The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  Her mum’s words were loud in her head. She had never fully considered how she might raise her baby, unable to see past the romantic ideal of becoming a mother, wrapped up in her desire to hold the little thing that grew inside her and wholly diverted from the grief of losing her dad. She recalled another conversation between her and her mum, with Jan calmer and more quietly spoken: ‘You are in no position to care for a child, Lucy, and you are giving this couple the greatest gift. They are going to give her a wonderful life and you are like an angel to them . . .’

  ‘So did he take off, like young Dex?’ He spat the boy’s name, pulling her out of her memory.

  Lucy delivered her words slowly and calmly; she didn’t want to argue with him but knew this point was important. ‘Dex doesn’t know about the baby. Cam hasn’t told him.’

  Jonah twisted his jaw and said nothing, breathing heavily through his nose.

  ‘And no, Scott didn’t take off, because I never told him. As I said earlier, the only people that knew were my mum and me. It wouldn’t have served anything telling him, but it might have messed up things for him too and I didn’t want that. Thankfully my mum wasn’t hell-bent on punishing him and so he was free, ignorant of the thing that has been such a big part of my life.’

  ‘A big secret part of your life,’ he corrected her.

  ‘Yes!’ she agreed. ‘But I am trying to put that right. And this is what I mean about your response. You are confusing me, making me feel worse when all I am trying to do is explain to you just what it was like. I think all of the time about the day I had her, but strangely I never think about Scott. He faded from my mind almost instantly and now he is almost invisible.’

  Jonah sighed and seemed to relax a little, as if comforted by this new information. ‘I had this terrible thought in the middle of the night that maybe you were in touch, and that added a whole new layer of deceit for me.’

  ‘Good God, Jonah, no, no, not at all. Give me a bit more credit.’ She placed her hand on his arm, and noted how he stiffened involuntarily. She removed her fingers and coiled her hands against her throat. This one act of rejection showed her how far they had drifted, and it left her feeling bereft all over again. It made her feel dirty.

  ‘How did you keep it from everyone? Your pregnancy.’

  Lucy drew a deep breath. ‘By the time I plucked up the courage to tell my mum, I was nearly six months, but I was very sporty, skinny, and I didn’t really show that much at that stage. And my mum told the school I had glandular fever, and that’s what she told Fay, who was told to keep away or she’d get it. It was all part of the deceit. And then I went to hospital in Guildford, not that far from where we lived, and I had the baby and I gave her away and then I went home. And two weeks later I went back to school and caught up on what I had missed, industrious and quiet as ever. And Scott ignored me and I didn’t really care.’ She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her robe. ‘I was a different person. It was like part of me had died, and if I cried I said it was because I missed my dad, which I did, very much. It was really hard.’

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he offered softly.

  She whimpered at his show of kindness, and it angered her to be so in need of any crumb of affection he scattered.

  He nodded at her briefly. ‘I don’t know how to feel,’ he admitted. ‘I love you, I do. That’s not something I can switch off and I wouldn’t want to, but I am finding it really hard to get past the fact that you didn’t tell me. I am your husband; it was you and me against the world! That’s what I thought.’ He looked straight ahead.

  ‘That’s what I want!’ she urged.

  ‘But it’s not only about what you want, Lucy. It never was,’ he stated, coolly. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded.

  ‘Did you try to keep her?’

  Her tears turned to sobs that left her fighting for breath. ‘How can you ask me that? I was a little girl! I was sixteen, a young sixteen who had only ever known school and homework and Saturday nights at home with my family. I’d never worn make-up or been out much after dark. My mum said what we ate, what we wore, what time we went to bed, everything. I was a child and my mum made the decisions and I went along with it and it never ever occurred to me that I might have any other option. I didn’t have a voice!’ she howled. ‘But if I could go back – oh my God, if I could go back,’ she heaved, ‘I would fight, Jonah. I would fight for her, I would, my little girl.’

  He reached across and patted her back, a gesture that was so much less than she deserved at the height of her distress that she wished he hadn’t bothered. It felt conciliatory, insulting.

  ‘I fought back in my own little way. They told me not to feed her, but I did. I did.’ She sobbed, looking up at him briefly. ‘And I will never forget it. Never.’

  ‘What . . . what did you call her?’ he asked, visibly shaken by her words.

  ‘Bella. My daughter is called Bella May.’ Despite the desperate circumstances, to say her name aloud felt like the most wonderful thing in the world. ‘And I haven’t seen her since she was three days old.’

  ‘Bella May,’ he repeated. ‘How old is she now?’

  Lucy pushed her long hair behind her ears and fought for composure, as she looked at her husband. ‘She is twenty-four.’

  ‘And where is she?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know!’ Lucy screamed. ‘I don’t know! I don’t know! But I miss her. You have no idea how much, Jonah. I miss her so much that it hurts!’

  I heard them talking in the corridor. And with hindsight the fact that so many decisions were taken and so much planning was done without my consent, it seems inhuman, staggering. But at the time, I was used to being told what to do at school and at home, and this was just another big municipal building full of adults who all told me that they knew best and I didn’t question anything. I didn’t know I could. But when you were only hours old, I overheard a nurse saying to my mum, ‘It’s best that she doesn’t feed her. It won’t do either of them any good to bond in that way.’ Hearing these words fired something inside me. That was it, my one chance for us to bond, for me to imprint myself on to you, and even though I was little more than a child myself in so many ways, I was determined. And I did it. I held you close and I fed you, Bella, and it was . . . it was something that I think about in my darker moments. It hurt, but I thought that was part of my punishment and it didn’t matter. I overlooked the discomfort and stared into your beautiful, big blue eyes and I willed you to remember me and more importantly to remember just how much you were loved by me, your mum, in the short time we had together.

  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 what she had perceived to be a lifetime relationship was in fact a temporary thing, and the golden, shining future she had seen stretching ahead into the sunset was instead a wrong turn that led to a dead end. She pictured Richard with his face split into a grin as he proudly showed off Dominic Drake. The humiliation at having to make a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and start walking again, on legs weakened by humiliation and heavy with sadness, was far from easy to take. What made it all the harder
now was that unlike with any previous beaus, what she felt for Jonah was a deep, all-consuming love, which is why he was the one she had married.

  She spent the rest of the day and most of the next night sitting and waiting, for what, she wasn’t sure, but she found herself paralysed with indecision and sadness. Her distress was, however, tinged with a small amount of relief. It felt quite amazing to have shared her secret after all these years. Whatever the outcome with Jonah, it felt good that someone knew about Bella; it helped make her real. She put the television on and stared blankly at soap operas, the news, a movie, anything to help occupy the minutes that ticked by. Before falling asleep, she fired off a text to Camille.

  I am here if you need me or if you want to talk. Just say the word and I’ll be there. Take good care of you, Cam. I am thinking about you. Lucy Xx

  She woke the next day with a new-found clarity, wanting more than anything to talk to her mum. Reaching for her phone from the bedside table, her heart lifted to see there was a text waiting for her. She hoped it was from Camille. Closer inspection revealed it was from a pizza company local to Queen’s Park, offering a three-for-two deal for the weekend, which she deleted aggressively, angry with them for getting her hopes up.

  After showering and stepping into her jeans and a jersey, she grabbed her handbag and jumped into her car. With the radio on, she made her way out of town, passing through the busy streets at a snail’s pace as traffic clogged the arteries of the city, until eventually the car sped up, the air tasted sweeter, the houses were not quite so squashed together and she found herself in the leafy suburbs of Surrey where everything looked a little shinier.

  As she turned her car into the quiet cul-de-sac in which she had grown up, she pictured her dad standing in the front garden of a summer’s evening with his shirt sleeves rolled above the elbow, watering his shrubs and pulling any weeds that might mar his perfect borders.

  Her heart sank as she recognised Fay and Adam’s car in the driveway. She had been hoping to find her mum alone. She sat in the car, toying with the idea of leaving without going in, wondering if she could execute a speedy three-point turn and disappear. This was beginning to feel like the best idea when her plan was foiled. Her sister spotted her car from the lounge window, robbing her of anonymity as she ran to the front door, flinging it open and smiling broadly.

  Lucy took a deep breath and parked the car.

  ‘Well, what a shocker! Didn’t expect to see you here today! Bagsy not sharing my pudding with you – we only have three. Mum’s bought individual chocolate pots for the grown-ups and there’s no way I’m giving you mine!’

  ‘You can keep your pudding!’ Despite the heaviness of her heart she was happy to see her sister, who sounded about as far from a grown-up as you could get.

  Fay greeted her with a hug. ‘To what do we owe this honour? Are you lost? Have you taken a wrong turn on your way somewhere far more exotic?’

  Lucy held her tight and closed her eyes. Her sister had no idea just how much of a wrong turn. ‘Very funny.’ She walked into the house and hung her bag on the banister before making her way into the large kitchen-diner where everyone was congregating.

  ‘Keep the noise down.’ Fay pointed upstairs. ‘Adam’s just putting Maisie in her cot for a nap.’

  ‘Oh, Lucy! What a lovely surprise. Have you eaten?’ Her mum looked at the chicken pie on the worktop.

  ‘I haven’t, but don’t worry. I’m really not hungry. Fay has already broken the news that there are not enough chocolate pots for me.’ She saw the relief spread across her mum’s face.

  ‘Hiya, trouble!’ Lucy walked over to the table where Rory sat with his tongue poking out of his mouth as he coloured in a picture with his array of pencils. ‘What’s that you’re doing?’ She bobbed down to the level of the tabletop.

  ‘I’m colouring in this scene from Star Wars,’ he replied without looking up, with a slight impatience to his tone, as if what he was doing was quite obvious and he would prefer not to be disturbed. ‘Is Camille coming here?’ His eyes suddenly brightened at the prospect.

  She shook her head. ‘Afraid not, Rory. She’s busy.’

  His noisy sigh told her all she needed to know.

  Lunch was the diversion she needed. While everyone else eagerly tucked into the pie, Lucy picked at a large bowl of salad and nibbled on a baked potato. The conversation flew back and forth across the table, with Rory telling all in great detail about his new invention for a flying car with stealth capabilities and an ice-cream dispenser.

  ‘I think there would be a big call for those, Rory.’ Lucy nodded. ‘I would definitely buy one.’

  ‘Maybe Uncle Jonah can sell them in his posh showrooms, eh?’ Adam winked at his sister-in-law and she smiled, ignoring the flip in her stomach at the very mention of his name. She felt sad that Jonah was so integrated into her family, so loved, and yet his links to them were looking more and more fragile by the day.

  It might have been Lucy’s imagination, but it was as if her mum sensed all was not well. It was possible that she noticed the fatigue etched on her daughter’s face, the straining of her neck muscles or the way her fingers strummed the tabletop as she waited for the opportunity to speak to her alone.

  Lucy held her gaze a couple of times, her eyes unsmiling.

  It was as the three adults dug into their chocolate pots with gusto and Rory was enjoying a less sugary children’s version that a faint bleating came from the worktop.

  ‘Oh, great timing, Maisie!’ Fay stared at the baby monitor and hurriedly placed the spoonful of dark dessert into her mouth before pulling the spoon out clean and placing it down as she prepared to leave the table.

  The time had come.

  ‘You finish your pud. I’ll go,’ Lucy chirped. ‘Mum, give me a hand?’

  ‘Oh!’ Jan looked taken aback. Her eyes darted to the busy table that she felt required her presence. ‘Yes, of course. You go and grab her. I’ll be one sec.’

  ‘Are you sure, sis? She might need changing.’ Fay pulled a face.

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’ Lucy hurried from the kitchen and up the stairs to her mum’s bedroom, where Maisie’s travel cot had been placed in the corner of the room. The little girl lay pulling at her feet, which were up in the air, and she part whimpered, part chatted. She was a happy little thing.

  ‘Hello, Maisie! Hello, you gorgeous baby! Look at you – you look so big!’ She reached in and lifted the smiling child into her arms, loving the solidity of her against her chest, inhaling the wonderful fresh scent of a newly woken infant, and ignoring the flash of hurt that this was not her child. ‘How have you been, beautiful girl? How’s things in the world of Maisie, hey? Pretty good I would imagine.’ She kissed her several times on the face, and in response the little girl batted her away with her chubby hands. ‘Right, let’s get your wet bum changed.’ She laid her on the changing mat that had been propped by the side of the bed, and rummaged around among the bags and baby paraphernalia, looking for a nappy.

  ‘I can’t find anything!’ She laughed at Maisie, who found the whole thing amusing. ‘It’s not funny! I can’t send you down without getting you changed or your mum will know how useless I actually am. And that would never do.’ She lay her palm on Maisie’s tum and bent over to kiss her. She found her irresistible.

  ‘The nappies are in the side pocket.’ Her mum’s voice drifted from behind her.

  ‘Oh, thanks.’

  Her mum bent down and reached for a nappy, passing it to her.

  She decided to cut to the chase. ‘Jonah and I have had a massive row.’

  ‘Oh no, I am sorry to hear that, Lucy. I did think it was strange that you pitched up here unannounced and alone. You are of course welcome anytime, but that kind of spontaneity is not really you.’

  ‘I guess not.’ She ran the wet wipe over Maisie’s soft skin and reached for the talcum powder.

  ‘Well, I do hope you get it resolved quickly. He’s a good man and he’s good for you. Noth
ing is worth falling out over, not really,’ she remarked.

  ‘I told him about Bella.’

  At the sound of the name, which neither of them had spoken aloud in over twenty years, her mum seemed to sway a little. She took a step towards the bed, sitting sharply on the edge, as if to stop herself from falling.

  ‘You did?’ Her voice was a whisper.

  ‘Yes.’ Lucy nodded. She let this fact permeate for a second or two before speaking again, waiting for a response from her mum that didn’t come. ‘He knows, and so does Camille, and so I suspect will others over a period of time. People like having secrets or, more specifically, they like telling secrets.’ She nodded at this universal truth.

  ‘I thought you had put it behind you, after all this time . . .’ Her mum’s voice was shaky.

  ‘Put it behind me?’ Lucy laughed a little louder than she had intended. ‘I had a baby, a little girl, just like Maisie here, and she was beautiful. And you took her from me when she was three days old and it ripped my heart in two and it has never healed, not properly. How could I possibly put that behind me?’ It felt surreal after all these years to finally be able to voice the words that had hovered in her throat on so many occasions. She watched her mum’s mouth twist.

  ‘I didn’t take her from you.’ Her mum’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You were sixteen. It was for the best.’

  ‘The best for whom?’ she asked, rhetorically, as her own tears matched her mum’s. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t know if it was the best for Bella, who has grown up thinking that I didn’t want her. And certainly not the best for me, who has ached every single day for my daughter, not knowing where she lives, how she is, who brought her up or even if she is still alive!’ Her tears fell fast, and Maisie, alerted by the change in atmosphere, began to cry. Lucy picked her up from the changing mat and cradled her into her shoulder. ‘Shh . . . it’s okay, little one, don’t cry, my darling,’ she cooed, while her fat tears slipped into Maisie’s fine cap of blonde hair.