by Lulu Taylor
I’m blooming beautifully, she thinks contentedly. She’s never felt so at one with her body and so in awe of its capacity. The miracle of the tiny seed, planted in soil and fed with water and light, turning into an exquisite flower, is minor compared to the work her body is doing, without any design of hers, as it nurtures the babies inside her.
She looks over at Francesca, sitting across the table from Dan and listening attentively to him, and feels a rush of affection for her. In her great, expansive, fecund state, she feels infinitely magnanimous. Vaguely she recalls that once, she felt a little uncomfortable about the friendship between her husband and Francesca; it predates her own relationship with him, going back to their shared university days. She knows that there’s never been anything more than friendship between them – Francesca’s name has never featured in the list of Dan’s previous girlfriends, and once she idly asked Dan if there had ever been anything between him and Cheska, and he said no. They’d just been friends. He thought of her like a little sister. He described how vulnerable Cheska seemed when she arrived at Cambridge, a mousy thing trying to find her identity, wide-eyed and lost among the more brilliant, confident students. It took a term or two for her to come out of her shell and start to prove herself. Even so, he probably never would have become her friend if they hadn’t been assigned as supervision partners. Olivia finds it hard to imagine glamorous Cheska as a timid little thing.
She recalls the first time she met Cheska. She and Dan were in the sweetest part of their honeymoon phase, still wrapped up in one another but beginning to emerge from their cocoon of obsession to explore each other’s lives. She had taken Dan to meet her family, and had met his parents. Now they were getting to know their social circles. Cheska made an impression because, unlike most of them, she was married. On her finger flashed a great, almost ridiculous, solitaire diamond, and a slender platinum band announced that she had taken the grave and grown-up step of matrimony, something Olivia could barely imagine for herself. Cheska was dressed in discreetly expensive clothes, everything about her expressive of money, from her haircut to the plain driving shoes in soft tan leather with the subtle designer stamp on them.
‘One of my oldest friends,’ Dan said, an arm around Cheska’s shoulders. ‘I don’t know how she put up with me. I was pretty unbearable in our supervisions, wasn’t I? Acting like I knew everything worth knowing at nineteen.’
Cheska gazed up at him. Despite her sophisticated exterior and aura of self-possession, her expression was almost puppyish. It was gone in a second as she turned to Olivia and smiled broadly.
‘I managed somehow,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t that bad, honestly. He just needed a bit of taming. We’re so happy that Dan’s found someone like you, Olivia. Really, we are.’
Olivia warmed to her, glad of her acceptance. And yet, sometimes in those early days, she felt Cheska’s stare on her and when she turned quickly and unexpectedly to meet it, she saw something appraising there, as though Cheska were studying her, trying to work her out somehow.
Protective, she thinks now. Protective of Dan. Worried I might break up the circle of friends. Well, there was no danger of that. Of course, that was all long ago. Now she feels she knows that Cambridge group almost as well as her own friends, and while she sees that Dan and Cheska’s friendship is well worn and comfortable, she thinks that she can discern a trace of something like hero worship in Cheska’s attitude to Dan, perhaps the remnant of something left over from their college days. She can imagine Dan swaggering about, making waves with his dark good looks, easy charm and humour, his obvious intelligence. He was probably the leader of their little gang, which was why she seemed to look up to him and need his approval. Well, all credit to Cheska for sticking through what was no doubt his annoying, conceited phase and getting to the other side. Dan is more mellow now, kinder, more patient and definitely less egotistical.
Though he’s still got a touch of swagger about him, and that steely core. She looks over at him fondly, and then at Cheska, laughing at another of his jokes.
She’s always been lovely to me. She couldn’t have been nicer about the babies.
Cheska was quietly supportive all the way through the long fertility struggle, and delighted when at last it came to fruition. She’d arrived full of excitement, wanting to hear all about it, every step of the journey, from selecting the donor to the implantation of the eggs and every test and scan. She became a regular visitor, rolling up armed with bags full of goodies – treats from expensive delis, baby gifts and products to pamper an expectant mother – eager to sit and chat and share all of it. Lately, Olivia has almost begun to think of Francesca as her friend rather than Dan’s. It surprises her, because their lives could not be more different. Cheska’s rarefied and pampered existence in Switzerland, with the cushion of vast wealth, is something she can’t relate to at all. Yet somehow, they have bonded. It’s Olivia Francesca rings up and emails, and the two of them have spent hours chatting together about impending motherhood, nursery colours and the best kind of buggy, while Dan disappeared off to amuse himself with his new-found leisure.
Which is why it’s nice to see them catching up. I’ve been monopolising Cheska a bit recently.
She stirs the fragrant Thai curry, watching the lime leaves float to the surface. It smells delicious. They’ll be eating soon, once the rice has steamed.
‘Cheska, has Dan told you about his grand plan?’ Olivia asks from the stove.
Francesca looks interested. ‘No. What’s this?’
Dan coughs and looks a little abashed. ‘Oh, well . . . it’s not that exciting. We’ve decided that I’m not going to rush into getting another job. I want to be at home with the babies and Olivia for as long as I can, and we’ve got the redundancy money to tide us over. And . . .’ He smiles. ‘I’ve made a start on writing that play, at last.’
Francesca’s face brightens. ‘That’s wonderful, Dan. You must start writing! You absolutely must. What a great idea.’
‘Yes, it’s the right time.’ Dan takes another drink of wine, then grins. ‘You never know, if it all works out, I might not have to go back into consultancy at all. But there won’t be much writing once the babies get here.’
‘No!’ Francesca laughs. ‘Even one baby tends to fill up all the available space. You’ll have two to contend with. But how wonderful that you’ll be here for Olivia. It’s worked out quite well, hasn’t it?’
‘Dinner’s ready,’ announces Olivia, lifting up the saucepan. ‘Shall we eat?’
When the meal is over and Francesca is preparing to leave, she comes over to hug Olivia. The bump is so huge, she has to approach almost sideways.
‘I probably won’t see you again until the babies are here,’ she says, kissing Olivia’s cheek. Her hand lightly strokes Olivia’s bump, as though searching for the feel of the babies below the skin. ‘But I’ll be thinking of you. Make sure I’m on the list for an alert when they arrive, won’t you?’
‘You’ll be the first to know,’ Olivia says, returning the embrace.
‘Bye, Dan.’ Francesca hugs him too, then stands back, pulling her handbag strap over her shoulder, and looks at them mistily. ‘You two are going to be fabulous parents. Lucky babies, to have you both waiting for them.’
‘Thank you,’ Olivia says, touched. ‘That’s lovely, Francesca.’
‘I mean it.’ Francesca smiles. She looks at Dan. ‘You’re going to be a great father, I just know it. I’m so excited to meet the babies. Bye, darlings. Take care.’
When she’s gone, Dan clears up the dinner things, while Olivia sips herbal tea and rests.
‘Cheska is wonderful, isn’t she?’ she says idly, as she sees the carrier bag Francesca left behind. It holds two expensive sheepskin rugs for the babies to play on. ‘She’s been so involved and so interested. She’s been there for me more than anyone else.’
There’s a tiny pause and then Dan says with a trace of a prickle in his voice, ‘Well, I guess that’s the good thing abou
t not having to work for a living.’
‘Oh.’ Olivia is a little taken aback. Dan is usually nice about Francesca. Occasionally he’s muttered something about the waste in giving up a Cambridge education, a law degree and a promising career, but only with fondness.
Dan looks over his shoulder from the sink, looking sheepish. ‘I didn’t mean that to sound unkind. I mean, she’s genuine. She really does care. But she also has sod all to do these days.’
‘Why did she give up work? Surely Walt wouldn’t have minded if she’d carried on.’ Olivia wipes crumbs from the tabletop, sending them scattering onto the floor. She ought to clear them up, but can’t be bothered.
‘Who knows?’ He places a pan in the drainer. ‘She was set to be a star. Our tutor said he thought she’d have a glittering career. But in the third year, she just couldn’t seem to stay focused. Her Finals result wasn’t quite as brilliant as she’d been predicted. Then she struggled at law school and gave it up before she’d finished. She was going to become a human rights advocate, but she dropped out and got a job as a PA to some businessman instead. That’s how she met Walt, I think.’
‘Really?’ Olivia is surprised. Cheska has always seemed stronger than that to her. ‘Why do you think that happened?’
Dan shrugs and says, ‘No idea. Maybe she was never really cut out for work.’
Olivia can’t see that somehow. ‘She seems very busy in Geneva with all that charity stuff. That must be like a career in itself. And she’ll find she’s got plenty to do if Walt buys that place she showed us.’
Dan snorts. He’s always claimed to like Walt, but doesn’t show it when Francesca isn’t there. He seems to scorn Walt’s business success as though there is still something a little shameful in being a self-made man who didn’t go to university. ‘That man has more money than sense. It’s a ridiculous thing to do.’ He shrugs again, his hands in the sinkful of hot water. ‘It’s a money pit, and even when it’s finished, it won’t feel like a home. It’s a stately bloody pile. I can tell Cheska hates it too.’
‘She didn’t seem very keen.’ Olivia considers. ‘But it’ll be fun having friends with a house like that, won’t it? If they do go ahead.’ She sips her tea, thinking of it. ‘Maybe we can spend some more time with them.’
‘Hmm.’ Dan doesn’t sound excited by the prospect. ‘Maybe. If I’m not mistaken, Walt will buy it, pour some money into it, get bored and sell it. Cheska will just wait it out. Trust me, I bet we never even see that place.’
Chapter Seven
The text comes late on a Friday night.
Walt is in bed with her, on top of her, pounding away as he grunts in her ear. She is enduring it, wondering if she should start fantasising now or if it’s too late for that, when she hears her phone bleep with an incoming message. She wants to pick it up and read it behind Walt’s heaving shoulders, but she’s not that blatant. Instead she hurries him along, gasping and moaning, thrusting up to meet him and digging her nails into the wads of soft flesh on his back. Walt responds gratifyingly quickly, excited by her enjoyment, and hurries to his climax. As he rolls off her, she leans over for the phone. It’s from Dan.
Stanley and Beattie arrived on time this afternoon.
Their mother is recovering and all are doing well. xxx
A photograph is attached but it’s out of focus, showing two fuzzy bundles and two creased red faces with eyes tightly closed. Francesca squints at it, trying to make out the babies’ features, but it’s impossible.
‘Who is it?’ Walt asks, pulling a handful of tissues out of Francesca’s bedside box and mopping at himself.
‘It’s Dan. Olivia’s had the babies.’ A rush of dark excitement grips her. It hasn’t felt real so far, but now, here they are. The babies. My babies. The thought is illicit. Thrilling. Mine and Dan’s. It’s brilliant. The ultimate revenge. She can see now that she’s been waiting for something like this for years, and yet she could never have imagined something so perfect. Olivia is like a daft bird whose eggs have been replaced by the cuckoo’s, and is now about to devote itself to nurturing the alien brood. Well, that’s what she wanted. It would have been someone else, if not me. We’ll all be happy. It’s perfect. Then she frowns. But Stanley and Beattie. I don’t like the names at all.
‘That’s wonderful news,’ Walt says heartily. ‘How’s Olivia doing? I bet it hurt pushing those two out.’
‘She had a planned caesarean,’ Francesca replies briefly, tapping back a suitably ecstatic response. As I told you dozens of times.
‘Send them some flowers from us, won’t you.’
‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll take them myself.’
‘You’re going to London to see them?’
Francesca looks over at him. ‘Of course. They’re practically my oldest friends. I want to be there for them.’
‘That’s nice of you. Give them my love.’
Francesca barely hears him. She’s looking at the message that Dan sent. It’s gone out to dozens of friends, she suspects. That’s why it’s not personalised for her. But then, what would he possibly write? This is unknown territory. They haven’t spoken a word about what they’ve done since Dan called her after she came back from the clinic in Spain. She was still collecting her luggage from the carousel when her phone rang.
‘How did it go?’ he asked. ‘Any problems?’
‘None at all,’ she said. ‘They harvested plenty. They were happy with everything.’
‘Really?’ He sounded almost surprised, as though this was an outcome he hadn’t expected.
‘Yes. They were pleased with the quality. They said it was surprising considering my age.’ She hadn’t been able to stop a tiny hint of boastfulness in her voice. She wanted him to know that, unlike Olivia, she had vibrant, youthful ovaries and eggs that were ripe and ready for him. The thought made her almost aroused.
‘That’s brilliant.’ There was a tentative edge to his voice, as if he wasn’t entirely certain that this was something he wanted. But when he spoke again, he sounded heartfelt. ‘Thank you, Cheska. I mean it. Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure. And you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to tell a soul. It will stay between us. Forever. Our secret.’
‘I know I can rely on you,’ he said gratefully. ‘So now . . . it’s forgotten, right?’
‘Yes. Forgotten.’ Something vibrated inside her, like a tiny internal earthquake. Perhaps it was the magnitude of their secret and what it would mean for them. After all, how could something like this be forgotten? How deeply could they bury their knowledge? Even if the fertility treatment didn’t work, they would always share the secret of what they’d planned between them and the concealment from Olivia.
As she collected her luggage and made her way to the departure hall, her excitement wilted a little, replaced by a wave of dark melancholy that she quickly pushed away. The only thing to do was be patient.
Since then the promise to forget that she and Dan made hasn’t been tested. It’s been easy to avoid looking into each other’s eyes and seeing the truth. She’s not been alone with him since they agreed the whole thing, and the growing swell of Olivia’s stomach always had an uncertain quality. She was high risk, an older woman with a multiple pregnancy, and they all knew it could go wrong at any time. Now that it’s gone right and the plan, so dreamlike and unreal, has come to fruition . . . well, what will happen? She’s excited again, thrilled by this situation and the tie that now binds her and Dan together. She can hardly believe it’s actually happened.
‘I’ll go in the morning,’ Francesca says, tapping out another message to Walt’s PA asking her to book tickets on the midday flight to London.
‘You’re good to them, honey. I hope they appreciate it.’
‘I’m sure they do,’ she says, sending her message. Then she lies back and stares at the ceiling. She feels powerful, like a goddess who’s summoned people into creation with a clap of her hands. She’s in the mood for sex now, but it’s too late
. It’s a shame I didn’t get the news earlier. Walt would have had a lot more fun if I had.
‘Let’s open some champagne,’ she says suddenly. ‘Let’s get up and have some champagne, then come back to bed.’
Walt looks surprised but pleased. ‘Okay. Let’s celebrate. Sounds good. After all, it’s not every day that babies arrive.’
‘Absolutely.’ She smiles. ‘And these ones are extra special.
Francesca is in London by the following afternoon. She goes straight from the airport to the flat, then pops out to a ludicrously expensive children’s boutique owned by some European princess to pick up a whole wardrobe of clothes for each baby. She’s got tiny quilted jackets, trench coats, velvety cotton bodysuits, cashmere jumpers, soft cord dungarees, pinafores and kilts, little white leather shoes. She knows it’s too much and that Olivia will probably dislike most of it, but she doesn’t care. Something in her wants to remind Olivia that she is a source of wealth, able to provide luxuries for the little ones. It’s silly, she knows. Usually she is careful to ensure that she doesn’t make Dan and Olivia uncomfortable with the disparity in their circumstances; after all, Olivia earns virtually nothing as a gardening writer and designer, and while Dan has done well enough, they’re light years away from the sums that cushion Francesca’s life.
