The Forgotten Wife

by Emma Robinson

  Shelley turned to Lara. ‘That’ll be you in a few months. You and Matt.’

  Lara closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they were wet. ‘Oh God, I hope so.’

  Why was she crying? That had obviously not been the right thing to say. ‘Hey, don’t get upset. It will all be fine. The doctors are happy with you, aren’t they? There’s no reason that it won’t all be okay, right?’

  But Lara didn’t answer. Her lips were trembling. Shelley’s stomach fell; she recognised that look. ‘Lara? What is it? Are you okay?’

  Lara shook her head and started to rearrange some of the costume jewellery they had displayed on the end of the table. ‘I’m fine. Ignore me, it’s nothing.’

  But Shelley couldn’t ignore the fact she looked so upset. She turned her body to shield Lara from the people walking past; dwindling numbers now the sale was coming to an end. ‘You’re not fine. Talk to me. What is it? Did I say something wrong?’

  A necklace dropped from Lara’s fingers because they were suddenly shaking so hard. ‘Sorry.’ She knelt slowly to the ground to pick it up.

  Shelley knelt too, putting her hand on Lara’s. They were behind the table now; no one could see them. ‘Lara, what is it?’

  Lara looked up at her, her eyes two dark pools. ‘I haven’t been honest with you. Well, not completely.’ She paused. ‘I’ve lost more than one baby, Shelley. And there’s no guarantee I won’t lose this one too.’

  19

  Lara

  Lara sat in the car waiting for Shelley, who’d insisted that she could pack up on her own. Other people were returning to their cars with cardboard boxes full of remnants from the lives they’d lived. She’d cleared out everything that reminded her of the last two years of her life. She didn’t want to look back. Only forwards. Make way for joy.

  So why had she told Shelley? One of the reasons she enjoyed her company so much was because Shelley didn’t treat her like a fragile object or look at her with sympathy. And now she’d blown it by telling her about the miscarriages. It was that woman who’d done it. The perfect family of three that Lara so desperately wanted for herself.

  It was so easy for some people. They decided to get pregnant. They tried for a couple of months. They got pregnant. Nine months later they had a baby. Simple.

  But it hadn’t been; not for her.

  It wasn’t as if she’d always been desperate to have a baby. Two months before their wedding they’d actually thought she might be pregnant, and she’d been relieved to find it was a false alarm because it had been too soon. Looking back, she wondered now if that had been another very early miscarriage. Her naive relief back then made her feel sick now. What a fool.

  Shelley was walking towards the car with the last box. Once they were on their own, Shelley would expect Lara to tell her what had happened to her pregnancies, wouldn’t she? How much should she tell her? All of it? Or just enough to explain why she lived like a virtual recluse?

  The car jolted slightly as Shelley slammed the boot, then she opened the driver’s side door and slipped in. ‘All done. I can drop it off at the charity shop next week.’

  Lara nodded. They had planned to go to the charity shop straight from here, but she didn’t feel up to it now and Shelley had obviously realised that. ‘I’m sorry for getting all upset back there.’

  Shelley shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. I’m sorry if I was insensitive, pointing out that baby. I didn’t realise…’

  Now Lara shook her head. ‘Don’t apologise. You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you. Matt’s just texted me to say he’s popped out for lunch with a mate. Let’s get back to mine and I’ll explain.’

  * * *

  Back in her own lounge with a cup of herbal tea in her hands, Lara felt a little stronger though less willing to let Shelley in on the whole sorry story. But she couldn’t say nothing. Not when Shelley looked so concerned.

  ‘So? Are the doctors keeping a close eye on you?’

  That was one way to put it. She’d had so many blood tests and urine tests and scans that she was beginning to feel like a laboratory test subject. ‘They are now. After the first miscarriage, my doctor just told us to try again. Like you say, miscarriages are relatively common for a first pregnancy. After the second, they said the same.’

  She could talk about it now as if it was a process they’d been through, but it hadn’t been like that at the time. The first miscarriage had been a complete and utter shock. She hadn’t even known anyone who’d had a miscarriage. Or rather, she hadn’t known that anyone had. Since that day, she’d had friends and family members tell her that they had also miscarried the first time. Maybe she wouldn’t have been as utterly shocked that first time if she’d known it was a real possibility.

  Shelley looked grey. She seemed really affected by Lara’s words. ‘How long before they gave you some help?’

  ‘It was after the third one. That’s the stage at which they begin to investigate what’s going on. Obviously, that’s enough suffering for one person to have to go through.’ She smiled, trying to lighten the conversation. Talking about it was hard. Too hard.

  But Shelley wasn’t smiling. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that so many times. It’s truly awful. No wonder you gave up work when you got pregnant this time.’

  Lara sipped at her tea. How much should she say? ‘Actually… I misled you. I gave up work more than a year before this pregnancy. I was having so many tests it got impossible to fit them in around work. They were great about it, but the clients weren’t too happy that they had to keep dealing with someone else. In the end, it was easier to give up. That’s when we decided to move somewhere smaller, so that Matt could cover the mortgage on his wage.’

  Shelley flushed. ‘That makes sense. Also explains why Matt is so protective over you. Over the baby.’

  It wasn’t just the baby that Matt was worried about. But Lara wasn’t going to get into that today. From Shelley’s red face, she’d clearly had Matt down as a controlling husband. Poor Matt – if he’d been in control, they wouldn’t be having this baby at all. A wave of exhaustion washed over her and she closed her eyes.

  Shelley put her cup down on the table. ‘You’re shattered. I should go.’ She stood and put up a hand as Lara shifted in her seat. ‘I can see myself out. I know we planned for another sort-out tomorrow, but see how you feel. There’s no rush.’

  * * *

  After Shelley had gone, Lara felt wrung out. Strong emotions had a habit of doing that. Still, it felt as if the morning had ended well. Shelley had seemed to understand. Really understand. More than she would have expected from someone who’d never mentioned children or wanting a child. It was surprising that the subject hadn’t come up between them, considering Lara’s pregnancy. But her reaction today suggested that she wasn’t indifferent on the subject. Was that something to do with her separation from Greg?

  She let her head fall back on the sofa. She was too tired to think about that right now, but she might be able to broach the subject another time. Opening up to Shelley about the miscarriages had made her feel closer to her. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that it had come out today. Maybe she should have gone further. Maybe she should have told her everything.

  20

  Shelley

  Sunday had not been a good day – the usual boredom had been worsened by concern for Lara, who was out all day visiting family – so Shelley was both pleased and relieved to get a text from her at work on Monday. Matt had to work late again, so Shelley suggested Lara come over for dinner. It was funny: since they’d met, she’d assumed she was the broken one who Lara was trying to fix, but maybe Lara needed her just as much?

  Thankfully, Lara looked a lot brighter than she had on Saturday. Her family day must have done her good. Renewed energy made her keen to get sorting out as soon as they finished dinner. ‘We might as well get as much done as we can, then we can take it all to the charity shop next Saturday in one go.’

 
She had a good point. Shelley didn’t want to prolong the bin bag obstacle course in her hallway. ‘We could start on my clothes? There’s a wardrobe of stuff I never wear.’

  Lara grinned; she really did look better. ‘Go get the book.’

  Standing in the box room again, they appraised the pile of clothes Shelley had pulled from the wardrobe and the chest of drawers. Formal and summer dresses, linen trousers, blouses, T-shirts, jeans and skirts: she was amazed by how much there was. Had she really worn all of these?

  Lara had the book open to the ‘clothes’ chapter and was reading aloud. ‘You need to take each item, one at a time, and hold it close to you. How does it make you feel? What would you say to it?’

  Shelley stopped mid-fold with a red striped T-shirt. ‘Talk to a T-shirt? Are you serious? About what?’

  Lara lowered the book and pointed at her. ‘Aha! I knew you hadn’t read more than the first couple of chapters. Busted!’

  Shelley laughed. ‘I skim-read it.’

  Lara shook her head in mock disgust. ‘You’ve really let me down. And, more importantly, you’ve let Joy down.’

  It was so good to hear Lara joking again. Shelley threw the half-folded T-shirt at her. ‘Come on. What am I chatting to my trousers about?’

  Lara reopened the book. ‘You need to decide whether to keep them or to pass them on. Speaking aloud your reasons for owning the item will help you to understand whether it should stay in your wardrobe or whether it is time to let it go.’

  Was this a joke? Shelley picked up an old blouse she hadn’t worn in years. ‘Hey, blouse. How are things?’

  Lara waved a finger at her. ‘We need to do this properly.’

  This was craziness, but Shelley was enjoying this process for the first time. These were her belongings; they had nothing to do with Greg. She brushed her open palm down past her eyes. ‘Serious face.’

  Lara nodded her approval. ‘Good. Start with that dress. The psychedelic one with the collar. The one with the label that says: “What the hell were you thinking?”’

  Shelley giggled and picked up the one Lara was pointing at. ‘This one?’

  ‘Yes, that one. And I really hope it is the only one you have that could fit that description. Now, say out loud why you bought it and whether it is something that you will wear again or whether it gives you joy for other reasons.’

  Lara had an eyebrow raised and Shelley still couldn’t work out if she was serious about this or not. She had to give it a go, though. Holding the dress at arm’s length, she addressed it like an old friend. ‘Hi, overly bright dress. I really liked you when I saw you in that boutique in Camden. But I think we both knew it was never going to work. You were always far too cool for me.’

  She looked at Lara, who was nodding her approval. ‘And so?’

  ‘And so, I’m going to have to let you go.’ She dropped the dress onto the floor.

  ‘Nope, you’re not done. You need to thank it first.’

  Surely, this was a joke. ‘Are you serious?’

  Lara pointed to the floor, where the dress was a heap of luminosity. ‘Yes, you need to thank it for being part of your life.’

  Shelley scooped it back up. ‘Thank you for making me feel like I was cool. Even if only for a short while.’ This time she folded it up before dropping it onto the floor.

  Lara clapped her hands together. ‘Well done. Now the next one.’

  Shelley picked up a white Gucci T-shirt. It had cost her a lot of money at the time, so she hadn’t had the heart to throw it away, even though she couldn’t wear it anymore due to a small brown stain. ‘Hey, T-shirt. We had some good times. But that chocolate ice cream – it was the end of us. There’s no going back.’

  Lara’s shoulders moved up and down as she laughed. ‘And thank you for…’

  ‘Thank you for growing with me that fortnight in Cornwall when I put on a stone. You had my back. And front. And the flabby bit around my middle.’

  Lara tilted her head, struggling to keep a serious face. ‘Cream teas?’

  Shelley nodded gravely. ‘And Cornish cider.’

  Lara reached out and put her hand on the front of the T-shirt. ‘Good work, Gucci. Good work.’

  The more items they got through, the sillier – and funnier – it got. The absolute climax was the discovery of a pair of gold lamé hot pants.

  Lara uncovered them with horror and then lay down on the bed with one hand over her face and the other holding the pants aloft. ‘My eyes! My eyes!’

  ‘What the hell are those?’ Shelley snatched them from Lara’s hand, then started to laugh. ‘Oh my God, they were Dee’s! She wore them to a fancy-dress party we had here one New Year’s Eve. She was Kylie Minogue.’ Dee had got very drunk that night and ended up staying over. She must have left them.

  Lara was still groaning on the bed. ‘I will never be able to unsee them!’

  Shelley threw them at her and laughed. She hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. She felt a rush of warmth towards this woman who had been a complete stranger a few weeks ago.

  Before long, there was a sizeable pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Lara pulled out a roll of black bags that she’d brought with her and they shifted them inside. ‘It’s best to do it straight away. If you keep looking at them too long, you start getting sentimental.’

  With every item that went into the bag, Shelley felt lighter. There was something liberating about clearing this stuff out. It wasn’t just the wardrobe that would have more space: she felt freer too.

  Lara started to hand her items from the other side of the bed: dresses, trousers, camisole tops. Some of them she hadn’t worn in years. Why had she kept them?

  Lara was passing a white denim jacket when she paused. ‘I think there’s something in the pocket of this one.’

  Shelley took it from her, felt inside the right-hand pocket. There was something sharp and rough to the touch. She pulled out a key attached to a key ring made up of four, glittery capital letters: HOME.

  Lara leaned forward. ‘That’s pretty.’

  Shelley swallowed hard as she looked at it. Then again. ‘Thanks. It’s a key to my old flat.’ The first home of her own she had ever had. The flat she had moved into with Greg when she was barely nineteen.

  21

  Shelley

  Before

  Dee’s bedroom had been Shelley’s second home for most of her teenage years. Now they were nineteen, the boy band posters had been replaced by art prints and collages of postcards. Disney princesses had lost out to colour-coordinated scatter cushions on the bed. And it was clean. Mainly because Dee hadn’t been there in the last three months.

  Shelley had got home from Warwick on Friday afternoon, leaving directly after her final lecture on medieval history. Dee had stayed on in Manchester for the weekend and had just got home.

  ‘Did you bring home every single item of clothing you own? When you suggested I help you unpack, I didn’t know I should bring rubber gloves.’ Shelley’s face was almost as screwed up as the ball of vest tops she had excavated from the bottom of one of Dee’s numerous bags.

  Dee sat back on her haunches and surveyed the piles. ‘Pretty much. I’ve not been to the launderette for the last few weeks. And some of us haven’t been coming home every weekend with our stuff.’ She raised a judgmental eyebrow.

  Shelley dropped the clump of clothing into the washing basket they’d dragged to the end of the bed. ‘I don’t come home every weekend.’

  Dee started pulling books out of her suitcase and replacing them on her bookcase. Art students had a surprising number of textbooks. ‘Most weekends, then.’

  ‘What about the weekend I came to visit you?’ Dee had begged her to come so she’d spent a stupid amount on train fare during reading week. It had been lovely to see Dee but her university experience was so different from Shelley’s. Wherever they’d gone on campus, Dee had found someone she knew to say hello to or hug or share a joke with. They’d eaten out, been to a club in town, hu
ng out at some random people’s halls. It was a far cry from Shelley’s experience.

  Dee turned and waved a crisp copy of History of Art: A Student’s Handbook, which looked as if it had never been opened. ‘That wasn’t a weekend. It was one night. And you left before Sunday lunchtime.’

  Remembering how annoyed Dee had been about that, Shelley decided to change the subject. She picked up a copy of John Berger’s Ways of Seeing and a couple of the other weightier tomes and passed them to Dee. ‘Anyway. We’re home now. Have you got any plans yet?’

  Dee pulled a face. ‘Mum wants us to have some girl time together, as she puts it. It probably involves us getting our nails done or something. I’m hoping to avoid a full-on spa day. Unless you come with us? That would make it a lot more bearable. Do you fancy it?’

  Shelley didn’t have the money for a day at a spa but she couldn’t remind Dee of that without her offering to pay. Plus, the idea of spending a whole afternoon with Dee’s mother looking down her nose wasn’t appealing. ‘I don’t think I can. I need to spend some time with my own mum and I know Greg has some plans too.’ She picked up another carrier bag and started poking around in it as a way to avoid Dee’s eyes.

  She couldn’t avoid her mouth though. ‘What plans? I haven’t seen you in weeks. You’ve seen him loads. Didn’t he come up and see you last week too?’

  Greg had come and spent the weekend with her and it had been lovely. He’d taken her for lunch at a restaurant in town that she hadn’t even known existed. Then he’d insisted on taking her to the supermarket and buying her a week’s shopping. They’d spent the following morning in her tiny student bedroom together and had managed to completely avoid the other students on her landing. It was as if they were the only two people there. Which was when he’d given her the key.