by Jane Green
Holly bursts out laughing. ‘Is that because of your thick footballer legs?’
‘Nothing wrong with having thick footballer legs.’
‘Didn’t say there was. But that’s funny. The lusty-leg man. I like it.’
‘Yes, well. I didn’t make it up. Holly?’ Will’s face turns serious for a second. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Yes, but I’m not altogether sure I’ll answer.’
‘In one of your emails you said something about a good night meant being in bed by nine and a great night meant being in bed by eight. You didn’t really mean that, did you?’
Holly smiles and leans forward. ‘Will, my darling, one day hopefully you will have small children, and then you will understand exactly what I mean, and why, sadly, it is the truth.’
‘But I have tons of friends with kids, and I don’t know anyone besides you who actually goes to bed that early.’
Holly shrugs. ‘I just get tired.’
‘Are you sure you’re not just checking out of life?’
‘What?’ Holly sits up straight, shocked.
‘I’m sorry, Holly. I don’t meant to say anything to offend you. It’s just that you’re so vibrant, you always were, but today, sitting here now, is the first time I’ve seen the old Holly. When I saw you after the memorial service I couldn’t believe how, well, how old you seemed. Obviously it wasn’t ideal circumstances, but even the way you were dressed was so staid and proper. Like a shadow of who you used to be, who I always dreamt you’d become. And I’m not saying this to upset you, but I think it’s heartbreaking that you’re in bed every night by eight or nine. That’s not living. That’s running away from life. That sounds to me like you’re burying your head under the covers, literally, and checking out of your life.’
Holly doesn’t say anything for a while. Can’t say anything for a while. When she looks up and meets Will’s eyes, she just shrugs sadly.
‘Maybe you’re right. A little,’ she says. ‘Maybe going to bed keeps me from examining my life more closely, and maybe things would be different if Marcus were around more. You have to understand that he works so incredibly hard; it’s not like he’s around and I’m cancelling stuff to go to bed. There is nothing else for me to do. Admittedly I could stay up and watch TV until he got home, but I’d rather climb into bed with a good book.’
‘But that’s ridiculous that there’s nothing else for you to do. You could be out with friends, having fun. You could be going to the movies, having a drink. Something. Anything. Just engaging in life.’ He is horrified and making no effort to hide it.
‘Okay,’ Will says. ‘I’m throwing down the gauntlet. I’m going out on Friday night with some friends to see a band. It’s very casual, just live music at a bar. If Marcus isn’t around, I want you to come. Just do it. Say yes. Get a babysitter and come.’
‘I can’t.’ Holly shakes her head, but even as she shakes her head she knows she can. She knows she will.
‘Why not? I bet Marcus will be working and, think, you have a choice of going to bed at eight o’clock or having a fun night with interesting people, doing something different, something that might make you grow as a person.’ Will sighs. ‘I just hate this concept, this belief that so many married people seem to buy into that if you’re married you have to behave a certain way; your world has to revolve around the children; it has to shrink and shrink until there’s almost nothing left of who you used to be before you had kids. I have tons of married friends,’ Will continues. ‘And what they all have in common is that they still retain a really strong sense of who they are. They still go out drinking, still have fun, still retain enough of their identity that they never feel as if a part of them died when they walked down the aisle.’
‘God!’ Holly sucks in a sharp intake of breath. ‘That is exactly how I felt when I walked down the aisle. I’ve never even realized it before now.’
‘See? And here’s your chance to change. Go on. Say you’ll come. I’d love you to meet my friends and I think you’ll enjoy them. Will you?’
‘Okay.’ Holly leans back and relaxes. ‘I’ll come,’ and as the thought What am I doing? enters her head, she shouts it back down.
I’m not going to think about this, she tells herself. I’m just going to be in the moment and see what happens.
In a quiet restaurant in Highgate Village, Paul and Anna sit in a corner, nursing their wine, trying to find the words.
‘I’m so sorry, Anna,’ Paul says again as he puts his arm around her and pulls her close for a hug. ‘I’m just so sorry.’
‘We can try again, no?’ Anna looks up at Paul hopefully, but she already knows the answer.
‘I just don’t see how we can,’ Paul says. ‘I know we both want a baby more than anything, but I just think that physically and emotionally this is going to destroy us. I don’t know how many times we can continue to go through it. And the financial burden is just so big. We need to start building our savings again, putting aside money for a rainy day, not to mention the barn that we’re not even using because we haven’t put a penny into it. I think…’ He pauses. ‘I don’t know if you’re ready to find out about this yet, but I think that now might be the time for us to start investigating adoption.’
Anna sighs as a tear drips onto the table. ‘I did not honestly believe this would happen,’ she whispers. ‘I just kept thinking that the next time it would happen, the next time I would get pregnant. I still cannot believe it. I know we’ve always said we would look at adoption, but it’s so final. Adoption means I have failed. We have failed. Adoption means we’ve admitted that this is it. No more Clomid, no more Synarel, no more injections. And no more hope. I just do not know how I can bear it, how I can accept it.’
‘I know,’ Paul says. ‘I feel the same way. And perhaps at some point in the future we can revisit IVF, but even if you’re not ready to actually start whatever the adoption process is, I feel like we’ve reached a time when we have to explore it, have to find out what it involves. Maybe that will help us, help us see things more clearly.’
‘Why me?’ Anna leans her head into Paul’s shoulder as he cradles her gently. ‘Why us?’
He loves her vulnerability, he thinks, as he strokes her back gently and kisses the top of her head, shushing her like a baby, rocking her to make it okay. He loves that she can run meetings with cut-throat skill, has held her own against the toughest names in the business, and has created herself and her business out of nothing. And he loves most that it is not all of who she is.
The Anna he loves has so many sides. She can be tough, unyielding, fierce, soft, gentle and vulnerable all in the same breath. He loves that she is never frightened to show him who she is, like tonight.
He continues to rock her until she calms down. As for her questions – Why me? Why us?–there is only one answer he can think of.
Why not?
‘Shall we go away this weekend?’ Paul says as they gather their coats and thread their way through the tightly packed tables.
‘White Barn Fields?’ Anna smiles grimly. ‘Go and see all the work we have not been able to afford to do?’
‘We could always do it ourselves.’ Paul shrugs. ‘On some level I’m sure it would be a hell of a lot of fun.’
‘Do you think they have the Idiot’s Guide to Renovating Houses?’ Anna smiles, the first genuine smile of the evening.
‘If not, I could always write it and make a fortune.’
‘Now that is the best idea of the night.’ Anna smiles up at him. ‘I do love you, you know.’
‘Even though I can’t afford to keep you in IVF?’ Paul is joking, but Anna sees the doubt in his eyes.
‘Yes, even though you can not afford to keep me in IVF. At least they will never say I married you for your money.’
‘No, it was my good looks and charm.’
‘Actually I think you hypnotized me sometime during that interview. The good news is I am still waiting to wake up.’
‘I lo
ve you too,’ Paul says, kissing her on the forehead as he closes his arms around her for a hug, both of them swaying gently on the pavement outside the restaurant, their breath blowing soft clouds in the air. ‘Really, I feel so lucky to have you, to have us.’
‘So are we going to White Barn Fields this weekend with our toolbox in the back of the car?’
‘Let’s do it,’ Paul nods as they start walking towards the car, ‘let’s go down there and get busy. And can I start looking into what’s involved in adoption?’
‘I cannot promise anything,’ Anna says, ‘but yes. I am fine with you starting to look into it.’
‘So what do you think?’ Will leans over and whispers in Holly’s ear so she can hear him, and Holly grins at him.
‘I think your friends are great. The music’s great. I’m having a great time.’
‘So it’s all great?’ Will laughs.
‘It’s all great,’ Holly says, as Will orders another round of beers.
They are sitting in the Jazz Café in Camden. To Holly’s surprise, it is not crowded with people a decade younger than herself, as she had feared. Nor is it ghastly loud music that gives her a headache.
Nor is it an awful evening. She wasn’t sure why she’d said yes. She knew that she would hate it, but she was proving a point. Proving to herself that there was a reason she went to bed at eight and that there was nothing to be gained from pretending to be in her twenties and going to bars to listen to live music and drink with people she didn’t know.
But Will’s friends have been lovely. An electrician who works with Will from time to time, a chiropractor and her journalist husband, and an Australian couple who, like Will, work to fund their travelling. The chiro-practor couple – Jan and Charlie – have four children, and Holly spent the early part of the evening, before the band came on, bonding over shared child-related stories, catching eyes with Will, on the other side of their crowd, chatting to the Australians.
The band is a jazz trio. Not too soft, not too loud. The music is wonderful, and Holly is stunned at how much she is enjoying this: sitting at the bar listening to music, a beer in hand – and God knows when was the last time she sat and enjoyed a beer – a beer! Vodka and tonic is more her speed these days.
She is surrounded by good people. Easy people. People who don’t need to impress, who aren’t judging her but are just happy to be where they are and with who they’re with.
So different from her life with Marcus, and her role as Marcus’s wife.
Ah. Marcus.
She told Marcus she was going out, just wasn’t entirely truthful in telling him who with. She mentioned Will, couldn’t lie completely, but told him that there was a group of them going: Paul and Anna, Olivia, a couple of others. ‘It’s such a shame you’re not here,’ she lied to Marcus on the phone. ‘We’ll miss you.’
‘Have fun,’ he said distractedly, and she hadn’t felt guilty about telling him a lie.
Hugs all around at the end of the evening, and Will turns to Holly. ‘I’m going to pop in to drop some stuff off to Mum and Dad tomorrow, and I’m planning on staying for lunch. Do you want to come? They’d love to see you.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Holly looks at her watch, stalling for time. Tomorrow. Marcus is still in Manchester and not expected home before late afternoon. She doesn’t have any plans for tomorrow other than the usual Saturday with the kids.
‘I have the kids,’ Holly says, not sure what Will is saying. Although he is not saying anything other than come and see my parents who know and love you.
‘So bring them.’ Will grins. ‘I’d love to meet them.’
‘Do you want to check with your mum and dad? Make sure it’s okay?’
‘Oh come on, Holly, this is Mum and Dad. You know Mum will have cooked enough to feed an army and, as far as she’s concerned, you’re family anyway.’
‘Will you tell them we’re coming? Make sure it’s okay?’
‘If it makes you happier, I’ll tell her you’re coming. Does that mean you’re coming?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great!’ Will says, and with that they have one last hug goodbye and Holly climbs into her car. She turns the music up and smiles all the way home. She smiles as she gets undressed, smiles as she brushes her teeth, smiles as she falls into bed. It takes her two hours to get to sleep, two hours and an eventual Valium, but even as she lies there replaying every minute of her evening, the smile never leaves her face.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Do they have children?’ Oliver bounces up and down in his booster seat as Holly winds her way through the quiet streets.
‘Yes, darling,’ Holly says, ‘but not your age. Remember Mummy’s friend Tom? He was their son, and also Will, who you’ll meet today.’
‘Mum?’
‘Mummy. Yes, darling?’ She hates that Oliver has started shortening her name to Mum. Every time she hears a Mum, she feels his childhood slipping through her fingers like sand. Such a small thing to try to grasp onto, being a Mummy rather than a Mum, but one that Holly refuses to give up.
‘Mummy.’ Oliver rolls his eyes, unseen in the back seat. ‘Mummy, do you think that Tom can see us from heaven? Do you think he’s watching us now?’
‘I think he probably is, darling. Sometimes I talk to him, and I feel that he’s here with us even though he’s not. I dream about him too.’ Holly has had precisely two dreams about Tom since his death. Both times, Tom just appeared out of nowhere, and Holly, shocked, flung her arms around him saying: I thought you were dead. Tom hugged her and reassured her that he was fine. That he was happy where he was and that he wanted her to be happy too.
She awoke confused but with a sense of peace each time, and although Holly never thought she was one to buy into contact with your loved ones in the afterlife, she is now certain that Tom is watching her, that he is fine and this is his way of reassuring her.
Daisy’s high voice pipes up from the back seat. ‘Mummy, I want to go to heaven. Can I go to heaven?’
Holly shudders. ‘Not for many years, darling.’
‘Silly,’ Oliver reprimands her. ‘Heaven is where you go when you die. You don’t want to die.’
‘I do!’ Daisy insists. ‘I want to die and go to heaven, and there are beautiful princesses there and ponies, and I do! I want to die!’
‘Daisy!’ Holly’s voice is harsher than she intends. Even though Daisy can have no idea what she is saying, she cannot bear Daisy saying that. ‘You mustn’t say you want to die. I would miss you terribly if you died, and you have too much to do on this earth first.’
‘See?’ Oliver is triumphant. ‘Told ya.’ And Holly slips in the audio CD of Harry Potter in a bid to keep them quiet.
‘Oh look at her!’ Maggie stands back and watches Daisy with a delighted smile on her face. ‘She’s a little you, Holly! She’s exactly like you. Gorgeous!’
‘And this is Oliver. Oliver, say how do you do to Mrs Fitzgerald.’
‘Mrs? Don’t be ridiculous, Holly. Mrs Fitzgerald is my mother-in-law. I’m Maggie to everyone, children included.’
Of course she’s Maggie, Holly thinks. How could she possibly be anything else? Holly has never been comfortable instructing her children to call her friends Mr and Mrs, but Marcus insists. Insists that all children are to call all adults Mr and Mrs, irrespective of how good friends they might be.
It is, she realizes, part of Marcus’s pomposity, part of his behaving how he thinks he is supposed to behave if people are to believe that he is from the upper-crust background he so desperately wants to come from. In line with his behaviour, Marcus has very clear rules about how the children ought to behave.
They are to shake adults by the hand, look them in the eye and say how do you do. They are to sit at the table and not speak unless they are spoken to. They are not to watch television during the week and only an hour on each day of the weekend. Daisy is to wear smocked dresses and patent-leather Mary Janes, and Oliver is to wear corduroy trousers and woollen sweate
rs.
Never mind that Daisy has a will stronger than anyone Holly has ever met, and getting her into anything that isn’t pink, purple and sparkly is a battle Holly doesn’t have the energy for.
Never mind that Oliver is nearly seven and wants to be a super-cool skateboarding dude, dressed in Gap Kids like all the other children in his class. Marcus seems to want the children to belong to another era and is bewildered and not terribly happy that Holly is clearly not following his instructions when he is out of the house.
‘They’re children, for God’s sake!’ Holly actually moaned to Marcus’s mother one day when Joanie was on a rare visit from Bristol.
‘They’re only little,’ Joanie agreed with Holly. ‘And we’re living in 2006, not 1886.’ Holly burst into laughter. ‘You just keep on doing what you’re doing and they’ll turn out great.’ Joanie nodded. ‘I think you’re a wonderful mother.’
‘Thank you, Joanie.’ Holly smiled at her, wondering how such a down-to-earth woman had produced a son like Marcus.
Holly stands at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes, and stops for a few seconds, smiling as she gazes across the garden to the large old oak tree at the bottom, where Peter and Oliver are looking very industrious as Peter – rather bravely, Holly thinks – holds a nail and Oliver bangs it very carefully.
Peter came into the kitchen when they arrived and squatted down on his haunches so he was the same height as the kids.
‘You look like you’re very strong,’ he said to Oliver. ‘Do you have big muscles?’
Oliver nodded cautiously.
‘Oh good, because I need some help building a tree-house. Do you think you’d be any good at building a treehouse?’
Oliver almost squealed his answer, jiggling up and down with excitement.
‘Well, actually it is built, but the ladder is broken, and there’s no point in having a treehouse if you can’t climb up to it, is there? How are you with a hammer and nails?’
‘I’m really good with a hammer,’ Oliver said, although, as far as Holly knows, he’s never picked up a hammer in his life.
