Circle of Doubt

by Buchanan, Tracy

As Isla crossed her arms and tapped her toe while Emma searched her bag for her keys, Emma couldn’t help but smile. Truth was, Isla was uber cute when she was angry.

  During the adoption process, Emma and Dele were encouraged to talk about the kind of child they would like. Back then, Emma had naively imagined a ten-year-old as being obsessed with princesses and fairy wings. She would never have envisaged a mini teenager, already obsessed with make-up and having strops. But really, she wouldn’t have it any other way. She preferred this version to the Disney version, even if it was very different from the way Emma had been as a child. She used to love all the Disney stuff, and would watch The Little Mermaid over and over again, snuggled up with her mother who was also a Disney fan, a contrast to her sister Harriet who’d prefer to watch the Grand Prix and old Westerns with her dad.

  Sometimes, though, Emma worried that Isla was growing up too fast. But despite her grumpy moments, in the main Isla was a charming, polite and lovely little girl . . . to other people anyway, and that was what counted, wasn’t it?

  Emma let them in and Isla ran straight upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her. As she did, Emma paused at the living-room door. Dele had cleared up all the mess; the carpet was newly hoovered. But the large board looked ugly and so out of place and made the room so dark.

  A few moments later, Dele walked in the front door looking as dishevelled as ever after a day of working in the bookshop. Or in this case, an afternoon after a morning sorting the mess.

  She liked him that way, though, black hair all messy, his dark skin smelling of books. It still made her tummy tilt, just as it had when they’d met at her sister’s engagement party in a cramped pub events room in Islington fifteen years ago. Emma had moved to London with Harriet two years before then and was an assistant at a small PR company, while her sister worked for a government think tank. Dele was a friend of Alba, Harriet’s new fiancé. Alba was the latest in a string of whirlwind lovers that Harriet had met in their two years in London, a fiery Italian whose family owned a string of restaurants in West London. This wasn’t Harriet’s first proposal of marriage; she’d had a couple already. But it was the first one she’d accepted, which had made Emma wonder if this time it really was serious. It helped that Emma liked Alba, too. Yes, he was a bit overdramatic and passionate, but he really seemed to love Harriet . . . plus he had a gorgeous friend.

  Dele had been to university with Alba and was an editorial assistant at a publishing firm at the time. He was tall – almost six foot three – and was wearing a George Orwell 1984 T-shirt when Emma first met him at the engagement party. It helped that he was easy on the eye, too, which seemed at odds with how badly he was dancing. When they were introduced later by a very drunk Alba, Emma surprised herself by saying: ‘Oh yes, you’re the one with the dad-dance moves.’ Usually she wouldn’t be as bold as that, but there was something about Dele’s manner that made her feel at ease.

  Despite the fact that she’d insulted his dancing, they somehow ended up talking for two hours straight, finding a quiet corner in the bar. As people got even more drunk and raucous around them, Dele asked her if she wanted to go somewhere quieter and Emma surprised herself by saying ‘yes’ without hesitating.

  Thing was, she wasn’t like Harriet, who dated someone new every month. She was waiting for the right one, something her sister blamed on Emma’s Disney film obsession.

  ‘Honestly, hon,’ Harriet would say, ‘there are no Prince Erics in Battersea.’

  Emma had only had a couple of boyfriends, one a quiet maths student she’d met while studying marketing at the University of York. But that soon disintegrated after she caught him cheating on her with her roommate. Then there was one of her sister’s clients, a German marketing director. On paper, he was ideal for Emma: fascinated by marketing, especially digital marketing; handsome and quiet, like her. But after a year, she ended it. She just didn’t feel enough of a connection with him . . . which may have had something to do with the fact that he was clearly in love with her sister.

  And now here was this vivacious, gorgeous, passionate man who was as obsessed with books as she was and actually seemed to find her fascinating. And not once did his eyes slide over to Harriet as she launched into her sexy Señorita dance when a Shakira song came on later in the night. It sealed the deal, and three years later they got married in a small ceremony at Islington Town Hall.

  Dele walked in now, giving her a peck on the cheek as he slung his leather satchel bag on the side cabinet. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep. Thanks for sorting the window.’ She glanced at the board again and Dele followed her gaze.

  ‘Eyesore, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘You could say that.’

  He followed her into the kitchen and she handed him the cheese grater. ‘Can you grate some cheese?’

  He nodded and went to the sink, pulling the sleeves of his plaid shirt up and washing his hands.

  ‘Do you really think a bunch of teenage kids did it?’ she asked.

  ‘Who else would do it? It happens, Emma, even in nice little villages like this.’

  Emma pursed her lips, then nodded. He was right; no point making a big deal out of it . . . unless it happened again.

  She inwardly shuddered at the thought. It wouldn’t happen again, would it?

  ‘You okay?’ Dele asked, tilting his head as he examined her face.

  She smiled. ‘Yep. Just had a rubbish day to be honest.’ She told him about the run-in with Myra, and Dele shook his head.

  ‘Wow, she sounds delightful,’ Dele said sarcastically.

  ‘At least her boss seems like a decent bloke.’

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘Mr Belafonte,’ she said in a faux-posh voice. ‘You know that crane in the forest? He’s building a house there.’

  They both looked out of the window towards the treetops at the side of the house. It was dark outside now, the forest a silhouette against the night sky, a crescent moon peering down at it, its light just catching the edge of the crane.

  ‘Fancy,’ Dele said. ‘Where’s Isla?’

  Emma rolled her eyes. ‘She’s in a strop.’

  ‘What is it now?’ Dele asked as he started grating the cheese. ‘You didn’t let her have a Wham bar just before dinner?’

  Emma laughed. ‘Not this time. She wants to do this.’ She pointed at Tatjana’s flyer, which was lying on the kitchen worktop.

  ‘Belafonte?’ Dele said, reading it. ‘This the wife of the knight in shining armour from this morning?’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘Why can’t Isla do this?’ he asked as he read it.

  ‘Look at the price. Anyway, Thursday’s your day. Actually,’ Emma said as casually as she could, ‘I’ll be interested to hear what you think when you see Tatjana.’

  ‘Why?’ Dele asked.

  ‘She looks a bit like Jade Dixon,’ she whispered.

  Dele rolled his eyes. ‘Let me guess, she’s black.’

  ‘Not just because of that!’

  Emma knew it did Dele’s head in, the way people would tell him he looked like any random black actor they could pluck out of the air – Idris Elba, Will Smith, even Morgan Freeman, despite being half his age. He clearly thought Emma was doing the same with Tatjana, comparing her to another black woman she knew, Isla’s birth mother.

  He laughed. ‘Emma, do you seriously think Jade Dixon is now married to a rich architect and is building a massive house in the middle of the woods?’

  ‘I didn’t say it is her,’ Emma said, reaching for some more salt and sprinkling it into the mince she was frying. ‘Just that she looks like her. You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.’

  ‘Okay, I get it now,’ Dele said as he looked at the flyer.

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘Why you don’t want Isla doing this.’

  ‘No, no, it has nothing to do with that! It’s a cost we could do without right now, that’s all.’

  Dele raised an eyebrow. ‘Really,
that’s all? You don’t mind a glamorous young black mother teaching your child her favourite subject? Do I detect the green-eyed monster?’

  Emma flicked a tea towel at him and he ducked, laughing.

  ‘What’s all the laughing about?’ Isla said as she strolled in. She went straight to her dad, giving him a hug as she glowered at Emma. Emma shook her head and got the rice out of the microwave.

  ‘So Mum tells me you want to do this fashion design thing?’ Dele asked Isla.

  ‘She won’t let me,’ Isla said, grabbing some of the grated cheese and stuffing it in her mouth.

  ‘Maybe it’s less about not letting you,’ Dele said, ‘and more about the fact you assume we’ll just say yes to everything.’

  Isla looked confused. She often did when Dele tried to explain things to her in his philosophical way.

  ‘By assumed,’ Dele said, ‘I mean you just think we’ll say yes without even considering we might say no.’

  ‘I really need to do it though, Dad.’

  ‘You mean you really want to do it,’ Emma said as she divided the rice between three plates. ‘Want isn’t the same as need, Isla.’

  Isla’s shoulders dropped, and Dele caught Emma’s eye over her head with a look she knew well: the ‘my daughter is wrapping me around her finger right this very moment’ look. ‘I don’t mind it being my evening,’ he said with a shrug. ‘It’s only forty-five minutes. Plus I got that overtime money.’

  Emma rolled her eyes. Great, now if she said no, she’d look like the big bad witch.

  Thanks, Dele.

  ‘Okay,’ Emma said. ‘If this was in my office and one of the team wanted to attend a training event, our boss would ask us to do a quick presentation on why it’s worth it.’

  ‘A presentation?’ Isla asked, her confused expression deepening.

  Dele’s mouth twitched into a smile. ‘Don’t worry, Isla, Mum got me to do the same when I proposed to her.’

  Emma flicked a tea towel at him again. ‘I did not!’ She sighed and walked over to Isla, putting her hands gently on her daughter’s shoulders. ‘You don’t need to do a presentation, darling. Just tell me why it’s so important to you.’

  Isla thought about it for a moment. ‘I like fashion, I have all my life.’

  ‘Yes, all the ten looooooong years of your life,’ Dele said.

  Emma resisted the urge to smile. Isla looked so earnest!

  Isla gave her dad a look, then turned back to her mother. ‘I’m always doing those fashion books,’ she continued, ‘and art is my best subject at school. Miss Morgan says I’m awesome at it.’

  ‘That’s right, you are,’ Emma admitted.

  ‘And I – I want to . . .’ Isla paused, thinking about it. ‘I want to take it up the stairs. I want to be serious about it.’

  It was now Emma and Dele’s turn to look confused. ‘Up the stairs?’ Emma asked.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Isla said. ‘Like when you told me why you were going to take that new job and move here.’

  ‘Oh, you mean take it up a level,’ Emma said, smiling. ‘Oh darling.’ She pulled Isla into her arms and stroked her hair. ‘You are such a clever thing.’

  Isla peered up at her, her long black eyelashes batting away. ‘Does that mean yes, I can do it?’

  Dele and Emma looked at each other over their daughter’s head, and Emma sighed. ‘Fine. You can do it.’

  Isla whooped and ran around the kitchen, shouting, ‘Victory lap, victory lap!’ as Emma and Dele laughed. How could they say no to her when she reacted like this?

  That evening in bed, Dele put his book down and turned towards Emma. ‘I think we did good parenting this evening,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I think we’re approaching this adulting business rather well.’

  He smiled. ‘Seriously. We did the right thing. Isla really is great at all this design stuff – we should encourage it.’

  ‘I know,’ Emma agreed.

  ‘And don’t worry, this glamorous black beauty of a fashion designer will never match up to you,’ he said, leaning over and taking her reading glasses off.

  ‘Oh yes, I am the epitome of glamour,’ Emma replied, gesturing to her old Harry Potter Hufflepuff nightdress.

  ‘I actually find nine-year-old nightdresses with ripped sleeves very sexy,’ he said, tracing his lips up her arm.

  She laughed as she stroked his hair. ‘Nine years, that’s very specific. How on earth do you remember that?’

  He peered up at her. ‘You were wearing it the night we decided to adopt, remember?’

  ‘Now this is why I find you so sexy,’ she said, wriggling down the bed so she was face to face with him. ‘Your mind for detail.’

  ‘Oh yeah, detail is exactly what my mind’s made for, like this detail,’ he said as he lowered his head, lifting her nightdress and pressing his lips against the birthmark on her hip. ‘And this,’ he said, voice going muffled as he gently parted her legs.

  Later, after they’d made love, Emma stared out of the window towards the treetops. They always kept the curtains open a touch so she could see the forest at night. She liked watching the swaying outlines of the trees in the distance, and the moon above. It helped her go to sleep.

  She thought of that night when they decided to adopt. She always knew she might have problems conceiving because of the polycystic ovary syndrome she’d been battling since she was a teenager, but when she still didn’t fall pregnant after a year of trying, Emma went for some tests and discovered that she now wasn’t ovulating at all. The chances of her ever having a child were close to zero. When their first round of IVF didn’t work, Emma was devastated and considered just giving up on the idea of children altogether. But then one freezing cold evening over Christmas, while lying in bed with the new Harry Potter nightdress Dele had bought her, he broached the idea of adopting.

  She wasn’t sure at first. It wasn’t the usual obstacles: bonding with the child, worries about what ‘baggage’ that child might bring with them. Emma knew in her heart she could love and bond with a child no matter what.

  No, it was doubts about herself. Was she worthy of being a mother to a child who would need the very best kind of mother? There were things in her past that made her wonder if she was really capable of helping a child with a troubled background.

  But as she’d looked into Dele’s eyes, she knew with his help she could.

  ‘Okay,’ she’d said. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Emma looked towards the wall that separated their room from Isla’s. It was the best decision they’d ever made. It made her shiver to wonder what would have been if she hadn’t agreed to adopt that day.

  How could she contemplate a life without her darling Isla?

  She smiled and closed her eyes. She didn’t have to worry. She was safe here now.

  When Emma arrived in the school playground with Isla the next morning, Tatjana Belafonte was the first person they saw. She was surrounded by other mums and had already adopted the village ‘uniform’, effortlessly combining the exotic with the homely in her uber-expensive wellies and raincoat over a chic patterned jumpsuit.

  How did she do it, just a day in?

  ‘Bit of a glamourpuss, isn’t she?’ a deep voice said from beside Emma as Isla ran off to play with her friends.

  She turned to see it was Shawn Fenton. He played football with Dele and had been to the house a few times over the summer with his two children to chat to Dele over a beer or two. Emma always enjoyed his company – he was a good laugh. She hadn’t properly met his wife yet. She was a busy solicitor, so was often straight in and out of the playground. On the odd occasion when Shawn did pick the kids up, he created a bit of a buzz around the school mums because of his good looks. He wasn’t Emma’s type, but she could see the appeal with his blond hair and muscular form.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Emma asked him, relieved to have someone to talk to.

  ‘Faye has a meeting. So who is that?’ he asked, gesturing towards Tatjana.<
br />
  ‘She’s moving into that house in the woods. Have you seen the crane?’

  ‘Oh yeah, Dele mentioned that on the footie WhatsApp group last night. They must be loaded.’

  ‘Yes, judging from her Burberry wellies.’

  Myra rushed through the school gates then, her son dragging his heels after her. She looked smart in trendy black check trousers and a black raincoat, black-rimmed glasses over her perfectly made-up face. Clearly it was her first day at work. She glanced at Emma as she passed, her face clouding over.

  ‘Uh-oh, here she comes,’ Shawn said.

  Emma followed his gaze to see Tatjana making a beeline for them.

  ‘Hello, you,’ Tatjana said, kissing Emma on each cheek. Behind her back, Shawn raised an eyebrow.

  Emma moved away, flustered. ‘Oh. Hi.’

  ‘So will we be graced with your beautiful talented daughter every Thursday?’

  For a moment, Emma didn’t understand what she meant. Was she inviting Isla somewhere? Then she remembered about the fashion design class. ‘Actually, yes. Dele and I had a chat and—’

  ‘Fab!’ Tatjana said, interrupting her. She looked over at Isla. ‘Did you hear, Isla?’ she shouted across the playground. ‘Good news. Your mum said yes to doing Design Divas.’

  Isla ran over, face flushed with excitement. ‘I know, isn’t Mum the coolest!’ She squeezed her cheek into Emma’s arm as she looked up at her.

  Tatjana’s smile faltered.

  ‘Have you got lots of kids signed up?’ Emma asked her.

  ‘Well,’ Tatjana said, her long fingers flicking up to her chest as it flushed. ‘A few.’

  Emma could tell she wasn’t happy with the numbers. ‘You should pop it on the school’s Facebook page.’

  ‘Or that God-awful mums’ group Kitty Fletcher runs,’ Shawn suggested.

  ‘Shawn!’ Emma said, unable to stop the smile appearing on her lips.

  ‘I didn’t know there was one,’ Tatjana said. ‘How interesting. Are you a member, Emma?’

  ‘I was, but I left,’ Emma admitted. ‘It all got a bit much for me. It is popular, though, if you want to get word out about Design Divas.’