Behaving Like Adults

by Anna Maxted

  He swigged his not-so-hot chocolate. ‘And then, my mum looks at her watch – she’s got this Casio digital watch, the kind you had when you were thirteen – and she goes, “Malcy, did you want to watch the snooker on Sky?” Hol, I didn’t know people, still played snooker on television. So he goes, “Yeah, we should make a move.” And they all scuffled out. They didn’t say even thank you for the food. Not that I care about that, but—’

  ‘She didn’t say goodbye to you?’

  ‘No, she did. But hurriedly. Malcolm and Russell were halfway out the door. I said “Can I call you?” and she says in this ratty voice, “Look, I’ll be in touch, okay?” As if I was some kind of phone pest.’

  He shook his head in disbelief. ‘What’s happened? It’s too much. My head is about to burst. You hope, Hol. You imagine. You never think it won’t turn out right. You’re so used to that warm feeling as the credits roll, you get complacent. I feel like I’ve messed up, like I’m this big blundering mistake no one wants. Like Frankenstein’s Monster. I have no one. No family. I’m an orphan. I don’t fit in anywhere. I feel hollow. I can’t believe I feel this isolated. I feel like I had the chance to have a family and I blew it.’

  He paused.

  ‘At least I have you two.’

  I clutched my stomach, aghast.

  His phone rang and he fumbled for it, animated with hope. Then his face sagged. ‘What does she want?’ he muttered. ‘It’s the fifth time she’s called today.’ He jammed the phone back in his pocket.

  My conscience went hysterical. You have no right, it scolded, you put a stop to this now.

  Okay, I bargained. I will. But first things first.

  I got up and poured myself a glass of water. I felt like a strong person. I’d been convinced Stuart had raped me because I was weak. Dr Goldstein had said that, in fact, many rapists targeted women who were strong and successful, because these were the sort of women they dreamed of dominating.

  I could do this. No more lying. To anyone. Including Nick, my parents and myself.

  I sat down and cleared my throat. ‘Was that Lavinia?’

  A terse nod.

  ‘Listen, Nick,’ I began. Emily chose this moment to yawn so widely her head just about vanished in a vast expanse of throat. Her stress levels, I thought enviously, were remarkably low. ‘Nick, I have two confessions to make, and neither of them are going to please you. One, in fact, is very bad news.’

  He frowned. ‘Go on.’

  I clenched my fists in my lap. ‘Okay. First. I’ve been in, communication with Lavinia and Michael.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Wait, will you? Let me explain. The truth is, they love you deeply, and they’re devastated that you’re so hostile to them. I saw them a few days ago and they both look terrible. You must have noticed. It’s as if their lives have stopped dead, as if they’re frozen in grief. They can’t function. You’re everything to them, really.’

  His face was already scarlet. You think this is bad? Save it, I thought.

  ‘You saw them behind my back?’

  ‘Yes. Once, Lavinia came round here by herself, and then they both came to the office. They were desperate. But listen. They wanted to know what they could do—’

  ‘They’ve done enough.’

  ‘They’re both contrite. Ready to do anything to show how sorry they are. I told them what Pamela Fidgett said, about the infertility, and the lying to you, and effectively keeping you a child by not telling you the truth, and betraying your trust and—’

  ‘You said all that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I waited for a response but he was silent. Then he blurted, ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They hadn’t realised. They honestly thought they were doing the right thing, and they were horrified to hear how you felt. But, they didn’t argue. They accepted full blame. They didn’t try to wriggle out of anything. Even the stuff about not coming to terms with infertility. I suggested they might need to speak to a friend or even a counsellor—’

  ‘Get off!’

  ‘No, I did. And they accepted that. They’re desperate, Nick. They’ve probably had about ten sessions by now. You know, Issy tried to explain this to me once, about the love you have for your children. She said, “If you were in a plane and you had to jump out to save your partner, you – well, he – probably would. Of course, you’d make a big deal about what a sacrifice it was first to make sure they appreciated it. But if it was to save your children, there’d be no question. You’d die for them in a second.” I suppose I understood it, because I’m sure Mum and Dad would willingly die for me, Claw or Issy. And Issy said that if anything ever happened to Eden, she and Frank would commit suicide. She was quite matter of fact about it. But . . . it’s not often that you see that degree of devotion played out in front of your eyes. I saw it with Michael and Lavinia.’

  Nick was screwing his face up. Finally, he spoke. ‘Okay. Okay.’

  He stopped.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried again. ‘Okay. Know that I am very surprised at you for seeing them when you knew I could hardly bear to myself, but—’ He paused, as if searching for precisely the right words. ‘I see why you did it, I can imagine they didn’t offer you much choice. I . . . I suppose you did the right thing. You didn’t tell them about my birth mother?’

  ‘No.’ His reaction was roughly fifteen million times more moderate than I’d feared. So far so good. But not for long.

  ‘So . . . was that the bad news?’

  I hesitated. Would it be wise to hold his hand – maintain some kind of phsyical contact – as I told him? Would he be soothed or enraged?

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘That wasn’t the bad news.’

  How could it be? I thought. What is a ‘real parent’ anyway? In my opinion, Lavinia and Michael were Nick’s real parents. They’d raised him and loved him. His blood mother was merely the vessel.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘The bad news is going to be very difficult for you. Incredibly difficult.’ I paused. ‘And I can only ask you to try and understand the contributing factors to why I – well, did it is the wrong phrase – why it happened—’

  ‘Jesus, what is it, just tell me!’

  ‘We’re not having a baby.’

  A flicker in his eyes, nothing more. ‘I don’t understand.’ His voice trembled. ‘What do you mean?’

  He stood up, tipping Emily from his lap and knocking over his chair.

  ‘I made a mistake. I thought I was pregnant. I hoped I was. I did the test. I didn’t read the instructions properly. I’m not pregnant, Nick. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘But . . . your stomach was growing . . .’

  ‘I’d put on weight.’

  ‘You’d not had periods.’

  ‘I’d lost weight.’

  ‘But’ – now he was shouting – ‘I was going to be a dad! This, we, we were having a family! This was our new family! How could you make a mistake like that? How stupid are you?’

  I opened my mouth to quote Dr Goldstein on ‘massive avoidance’ but my attempt was drowned out by Nick yelling. Emily crouched in the corner of the kitchen and stared at him, wide-eyed.

  ‘Christ! I’ve got nothing now! Do you realise that? Nothing!’ His voice sank to a hiss. ‘Everything I have gets taken away from me. I lose everything. I so wanted . . . a brand new . . . this was going to be the first blood relative that I got to . . . keep . . . oh God, I feel sick . . . You . . . stupid, thoughtless, careless . . . I’ve been reading babycare books.’ He shuffled in his bag, yanked out what looked like an illustrated manual, and hurled it across the room. It landed by the dishwasher. ‘I was planning my life around this. This baby was going to save my life. I’m just . . .’ He stumbled over the chair leg, then kicked it. I flinched.

  ‘No point in marrying now, is there?’

  Although I’d expected this, it still felt like a punch to the throat. It shocked me, because I realised that alone, we weren’t enough for each other. In which case, it
was better that the baby was a figment of my imagination. No child deserves to be born with the burden of keeping its parents together.

  Nick was stamping towards the front door. I scurried after him. He snapped it open.

  ‘You’ve ruined my life,’ he announced grandly, before slamming it in my face.

  My heart seemed to rupture with the violence of a burst tyre, its flayed shreds sharp and black in my chest. But, sure, that was just me indulging my runaway imagination. When the doorbell rang, almost immediately, I was able to open it as if I was fine.

  Nick stood there, fists clenched. ‘I’m sorry for shouting,’ he said. ‘I understand, a bit, why you did it. I understand that you might have needed to do it. What with all you were, are going through. And I feel really, really sorry for you. I can see how you . . . might have needed this baby, too . . . more than me even.’ He paused. ‘But I must be a terrible person. Because I don’t think I can forgive you.’

  Chapter 41

  ‘I TRUST THE outfit is falling apart without me?’ cooed Nige, batting his eyelashes. We were having a breakfast meeting, a meeting I normally object to on principle as the business detracts from the eating. My attitude to employers is, don’t patronise me with a bowl of Frosties, we’re all grown-ups here, just call that meeting what it is: unpaid overtime that cuts into your beauty sleep. But Nige had rung at seven that morning, demanding to see me, and after the woe of the previous night I felt I could do with the fun company.

  ‘We’re scraping by,’ I said, tearing at a chocolate croissant. ‘So, Star Boy, when can we come and see you?’

  Nige groaned. He was wearing yellow sunglasses and a white fake fur coat and looked less like an actor than a pimp. ‘All in good time. But give me a moment. And don’t expect front row seats. Yeah, yeah, I know that’s what I said, but I was lying, I’ll probably stick you in the gods. There’s nothing more disconcerting than being grinned from three yards by people you know. Not,’ he added hastily, ‘that you’re a grinner, darling, but a single disaster makes you wary. Marylou fell asleep during the press showing of The Cherry Orchard and snored. I suspect she did it to put me in my place but it shook my performance. Mind you, my mate Jonas – he does mainly fringe and panto – walked on once and this voice in the audience booms, “Oh no, not him again, he’s terrible!” We thesps are a highly sensitive breed. We must protect our fragilities where we can.’

  ‘We must,’ I replied, smiling.

  Nige wedged the greater half of an iced currant bun into his mouth – ‘surprisingly low fat, darling, muffins are heinous in comparison’ – and grew serious. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to go behind Claw’s back – well, actually I do – but I did her that favour. I mimicked the client, I fooled Stuart. According to Camille, he hared out the office at speed. I presume she found what she was looking for in his files, I haven’t spoken to her yet. But Hol. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. What I did was illegal. If Stuart is defrauding your parents and it goes to court, we could all be in trouble. And I’m not talking about me being outed as a criminal on page seven of News of the World. I know less than nothing about law, but if his defence finds out how Camille got the evidence, wouldn’t that make the case invalid?’

  I lifted my hands. ‘Nige. I have no idea.’ I picked at the crumbs on my plate. The quaint decor of Patisserie Valerie was intended to encourage a higher standard of etiquette than Martha’s Got Buns, but I was too jittery to care. ‘I’m sorry they got you involved. To be honest, I don’t know what’s going on but I’m pretty certain it’ll end in disaster. When did you speak to Stuart? Yesterday? Wednesday. Wednesday is yesterday. Well, the thing is, Claudia’s furious with me – oh, too silly to go into – she’s not really telling me anything and I don’t feel like asking.’

  ‘I could ask.’

  I looked at Nige’s eager face.

  ‘Nige. Just don’t. It’s too risky, the whole thing. And it’s complicated, more so than Claudia thinks.’ I paused. I had to tell someone, if only to receive the reassurance that friends so willingly give when it’s not their problem. ‘Stuart’s suing me. For defamation.’

  ‘What!’ screeched Nige. Every head in Patisserie Valerie turned in its crisply starched white collar. ‘What?’ repeated Nige, this time in a whisper.

  I wormed in my seat. ‘I know, I know. I got a writ. So far I’ve done the adult thing and ignored it. I had twenty-eight days to reply. Only a week or so down.’

  ‘Darling, you have to consult a lawyer. It’s outrageous. What a load of crap. God, he’s scum.’

  ‘I don’t know any lawyers. Well. Nick’s father, Michael. But.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nick offered, I declined – I wasn’t ready for him to know. Now I suppose I am, but I don’t feel I can ask him without Nick’s permission, and Nick is in a, mm, bit of a huff with me at the moment.’

  ‘Balls,’ said Nige rudely. ‘Nick doesn’t know the meaning of huff! If he knew you wanted Michael’s advice on this, he’d ask him. Oh, come on, the man dotes on you – there’s not many blokes who’d take out a loan and stick it into their ex-girlfriend’s faltering business . . . aaaaahhh, you didn’t know.’ Nige groaned like a dying horse, causing heads to swivel again. I spluttered my cup of coffee all over the table, but by then the clientele had cricks in their necks and didn’t bother looking.

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nige hopefully. ‘Ah Christ. He said he owed you after five years of squandering your cash. But please don’t let on you know. Claw’ll kill me. Are you rabid?’

  I thought for a second. Should I be? On behalf of feminism, if nothing else? But I wasn’t. I was touched to my soul. And the bastard was right – all those copies of What Hi-fi? – damn right he owed me!

  I shook my head and slapped a twenty on the table. (Nige might have taken over from the star but he was still being paid his understudy’s wage.) ‘I won’t say anything. Although I will say that only Nick could take out a loan to save my business, then take a job at that business to repay the loan!’ I shook my head again. ‘Berk! I’d better get to work, and you, I’m sure have to get back to bed. It’s sweet of you to worry about the writ, but don’t. I will sort it out.’

  Nige was frowning as he received his kiss.

  Thursday and Friday in the office were a struggle in roughly the same way that World War Two was a struggle. Claudia didn’t say whether or not Camille had found the incriminating evidence. She seemed to be in such a foul temper I didn’t want to provoke her by asking. Nick was equally discomfiting to be around. Every time I attempted to send him a fond glance, he ignored it. The two of them sat in front of their screens tapping in silence. If they had to speak on the phone, they’d force civility, but a scowl would settle the second the call ended. When Issy asked if Nick had done anything nice recently, he replied, ‘I watched Michael J Fox in Teen Wolf.’

  This ended the conversation.

  At one point, Issy and I took refuge at Martha’s.

  ‘Whatever is going on?’ murmured Issy, sipping at her tea. ‘It’s so hostile in there.’

  She paused, so did I. ‘Actually,’ she said. ‘Don’t ask me how, but I know what’s going on with Nick.’

  I started. ‘You do? How? He didn’t tell you, did he?’

  Issy merely raised her neatly plucked eyebrows, referring me to her last statement. ‘What’s Claudia’s problem?’

  If Issy doesn’t want to tell you something, you could pin her to the ceiling by her earlobes, she wouldn’t breathe a word. I filed my interest in Nick, took a breath and related the baby saga. By then I’d honed the tale down to three minutes. ‘I feel terrible, letting the family down like this. I’m sorry Iz. I know you were looking forward to a cousin for Eden. But before you say anything,’ I added, ‘I’m in analysis, whatever you call it. I’m going to break it to Mum and Dad at the weekend.’ I stopped. ‘I don’t know if Claudia’s more angry about the non-existence of the baby or the non-existence of my sanity
.’

  I expected harsh words from Issy – she’d never held back in the past – but instead she covered my hands with hers.

  ‘Ah, Holly,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. But, truthfully, I’m not that surprised. You experienced the ultimate disempowerment. Control was taken away from you in the most brutal manner. Rape is not about sex, it’s about power. The emotional consequences can last a lifetime. You are doing so well, but it was never going to be a breeze. All your mind was doing was trying to help you cope. You wanted a baby to fast foward over what has happened to you. It would have been the perfect excuse not to process the trauma, motherhood would have been your priority, enabling you to pretend that Stuart never happened. But then, you would have just been storing up pain for later on.’

  She squeezed my hand, extremely hard. ‘Denial is a defence mechanism, Hol, and all defence mechanisms work by distorting the truth. They try to protect us from the truth, in this case by diverting attention to someone else. The danger is that we become out of touch with reality. We relate to the world and the people around us falsely. Eventually, something happens to puncture our defence.’

  She muttered something I didn’t catch.

  ‘Pardon?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  I peered at her. What she said made sense to me, and it was a relief to hear it. I’d never thought that having a psychologist in the family was useful – I’d have swapped her for a good old-fashioned doctor any day – but now I was purring with gratitude. Instead of analysing my behaviour in the unflattering and frankly alarming light that was her, habit, she’d claimed to understand me. And when you think you might be teetering on lunacy’s edge, the peace afforded by an expert – or rather two experts – saying ‘no, no, perfectly normal!’ cannot be underestimated. I suddenly felt quite bouncy, but Issy’s empathy seemed to fade.