The No-Kids Club

by Talli Roland

  Just tell him, a voice in her head bleated. Tell him now about the IVF, before he really does think you’re on board with adoption. But the words stayed stuck inside, and as Alistair pulled her close again, she hadn’t the heart to force them out.

  ‘Honey, I’m home!’

  Anna jerked awake at Michael’s voice. Was it evening already? She’d plopped on the sofa mid-afternoon, falling asleep to the sound of property hunters cooing over a ramshackle shed in Spain. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes and sat up.

  ‘Hey, babe.’ Michael dropped a kiss on her nose, then sank down next to her and took off his shoes. ‘Good day? What did you get up to?’

  ‘Oh, you know. The usual.’ Anna forced a grin, thinking of the pile of laundry still waiting to be washed, the carpets needing Hoovering, and the layers of dust gathering on every surface. Ever since their anniversary a few days ago, she couldn’t rally the energy to care. After an exhausting weekend pretending everything was fine, she’d been only too happy when Monday rolled around. But once Michael had left for work this morning, she’d moved from room to room within the silent building, looking at the space she’d created for them and feeling empty. The only thing that made her feel even slightly alive was the memory of sitting next to Christos in the tiny restaurant, the warmth of his body cloaking her like a blanket, his dark eyes on her. A dart of guilt would hit until she reminded herself Michael had forgotten their anniversary.

  ‘What’s for dinner tonight?’ he asked, shrugging off his jacket. ‘I’m ravenous. No time for lunch.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about it.’ That wasn’t exactly true. She had thought about it—several times—but she hadn’t been able to muster up the motivation to do anything.

  ‘Shall we order a takeaway?’ Michael’s face lit up with excitement. ‘I’d love some pizza. It’s been ages since we’ve ordered in.’

  ‘Sure,’ Anna replied in a voice that sounded dead. ‘The menus are in the kitchen, second drawer to the right.’

  She watched Michael trundle off, waiting for him to comment on the unwashed dishes in the sink, but—like all the other undone chores piling up in the house—he didn’t seem to notice. Frustration rose inside, pressing against her lungs until she almost couldn’t breathe. She’d worked so hard every day of the past six years to make everything perfect, to create the ideal home. To keep the relationship going and be the model wife so that nothing would ever come between them, like she’d promised herself way back when.

  But now it seemed her husband couldn’t care less about any of it. He’d probably be happy with a takeaway every night, and as for their relationship . . . Anna lay down again on the sofa, pulling a pillow under her head. If he wasn’t bothered, then neither was she.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Poppy jabbed the needle into her leg, biting her lip to keep from crying out. This was the bit she hated. Only another week or so, she told herself, then the stimulation shots, and then they’d be ready to harvest the eggs. She had to tell Alistair about the IVF—and soon.

  Easier said than done. Ever since Sunday night, he’d been excitedly babbling on about adoption as she attempted to work up the courage to say that, actually, she’d never agreed to adopt in the first place. The more time that passed, the harder it was becoming.

  The doorbell sounded, and Poppy neatly discarded the needle into a plastic bag—she’d dump it later in the special bin the clinic had given her. Shoved under the kitchen sink and covered with clutter, there was no way Alistair would find it. She hated the subterfuge, but she couldn’t risk him finding out before she had a chance to say anything. After jamming the bag up under her jumper, Poppy rushed into the bedroom and then pushed it into her handbag. She glanced at the clock. Ten past eight on a Tuesday night—who could that be? A deep male voice drifted up the stairs, and her heart lurched as she realised exactly who that voice belonged to.

  Alistair’s brother.

  Shit. Not even bothering to brush her hair or take off the ratty jumper and shapeless jogging bottoms she’d thrown on after school, Poppy raced downstairs and into the kitchen, where the two men were standing. Why on earth was Oliver here? He never dropped by—in fact, Poppy couldn’t remember the last time he’d come round. It’ll be okay, she told herself as she huffed into the kitchen. He knows to keep his mouth shut about the loan, and anyway, it wasn’t like he knew the real reason. Thank goodness.

  ‘Oh, hi, Poppy.’ Oliver smiled broadly at her as she crossed the room. Dressed in his typical black suit with expensive tie, he was a sharp contrast to Alistair’s baggy khakis and worn-in polo.

  ‘Hey there. This is a surprise!’ She tried to make it sound a welcome one.

  ‘I know. It’s been ages since I’ve come over, and I happened to be in Notting Hill with a client for dinner, so I thought I’d pop by.’ Oliver settled into a chair at the table. ‘How are you two?’

  ‘Fine, fine,’ Poppy said. ‘Would you like a drink? Something to eat, maybe? We have some leftover lemon fairy cakes I made for my class yesterday.’ Maybe with food filling his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to talk much.

  Oliver grinned. ‘Fairy cakes? It’s been a while since I’ve had one of those. Sure, that would be great.’ He watched as Poppy hurried to the fridge and placed two cakes in front of him. Oliver took a big bite of one, his face lighting up. ‘Delicious.’ He looked around the kitchen as he chewed. ‘Hey, nice fridge.’

  Oh, God. Poppy could feel the sweat breaking out on her brow. She willed him not to say any more, widening her eyes and sending an imploring message.

  Alistair shot his brother a funny look. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘It’s new, right?’ Oliver winked at Poppy from the corner of his eye, and her heart started beating fast. Please Lord, may this conversation not continue.

  Alistair tilted his head. ‘Well, relatively new. Don’t you remember me telling you about it last month? How we got it off Gumtree for such a great deal?’

  Oliver raised his eyebrows, then glanced at Poppy with a look of confusion. She gave a slight shake of her head, catching Alistair staring back and forth between her and Oliver. This was going from bad to worse.

  ‘Right, right.’ Oliver snapped his fingers. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry, I forgot.’ He took another bite of the fairy cake as silence descended. Poppy knew she should say something to lighten the mood, but what? She could barely breathe with the tension circling inside. Finally, after what felt like hours, Oliver finished his treats and looked up at them. Poppy’s expression must have signalled her desperation for him to leave, because he started shrugging on his jacket.

  ‘Well, I’d better push off, then. Good to see you again, Pops. You, too, Al. Take care.’ And with that, he lifted a hand and turned to go. The door slammed shut, and silence fell.

  ‘What on earth was all that was about?’ Alistair asked, shaking his head. ‘Oliver hardly ever drops by, and when he does, he stays to eat a cake, then leaves?’

  ‘Er . . . ’ Poppy picked up the tray of fairy cakes, trying to decide if she should say anything. It was one thing to tell Alistair about the IVF, and another to confess she’d borrowed money from his brother. She’d focused so much on how to soften Alistair towards the procedure that she hadn’t fully thought of how to sort things out if he did discover how she’d paid for it. ‘Just let me put these back in the fridge first!’ She kept her tone light and cheery, but it sounded forced even to her own ears.

  ‘Ah, yes, the fridge. What was up with that?’ Alistair’s voice floated over her head as she bent down to shove the cakes on the bottom shelf. ‘I swear to God, I’ll never understand my brother. And what was with the Morse code between you two?’

  Poppy grabbed a washcloth from the counter and pretended to wipe the surface clean. It was as if the more frantically she scrubbed, the faster the right thing to say would come to mind. Maybe she should just tell him now, she thou
ght. Oliver dropping by had nearly given her a heart attack, and it would only complicate matters more if Alistair found out about the money from his brother, not her. He wouldn’t be happy, but surely he’d appreciate her intentions. She’d only wanted to save him stress, after all. ‘Um . . . ’

  ‘Stop.’ Alistair put a hand on her shoulder, and Poppy turned towards him. ‘Look, forget my brother. There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for the past few days.’ His face was deadly serious. ‘Pops, you know you can tell me anything, right?’

  Poppy nodded slowly, despite the conflicting emotions inside. Until recently, she had felt she could tell him anything. These past few weeks had been like a wedge driving them apart, and she’d hated the distance despite knowing her actions were for them both.

  ‘This adoption thing, we’re in it together, you and me.’ He took her hands. ‘We’re a team, we always have been. And I can’t help feeling that you might not be as excited about this as I am. If you’re not, that’s okay. We can wait, we can discuss it more and give you time to think, if you need it. I don’t want to do anything unless you’re one hundred percent behind it.’

  Oh, God. Poppy met her husband’s eyes, guilt sweeping through her. Here he was, willing to take a step back from something he wanted. And here she was, driving forward with hers. Suddenly, she knew she had to tell him. The timing wasn’t perfect, but she’d done enough now to show she was fit and ready, and she wanted to share her hope with him.

  ‘Look, Alistair.’ She gulped in air, struggling to keep her voice level. ‘I know you were hesitant about more IVF.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Yes. But what does this have to do with adoption?’

  ‘Well . . . ’ Poppy squeezed the washcloth, feeling it turn damp from her clammy hands. ‘I never actually said I wanted to move on with adoption. In fact’—she tried to ignore Alistair’s raised eyebrows—‘I want to do another IVF cycle. I know you’re worried about me and my stamina,’ she carried on before he could say anything. ‘But you needn’t worry at all! Because I’ve been going to the clinic, taking the first round of shots, and it’s been absolutely fine.’

  Alistair sank into a chair, his gaze fixed on her face as if he was trying to absorb her words. ‘Let me get this straight. You decided to start IVF without even telling me?’

  Poppy sat down beside him. Stay calm, she told herself. Of course he’d be surprised at first. ‘Well, yes. I wanted to show you I could handle everything on my own. I was going to tell you soon.’

  ‘Soon?’ Alistair shook his head incredulously. He was silent for a moment, staring down at the table. ‘I can’t believe you’d do that, Poppy. I really can’t.’ He snorted. ‘And I was actually worried I came on too strong about adoption. Guess I wasted my time thinking about that!’

  He lifted his head to meet her eyes again, and Poppy flinched at the coldness of his face. ‘So how did you pay for everything?’

  ‘Um . . . ’ Poppy took a deep breath. ‘I had a little cash of my own, and I borrowed the rest from your brother.’ She paused, biting her lip at his stunned expression. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him what it was for. He thought we needed a new fridge.’

  ‘Ah, the fridge.’ Alistair let out a strangled laugh. ‘So it wasn’t enough to go behind my back for IVF—you had to secretly ask my brother for money, too. Were you planning to use his sperm, as well? Might have a better chance.’ His face twisted.

  ‘Of course not!’ Poppy reached out to take his hand. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wanted to show you how easy the whole thing could be. Look, I know this isn’t the ideal way for you to find out,’ she admitted. ‘But once you see that it works—’

  ‘Stop!’

  Alistair slammed a hand down on the table and Poppy jerked in surprise. ‘Just stop, Poppy. You know this won’t work, the doctor knows it won’t work, I know it won’t work. We’ve tried everything, and nothing is working.’

  ‘Please.’ She tried to inject every bit of emotion and yearning into one word.

  Alistair pushed to his feet. ‘Don’t do this to me, Pops. Don’t make me out to be the one who’s stopping you. It’s not me, it’s us.’ He turned towards her, and Poppy was stunned to see the emotion on his face. ‘It’s our biology that doesn’t work together, for a reason we may never know. How many times do we need to fail for you to finally see that?’ He slumped back into the chair, as if the life had drained from him. ‘The thing is, you’re always going to want to do one more round. A new technique, new research, another tabloid article showing success after ten cycles . . . ’

  He took her hand again. ‘You’ll never want to stop, so, well, I’m just going to say it as clearly as I can, so there’s no chance for confusion.’ He took a breath in and fixed her with a steady gaze. ‘I’m done. I’m done with the tests, with everything involved in trying to get you—us—pregnant. I want a child with you, and there are other ways to do it.’ His eyes held hers, and she could read in them his desperation for her to agree. But she couldn’t.

  ‘Just this one last time, Alistair. We have to try. We have to.’

  Silence swirled around them for what felt like ages. Finally, Alistair pulled his hand from hers and stood. ‘I can’t, Poppy. You need to accept that now, or . . . ’

  Poppy froze. Or what? Seconds ticked by as she struggled to find something to say.

  Alistair shook his head. ‘The Poppy I married never would have gone behind my back for anything, let alone IVF. You’ve put having a baby over me—over us. In fact, I don’t know if there is an “us” anymore. We’ve spent so much time and energy these past few years on everything else but us.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘I’m going to pack a bag and stay at Mum’s for a bit. I think we both need some space.’ Before she could open her mouth, he left the kitchen and without looking back went up to the room. She could hear him opening drawers, zipping his suitcase, and finally, thumping down the stairs.

  Poppy waited for him to come say he loved her, he understood even if he didn’t agree, and there’d always be an us, no matter what hardship they faced. But all that met her ears was the thud of the front door closing as Alistair walked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Anna grunted as she unpacked what must be the fiftieth box of stock. Despite the seemingly endless inventory, she was happy to be at work and out of the house. Without the usual routine of chores, she felt anchorless, like she was drifting through time. To fill the hours, she’d taken to napping for as long as possible in the afternoon. Next thing she knew, she’d be playing video games! Fifteen minutes left in her shift, and then she’d be back in the empty, dark house until Michael came home in a few hours. To be honest, she’d prefer to stay here and count books.

  Maybe she could pop into Christos’s restaurant on the way home? The thought sneaked into her mind like it had a million times in the past few days. But instead of pushing it away, she let it linger. If the business wasn’t doing well, the least she could do was pay him for her meal the other night. If she hadn’t drunk so much, she would have insisted on it at the time. Judging by the empty restaurant, Christos could use every penny. And he had invited her to come again. There was nothing wrong with having a chat, she told herself to placate the guilt gently stirring in her stomach.

  A few minutes later, Anna was out the door, breathing in the balmy air. London in the spring could go two ways: slanting rain complete with blustery wind that made your cheeks turn red, or gentle sun and soft air that felt like a caress. Right now, thankfully, it was the latter. The scent of fresh green grass and wet earth hung in the air, and Anna couldn’t help smiling as she hurried down the hill towards the restaurant.

  The building looked different in the day, Anna thought, tilting her head as she took in the greying paintwork and scuffed lettering in the dusty window. The whole thing could do with a good clean to make it more inviting—people needed to know how wonde
rful the food was! Inside, it looked dark and still. Maybe Christos wasn’t there yet? But the sign on the door said “Open”. She paused, unsure what to do.

  ‘Anna!’

  Christos’s friendly face appeared in the window, and he waved wildly with a huge smile. Anna couldn’t help grinning in return. She loved his enthusiasm for everything. He obviously embraced life with a passion.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, glancing around the empty restaurant. Her cheeks flushed slightly. ‘I was just, er, passing by, and I thought I’d check if you were here. I really want to pay you for last week’s dinner.’

  ‘No, no, I told you, it was my pleasure.’ Christos leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and Anna’s stomach flipped at his scent. ‘Come into the kitchen.’ He gestured towards an area at the back. ‘I’m just doing some dinner prep.’

  Anna followed him into a tiny galley kitchen, eyebrows rising at its immaculate state. Metallic surfaces gleamed and ingredients were neatly laid out. Vegetables had been chopped and set aside in white plastic boxes.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, surveying the scene. ‘Looks like everything is ready.’

  ‘Almost.’ Christos handed her a few tomatoes dripping with water. ‘I just need to finish chopping these. Would you like to help?’

  ‘Sure, but I’m no expert.’ Her method of chopping tomatoes basically involved whichever way did it the fastest. Although she cooked every night for Michael—well, she used to, anyway—it was more about getting the meal over with and less about enjoying the process.

  ‘Here, let me show you.’ Christos grabbed a sharp knife and deftly sliced the vegetable. ‘There.’ He turned and flashed his white teeth at her, and Anna felt her cheeks flush again. Must be the heat of the oven, she told herself.

  ‘Okay, I’ll give it a try.’ She picked up the same knife and tried to imitate his movements. Unfortunately, the tomato didn’t comply, and by the time she was done, it looked like someone had mashed the unfortunate vegetable. ‘Oops,’ she laughed.