by Nicola Gill
A woman wearing a faded apron and too much rouge brought Billy’s doughnut and clucked over him, taking a greedy pinch of his cheeks. I know he looks cute, Laura thought, but he’s actually in disgrace right now.
Billy took a huge mouthful of his doughnut.
‘Hitting is serious, Billy,’ she said. ‘You can’t hit people.’
‘Even if they’re horrible?’
‘Yes, even if they’re horrible.’
Billy considered this before taking another big mouthful of doughnut. ‘What if they hit you first?’
‘If they hit you, you tell Mummy or Daddy.’
Billy nodded and stuck his finger up his nose. ‘What if they call you names?’
‘You tell Mummy or Daddy. And don’t pick your nose.’
‘Daddy says that everyone picks their nose.’
Laura shot Jon a look and he shrugged. ‘I also said to do it in private.’
‘What if someone hurts your guinea pig?’ Billy said. ‘Can you hit someone if they hurt your guinea pig?’
‘Did Angus hurt your guinea pig?’
‘No.’
It was hard not to think that Billy was just trying to look for excuses to hit someone. Laura felt overwhelmed by exhaustion. She thought of a line from the Lilypad leaflet: We can help you with all kinds of loss.
How about loss of the plot?
‘Let’s just say no hitting,’ Jon said, taking a sip of his coffee.
Laura thought back to Mrs Jenkins getting all coquettish around him earlier. He looked better now, the hangover must have worn off and he had showered and changed.
Maybe she, Jon and Billy could just stay together in this slightly too hot little café forever? With its steamed-up windows and constant supply of caffeine and sugar, it felt cosy and safe. Café-world could be an alternate universe where she and Jon never argued; where it didn’t matter that he didn’t have a job and never emptied the bin.
She wrestled with the sudden and unexpected urge to tell Jon she wanted him back. Whatever else he was and he wasn’t, he was the last decade of her life and there had just been so much change recently. It was enough to make her feel as if she was constantly battling a kind of low-level motion sickness.
The door opened and a woman walked in with two little girls from Billy’s class.
‘Caitlyn! Dorothy!’ Billy said running over and greeting them as if he’d last seen them a lifetime ago and not minutes beforehand.
Laura couldn’t help noticing that the girls looked less excited to see Billy. And, of course, Caitlyn was the one whose dad had died. Laura looked at her. How awful it must be to lose a parent when you were old enough to miss them but not old enough to have any understanding of what had happened. Laura felt a rush of sympathy that was almost big enough to make her forget that Caitlyn had left Billy off her birthday party list. Almost.
‘So how’s it going sorting through your mum’s stuff?’ Jon said. ‘I bet Jess is whipping you into shape.’
‘Actually she’s been fine.’ There was no way she was telling him she and Jess had fallen out.
Jon made a face. ‘Really? Not bossing you to within an inch of your life?’
Laura shrugged. Billy was still hanging around the girls like an unrequited lover. Please talk to him.
‘She had a go at me the last time I saw her, you know,’ Jon said. ‘When she was at the flat and I picked up Billy. Went on at me about being late. Like Billy was there checking his watch.’
‘Billy was checking his watch.’
‘Billy doesn’t have a watch.’
‘It’s an expression.’
Jon put his mug down on the table. ‘Still. It’s not for bossy-boots to wade in though, is it? It’s not her business.’
Laura sighed. ‘You shouldn’t have been late. Billy hates it.’
Jon scowled at her.
It seemed you could fall out in café-world.
Chapter Sixty-One
Then
When Laura arrived at the restaurant, Evie was locked in conversation with the waiter, who was laughing uproariously at something she was saying. He disappeared in a reluctant manner when she sat down, as if Laura’s arrival was a rather unwelcome interruption.
‘I’ve got some news,’ Laura burst out before she’d even taken her coat off. ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Oh,’ Evie said. ‘Well, my goodness.’
Laura waited for her to add ‘how wonderful’ but it wasn’t forthcoming. Her mother was beckoning to her friend the waiter to let him know she would like to order a drink. She was probably getting them champagne. Laura prepared herself to say that it was a lovely thought but she wasn’t going to have any alcohol. She knew her mother would protest and say everyone had carried on drinking in her day and the babies had all been fine because that’s exactly what she’d said repeatedly to Jess throughout both her pregnancies.
‘I’ll have a G&T please, Antonio,’ Evie said.
No champagne then.
‘How far gone are you?’ Evie said.
‘Only eight weeks,’ Laura said, instinctively patting her stomach.
‘Was it planned?’
‘Not exactly.’ It hadn’t been remotely planned. She and Jon weren’t that type of couple. Not like her sister and her husband. Laura was willing to bet they’d tracked her cycle religiously and then shagged to order. They probably worked out when was a good time for a baby to be born in terms of the school year. Not tonight, darling, that would mean an August baby.
‘Well, at least you’re not nineteen this time.’
Laura dug her nails into her palms. She was sure her mother didn’t mean anything by the remark.
‘Congratulations,’ Evie said, smiling tightly.
Laura couldn’t help noticing her mother didn’t seem exactly overwhelmed with joy. Her friend Clare had told her that her mother hadn’t been able to stop crying for about an hour after she’d told her she was having a baby. But Evie looked decidedly dry-eyed. No matter, she was just a contained sort of person.
‘You should look at the menu,’ Evie said. ‘I’ve already chosen.’
‘Yes, sorry I was late. The tubes were all buggered up.’
Her mother’s perfectly groomed eyebrows lifted. ‘That seems to happen to you a lot.’
Were they really going to do this? When she’d just broken such momentous news? Well, Laura wasn’t rising to it. She studied the menu carefully. She must steer clear of any rare meat or unpasteurized cheeses.
‘I did think you were looking bigger when you walked in,’ her mother said, taking a sip of her drink.
‘Really? I don’t think I’m showing yet.’
‘Hmm. Is Jon pleased?’
‘Ecstatic,’ Laura said. Which was true if by ecstatic you meant reconciled to the fact the condom had split and Laura wanted no talk of an abortion. But Laura didn’t think many men were ready to become fathers before they actually had kids. And Jon would be brilliant with a baby. Well, as long as it could be taught not to wake him before midday. ‘It’ll really change our lives,’ he’d said. Well, yes.
‘Is he still working as a waiter?’
‘Restaurant manager,’ Laura said, fiddling with her napkin. ‘But he wants to write a novel.’
Evie raised her eyebrows.
‘What does that look mean?’
Her mother sighed. ‘It means that kids are expensive things. They need food, clothes, a roof over their heads.’
‘I’m doing okay,’ Laura said. And she was. Not okay, okay like her sister, but not everyone wanted to be a management consultant. Laura had recently been promoted to Deputy Real Life Features Editor and, granted, there were people a lot younger than her doing a similar job but, unlike Laura, they hadn’t spent nearly all of their twenties off their face in some field. ‘We’ll be fine. Anyway, novelists earn money.’
‘Published ones do.’
Laura had total confidence in Jon. If he wrote how he talked, then people would definitely want to read him. ‘He
’ll be snapped up.’
Antonio brought over a basket laden with soft, warm rolls and Laura’s stomach rumbled. She took one and buttered it generously before helping herself to another.
‘Go easy,’ her mother said.
‘I’m eating for two.’
‘Two what? Elephants?’
‘Ha-bloody-ha. Look, can you be nice?’ For once.
Evie took a sip of her drink and started to tell a story about a guy she’d met at the local library who kept giving her unsolicited book recommendations. ‘I wish he’d just come clean and admit he wants to get in my knickers.’
‘Eww,’ Laura said, laughing. ‘Gross, Mum!’
Antonio came over with two Insalata Tricolore.
‘His name is Barry,’ Evie said, slicing into a tomato and continuing with her story.
Laura pushed away the feeling that other mothers would be besieging her with questions now. Was she feeling sick at all? Did she have a date for the scan yet? What was the maternity leave like where she worked? But Evie was talking about Evie (as Jon put it, she was always the star of the show). She was telling Laura how Barry had pressed Bleak House in her hands and said he found it very erotic, and how could anyone – anyone – find Bleak House erotic?
‘I haven’t told Jess yet,’ Laura said when Evie’s story finally reached its climax. Her mother looked confused for a second. ‘About being pregnant.’ Surely she hadn’t forgotten? Jess would be pleased. She liked it when Laura did things that were conventional in nature. She would be delighted to be able to bombard Laura with advice too, and would no doubt consider herself something of an expert because she already had two kids. Laura felt a little stab of guilt that she hadn’t been much of an auntie to Lola and Hannah. She’d probably only seen them a handful of times in their whole lives. Still, all that would change now she was having a baby of her own. ‘How is Jess?’
‘She’s great. A bit tired what with working full-time and having a three- and a five-year-old, but you know your sister, she’s not one to complain.’
Laura pushed down the feeling that her mother was suggesting that she was one to complain. Evie wasn’t always making a comparison.
Evie placed her knife and fork together. ‘She looks fantastic. She’s had a new haircut.’ She reached out and picked up a small handful of Laura’s hair. ‘Perhaps you ought to get the number of the hairdresser?’
Okay, now she definitely was making a comparison. But Laura wasn’t going to rise to it; not today. ‘I wish Dad was still around to meet his grandchild.’
‘Me too.’ Evie took a sip of her drink. ‘Has Jess told you about her blog?’
And they were back to Jess. ‘No.’
‘She’s starting up this fashion and lifestyle blog called StyleMaven. Honestly, I don’t know how she’s going to fit it in, what with having a full-time job and two kids under five. Luckily those girls are so well-behaved. Are you going to find out whether it’s a boy or girl?’
Laura shook her head, thrilled her mother was finally showing interest in the baby. ‘I know Jess was desperate to know, but I think I’d like to be surprised. I want that movie moment: it’s a girl! Or, it’s a boy! I honestly don’t mind, as long as he or she is healthy.’
‘Oh, I agree,’ her mother said. ‘I find it very distasteful when people express a strong preference for having one or the other. As you say, healthy is all that matters. Well, and not unkind on the eye.’
Laura hoped her mother was joking about the last part.
‘You were a nightmare baby!’ Evie said. ‘I swear you spent the first year of your life screaming. It’s a wonder we’ve a single photo of you when you’re not crying. It was such a shock because Jessica had been such an easy baby.’
Well, of course, she had.
‘You weren’t much better as a toddler either. So strong-willed.’ She did a mock-shudder. ‘Honestly, I hope your baby is just like you so you get a taste of what I had to go through.’
‘Mum!’ Laura said.
Evie rolled her eyes and patted Laura’s arm. ‘I’m only teasing you, darling. Don’t get all over sensitive on me.’
Chapter Sixty-Two
If Laura hadn’t been sitting on the wrong side of the room, she’d have made a run for it. But she couldn’t exactly cut straight through the circle, picking her way over bags and coats.
The Lilypad Grief Support Group met on Tuesday evenings in St Barnabas’ church hall. Laura used to bring Billy to toddler group here, back in the day. It was difficult to imagine that it was the same room; that behind those closed cupboard doors there were boxes and boxes of brightly coloured toys. There had been a little ambulance, fire truck and police car here that Billy had particularly loved. The wahh wahhs.
‘My name’s Rob,’ a heavily tattooed man with a thick neck said. ‘I lost my wife to cancer last year.’ His eyes filled with tears and he kneaded his hands together as if he was washing them. ‘Lynn. She was called Lynn.’ He said he had two teenagers to look after and mostly he got it wrong, especially with his daughter.
Jenni, the facilitator, nodded encouragingly. She had the pouchy look of a bloodhound. I will sniff out your misery.
‘I still can’t sleep on her side of the bed,’ Rob said. ‘Or empty her wardrobe. Stupid, innit?’
Jenni nodded – presumably just by way of encouragement rather than to affirm that, yes, he was indeed stupid.
‘I’m Emma,’ said a teenage girl with a pale, wary face. She picked at her cuticles. ‘My mum topped herself.’
‘Umm hmm,’ Jenni said, nodding vigorously.
‘It wasn’t because of me! She was an alcho.’
Jenni nodded.
The faint strains of Amazing Grace leached through the walls. It sounded slightly off-key.
Why the hell was Laura here? She was an agony aunt, for goodness’ sake – someone who dealt with other people’s problems. She ought to be on top of this. And anyway, there was so much to be said for denial. Why not just stay locked in denial forever? Especially when there was so much else to contend with, from Billy turning into Mike Tyson, to falling out with Jess, to the break-up with Jon.
‘Preena,’ said the next woman in the circle. ‘My sister was killed three years ago in a hit and run.’
Laura felt a stab of guilt. She should call her sister.
Preena rummaged fruitlessly in her sleeve and the man next to her handed her a box of tissues. ‘I used to talk to her every single day. When the phone rings I still think it’s going to be her. But now I can’t tell her when my husband is being a dick.’ There was a ripple of laughter. ‘Sorry. Or when something nice happens …’
Emma kept picking at her cuticles and it was all Laura could do not to jump up and stop her.
She felt the sweat starting to bead under her arms. She couldn’t do this. For a start, there was just too much misery in this cold, ugly room. Also, what was she going to say: I’m an imposter. I’m not sad like the rest of you. Well, I am sad but not unequivocally sad.
She wondered what Billy and Jon were doing now. Jon had actually been on time to pick him up, which she considered something of a miracle. If he managed to feed Billy a proper dinner on top of that, he’d practically have walked on water.
‘My husband died of cancer six months ago,’ said a woman called Mary. ‘I was at home having a shower, and feeding the dog.’ She looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. ‘I hadn’t left the hospital for seventy-two hours before that.’
Preena reached over and patted her hand.
It was Laura’s turn. Her mouth felt dry. ‘I’m Laura and I lost my mum twelve weeks ago.’
Jenni nodded. She was like one of those toy dogs people put on the back shelf of cars.
‘And my dad twenty-five years ago.’ Well, that sounded weird.
She looked towards the older man next to her, willing him to take the spotlight off her. ‘I’m Alan. My wife had a massive stroke three years ago.’ He pushed his glasses further up his nose, smoothed
his bald head. ‘One minute she was there, the next minute she was gone. It still doesn’t seem real.’
‘Hmm,’ Jenni said, nodding. ‘Hmm.’
Laura wondered if the nurse had also given Jess a leaflet for the Lilypad Grief Support Group. Or perhaps Jess hadn’t looked like she needed one? Perhaps the nurse thought Jess might just be better at grief?
A tiny skeletal woman with eyes that almost looked bruised was talking now. She was so quiet people had to lean forward in their chairs. Her name was Ann. She’d lost her daughter. Leukaemia.
Laura felt a sob rise in her throat. To lose a child. If something happened to Billy … it just didn’t bear thinking about.
Jenni was doing her wrap up. They could come every week or just when they felt they needed to. There wasn’t a set structure to the sessions. It was up to them to talk about anything they wanted to talk about.
What did Laura want to talk about? How good the last season of Catastrophe had been? How exciting the prospect of a Spice Girls reunion tour was?
Anything but grief, really.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Then
Laura was at her mum’s flat with Billy one Saturday. The plan had been to let him have a run about on Clapham Common but then it had started to pour with rain. Billy had been unable to settle. He’d spent a couple of minutes reluctantly drawing before screwing the paper up and deciding it was rubbish. He wanted to play football. Laura remembered chatting to a woman at a party when she’d been pregnant and the woman asking her if she was having a boy or a girl. When Laura had said she didn’t know, the woman had said that she had four boys and the best advice she could give Laura if she was to have one was to think of him exactly like a puppy. ‘They need food and they need to run around outside,’ she said, laughing. Laura had been quietly appalled to hear her unborn child being likened to a dog, but as soon as Billy was a toddler, Laura suddenly understood exactly what the woman had been saying.
‘I expect we’ll be able to go to the park a little later,’ Laura said, getting Billy’s dinosaurs out of his backpack and then breathing a sigh of relief as he started to line them up on the sofa. But soon Billy was bored with his brontosaurus and fed up with his fukuiraptor. He interrupted Laura’s conversation with her mum. WHEN COULD HE PLAY FOOTBALL? WHEN?
