by Talli Roland
Anna smiled. Despite the recent lull in their relationship, Clare was right. She and Michael were lucky to have had found each other. ‘I know. He’s my everything,’ she said simply, warmth flooding through her. Clare’s nose twitched as if she’d smelled something bad, and Anna flushed at the cheesy-sounding words that were better suited to a song lyric. It was true, though. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
‘So how did you two meet?’ Clare asked, draining her drink and staring over at the entrance. Anna could see she wasn’t that interested, but until this Poppy person turned up, they might as well kill some time.
‘It’s not the world’s most romantic tale,’ Anna said, although personally, she thought the steady, straightforward way they’d got to know each other—with no drama or arguments—was a hundred times more romantic than her parents’ whirlwind courtship. ‘We met in university, up at York. I was doing a degree in literature and he was finishing his masters in engineering. We used to see each other every morning at the café in the students’ union, and eventually he came over and started talking to me.’ She grinned at the memory of how she’d been about to rush off to class and he’d materialized in front of her. Her coffee had splashed onto his trousers, but instead of being annoyed, he’d laughed. The spark in his eyes combined with a killer smile had instantly attracted her.
‘Sounds romantic enough to me,’ Clare said. ‘And the best bit is that you’re on the same page when it comes to children.’
Anna nodded. ‘Exactly.’ She and Michael rarely argued about anything. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d exchanged angry words.
She glanced around the room, wondering what to say next. Funny, she’d just assumed because members had the no-kids things in common, they’d have lots to chat about, too. Thankfully, she was saved by the tentative smile of a woman hovering over them.
‘Oh, hello,’ Clare said. ‘You must be Poppy.’
‘Yes, hiya!’ Poppy panted. ‘Sorry I’m late. The Tube took ages.’
Anna scooted over to give Poppy room on the sofa. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Anna.’ She held out a hand, wondering what this woman’s story was. With delicate features and curly blonde hair, Poppy looked like she was created to have babies. Everything about her was soft and warm, a sharp contrast to Clare’s no-nonsense persona. ‘Right, I’m in serious need of coffee.’ Anna gestured towards the counter. ‘Would anyone else like one?’
‘Not me, thanks.’ Clare grinned as she indicated the two empty espresso cups in front of her. ‘If I drink any more, I’ll never get to sleep tonight! I have enough problems as it is.’
‘Okay. Poppy?’
Poppy shook her head, hair flying out around her impish face. ‘I wish. But no, thanks. I can’t remember the last time I had a coffee, actually.’
‘God, I love it. Life without caffeine isn’t worth living!’ Clare laughed. ‘Do you not like the taste?’
‘Well, no. I do.’ Poppy’s cheeks coloured. ‘But I read that caffeine inhibits fertility.’
‘Some studies have indicated higher caffeine consumption can affect fertility and the success of IVF, but there’s been nothing definitive.’ Clare’s brow furrowed. ‘But . . . ’ Anna could see the wheels spin inside Clare’s brain as she tried to work out why Poppy was on about fertility. Anna was having trouble working it out herself.
‘Er, actually, my husband and I do want children. We’ve been through several IVF cycles, but it hasn’t worked. Yet.’ Poppy’s cheeks flushed. ‘I hope it’s okay that I still want kids and I’ve come here? I just need a place to hang out where children aren’t the main source of conversation.’
‘Well, sure,’ Clare said, smoothing back her hair. ‘We want to build our membership, and the club is for anyone without kids, regardless of the reasons.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m won’t regale anyone with tales from the fertility clinic.’ Poppy smiled, but she looked more sad than happy. ‘That’s the last thing I want to dwell on.’ She shuddered, and Anna’s heart filled with sympathy.
‘We’re not going to give up, though.’ The look of pain on Poppy’s face was replaced with an expression of determination. ‘I’d do anything to be a mother, you know?’ She glanced at Clare and Anna as if she expected them to understand, and Anna reached out to touch her arm. She may not understand wanting children, but she could understand wanting something that badly. She smiled, remembering her eagerness to marry Michael and build a life together. It had eclipsed everything else—including her dream to live and work in Italy for a year after graduation.
Ever since she was young, romantic visions of Venice’s canals and sun-drenched stone streets had filled her mind. Her parents had even talked about taking her there—until they’d started arguing and couldn’t agree on which way to hang the loo roll, let alone holidays. In her last year at university, Anna had an interview to teach at an English language school in Venice. Then Michael proposed and wedding planning took over. She’d tried everything to convince him Venice would be the ultimate honeymoon destination, but he’d set his heart on a cosy cabin in the Lake District, and she succumbed. It was idyllic, but it wasn’t Venice.
Once they’d settled into their house, Anna pushed Italy from her mind. She had another dream now: to have a marriage so strong that nothing would ever tear it apart. And until recently, she’d been happy enough with that.
A rogue dart of longing hit as she pictured the school’s website, showing rows of tables underneath olive trees where outdoor classes were held. Before the vision took root, she pushed it from her mind and got to her feet.
‘I’ll just grab that coffee,’ Anna said, leaving Clare and Poppy to chat for a moment. She breathed in the scent of roasted beans at the counter as she waited for the barista to make her Americano, wondering what Michael was up to right now. It’d been ages since she’d gone out socially without him, and part of her felt uncomfortable alone here, as if their worlds were being pulled further apart. The thought made her even more determined to find an activity they could enjoy together—or at least drag him out to the club’s next meeting.
‘So!’ Poppy smiled as Anna plopped into her chair, and Anna couldn’t help grinning back. There was something child-like and endearing about her. ‘Clare’s just told me all about her job as an emergency doctor.’ Poppy’s eyes were wide with admiration. ‘What do you do, Anna?’
Anna gulped. There was nothing wrong with being house-proud, but she hated when people asked her that—and even more with people like Doctor Clare beside her. ‘I work part-time in a bookshop.’
‘That must be fun!’ Poppy enthused. ‘I adore bookshops. I’m there all the time tracking down books for my class. If I could find part-time work in one, I would, too.’ She paused, and Anna jumped in before Poppy could ask what she did with the rest of her time.
‘And apart from that, I make sure everything runs smoothly at home,’ she said in a rush. Her cheeks coloured, and she told herself there was nothing to be so defensive about. ‘My husband Michael and I have a lovely house, and I’m busy doing it up.’ She didn’t mention they’d moved in over six years ago, and ‘doing it up’ mainly included ironing shirts, washing dishes, and cooking Michael’s dinner each night.
‘Oh, fantastic. I’ve always wanted to be able to redo a house from the inside out. I loved decorating the nursery . . . ’ Her voice was bright, but Anna spotted the liquid glistening in her eyes. ‘So you don’t want children?’ she asked, tilting her head.
‘No, we’re happy just the two of us.’ Well, they had been, and they would be again once Anna found something to inject life back into her husband.
‘Ladies, I think it’s time for some ground rules,’ Clare said, leaning forward. ‘Although we all have different reasons, we’re here for the same thing: to escape from talking about kids. So from now on, can we try to find something else to discuss and enjoy the night, child-free?�
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Anna nodded, thinking how funny it was that children kept sneaking into the conversation, even in a club for child-free living.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Poppy’s cheeks flushed again and she tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear.
‘Well.’ Clare crossed her long legs, looking as if she was searching her mind for topics. ‘What do you two like to do for fun?’
Oh, Lord. Anna took a sip of coffee. Fun? To be honest, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d done something for kicks. Usually, everything had a purpose: the windows needed washing; the floor needed polishing. It might not be fun, but the sense of accomplishment made her feel secure, like the day had strengthened some invisible shield protecting her marriage. Even back when she and Michael had gone out, the activities were usually things he’d enjoy. It was enough for her to know he was happy. Or it had been, anyway.
She shifted awkwardly, waiting for Poppy to answer. But Poppy seemed just as uncomfortable as her.
‘Um, well, most of our income has gone into IVF,’ Poppy responded finally, cheeks flushing, ‘so we don’t have a lot left over for extras.’
‘How about you, Clare?’ Anna asked to shift the focus away from poor Poppy. Surely their leader had a list of hobbies a mile long. Ambitious people weren’t known for their relaxation skills.
‘Oh, my schedule doesn’t allow much time for leisure activities,’ Clare said breezily, waving a hand in the air. ‘It’s pretty crazy.’
Silence fell again, and Anna glanced from Poppy to Clare, then cleared her throat. ‘Cold out there tonight, isn’t it?’ She could scarcely believe they’d descended to talking about the weather, but at least it was one thing they all had in common. First meetings were always awkward, Anna told herself. They probably just needed more time to gel.
They discussed the British climate’s fickleness for a few more minutes, then Anna looked at her watch. ‘Wow, is that the time?’ She’d better get going if she wanted to say good night to Michael before he hit the sack. It was silly, but somehow the evening didn’t feel right without her good-night kiss.
‘Okay, thanks for coming,’ Clare said. ‘Same time next Wednesday? Feel free to bring along your husband, as well as anyone else you think might like to join. And how about next week, we meet somewhere with real drinks?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Anna responded. Maybe that would tempt Michael away from his video games. Poppy looked ready to protest—alcohol was probably on the banned list also—but she just nodded.
‘Works for me, too.’
‘See you then.’ Anna stood and smoothed down her skirt, then weaved a scarf around her neck and waved goodbye.
As she clattered down the steps to the Tube and onto the Northern Line, she couldn’t help replaying Clare’s disapproving expression when she’d said Michael was her everything, and how uncomfortable she’d felt when Poppy asked what she did. It had been a while since she’d met new people, though. Maybe she was just out of practice making small talk.
It didn’t matter what they thought, Anna told herself as the Tube rattled through the darkened tunnels. What mattered was the man waiting for her in the home they’d created together. Sure, the exterior might need a little sprucing up, but it was everything she’d wanted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Poppy trudged up the slight rise from Ladbroke Grove Tube, her breath making clouds in the air. It was past six on Friday evening, and she’d already endured a full day of lessons plus two meetings with parents, but she wanted to get a jump-start on the weekend’s pile of work. Sighing, she listed the tasks in her head: finish lesson planning for Maths, figure out what on earth to do for Music next week, and mark the week’s spellings. Heading out on a weekday night was a rare thing, and the No-Kids Club had put her behind. Still, meeting Clare and Anna had been interesting, even if she was disappointed neither of them was on the same track as her.
In fact, Poppy thought as she rounded the corner to her rickety maisonette, all three women couldn’t have been more different from each other: the clever career-woman Clare, who cherished her independence so much she didn’t want to get married let alone have kids; Anna, who was so busy building a home for her husband she hadn’t room in her life for children; and her, longing for a child. Poppy couldn’t imagine marriage without a little one running around. It’d certainly be interesting getting to know the two women much better—along with any other new members sure to join in the coming weeks.
She unlocked the squeaky front gate and navigated down the stairs to the door of the maisonette, noting once again the light was burnt out. This whole place was starting to fall apart! It had been newly renovated when they’d first purchased it after the wedding, but since then, every spare drop of cash and time had gone into having a baby.
‘Hey there, I’m back.’ Poppy flicked on a light in the corridor, breathing in the smell of Alistair’s famous homemade lasagne. Yum. Her stomach grumbled as she realised she’d missed lunch today to let the children finish up their Mother’s Day cards. She stuck her head into the kitchen. ‘Anything left for a hungry woman?’
Alistair turned from the sink and gave her the smile that never failed to melt her heart. He was so handsome, with long-lashed eyes and sandy-brown hair now streaked with the odd bit of grey. They’d both grown up in the Surrey village of Leatherhead, but they hadn’t got together until they’d run into each other in a Notting Hill pub one night. Ever since, they’d been inseparable.
Funny how they were compatible on so many levels except the one that seemed to matter most: making a baby. People always said the two of them were perfect together. If only they knew.
‘I wouldn’t want to risk your wrath, now, would I?’ Alistair joked, neatly hanging a tea towel on a hook. ‘Of course there’s some left. I was waiting for you to get home before tucking in.’
Poppy planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Oooh, you’re nice and warm. Thanks.’ She spotted a cheesecake on the counter. ‘Yum! Maybe we can start with that.’ Poppy’s cheesecake fetish was a running joke ever since Alistair had challenged her to eat a whole cake in one go. To his surprise, she’d devoured it.
Alistair whacked her playfully on the bottom. ‘Get changed, and I’ll put dinner on the table.’
Poppy scooted from the kitchen and up to the bedroom, her tummy rumbling in anticipation. Alistair was in a good mood—maybe tonight she could bring up IVF? She’d been trying all week to find the ideal moment, but the days had flown by and the timing never seemed right.
Stripping off her typical uniform of trousers and blouse, her eye caught a pile of brochures and leaflets on the bedside table. Hmm, what were those? She pulled on jogging bottoms and a T-shirt, then drew the top one closer.
“Adoption in the UK: FAQs”, the title said in big, bold lettering. Hands shaking, she flipped through the stack, each to do with the ins and outs of how to adopt a child in Britain. Panic rose as her eyes frantically scanned the words. Alistair wasn’t giving up on IVF, was he? Sure, he’d been making noises about checking out other options, but she hadn’t thought he was ready to actually start investigating them.
Poppy had nothing against adoption. In fact, she was all for it—just not for them. Not until she’d tried everything to carry the baby she always wanted inside her. Alistair’s desire to throw in the towel so soon made her heart thud as if she’d climbed to the top of the Shard.
She scooped up the literature and plonked down the stairs, the cold floorboards searing her soles. Alistair was sitting at the kitchen table, reading today’s Guardian. The table was set, a steaming lasagne filled the space with the heady scent of garlic and tomato, and a candle flickered. But the cosy atmosphere did nothing to diminish the impact of the leaflets burning a hole in her hand.
‘What’s all this?’ She plonked the pamphlets on the table a little harder than intended.
Alistair’s head snapped up from the p
aper at the slapping noise. ‘Oh, those.’ His voice was calm . . . almost deliberately so, as if he knew he had a battle on his hands. He folded the newspaper and gestured to her place. ‘Come on, sit down before the food gets cold. We can chat while we eat.’
Poppy forced herself to slide into the chair, her toes now freezing. The lasagne looked delicious, but she couldn’t imagine taking a bite. Her stomach was twisted in knots at the thought of officially giving up on pregnancy. She wouldn’t do it, and that was that.
She cut off a slab of lasagne to show she was making an effort, and glanced over at Alistair. ‘So?’
‘So.’ He leaned forward, his grey eyes serious. ‘Well, we’ve been trying for a baby for ages, Pops. You know that. And we’ve done pretty much everything. You’ve been through the ringer with investigations, injections, IVF, the lot.’
‘I’m fine—don’t worry about me,’ Poppy yelped. ‘I’ll do anything I can.’
‘That’s just it, Poppy.’ Alistair’s gaze was steady. ‘I know you will. I know how much you want to get pregnant, give birth, and all of that.’
All of that? Poppy screamed inside her head. How could he trivialise what some women considered to be their purpose in life—and biologically, what women were made to do? The lucky ones, anyway.
‘The thing is,’ Alistair continued, ‘we could go on forever, trying for a baby, and miss out on the chance to have one through other means, like adoption.’ He slid the pamphlets towards her. ‘We could have a child in a matter of months if we decide to go down that route.’ His eyes lit up with excitement at the thought.
Poppy’s heart beat even faster at the look on his face. Sure, she’d be willing to consider adoption at some point in the future—the distant future, if need be. But not now! For goodness’ sake, she was only thirty-four. She still had a few good years left to try in her. ‘I’m nowhere near ready to even think about that option,’ she said, her voice shaking with conviction. ‘I can’t believe you are!’
