Someone Like You (58 page)

He was getting into his stride now. ‘It’d be a wonderful idea, maybe go to Limerick or Galway and take over a small hotel where we can have guest speakers …’

‘Go away for a week?’ Emma was incredulous. ‘How is KrisisKids supposed to finance that sort of conference?

The costs would be ruinous. And I don’t know which journalists you’ve been talking to, but it’s difficult enough to get one full day out of most of them because they’ve so many other events to cover. Only a small percentage will make the second day of the conference this time - and you want them to go away for a week! You’ve no idea, Colin, really you don’t.’

Colin sniffed and got to his feet, tossing his head back in pique. ‘Edward thought it was a wonderful idea,’ he said. ‘He said he’d talk to you about it, but I thought I’d mention it first so you wouldn’t be surprised. I wish I hadn’t bothered. I remember when you were a nice person, Emma. I don’t know why you’ve changed, but you have and not for the better, either! You’ve turned into a jealous bitch.’ With that, he swept out of Emma’s office.

Emma stared at the door openmouthed. Had she been awful to Colin? Had she been professionally sharp or merely unprofessionally bitchy because she felt threatened?

Was Colin right - had she changed so much? It was hard not to when life was so difficult, she reasoned. Everyone and their granny had what they wanted and she didn’t.

One baby, just one small baby, that’s all. Was that so much to ask for? How could anyone expect her to be serene and happy when this crippling need for a child was taking over her whole damn life! Crack. Emma looked down and saw that she’d broken one of the pale green KrisisKids pencils.

Snapped it right in two.

Horrified, she realized she’d just gone off on to another baby rant in her head. Thinking about her baby was taking over her entire life. Work, home, play, sex: you name it, longing for a baby drowned every other emotion and overwhelmed all other parts of her life. Now it was affecting her at work to the point where she had lost her temper with a junior member of staff who was doing nothing more than trying to come up with new ideas. Colin was a terrible gossip, for sure, but he wasn’t a bad person. Perhaps he did have a problem with Emma being his superior, but it was up to her to make sure that her subordinates worked with her and not against her. If Colin didn’t like having a woman boss, or if he was genuinely trying to make her look foolish, Emma should have dealt with it in a professional way and not by snapping his head off. It had to stop, she decided.

Edward was on the phone when she knocked on his door but he motioned her to come in anyway.

When he had finished the call, he smiled at her a tad nervously and said he was glad she’d come in because there was something he wanted to discuss.

‘Colin Mulhall came up with quite a good suggestion earlier and I wanted to talk it over with you,’ he said hesitantly. He was never usually hesitant. Edward was the most direct and uncompromising person she’d ever met.

But she instinctively knew he was wary of telling her this because he was afraid she’d go ballistic. How awful that she’d changed so much and nobody had told her.

‘I know you see the conference as solely your baby,’

Edward said.

She winced at his choice of words.

‘And for that reason, I don’t want you to get upset at this, but we must consider all ideas, you understand?’

Emma put him out of his misery. ‘Edward, I know what you’re going to say because Colin told me a few minutes ago - and I’m ashamed to say I was angry with him. I blew his suggestion out of the water because I was jealous and felt threatened, and I’m on my way to apologize to him. I just wanted to drop in to ask if you think I haven’t been doing my job properly lately, or if I’ve been difficult to work with …’ It was a tough question to ask but Emma’s high standards demanded it.

Edward’s momentary hesitation told her everything.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said before he could speak. ‘There really is no excuse, Edward. I’m going to see Colin now, then I’m going home. When I come in tomorrow, I’ll be my old self again.’

‘Promise?’ Edward said.

She nodded.

Colin was sulking and immediately picked up his phone to make a call when Emma walked slowly to his desk.

However, when Emma began to apologize profusely and explain that she was under a lot of strain about something entirely unrelated to work, he cheered up.

‘I thought you must be stressed out about something,’

he said. ‘I said to Finn only the other morning that you weren’t your lovely, smiling self and we couldn’t imagine what it was. We all know what it’s like to be under strain too, and if you ever feel like an old chat over a cappuccino, talk to me. You know I’d never breathe a word about anyone’s personal business.’

‘I know you wouldn’t, Colin,’ Emma agreed, thankful that she still had a sense of humour. ‘We’ll talk about your idea tomorrow, but I’m going to take a half-day today, so I’ll see you in the morning.’

At home, Emma threw her self-help books in the bin and then cleaned out her secret hoard from the bottom of her wardrobe. It broke her heart to throw out the pregnancy guide, the how-to-feed-your-baby guide and the lovely baby clothes she hadn’t been able to resist buying. The tiny yellow bootees were the worst: hand-made chenille from a craft shop, they were exquisitely made. So dainty and small. When she’d bought them, she’d wondered how any baby’s feet could ever be that tiny to fit inside the little shoes. It had been ages since she’d taken them out and touched them. She allowed herself one brief caress, then she bundled them into the bin liner with the other things.

She threw the baby lotion she used as make-up remover into the kitchen bin and dragged her bag of goodies outside.

Double-parking at the Oxfam shop, she left the bag just inside the door and then hurried off. She cried as she drove away. It was so final, so absolutely final. There was no hope for her and she was only tormenting herself by thinking that there was. Apparently, she was tormenting other people too. If she couldn’t have a baby, then she couldn’t and that was that. What was the point of destroying her life and Pete’s into the bargain because she couldn’t come to terms with it?

She went to the supermarket and bought her groceries, including stacks of cleaning equipment. It was odd, being in the supermarket in the early afternoon. Usually, she went at the weekend or late at night when the place was full of harassed career women and men flinging microwaveable meals into trolleys. Today, there was a different type of harassment in the air: that of exhausted mothers with young children, trying to drag youngsters in primary school uniforms away from the chocolate biscuits while simultaneously consoling the sobbing toddler jammed in the trolley seat.

Emma pushed her trolley to the check-out with the shortest queue. Ahead of her was a petite Chinese woman with a small baby in one of those chunky carry seats. Emma tried not to look at the baby as the woman threw groceries on to the conveyor belt. She couldn’t help it. Dark, slanting eyes stared solemnly at her from a tiny face topped with a bright pink hat.

The baby waggled her fingers at Emma imperiously, demanding attention. Tiny fingers ending with minuscule translucent nails. It never ceased to amaze Emma that a creature so small could be such a perfect version of an adult, with fingers, toes and a little button nose that was scrunched up now in dismay because nobody was paying her enough attention.

‘Isn’t she lovely,’ said an elderly voice behind her.

A fragile old lady with just a few things in her trolley was smiling at the baby, making coo-coo noises. ‘They’re lovely at that age,’ she said to Emma.

‘Yes,’ Emma replied faintly. Talk about attacks from every side.

‘Do you have any yourself?’ the old lady asked.

Emma wondered how rich she’d be if she had a pound for every time she’d been asked that particular question.

She’d also wondered how astonished the questioner would be if she were to scream, ‘No, I’m infertile, you nosy, insensitive bastard!’ at them. But you couldn’t say that, especially not to a little old lady who was probably lonely and wanted company.

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ she replied.

The old lady smiled. ‘There’s plenty of time, love, you’re only young.’

‘Why don’t you go ahead of me in the queue,’ Emma suggested to her. ‘You’ve only got a few things and I’ve loads.’

‘That’s kind of you, love,’ said the woman. ‘I can’t hold those baskets any more and I have to get a trolley no matter how few things I want.’

She moved ahead of Emma and began chatting to the baby’s mother. Emma picked up a magazine she hadn’t wanted from the rack beside the check-out and started reading. She didn’t really want to know how to transform her house with painting techniques as seen on TV, but anything was better than talking about babies nonchalantly, as though every fibre of her body didn’t long for one.

Once she’d unpacked the shopping at home Emma changed into old clothes and started on a frenzied clean up. She’d scrubbed their bathroom and the main bathroom, and was busily thrusting the Hoover nozzle into the corners of her wardrobe when she heard the phone ring. It was Hannah.

‘Hi,’ said Hannah guardedly. ‘Are you ill? I rang the office and they said you’d gone home early.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Emma replied. ‘How are you? Are you still on for next week?’

They’d planned a trip to the theatre to see Les Liaisons Dangereuses.

‘Yes,’ Hannah said slowly. ‘It’s just that I wanted to tell you something beforehand. I didn’t want to land it on you next week.’

Emma was intrigued. ‘Felix is playing Valmont as a surprise?’ she said, amazed to find she could make a joke despite how depressed she felt. ‘You’ve won the Lotto?’

‘No.’ Hannah sounded so serious.

‘What is it?’

‘I’m pregnant. I wanted to tell you myself, I didn’t want Leonie to have to tell you. Because I know how hard it’ll be for you …’

Emma made a harsh sound that she managed to turn into a little hoarse laugh. ‘Why should I be upset, Hannah?

I’m delighted for you. You must be so thrilled, and Felix, of course. When’s it due?’

The words stuck in her throat like lumps of stone but she had to say them, had to say the right things to dear Hannah who’d been such a friend to her.

‘The beginning of December. Actually, I’m scared stiff, Emma,’ she revealed, unable to help herself. ‘I know it sounds terrible, but I’d never thought that long about having a baby and, now that I am, it’s wonderful and all that but … I’m terrified. What if I’m not the maternal type?

What if I’m hopeless at it? Everyone seems to think it comes naturally, but people are always telling you certain things come naturally and that’s rubbish.’

‘Stop panicking,’ Emma said reassuringly. ‘Hannah, you’re a competent, intelligent woman who can run an office, who has successfully changed careers and who’s well able to apply herself to anything. Are you trying to tell me that you’ll fall to pieces at the sight of a nappy, or collapse when you have to puree a carrot?’

Despite herself, Hannah laughed.

‘It’s common sense, Hannah,’ Emma continued. ‘It’s going to be your baby and of course you’re going to love it. You may not turn into Mrs Earth Mother in floral frocks who grows her own organic rhubarb, but you’ll be great.

You’ll do it your way, right?’

‘I suppose,’ Hannah said. ‘It’s just that Felix seems to think that now I’m pregnant, this maternal glow surrounds me like some madonna in a medieval painting. I don’t even think he fancies me any more,’ she admitted.

‘That’s not unusual either. Some guys can only cope with one concept at a time. It’s that madonna/whore balance. You were the whore - not you personally, Hannah, but because you were his sexual partner. Now you’re the mother of his child, so you’re off-limits sexually.’

‘You’d make a great psychiatrist,’ Hannah remarked. ‘I just thought Felix was being his moody old self.’

‘Hey, you’re his fiancee. You should know. Perhaps I’ve been reading too many self-help books,’ Emma said drily, thinking of the pile of books she’d dumped a few hours previously.

‘You’re a great pal,’ Hannah said warmly. ‘I was dreading telling you about all this. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to show a house to two morons who haven’t a clue what they really want. I’ll see you and Leonie next week, OK?’

‘OK,’ Emma answered automatically and hung up.

She was glad she’d thrown away all the baby stuff. She didn’t want it in the house, mocking her by its very existence.

But she still allowed herself to cry bitterly at the irony of it. Hannah, who didn’t want children, was unexpectedly pregnant. And she, who did … What was the point of going over it all again? At least she’d managed to lie convincingly to Hannah about her true feelings. She wouldn’t make much of a psychiatrist, but she was a good liar.

The notion of psychiatry hit her - why didn’t she see a counsellor? Everybody went to therapists these days. It might help her deal with how she was feeling, it might unlock the painful knot that threatened to take over her whole body. It might be a complete disaster, of course, but she’d give it a try.

Checking the phone book for registered counsellors, she came upon a list of names. Several lived nearby and she closed her eyes and picked one.

Elinor Dupre. It sounded exotic and French. Maybe she didn’t speak English and it’d be very easy, Emma thought, therapy where neither party understood the other. She dialled the number, expecting an answering machine or a secretary and a waiting list at the very least. To her surprise, a woman answered in crisp, received pronunciation tones: ‘Elinor Dupre speaking.’

‘I … er, hello, my name is Emma Sheridan and I got your name from the phone book,’ stammered Emma. ‘Do I need to get a referral from a doctor or anything … ?’ she broke off.

‘No, you don’t. It would help if you told me why you wanted to see me, though. I may not be able to help.’

Her voice was soothing, calming. Emma had this ridiculous desire to spill out everything over the phone, but confined herself to saying: ‘I can’t have children and it’s taking over my life, that’s all.’