by Lucy Diamond
‘Listen . . .’ She took a deep breath, knowing that once she’d said this, there might not be a way back again. ‘I kind of get the feeling that you and Elaine are making a go of things here, and that you’re not really in a position to come back to Manchester just because I’m pregnant with our baby. That we’ve split up now and – well . . . that’s not going to change.’ She caught his eye and he looked down at his lap, twisting the bottle of beer around between his fingers. ‘And do you know what? That’s okay, Matt. It’s really okay.’
‘I feel so torn,’ he confessed. ‘The minute it sank in that you were pregnant, that I was going to be a dad, my instinct was to go straight home – Manchester home, I mean. To try again. And we still could, you know. If you really want that. If you think that’s the right thing, then maybe we should try. For the sake of our baby. Our child.’
Oh God, look at him, he was being so earnest and kind and lovely, it was sending her emotions into complete overdrive. But she had to be realistic here. They both had to face up to the truth. She swallowed hard. ‘Part of me would love that too, you know,’ she confessed in a low voice, because who wouldn’t want their child to grow up with two parents, at the end of the day? It would have been the neat, perfect ending to the whole story.
But then she had to look away because she knew the next bit was going to take real guts to say. ‘At the same time though . . . there’s got to be more to it than that, hasn’t there?’ she ventured. ‘We can’t just get back together because of the baby. Would we be doing so otherwise, if I wasn’t pregnant?’ As their gazes locked, she shook her head, slowly and miserably, and knew that he agreed. And this was what it came down to: their sad bittersweet ending, which was messy and complex, which refused to be tied up neatly like a parcel. A tear rolled down her cheek suddenly. Even though she knew that they were being honest and true, that this was the right way forward for them, she wished it didn’t have to feel like such an utter tragedy.
‘Damn it,’ he said, and she understood exactly how he felt, nodding wordlessly for fear that she might release an inadvertent sob.
(India’s eyes were sparkling with unshed tears as Laura reached this part of the story, and she let out an unhappy sigh. ‘Oh . . . bums,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Bugger and balls. Although bless him for being willing to give it a try,’ she added after a moment. ‘The fact that he still loved you enough that he would give up Newcastle and Elaine and his job to make a go of it, if you wanted – it’s actually really romantic. In a platonic, brotherly, we’re-over sort of way.’
‘I know,’ Laura agreed. ‘He’s a good person. We just got our timing wrong.’ She remembered the look of relief that had flashed across Matt’s face when she’d let him off the hook; proof that they had made the correct decision, but sobering nonetheless. ‘I think we could have tried again, for the sake of it, and ended up resenting each other, and arguing, and both feeling that we’d made a mistake. So we’ve avoided that, at least.’)
All the same, there was a genuine sadness between them, the recognition that they really had reached the end of the road as a couple. That wasn’t easy to come to terms with. But eventually the conversation moved round to the baby, and what names they both liked, and what sort of grandparents their own parents would be (his: brilliant, hers: quite possibly dreadful) and then, by the end of the evening, he was saying that his job here was only for a year initially, he could easily transfer back to Manchester afterwards in order to be more of a hands-on dad. How he’d make sure that their child was a United fan, and that in time he’d take him or her to however many home games he could afford; and then they actually ended up having quite a laugh about which of their characteristics they hoped the baby might inherit.
(‘He’ll be a great dad, I know it,’ she told India. ‘Kind and funny and dependable, exactly how a dad should be. Only . . . living somewhere else.’)
Later on, Laura was just about to ask if she could crash out for the night on that single bed in his spare room, when she felt a ripple inside, a definite proper kick. ‘Quick! Come here! The baby’s moving,’ she cried and, after a moment’s hesitation, he shuffled along the sofa and put his hand on her belly to feel.
Thump. Thump. Boof.
‘Did you feel it?’ she gasped, eyes shining.
He nodded, his face full of wonder. ‘Whoa,’ he said, eyes wide and delighted. Then he grinned proudly. ‘Proper good kick, that. Definitely going to be a goal-scorer, this kid.’
And then they were both smiling goofily at each other, and the baby was kicking again too, as if determined to join in the moment. Maybe, thought Laura with a sudden rush of hope, this could still be okay, they could make it work out after all. Couldn’t they?
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was a Saturday six weeks later and one of those warm, golden early-autumn days where the sun fell like syrup across the city centre and you could still get away without wearing tights. Just about. If you walked quickly, anyway, thought Jo, picking up her pace as a cool breeze whipped around her bare legs.
‘Table for four? This way. You’re the first one here,’ the waiter said, when she arrived at San Carlo a few minutes later. It had been her birthday two days earlier and she was meeting the girls for lunch in her favourite Italian restaurant, a new silver bangle gleaming around her wrist. The bangle was from Rick, as had been the breakfast in bed, and then, later, the bunch of flowers that arrived for her at the surgery, to a chorus of approving ‘Ooh’s from all the patients in reception. She’d been whisked out that night, too, for cocktails and tapas at La Bandera . . . God, he was good to her, that man of hers. She had felt special and loved the entire day.
‘Can I get you a drink while you are waiting?’ the waiter asked, as Jo sat down at the table.
‘A glass of Prosecco would be lovely, please,’ she replied. ‘Actually . . . could you make that a bottle, with four glasses? Thanks.’
She smiled to herself as he bustled away again, returning with an ice bucket and a fat, misted bottle soon afterwards. Forty-three wasn’t a particularly momentous kind of birthday, but Jo had been feeling recently as if maybe this was her decade. As a teenager and in her twenties, she’d often felt an outsider – too sensible to be debauched and outrageous at parties, never smoking or drinking much. By her thirties, she was settled down, playing house when others were going off travelling or throwing themselves into exciting careers, and she’d always seen herself as something of a misfit, never quite fitting in to large social groups.
Nowadays, she no longer cared so much about these things. Nowadays, it didn’t seem to matter – she was just herself, Jo, and that was fine, actually. Perhaps deep down, she’d been in her forties all along, and her real age had only just caught up with her. Whatever the case, this was turning out to be a good decade so far: a decade when she was starting to feel, at last, as if she was in the right place at the right time; as if she had got to grips with who she was as a person, and what made her happy. Friends, laughter, sunny days, waking up with Rick, Prosecco at lunchtime – yes, all of those for starters today, and why not, now and then? Getting older was about recognizing such moments and enjoying them. Feeling comfortable in your own skin and making the most of life.
Blimey, hark at her, getting all philosophical and worldly-wise, she thought as she sipped her drink, bubbles fizzing in her nose. Jo’s Guide to Life: The Contented Decade. Chapter One: You’re Fine, Don’t Worry About It.
‘Hey! You’re looking very far away there. Setting the world to rights?’
Here was Eve, punctual as ever, looking tired but smiling in a silky cerise blouse, a denim skirt and gorgeous knee-high brown boots. ‘Something like that,’ Jo admitted, standing up to hug her. ‘How are you, love? How did you get on this week?’
‘Good,’ said Eve, slipping off her jacket and sitting down. Her radiotherapy sessions had finally come to an end and she’d just had her first normal week back at work. ‘Do you know what, it actually felt blissfully relaxing
to have full days in the office again, rather than chopping up the time with hospital appointments. I kept checking my watch, thinking I’d have to dash over there, before remembering I didn’t have to any more.’ She gave a rather self-conscious fist-pump. ‘Yay.’
‘Yay,’ Jo echoed, pouring her a drink and passing it across the table. ‘And they’ve signed you off, it’s all clear and looking good?’
‘The treatment worked, yes,’ Eve said. ‘I mean, obviously I’ll have to be super-vigilant for evermore now, and there will be loads of check-ups to come. But for the time being, it’s over. Job done. It’s still there in the back of my mind – and it’s still scary as hell, but the stats are positive. And we all know how much I love stats.’
‘Like you love life itself,’ Jo agreed drily. ‘I’m so pleased for you. What a relief.’
‘It feels bloody brilliant, I can tell you. Like a millstone’s been lifted from around my neck. Like the Grim Reaper has finally shuffled away to pick on someone else, and I’m no longer in his shadow.’
‘Well, good riddance to him, and the millstone, and the whole wretched disease. Cheers to reaching the end and coming out the other side,’ Jo said, lifting her glass in the air. They clinked them together and smiled. ‘And Wednesday? How was that?’
The question made Eve look even happier. Since she’d gone in for surgery, Neil had apparently taken over a sizeable chunk of the chores around the house and been more engaged with the rest of the family. More to the point, Eve had relaxed about trying to do everything herself, and actually let him. From what she’d said to Jo, the cancer diagnosis had been a wake-up call to him, the realization of how precious his family were and, as a result, he’d renegotiated his workload, so that he could take every other Wednesday off, in order to spend it with his wife who just so happened to have Wednesdays off, too. ‘It was blissful,’ she replied. ‘We went and had lunch in a pub, and then a lovely long walk together . . . It was such a treat, having a date on a weekday like that.’
‘A fortnightly day off, just the two of you – it’s a great idea,’ Jo said.
‘I know! Actual time to do stuff as a couple again . . . It’s going to really change our relationship, I think,’ Eve agreed, smiling. ‘Even if we end up hoovering or sorting out the linen cupboard together, I don’t mind. And he’s starting to see the sense in my laundry system now anyway, so – what? What’s so funny?’
Jo laughed because however relaxed and laid-back this new Eve claimed to be, she was never going to be that laid-back when it came to certain things. ‘You know how to live, you guys. Now I’m jealous.’
To her credit, Eve was able to laugh at herself. ‘I know. I’m a nightmare,’ she agreed. ‘But less of a nightmare these days, honestly. I’ve come to terms with the fact that life does have a habit of surprising you, however carefully you think you’ve got it all nailed down. Although my household systems are better: fact.’
‘Eve!’
‘I’m joking. Kind of. And anyway, our days are not all going to be about hoovering and laundry,’ she added quickly. ‘We’re going to take it in turns to suggest days out, too. Be culture vultures at the Whitworth, or catch a matinee at the cinema – how utterly brilliant and outrageous does that sound, for a wet Wednesday afternoon?’
‘I’m outraged,’ Jo confirmed. ‘Not to mention wildly envious. And seriously tempted to start bunking off on wet Wednesday afternoons myself, and all. But I’m glad for you. That definitely deserves celebrating.’
‘There you are!’ came a voice as they were clinking glasses for the second time, and along came India in a charcoal-coloured wrap dress with a chunky silver necklace, her long chestnut hair up in a soft, loose chignon. ‘Hello, gorgeous ones,’ she cried, arriving at the table in a waft of perfume. ‘Happy birthday, Jo! You look fab. New haircut?’
They hugged one another, then Jo touched her hair self-consciously. ‘New shampoo,’ she admitted. ‘This amazing frizz-free stuff, recommended to me by – wait for it – Maisie.’
India raised both eyebrows and her mouth fell open for good measure. Never one to use a single facial expression when there was scope for two. ‘What, she suggested you try a frizz-free shampoo? Cheeky little so-and-so! God! I thought you two were okay these days?’
‘It wasn’t really like that,’ Jo said. ‘We were – well, I think you’d call it “bonding”. We were bonding over shampoo ads on telly: you know, how cringey and awful they were, and actually having a bit of a laugh together.’
‘This is Rick’s daughter?’ put in Eve, sounding surprised.
‘Yeah! Turns out we have the same terrible taste in trashy TV programmes and everything,’ Jo said, smirking as she thought of Rick throwing up his hands in exasperation when it turned out that both Jo and Maisie wanted to watch Project Runway on his flat-screen TV when some Champions League match was on at the same time. (‘Outvoted!’ Maisie had cried triumphantly, winking at Jo. That wink! That shared little victory! It had given Jo a genuine shot of hope for the future.) ‘And anyway we were watching – oh, here’s Laura. Over here!’
The story was lost and forgotten as Laura appeared, bump first, all rosy cheeks and swishy blonde hair, but the details weren’t really important. The main thing was that a new truce had been forged between Jo and Maisie, a shift in the dynamic that meant they were no longer in direct competition with Rick for his attention. At first they had been polite to each other, rather formal, as if – for Maisie, at least – it was an effort to force civilities, but over the weeks they had begun to relax in each other’s company. Maisie had dropped all references and comparisons to Polly, thank goodness. Jo was being sensitive about Maisie and her dad having time together without her in the room. What was more, Maisie had even come and confided in her on a few occasions, particularly when it came to bodily facts versus myths.
‘I can’t ask my mum this, right, because she’ll totally think it’s me; and I can’t ask my dad, either, because he’ll go ballistic and be straight into school, wanting to talk to the teachers,’ she’d begun awkwardly the other day, turning pink around the ears. It had been just the two of them in the flat, Rick having gone out to pick up a Chinese takeaway for dinner. ‘And what with you being a nurse and that . . . Well, basically, my friend had sex with her boyfriend when she was on her period and now she’s worried she might be pregnant, but I said she can’t be. Can she?’
God, who would be a teenager again, thought Jo as she picked her way carefully through the minefield each time, being honest and upfront, trying not to patronize or judge, not batting an eyelid even though, when she’d been Maisie’s age, she’d still worn knee-socks and spent her spare time squeezing blackheads and reading pony stories rather than anything more risqué. All the same, she was happy to be there to answer any questions. Flattered, too, to be asked in the first place, taking it as a sign that Maisie respected her opinion on such matters and had deemed her somebody worth confiding in, these days. With that and their newfound shared love of tacky TV programmes . . . well. Empires had been built on less, Jo figured.
Laura was resplendent in a stretchy turquoise top that showed off her burgeoning belly. ‘Birthday girl! Did you have a lovely day?’ she cried, putting a beautifully wrapped present on the table and taking a chair. ‘You all look fabulous by the way. Have we got menus yet? Thanks. I’m starving.’
She looked so happy, Jo thought fondly, taking in her shining eyes as she let the others feel her bump and chattered on with her news. Matt had been down a week ago, turning up with a pushchair (‘a travel system’, Laura called it) plus a cot, and his dad had helped them paint the spare room a sunshiny yellow for the baby’s nursery, too. Laura’s in-laws were proving to be brilliant all round, as it happened – thrilled about their new grandchild-to-be and already offering to help out with childcare for when Laura decided to go back to work. More surprisingly, Helen had come over unexpectedly clucky too, a softer side of her emerging as she went with Laura to her midwife appointments, already pet
itioning to be there for the birth. (‘Helen’s a very nice name for a girl,’ she’d remarked innocently. ‘Just saying.’)
Elsewhere, Laura’s colleague Gayle had dropped off huge bin bags full of tiny baby clothes for her, claiming that her ovaries were spent, after four of her own children, and that Laura was welcome to the rest of her baby paraphernalia whenever she wanted it. And Jo, too, along with India and Eve, had made it clear that they were on hand and would be the most devoted of aunties. (‘Honestly!’ Laura had laughed. ‘Everyone’s making such a fuss – and I am grateful, truly – but it’s only a baby, at the end of the day. I mean, how hard can it be?’ Judging from the look that India and Eve had exchanged, Jo had the feeling her sister might be in for a small shock, come January.)
They ordered some food and then Eve entertained them with stories about the company away-day she’d recently organized, which had gone really well, with Lewis, her friend, turning out to be an absolute star performer. ‘So much so that my boss, Frances, wants him to come in and do some regular sessions with us all,’ she said. ‘She’s pimping him out to her other boss-friends, too, so he’s got these hordes of middle-aged women panting after him right now. Cougar alert!’ she giggled, making sexy growling noises.
‘Hooray for all of that,’ Laura said, hand hovering over the cheesy bruschetta. ‘Anyone mind if I have the last bit? Thanks. Yum. This is good.’
‘So Eve’s out of the woods, and making dreams come true for hot young Scottish men – hmm, that sounds wrong, but you know what I mean,’ Jo summed up. ‘Meanwhile, I’ve negotiated a historic peace treaty with Rick’s daughter; and Laura is . . . permanently hungry and going to get heartburn any minute, if I know her as well as I think I do.’
Laura made an indignant noise through her mouthful, then clutched at her heart dramatically, which made them all laugh.
