by Roxie Cooper
‘Great job, Ebs,’ he says. ‘You always pull it out of the bag on birthdays.’
Her broad grin says everything; she’s brimming with delight with Will’s praise, and she should be praised. I don’t even know how she’s managed to find the time to do all this being a mother of a one-month-old baby.
‘Yes, thanks so much. It’s really appreciated.’ I smile as I delicately place the salad in the centre of the table and then stand awkwardly behind one of the wooden chairs, feeling lazy and inadequate.
‘Well, come on then! Sit down and tuck in,’ Ebony demands, flapping her hand around in the direction of the food.
‘So sorry I’m late, everyone!’ Dad’s voice echoes through the hallway before he rushes into the garden, clutching a huge bouquet of brightly-coloured flowers in one arm and a bottle of champagne in the other. As always, he’s wearing some horribly mismatched ensemble consisting of cream linen trousers and a black shirt. A bizarre straw trilby hat is on his head, which I stare up at and have no words for. He doesn’t have a natural flair for fashion and Mum always used to make sure he looked smart for occasions.
‘I got tied up talking to Ian Wagstaff in the village,’ he goes on. ‘Proud as punch, he was. His twin girls just got their GCSE results today and they got ten As across the board – both of them! He insisted I went to the pub with him for a pint …’
I knew it was GCSE results day because I’ve been thinking of Jamie. I hope his students did well and made him proud. I bet he’s a wonderful teacher.
‘Doesn’t seem two minutes since you two got your GCSE results,’ Dad says, laughing, taking a glass of wine off Will. ‘And look at you both now!’
Yes, look at me now.
Twenty-eight years old and working for my dad with no career motivation whatsoever. Brilliant.
‘School days, best days of my life!’ Matt tells us all. I’ve heard this before. He was the popular kid at school; had all the girls he wanted, captain of the football team, well-liked but fairly average academically. It hasn’t held him back, though. His school photos show a good-looking boy, blond floppy hair and a cheeky smile.
‘How come you didn’t go to university, Matt?’ Dad had asked when they’d first met.
‘Didn’t see the point, really. Learned everything I needed on the job. Far more useful in the long run. Besides my brother and sister came back so smug, I didn’t want to turn out like them.’
Matt’s brother and sister are a doctor and a scientist of some sort, both very bright and successful at what they do. Matt calls them ‘arrogant’ and smug’ about their lives. I’ve only met them a handful of times, one of which was at the wedding. They’ve always been perfectly pleasant to me.
‘Fair enough, best way in many cases,’ Dad had said, nodding in agreement. Well, of course he would. Dad is a self-made, successful businessman and left school with five O levels.
Now Jude murmurs momentarily in his car seat beside the table. He looks like a baby angel. So perfect. His legs scrawny and yet delicious, poking out of a little white Babygro.
‘So, big sis,’ Ebony teases, ‘twenty-eight!’
‘Less of the big, thank you very much. You’re only three years behind me.’
‘So, when are you thinking of …?’ she said, gesturing towards Jude.
‘Not for a while,’ I reply. Christ, does she have to bring this up now? ‘Both of us are happy with our careers at the moment. We don’t want a huge interruption to that. When are you going to go back? Isn’t nine months standard?’
‘Hmm. Well, I’m not sure if I will. I’ve been reading all these articles and reports about how your children end up brighter and more nourished if they have one parent staying at home with them, so I’m thinking I might just … not. Well, not for a while.’
My mouth drops open in shock. Ebony is a solicitor and started working at a prestigious law firm only two years ago. I look at Dad to see what he makes of this.
‘Her decision,’ he states, raising his eyebrows, whilst simultaneously shoving some garlic bread into his face. He’s obviously known about this before today.
‘We’ve talked about it,’ Will interjects, sensing the shock around the table. ‘I’m more than happy to support Ebony in this decision. She can always go back to the law if she wants to in the future.’
I’ve no doubt they can afford it. Will earns a six-figure salary doing something ‘banker-y’ in London, so I’m sure money isn’t an option, but that’s not the point.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask, rather taken aback. Ebony has always been the more career-motivated out of the pair of us.
‘Stephanie,’ she says calmly, ‘I want to be there for them in their early years. That’s what Mum did. I want Jude to have that. Remember how lovely it was when she was there at the school gate every day, waiting for us?’
Of course I remember. She’d be there whether it was sunny or snowing. You don’t really appreciate that until you’re older. Walking out of the classroom, we’d scan the playground for her face amongst the sea of others. She was always at the front, waiting to collect us, ready to greet our little thrilled faces as we ran out of school to cuddle her. She’d appropriately ‘Oooh!’ and ‘Ahhh!’ when we launched our crafts in her arms in the school yard: space rockets, igloos and castles. In reality, they’d be a mishmash of Fairy Liquid bottles, loo rolls and tissue boxes.
‘Yes, of course,’ I smile. ‘And you’re right. No child needs a distant parent who isn’t there most of the time because they’re at work. They need love and nurturing.’
Dad stops eating for a second and places his knife and fork down with an overly loud clanging noise, reaching over to take a sip of his wine. Ebony shoots me a glare from across the table. My gaze bounces between the two of them like a metronome.
‘She’s got the right idea,’ Matt rather helpfully intervenes. ‘I mean, she doesn’t have to work, so what’s the point?’
‘What’s the point?’ I utter. ‘She’s not a baby-making machine, Matt. She has a life, too.’
‘But, my God, who on earth would work if they don’t have to? She should count herself lucky.’
‘Some people love what they do. They have a passion for it. Ebony has always loved practising law and she worked hard to get where she is. I just don’t want her to make a rash decision. It’s not about whether she needs to work or not,’ I reply, making a little hill out of rice on my plate.
‘These people who work for the “love of it”,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘Because they “have a passion for their craft” and all that shite. I don’t believe them. Worthy buggers.’
I instantly think of Jamie and how he spoke so excitedly and intensely about his work as an art teacher.
‘I do. I think some people are genuinely that amazing,’ I uncharacteristically shoot back at him.
‘Well, I think you’d be lucky to find one.’
Yes, wouldn’t I?
‘I know what you meant, Steph,’ Ebony says, smiling. ‘And I appreciate the concern, honestly. But I’ll be fine. I’m happy about this!’
‘But what if you go … mental?’
‘Don’t be silly, Steph! Of course I won’t. I’ll keep myself busy! I’ve already signed up for baby massage, Little Swimmers and Tiny Tots this week … and there’ll be more to do as he gets older. And I’ll probably just knock another couple out anyway.’
‘Sounds like you have it all planned out,’ I said, taken aback. Ebony and Will have been married for four years, but she was always going to get married first. She was planning her wedding from the age of fifteen and the actual thing hardly deviated from that original idea. She met Will at university and they really are perfect for each other. They’re one of these couples who bounce off each other really well, but you know she wears the trousers and has the final say on absolutely every decision in their house, from where to go on holiday, down to which shower gel to buy. Ebony went through many boyfriends in the past, and not many were able to put up with ‘her ways’
. Some would call her a control freak. She would describe herself as ‘organised’.
‘Look, can I give you my advice?’ Her long liquorice-black mane of hair is tied loosely in a bun on top of her head, which bobbles up and down as she talks. ‘I know you’ve only been married, like, a year,’ she whispered, and an image of Jamie flashed up in my mind as she did, which I quickly removed. ‘But just remember … it’s so much easier to snap back into your figure the younger you are. I’m back into my size ten jeans now and you’re older than me, so don’t leave it too long.’ She raises her eyebrows, as if this is a perfectly acceptable point to make.
Yes, you can always count on your little sister to make you feel better about yourself.
People have already started asking. It’s the natural progression, isn’t it? ‘Oh, you’re married now, can you tell us when you plan on making some humans, please?’ And you can’t really say ‘Well, it’s none of your business, actually’, so you just have to politely laugh and mumble ‘we’ll see’ or some other such bollocks. God help the women who don’t even want children. What the hell do they say?
Except I do want children. Just not yet.
‘How’s work, Matt?’ Dad asks. ‘Did the Farrington deal go through?’
‘The presentation went like an absolute dream. I’m pretty sure it’s in the bag.’
‘Great news! You’ve got that magic touch, Matt. I don’t know what it is, but you’ve got it,’ Dad gushes.
‘Thanks, Michael. Dedication and a good work ethic shines through and gets results, I find. I can work on it this weekend if you want me to put pressure on them? I’ll go in early on Monday morning and get it tied up.’
Dad shakes his head. ‘No, best not push it. Let them think about it. I’m sure they’ll come back.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. I didn’t mean I’d pressure them. Just chase it up.’ Matt is keen to stress the point.
‘Oh, let’s leave it for now,’ Dad says, gently tapping the side of his glass with his fork. He’s so clumsy, I worry for a second he’ll smash it, which makes me laugh. He glances at me, knowing that’s what’s cracked me up and we share a lovely little moment before he speaks.
‘Happiest of birthdays to my eldest daughter, Steph. Just wanted to say that we are all very proud of you. You’ve come a long way in the last year or so. Yeah. It’s lovely that you’ve really turned a corner and you married the man of your dreams. I’m so pleased you’ve finally got everything you want.’
Everyone picks up their drinks and raises them. ‘To Steph!’ they all cheer.
I politely smile at everyone, inwardly feeling terribly guilty about the little dig towards Dad a few minutes earlier.
Jude then chooses this precise moment to start rocking in his car seat, demanding to be fed.
‘You enjoy the rest of your meal, I’m finished anyway,’ I say to Ebony, who is eating at a million miles per hour. ‘I’ll feed him upstairs.’
It was lovely to have a few minutes of quiet, feeding my nephew. I had no idea how to do it before he came along and at first I’d been worried I was holding him wrong, was scared I’d choke him. I cuddled into his little body afterwards until he fell asleep and stared at his perfect little face for an hour while everyone was downstairs, momentarily smelling his head. I don’t know what it is about their heads, but they smell divine; it’s comforting, beautiful, innocent. A twang of broodiness vibrated through my heart like a symphony.
And, yet, I don’t want my own and I don’t know why. I should, because I’m married, but it just doesn’t feel right at the moment.
Matt falls asleep on the sofa when everyone leaves. Taking a glass of wine outside, I sit on one of the garden chairs and, letting out a large sigh, I reach for my iPod and press play on shuffle.
‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now’ by Starship. Oh, I love this song! What an eighties classic.
There isn’t a cloud in the sky. The stars shine like someone has scattered glitter all over it.
My phone lights up beside me on the table. An actual parade of fireworks shoot down my back when I see the message flash up on the screen:
Hi Stephanie! Hope you’re well? Got some bad news. The course has been cancelled! Poor Bob is in really bad health. Just let me know what you want to do. Jamie. X
We booked the rooms months ago. One message between us to confirm we were still going. That was it. But, now, the only reason for us to be there is each other.
No art workshops, nobody else, no distractions – just us.
Staring at the screen, I think about that weekend last year and the time I shared with him. The laughs we had and that kiss. He made me feel so alive and happy, just being in the same room with him was a delight. But that was different. I had a reason to be there. This time, I wouldn’t.
I’d have to lie to Matt. I’m a terrible liar.
I wait until the song finishes and pick up the phone to reply, wondering if I’m about to make the worst decision of my life.
PART TWO
Only Love Can Hurt Like This
CHAPTER 7
Saturday 12 October 2008
Stephanie
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Dobson,’ the receptionist says, tapping away at the computer in front of her, ‘but your room reservation was automatically cancelled when the course was. It was the same for all tutors.’
With both hands resting on the reception desk, Jamie bows his head and steps away for a second.
‘Can I book another one?’
‘I’m afraid we are fully booked tonight,’ she says. The name badge on her burgundy blouse informs us her name is Avril; a middle-aged lady with red-rimmed glasses on one of those chains around her neck, her auburn hair styled in a wispy long bob, her fringe dancing about in her eyes.
‘Oh! Hold on a second … we do have one room left. But it’s the Paisley Suite, £275?’
Jamie takes a sharp breath at this information.
‘Can you just give us a second, please?’ I smile at Avril, pulling Jamie away from the reception desk for a moment. We walk past the fireplace, both glancing up at the sign above it without saying anything.
‘Look, you can’t pay that,’ I tell him. I know Jamie doesn’t earn a lot and I’m not sure how he’d explain that to his wife.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asks in a lowered voice as people walk past us. ‘You’ve paid for your room. I’m so sorry …’
‘Please don’t apologise! It’s not your fault, just a terrible mix-up.’
One of us has to suggest it, or neither of us could. It’s the obvious solution.
‘Why don’t you stay in my room? It’s got a sofa in there. You can sleep on it, if you want.’
He looks at me for a moment, those shiny blue eyes, right into mine.
‘You sure?’ he asks, without breaking his gaze.
‘Yes.’
He walks back to the desk where Avril is waiting patiently to see this drama played out.
‘I don’t need that room, but thank you for your help,’ he tells her.
‘Of course, Mr Dobson. I’ll get you two keys.’
I’ve thought of little else but this moment for the last few weeks. On the one hand, I can’t believe I’m doing this. On the other, it’s the only thing that’s actually kept me going. In general, I’ve been happier, funnier, sparklier – everyone has noticed, not least Ebony, who asked ‘What is making you feel like this?’ in a suspicious tone only last week as we were at the spa getting our nails done. I mumbled something about how I was embracing life and practising yoga, which was exactly the right thing to say, as it set her off on a rant about how good endorphins are for you which she knew all about because she read it in an article only last week.
But coming here had meant lying to Matt, at least on some level. I didn’t want to tell a complete lie and say I was going somewhere else because it felt too … deceitful. Nor did I want to say I was attending the art course because he could easily find out that was a lie. So, I said I’d decided
to come back to Heathwood Hall and catch up with a friend for the weekend.
Which is 100 per cent true. Ish.
A lie wrapped up in a truth. Of course, if it was completely innocent I’d tell him who that friend was, but I can’t do that because the friend is a man I’ve only met twice before.
Walking into the room where we shared that kiss a year ago, I fling the keys on the bed. It’s silent. The room looks exactly the same – it hasn’t changed since I first came here two years ago.
Jamie walks over to the grey sofa on the other side of the room.
‘Shall we get changed and go for drinks before we eat?’ I ask, at the exact same time Jamie starts to say something.
We both start laughing nervously.
‘Sorry,’ I smile, taking my coat off. ‘What did you say?’
‘I was just saying the same. I could do with a drink after the long drive. How do you want to …?’ He trails off, doing a weird motioning thing with his hands I cannot fathom. I look at him, utterly confused.
‘You know, erm, getting changed,’ he manages to get out. ‘You’re a woman …’
‘Yes, I am,’ I say, amused.
‘… you’ll want space and time to – to do what you do.’
I start giggling at how embarrassed and awkward he is.
‘I’ll just get ready in the bathroom. Will take me twenty minutes and I’ll go downstairs and wait for you,’ he offers.
‘Yeah, great!’
Well, this is all very polite, isn’t it?
Getting ready for dinner with Jamie is surreal. What do you even wear for such an occasion? Something nice but not too pretty or inappropriate. His scent fills the bathroom as I walk in after he’s been in it. Later as I head downstairs I feel sick. Nervous, excited … guilty. Guilty because I’ve lied to Matt to be here. But I feel even guiltier over the fact I don’t regret coming. Not one bit.
