by Jo Kessel
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Claire took a double decker red bus to get home, sitting at the front on top, opening one of the little side-panel windows to let in some air. All of a sudden her throat felt tight. She reminded herself to breathe and her inhalations took on a laboured heaviness as she sought cooler, fresher oxygen to replenish her lungs. Now she really did wish Jonah was here with her. She looked at her watch. It was only 11 am in the UK, 3 am in California. She would dearly love to call him to discuss Mr. Benedict Pendleton’s pearls of wisdom, but she didn’t dare. Better to let him sleep and spare him from the news for a while longer. Lord knows, she wished she’d been spared. Back in the US, when they hatched this plan, it all felt so simple and made complete and utter sense. Now there were ugly hurdles to jump and an uneasiness spread through her chest like heartburn.
She absent-mindedly flicked open her I-phone and glanced at her emails as a distraction. There was one from Will Ryan, ABC.
I received an anonymous letter informing me that you’re pregnant. If that’s not true, then please ignore this. If it is true then the team at ABC send you heartfelt congratulations. Pregnant presenters are always a ratings winner here in the US, the bigger the bump, the better! Just finalising the filming schedule our end, will be in touch very soon.
Best
Will
On the one hand, this mail delighted Claire. On the other hand, what was all this about an anonymous letter? Who on earth would send something like that and why? And who even knew that she was pregnant in America? The only people she could think of were the doctors at the hospital. But what would they have to gain by sending a letter to ABC? Claire started trying to work out who else might send Will Ryan a tip-off but quickly gave up. It didn’t really matter. No harm had been done. Much more worrying were today’s enlightenments.
Everything was so complicated - love, divorce, children, happiness. Perhaps if it all came too easily the victories wouldn’t taste quite so sweet. But, for every victory, there was a flip side, someone who lost or suffered. Transatlantic relationships were problematic. Claire thought about Madonna and Guy Ritchie, Gwyneth and Chris Martin. When everything’s good, it’s great, but when the parents either consciously or unconsciously uncouple, it’s the children and parent left behind who suffer. Claire couldn’t help that Jonah lived in America, but was she being selfish in wanting to emigrate and take Miriam with her? What was the alternative? If Jonah came to the UK, when would he see Martha? Someone would lose out whichever way you looked at it. It was an imperfect world. She leaned her head on the rail in front of her and closed her eyes.
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Jonah was tossing and turning on his mattress. He reached a hand over to the side of the bed where Claire normally slept and was met by cool sheets. It was a cruel reminder that Claire wasn’t there. He opened his eye a fraction. He groaned when he saw the red digits on his digital alarm clock. 02.59. His talk with Martha had gone well so why wasn’t he sleeping? She was wowed by the news that she would have twin brothers or sisters. The only thing that upset her was that Miriam and the twins would be with Jonah all the time and Martha wouldn’t. “That’s not fair,” she stamped her foot. “Come on angel,” he rationalised. “You want to spend time with your mom, don’t you?” There was a long silence and then a capitulation. “I guess,” she begrudgingly admitted. And then she moved on. “Can we be the bridesmaids at your wedding?” He hugged her tight. “Absolutely you can, Princess. Claire and I haven’t discussed it but I know she’ll love the idea. You’ll be the two prettiest bridesmaids in the world.”
He allowed his mind to wander towards the wedding. They hadn’t set a date yet, but why wait? Perhaps they should do it before Claire started properly showing and complained about being a fat bride. He knew the way her mind worked. His thoughts drifted back to his proposal. How he wished he’d hired someone to hide and film that moment with a video camera. The expression on her face as she nearly drank the ring he’d popped into her glass of champagne was priceless. Her nostrils flared and one eyebrow raised itself a good inch higher than the other, as if shock could encourage it to part from its foundations. What she didn’t know and couldn’t have known was that he’d been holding onto this ring for nearly fourteen years. He’d been planning to propose the evening they found out they were having a baby and somehow, after that, the moment had never re-presented itself. He’d known all those years ago that she was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He just hadn’t yet felt ready to start a family. He could have offered that ring to his ex-wife, but it felt wrong. He could have sold it or got rid of it, but instead he stuffed it to the far back of the top drawer of his bedside table, unable to let go of it, despite the pain it caused him on the odd occasion that his fingers brushed against the little square jewellery box inside which it was cushioned. He’d bought white gold because he knew full well that Claire didn’t like the look of yellow gold against her skin, complaining that it made her look even paler.
03.14. If only Claire was here. He knew the perfect cure for insomnia. That would definitely make him feel better. He lay on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the whirring ceiling fan. Why was everything so complicated? He had no doubt that all would be well in the end, but when he and Claire had spoken on Skype that morning he saw how much she was missing him and ached to take her in his arms, to hold her tight and safe. Perhaps he should go to London earlier? Perhaps it wasn’t fair to leave her alone to cope with all of this? Perhaps it was too much. They were in this together which meant that he should be there too. But then what would he do with Martha? He could take her with him to London but that would involve her missing school which set a bad precedent. Or he could perhaps ask his mother if she could stay there instead? If he did that though, there was a danger that Martha could start feeling like a spare part, being passed from pillar to post, and seeing as this was a sensitive time, that was the last thing he wanted.
Jonah sighed. No, there was no easy solution. And even if Martha did stay with his mom, he still had that screen test coming up which he now knew it would be foolhardy to miss. He hadn’t wanted to burden Claire any more than necessary because she already had enough on her plate, but he’d had another meeting with an attorney at Quinn, Sullivan & Pentecost today and the situation was made very clear to him. They claimed that at the moment there was a slightly better than 50/50 chance of Claire being granted permission to take Miriam out of the country. Not helping their cause was the fact that Jonah’s life was peripatetic. He was moving around the world, commentating, and it didn’t matter if his fixed abode was in California or the UK. What could tip the balance, however, was if Jonah had a job that tied him to the US. And so Jonah had given the green light to his agent to pursue an offer that was already on the table. It wasn’t something that struck Jonah as the perfect fit but NBC San Diego had watched a tape of him commentating and liked what they saw. He was a local personality and they thought he would be perfect as the news anchor for their five day a week morning breakfast show. The screen test was scheduled for three days time. Jonah didn’t really want to do it. It was a regional show, which hardly felt like hitting the big time. The pay they were offering wasn’t much of an incentive either and the early morning rises were even more of a turn-off. But if this is what would help Claire win her case then he would do it, for her, for them, for their future.
03.33. Jonah rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. It was clear that sleep was going to elude him. He calculated eight hours ahead. It would be 11.33 in London. Claire’s meeting with the barrister might well be finished by now. He reached for his mobile and found her number. It rang five times before she answered.
“I’m so pleased you called. I was desperate to speak to you, but didn’t want to wake you up. It’s the middle of the night. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Hey babe,” he said, “I couldn’t sleep because this bed’s lonely without you. So tell me, how did it go today?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE<
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MIRIAM
It was Saturday and finally, because there was no school, Miriam was free to lie in. Coping with jet lag after coming back from America was hard. Every morning her mother tried to wake her by opening the curtains, turning on the lights and peeling back her duvet but still she didn’t stir. In the end her mum resorted to rolling her body from side to side. When that didn’t work, she tickled her feet. Miriam was hellishly ticklish so there wasn’t even the remotest chance that she’d sleep through that. This morning, however, it was lovely to finally be allowed to wake up naturally, without being pushed or prodded or cajoled. With one eye open she realised why she felt so euphoric. It was 09.37, which meant she’d had nearly thirteen hours sleep. Epic!
Miriam was equally ecstatic about being able to stay put this weekend. It was her father’s ‘turn’, but he called the day before to say that he, Ali and Jasper had all come down with a bad case of the vomiting bug which he didn’t want to inflict on his daughter. That was the most selfless he’d been in a long time. That’s what Miriam was thinking as she reached underneath her bed to pick up her favourite new toy which her dad had bought her in Los Angeles. She’d been grumpy up until the time of its purchase mainly because, when her father had asked whether she’d like to go to Disneyland, he had promised that they’d go just the two of them together and that was what clinched the deal. Somewhere along the line, however, the plans changed and Ali and Jasper had gate-crashed this special father-and-daughter trip. Despite the fact that she loved Disneyland and that Jasper was significantly better behaved than before, gurgling and cooing and smiling for pictures with Mickey, Miriam was still irritated by his presence. The next day Ali insisted they visit a place called The Grove which she described as an amazing outdoor shopping centre. “I don’t want to go to a shopping centre,” Miriam whined. “I hate shopping.” It was true, she wasn’t a massive fan of shopping but that’s not why she made a fuss. She just wanted to annoy Ali. It was payback for her having come with them to LA in the first place. “There’s a fabulous old-fashioned tram there,” Ali patiently tried to convince her, “and this musical fountain. My sister’s been. She said we have to go.” “I don’t care about a stupid fountain,” Miriam stood her ground. There was so much more on the tip of her tongue. Like ‘I don’t want you here’, ‘why did you come’, ‘you’re not welcome’, ‘Jasper’s a whingeing brat’, but she restrained herself. None of this was strictly speaking Ali’s fault. It wasn’t even her father’s fault. It was just the way it was. That didn’t make it any better though. Sometimes it’s nice to be able to lay the blame on someone else for your own disappointment.
In the end Anthony intervened and they had gone to The Grove. Miriam was reluctant to admit it but it actually was kind of a cool place. It looked like a film set. Upscale shops like Abercrombie & Fitch and Nordstrom lined pedestrian streets so clean and perfect they looked unreal, as did the bright green patches of grass peppered with people lazing in the sun and sipping cups of takeaway coffee. At its heart the ‘musical fountain’ erupted into a choreographed water show set to music. Miriam was transfixed by a fish at the bottom of the pond that seemed to be stunned immobile, caught in the line of fire from the jettisoning spray. She insisted on waiting till the very end, to ensure that the fish was still alive. Satisfied that it was swimming again they moved away and that’s when she saw it, the shop it felt like she’d dreamed about forever: American Girl. Her best friend Gabriella was given one of their dolls for Christmas and Miriam had been so envious. It wasn’t any old doll. It was a deluxe version, like a real mini person whom you could dress and groom and with a life history – called a “back story” - provided by the manufacturer. You could only buy them in America, according to Gabriella, and hers had been bought for her by a relative. The dolls were very expensive. Miriam’s father hadn’t been keen and complained that the dolls were so big that there wasn’t room in the suitcase to bring one back but in the end he gave in. There were dozens to choose from and she selected Isabelle, a blonde beauty with long golden tresses and pretty silver ballet pumps. That’s who Miriam was cradling now, admiring her delicate black lashes and how her green eyes closed if she was laid horizontally.
Ever since her mother mentioned that they were going to live in America she started talking to Isabelle about it. Isabelle was a great listener, always so positive, unfailingly smiley and calm in response.
“I know what America’s like Isabelle, because I’ve already been there. But what’s it like to live there the whole time?”
Isabelle beamed. Of course she liked living there, it was her home. There was no place like it.
“What’s your school like Izzie? Do you have lots of friends and do you think I would like your school too?”
Her favourite toy fluttered her eye lashes. According to Isabelle’s back story she loved designing clothes and dancing, both things which Miriam liked herself.
“It’s not that I love my school that much Izzie, it’s just that I know it and am familiar with it. It feels safe. I’m not explaining it very well but do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
Miriam sat Isabelle upright and rocked her gently backwards and forwards, which gave the impression that she was nodding. Miriam picked up the doll’s miniature hairbrush from her bedside table and started combing the golden mane, wondering what hairdo to give her today. In the end she decided on a wraparound braid, kind of like a halo. She took a thin clump of hair from one side and began to plait it.
“I’m sure everything will be just fine when we get there,” she whispered conspiratorially, leaning close to Isabelle’s ear so that nobody might overhear, “it’s just that I’m a bit scared.”
Isabelle smiled calmly at her. Miriam swore that she heard Izzie tell her: “you’re going to be just fine.”
Was Isabelle delighted at the prospect that she would be going home back to the States or was she a tiny bit disappointed that her exciting sojourn in London had been cut short? Or maybe it was a bit of both, just like her owner.
Miriam sat Isabelle on her lap. It was strange. Fifteen minutes ago she’d gently stirred from slumber with her mind void of all thought bar how amazing it was that she’d slept for nearly thirteen hours. And now anxieties were careering through her brain so fast that she half expected some of them to crash into one another, creating a mass explosion in her skull. Her mother kept asking if she was ok with the whole America thing and she really was. Mostly she was actually very excited. In the US, all she could think was how much more fun it would be to live there instead of London. But now that was soon to become her reality she was beginning to think a little more about her father. Yes, there were things he did which upset and annoyed her. He wasn’t all bad though. He couldn’t be all bad. He’d given her Isabelle. She bent over to kiss Isabelle’s smooth pink cheek. She couldn’t imagine a life without Isabelle anymore. She wondered what Martha would make of her.
“What’s your father like Izzy?” Miriam turned her doll to look at her.
Izzy smiled.
“Do you miss him now you’re in London?”
Izzy stayed smiling.
“Does it mean that it’s not that bad if you don’t see your father a whole lot?”
Miriam was used to not seeing her father much. An ‘absent wee father’, that’s what her mother had accused him of being when they were still married. Miriam had once overheard an argument. And even now she only saw him every other weekend and one night during the week. That was plenty enough. She didn’t feel as if she was missing out by not seeing him more. But if she was in America, would she see him at all? How would that work? Her mother hadn’t mentioned it. Should she speak to her mother about it or should she just leave it alone. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like Jonah or anything. She loved Jonah. At Lily Beach she was jealous that Martha had him as her dad and she didn’t. So why was she even worrying about how and when she’d see her real father? She pulled Isabelle up to her mouth and gave her a huge, loud kiss to tr
y and lighten the mood, but it didn’t. Ugh, this was all so horribly confusing.
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Early afternoon, Miriam was sitting amidst a sea of cut up pieces of cardboard in her bedroom. There was so much debris scattered around that the carpet underneath was barely visible. She was busy constructing a house for Isabelle with furniture fashioned from empty cardboard boxes and was putting the finishing touches to a small table.
“Darling,” her mother called up from downstairs. “Martha would like to speak to you.”
Miriam shot to her feet. She hadn’t spoken to Martha since the day her father retrieved her from Lily Beach and, since her return to London, the eight hour time difference had made it difficult. Whenever Martha was waking up in the US, Miriam was at school. And by the time Martha got back from school, Miriam was in bed. There were a trillion questions she wanted to ask her sort of step-sister. If there was anyone who came remotely close to understanding how she was feeling, it was Martha. She ran down to the kitchen where she found her mother seated in front of her open laptop and saw both Jonah and Martha smiling on the screen.
“Daddy, daddy,” squealed Martha, “can I take your computer up to my room to speak in private?”
“Sure honey, but let me just say hey-
