger and holding it against her body. It might be a little tighter than when she’d worn it all those years ago—and the weather a little chillier—but she could wear a wrap. She couldn’t wait to see Michael’s eyes when he saw her in it again.

Excitedly, she showered, blow-dried her hair straight, then shimmied into the dress, easing the fabric over her hips. Fastening the diamond earrings Michael had bought her for their first anniversary, she carefully did her make-up then glanced at her reflection. Pretty good, if she did say so herself.

The door clicked closed and Anna pivoted towards it. He was home! Heart beating fast with anticipation, she eased down the staircase, taking care not to trip on the hem of the dress. Maybe he’d even have flowers, she thought, before telling herself not to get too worked up. Michael had never been much of a flower man, and that was fine. It was enough that he arranged the evening for them.

‘Wow!’ Michael’s eyes widened when he saw her. ‘You look
fantastic
.’

‘Why, thank you.’ Anna glowed as she spun in front of him. That look in his eyes was reward enough for freezing her arse off.

‘So, where are you going, then? Got a hot date?’ Michael took off his jacket, rubbing his chin. ‘I’m exhausted. Long day.’

Anna blinked. He must be joking. ‘A very hot date,’ she said, smiling as she wrapped her arms around him.

‘Oh, really?’ Michael padded over to the kitchen. ‘Should I be jealous?’ he called over his shoulder. She heard him open the fridge. ‘Sweetie, where’s that leftover hummus? I could really use a snack before dinner.’

She shook her head, hoping the movement could bring clarity. He must have remembered this was their anniversary. For goodness’ sake, she’d given him enough reminders! If this was a joke, he was starting to take it a little far.

Anna stepped into the kitchen. Michael had his head stuck in the fridge and was rummaging through the jars like a bear in a compost heap. ‘If you’re heading out, what’s the plan for dinner? And where are you going, anyway?’

His words made her freeze with the knowledge that he had forgotten what tonight was—despite her carefully placed reminders. Even if he hadn’t planned anything, she’d never thought he’d actually forget.

Anger swirled inside as she watched her husband dip a finger into the hummus and bring it to his mouth. Suddenly, she felt the urge to get away—away from the house, away from the dreaded task of cooking dinner, away from
him
. It didn’t matter that she had no plans and was dressed for the opera. She needed to leave.

Without answering his questions, Anna grabbed her handbag, threw her trusty old black coat over her shoulders, shoved her feet into serviceable flats, and pushed out into the cold night air. Smog made halos in the streetlights as she scurried down the empty street, tears stinging her eyes. So much for showing he cared, she thought. Michael probably wouldn’t even notice she was gone until his stomach started rumbling.

It hadn’t always been this way, had it?

She cast her mind back through the years, but all she could see were images of herself doing things for him, day after day after day. But she’d wanted to live that way, and it had never bothered her in the slightest . . . until now.

The bright lights of the little café on the corner beckoned, and Anna swung open the door. Inside, the warm air was scented with tomato and garlic, and narrow tables packed the dimly lit space. Anna sank into one of them, easing off her coat and thanking God the restaurant was empty. She felt ridiculous in this dress now.

‘Good evening.’ A dark man about her age with an accent appeared, setting a laminated menu before her on the table. ‘I am Christos and I’ll be serving you tonight. What would you like to drink?’

‘Something strong.’ She usually didn’t like anything more potent than wine, but tonight definitely called for it.

Christos’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘I have just the thing. One moment, please.’ He scurried away, returning with a small glass of clear liquid. The distinct smell of anise rose into Anna’s nostrils.

‘What is it?’ she asked, tipping her head up to meet his eyes.

‘It is called ouzo. We have an old Greek saying: ouzo makes the spirit.’ He paused, scanning her face. ‘You look like you could use a bit of that tonight.’

‘Could I ever,’ Anna said fervently, drawing the glass
towards her
.

‘Would you like me to add a little water to dilute it for you?’ he asked before she could lift it to her lips. ‘It’s what we do in Greece.’

Anna shook her head. ‘No.’ She touched the glass to her mouth and took a sip of the liquid, feeling it burn down her throat and into her stomach.
Wow.
But once the burning had passed, a pleasantly warm sensation lingered. She smiled up at the waiter. ‘It’s delicious.’

‘I know.’ He nodded. ‘Go slowly, though—it can creep up
on you
.’

Anna took another sip. Forget creeping, she wanted to dive right in.

‘Can I get you something to eat?’

She scanned the menu. Despite the anger inside, she was a little hungry. In anticipation of a big meal out tonight, she hadn’t eaten since this morning. ‘I’ll have whatever’s being cooked right now,’ she said, sniffing the air as her stomach rumbled. ‘It smells
delicious
.’

‘It is delicious,’ Christos said. ‘It’s called moussaka, and it’s my mother’s recipe. She was kind enough to share it with me when I opened this restaurant.’

Anna’s eyebrows rose. She’d taken him as a waiter, not the owner. ‘This is your restaurant? You do the cooking, too?’

Christos nodded. ‘And the cleaning, and the accounting, and, well, pretty much everything. We are not busy enough yet for me to hire others, as you can see.’ He grimaced as he glanced around the space.

‘I’m sure it’ll pick up,’ Anna said, wanting to reassure him despite her misgivings. It certainly didn’t seem to be flourishing, and with the recession on, it was a terrible time to open a restaurant. ‘Maybe you need to spread the word a little.’

‘Anyway.’ Christos waved a hand in the air. ‘Let me get your food, and then you must tell me what a beautiful woman like you is doing all alone in such a gorgeous dress.’

Anna flushed, covering her discomfort by taking another sip of ouzo. It slid down nicely now without the accompanying burning. When was the last time anyone had called her beautiful? She couldn’t remember, but it felt nice. And she
was
looking good tonight—completely wasted on her husband, she thought as another wave of anger hit.

She smiled as Christos hummed away in the kitchen, then sipped her drink again. Sneaks up on you, pah. She was more than halfway through and she felt fine. Leaning back in her chair, she glanced around the tiny dining area. The walls were painted a dark blue and tiny fairy lights were strung along the ceiling. It was kitsch, yes, but also very welcoming. And in a way, Anna felt like she’d been transported from grey London to sunny Greece. Her dark mood lifted slightly.

‘Here you are.’ Christos set a plate of moussaka in front of her, and her mouth started watering at the delicious scent.

‘Looks divine,’ she said. ‘What’s in this, exactly?’ She prodded the food with her fork.

Christos tilted his head. ‘You’ve never heard of moussaka?’

‘No. But I’ve obviously been missing out!’

‘Well . . . ’ Christos slid onto the banquette beside her, the heat from his body caressing her bare arms. He smelled of pepper and onion mixed with some kind of musky cologne. ‘This is lamb in a tomato sauce with aubergine. Have a bite and let me know what you think.’ He watched eagerly as Anna took a forkful and inserted it into her mouth as neatly as she could, feeling somewhat self-conscious under his watchful gaze.

The flavours exploded as she chewed. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said once she’d swallowed. ‘You made this?’

Christos grinned. ‘Yes. Why? Don’t think men can cook?’ he joked.

Anna almost responded that her husband certainly couldn’t before clamping her lips closed. Right now, she didn’t want to think about Michael. It seemed all she’d done for the past six years was think of him. Here, in this restaurant away from the reality of the life she’d built with her husband, she just wanted to be Anna. ‘Of course they can. It’s fantastic.’

‘Thank you.’ Christos got to his feet. ‘Let me get you more ouzo. I’ll be right back.’

Anna nodded, continuing to shovel the casserole into her mouth. The alcohol had taken the edge off her anger, and the food was making her muscles pleasantly heavy. She felt like she could melt into the banquette and stay here forever.

‘Here you go.’ Christos’s voice cut into her reverie, and she forced her eyes wide open then took another sip of the drink. God, this was really good. She’d have to get some for Mi—no! Anna pushed aside the thought, irritation swirling inside. For goodness’ sake, couldn’t she have one night without him invading her thoughts?