by Talli Roland
Clare nodded, unsure what to say. With her mum in front of her, all the words that had bubbled up over the past few decades—everything she’d longed to express, but had never got the chance—stuck in her throat.
‘I’m famished. What do you recommend?’ Her mother picked up the menu, and Clare noticed it trembled in her hands. So Mum was nervous, too, she thought. Well, good. She should be! And despite all these years, the first thing she asked about was food? No surprise she’d put herself first, Clare told herself, trying to ignore the hurt circling inside.
‘The carrot cake is nice,’ Clare mumbled finally, sipping her espresso.
‘Then that’s what I’ll have,’ her mother declared, placing the menu on the table and meeting Clare’s eyes. ‘Tell me about you and your life.’ The tone was casual, but she gripped the tabletop so hard her knuckles were turning white.
Clare shook her head incredulously. Tell me about you and your life? After three decades, where the hell should she start?
‘Why don’t you tell me first why you decided to leave,’ Clare said in a strangled voice. The words sounded more bitter than intended.
Her mother swallowed, two small circles of red blossoming on her cheeks. ‘Fair enough. I’ll try my best.’ She paused to nod at the waiter as he set a giant slice of cake before her. Cutting off a large slab, she placed it in her mouth and chewed.
Clare tapped her fingers impatiently on the table. She’d waited years for an answer, and now that her mum was here, she didn’t want to wait a second more.
Finally, her mother wiped her mouth. ‘I loved you, and I loved your dad. But . . . it’s hard to explain. At the time, there were so many emotions inside me—I remember feeling so, so tired, and how your father would have to get me up every morning before he left for work. I used to lie in bed at night and cry for hours, thinking how I wanted a different life. I guess now, doctors probably would have diagnosed it as a sort of depression. But whatever it was, I just knew I had to get away.’ She shook her head. ‘Look, I don’t know; maybe your dad and I should have waited to have children until I had a career. At least then, I’d have had a life outside of the house. But we both wanted to get started on a family quickly.’ She made as if to take Clare’s hand, then stopped herself.
Clare blinked, staring down at the space between their fingers. ‘You could have had both, you know—a family and a career. I’m sure Dad would have agreed to help out rather than lose you.’
Her mother sighed, leaning back in the chair. ‘It wasn’t that easy. The thing is, I really didn’t believe then I could have both. Many women did, but they had to work for financial reasons or had husbands who supported them.’ She set down her fork with a clang. ‘I might have been able to convince your dad. But I wasn’t sure I could face my own guilt at spending time away from family for my own career. I started to feel trapped, and that feeling grew and grew until the only thing that could fix it was leaving. I was convinced it was best for you, too . . . that you were better off having no mother than me.’ Her eyes filled and she busied herself cutting off another slab of cake, then cleared her throat.
‘And once I was gone, it didn’t seem fair to keep inserting myself back into your life,’ her mum continued, a few seconds later. ‘I’d already left, and the last thing I wanted was to keep leaving. I missed you desperately, of course, and it was a high price to pay—a very high price, but I had to do it. Sometimes, when you’re in a dark pit and you see a chance for happiness, you have to reach to it for all you’re worth.’
‘Do you regret leaving?’ Clare held her mother’s eyes as she awaited the answer.
A sad smile lifted her mother’s lips. ‘I regret the pain I caused, of course, and losing you in the process. But if I’d stayed, I think we’d all have been worse for it.’ She took a bite of her cake, a faraway expression on her face as she chewed. ‘You have a wonderful stepmum, from what I gather, and your father seems very happy. And I have a job I enjoy, as well as a terrific husband and a whole host of stepkids. I’d love for you to meet them one day.’
Clare drew in a sharp breath. Mum had another family?
‘How could you have left me and Dad because you wanted space, and then dived back in again?’ The question burst out before she could stop it.
‘Oh, Clare.’ This time, Mum did reach out and take her hand, squeezing her fingers the same way she had that morning so many years ago. ‘None of this was about you, or Dad, or family. It was about me, and what I needed then.’ Her eyes bore into Clare, as if willing her to understand. ‘I love you. I never stopped, despite everything else.’
Clare stared down at her mother’s hand, her mind spinning as she tried to absorb the words. Mum leaving had always felt like a rejection—any child would see it that way—and Clare had always thought it meant her mother rejected parenthood and family, too. But maybe, despite how she’d seen it for so long, Mum hadn’t run from being a mother, exactly: she’d run towards happiness. It just happened that in her case, at that time, she couldn’t see a way to do both. And while Clare couldn’t understand how her mother could cut off all contact, she could understand wanting to find fulfilment.
‘I’m glad we met up,’ Clare said finally. She might never be able to fully forgive her mum for leaving, but uncovering the reason made her feel lighter, as if a brick had been lifted from her chest. She took a few deep breaths, relishing the air and feeling her whole psyche expand.
‘Me, too.’ The tightness of her mother’s face relaxed, making her look years younger. ‘Let’s keep in touch, okay?’
Clare nodded. ‘Okay.’ Perhaps in time, they might even be able to have a relationship, like Tam had said. After chatting for a few more minutes about Clare’s job and her mum’s new London home, Clare looked at her watch.
‘I’d better get going,’ she said, shrugging on her coat. She didn’t have anywhere else to be, but the long day and the accompanying emotion had completely wiped her out. She gathered up her things, then turned and smiled. ‘Bye.’
Her mother smiled back. ‘See you soon.’
Outside, pink tinged the evening sky as the sun set. The air was fresh but soft, and the smell of spring met Clare’s nose. The perfect time for new beginnings . . . and new life, she thought, picking up the pace towards home.
She’d meant what she said earlier: she was happy to have finally met with Mum. Clare knew now that even though the past was connected to the future, it didn’t mean the same events were destined to repeat themselves. Her mother’s decision to leave the family was based on a situation miles from hers—they were in two totally different places. Clare had a career she loved, and she’d never rely on a family to fill her universe. There was no risk of that; she was already a complete person.
Clare froze as the realisation hit it wasn’t motherhood that scared her. It was the emotional ties accompanying the relationship. Because of the past, she’d tried to shield herself from pain . . . and to stop others from being hurt by her. But the last few weeks—and her short-lived encounter with Nicholas—had shown she didn’t want to wrap herself in protective layers. She wanted to feel, to have those bonds, despite the potential for pain.
Inside her right now was the opportunity for the ultimate bond. But was she ready to have a child? Clare started walking again, words echoing in her brain, from Mary’s ‘it’s a gift’ to Ellie saying that nobody ever feels prepared for kids. She pictured the lines on the family tree, connecting her to the past and the future; the people she loved then and now, and those she would.
Her hand moved down to her stomach. She didn’t want to sever those lines. She wanted to make them even clearer, to fill in the blanks. There’d be complications and mess—and a hell of a lot of details to work out—but she was no longer confused about what the future held.
A smile spread on her face, growing larger and larger with each step. She was going to be a mother, and although the though
t still made her quiver with apprehension, it was mixed with hope, excitement . . . and love.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Two days later, Clare tugged on a loose top and jeans, then glanced at the clock. Already six—she had less than thirty minutes before jumping on the Tube for another meeting of the No-Kids Club. If she timed it right, she could be there to sign in members, do a little schmoozing, then push off. Exhaustion dragged at her heels 24/7 these days, along with the ever-present queasiness.
Not to mention the thoughts of Edward keeping her awake at night, despite the fatigue. Ellie kept harassing her to get in touch, saying Clare should at least tell him she was pregnant. Clare had got as far as dialling his number, hanging up at the last second. Theoretically, her friend was right: now that Clare was pregnant, the issue that had driven them apart was resolved. But could she just call up and drop a bombshell like that? Raising a child together was a huge thing. And what if Edward didn’t want to be with her anymore, baby aside? After all, she’d completely ignored his earlier email, and they had only been a couple for a few months.
Hopefully tonight would be a bit of a breather from all the voices in her head. It was funny; she’d thought the club would uncover a wealth of individuals similar to her: professionals with little time or desire for children. People like Anna, who’d chosen not to have kids despite a very traditional marriage, or Poppy, who simply couldn’t, hadn’t crossed Clare’s mind. Just like life, the club was a cross-section of all sorts—even those who traded fertility tips and tricks. It certainly wasn’t what she had envisioned, but people seemed to enjoy the group and that was the most important thing. Lord knows what she’d say when her belly started to blossom! Clare smiled incredulously at the thought of her child growing inside.
She was about to head out the door when her mobile rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Clare!’
Ellie’s panicked voice came through the line, and Clare’s grip on the phone tightened.
‘You okay?’ Ellie’s due date was fast approaching. First babies were usually late, but babies weren’t known for their predictability.
‘No, I’m bloody well not!’ Ellie huffed. ‘My waters broke and bloody Graham’s at his corporate away day in some Godforsaken place where they don’t have reception!’
Oh, God. What the hell had Graham been thinking, taking off to the country right now? ‘How long ago did they break? Are you having any contractions?’
Ellie broke off and released a groan in response. ‘They broke this morning, and yes,’ Ellie said, when she came on the line again. ‘I was at work, of all places. You should have seen my boss’s face when he spotted the puddle underneath my chair. He actually asked if I’d wet myself!’
Despite herself, Clare couldn’t help giggling imagining the scene.
‘Anyway, I rang up the hospital and they said if the waters were clear, I could stay at home until the contractions were about three minutes apart.’
‘And how far are they now?’
‘Damned if I know! Like I have the presence of mind to grab a watch and time them when it starts. These things are evil, Clare. Evil! And who the hell has a watch with a second hand, anyway?’
‘When is Graham supposed to be home?’ Clare asked.
‘Just a sec . . . ’ Ellie held the phone away from her and groaned again. Clare cringed at the awful sound emanating from the handset. ‘They had some sort of teambuilding dinner,’ she said breathlessly when she returned. ‘And then it was about an hour back to London. He called from a landline to check in a couple of hours ago, but I didn’t want to worry him and nothing much seemed to be happening. Apparently it can take ages from when your waters break.’
‘Well, yes, it can, but it can also be quite quick. It really depends.’
‘Anyway, I rang about thirty minutes ago, but they’d already left and I still can’t get through to his mobile.’ Ellie let out another yowl, and Clare held the phone away from her ear.
‘Look, I’m coming over right now. We’ll time the contractions, but by the sounds of things, we need to get you to the hospital.’
‘Hospital? No! I don’t have anything ready. I was supposed to have my bag packed, but work has been so busy, and nothing’s done, and—’
‘We’ll get you sorted when I arrive,’ Clare said firmly, cutting into Ellie’s babble. ‘If I catch a cab, I can be there in fifteen minutes or less. See you soon.’
‘Okay.’ Ellie let out a puff of air. ‘Please hurry.’
Clare shoved the mobile in her pocket and rushed down to Fulham Road, hailing a taxi. One short ride—and a quick conversation with Poppy asking her to take over hosting duties at the club tonight—later, she was ringing the buzzer for Ellie’s flat. The lights inside were blazing but there was no response. She rang again, heart in her throat. Was everything okay?
‘One minute!’ Clare heard Ellie’s voice, followed by a low moan. Finally, Ellie swung open the door, brow covered in sweat and flushed face pinched with pain. ‘Thank God you’re here. Come in.’
Clare followed her friend into the lounge. The TV was blaring, the radio was blasting, and cup after cup of red liquid filled a variety of teacups dotted about the place. ‘What the hell is happening here?’
Ellie lowered herself onto the sofa. ‘My antenatal teacher said to try to distract yourself. You should see the kitchen—she recommended we bake cupcakes. Fucking cupcakes! As if that will distract me from the wrench squeezing my guts.’
Clare peeked into the kitchen—it looked like the Kitchen Goddess had an epileptic fit. Almost every bowl was removed from the cupboards, a gooey liquid oozed from a forest of utensils, and a fine layer of white powder covered the countertop.
‘What’s the red stuff?’ she asked, pointing to a mug.
‘Raspberry leaf tea,’ Ellie answered. ‘It’s meant to soften the cervix and make delivery easier. The problem is I can’t get through one cup without having a contraction, and then it gets cold.’
‘Right, let me grab my phone and we can time your contractions. Tell me when you feel one coming.’ Clare pushed aside a discarded tissue and sat down on the sofa. ‘Still no word from Graham?’
Ellie clutched her stomach. ‘It’s coming!’ She gave a growl, then leaned over. Her face closed off as if she’d gone to another place, and she sucked in air like she hadn’t had oxygen for years. Clare bit her lip as she timed her friend, her hand sliding down to her own abdomen. Yikes. As a doctor, she’d seen many women in labour and even delivered several babies. But watching someone close to her was a completely different story—not to mention she’d be undergoing the same thing herself later this year.
‘Okay,’ Ellie said, straightening up. ‘It’s gone.’
‘That looked like a strong one. We’ll see how close the next one is, but I think we should make a move.’
‘But I need to pack my hospital bag!’ Ellie yelped, levering her bulk into a standing position. ‘I know, I know, I should have done it already,’ she grumbled as Clare helped her into the bedroom. ‘Putting together the nursery and everything else is fun, but this . . . ’ Ellie gestured at an empty bag in the corner. ‘This is the real deal.’ She turned a worried face towards Clare. ‘What if I can’t do it? What if—’
Clare put a hand on her friend’s arm. ‘You’ll be fine, Els. You will.’ It was nice to know doubt was normal, even if the baby had been planned.
‘Okay, let’s get this done quickly.’ Clare started sifting through the pile of supplies beside the bag. ‘Look, you’ve got most of the stuff already. Maternity towels, breast pads, nappies . . . ’ She chucked it all in the bag. ‘Just hand me a nightdress, maybe a T-shirt or two and socks, and I think we have all the essentials. I can pick up some things back here once we have you checked in at the hospital.’
‘Just take it from the drawer.’ Ellie was doubled over again, so Clare slid open
the drawer and removed the items. She shoved them into the bag, grabbed a jacket for Ellie, and led her back into the lounge.
Clare threw on her coat and ran out to the street to flag down a taxi. Then, she helped Ellie put on her shoes, heaved the hospital bag over one shoulder, and took her friend’s arm. The orange glow of the taxi only a few metres down the street seemed miles away, and Ellie leaned heavily on her arm. By the time they reached the cab, Clare’s forehead was drenched with sweat despite the coldness of the night. She helped Ellie climb in and the driver started the short journey to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, where Ellie had registered to give birth.
Ellie groaned as the cabbie went over a bump in the road.
‘Sorry, love,’ he grinned, meeting their eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘But that might help the baby along faster! Just as long as it’s not in the car, mind. I had it cleaned last weekend.’
Clare didn’t even bother responding. She couldn’t—she was too busy trying to ignore the pain shooting through her fingers as Ellie clutched her hand.
‘Should we try Graham again?’ she asked, when Ellie’s grip finally relaxed.
Her friend nodded. ‘He should be on his way back, so hopefully his phone is in range now. It better be!’
‘Don’t worry,’ Clare said, taking the mobile from Ellie’s bag and scrolling through the contacts to find Graham’s number before passing it to her friend. ‘First babies do usually take ages to arrive. I’d say he’ll be here with hours to spare.’ Ellie’s face contorted, and Clare crossed her fingers she was right.
‘Here, you talk.’ Ellie chucked the phone back to Clare before clutching at her stomach. ‘Oh, God. Remind me why I wanted to do this?’
