The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘Or maybe we could share the role.’

  ‘God, you made me jump!’ She darted back as her friend continued to hassle her, having only managed to make it to the corridor by the bathroom door – hardly the space Lucy had been hoping for.

  ‘Yes! That’s a brilliant idea. Share the role.’ She nodded. ‘Decide between yourselves where your strengths lie and lead on those areas. Let me know who’s looking after what. Great work, Tansy!’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ Tansy looked a little taken aback, as if she had fully expected her suggestion to be rebuffed. ‘Where are you going now?’

  Lucy looked back over her shoulder as she hitched her handbag on to her arm and made for the stairs. ‘I need to see Jonah; shan’t be too long.’

  ‘Is everything okay? Please tell me it’s not a resurgence of the bubonic plague?’ her friend called across the rapidly filling reception, as elevators disgorged workers, bike couriers and delivery drivers into the open space.

  ‘No! You are quite safe,’ she shouted, taking the stairs two at a time.

  ‘Jonah Carpenter Motors’: the shiny chrome letters seemed to twinkle in the glint of the sun.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Carpenter.’

  ‘Oh, hi!’ Lucy dared not confess that this greeting was one that still threw her a little off balance, as much as it thrilled her. Mrs Carpenter . . . She instinctively ran her thumb over the little platinum band on her left hand, smiling at the smartly dressed, bubbly girl on reception. ‘Is Jonah free? If he’s busy, please don’t disturb him,’ she gabbled, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about turning up at his workplace. ‘I was passing, so . . .’

  ‘He’s on a conference call right now, but will be done in about five minutes. Can I get you a drink or anything while you wait?’

  ‘No, but thank you. I’ll just sit here, if that’s okay?’ She pointed at the ultra-stylised black leather couch that sat behind a chrome and smoked-glass table.

  ‘Sure.’ The girl nodded and turned her attention to her computer screen.

  In front of Lucy on the table sat two iPads, each with a gallery of stunning photographs of the cars at the three garages across London. She picked one up and let her finger scroll right to left. Even she had to admit the close-up pictures of hand-stitched scarlet leather, chrome accelerators and a brushed aluminium gearstick made her want to grab a ride in one of these sleek high-priced machines. She placed the iPad back in its place and let her eyes rove the spotless showroom. The white floors were polished to a high shine, the picture windows were immaculate and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen. That ‘new car’ smell hung tantalisingly in the air. The streamlined vehicles themselves shone under a myriad of spotlights and uplighters with neon strips glowing from the floor. It made the place feel space-age, and it was a million miles from the cluttered soft wooden surfaces and wonkily fitted drawers of their home.

  Lucy looked up and there he was, walking towards her across the showroom in his navy suit and open-necked white shirt. His expression carried a worried little crease between his eyebrows. It was unusual for her to turn up at his workplace.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked as he approached. He placed his hands on her shoulders, as if she might be in need of this instant physical comfort.

  She felt a jolt of love in her gut for this handsome man. She nodded quickly. ‘Everything’s fine. I just wanted a quick word.’ She eyed the receptionist and the slick-looking young sales duo, who were busy tapping into keyboards at their desks in the corner.

  ‘Of course.’ Gripping her hand, he trailed her behind him until they were safely in the confines of his office, where he pulled the cord until the venetian blinds obscured them.

  ‘This is a lovely surprise.’ He smiled at her, before kissing her on the mouth.

  Lucy pulled away. ‘Jonah.’

  ‘What?’ He looked concerned.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’ She smiled, speaking a little more slowly this time.

  ‘No!’ He gasped.

  ‘Yes!’ she squeaked.

  He pulled her towards him. ‘Oh, Lucy!’ He held her close. ‘You haven’t said anything. I didn’t know whether to bring it up, or what to ask . . .’

  ‘I didn’t know what to say!’ She laughed. ‘And it honestly didn’t occur to me that I might be, not really. I’ve had a couple of periods since, you know.’ She shook her head, not wanting to sully the moment. ‘And then nothing, and I thought that was my body resetting itself, and then this morning I was in a meeting with John and Tansy and we were talking about the date and it fired something inside me. I realised it had been a while since my last period and here we are!’ She bit her lip.

  ‘Are you sure?’ He searched her face, needing confirmation.

  She shrugged free of his embrace and rummaged in her handbag, locating the plastic spatula; she held it up towards his face. Jonah pulled his head back on his shoulders and narrowed his eyes, which, after a second or two, misted. He cupped his palm over his mouth and nose.

  ‘Yes!’ She beamed. ‘I’m absolutely sure.’

  ‘Oh God, Lucy. I knew it. I knew that we’d crack it.’ He again pulled her towards him in a tender hug, as if she were already in an advanced state and needed careful handling. ‘Clever girl.’ He kissed her head.

  ‘Clever us,’ she corrected.

  She felt him exhale against her body. ‘We can put what happened behind us and enjoy this.’

  She nodded against his chest. ‘Yes, we can.’

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.

  ‘I feel great! Really great, excited, bit nervous,’ she confessed.

  ‘No, don’t be. These things just happen, that’s what the doctor said, and he said that there was no reason why we couldn’t try again when we were ready – and here we are, ready!’

  ‘More than ready. I’m really excited!’ She squealed with her fists clenched.

  ‘Me too. We’ll have to celebrate tonight. I love you, Mrs Carpenter.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  ‘You are going to be a mum!’ He beamed.

  ‘I am.’ She closed her eyes, relief and joy washing over her. ‘I’m going to be a great mum.’

  Later that night, Lucy was nestled on the sofa when she heard the sound of Jonah’s key in the door.

  ‘Where are you?’ he called out, crashing and bashing his way through the front door. By the sound of it, he was laden with bags. This meant a nice supper, and her mouth watered at the prospect.

  ‘Ah, and we have some decent music playing!’ He chuckled as Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ blared from the sound system.

  ‘Not intentionally.’ She laughed. ‘It’s that blasted shuffle system. If I had my way, there would only be my tunes on it.’

  She smiled at the sound of Jonah dumping the groceries in the kitchen before he poked his head around the door. ‘How’s my girl?’

  ‘I’m good.’ She sighed, resting her busy hands in her lap.

  ‘And she’s off already! What are you making?’ He knelt on the floor by her feet, letting the soft strands of white wool slip through his fingers.

  Reaching for the pattern, she abandoned the needles. ‘Look at these.’ Opening up the page, she held up the image of a pair of delicate booties, fastened with a tiny loop over a pearl button and a matching hat with a little bobble-like blob that sat on the top of it. ‘How cute are they?’ She wrinkled her nose.

  ‘They are brilliant.’ He kissed her nose. ‘Feels like we are back on track, doesn’t it?’ He smiled.

  ‘It really does.’

  ‘So how pregnant are you? How can we tell?’ he asked, his face full of excitement.

  ‘I should have an appointment at the hospital in a few weeks; they are giving me an early scan because of everything.’ She swallowed, not wanting to dwell on that time, as if this second chance wiped out all the bad. ‘They’ll give me a date and work out how far I am and everything then.’ Sh
e shrugged. ‘The pregnancy test doesn’t go any higher than three weeks plus, but if I had to guess, I think I’m probably about six weeks, so still very early days, but I feel so great!’ she emphasised. ‘I have already had a little glimpse at my baby book, and even at six weeks what’s going on is just amazing. The ectoderm is in place, which will form the baby’s brain, skin and nerves. And the endoderm, which will become the lungs and liver. And the mesoderm, which will become the baby’s bones and muscles.’ She sat upright, smiling as if she had passed a test.

  Jonah laughed loudly. ‘It sounds like you might have accidentally swallowed that textbook.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’ She leant forward. ‘I find the whole thing so fascinating – that at just six weeks all that is already in place and it’s still only so teeny!’ She held her thumb and forefinger out, showing a very small gap between the two.

  There was a moment of quiet while the two looked at each other, letting their new joyous state wash over them.

  ‘I’m going to take really good care of you.’ He stood, dusting the knees of his suit trousers.

  ‘You always take good care of me.’

  ‘Yes, but I mean properly take care of you. I want to make sure you don’t have an ounce of stress or worry and that you can take it easy. Don’t suppose you fancy giving up your job, do you?’ He closed his eyes and raised one shoulder, cowering away from her, as if preparing to take the force of her response.

  ‘No, I don’t. But I will slow down when the baby arrives. I don’t want to miss a second, Jonah. I’ll take extended leave and enjoy every bit of it.’

  ‘Deal.’ Jonah clapped. ‘And now I shall make you a delicious supper. How do you like the sound of stuffed ballotine of chicken with fresh asparagus and pomme purée?’ he asked, as he left the room.

  ‘Sounds fancy and delicious!’ Lucy picked up her needles and resumed knitting.

  ‘Oh, meant to say . . .’ He popped his head back around the door frame. ‘I spoke to Geneviève today and she is all for Camille coming over for the summer. Not a word of protest. I was amazed.’

  His expression told her that this made him happy, and she felt her heart swell at the prospect of welcoming the girl into their home. She so wanted to get it right, picturing day trips with Camille to museums or maybe jaunts out for lunch. This excitement, however, was tinged with sadness; it was rare for Jonah to show his absolute love of being a dad, and at that moment she wanted more than anything to have this baby enriching both of their lives.

  He tapped the door frame, as if having a thought. ‘Unless of course we should say our plans have changed? I mean, we are in a different position now.’ He looked a little concerned.

  ‘No! Of course not. It will be lovely to have her here. I can’t wait to meet her. But I do think we need to decorate the spare room, make her feel really welcome, and she can be part of this pregnancy from the outset and that will make her feel more connected to you and the baby.’ She rubbed her hand over her tummy. ‘A lovely little family.’

  ‘God, how did I get so lucky?’ He stared at her.

  ‘I think it was largely down to the fact that we’d both had a little too much wine and everyone else at the christening was taken.’ She laughed and turned her attention to the pattern with a feeling of warmth spreading over her. She had almost forgotten how much she loved being pregnant.

  I often think about how I would dress you. And to be honest I change my mind a lot! I think when you were little I’d have put you in traditional clothes, all the knitted things that I have made, of course, and some made by my mum and my gran too. I love the idea of cradling you in something that has been touched by the hands of all those generations of women. Then if I think of you as a toddler, I picture you in dungarees with striped T-shirts underneath and cute little bow barrettes in your curly hair. Or sometimes I see you in a really over-the-top party dress with a net petticoat and flowers, the full works. I think you’d hate it, but would look adorable.

  I bought you a dress once. It makes me cry to think about that, but I did. I can’t really explain why. I was in a department store looking for a bread bin and I found myself in the children’s clothes department. The place was crowded with parents and their children, most looking like they wanted to be anywhere else, irritated by the outing. I stopped at a display and saw these tiny little dresses in red and white gingham. They had a beautiful smocked yoke and a dainty Peter Pan collar edged in red ribbon. A woman came over and asked me what size I was looking for. I saw you so clearly that I smiled and said, ‘It’s for my daughter; she’s nearly ten months.’ I stood back and watched, as she worked her fingers nimbly through the display, looking for the size I wanted. She called out then to her colleague across the floor, as she held the dress up. ‘Do we have this in ten or twelve months for this lady’s little girl?’ My heart swelled! It was oh so wonderful! That she thought it possible that I could have a child, that I could be a mum! I smiled at her and in her eyes I was just like every other woman in that department at that time. I was someone who had had a baby. And it felt . . . it felt incredible. I paid for the dress they had located, and watched as they wrapped it in tissue, before placing it inside a little bag. I didn’t want to bring it home, in case anyone found it, so I carefully laid it on the wall of the car park where I had left my car. I hoped, I still hope, that someone found it and a little girl got to wear it. A little girl like you.

  SIX

  ‘Fay, I need your help.’ Lucy placed the phone under her chin and stared at the colour swatches, spread into a fanned rainbow on the worktop in the kitchen. It took all of her strength not to blurt out to her sister that she was pregnant, but she knew it was wise to wait until after her first scan, when she could tell the world!

  ‘Oh God, it’s not money, is it? Because I can tell you that whatever you in your fancy advertising agency and Mr Porsche are earning, it has to be a darned sight more than Adam and I bring home as teachers.’

  ‘No! It’s not money.’ She tutted. ‘I’m trying to pick out colours for the spare room; I want it to be as nice as possible for Camille, but I’m not very good at this. I have always gone for white walls and bold-coloured accessories, and that works for me, but she’s a sixteen-year-old girl and I want it to be pretty and funky and I don’t know what sixteen-year-old girls are into.’

  ‘Seventeen-year-old boys,’ Fay quipped.

  ‘Very funny. I don’t think Camille is that kind of girl – according to Jonah she’s had quite a sheltered upbringing.’ Lucy lowered a tangle of red sour strawberry laces into her mouth.

  ‘That’s what all dads like to think!’ Fay laughed.

  ‘Are you going to help me or not?’ She pushed her long hair out of her eyes and stared at the array of colours.

  ‘Are you eating?’ Fay asked accusatorily.

  ‘Yes, only sweets.’

  ‘How come you eat that rubbish and stay so skinny, whereas I only have to look at a bar of chocolate and it’s miraculously attached itself to my hips?’

  ‘Just lucky, I guess.’ She chewed the candy that she loved. ‘Should I go for pink?’ she asked, returning to the task in hand.

  ‘No, definitely not; pink is risky. She might not be a girly girl and might hate pink. I always hated pink. If I were you, I’d go for something that’s trendy, grown-up, sophisticated and a bit quirky, cool.’

  Lucy sighed. ‘Okay, so what colour is trendy, grown-up, sophisticated, quirky and cool?’ With only a small window of time in which to get the room ready, she was losing patience.

  ‘How about something neutral, but not cold, like a linen or a light khaki, and then accessorise on a theme like, I don’t know, Old Glory? You could have the flag on one wall and then a vintage chest, tapestry rugs, a faux-fur throw – it might be nice.’

  ‘Okay, I shall google some pictures, but that sounds quite good. I’m off to source paint.’

  ‘You are really getting into this. Are you a bit nervous about meeting her?’ Fay knew her well.
r />   ‘Not a bit, a lot,’ she admitted, swallowing the sweets.

  ‘It’ll be fine! You live in a trendy part of London where she can go and explore. You are cool and fab and she will have a lovely time. Don’t stress.’

  ‘Thank you for saying I am cool and fab.’ She smiled into the receiver.

  ‘I didn’t mean it. I was just being nice.’ Fay laughed.

  ‘Go away, Fay.’

  ‘Go away, yourself. Love you!’

  With that her sister ended the call. Lucy laid her palm on the waistband of her sweatpants, feeling the slight bloat to her stomach and looking forward to the day it became a pronounced bump. There was something wonderful about the prospect of losing her boyish, flat physique and becoming fully rounded; she couldn’t wait. Fay was right, though. Hear that, baby? Don’t stress . . .

  Lucy had earlier turned to her trusty baby book, knowing that nine to ten weeks would be her next big milestone.

  At week nine your baby is approximately 3 cm in length. It has recognisable eyelids, a jaw and a nose. It also has small pads on the ends of its fingers.

  This information helped her picture her growing baby and helped her communicate with her. She was again convinced that it was a little girl she was carrying.

  Her fear had not left her entirely. In fact, the first thing she did upon waking each morning was to snake her hand under her bottom and feel the mattress beneath her. She would then surreptitiously bring her hand up to her face for scrutiny, and when she saw it with her own eyes, clean and dry, she could then start her day with a huge sigh of relief and a surge of optimism that the day she got to hold her baby was getting closer and closer.

  Jonah had finally, after much nagging, cleared the spare room of all the furniture and clutter. He piled the dismantled bed and pine chest of drawers in the hallway and stowed all the sagging cardboard boxes full of his ageing collections in the attic for sorting or throwing out another day. Lucy suspected that day would never come – not that she cared. Out of sight was all she had wanted.