The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘Lucy!’ Camille called out with obvious relief as she walked into the room.

  ‘Here I am.’ She took a seat next to the bed and smiled, trying to look calm and confident, when inside she felt anything but.

  She remembered a kindly nurse looking in on her. ‘Are you nervous, sweetie?’ she had asked.

  ‘Did you speak to Dex?’ Camille’s tone was urgent. She lay back on the pillows in the loosely tied hospital gown, rubbing her stomach and breathing deeply, trying to counter the waves of discomfort that Lucy knew she would be feeling. Her womb pulsed in sympathy at the memory.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Camille lifted her head, and her heart rate monitor suddenly pushed out mountains on to the screen.

  ‘He said to give you all of his love.’

  ‘Did he say anything else? Was he angry or happy? What did you think?’ she asked desperately.

  Lucy took her hand. ‘He sounded shocked and surprised, as you would expect, but definitely not angry.’

  ‘Okay.’ Camille lay back against the pillows. ‘Good. That’s good. My contractions are getting stronger’ – she held her breath – ‘and it hurts, Lucy!’ A lone tear trickled from her eye and over her face, on to the pillow.

  ‘It hurts!’

  Lucy remembered how she had screamed out and the nurse had leant over her and lied – with the best of intentions, she liked to think: ‘This is as bad as it gets, love, and it’ll be over before you know it. Take deep breaths, that’s a good girl . . .’

  Lucy gripped her hand and spoke the words she knew would have made a difference to her. ‘This is the time to be strong, Camille; you need to be strong for this baby. You need to be the best mum you can possibly be, and it starts now. And I give you my word that you will not be facing this alone. Not now and not in the future. You are loved and we are going to be right by your side. Come what may.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Camille grimaced through her tears and leant forward with her chin on her chest and her knees raised, as another contraction built. ‘Thank you, Lucy.’

  Lucy patted the back of her hand, overcome by the impact a few heartfelt maternal words could have. ‘Now, take a deep breath, Cam, that’s it. Keep breathing!’

  Lucy was exhausted. She cleaned her teeth, and with eyes half-closed she climbed between the sheets that she had leapt out of twenty-four hours before.

  Jonah was already horizontal. ‘I called Geneviève,’ he told her. ‘Spoke to Jean-Luc, who sounded relieved more than anything that all was well. And they said they would come over when Camille comes home and is settled.’

  ‘That’s good. I’ll sort out the futon for the nursery. They can sleep in there.’

  ‘You want them to stay here?’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘It’ll be fine.’ Lucy snaked her hand across the mattress and patted her husband. ‘I didn’t like leaving Cam in the hospital on her own.’

  ‘Me either, but she’s not on her own; she’s with her boy. Plus she’s tired, even though she’s on cloud nine. She’ll sleep,’ he reminded her.

  Lucy knew he was smiling; she could tell by his voice.

  She sighed. ‘What a day. How beautiful is that baby?’

  ‘I can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem possible that my little girl is a mummy!’ He twisted his arm until his fingers found hers and they knitted hands, fingers entwined, palm against palm.

  She swallowed a gulp of sadness at the fact that her dad never got to say these words.

  ‘Did you see how competent she was, holding him confidently, feeding him, and so composed, a natural.’ She spoke in awe, ignoring the tears that slipped over her temples and on to the pillow. It hurt so badly that, for the second time in her life, she had left the delivery suite without a child of her own.

  ‘Yes, she really is.’ Jonah squeezed her hand. ‘And how are you doing, my brilliant girl? I don’t know what Cam would have done without you there today.’

  She beamed at his compliment, knowing that in it lay a kernel of truth. She had been there for Camille in her time of need, like any good mum. ‘I’m tired, but happy. This is Cam’s time, Cam’s baby.’ She opened her eyes and looked at the wicker basket on top of the wardrobe.

  ‘I love you.’ He squeezed her hand.

  ‘I love you too.’

  ‘I wonder what he’ll be when he grows up . . .’ Jonah murmured before sleep pulled him under. ‘He’s got big hands – maybe a boxer?’

  ‘Happy. That’s what I want him to be: happy.’ She too yawned, as she drifted off to sleep at the end of an extraordinary day, listening as her husband broke into a gentle snore.

  She and Jonah arrived back at the hospital bright and early to find Camille sitting up in bed, looking serene, happy, and holding her son in her arms. He was wearing a little bobble hat that Lucy had knitted and he looked really cute.

  ‘Oh, now the fun starts,’ Camille whispered to him. ‘Here come your grandparents.’

  It was something Lucy hadn’t properly considered – how the arrival of this little man would bind them together. It had been hinted at, but this new level of unity overwhelmed her. She felt the punch of love in her gut when she looked at the little man, newly arrived on the planet. It was as overpowering as it was unexpected.

  She and Jonah had decided around Christmastime to stop trying to conceive, both agreeing that they should focus on each other and the amazing life they had rather than become consumed by a different kind of life they did not. Lucy knew there would always be that visceral punch of sadness at what she had lost, but their decision meant she was able to look forward with clarity and optimism, rather than waiting each month on tenterhooks, preparing for the next bout of heartache or disappointment. Just making this decision gave them strength, the feeling that they were back in control. In a strange way, it was as if a pressure had been lifted from her shoulders.

  She and Jonah hadn’t managed to become parents but, for this little guy, they would always be granny and grandpa together. It felt lovely, a small reward in a sea of regret.

  Jonah chuckled and, after kissing his daughter, peered into the wrapped bundle that lay in her arms. ‘Here, you hold him, Dad.’ Camille lifted the baby gently as Jonah dipped down and took him from her, holding him awkwardly, as if he were slippery china.

  ‘I think I’d better sit down,’ he murmured.

  Lucy guided him backwards into the armchair by the side of the bed. He stared at her, his eyes brimming, and she knew that he, like her, was imagining what it might be like to hold one of their babies who had left them too soon.

  ‘How did you sleep, Cam?’ she asked, trying to keep the atmosphere bright.

  Camille bit her lip and stared at her son, as if still shocked that he belonged to her. ‘Not great. He was awake a lot of the night, but I remembered what you said and I am going to be the best mum that I can possibly be. Anyway, it wasn’t exactly a hardship, getting to chat to him in the middle of the night. It was really nice.’

  I bet, you lucky thing . . .

  ‘Well, I was awake in the middle of the night worrying about you – were you sleeping, were you comfortable? I should have come over . . .’ Lucy suddenly trailed off, looking at her stepdaughter, and a smile spread over her face. She laughed, a warm glow of joy thawing her icy sadness and filling her up. It was a simple notion, but one that had nonetheless not occurred to her until now: she didn’t need to have given birth to a child to experience motherhood.

  ‘I got on the phone at the crack of dawn this morning,’ Lucy began again, laughing. ‘I’ve spoken to Mum and Fay, and last night your dad spoke to Jean-Luc. Everyone is over the moon and sends you all their love, and they all want to book in for cuddles. I don’t think you are going to be short of a babysitter or two.’ She smiled.

  Despite trying to battle her fatigue, Camille slipped into a doze, while she and Jonah took turns to hold their grandson. Lucy inhaled the scent of him, kissing his crown and running her finger over the side of his
cheek. Her tears fell freely, as her nipples tightened with the desire to feed him and her whole being ached with longing. But he was not hers. She would be content to have any part to play in his life no matter how small. She would treat it as the privilege that it was.

  The baby started to get a little restless, batting the air with his tiny, scrunched-up fist and wriggling slightly, seeking food with his dainty mouth, and Camille sat up straight, as if programmed to stir at the sound of his cry.

  ‘Oh my, is it that time again already?’ She placed her hand over her nose and mouth as her tears fell.

  Lucy stared at Camille, wondering if this was a case of baby blues. ‘Hey, hey, it’s okay, darling, he just needs a little feed. That’s all. You are probably feeling a little overwhelmed, but everything is okay,’ she cooed, as she handed the little boy to Camille, knowing that when emotions ran high and milk was coming in, these mini-meltdowns were to be expected.

  Camille shook her head. Her sobs made speech impossible. ‘I just miss Dex. I think it’s a shame he’s not here to see this.’

  ‘I know, darling,’ she soothed, watching as Camille pulled her head back every few seconds to stare at the face of her baby son.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do this on my own,’ Camille stuttered. ‘I . . . I love my baby so much. I want everything to be perfect for him and I feel as if I have already let him down.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Lucy boomed. ‘You only need one person in life who has got your back, and this little fella has at least half a dozen. He is one lucky boy.’

  Lucy watched as Camille kissed her son gently while giving him the nourishment he sought.

  Jonah stood from his chair. ‘Well, the only reason I feel sorry for the little fella is because he hasn’t got a name yet.’

  Camille laughed through her tears. ‘Do you still want to call him Hector, after your grandfather?’ She rolled her eyes.

  ‘Yes. Hector is a Trojan champion and that takes strength and guts. I like the name.’ He again nodded his approval.

  Lucy and Jonah smiled at each other as they waited for the lift.

  ‘She’s doing fine. It’s only natural that she should be a little tearful. Her body has been through a lot and her hormones are going haywire,’ Lucy pointed out.

  ‘Yes. I’m glad she seems to be warming to the name Hector.’ Jonah rocked on his heels.

  ‘Hector Carpenter-Babineaux sounds like a right mouthful, that is, if he takes Cam’s surname. If they add Dex’s in too he’d be Hector Carpenter-Babineaux-Williams. It’s a bit much – poor child would need two lines on the school register.’

  ‘What poppycock! It sounds great.’ He laughed.

  Lucy slipped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder.

  They drove home from the hospital in an amiable bubble of silence, and Lucy made plans to spring-clean Camille’s room, buy fresh flowers to put in her window and move the cot to the side of her bed where they could have time and space to get settled as a family.

  Jonah put the key in the door and stepped back, ushering her inside on this cold, bright March day. ‘Come on, Grandma. A nice cup of tea awaits.’ He patted her bottom as she walked past him into the hallway.

  Jonah lit the fire and the two of them sat on the floor listening to the logs crackle and basking in the orangey glow of the flames. It was a while before Lucy broke the silence that bound them.

  ‘I need to think about my girl’s future. We need to help her in any way we can.’ She sidled closer to her man.

  There was a second of silence before Jonah offered his response.

  ‘You can of course write back, if you want to, see if Bella might reply, but I don’t want you to be disappointed, darling. She sounded quite resolute in her letter, and—’

  ‘Sorry, no, Jonah,’ she interrupted him. ‘You misunderstood me.’ She looked up at her man, lit by the glow of the blaze. ‘I was talking about Camille.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Two years later

  It was a warm, sunny afternoon in Queen’s Park as Lucy walked slowly to the end of the garden to retrieve Hector’s ball. Her long ponytail hung down over the shoulder of her smocked white shirt as she crouched down into the shrubs and dug around with her hands to find the ball.

  ‘I mean it, Hector. This is absolutely the last time I am fetching this for you!’ Her threat was a little diluted by the big smile that accompanied it.

  Hector clapped and ran in a circle, holding in one hand the little brown woollen rabbit Lucy had knitted him, while he chased after his cousin Maisie. He knew full well that he only had to shout ‘Bibbit, get it!’ and off Lucy would trot. No one knew where the name ‘Bibbit’ had come from, but it had stuck.

  Lucy and the little boy shared a wonderful relationship, where Hector made demands and Lucy did his bidding. She adored him and relished every second of the times she got to spend with him, which weren’t nearly as frequent as she would like, not with Camille now living with her best friend, Alice, in Poitiers.

  Their little flat was quaint. It was a stone’s throw from the Place du Maréchal-Leclerc, a bustle of activity among the beautiful historic buildings. Camille and Hector shared a room and Alice lived in the second. Both girls worked their shifts at the busy Café Populaire. Camille’s were timed around Hector’s childcare, and Jean-Luc and Geneviève stepped in when needed to care for their grandson on their sprawling farm.

  Lucy and Jonah had enjoyed some wonderful trips to the region, most notably in the summer months when they took their grandson to paddle on the shallow banks of the Clain, picnicking by a bend in the river while Camille regaled them with her plans to go back to college when Hector started school; her love of fashion hadn’t waned. They were both so very proud of her independence. She lived mainly off her wages and managed to keep her head above water, just. Lucy and Jonah happily made sure that Hector had all that he needed – a little bike, new shoes, anything that would lift the financial burden from Camille while at the same time giving them the huge joy of purchasing things for the boy they loved.

  ‘We all know you don’t mean it! That child only has to shout and you jump. He has you wrapped around his finger!’ Fay called out, clinking her beer bottle against Jonah’s wine glass as they ribbed her from the terrace. Lucy smiled broadly at her sister.

  ‘Yes, but Hector doesn’t know that!’ she replied, laughing.

  ‘Err, I think he does actually!’ Camille chuckled from the table where she sat next to Geneviève and Jean-Luc, who had travelled over with their daughter.

  ‘What is this, pick on Lucy day? Give me a break.’ She giggled, making her way back towards the house.

  She looked up, still bowled over by their home’s grand makeover, funded by the sale of the flat, a gesture that proved she no longer had need of a fallback. The extra floor and the wide open-plan kitchen that led out to the terrace made the house spacious, easier to live in and certainly a whole lot fancier to entertain in. It looked stunning, and she had decided a while ago never to confess to Jonah that, while the house was indeed grander and more streamlined, she kind of missed the dark, cobwebby corners of the narrow corridors that had added so much character.

  Camille fetched the jug of iced tea from the kitchen and wandered down the steps of the terrace with Rory by her side, his preferred place to be. ‘Who wants some iced tea?’ she called out, clearly as at home here as she had ever been.

  ‘Oh yes, please!’ Lucy smiled, giving Hector back his ball before going to stand next to her beautiful stepdaughter. Lucy felt nothing but admiration for the way the girl handled her situation, showing maturity beyond her years.

  Dex remained a key figure in their lives. He clearly loved Hector, and they were at present planning his next visit when he was back from New York for a spell. Camille felt nothing but affection towards the boy who now called America home as he chased his dream of success in the land of opportunity. Lucy had on one occasion suggested that Camille might like to rekindle her romance wi
th him; to this, Camille had confessed that she could no longer envisage a romance with him, showing a level of understanding Lucy respected. Dex had been just a boy, a year older than Camille. A good-looking boy she had loved. Well, as far as you can love someone when you are sixteen and think that the world can be like a movie.

  ‘What about in the future?’ Lucy had pushed. ‘Do you think you and Dex might make a go of it?’

  Camille had smiled, slowly. ‘The thing is, Bibbit, I’ve been taught never to settle for anything other than what is perfect for me, to always put my needs high on the list, and to know my worth, and I don’t know if Dex fits that equation. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Lucy smiled.

  Lucy had, after much soul-searching, written to Scott. Tracking him down with ease, she gave him all the information she had about Bella. It was now up to him as to whether he made contact. She hadn’t yet received a reply.

  It seemed to her that Camille had a good grasp of things that had taken Lucy years to figure out. She still thought of Bella, of course, but was no longer haunted by the idea of the baby she had given away. Receiving her letter had been poignant. ‘My mum thought you would always carry me with you. Throughout my life, this idea has given me a really nice feeling . . .’ Even just recalling these words made her smile and brought her peace.

  ‘Iced tea for you, Maman?’ Camille raised the jug, calling to Geneviève and pulling Lucy from her thoughts.

  ‘Might as well. I need to drink something!’ The woman smiled at Jean-Luc, who squeezed her hand, clearly liking his newly teetotal wife. The two were slowly reconnecting with Camille, and having Hector around had undoubtedly helped with this. It made Lucy happy to see the support network that her stepdaughter enjoyed, knowing that you could never have too many people looking out for you.

  ‘Actually, Cam, there’s something I wanted to show you, upstairs.’ She took her stepdaughter’s hand into her own and guided her through the now spacious house, where oversized vases stuffed with glorious blooms filled the rooms and the new neutral colour scheme on the walls was indeed sophisticated and yet cool.