by Linda Huber
‘It’s better to be married to your kid’s father, makes it easier for the kid,’ he said, leaning across the table and taking her hand. ‘But most relationships are pretty open nowadays, don’t you think?’
Amanda was happy to be swept away, and three months later they were still meeting regularly. James’ small flat in Hayle was within easy driving distance of St Ives but far enough away for discretion, and ‘nights out with the girls’ had become weekly occurrences. Sometimes they had an afternoon together, when James wasn’t working and Jaden was on a play date. It was ‘just an affair’ for them both, but it was the most fun Amanda’d had for, oh, for months. James came to the house occasionally too, but Amanda didn’t enjoy these dates as much. Sleeping with James in her and Gareth’s bed, Jaden napping in the next room – it didn’t feel right. The good part was watching James play with Jaden – he was great with kids; it was lovely to see the little boy’s face light up when James started another silly game for him.
The timer pinged and Amanda went back to the bathroom. Her instincts had been right; she could see the blue line from the doorway. Another baby was on the way, and when this child was born she’d have two under-two-year-olds. Golly. She’d always wanted a big family, but oh, dear, this wasn’t the best way to go about it. This was plain messy. And yet – she was pleased, wasn’t she? Yes, of course she was pleased; she loved kids – but what was she going to tell James – and Gareth?
Nothing yet, she decided, as Jaden yelled from his room. She would see a doctor, if possible work out who the father was, and take it from there.
It wasn’t until she was clearing up after Jaden’s breakfast that reality hit Amanda. She sank down on a chair and stared at the fruit bowl. There had never been any talk about her relationship with James being anything more than a fun-filled couple of dates a week. How would he react when she told him she was having a baby? And what did she know about the man, anyway? He worked as an IT specialist in Brompton & Son, a local company who designed aircraft engines and provided half the region with jobs. He was a minimalist. He liked red wine, Greek food, and sex… and for all she knew, she could be one of a string of girlfriends. In fact she probably was, you couldn’t call two dates a week spent mostly in bed a relationship.
And he was way more likely than Gareth to be the father of her baby. Her new baby.
Amanda shivered, settled Jaden on the floor with a saucer of raisins, and lifted the iPad. The World Wide Web would tell her when the baby had started – maybe James wasn’t the father.
Okay, she’d had a period on the 2nd of April so she was more than a week overdue. Amanda googled ‘estimate conception date’, and typed April 2nd into the box on the first site she came to. She peered at the result. So her probable ovulation date had been April 16th, and according to this, the ‘window of conception’ fell between April 12th and 20th – a whole week. This wasn’t going to work, she could tell.
Sick at heart, Amanda reached for her phone and went into her appointments diary. Those dates included not one but two weekends, one of which was Easter, so she must have slept with Gareth at least once during the ‘window’. And she had certainly slept with James.
A heavy, dull feeling in her middle, Amanda read further into the website. There in the FAQ section was the very same problem, and the answer was exactly what she didn’t want to hear. When you have intercourse with more than one partner around the time of ovulation and a pregnancy results, it is impossible to determine who the father of the baby is based on dates alone.
Amanda bit her lip. A paternity test was the only way to find out who the baby’s father was. That wasn’t going to help her any time soon.
Jaden was toddling around the room, putting a raisin on every piece of furniture. Amanda sat watching him, lethargy sweeping through her. Poor little boy – what would happen to them all? They’d had such plans, her and Gareth. This house, a rented semi on the edge of town, was to be home until they’d saved enough for the deposit on a place of their own. Amanda didn’t care where they lived, but Gareth was hankering after a cottage in one of the villages further up the coast. Her husband’s life had turned into a vicious round of saving, job hunting and doing courses to make himself eligible for a better-paid position. Which he’d found last week. But somewhere along the way the passion had gone out of their marriage.
Jaden arrived at the bookshelf and deposited a raisin beside a framed photo of the three of them last Christmas. Smiling faces, a happy family. A lie. Tears ran silently down Amanda’s cheeks, but Jaden noticed. He hurried over and pressed a hot, sticky raisin into her hand.
‘Mum-mum-mum,’ he said, and Amanda had to laugh. Did he mean ‘Mum’ or was he encouraging her to eat up? As soon as she laughed he did too, and Amanda lifted him and danced him round the living room, new strength sweeping through her.
A baby was good news no matter what and she would get this sorted. The first thing to do was see how James – the probable father – reacted. Then she would decide what to do about Gareth. It might be best for them all if she and Gareth put some work in to save their marriage. But was that what she wanted?
Early afternoon was the best time to get hold of James. Amanda waited until Jaden was napping, and settled into the corner of the sofa to phone. She would tell him there was something important they had to talk about tomorrow; she didn’t want him to pick her up expecting a quick drive to Hayle and their usual romp in bed.
‘Amanda, hi – I was just about to call you. I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel tomorrow’s appointment.’ James sounded bright, and she guessed he was in the office.
Amanda’s heart thumped in her chest. ‘Oh no, James.’
‘Sorry, but the boss has sprung a meeting on us and I can’t get out of it. We’ll reschedule – how about Tuesday?’
He was definitely being overheard. But no way could she wait until Tuesday to tell him what was going on. Breaking news like this on the phone wasn’t ideal, but what else could she do?
‘I’m sorry, but there’s something you should know.’
He made an inquiring noise in his throat and she took a deep breath. Now for it.
‘I’m pregnant.’
He was silent for several seconds, and she could hear that he was walking now. The sound of a door closing came down the phone.
‘Are you sure? Whose is it? His voice was low and guarded.
‘Of course I’m sure. But I have no idea if it’s yours or Gareth’s. It’s about a million times more likely to be yours if we’re talking about numbers of sperm, but there’s no way to tell yet.’
‘How the hell did it happen? You said contraception was no problem. What are you going to do?’
It was the question she’d been dreading. If he tried to make her have an abortion, that was them finished. End of. ‘My coil must have failed for some reason. And I’m not getting rid of it – you can’t make me.’
He was silent, and she heard the sound of a car down the phone. He must have gone outside. ‘James?’
His voice was low. ‘Look, I can’t talk here. I’ll call you, okay? Don’t worry.’
Amanda sat clutching her phone, her heart still racing. That hadn’t gone well, but he knew now and she could start to plan. She rubbed a hand over the flatness of her tummy. No matter what happened, she was going to have this baby.
Chapter Three
Saturday 3rd – Friday 9th May
The girl’s name was Soraya, and the reason she’d removed her name badge was that the bigger kids took one look and called her ‘Sore-eyes’. Ella stood gaping while the child’s foster mother re-attached the badge. Soraya promptly dashed off, and the woman grinned at Ella and Rick.
‘Speedy Gonzales has nothing on Soraya. Hope you’d finished the game? Sorry, I’d better go after her. Catch me later if you want to talk.’
Ella only just managed to smile and nod.
Rick had seen her face. ‘You want to inquire about her, don’t you?’ he said, pulling her back outside.<
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Ella felt physically sick. Soraya and the woman were nowhere to be seen, and anyway, she had already agreed to adopting a boy.
‘She – struck a chord,’ she whispered as they walked across the car park, in silent mutual consent that the party was over.
‘Ah. The famous spark of attraction,’ said Rick, opening the passenger door and clambering over to the driver’s seat. Ella got in beside him. He didn’t seem upset that she was making up her mind – because she was, wasn’t she? – that a rather cheeky six-year-old girl was the child for them and not the years-younger boy Rick wanted.
She closed her eyes, not speaking as Rick reversed out and drove towards their home, a three-bed semi with a large L-shaped garden within smelling distance of the sea. They’d bought it in the days when they thought it would be the easiest thing in the world to make a couple of kids to fill the bedrooms. Ella stood in the driveway, blinking back tears at the thought of those empty rooms and the tidy, child-free garden. From here she could see all the way up the side, though the back green was partially hidden by the large wooden shed. Would there ever be trikes and scooters in there?
Over dinner they thrashed it out. Rick was still hankering after a son, though to Ella’s surprise he didn’t dismiss Soraya out of hand.
‘I’d prefer a boy,’ he said. ‘But we want more than one, don’t we? We could adopt a boy next time. And I did like Soraya’s spunk. You should decide, you’ll have more to do with the kid anyway.’
Ella blinked. After all the insistence about young and healthy white boys she hadn’t expected this about-turn, but instead of making her feel positive and excited it simply scared her. Rick hadn’t wanted a child of that age, and definitely not a girl. Did this sudden capitulation meant that, having seen the reality of children up for adoption, he was stepping back from the parenthood idea? Her idea, her child, her responsibility? It wasn’t the best way to do this. But – she wanted Soraya so badly; it was an almost physical ache in her gut. Ella stuck her chin in the air. Soraya this time, a boy the next… Why not?
She phoned Liz after dinner, and the social worker promised to arrange a visit to Soraya’s foster home for them. Ella put the phone down feeling they’d taken a huge step towards adoption. Soon they’d be able to talk properly with Soraya’s foster mother, and have afternoon tea with Soraya and the other children. If they decided to continue, the match would be presented to the adoption panel for approval, and other and longer visits would follow, both in Soraya’s home and here at their own place. Ella shivered. This must, it absolutely must work out for them.
And now it was Friday, the day of their visit to Soraya. Ella checked the clock on the microwave for the hundredth time. To say that she was nervous would be a total understatement, she thought, massaging throbbing temples. Would the famous spark still be there when she saw Soraya? Her lips tightened as she glanced outside. It was after two o’clock; they would need to leave soon, and there was Rick, strolling up and down the garden with his phone pinned to one ear. He was one of those people who had problems taking an afternoon off work. Or rather, work had problems when Rick took a few hours off, something he’d had to do several times since they’d started the adoption procedure. To make up the time he often worked for a few hours on Saturdays. Rick’s was a good, well-paid job – Brompton & Son had branches all over the globe – all she could hope was it would leave him enough time for fatherhood.
Ella sighed. Whatever this call was, it was important, if the look on Rick’s face was anything to go by. She banged on the window and pointed to her wrist, and he gave her a thumbs-up sign. Good.
Upstairs, Ella stood in the doorway of the larger spare bedroom. If things went well, they would need to redecorate in here. What was Soraya’s favourite colour? Most little girls liked pink, but something was telling Ella that Soraya wasn’t like most little girls. She went into her own room; heavens, what were you supposed to wear for your first visit to the child who might, one day, be your daughter? Ella pulled on black jeans and a green shirt, then fastened a string of onyx beads round her neck. A brooch she’d worn as a child caught her eye; a vivid turquoise enamel butterfly on a gold base; she’d inherited it from her grandmother. Would she be able to give it to her own granddaughter, some day far in the future? Ella hugged herself. In a way she felt like a child this afternoon – such a shivery, magical feeling, like the day before Christmas, or her birthday. She shouldn’t get too far ahead here, but oh, this felt right. Soraya was special. Their child, please God their child.
Mel and Ben, Soraya’s foster parents, lived in Redruth, a small inland town half an hour up the A30. As usual when they went somewhere together, Rick drove. The sea on Ella’s left was deep blue today, tinged with green nearer the beach, and she gloried in the thought that maybe, maybe this summer they could go to the beach and play with Soraya. They’d be able to do all the fun mum and dad things. Rick was silent. He’d been snappy since his phone call, and Ella wondered if he regretted agreeing to visit Soraya. But when he spoke she realised he’d been mulling over the ramifications of becoming a three-person household.
‘If we go ahead you’d need to do something about your Smart car,’ he said.
‘We can sell it. Two cars are a bit of a luxury, anyway. And if we get her, I’ll want to give up working for a year or two. I’ve spoken to Sheila West – the temp we had last year while Jill was on maternity leave would like to come back, so I can stop anytime.’
Rick grunted, and Ella sat thinking about the questions she had for Mel. Soraya had been in care since she was ten months old, but had only recently been released for adoption. Her current foster home was her sixth. It seemed like a lot of being shifted around for a very young child who could have used some stability.
Mel’s home was a 1930s, detached house on the edge of the Redruth. Soraya was standing at a downstairs window when Rick pulled up outside. She immediately vanished, to reappear at the front door, and Ella’s heart thumped uncomfortably as she and the child faced each other. Soraya’s hair was in bunches today, and her black leggings and oversized t-shirt emphasised her slightness.
‘Are you going to play with me?’
Her eyes were huge, and the lump in Ella’s throat was so big she could hardly speak. Oh yes, this was her child. Please, please, this had to work out for them.
She blinked hard and managed to speak normally. ‘We’re having a chat with your Auntie Mel first, and then I’m sure we’ll have enough time to play.’
‘Bum. I wanted a long time.’
‘You’re here!’ Soraya’s foster mother came up behind her. ‘In you come. Soraya, you’ve said hello, so off you go and do your homework while we have a chat. I’ll call you down when we’re ready.’
Ella smiled warmly at the child and followed Mel into a sunny sitting room where three shabby sofas were grouped round a red brick fireplace. The tightness in her middle eased when Ella saw that ‘Auntie Mel’ was pleasant and informal. The older woman talked about Soraya’s life in the foster family, giving Ella the impression that the girl was a handful, but with the right guidance an easy enough child to live with.
‘The thing to do with Soraya is set clear boundaries right from the word go,’ she said. ‘She’s been here eight months and she’s really come along well.’
‘Why has she had so many foster homes?’ asked Ella.
‘She was unlucky a couple of times – one set of foster parents had to give up because of illness in the family, and in another place Soraya had massive issues with the couple’s own child. For a long time the aim was to reunite her with her mother, but she died last year. Soraya was sent to us on a long-term placement, and if she isn’t adopted she’ll stay here.’
Mel had given them a way out, thought Ella as she and Rick went upstairs to Soraya’s room. Knowing the child had a permanent foster home now would make it easier to step away. Would Rick still agree to carry on, knowing Soraya’s foster mother thought she was a ‘handful’?
The litt
le girl danced around the bedroom she shared with her eleven-year-old foster-sister, showing them her possessions and chattering non-stop. Ella sat on the bed and devoured the child with her eyes. Did Soraya know they were interested in adopting her? If she did she made no mention of it. She produced a variety of soft toys for them to admire, and allowed Ella to reorganise the doll’s house. Rick asked about reading and was shown a box of picture books. He pulled out The Tiger Who Came To Tea, and Soraya sat on the floor while Ella read aloud.
‘Ever seen a real tiger?’ asked Ella, after the story. Soraya shook her head.
‘Never been to the zoo?’
Another shake. Then, heartbreakingly, ‘Who are you?’
Ella reached out and squeezed the small hand. ‘We’re your visitors. We hope we’ll be able to come again, and maybe you’ll visit us too.’
‘Like Auntie Mel?’
‘No, we’re not foster parents. We’re just – people.’
‘Can we go to the zoo, then?’
Ella nudged Rick – this was supposed to be a three-way conversation – but he made no move to speak. She turned back to Soraya. ‘That’s a great idea and if it’s possible, we will. I’ll find out and let you know next time, okay?’
Mel called them down for coffee, and Ella watched as Soraya interacted with her foster family. Mel was pleasant to the child but very firm, and Soraya sat nicely at the table, eating her piece of lemon drizzle cake with no sign of the buzz of chatter from upstairs.
