by Amy Bratley
‘Hey,’ she said now, as he turned on to his stomach and pointed over his shoulder to his back, indicating he wanted his massage, ‘how come I’m giving you a massage? I’m the one who’s going to need it when the contractions start.’
‘You know you love it,’ he said, closing his eyes while she worked her hands up and down his muscles. ‘I’m like a wrestler before a fight. When I’m going on stage, I need one of your massages. It’s especially important tonight because there are going to be some A&R people there from London. Maybe I’ll get an album deal.’
She kissed his back, straddled him and continued to massage him, pressing as hard as she thought he could bear. In her head she prayed that he would get an album deal one day soon. He’d already had a single released, but an album was what he wanted, and she feared that, if he didn’t get one, he would be pretty hard to live with. Outside, the sky had gone dark and Rebecca paused to turn on a lamp, which threw an amber glow over the room.
‘What do you think about names?’ she said. ‘What do you like?’
‘Clarence,’ Lenny said. ‘After Clarence White, the best bluegrass guitarist in the world.’
Rebecca burst out laughing. ‘Clarence?’ she said. ‘No way. I was thinking about River or Wind or something.’
Now it was Lenny who burst out laughing. Rebecca grinned.
‘What are you on?’ he said. ‘Wind? That’s no name for the future Elvis. Hey – cool. What about Elvis?’
She gave him a look. ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘Not Elvis. Hey, Lenny, will you get paid tonight? We have to pay our rent next week. I should offer to massage some of those women in the antenatal group. They’re probably all loaded.’
Lenny grunted, and Rebecca wasn’t sure what he meant by it, but he seemed annoyed.
‘That Alan bloke pissed me off”, said Lenny, out of nowhere. ‘Did you hear him going on about how much stuff they had for the baby? Mamas & Papas cot, a nursery decked out with furniture, the entire Bugaboo range, designer Babygros, top-of-the-range monitors that tell the room temperature as well. I mean, for fuck’s sake, talk about ramming his wealth down your throat.’
Lenny turned over and Rebecca climbed off him. He stood up, naked except for his socks, and pulled on his trousers. No pants. Rebecca thought about Alan and what he’d said. Unlike Lenny, she’d thought Alan was making fun of himself and Katy, about how excessive they’d been, not showing off. Typical that Lenny would see him in competitive terms, even though the two men couldn’t be more different.
‘We, on the other hand,’ said Rebecca, ‘have nothing, except for the Moses basket I found in Help the Aged. I’m not bothered, though, are you? We don’t need all that stuff.’
‘I don’t know,’ Lenny said. ‘Why should our kid be the one with nothing? Maybe I should get a real job now, instead of holding out for an album deal. I mean, we have a single out, so we might well get an album deal, but is what you really want for me to go out to work? Buy a suit from Top Man and get a desk job?’
Lenny sat on the edge of the bed and angrily laced his shoes, as if she’d answered yes, that’s definitely what she wanted. He ran his hand through his hair and turned back to face her, his eyes gleaming. Rebecca was struck by his looks. He was incredibly good-looking. Film-star good-looking. No wonder his female fans went hysterical when he took his shirt off on stage. What he had said bothered her, though. They’d always agreed that material possessions were meaningless as long as they had each other and did something they were passionate about. That was one of the reasons she loved him so: he didn’t want to conform. The last thing she wanted was for him to get a proper job. She loved his freedom, his refusal to play the game. Secretly, she feared he would quite quickly lose his appeal if he was sitting behind a desk selling insurance.
‘No, Lenny, I don’t want that,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to stick to music. You said you couldn’t live without it. You said you never wanted to be average. Somehow, I can’t see you in an office. We’ll cope. The baby doesn’t have to cost a fortune. I can strap him or her to my back in a bit of fabric. We don’t need a Bugaboo. We can use cloth nappies, I’ll breastfeed and still do massage to earn a few quid. One of the other mums might babysit sometimes. We’ll be fine. Once you’ve got your album recorded you’ll get more gigs, but I think we should stick to what we’ve always wanted.’
Rebecca stroked her tummy, realizing that the baby wasn’t at all what she’d wanted when she’d moved to Brighton. A grass-roots job with a non-governmental organization was what she’d been aiming for, campaigning for something she believed in – something controversial, though she wasn’t sure what. She’d been so long without a voice, she knew she could shout really loud on behalf of someone else’s good cause. Oh well, there was plenty of time for shouting. And then there was travelling. She desperately wanted to travel the world and see the places she’d read about: Goa, Brazil, the Great Wall of China, Angel Falls, India.
‘And when the baby’s old enough I want to go travelling,’ she said. ‘There’s a whole world out there, Lenny. We have to go travelling. There’s no way I’m giving up on that dream. I looked in the Trailfinders window, and round-the-world tickets are less than a grand. There’s loads for us to do, and the baby is going to be part of that. It’s not about prams and Babygros.’
‘You’re right, babe,’ said Lenny, looking pleased with Rebecca’s little speech. ‘That bloke Alan just did my head in. His wife did, too. Bit snooty, wasn’t she?’
He stretched out and stood up. He went to the window, leaned both hands on the windowsill, lifted up the net curtain and looked out over the impressive listed buildings and grounds of Brighton College, a prestigious independent school which, despite being just over the road, seemed to Lenny to belong to a different universe. Rebecca hadn’t admitted that she’d been to a similar school, with croquet and crochet on the curriculum. Or that her family were very well-off and had, up until a few months ago, when she cut off contact, given her a decent monthly allowance.
‘I felt sorry for Mel,’ said Rebecca. ‘How can her boyfriend have left her?’
‘It’s not all black and white, though, is it?’ said Lenny. ‘It’s tough being a bloke sometimes. Whatever you do, you can’t win. Maybe he thinks he’s done the right thing by her, if he doesn’t love her. Maybe she’s a pain in the arse. She seemed it, to be fair. I know if I left you, you’d cope. You’re one of those resilient, strong people, which is why I love you, babe.’
He continued to look out of the window, speaking in the direction of the college. Rebecca felt suddenly cold. An image of herself clutching the baby, standing on the doorstep of her parent’s house, flashed into her mind. She would never let that happen. Besides, they’d probably disown her. She pulled on a cardigan.
‘Am I strong?’ she said. ‘You’re not planning on leaving, are you?’
‘No,’ he said, glancing at her, before gazing again through the window. ‘Course not! But I’m just saying, if I did what this Leo has done, you’d just get on with it. You’re strong like that. Determined. I knew that when we first met. After all that crap you put up with when you were at home, your belly is full of fire. You’re not possessive or dependent on me. You’d be fine as a single mum. That’s a compliment.’
Rebecca’s perfectly circular eyes bored like infrared lasers into Lenny’s back. Sensing her stare, he rolled his shoulders, turned and grinned at her.
‘Right,’ he said, rubbing his palms together and pushing his hair away from his face. ‘Show time.’
Rebecca, alone now, looked around the flat, wondering what to do. She ought to use this time to relax and catch up on sleep, because, thanks to her restless legs and constant need to pee, her nights were interrupted. But it wasn’t even seven p.m. yet. She thought about trying to make the flat more homely. Since they’d moved in three months ago, they hadn’t really done anything, even though the landlord said they could. Most of their books were still in boxes. Now, she felt an urge to give the flat a fresh
coat of paint, get the books out, put pictures up and make it feel like a home. She had already collected quite a few bits of furniture from Brighton’s Recycling Centre. Lenny reckoned that the guy there fancied her because he saved all the best stuff for her to look at first. Rebecca didn’t think so, but she went there a lot, just so Lenny would act a bit jealous. Not that she’d admit it to anyone in the world, but she liked him to be jealous. It shifted his focus from himself and on to her. She liked the power his pout gave her.
She dug her fingers into her lower back and rubbed in small, circular motions. Her back had begun to ache.
The record Lenny had put on had stopped long ago and flat was too quiet. All her friends would be out by now. She thought about her friend Ella, who had gone travelling. She’d put loads of pictures up on Facebook yesterday of Australia. Rebecca had been transfixed. Here, the fridge hummed and the tap dripped. Was this how it was going to be from now on, Lenny out playing gigs while she stayed at home with the baby? Before getting pregnant, she’d never even thought about what it would be like to have a baby. She had been too busy enjoying her freedom. And though she’d vowed to herself time and time again that it wouldn’t change their lives, she’d already noticed a change in people’s reactions to her. Some of her friends talked to her only about the pregnancy now, even though she’d told them that the baby didn’t define her. Walking across the open-plan living room, she felt dizzy and knew she needed to eat, but, because of how the baby was sitting, she couldn’t fit much into her stomach without feeling uncomfortable. She ate a banana and drank a glass of milk, staring at the Moses basket, trying to imagine how it would feel when she looked inside and saw her baby’s legs and arms waving around. Feeling the baby somersault inside her, she wondered whether his eyes were open or closed and whether he knew what she was thinking. She thought he probably did.
‘I’ll have to tell Mum soon,’ she said, patting her tummy and feeling her cheeks burn with shame. Seven and a half months pregnant and she still hadn’t told her parents she was expecting. But she was going to have to see them soon so had no choice but to admit the truth. It was pathetic, she decided, that she hadn’t already done so. To begin with, not telling them had felt like a rebellion – just as not giving them her new address had felt like defiance. Now, it felt frightening. She couldn’t imagine how they’d react. Her mum would definitely freak out. Her dad would let her mum do the talking and look painfully awkward, and probably retreat to his study to work out his passive aggression on his computer keyboard. They were the sort of people who did things the right way: marriage, careers, house-buying and then children.
Moving to the sink, she tossed in the plates they’d used earlier in the day and started to run the tap. In her mind rolled pictures of Lenny on stage, of the appreciative gazes of all the females in the audience, the huffy stances of their boyfriends, dipping their noses into their beer. ‘Lenny’s lady’ was how she had become known; she felt a glimmer of pride, despite being a feminist. She started to wash up.
‘This is too boring,’ Rebecca said after two minutes, peeling off her Marigolds and throwing them on the washboard. Feeling crowded in the flat and desperate for a breath of sea air, she put on her parka. She pulled out her phone and thought about Mel. She lived close by, and seemed like she might like company. Texting her, Rebecca asked if she needed a pregnant friend? Yes, please! came the almost immediate reply.
Chapter Eight
‘We weren’t supposed to hear that, were we?’ said Erin. ‘About Lexi having a donor baby on her own, I mean.’
Erin and Edward sat side by side in their king-sized bed. Edward was reading the Telegraph and Erin was wiggling her fingers around to ward off yet another attack of pregnancy-related pins and needles. Though in their bedroom the only sound was the clock striking nine o’clock, in the distance came the sounds of a band playing at the Pig and Whistle. The crowd was going mad for whoever was singing. The noise of all those people clapping struck a chord in Erin’s heart. When she thought about when she was on tour with Chicago, it seemed like another life entirely. There was nothing like energetic applause at the end of a show. Performers would receive it breathlessly, waiting to see if it would fade out, or whether they would encore. God, it was fabulous. She watched Edward’s reflection in the mirror on the mahogany wardrobe a couple of feet away from the bottom of the bed. The spotlights in the ceiling highlighted his receding hairline and made him look older than forty. Erin made a mental note to move the dressing screen along slightly, to obscure the view.
‘I don’t know,’ said Edward. ‘She was talking in a pretty loud voice for someone who wanted to keep it secret. But I guess she was having a conversation with Katy and Alan. I don’t suppose it’s any of our business.’
Erin looked at the wallpaper and decided she would peel it off tomorrow and re-decorate.
‘I can understand why she’s done it,’ Erin said. ‘I think I would have used donor sperm, if I didn’t have you.’
Edward hummed. She knew he didn’t really agree, or probably felt somehow offended by her comment but was unlikely to tell her exactly what he felt.
‘Doesn’t make a man feel like he has many uses,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ said Erin, ‘don’t be daft. You know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying that women have a biological clock, don’t they? And if you’ve not met a man, then why not have a baby by other means? I heard her say the sperm came from Denmark. I think I read somewhere that there’s a shortage here. I bet loads of women go there. You have to applaud them.’
Edward rustled his paper. Erin noticed how tightly he was gripping on to the pages. Silently, she accused him of turning into his own dad, an uptight naval officer, then felt immediately guilty. She knew she was pushing him, but she couldn’t help it.
‘Isn’t it a bit selfish?’ Edward said thoughtfully. ‘It’s all about Lexi. What about the baby? Doesn’t he or she need a mum and a dad? A stable home?’
Erin folded her arms across her chest. The baby was doing acrobatics inside her.
‘How many people do you know who have a perfect nuclear family?’ she said, as patiently as she could. ‘And what about so-called “normal” couples who decide to have children? It’s hardly an unselfish act, is it? I mean, we’re not having this baby because we want to give society another good person, or because we want to give the baby the gift of life, are we? Aren’t we having this baby for purely selfish reasons? Because we, more than anything, need one to complete us?’
Erin stared at he. He stayed perfectly still. He didn’t like it when she raised her voice, didn’t respond well to being criticized or attacked. Who did? But Edward in particular hated confrontation or being forced to react without having time to think. That was why teaching at Brighton College was perfect for him. He could plan every lesson from beginning to end and work from his meticulous notes. He was always in control, and those pupils were angelic; they rarely surprised him by being outspoken. She watched his pulse thumping in his neck, like the beak of a woodpecker knocking against wood and wondered if, one day, it would burst right out of his skin.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he said, resting his newspaper on the duvet. ‘Erin? Why are you so angry?’
‘I’m not angry!’ she said, pushing back the duvet, swinging her legs out of the bed and pushing her feet into her slippers. There was another burst of applause from the pub. ‘I just feel like our life has frozen up! I feel like I’m in the deep freeze! Where’s our life, our friends, my studio? Where’s the old us? We go to bed at nine o’clock. We’re living like hermits! Aren’t you ever tempted to kiss me? Do you think this is fun for me, feeling like a big, fat lump?’
Edward paled. He took off his glasses and put them on the bedside table next to his glass of water and alarm clock. He turned to face her.
‘How do you mean “frozen”? We’re not frozen,’ he said soothingly. ‘We’ve wanted this baby more than anything, and we moved here to make a fresh start, didn’t we
? We’re nearly through the pregnancy, and then we can get on with our lives. You can start dancing again and you’ll soon make friends. You’re just feeling tense. We go to bed early because we think it’s best for the baby that you’re well rested, don’t we?’
She hated that he said ‘we’ when it was only her who was going through the pregnancy, only her who had given up her life so completely to come to Brighton. Only her who really knew the feeling of responsibility of having another being growing inside her. Only her who felt that each day of the pregnancy took a year to pass. He patted the bed and left his elegant, pale hand resting there.
‘Come back to bed,’ he said, patting again. ‘Come here.’
Erin tightened the belt of her dressing gown, moved her hair off her shoulders and glared at Edward.
‘I’m not a bloody cat,’ she said, ‘I’m a bloody woman. Treat me like one, will you? You used to think I was like Ginger Rogers, not a bloody ginger tomcat.’
Edward’s jaw dropped, but he said nothing. He looked hurt and utterly bemused.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Edward,’ she said. ‘At least allow yourself to get angry with me. Go wild for once, why don’t you!’
Sweeping out of the bedroom and letting the door slam behind her, Erin closed her eyes, shaking, and furious with herself for being so awful to Edward.
‘Write it down,’ the midwife had said to her when she’d told her about her horrendous mood swings and the molten anger she felt glowing inside her at the most irrational times. ‘Write down what’s bothering you. It’ll help.’
She marched down the stairs, one hand, still numb with pins and needles, on the banister. Pen. I need a pen and some paper. The windows of the house were huge, and the moon, shining almost in a perfect circle, was bright enough to light up the living room. She didn’t bother to turn on a lamp. The moon seemed to shine like a torch on a painting Edward had recently bought of children dressed in Victorian-style sailor suits fishing from a rock. Erin glanced out at the sea and had a mean thought: Edward belonged in that painting, in the Victorian era. He wasn’t remotely a modern man. Not like Lenny. Not like Alan. Walking directly to the bureau, she unlocked it and pulled out a pad and pen, then the blue jewellery box she kept all her most important treasures in, ever since she was a young girl. Carrying them to the table, she pulled up a chair and started to write:
