Babies in Waiting (27 page)

Having Brian live in the house with her was an education. Despite the fact that she had seen him naked and from all angles that fateful night in Manchester, she had only just learned that his feet smelled. They hadn’t got much sleep that night, so it was also fresh news to her that he snored like a train. Even though he was sleeping down the corridor from her, she could hear him, and the noise set her teeth on edge and kept her awake. She learned that with nothing to occupy him he would get up late and sit in crusty tracksuit bottoms and an old T-shirt on the sofa
all day
. He’d keep the television going non-stop, with the drone of antique shows and talk shows permeating the house, while he clicked aimlessly around sports websites and played endless games of freecell on his laptop. And he was messy. He was one of those people who generated an ever-increasing circle of crumbs, used coffee cups, crumpled tissues and inexplicable bits of paper and fluff. To be frank, it all drove her nuts.

But nothing drove her quite as nuts as his complete
lack of movement. He was still asleep when she left in the morning to go to the printing works, and when she came back at lunchtime, he had assumed the position on the sofa and there he would stay. He’d be in exactly the same spot when she got home in the evening. He didn’t seem to be looking for a job, making contact with his family or looking for somewhere to live. He certainly wasn’t making an effort to be a pleasant and useful house guest. He just seemed to have . . . stopped.

It was impossible to have a conversation with him. If she came in from the office and said, ‘Did you have a good day?’ he’d stare at her like a sullen teenager and say, ‘No.’ If she asked him what he was going to do that week, he’d say, ‘I don’t know. I haven’t got a job, or a family, or a home . . .’ and then he’d start whining about how she’d ruined his life.

For a while, well, about two days, guilt won over irritation, and she tried to be pleasant and helpful. But his inertia just drove her batty. On the third morning, she marched into his room at seven thirty, and whisked open the curtains.

‘Right, Brian, there’s coffee and muesli in the kitchen. I’ve booted up your laptop. Go and shower. It’s time to start looking for a job. And a place to live.’

He rolled over and glared at her. ‘I’m on leave of absence, not unemployed. I still have a job.’

‘Well, then let’s find something for you to do. You can’t just lie around here all day. You need to find somewhere else to live, for one.’

‘Where would you like me to go?’ he said sullenly.

‘Well, don’t you have friends? Or family?’

‘None of them are speaking to me. They’ve all taken Lisa’s side. I just had to get away from Leeds.’

‘Well you can’t stay here forever.’

‘But you’re carrying my son! I came here so we could—’

‘Could what?’

He looked uncomfortable, as if he knew that what he was about to say was patently ridiculous. But he said it anyway. ‘Be together.’

‘Really? And where exactly would I fit in? You already have a wife, and a girlfriend – do you have time in your schedule for the mother of your illegitimate child?’

‘Don’t be bitchy, Louise . . .’

‘Brian, we’ve been over this. What happened between us was a mistake. I don’t want to be with you. And to be honest, I don’t think for a moment that you want to be with me. You didn’t want anything to do with this baby . . .’

‘I do now . . .’

‘I wish I believed you really meant that. But I’m not going to be a solution for your homelessness. You don’t just get to trade families. You have to sort your life out!’

‘I know. I know. I’m just . . . not ready yet.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and looked really hangdog and pathetic. Louise couldn’t bear the thought that he might start crying again. ‘I’m going to work,’ she said hastily, and left.

Most worryingly, she hadn’t spoken to Adam about him. Adam was in the final weeks of the Tall Ships Race and was too busy to send anything but the briefest of email
messages. And being the coward she knew she was, Louise responded in the same way. She sent him bullet-point reports on the business, news about Millicent and expressed warm affection, but she neglected to mention that the six-foot-four father of her child was currently squatting in his spare room. She just didn’t know what to say. This job had been her fresh start, and it had seemed as if, in that new beginning, there was tentative hope of a new relationship with Adam. But her past had come back to get her and was currently picking its toenails on Adam’s sofa.

On top of that, she was accelerating towards the end of her pregnancy with alarming speed. She wasn’t worried; as usual, she was prepared. She’d found a reputable website to tell her what she’d need for a baby and bought it all in one fiendish, credit-card-scorching online spree. It was neatly packed up in boxes in the garage. As soon as she found somewhere to live (and it would have to be soon, Adam was now due back in a matter of weeks), she could unpack her instant nursery and be ready to be a mum in a matter of hours.

As far as antenatal training was concerned, she had booked into classes at the local hospital. Because she was usually so superbly prepared she was extremely annoyed when she opened her electronic diary one morning and realised that what with Brian and all the stuff going on at work she’d missed the first class the night before. Never mind, it had probably just been an introduction. She’d catch up.

The next week, she got there good and early so she could collect any notes she’d missed from the previous class. However, it seemed she wasn’t there as early as some . . . the room was already half full of women about her age, who all seemed to be doing business; talking on their phones, typing busily on laptops or reading and annotating sheaves of notes that looked like work rather than antenatal preparation. She found the class organiser, a pleasant Scottish midwife, and got the introductory pack from the previous week. ‘It’s a pretty vocal group,’ said the midwife, Donna. ‘You’ll find the discussion . . . lively.’

Louise found a corner and began skimming through the notes. The start time was nearly upon them, and more people were starting to arrive. It didn’t seem as if they’d be covering anything she didn’t already know at least something about, but it would still be good to be part of a class where she could ask questions. She could also find out the procedure for booking in and . . .

She was really surprised at how shocked she felt when she looked up and saw Gemma and Toni walk in together. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would all be attending antenatal classes at the same hospital. Thinking about it, it was obvious: they were all booked in there, and their due dates were close together. They looked pretty shocked to see her sitting there too. Gemma’s face hardened and shut down. She was obviously quite happy to cut Louise stone dead and not speak to her at all. Toni stopped, looked extremely uncomfortable for a moment, then made up
her mind and marched over. She bent with some difficulty and kissed Louise on the cheek.

‘Lou! How are you? Just a few weeks to go now.’

Louise struggled to her feet . . . she felt very vulnerable sunk in the sofa while the other two stood over her. ‘Yeah. Four weeks to go for me now. So six for you?’

‘Yeah,’ said Toni, ‘although it feels like I’ve been pregnant forever.’

Gemma had her arms folded and a stony, sulky, very-teenage expression on her face. To be frank, after her rude text, Louise didn’t feel very warm towards Gemma. She’d been shocked at the discourteous, judgmental tone of the message. Gemma had no idea about her situation. Louise hadn’t asked her for her opinion and, to be frank, she didn’t want it. Yes, as the daughter of a man like David, Gemma would see a woman who slept with a married man in a different light, but nevertheless. Nevertheless what, she didn’t know. But still. She didn’t need some snotty teenager judging her. She stared at Gemma until she got her to make eye contact. Gemma curled her lip and looked as if she was about to say something, but Toni jumped in hastily. ‘So, Lou, this class is really quite something. There are some very scary women . . . and be ready to yell, or you won’t get heard. Never mind survival of the fittest . . . in this class, it’s survival of the loudest.’

There wasn’t time to say anything more. Donna came bustling in with a laptop, which she connected to a projector, and the class began. Toni hesitated and sat down next to Louise on the sofa. Gemma looked around, obviously
intending to sit somewhere else, but all the seats were taken, so she sat down too, leaning as far as away from Louise as she could, even though Toni was between them.

Donna the Midwife ran briskly through the pros and cons of all the types of pain relief available at the birth unit. Louise got the feeling that she was talking very quickly so that there would be no opportunity for anyone to interrupt and ask questions. But as soon as she got to the end of her PowerPoint presentation, it was open season and almost every woman had her hand up. Donna laughed, a little nervously. ‘I was going to say “Any questions?”, but it seems you all beat me to it.’ She chose a woman sitting close to her. ‘Francesca? Let’s start with you.’ Francesca had come prepared, and had not one, but about fifteen questions on a typed sheet. After a few minutes and dark glares from the other women sitting with their hands raised in a pointed manner, Donna said, ‘I’m going to have to ask you all to restrict yourself to a single question, or we’ll never get through everyone.’

The rest of the class was spent with Donna answering questions, then arguing with women who needed to ask ‘Just one more follow-up question’, as soon as their turn was up. Donna finally looked up at the clock on the wall, and with visible relief, she said: ‘That’s it, I’m afraid, ladies, we’re out of time. See you next week!’

Ten or so women immediately rushed over to Donna to see if they could get their questions answered on a one-to-one basis. Gemma got up, turned to Toni and said, ‘I’ll
see you outside,’ and walked briskly out without saying goodbye to Louise.

After a week of dealing with Brian, Louise wasn’t going to put up with another sulky teenager. She walked quickly and caught up with Gemma in the hallway.

‘I got your text, Gemma,’ she said. ‘And I thought it was very rude.’

‘Well . . .’ Gemma said, going very pink. ‘I was angry.’

‘You were angry? What does my situation have to do with you?’

Gemma obviously decided to brazen it out. ‘It has to do with the whole world. It’s about decent behaviour. How can you sleep with someone else’s husband? It’s disgusting.’

Louise actually took a step back, as if she’d been stung. She felt tears prick in her eyes, not from hurt, but from sheer fury. ‘For what it’s worth, and let me tell you I don’t owe you an explanation, I slept with him once. It was a mistake, I regret it, and, boy, am I paying for it now.’ She turned to walk away, but then stopped. She looked back at Gemma and spoke softly, coldly. ‘You know, Gemma, I’ve always tried to treat you like an adult, but if you’re going to talk to me like a nasty, spoiled child, then I’d suggest you toddle off home and throw your toys there.’

Gemma stared at her, her big blue eyes wide and beginning to fill with tears. Then she turned and stormed out without a word. For a second, Louise regretted being so rough on her. But then, no one seemed to be cutting
her
any slack. She turned around, and Toni was right behind her.

She looked a bit pink in the face, but whether that was anger or embarrassment, Louise couldn’t tell.

‘Good to see you, Lou,’ she said. ‘I’ll, um . . . I’ll see you next week. Gemma’s giving me a lift, so I’d better go.’

She gave a little wave and waddled out. Well, that was horribly awkward, Louise thought. She felt tired and really rather sad. Toni had been a new friend, but one she’d really valued. It seemed the relationship had been too new and delicate to survive all the drama. It was just another loss to have to face up to.

She slowly gathered her things and got ready to go. She didn’t want to move too quickly and have to face Gemma and Toni in the parking lot. As she headed for the door, Donna extricated herself from the circle of relentlessly questioning women and made her way over to Louise. ‘Louise, isn’t it? You’re the one who missed the first class. Everything okay? Did you learn what you needed to know?’

Louise smiled at her. She felt absurdly grateful for the woman’s kindly, uncomplicated interest. ‘Yes, thanks. It helped to confirm the choice I’ve made.’

‘Which is?’

‘I’ve already asked for an epidural, it’s in my birth plan.’

‘Are you sure? You don’t want to give it a go without pain relief and see how you go?’

‘No, thanks. I don’t want to find out I’m too far along to have it and have to go through the whole thing drug-free. Plan ahead, that’s my motto,’ said Louise firmly.

‘Well, as long as you’re sure,’ said Donna, patting her arm. ‘See you next week.’

Louise walked out slowly into the parking lot. The sun was setting, but the evening was still warm. Plan ahead. What a laugh. For a woman who’d always prided herself on her organisational skills, she seemed to be living in a state of ever-increasing chaos and uncertainty.

The weekend after I saw Louise at the antenatal class, James and I were invited for Sunday lunch at my father’s house. To those of you who pop in to see your parents any time, that may sound a bit strange, but my dad is really quite formal about these things. He’s a university professor, in fact he’s a history professor, and his speciality is the ancient civilisations of the Middle East. He’s worked for the School of Oriental and African Studies for my whole life, and I’m very, very proud to be his daughter, even if I don’t really understand very much about the stuff he researches and teaches.

I’m an only child, and my parents were always wonderful to me. In fact, you could say I had a really old-fashioned happy childhood. Everything started to go wrong when I went to university. My mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was very sick indeed for nearly three years, and in the end, my dad had to take leave of absence to look after her. I wanted to leave university, but they were both absolutely adamant that I shouldn’t. Just as I was about to graduate, she died. She was just fifty-five years old. It really
took its toll on my dad. He moved into a smaller house, very sparsely furnished. It didn’t express his personality at all, and there was nothing of our family history, except for one small table where he kept pictures of my mum and me, and eventually a wedding portrait of James and me. But he loved it. As he got older and cut down his teaching load he’d spend hours pottering in his neat garden and even neater shed. James called the house in Hendon the ‘monk’s cell’, and it did feel a bit like that. I didn’t worry, though. My dad was as happy as he could be. I think he loved my mum so much that the only way he could manage was to make a new home and a new day-to-day life. I knew he hadn’t forgotten her. He couldn’t, and neither could I.