The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘Oh God!’ Camille placed her hand over her mouth. ‘It’s so cool!’ she cried. ‘It’s brilliant. Thank you!’ She looked at Lucy and Jonah. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you both.’

  ‘Well, luckily you’ll never have to find out.’ Lucy smiled, guessing by the way Camille rubbed her tum and blotted her tears that her thoughts were with Dex. She silently resolved to try once again to encourage her to make contact with him and tell him what was going on.

  Later, the party headed up the stairs to admire the nursery, which looked spacious now all the clutter had been removed and the cot stood in one corner with the changing station opposite. The ceiling was peppered with clouds. It was beautiful and peaceful. Folded neatly in the top drawer of the chest of drawers were Lucy’s hand-knitted baby clothes. Handing over her crop of baby clothes had felt to Lucy like an admission that she was never going to need them, and just the thought of this brought tears to her eyes and a sting of loss to her heart.

  But the jolt of joy she felt to think that a baby would finally grace them – even if it wasn’t to be her own – almost outweighed the feeling of despair.

  Fay and Adam stood on the landing, peering in at Lucy and Camille’s handiwork.

  ‘I love what you have done in here!’ Jan clucked approvingly.

  Camille beamed. ‘We wanted something that was a bit quirky and cool, something neutral, but not cold – like a linen or a light khaki.’

  ‘Did Fay tell you to say that?’ Lucy screeched.

  ‘Yes!’ Camille laughed. ‘I have no idea what it means.’

  ‘It means my little sister likes to have the last word and thinks she’s so cool!’ Lucy thumped her on the arm, playfully.

  ‘You were lucky, Cam. When she knew you were coming, Lucy toyed with the idea of giving you a pink feature wall! You should be thanking me. I saved you from that horror.’ She poked out her tongue in disgust.

  ‘I love my bedroom. I love every bit of it. I couldn’t believe that she had done that all for me!’

  Lucy beamed. This was good to know.

  They all made their way down the stairs, apart from Jan, who hovered next to Lucy as she ran her hand over the cot where her hand-knitted blanket lay on top of the little mattress.

  ‘I have always been proud of what you have achieved, darling – your amazing jobs, your beautiful apartment. It all came to you because you are smart and work so hard, but the truth is’ – Jan composed herself – ‘all I ever really wanted was for you to find the courage to be truly happy.’

  ‘I am happy, Mum.’ She spoke with a thick throat. ‘I think I’m learning that maybe you don’t get everything in life, but you can be happy with the gifts you have.’

  ‘I think that’s true, but doing all this for Camille’ – she waved her arm in an arc around the room – ‘it can’t be easy for you.’

  ‘It’s not, but it still feels good to do the right thing for her, to support her. After all, she’s having my grandchild.’ She smiled.

  ‘I am so proud of the woman you became.’ Jan spoke with misted eyes. Lucy stepped forward and fell against her mum for a hug. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her mum, holding on and savouring the contact that she had craved.

  ‘Also . . .’ Lucy began.

  ‘What, darling?’ Jan released her daughter and gripped the side of the cot, as if bracing herself for bad news.

  ‘I thought about what you said and I have written to an agency to see if Bella has registered an interest to get in contact. I wrote her a long letter, poured my heart out really, and I don’t know if she will ever get it, but I am glad I’ve done it.’

  ‘Oh, Lucy!’ Jan reached up and took her baby girl back into her arms. ‘I shall keep everything, everything crossed!’ she cried, as she crushed her to her.

  Christmas had come and gone and had been a relatively quiet affair. She and Jonah had agreed that they would have been perfectly happy to skip the season this year and jump straight into the new year when the baby’s arrival would be getting closer. The whole family had congregated for a stunning festive lunch at Fay’s house, where Lucy was barred from the kitchen, all had worn flimsy paper hats and sung carols, and Camille had played endless board games with Rory.

  In Lucy’s view, the best evenings of the holiday period had seen the three of them sat in front of the fire at home, making plans for the new arrival. It was only in the early hours, when drowsy from sleep her hand snaked to her stomach in dreamlike confusion, thinking it was her baby they had been planning for, that her sadness struck.

  It was one wintry day in that twilight time between Christmas and new year that she and Jonah bustled in from the cold. The coffee and cake they had eaten at Gail’s had fuelled them all the way home. Camille was in her room, napping no doubt. Lucy stooped to gather the post from the floor where it had been pushed against the wall, while her husband went ahead and flicked on the lamps. She leafed casually through the uninspiring envelopes, until the last envelope in the stack caught her eye. She placed the bundle on the sideboard, but kept this envelope in her hands.

  ‘Jonah,’ she called softly, as she made her way into the sitting room. He was crouched on the floor, setting the fire with kindling and piling up the logs to ensure a cosy temperature. ‘Jonah,’ she repeated, as her finger slid along the gummed edge and flipped it open.

  Lucy gasped and sank down on to the rug, collapsing in a heap, as her tears made reading impossible. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Help me! Jonah, help me!’ she cried, handing him the page she had extracted with trembling fingers.

  Jonah stood and took the sheet from her. He smoothed it in his palm and read aloud. His words danced in the air and settled on her like sparkling fairy dust.

  Dear Lucy,

  Hope it’s okay to call you Lucy. ‘Mrs Carpenter’ sounds too formal and ‘Mum’ a little weird.

  Jonah paused to control the catch in his voice and sob in his throat. For Lucy it was as if time stood still. She held her breath, scared to move in case she woke up and found that this glorious moment was merely a dream.

  Jonah coughed and continued:

  It was an extraordinary thing to receive your letter – wonderful and alarming at the same time. In answer to one of your questions, my name is Bella. My parents kept my name and I have always liked it.

  My mum and dad, Ivy and Graham, have told me as much about you as they could remember and any other bits of information that they picked up. Like the fact that you had long dark hair and you had one sister. My mum told me that your mum, my nan, I guess, seemed lovely. These details have remained vivid in my memory, and so I guess, with these snippets in mind, I was not wholly surprised to receive your letter. I think it’s important to tell you that I had a wonderful childhood and I have a good life. I am happy. My mum also said that she always had the feeling that giving me up for adoption was not an easy decision for you and that she thought you would always carry me with you. Throughout my life, this idea has given me a really nice feeling . . .

  Lucy’s sobbing was loud and invasive. Jonah stopped reading and dropped to his knees to hold her. ‘Don’t cry, darling. Please don’t cry. This is such a wonderful thing, a letter from Bella!’ He smiled as he kissed her.

  Lucy shook her head and braced her arms against his for support, it was some while before she could speak. ‘No, Jonah, you don’t’ – she gulped – ‘you don’t understand.’ Her face crumpled again until she managed to compose herself a little and continue. ‘The baby I mourn, the newborn I picture, she’s gone. This is a letter from a grown woman and it’s made me see that I have lost her. I lost her, Jonah! My baby, my little girl – she doesn’t exist any more, does she?’ She slumped forward into her husband’s arms.

  ‘No, my Lucy, she doesn’t exist. She is all grown-up, but she has grown up happy!’ He pulled his arm free and again unfurled the sheet of paper. ‘“I had a wonderful childhood and I have a good life. I am happy”,’ he read aloud. ‘That’s what it says, right here,
and that is the most you can ever ask for where your children are concerned.’

  She looked up at him, her tears slowed and her heart stopped racing. ‘She is happy,’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes!’ he pressed. ‘She is happy and she has a lovely life and that means you made the right decision. You did the right thing. You gave her security. You gave her happiness.’

  ‘I did. I gave her happiness. My beautiful Bella.’

  Lucy sat back on the rug and stared at her husband, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘You are right. All these years I have spent worrying that she might be cold or hungry or scared. I have pictured every horrible scenario you can imagine, and the feeling that I couldn’t get to her, couldn’t make it better, has haunted me. But she was happy.’

  ‘Yes! She was happy, “a wonderful childhood”,’ he read again.

  Lucy felt the beginnings of a smile twitch on her lips. She looked up at the window as a shard of winter sunlight pierced through the trees and fell in front of her, bringing light into a dark place.

  ‘There’s more, darling.’ He read on, and Lucy sat with fists clenched, listening to every word. The second half of Bella’s letter, however, cut Lucy to the core, dashing her hopes and sending her spiralling into a dark place of self-recrimination and regret. She learned that Bella was a statistician who worked for a bank and was engaged to a quiet man, Tom. But it wasn’t these facts that bothered her. Those were not the words to be analysed and pored over in the dead of night. It was another seven or so lines that caused her heart to sink into her boots.

  I do not think there would be any value in us meeting or indeed exchanging further correspondence. I am of course grateful for the life you gave me and for the brave decision you made to give me up for adoption. I have a wonderful family and I fear any further involvement with you might unsettle the people I love the most and might unsettle me too. Thank you, Lucy, for getting in touch. I shall treasure your letter and like to think that you might do the same with mine.

  With very best wishes,

  Bella

  Lucy read the words again and again, until she knew them by heart, and the more she recited them, analysed them and considered them, the more something unexpected happened. The words blunted and became easier to digest, until Lucy finally reached a point of acceptance. Bella had a good life. A good life! And if that wasn’t the goal for her daughter, then she wasn’t sure what was. It was as if with this realisation the cloak of guilt, worry and shame that had weighed her down for all these years was lifted. It felt good.

  The next three months passed by in a blur of excitement and anticipation of the baby’s arrival. By the time the end of March and Camille’s due date drew near, every blanket they could possibly need was folded and ready, and nutritious breastfeeding snacks filled the cupboards and freezer, leaving Lucy free to focus on keeping Camille’s stress levels to a minimum.

  In the early hours one morning, Lucy was sleeping soundly with Jonah’s arm cast over her shoulder when she became aware of a light rapping on the door.

  ‘Hello?’ She sat up, reaching for the bedside lamp and rubbing her eyes.

  Camille crept into the room and held on to the end of their bed. ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Yes, darling? Are you okay?’ Her adrenaline began to pump and she reached a state of full alertness very quickly.

  Camille shook her head. ‘I need you to call Dex.’ After speaking his name, she whimpered, and her tears fell. ‘I need you to tell Dex that I need him and that I love him and that I am having our baby. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘Oh, sweetie, don’t cry! Please don’t cry. Yes, I can do that for you if you really want me to, but I think it would be better coming from you, and you don’t need to worry about it right now. Your sleep is too important,’ she soothed.

  ‘Lucy is right, Cam. You and Dex should have that conversation,’ Jonah added from the pillow where he now lay awake. ‘But she can sit right by your side if that helps?’

  ‘No.’ Camille shook her head again and bent forward a little. ‘I can’t call him. It’s too late because I am having our baby now. Right now.’ She leant heavily on the bed.

  ‘Oh shit!’ Jonah jumped out of bed and gathered his jeans from the floor. Lucy swung her legs in an arc from the mattress, leapt out of bed and placed her arms on Camille’s shoulders. She remembered the ice-cold knot of fear that had gripped her when in the first throes of labour; she had only been able to think of what lay ahead and the horror stories she had heard.

  ‘Sit down, Cam.’ The girl did as she was told. ‘Now, you are going to keep calm and everyone is going to look after you and this is going to be fine, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Camille nodded at her, her face pale with fear.

  ‘Your bag is already packed, so we just need a minute to get dressed and grab the car keys. Okay?’ she asked again, trying to keep her own nerves at bay.

  Camille nodded.

  ‘Are you having contractions?’ Lucy asked, as Jonah rushed to the bathroom with his shoes in one hand.

  ‘Yes. And they’re getting stronger.’ She closed her eyes.

  ‘Good, that’s great!’ She smiled to mask her own turbulent flurry of pain, envy and regret. ‘We will stay with you, Cam, and you have nothing to think about or worry about other than keeping calm and delivering this baby.’ She kissed her forehead, which was a little clammy.

  ‘Please, Lucy, please’ – she winced a little as a sharper pain bit – ‘please tell Dex!’

  ‘I will. I promise.’ She felt her stomach drop at the prospect, as they made their way to the car in the dark of night.

  As Jonah held Camille’s hand and the nurse pushed her wheelchair from the lift up to the delivery suite, Lucy hovered in the reception and used Camille’s phone to call Dex.

  ‘Cam! I was wondering if you would call me. It’s been a while. Thought you were ignoring me.’ He sounded excited to hear from Camille after her imposed radio silence, and Lucy considered this a good sign. It had been a delicate battle, trying to encourage Camille to confide in the boy, while being wary of imposing anything on her. Lucy knew above all else how important it was that her stepdaughter felt like she was in control during this tumultuous time.

  ‘Dex, it’s Lucy here, actually, Cam’s stepmum?’

  ‘Oh, hi, Lucy. How are you? Is everything okay?’ He was smart enough to know that if his on-off girlfriend’s stepmother was calling him from the other side of the world at ten o’clock at night, his time, the chances were that something was not okay, and in this assumption, he was correct. ‘You’ll have to speak up. I’m in a busy street and there’s cars and people – it’s a bit crazy!’ he informed her.

  Lucy pictured him on a New York street, living a life that she was about to alter. She held the receiver to her mouth and spoke slowly and clearly, knowing that for Dex things were about to get a whole lot crazier.

  ‘This is going to come as a bit of a surprise, but the thing is, Dex . . .’ she began.

  Standing alone in the lift that took her up to the delivery floor was a strange experience. Each time she had entered this hospital in various stages of pregnancy, this had always been the goal: to enter this lift, with her ID sticker firmly in place and the beat of an intensifying labour in her groin. And yet here she was, alone, coming to assist as another woman gave birth. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the task in hand: being there for Camille at this time.

  Wandering out of the lift was like stepping from a time machine. It could have been a winter’s night in 1994. There were smiling nurses and busy midwives, nervous, pacing dads, some beaming into phones as they shouted the facts they considered to be of the most interest down the line: ‘A girl! Six pounds seven ounces . . . she’s beautiful! Yes, yes, doing well, both of them . . .’ To listen in, albeit accidentally, felt like an intrusion on their precious moment.

  Lucy pictured the person at the other end of that line, gasping and crying and giving thanks for this new little life th
at had come into their family, before going off to tell another in a similar call, in a glorious game of Chinese whispers.

  The sound of newborns mewling in side rooms was sweet and evocative; she felt her heart beat in her throat.

  ‘Don’t cry, my baby . . . It’ll all be okay . . . I’ve got you . . . These are our moments together, this is our time, and I promise you that I won’t forget a single second of it.’ And true to her word, she hadn’t.

  ‘There you are!’ Jonah called to her as he strolled up the ward. ‘How did it go?’ He rubbed his palms together, as he did when he was a little anxious.

  ‘I got hold of him okay. He was very quiet and it was a little hard to hear. There was a lot of background noise. But he did say to give her his love.’

  ‘Was that it?’ He screwed his face up.

  ‘Yes. That was it. What did you expect?’ She was curious.

  Jonah shrugged. ‘I don’t know, something more, I guess, but I don’t know what.’

  ‘I think it’s right that he knows, but it’s important we remember that he is just a boy himself really, only eighteen and on the other side of the pond on his big life adventure. He is probably in shock. But we shouldn’t judge him, Jonah. Only the future will reveal his character.’

  He nodded. ‘I guess so. Anyway, right now it’s all about Cam and she is asking for you.’

  ‘For me?’ she questioned, quite overwhelmed by the prospect of being there at the birth of her grandson, but also at the beautiful connection she now felt with Camille.

  Jonah nodded.

  ‘Okay, then.’ She smiled at him. ‘Let’s do this!’

  He gripped her shoulders. ‘Are you sure about this? Because if it’s too much—’

  ‘I’m sure, Jonah,’ she interrupted him. ‘I can do it.’

  He kissed her lightly on the mouth before she turned and walked towards Camille’s room.

  ‘See you on the other side!’ She turned towards him and gave him a smile of reassurance that hid the quaking in her limbs.