by Kiki Archer
“EXCUSE ME!” The shout was loud and neither had noticed Elizabeth entering the office. “Sorry to interrupt. These came for you.” She walked over to Andi and placed the huge bouquet of flowers into her arms. “Do continue, Pippa. That was marvellous.”
Pippa placed the small bottle of water back on the work top. “I was just messing around,” she said, slightly embarrassed. “How did you enjoy the party on Saturday, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, very good, thank you. I haven’t got time to stop and chat now, Janet needs me. But I think we’re all going to catch up at lunchtime.”
“Okay, great,” said Andi purposefully. “We’ve got a lot on today as well.”
Elizabeth nodded and turned to leave.
Andi held back the nervous giggles until the office door swung shut. She looked down at the huge bouquet of brightly coloured flowers, then back up at Pippa.
Pippa bit her bottom lip. “They’re not from me,” she said shaking her head.
Andi felt a strange sensation prickle down her back, unsure if Pippa’s admission had left her disappointed or relieved.
“You said to act normal, and that’s what I’m doing, and that’s what I’ll continue to do.” Pippa smiled. “Remember what we said? Remember, without regret, but don’t repeat … remember?”
Andi laughed. “You lost me at the first remember!” She walked back over to her desk and placed the bouquet down, tuning around and holding onto the lip of the desk with two hands. “Seriously Pippa, I need you to know just that.”
“Just what?”
She held the wooden desk tightly. “That I remember, and that I don’t regret, and even though I may be very tempted at times, that I’m going to try my very hardest, not to repeat.”
Pippa came over and perched next to her. “You don’t have to explain.” She smiled. “We understand each other. We both wanted it to happen and we’re both glad it happened. But we also both value our friendship and our jobs.” She gently nudged Andi’s arm. “Hey, it’ll bring us closer.”
Andi turned to look at her and smiled. “I know. I can feel it already.”
“This might sound dramatic, but I always remember a story I heard about a mother who lost her son in a traffic accident at the age of nine years old. The mother was in the doctor’s surgery, unable to cope with her grief, questioning why this had to happen to her and her son.” Pippa paused to check that Andi was following. “Well anyway, the doctor said he was going to ask the woman one question.”
“Okay,” said Andi slightly perplexed, but definitely intrigued.
“The doctor said to the mother: ‘If you knew this was going to happen to your son, nine years after giving birth to him, and you had the choice of going back in time and deciding whether you would give birth to him again or not, what would you choose?’”
Andi nodded.
“The woman instantly knew that she would choose the nine wonderful years, over no years at all, and her grief suddenly became more manageable. She knew she had to focus on the good times and the memories, rather than the bad.” Pippa smiled. “So I guess I kind of think like that.”
Andi laughed. “Oh bless you, Pippa. That’s such a sweet story,” she raised her eyebrows, “if somewhat morbid … but I understand what you mean.”
Pippa walked her fingers along the side of the desk so they were gently brushing Andi’s. “If I knew I could share an experience that was so magical, so wonderful, and so precious that it would make every other experience pale in comparison … If I knew I would experience it once, but never again, leaving every other connection, for the rest of my life, completely lacking … would I choose to experience it in the first place?” She bit her bottom lip and held Andi’s glistening amber eyes. “I would … one thousand times over.”
Andi felt a deep pain in her heart. “Thank you,” she whispered, “and so would I.”
****
Andi watched as Pippa walked from the office, touched and relieved by the moment they had shared. Both knew that everything would be okay; that everything would continue in the manner that it should. The office door swung shut and Andi immediately turned to the huge fragrant bouquet, puzzled by the envelope. She had noticed it when Elizabeth had passed it over. It wasn’t the usual small card, written by the florist, shoved amongst the stems; this was a full sized red envelope with a hand-drawn heart in the corner. She lifted it out from the flowers and walked around to the other side of her desk, sitting in her padded chair and studying the sketched shape.
Flowers were often delivered to the office from researchers who Andi had spent some time with, or radio hosts thankful for her presence during a debate. Or even just individuals who wanted to show their support. But they never usually included large red envelopes like this one.
She stuck her finger under the lip and ripped across the top, carefully pulling out a hand written letter. She opened the notepaper and smoothed out the fold, instantly recognising the writing.
To my darling wife, it read.
Andi closed her eyes, nervous of the words. She swallowed and exhaled slowly, daring herself to read without question.
To my darling wife,
I need to start by saying sorry. I’m sorry for all of the things I have said or done that have made you feel sad. I love you and I never want you to feel sad.
I’m sorry for all of the times I have been mean. I’d like to think that it’s not intentional, but sometimes I feel so caught up in myself and my problems, that it probably is.
Maybe I’m jealous? Jealous of you. Your life. Your success. Your fans. Your ability to keep your head up and keep striding forwards, even when I’m holding you back and putting you down.
I’ve been snappy. I know I have. I can feel myself doing it and I don’t know why, but I can’t stop. Maybe I should blame my hormones, or the drugs they’ve made me try. But when I think about it, it’s probably just the realisation that this could be an early menopause; that’s what may be affecting me the most. I feel like an old woman. I don’t want to dry up and lose my passion. I want to keep it alive. I want to know that I’ve still got it. But if it’s not the dreaded M, then they think it could be my thyroid. You might as well just check me into a home now!
Andi had to smile, she could picture the way Zara would have reached for the phone and asked her to ring around all of the local retirement villages. She read on, with intrigue.
Listen to me writing away about all of my ailments. This is probably the last thing you want to hear when you’re at work with your fit, young PA, saving the world and doing it in style. Because that’s what you’ve got, Andi. Style. You’ve always had it. You always will. That’s why I fell in love with you.
You’re an incredible woman, and I’m proud to call you my wife. But I meant what I said yesterday. I want you back. If that’s selfish then so be it. I call a spade a spade … sometimes I even call it a bloody fucking shovel! … but I’m being honest here. I’m pleading for you to stop. If not for me, then for our potentially wonderful, unborn children.
Zara x
Andi gasped. Our potentially wonderful unborn children? Zara could barely utter the word kids, let alone refer to the little people of this world with any form of endearment. She folded the letter back over, before unfolding it once again, and rereading it twice through.
Pippa popped her head into the office. “Sorry, I’ve just had a phone call. I need a quick quote for a reporter. Can you do it now?”
Andi nodded and signalled her in. “Can I ask you something first?”
Pippa nodded.
“Do you want kids?”
“Of course! But I hate it when people call them kids, they’re children.”
“Is there a difference?”
Pippa smiled, making her way to the desk. “Yes, I think there is. Why?”
Andi touched the letter with the tip of her finger, so completely tempted to open up and ask for advice. She had never once bad mouthed Zara, to anyone, not even Stella when she was having dig
s of her own. The principle of loyalty had always been so important to her, and she had presumed it always would be. “Sorry, no reason,” said Andi, “I’m just thinking of doing a piece on LGBT parents.”
“Sounds great, I’ll help you with it. Let me get this quote first.” Pippa looked at her notepad and tapped the end of her pen between her teeth. “A reporter from The Daily, wants to know what you think about the lesbian in America who faked her own hate crime to draw attention to the plight of gay people.”
Andi sighed. “There are some real nutters out there, I know that for sure!”
Pippa nodded and pretended to scribble. “Great, got it.”
Chapter Twenty Five
Andi had managed to make it through a lunchtime of jibes and digs from the Proud Unity folk, who were joking about her inability to handle her booze, and suggesting that she’d sloped off with Patty the Pudge or the Sapphic Sisters, or both. Andi had batted away the banter and gained confidence that her party had actually been a roaring success, with all enjoying themselves until the early hours. Andi had then made the most of the relatively light workload and spent a lot of the afternoon searching the internet and printing out pamphlets from all of the local fertility clinics, amazed at the wide range of services offered to lesbians and lesbian couples. Absolutely no distinction seemed to be made between people of opposing sexualities in need of some help in starting a family. Andi had started to get really excited, having forgotten, or possibly dismissed, how deeply she craved children of her own. She tucked the file of print-outs under her arm and slipped her key into the lock of their large front door. “I’m home!” she shouted excitedly.
Zara shuffled out of the lounge, in her work suit and tights. “You’re early. I’m not even changed yet.”
Andi hurriedly kicked off her shoes and lifted her jacket to the antique coat stand. “I know! I couldn’t wait to get home.”
“Why?”
Andi pulled the large red envelope from the file and wiggled it with a grin.
“Oh that,” shrugged Zara. “I’m not sure where my head was at when I was writing that.”
“Don’t play it down, Zara. It was wonderful, and so were the flowers.” Andi walked over to her wife and smiled at her gently. “I know it must have taken a lot to say sorry, and I’m sorry too. We’ve both changed from the people we were when we got married and I guess we just have to work together to adjust.”
“Or change back to who we were.” Zara folded her arms. “And anyway, I haven’t changed.”
Andi pursed her lips. “Umm, your dry sense of humour might have degenerated slightly into outright insults.” Andi watched as Zara pulled her long hair over her shoulder and lifted her nose; realising quickly that she’d have to backtrack. “I’m joking!” she said. “But you know what I mean. You wrote about it in the letter, and I understand it must be difficult not feeling like yourself and wondering why.”
Zara shrugged. “They’ve given me some patches to try.”
“Good,” smiled Andi with sympathy. “Come on, let’s go and sit down. I’ve got some stuff to show you.” She walked through to the lounge, sat down on the large sofa and patted the seat next to her.
“I’ll sit in my recliner, sweetie.”
“No, come here and look at this.” Andi excitedly pulled the wad of print-outs from the file. She leaned forwards and spread them across the coffee table. “I’ve spent the afternoon doing a spot of research and I think I already know which clinic would be best for us to try.”
“Sorry, what?” said Zara, still standing.
“I think you’re right. I think starting a family would be such a wonderful thing for us. We’ve been together for seven years; we’re both at the top of our game at work. This feels so right.” She smiled. “I’m just so thrilled that you’ve started to entertain the idea.”
Zara coughed and perched down on the sofa next to Andi. “And you’d stop work?”
“Well, even if we started all of the consultations this month, and even if things were fine with our fertility and we ended up going for the IUI-”
“The what?”
Andi laughed. “The IUI. Intrauterine insemination. It’s the most natural form of fertility treatment.” She was talking quickly but she couldn’t help it. The excitement was too much to contain. She laughed again. “So if we had the IUI, where they track your follicles and wait for your egg to be released, before using a catheter to insert the sperm into whichever fallopian tube the egg is travelling down,” she took a deep breath, “so if we went for that, and hoped the egg fertilised properly and embedded itself naturally into the wall of the womb … we’d still be looking at a nine month pregnancy, and that’s only if everything went to plan.” She took another breath. “So I wouldn’t have to start my maternity leave until next September. That is, of course, assuming I was the one to carry.” She nodded in conclusion. “But Zara, this time next year we could have our own little family!”
Zara put her hand up. “Whoa whoa whoa! Stop right there!”
Andi bit her bottom lip, worried that the talk of catheters and fallopian tubes had been too much too soon.
“What do you mean, maternity leave?”
“I’d try and work until the last possible minute, like Stella did.” She paused. “But then I think I would like to take the full year off.” She waited for Zara to smile.
Zara remained stony faced. “We’ve had this discussion before. We cannot work and have children. It would be too much.”
Andi nodded. “That’s why I’d take the full year off.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’d do what most other working mothers do, we’d get childcare.”
Zara shook her head. “Wouldn’t work. You’d have to leave Proud Unity, permanently.”
“Why?”
Zara tutted. “We had this chat yesterday. We could get ‘us’ back. We could start to have fun again!”
“Oh, Zara, it’s tempting, but you know that Proud Unity’s my life.”
“But you’d have a new life. You’d be a mother and a housewife.”
Andi ran her fingers through her short blonde hair. “We’re strong women. We can have it all.”
Zara’s eyes flickered. “No, sweetie. We either go for this properly, or we don’t go for it at all. And if we do decide to go for it, then you should stop work as soon as possible so that you can focus all of your attention on getting pregnant.”
Andi shifted in her seat. “And you wouldn’t want to carry?”
Zara shuddered. “No fucking way!”
Chapter Twenty Six
It was the second Saturday in December, two weeks since her thirtieth birthday party, and Andi was sitting at the back of the cosy presentation room in one of London’s top fertility clinics. She glanced at her watch once more. The past fortnight had been strange. Work had been quiet, with everyone nervously awaiting the government’s response to the equal marriage consultation, and her home life had also felt slightly muted. Whenever they seemed to chat about their fertility options, Zara would freeze up and get snappy, leaving Andi to remind her that starting a family had, in fact, been her suggestion. The conversation, however, would always end at the same point - Zara insisting that she stopped work to focus her full attention on the pregnancy.
Andi exhaled as a nervous shiver raced down her spine. She glanced at her watch and realised the truth. Zara wasn’t coming. The introductory presentation was about to start and she looked around at the other couples in the room, watching them snuggled together at the shoulders, in nervous excitement. A single lady in the corner of the room caught her eye and gave a knowing nod, obviously assuming she too was embarking on this journey alone. Andi slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and checked her phone. Nothing.
****
Zara was sitting in her silver Range Rover, eyes closed, radio on, completely hidden by the dark tinted windows. She had chosen to park next to a large yellow skip on a piece of industrial wasteland in Upper Walthams
tow, waiting until the last possible moment, before texting Andi and crying traffic. Her ringtone startled her and she blinked quickly, rubbing her eyes and looking at the display. She expected to see Andi’s name, but the number was blocked. She swiped the screen and tapped the green button, waiting with a smile.
The voice was high pitched and the caller was once again using their unconvincing posh accent. “This is the end of the second deadline I set you. Have you told her yet?”
Zara smiled. She had come to enjoy the threatening phone calls, each time gaining more of a clue as to the identity of the caller. She laughed. “Okay, so, I’ve figured out you’re a woman. You were obviously at Andi’s party. You clearly stole Melody’s ridiculous sex file-”
The caller cut in. “So it’s not true? The dates? The times? The explicit details of your liaisons? Is that why you’re being so blasé?”
Zara smirked. “Oh no, it’s all true. Every, last, sordid, detail.” She listened as the caller tried to stifle a cough. “I have affairs. Big deal.”
“Does your wife know?”
“Well I haven’t succumbed to your ridiculous idea of telling her everything … so no … of course she doesn’t.” Zara studied her nails, using her thumb to file down any rough sections. “And that, thank you very much, is the way it’s going to stay.”
“You really don’t care, do you?”
Zara flicked a piece of dirt from under a fingernail and sighed. “I do care. That’s the whole point. Why hurt someone for no reason? It’s just sex. Everybody has affairs.”
The high pitched voice became even more exacerbated. “You’re making a mockery out of marriage!”
Zara looked around at the wasteland, trying to decide if it had potential for investment. “Look, as much as I love our little chats I’m starting to get rather bored of all of this. You said last week that you were going to post her the file, and you didn’t. You’ve said this week that you’re going to post her the file, and you haven’t. So why don’t you just take that file and stick it where the sun don’t shine, or, in your case, where the fingers don’t poke!”
