‘I’m a vegetarian, actually,’ Camille informed her with a slight sigh.
‘Oh, Camille, I didn’t know.’ She felt a blush at the base of her neck, silently cursing Jonah for not knowing this or, if he did, for not informing her. ‘How long have you been a vegetarian?’
‘About six weeks,’ she answered stiffly. ‘I refuse to eat anything that has a face.’
‘Well.’ Lucy looked at her husband. ‘Good for you. We could certainly do with cutting down on red meat and stuff, so it sounds like you will be a good influence on all of us.’
Jonah turned and smiled at his wife. A smile that told her she was doing great.
‘Did you see your room?’ Lucy wondered if she liked it, hating how desperate she was for the girl’s approval.
‘No, not yet. We only got here like a while ago.’
‘Would you like to come up and see it now? We can get your stuff unpacked and get you settled. I can help you if you like?’
‘Sure.’ She gave a small shrug of indifference and slowly placed the half-full coffee mug on the worktop.
‘Don’t be too long, you two; supper is literally ten minutes away.’ He concentrated on lowering the vegetable batons into the light batter that sat in a bowl.
‘Can you manage?’ Lucy asked, as Camille lifted the large wheeled suitcase and bumped it up the stairs.
‘Yep.’ The girl nodded.
Lucy walked in front of her, treading the stairs to match her pace and hoping that her stepdaughter wasn’t studying her rear.
She recalled the smell of the little room in Hammersmith Hospital where she had been only hours earlier and shook her head, ridding her mind of the image.
‘So how was your journey?’ Lucy asked over her shoulder, with artificial jollity. She couldn’t remember if she had already asked her this.
‘Easy. Cab, plane, train, cab, here,’ Camille offered dryly.
‘I guess you are used to travelling. When I was sixteen I don’t think I had travelled anywhere on my own. I might have gone on a school trip to Barcelona, but that doesn’t really count, does it? All I had to do was sit on a coach for what felt like an eternity and then try and not get lost on the ferry.’
‘Am I in the same room as usual, or has that been moved too?’ Camille arched her head to look around the wall and on to the landing. Lucy wondered what else had been moved.
‘Yep, same room, but I think you’ll like it a lot more. I’ve spruced it up a bit.’
She walked ahead and opened the door, glad of the fresh scent that wafted from the freesias she had placed in a glass vase on the table by the bed.
Camille gave a big sigh as she left her bag in the doorway and walked around like an inspector, officiously, touching her fingers to the bedspread, the mirror and finally the antler hooks behind the door.
‘Do you like it?’ Lucy cupped her hands together, holding them against her chest.
‘Is it . . . ?’ Camille placed her hands in her jeans pockets and lifted her shoulders. She appeared to be struggling to find the words.
‘Is it what?’ Lucy cocked her head, looking for a clue in the girl’s expression.
Camille shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She went to retrieve her case and laid it on the double bed, unzipping it before flipping it open to reveal clothes, stuffed into every available space. ‘Is there a wardrobe?’ She looked around, although it was obvious there wasn’t one.
‘No, gosh! I didn’t really think about a wardrobe.’ She felt her cheeks colour.
‘Clothes are my thing,’ Camille explained, addressing the depths of her suitcase. ‘I love fashion. It’s what I want to do when I leave school.’
‘I did not know that. We’ll have to get you into town to look at some of the designer stores, and there are some brilliant markets for unusual pieces.’ Lucy wished she were better informed on this stuff.
‘So, the wardrobe?’ the girl prompted with an overconfident tone.
‘I thought you could use the chest of drawers for clothes and the travel trunk at the end of the bed for shoes. I didn’t think it through, but I can see now you have things to hang up.’
I’ve been a little distracted . . . She swallowed the thought.
‘So, can I, like, put things on these deer horns or whatever they are?’ She hooked her finger over one and gave it a tug. ‘They don’t seem that strong.’
Lucy looked at the design piece on the back of the door that she thought made a bold statement, embarrassed by Camille’s obvious disapproval of her choices.
‘No, they’re not that strong. I think you are right. Maybe you could hang light things on them, your nightdress and things.’
‘Pah!’ Camille let out a loud burst of laughter. ‘My nightdress? Okaaay.’ She returned to her suitcase with wide eyes.
‘We can get you a rail from Ikea if you’d like, just a simple rack that you can hang things on – would that be better? You could put it here.’ She pointed to the space against the wall between the fireplace and her bed.
‘That would be great. Thank you.’ Camille smiled, briefly, and Lucy was glad of the thanks.
‘I want you to have a really good time here, Camille, and I want you to relax and I want us to get on. I want you to ask me anything and be able to say anything and I want us to get to know each other.’
That’s a lot of wants, Lucy girl . . .
‘Sure.’ Camille nodded and gave another tight-lipped smile.
‘Do you need anything right now?’ she asked, as she made for the door.
‘Nope.’ The girl spoke from the confines of the suitcase in which she delved.
‘Well, I’ll see you in the kitchen in a few minutes for dinner.’
‘Sure,’ Camille muttered again, as she extracted pairs of socks balled together and an armful of charging cables and wires.
She closed the bedroom door behind her and fought her desire to cry.
‘Supper’s ready!’ Jonah called up the stairs.
Lucy sat with her back to the wall on the wooden pew on the far side of the table. Jonah sat at the head of the narrow table with Camille to his right. The conversation between the two was animated, and Lucy did all she could to keep up, nodding in the right places and smiling at their jokes. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for the two to be reunited; of course she was. It was just that tonight she wanted nothing more than a hot bath, solitude and the comfort of her husband’s arms around her.
‘So I told her’ – Camille filled her mouth with rice and chewed before swallowing quickly and refilling her fork – ‘I can’t be the only girl in my year without an iPhone 6S and she was like . . .’
Lucy watched as she waved her fork in the air like a baton, pulling expressions of disdain as she discussed her mother, and tucking her hair behind her ear. It was hard to believe she was only sixteen.
‘. . . she was like, you don’t need a phone like that! Tu es seulement une enfant, une enfant!’
The girl’s quick-fire French threw her a little. Jonah threw his head back and laughed. Lucy felt the prick of tears at the back of her eyes.
She placed her fork on the plate and sat back. ‘That was delicious, Jonah, thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Are you done? I’ve made pudding.’ He placed his hand over the back of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
‘I couldn’t eat another thing. Now, if you will both excuse me, I have a very busy day tomorrow and need to do a bit of work before I fall asleep. Camille, is there anything you need before I go up to bed?’
Camille raised her eyebrows and raised her palms, as if trying to think of one thing that she might possibly need.
‘In that case, I shall love you and leave you. Sweet dreams both.’ She kissed Jonah on the head as she passed.
‘Don’t nod off.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘I shan’t be too far behind you. We’ll have our pud and then I just need to get these dishes done.’
‘Okay.’ She smiled and left the room.
Hovering on the bottom
stair, she looked at the slice of light that crept from under the kitchen door and heard the echo of their laughter. Now alone in the semi-darkness, Lucy gave in to the tears that she had held at bay for the evening. Gripping the banister, she climbed the stairs slowly and closed the bedroom door behind her. After peeling off her skirt and blouse, she stepped into her pyjamas and climbed beneath the thin summer duvet. The curtains fluttered in the warm evening breeze and the beeps of cars and the shouts of revellers, making their way home from the pub no doubt, filtered up through her window.
Life goes on.
This was her final thought before sleep offered her a blissful avenue of escape.
‘Hey.’
Lucy was aware of a hand on her shoulder, rousing her from sleep. She sat up and rubbed her eyes to find Jonah lying next to her in bed.
‘Hello, my darling.’ He beamed, reaching over to take her in his arms. ‘I told you I wouldn’t be far behind you.’
‘How long have I been asleep?’ She felt a little out of sorts.
‘Twenty minutes, max.’
‘Gosh.’ She shook her head, trying to reach a state of greater alertness. ‘Feels like longer.’
‘Isn’t it great having Cam here?’ he marvelled. ‘Isn’t she wonderful? I can’t believe she is here.’
She nodded.
‘So, come on, I want to hear all about it. Did you get my picture?’ He sat up, bouncing a little on the mattress and rubbing his hands together like an excited schoolboy.
‘I . . .’ She tried to figure out how to start. ‘I got there easily enough and the lady was really nice.’
‘Good. That’s good.’ He smiled.
‘They already knew what had happened to me. Before.’ She looked up at him.
‘I guessed they would. They have your files and everything. It means they will take extra good care of you,’ he whispered.
Both were acutely aware that there was now another person in a room along the landing and they kept their voices low accordingly.
‘Did they say how far along you were?’ He ran his hand over the curve of her shoulder, over her breast and down to her stomach. On any other night this would have been an invite to progress to sex, but tonight it only made her shiver with something close to revulsion.
‘I would be ten weeks, but’ – she took a deep breath – ‘there was no heartbeat.’
‘What?’ He sat up straight, sitting in front of her now; he took her hands into his own.
Lucy shook her head as her tears fell, coming now in great gulps that made speech almost impossible.
‘She had no heartbeat, Jonah, and she hasn’t had one for a long while – a couple of weeks, they said.’ With her head hanging forward on to her chest, she cried, feeling wave after wave of sadness, as the woman’s words echoed in her mind.
‘I am so very sorry, Mrs Carpenter. Sometimes we can’t give you a reason and I know how hard that must be . . .’
‘Did . . . did they say why?’ he asked, pushing her hair back so he could see her better.
She shook her head. ‘They said it just happens. That’s what they said the last time, but there must be a reason. There must! I know these things just happen, but why do they keep just happening to me?’ She looked at him, crying harder when she saw her tears reflected in his own. ‘I thought . . . I thought this time it would be fine,’ she stammered.
‘Shit.’ Jonah sighed.
‘Are you . . . are you angry with me?’
‘Angry with you? Oh, my darling, no! No, of course not.’ He held her tight and cradled her head into his chest, holding her as she sobbed. Her tears left a damp patch on his T-shirt. ‘My Lucy, I am so sorry I wasn’t there for you. And I’m so sad for us. But we can try again. If that’s what you want.’ He kissed her head.
What I want? Isn’t this about what we want?
‘I can’t think that far ahead,’ she managed, sitting up a little to face him, unwilling to admit that his words sounded hollow and offered no solace at all. At that point the thought of trying again was more than she could cope with, if it was without his full and unwavering support.
‘Of course, of course.’ He had a look of anguish, clearly unsure of the right thing to say to placate her. ‘Do they have to . . .’ He paused, struggling to find the right phrase. ‘Do we have to go back in for a procedure like we did before?’ he asked gently.
She shook her head. ‘No. They have given me some medication, a pill, because I’m not bleeding or anything. I take the pill and it will help speed things along. Then I’ll miscarry, usually within a few days and it will be like having a period. She said that some women might have a heavy period and not even realise that it’s an early miscarriage. So it should be fine.’
Her tears came again, and both knew it was anything but fine.
‘Oh, Lucy. I am so sorry, my darling.’
‘Me too.’ She sniffed.
‘Have you taken the tablet?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I wanted you to be here when I did. Which is crazy because this little thing is already gone.’ At her words, her tears fell afresh. ‘But I still didn’t want to take it when I was on my own.’
‘I understand.’ He kissed her hand.
‘Dad?’ The shout from down the hall made them both jump.
‘Yes, love?’ he called out over his wife’s shoulder.
‘Can I get a blanket? I’m really cold.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He jumped up. ‘I shan’t be a sec,’ he whispered, as he left her alone.
Lucy sank down on to the pillows and thought how very lucky her husband was to be called Dad. She placed her hand on her tummy.
I’m sorry, little one. I am so, so sorry. I know it’s my fault. I should have listened to Jonah. Maybe I should have called you Iris. They are stronger than Daisies, that’s what he said. Maybe I should have called you Iris instead.
Sobbing, she closed her eyes, waiting for the morning.
After my second miscarriage I had a dark recurring thought that, try as I might, I couldn’t suppress. I fully understood that Jonah had Camille, that she was his baby girl and always would be. But I realised that the scene I had imagined for so long, that beautiful, life-defining moment when our baby was lifted from my body and handed over to him, would only ever be a rerun of what he had already experienced. And even that thought made me feel so sad. Like this might all be pointless. I was feeling the cloak of depression throw itself over my head. My failure to become a mother, the grief at my loss, it was all a little more than I could bear.
EIGHT
Over the following weeks, Lucy recovered, to a degree. She placed her baby book back behind its French Revolution wall and found that it helped to bury the hurt somewhere so deep inside her that even she couldn’t see it. The challenge of working with Tansy and John on this vital project served as a good diversion. It was a campaign to make business users aware of innovations in green energy and it would be a much-needed cash boost for the agency.
It was just as much of a challenge as living in a house where, on occasion, she felt like a stranger. Camille filled her days in a horizontal fashion, waking late and sloping to the sitting room, where she took up residence on the sofa. A collection of coffee cups, biscuit wrappers and empty crisp packets would gather around her, until she got bored of her latest box set and sloped back upstairs to the bathroom, where she would lie in the tub for hours, soaking in a scented bubbly marinade and listening to music. Then she would slide back to the bedroom, ready to sleep and repeat the next day.
‘I had a thought yesterday,’ Lucy chirped after a pleasant dinner of vegetarian nut loaf with couscous and a spicy tomato and basil dressing. She had laughed surreptitiously at the way Jonah searched the plate, hoping to find some meat lurking under the veg. ‘Why don’t you try and get a little job while you are here?’ She spoke as she stacked the dishwasher and Camille and Jonah dipped spoons directly into the ice-cream tub on the table.
Camille shot her fathe
r a look, as if waiting for him to jump in with a thousand reasons why she should be spared this ordeal.
‘Do you know, I think that’s a great idea!’ he chimed.
She saw Camille’s shoulders sink and her top lip flex slightly.
Jonah continued: ‘It would be a good way for you to meet people; it would give you a social life. Even if you are only here for a couple of months, I think it might help you get the best out of it. I worry you aren’t busy enough.’
Lucy loved that he echoed her thoughts on this; it felt good to know they were on the same page.
‘It’s hard for me to be busy; there’s nothing for me to do here.’ Camille ran the spoon along the edge of the ice cream, bringing a large curl of soft strawberry gelato up to her mouth which she devoured in a second.
‘Nothing to do? How can you say that? You are in London! One of the greatest cities on the earth; there’s so much to do here.’ Lucy kept her tone jovial, wary of further alienating Camille, the girl whose approval she continued to seek.
‘But I don’t know anyone, and so there’s no point in doing anything.’ The girl slumped over on her arm. Her thick hair lay in a fan across the tabletop.
‘That’s exactly why a job would be so good for you.’ Jonah nudged her. ‘You’d get to meet people – not only the people you worked with, but if you were in one of the shops, customers as well.’
Camille rolled her eyes.
‘And in the meantime, if you want me to take you to any of the sights, I’d be very happy to do that, Cam – we could go exploring one weekend?’ she offered brightly, planning days out in her head.
‘Like where?’ Camille sat up and stared at her.
‘I don’t know . . .’ Lucy thought hard. ‘The Tower of London, or the London Eye, or Harrods?’
Camille snorted her laughter. ‘Dad has dragged me around those places a million times. It’s all we used to do when I came to stay.’
‘I thought you liked our trips?’ He looked more than a little crestfallen.
‘I did, when I was like ten, but I don’t want to do them again. What else, Legoland?’
The Idea of You Page 11
