The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  She had nodded, deciding not to reply that she was tempted to whip off her big-girl shoes and whack him around the head with them, the sexist pig. She couldn’t begin to imagine him talking to one of her male peers in the same condescending manner.

  I hate my job, she thought as she left the building. But this wasn’t true; she only hated her job today. In fact she loved her job. It gave her a huge sense of fulfilment every day to make her way across the foyer to the office with her name on the door, proof that she had broken through the ranks and made a mark. Her goal now was to promote others who were struggling with that glass ceiling; she wanted to help them smash through and would then encourage them to give her boss a virtual kick up the butt with their very own pair of big-girl shoes.

  Pushing open the door, she took the two steps down into the kitchen, where there was the distinct mood of celebration. Jonah stood with his back to her, prepping two fat steaks with olive oil and salt and pepper, while seasoned vegetable kebabs of peppers, onions, mushrooms and courgettes awaited the grill, and Camille danced around the kitchen with music Lucy didn’t recognise playing in the background. She swayed from side to side with her eyes closed and her arms stretched, trance-like, in front of her. The beat was loud and irregular, and Lucy smiled at the thought that she would actually rather be listening to Bon Jovi; at least then she could sing along. She knew if she shared this with her husband he would be delighted at how far she had come.

  ‘Hello!’ she called with a sense of embarrassment that she found hard to justify; she was, after all, only returning home to her husband and stepdaughter at the end of a busy day.

  ‘Hey! Hello, you.’ Jonah leant backwards and she pecked his upside-down cheek.

  ‘This is some music.’ She gave him a false bright smile, showing all of her teeth.

  ‘Tell me about it.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s Foals apparently.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ She nodded, none the wiser.

  ‘Guess what?’ Jonah smiled at her, as he set the steak aside and began to cube yet more onions and courgettes on the chopping board.

  ‘What?’ She was eager to catch up and join in.

  ‘I got a job!’ Camille jumped up and down and actually grabbed her by the shoulders for a second. It was a rare and welcome display of physical contact.

  ‘Oh, Cam, that’s great! I am so pleased for you. Where will you be working?’

  ‘At Bill’s; you know, the retro store? It’s amazing; you know how much I love fashion? Well, they sell vintage pieces and reproduction vintage pieces and it’s really cool and they could do with the help, part-time, for a few weeks, and they said that if it works out, whenever I come back I can go in and help out, just casually. I’ve got a job!’ She began jumping up and down again, hugging herself.

  ‘That is just brilliant.’ Lucy was pleased, not only to see the girl’s joy at securing her first job – she remembered how good that felt – but also that Camille had hinted that she might like to come back after this trip, meaning that her stay with them couldn’t be that bad, not if she was planning to repeat it. ‘You should be so proud of yourself. Getting a job, any job, is a real achievement and it shows gumption and drive. Well done, Camille. I see a lot of job applications and it’s always those people who have worked hard, used their gumption and got out there that interest me the most.’

  ‘That’s pretty much what I said,’ Jonah piped up from the counter where he was working. ‘I figured we needed to celebrate, hence the finest fillet steak, twice-cooked chips and a ratatouille to accompany. And for you, this.’ He reached behind the fruit bowl and produced a large glass of red wine, which he placed into her hand.

  ‘Ooh, I don’t mind if I do.’ Lucy took up a seat at the kitchen table, deciding to join in rather than go and change into her comfortable clothes and miss out on the bonhomie that filled the room, bounced off the ceiling and fell to the floor like a sparkling mist.

  ‘I called Mum. She’s so happy, and very proud, like off the scale! She said that if she were nearer she’d take me out for a manicure or a massage, or some other treat. I miss her so much.’ Camille pouted.

  ‘Oh, that’s a great idea! I can take you out for a manicure if you like? There’s a great place on the Kilburn High Road. Would you like that? Your mum’s right – we should celebrate. Your first job is a big deal,’ Lucy enthused.

  ‘How about that, Cam?’ Jonah encouraged, in the way Fay did when trying to get Maisie to eat her greens.

  The girl shook her head and sank down on to the bench. ‘No, it’s okay.’ She studied her nails and drummed her fingers in time to the slowing beat of the song.

  And just like that, Lucy was again reduced to the role of outsider. She sipped the wine, which had become strangely sour on her tongue, and could think of nothing to say as Camille and Jonah criss-crossed banter from one side of the room to the other, planning how she would spend her first pay packet and what new clothes she might need to complete the right look for the store.

  ‘I can see this is going to end up costing us a fortune, eh, Lucy?’ he guffawed.

  Camille gave a mock sigh and threw a dishcloth at her dad, while Lucy nodded meekly and sat watching, feeling like a spectator who had been put in the cheap seats, far from the action, with something immovable blocking her view.

  She was more than happy when the time came to climb between the sheets. She was tired, but still decided to attempt a little bit of knitting before she fell asleep. It helped her switch off. Unfurling the new pattern, she smiled at the picture of the tiny pale-pink wrap-around ballet cardigan before picking up the loose ball of wool and rubbing it across her cheek. It was gloriously soft, and she got goosebumps imagining a baby girl wearing it in her arms. She cast on with the same enthusiasm she always felt when starting a new garment, buoyed by the thought that with nothing more than this long twist of delicate yarn and these two narrow metal sticks, she could create something beautiful and practical. It still thrilled her, the idea that one day her baby might feel the touch of this wool against skin. By knitting she felt that she was keeping the dialogue open between her life now and her future life, as a mum. She let her mind get lost in the rhythm of the click and clack and the slow count of stitches: one, two, three, loop, three, two, one, loop . . .

  ‘You’re still awake?’ Jonah’s question, as he crept into the room, sounded a little accusatory, as if she might be hiding. Or maybe that was just her guilt being pricked, as his words probably held more than an element of truth.

  ‘Yes. Thought I’d nod off, but I seem to have got into my pattern.’ She held up the picture and saw him take a big swallow, as if even to see the picture, a reminder, brought him a measure of sadness. And for this she was glad, happy to see that his often jovial banter and seemingly easy acceptance of their childless state was not as clear cut as it seemed. It gave her comfort to know that he was still on board.

  ‘Great news about Camille’s little job, isn’t it?’ He changed the topic as he placed his cufflinks in the little pewter dish on his bedside table.

  ‘It really is.’ With the rhythm of her craft broken, Lucy finished up for the night, wrapping the wool around the needles and the half-made garment before stowing the bundle on the shelf in her bedside cabinet.

  ‘She’s feeling very pleased with herself.’ He smiled as he unbuttoned his shirt and rolled his cuffs, rubbing his neck with his palm where his collar had irritated.

  ‘It was a good idea of mine to go and distribute the letters with her; otherwise I think they might still be sitting in a pile in the sitting room, gathering dust.’ She spoke a little curtly.

  ‘Did she say thank you?’ he asked, taking her cue that she had played a part.

  ‘At the time, probably, yes. I don’t remember exactly.’ She pulled her knees up under the duvet and sat back against the headboard.

  ‘Well, all right then.’ He placed his watch on the bedside table and opened the drawer to remove one of the oversized T-shirts that he slept in. They
nearly all bore the logos of motor companies, freebies given out at various events. There was a beat of expectation, heavy in the air, that this was not the end of the conversation.

  ‘I do find that generally, though, she isn’t that thankful, more expectant if anything, confident that things are going to get done for her and that’s just the way it is! I suppose the word I am trying to avoid is “lazy”.’ She let her hands rise and then fall against the duvet.

  Jonah pulled the cotton top over his head and placed his hands on his hips. ‘Are you trying to start a fight?’ He walked over and sat facing her on the edge of the mattress. ‘This doesn’t sound like you.’

  ‘Well, maybe it is me and I’ve just been swallowing all the things I wanted to say for the last few weeks for fear of telling the truth,’ she blurted, feeling her cheeks flame.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ He shook his head in confusion. ‘What things?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She looked to the ceiling, trying to put into order what bothered her the most, aware as she drew up her mental list of how minor they sounded. ‘Little things, like the fact that Camille should be putting her coffee mugs in the bloody dishwasher and not leaving them all over the house so we actually run out of mugs and I have to go foraging for one before I can make a hot drink. Or the fact that she has an inability to throw her dirty laundry in the basket, and she stores wrappers and packets under the sofa!’ She beat the duvet in exasperation.

  ‘She’s a teenager; I think they are oblivious to that kind of thing.’ He tried out a small laugh, as if he might be able to turn the air of tension into one of joviality with a bit of well-placed humour. It didn’t work.

  Lucy continued. ‘And when I came home tonight, she has her music playing loudly, but we have a set thing, we play each other’s music and it’s funny and she comes along and whacks on whatever that was and we just put up with it!’

  Jonah stared at her. ‘Are you being serious right now?’

  She continued. ‘Yes! Yes, I am. It’s like there’s this little Jonah and Cammie club and I haven’t been invited to join. I’m not part of the gang. She makes me feel like an outsider and this is supposed to be my home, but it’s clearly her home and I don’t know where I fit in. Or even if I fit in!’

  ‘I honestly cannot work out if you are being serious.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘I don’t know where this is coming from or what’s going on.’

  ‘Yes! I’m being serious. She won’t let me get close to her, not even a little bit – and trust me, I have tried. She verbally beats me with how wonderful her mum is and that makes me feel like crap, like it’s a competition.’ It was as if her thoughts had been uncorked, and once she started speaking, the words frothed from her, spilling over and leaving their mark.

  ‘Every time I take a step towards her, invite her out, try to chat, anything at all, she takes two steps in the opposite direction, and I’m running out of space. She’s up against a wall and I’m running headlong into it!’ She was aware she had probably raised her voice, and this was confirmed by the way Jonah darted his gaze towards the closed bedroom door, a silent reminder that Camille was only a few feet away along the landing.

  ‘Listen to yourself, Lucy – coffee cups and biscuit wrappers, it all sounds so petty!’ he spat.

  ‘That’s me, petty,’ she answered sarcastically. ‘Do you have any idea what it has done to me? Losing my babies? Have you any concept of the emotional roller coaster that I am riding without a seat belt? I am bruised, I am hurt and I am scared, Jonah! I want a family, and as if that wasn’t hard enough to contend with, I’m not sure you feel the same. And Camille . . .’ She looked away. ‘She knows how to pour salt on to my wounds. That’s how it feels.’

  He took a deep breath while they both reloaded, and she hoped for a change of tack. His words when they came were delivered slowly and quietly.

  ‘She’s a little girl who is a long way from home and is probably trying her very best to fit in,’ he whispered.

  She noted the tension to his jaw. It was interesting to her that he only chose to address this one aspect of her outpouring.

  ‘Oh please, Jonah! She might only be sixteen, but she is very aware of what she does and how she does it.’

  ‘Have you any idea what you sound like?’ He narrowed his gaze. ‘You sound jealous, horribly jealous, and it is very unattractive.’

  Lucy took a sharp breath, wounded by his words. ‘Well, I am sorry if you feel that way. But if I am jealous it’s because I’ve been pushed out and I have tried every which way to find a gap, to wriggle into the inner circle, but she won’t let me.’ She cursed her tears that now fell, finding their way into her open mouth.

  Jonah edged forward on the mattress. The sight of her tears seemed to have stirred something inside him. ‘I think you are very tired and I think you are still grieving; your body has been through a lot and your hormones are still all over the place and that is only to be expected.’

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’ It was a rare use of bad language in their home. ‘Don’t you dare try to blame the state in which we live on my hormones! Don’t you dare!’ Her voice squeaked, her throat taut with emotion.

  Jonah paused and blinked. She got the overwhelming feeling that her outburst might only be confirming to him that he was on the right track, and this idea made her cry harder.

  ‘Maybe having Camille here is a reminder of what we don’t share, but I promise you, Lucy, it’s ridiculous to feel that way. We can share Camille. You need to drop your guard and give her a chance.’

  She sniffed at her tears, her body longing for him to place his arms around her and her mind wanting him to leave her alone. She gave a small nod.

  He wasn’t done. ‘I also think it might be an idea if we go and talk to our doctor, see if he has any advice on how we get through this and just have a chat.’

  Lucy looked up through her tear-filled lashes, nervous of seeking outside help, yet tempted by the possibility. ‘Do you . . . do you think he might be able to do something that would help me keep a baby?’

  Despite agreeing that the best thing they could do was wait, this faint glimmer of light on a dark horizon was something to which she was instantly and powerfully drawn.

  ‘I think it’s worth a chat,’ he whispered. ‘I was also thinking that he might be able to give you something that might help you mentally – do you think you might be a bit depressed?’

  ‘I am not depressed,’ she whispered. ‘I am sad, and there’s a world of difference.’

  Jonah reached out and wrapped her in his arms. She placed her hand on the flat of his chest, feeling his heart beat against her fingers.

  ‘It’s okay, Lucy,’ he murmured.

  ‘I . . . I love you,’ she managed through her tears. He kissed her head and her tears fell anew. Rather than the kiss, she had wanted to hear his response, the three little words of reassurance that would make everything feel a little better.

  Camille sat with a small smile on her mouth as she tucked into her cereal. It was rare for the girl to be up this early, joining her and Jonah as they drank their morning coffee and prepared for their day. It was as if she didn’t want to miss out, almost like she was enjoying the tension. Lucy shook this from her mind; maybe Jonah was right and she was being petty.

  ‘So when do you start your new job?’ she asked, as she took a seat opposite Camille at the table.

  ‘This afternoon. But it’s only to watch and learn how to work the cash register,’ Camille answered with a mouth full of cereal.

  ‘You’ll be great. I’m sure.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘Would you like me to walk up and meet you? What time do you finish?’

  ‘Six-thirty.’

  ‘Okay, well, I’ll come straight from the station if you like and we can walk home, two working girls together.’

  Camille nodded. Lucy felt Jonah’s large hands on her shoulders before he bent low and spoke into her ear. ‘I love you, Mrs Carpenter.’

  And the
fact that this felt like a reward for doing and saying the right thing made her skin bristle.

  Lucy thought about what Jonah had said, and after careful consideration she dialled the number. She knew she would find it easier to go and talk to Dr Millard alone. She would then, of course, give Jonah a full rundown of what he had said. She managed to get an appointment early afternoon and left work early.

  She sat in the waiting room watching the screen for her name to pop up. Sitting in the small room surrounded by new mums and expectant women was its own form of torture. Rather than engage with them, she buried her face in her phone and counted down the seconds until she was called. It was a huge relief to see her name flashing on the screen.

  ‘How can I help you today?’ The older man’s officious manner made her speak quickly, aware that time was of the essence. She clutched her handbag on her lap.

  ‘I have had two early miscarriages in the last few months, both quite early in the pregnancies.’ She tried to focus on a chart on the wall, looking at the pyramid of numbers, anything other than give in to the emotion that threatened.

  ‘Yes, I see from your records that conceiving is not the problem for you.’ He paused and smiled at her.

  She felt a thin film of cold sweat cover her skin, and her arms ran to goosebumps. ‘No. Conceiving is not the problem.’

  ‘So, recently,’ the doctor continued, ‘we have had one conception that resulted in an ERPC after severe bleeding and the other was deemed to have failed at scan, so’ – he ran his finger over the screen – ‘you took a pill and administered a pessary.’ He read from the screen to his right through his thick-lensed glasses. Of course, her hospital visits were linked to her medical records, so Dr Millard was well aware. Of everything.

  Lucy stared at the chart on the wall, watching as the numbers fogged into one another. She remembered how the first time she had heard the phrase ‘ERPC’ she had had to ask what it was. The busy nurse had given her a leaflet, and that was where she read the definition for the first time: ‘Evacuation of Retained Products of Conception.’ It was so horrible, so jarring, that she had to read it again: ‘Evacuation of Retained Products of Conception.’ Lucy had looked up at Jonah, both a little traumatised by this grotesque, mechanical description for what would be happening to her. He had gripped her hand as she read further: ‘This means the removal of the remains of the pregnancy and surrounding tissue.’