The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  NINETEEN Lucy had watched as Jonah slowly rose from the sofa, waiting for his words of invitation for her to come home to Queen’s Park and having mixed feelings at the prospect. She tried to picture where in the flat she had placed items that she would need to gather up and throw into her overnight bag, remembering her dirty pyjamas behind the bathroom door and her work laptop, still in its case in the hallway. Yet at the same time she was angered by his lack of sympathy, trying to imagine how she would have reacted to a similar level of distress from him. She knew she would have been kinder, and that thought alone made her glad when he had kissed her lightly on the forehead, as one might an ailing relative, and left as quietly as he had arrived. Alone. Their exchange was that of strangers, and this left her feeling quite numb. This, and his refusal to open up about Camille, left her with a familiar sensation. She had experienced it with previous boyfriends, including Richard: that wha

  Leaving the hospital without you was the most horrific thing that I have ever had to do and, I am certain, ever will have to do. They told me you were going into temporary foster care; I think they were worried I might change my mind. Oh, if only I had known that I could! I felt empty, hollowed out, and that’s a feeling that has stayed with me. You went from foster care to your adoptive family when you were just three weeks old and I knew very little about them other than how happy they were, this married couple, to be given such a gift. My mum said once that I must have seemed like an angel to them and I know I would feel the same if someone gifted me a child. At the time, however, I remember placing my head on the pillow and feeling wave after wave of anger, because you weren’t a gift, not from me. In my mind you had been stolen, and that was something very different. It was weeks later that someone from the court came to see me and explained that now you were six weeks old, the form

  TWENTY Lucy had been back at work for a couple of weeks, returning seamlessly to her role and ignoring numerous enquiries from Tansy as to why she had been away. She did what she had always done: compartmentalised her work and home life, presenting her normal, friendly, yet efficient self so that none of her colleagues would ever guess what was going on at home. She and Jonah had exchanged a couple of emails; reading their mundane content had been like taking a dagger to her heart. ‘You have had a delivery, looks like books, should I forward to flat?’ he wrote. And her response. ‘Thank you, yes.’ He had also texted her late one night; she suspected from the spelling and grammar that it was probably after a few glasses of wine: ‘Were are yoru my Lcuy?’ She replied instantly: ‘I am right here and I miss you.’ His sober reply came three days later: ‘I need some time.’ His words sent a bolt of frustration through her. ‘You know what, Jonah?’ she announced to the empty walls of her bedroom.

  I thought long and hard about what my mum said, about there being agencies that you might have contacted, wanting to get in touch, and even the thought of this fills me with such a burst of happiness it is quite hard to describe. It feels like the night before Christmas when everything you have wished for might come true. Equally, I have considered the thought that you might not have registered with them and I would understand this too. As hard as it would be for me, I would accept it. Oh, Bella. I know nothing about you, and the chance to know something, anything at all, would be more than I have any right to hope for, and yet it would fill the rest of my days with happiness! Any snippet, no matter how small, would for me be a big thing. Are you still called Bella or did your parents give you a new name? Did your eyes stay blue? Do you still have a button nose? Have you been happy? What’s your favourite colour? What was your favourite subject at school? Do you play an instrument? Do y

  TWENTY-ONE With Camille’s latest scan picture framed and resting on the chest of drawers, Lucy covered the whole thing with a greying dust sheet before dipping the roller into the pale blue paint and climbing the stepladder to better reach the ceiling. ‘This is looking great!’ Camille clapped her hands. ‘I love it!’ ‘Wait until I add the clouds; it’s going to look awesome.’ She smiled, enjoying being part of the transformation of the room from a dusty office to the baby’s very own space, trying to keep at bay the thought that this room and this design had always been destined for her baby. The plan was for Camille and the baby to stay with them until she had a clearer view of what came next. She and Jonah had decided that while it was tempting to scoop Camille and her baby up and keep them close, it wouldn’t be the best thing to help Camille grow into the woman she needed to become. They would instead parent Cam from a safe distance, ready to catch her if ever she fell. ‘What do you th

  TWENTY-TWO Two years later It was a warm, sunny afternoon in Queen’s Park as Lucy walked slowly to the end of the garden to retrieve Hector’s ball. Her long ponytail hung down over the shoulder of her smocked white shirt as she crouched down into the shrubs and dug around with her hands to find the ball. ‘I mean it, Hector. This is absolutely the last time I am fetching this for you!’ Her threat was a little diluted by the big smile that accompanied it. Hector clapped and ran in a circle, holding in one hand the little brown woollen rabbit Lucy had knitted him, while he chased after his cousin Maisie. He knew full well that he only had to shout ‘Bibbit, get it!’ and off Lucy would trot. No one knew where the name ‘Bibbit’ had come from, but it had stuck. Lucy and the little boy shared a wonderful relationship, where Hector made demands and Lucy did his bidding. She adored him and relished every second of the times she got to spend with him, which weren’t nearly as frequent as she would

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I would like to express my sincere gratitude once again to my fantastic editors, Sammia and Ms Tiffania Teaseblossom. Thank you once again for your insightful, clear, genius ideas that massively enhance my stories. Working with you feels far more like fun than I’m sure it should! I would also like to thank the whole incredible team at Amazon, all of whom brilliantly produce their piece of the jigsaw, ensuring that when we put it together at the end it is just about as perfect as it can be. I send love as ever to my family, who support me and love me unconditionally as I do them. I send special love to my husband, Simeon, who has shared the loss of all our little babies who left us too soon. Our grief made us stronger.

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS Did Lucy’s story alter your view of miscarriage? If so, how? Which member of the Carpenter family did you most sympathise with and why? Has The Idea of You changed you or broadened your perspective? If so, how? For you, what was the book’s main message? In a movie, who would play each of the characters? Lucy and Jonah reach a number of emotional crossroads. How do you think that they coped at these times? How well do you feel they supported each other? Did any parts of the book make you feel uncomfortable? If so, which parts and why? What will be your overriding memory from The Idea of You, the one incident or paragraph that will stay with you?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR Photo © 2012 Paul Smith of Paul Smith Photography at www.paulsmithphotography.info Amanda Prowse likens her own life story to those she writes about in her books. After self-publishing her debut novel, Poppy Day, in 2011, she has gone on to author sixteen novels and six novellas. Her books have been translated into a dozen languages and she regularly tops bestseller charts all over the world. Remaining true to her ethos, Amanda writes stories of ordinary women and their families who find their strength, courage and love tested in ways they never imagined. The most prolific female contemporary fiction writer in the UK, with a legion of loyal readers, she goes from strength to strength. Being crowned ‘queen of domestic drama’ by the Daily Mail was one of her finest moments. Amanda is a regular contributor on TV and radio, but her first love is and will always be writing. You can find her online at www.amandaprowse.com, on Twitter at @MrsAmandaProwse and on Facebook at ww

  PRAISE FOR AMANDA PROWSE

  ‘A tragic story of loss and love.’

  Lorraine Kelly, The Sun

  ‘Captivating, heartbreaking and superbly written.’

  Closer

  ‘A deeply emotional, unputdownable read.’


  Red

  ‘Uplifting and positive, but you may still need a box of tissues.’

  Cosmopolitan

  ‘You’ll fall in love with this.’

  Cosmopolitan

  ‘Warning: you will need tissues.’

  The Sun on Sunday

  ‘Handles her explosive subject with delicate care.’

  Daily Mail

  ‘Deeply moving and eye-opening.’

  Heat

  ‘A perfect marriage morphs into harrowing territory . . . a real tear-jerker.’

  Sunday Mirror

  ‘Powerful and emotional drama that packs a real punch.’

  Heat

  ‘Warmly accessible but subtle . . . moving and inspiring.’

  Daily Mail

  ‘A powerful and emotional work of fiction with a unique twist – a practical lesson in how to spot a fatal, but often treatable disease.’

  Piers Morgan, CNN presenter

  ‘A truly amazing piece of drama about a condition that could affect any one of us in a heartbeat. Every mother should read this book.’

  Danielle Lineker, actor

  ‘A powerful and emotional page-turner that teaches people with no medical training how to recognise sepsis and save lives.’

  Dr Ranj Singh, paediatric doctor and BBC presenter

  ‘A powerful and moving story with a real purpose. It brings home the dreadful nature of this deadly condition.’

  Mark Austin, ITN presenter

  ‘A festive treat . . . if you love Jojo Moyes and Freya North, you’ll love this.’

  Closer

  ‘Magical.’

  Now

  ‘Nobody writes contemporary family dramas as well as Amanda Prowse.’

  Daily Mail

  ‘Amanda Prowse is the Queen of contemporary family drama.’

  Daily Mail

  OTHER BOOKS BY AMANDA PROWSE

  The Food of Love

  Poppy Day

  What Have I Done?

  Clover’s Child

  A Little Love

  Christmas for One

  Will You Remember Me?

  A Mother’s Story

  Perfect Daughter

  Three-and-a-Half Heartbeats (exclusive to Amazon Kindle)

  The Second Chance Café (originally published as The Christmas Café)

  Another Love

  My Husband’s Wife

  I Won’t Be Home for Christmas

  NOVELLAS BY AMANDA PROWSE

  The Game

  Something Quite Beautiful

  A Christmas Wish

  Ten Pound Ticket

  Imogen’s Baby

  Miss Potterton’s Birthday Tea

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2017 Amanda Prowse

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503942332

  ISBN-10: 1503942333

  Cover photography by Tin Moon Limited

  Cover design by Debbie Clement

  The Idea of You is dedicated to every woman who has known the pain of miscarriage, who has felt her hopes and dreams of motherhood end without warning.

  Maybe she is like me and is unsure of how to grieve, how to mourn something that was never whole, and yet touched her soul in a way that is difficult to describe. I still think of all my little miracles who brought me joy and sadness in equal measure, and undoubtedly shaped the woman I became.

  I send all these women and their partners love and this reminder that helped me head towards happiness: ‘It is always darkest before the dawn; don’t give up.’ X

  CONTENTS

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  Soaring higher than ...

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  I started writing at the age of forty, having always been an avid reader. Every book I read I would put into a category of either ‘I wish I had written that book’ or ‘I can do better than that’!

  I didn’t have the confidence or courage to put pen to paper, fearing my lack of grammar and limited understanding about the world of publishing might hamper my efforts.

  It was only after beating cancer that I looked at the world in a different way, figuring that if this was my one time around the block, what did I really want to do? And what I really wanted to do was write stories! I have been writing for four years now and have written seventeen novels and six novellas.

  I am pretty much average at everything. I’m a rubbish cook, useless at sport, and can never manage to get the duvet into the duvet cover. They say everyone has one thing that they can do, and I have discovered my one thing: I can write stories very quickly. They play in my head like a movie, and all I have to do is write down what I see. I am truly thankful every single day for this gift.

  I write about ordinary women, women who find their lives disrupted and need to find strength to overcome the obstacles in their path. I find it amazing when a stranger tells me that they have enjoyed one of my books; that stranger and I are linked by something that germinated in my imagination. If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.

  Soaring higher than I could ever reach.

  Leaving nothing, but the perfect idea of you,

  a space where a heart used to beat,

  and hopes and dreams of the better world that hovered in your tiny palms.

  I cannot forget the frail longing for time,

  time to hold you skin to skin and to watch you take shape,

  the solid you, made of love and pride and things that were no match for the wings that you grew too soon.

  AJWP

  PROLOGUE

  ‘Are you nervous, sweetie?’

  She whipped her head towards the kindly voice of the woman who had entered the room, and nodded. Her breath came in short bursts. Her fringe was stuck to her forehead in fine, damp wisps.

  The woman smiled, her slow, patient manner welcome, calming. ‘Well, it’s easy to say, but don’t be. We have done this a million times before.’ She patted Lucy’s narrow shoulder before walking away with a squeak to her shoe and a swish of her skirt.

  Lucy would have liked to reply, but at that moment her voice had disappeared, hovering beneath a plug of fear that sat at the base of her throat. How could she begin to explain? It wasn’t only a fear of what was about to happen, but also the sadness that, after this, she would be changed. And she didn’t want to be changed. She liked being like this. She liked it very much.

  Lifting her fingers, she placed them on her heart, which was beating so hard she was convinced it was forming a heart-shaped bulge in her skin, like the love-struck cartoon characters she liked to watch.

  ‘Is there anyone you would like me to call for you?’ the woman called from the doorway, holding the handle and looking back over her shoulder.

  Lucy shook her head.

  ‘There’s no one you would l
ike to have here by your side – a friend, a relative?’

  Lucy took a deep breath as a single tear fell down her cheek. There was no one she wanted to call because no one knew, apart from one person – her mum – whom she definitely didn’t want to see and who was at that very moment sequestered in another room at Lucy’s demand. And this was the way it would be. A secret. Always.

  ‘I . . .’ she managed.

  The woman cocked her ear, bending her head to enable her to hear better. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I . . . I miss my dad.’ She paused to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘He died a little while ago, and I really miss him.’

  The woman smiled sympathetically and gave a small nod of understanding, just as a fresh wave of pain caused Lucy’s body to convulse.

  ONE

  Today, Lucy felt a little like an imposter in the house of God. Christenings made her feel especially uncomfortable. Being asked to be a godparent was, however, an honour, a great responsibility, and one she hoped she would shoulder well. She glanced at Benedict, the beautiful baby boy in his mother’s arms, on this, his special day. As she smiled at his gummy face, self-doubt hammered inside her head. Supposing this baby grew up to be a reprobate; would that be her fault? Surely not. It had always been her belief that how a child turned out was down to three things: parents, environment and schooling. This, she felt, would exonerate her nicely should the need arise. Not that she could picture him being anything less than wonderful. He was far too cute.

  Her discomfort also came from the fact that she was yet again single at an event that screamed coupledom. On a day-to-day basis, she tried not to give her single state more than a passing thought, tried to ignore the image of Richard’s face that leapt into her mind unbidden. But it wasn’t always easy, and at any party or event where she was encouraged to bring a plus-one, she became a little more aware.