by Rosie Nixon
It was so quiet in the flat that we could hear some people laughing in the street outside, their mood at odds with the atmosphere in here.
He spoke slowly. ‘I hope we can find a way through this, more than anything in the world.’ He looked like a broken man.
Gradually, once the tears began to dry and we were able to meet up without combing over the past because he had answered everything I could possibly think of, there was a semblance of normal weekends together – we would cook, go for walks, explore new parts of London – yet for the most part we were too afraid to talk about the future.
We had spent Christmas together although half of me found it fake – like we were pretending to be a happy family. Watching saccharine festive family movies together was a continual reminder that we were not perfect. Our marriage had been smashed, like a glass bauble. I found it hard, but I didn’t really have anywhere else to go – flying to Dubai to Dad was a much less appealing option – and we both owed it to Joni to try to make her first Christmas as happy as possible. We talked a lot and Jason continually assured me that we could, and would, get back to a place of trust. That we weren’t just putting tinsel over what had happened – he would dig deep and do the work to build that trust again, day-by-day, week-by-week, year-by-year, for as long as it took. I observed Jason become an amazing father – he was patient, fun, kind and full of love. Joni was so content when she was with him. She adored her daddy.
In January, we decided to spend a few weeks ‘dating’; we began flirting again and the spark between us returned. It felt like the days when we first met. Finally, I saw flashes of our old life return, but it felt deeper, more truthful, actually more exciting.
Some evenings, instead of going out, we would have a glass of wine and a takeaway together. We would talk about watching a film, but never got as far as finishing one because the conversation would turn to Joni and then back to us, our separation, our plans and each of us would air the latest thing on our mind.
As the weeks passed, I believed how remorseful Jason felt. He seemed fully committed to getting back together for the long-term future, and I knew I couldn’t really imagine a life without him. On 28th January, the day Jason brought his suitcase back full, to stay, I knew with all my heart that it was what I wanted and what Joni needed too. I had found a way to let go of the past and embrace the new shape of our future. And I had learnt that love was messy, imperfect, painful at times, but true love always found a way to win through.
Chapter Forty-Six
Aisha
May
As summer approached, I had an irrepressible urge to holiday in a gîte in France. We had visited our gîte in the Loire Valley every year when I was a school child and my memories of those summers were idyllic. Messing around in boats on the river, exploring woods and running through fields, going to the boulangerie, BBQing, attempting to play tennis, and, in later years, beating my parents at tennis as I became an accomplished player.
But the highlight had always been the anticipation – the thought that the night before the holiday I’d be put to bed in my day clothes and then transferred, complete with My Little Pony pillow and duvet, in what felt like the middle of the night, into the back of the Audi to drive down to Portsmouth and board the ferry to Calais.
I could remember the oily smell of the lower deck, which was generally where I’d have been when I was roused by my mother and led upstairs into the lounge for a cooked breakfast. It had always happened at the beginning of every August, and it had never lost its allure. I was devastated when Dad decided to sell the gîte soon after Mum passed away.
Now that I had a baby – a little family of my own – I wanted to recreate that feeling for Joni. I knew she’d be too young to remember it this year, she was still only little, but it would mean so much to me.
‘Let’s see it as a dry run – a recce for future holidays,’ I had said to Jason.
Jason and I decided to go in mid-May, to coincide with Joni’s first birthday. She was still at the stage of sleeping every time we turned on the car engine so we were optimistic it would be a fairly easy drive to and from the ferry. Before confirming the booking, Jason googled the weather in the Loire, which looked changeable, and asked if I was sure I wouldn’t rather fly to Greece and stay in the nicest spa resort we could afford for guaranteed hot weather at this time of year.
‘I really want to do this; it has to be France,’ I replied, and he could tell by the intense look in my eyes that this wasn’t the time to argue. Anything to do with Mum, especially my early childhood memories of happy times spent with her, felt even more sacred now. Having a baby girl had made me feel closer to her – like she was by my side, albeit invisibly. I felt her presence, gently encouraging me to keep going through the difficult times. I knew she would have been rooting for Jason and I to work things out, I just felt it. I hoped that taking Joni to the Loire would somehow make my baby girl feel close to her late grandmother too.
Since Jason had moved back in, life in London lost its thrill for me, and I needed to satiate my urge to break free and run wild in the French countryside. I also couldn’t wait to stuff my face with brie, camembert and baguette, washed down with fantastically cheap red wine, because I’d missed that taste combination so much during pregnancy.
What I hadn’t properly considered was that the weather in northern France in May could be a lot worse than even the long-term forecast had suggested. It rained for seven days solid. Literally from the moment we disembarked the ferry in pouring rain, it must have come down near constantly. I became obsessed with a variety of weather apps, moving from one to the next when I didn’t like the look of the rain or dark cloud emoji it was showing, and feeling elated when I found one that indicated a hint of sunshine from behind a dark cloud.
‘Look – a patch of blue on the horizon!’ Jason would exclaim optimistically from time to time, only for it to dissipate into more heavy grey sky when our car reached it. We almost doubled our expected petrol costs for the holiday because we had to drive – along with every other holiday-maker in the area – to the nearest rainproof venues like a heated swimming pool or an ancient aquarium. There was only one moment, on Joni’s first birthday, when we managed to lay out a rug on a vaguely dry patch of grass on a bank of the Loire, so that Joni could stretch out while we snacked on yet more baguette and cheese and toasted her with some delicious Bordeaux. Jason and I exchanged a look which said, ‘This is what could have been!’
But conversely, despite the weather, Jason and I got on better than ever during that week away. He became his old, cheeky self – taking the mickey whenever I tried to order something in French, constantly asking what was happening in the book I was reading and insisting on competitive games of backgammon while Joni slept. I had forgotten how much backgammon we used to play in Hong Kong and was thrilled Jason had brought our old travel set along. I hadn’t seen it in at least three years and it brought back such happy memories.
The old Jason brought the old me back to life. I felt less alone than I had done in the early months because we were properly sharing childcare duties. I found myself drawing again, and not only for work – though I did bring along the brief for a new children’s picture book I’d been commissioned to do – but also for my own enjoyment. Sketching the scenery and copying images from photographs stored on my phone of Joni as a tiny baby; photographs I hadn’t been able to revisit since that awful time because it had been too painful. It made any joy on our faces seem such a lie. On one particularly rainy afternoon, I spent an hour sketching Joni asleep in Jason’s arms, noticing every last detail on his face, recognizing how he had aged over the years – more creases around the eyes, his skin slightly looser, nose a little wider and a few grey hairs. I swelled with love for them both. We had become an ‘us’ again, away from the stifling, hectic pace of London life.
On that holiday, Jason and I started having sex again too. I mean really passionate, great sex that felt more intense and meaningful than ever
, with our baby snoozing away contentedly in her cot just a few feet away. Wanting to be with him again physically was one of the hardest parts for me. And despite the fact I felt slightly shy about how my body looked post-baby, Jason devoured me naked, commenting on how beautiful I looked, how he was lucky to have a wife who was so sexy and gorgeous and how he loved the taste of me. But most of all, he stared into my eyes and told me how much he loved me, over and over again. There was no expressing his love through my belly as he used to do when I was pregnant, or soppy, drunk declarations like in the early days of fatherhood; this was the real thing.
One evening, when we were sitting by the fire in the gîte reading books – it was so cold we’d felt the need to light an open fire each evening – I went and got something from my bag.
It was a tiny handwritten card I had received; it had been posted through the front door by Lucy, the day after the test results arrived. I’d been carrying it around, like some kind of talisman, almost as though having it in my possession was helping me to process things, upsetting as it was.
I thought about its contents – I knew it so well. But I’d gone past feeling angry with Lucy; I had almost been able to forgive her. Her desire to be a mother had been so strong she was blindsided. She had been willing to risk everything, including the man who truly loved her. I opened the card for a moment to read the words again. Just three short sentences:
‘He was only ever yours. I’m so sorry. I’ll miss you. Lucy x’
Without comment, I passed Jason the note. He looked at me curiously before opening it. He read it in silence and then he stood up and unceremoniously tossed it into the fire.
We watched as the flames cackled and licked around the paper, then engulfed it. Within seconds it had turned into red-hot embers and finally to white ashes. It was gone. She was gone.
Jason went back to his armchair and I joined him, settling myself onto his lap. He let me sink into him, pulling me into a big bear hug with both arms. I sighed appreciatively and gently turned my face to his. I stopped, close enough to feel his warm breath on my lips.
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you too,’ I replied.
It was the first time I’d told him that in months and I meant it.
We kissed passionately.
The three of us returned to London without any hint of a tan, but with our marriage buoyed and a new sense that we had won each other back, and that we could be a functioning family again, without Jason or I losing sight of one another in the process. While on holiday we made plans to leave London and move further out, to Sussex or Surrey, where we could probably afford a house rather than a flat, with a garden big enough for Joni to run around in. For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to feel we had a long-term future.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Lucy
The moment the DNA results had arrived, we had all taken a sharp intake of breath. Jason had immediately pulled out his phone to check the email at the same time, Aisha reading it next to him. And there it was, in black and white.
There was only one top line, so it had taken just seconds for us to discover the outcome. Then I had fled home to find Oscar…
‘How was yoga?’ he called out from the living room, where he and Albie, who was swaddled in his arms, were watching the rugby together.
‘I didn’t make it. Will explain in a minute – but right now there’s something you need to look at.’
I sank down into the sofa next to him, grabbed his hand and laced his fingers with mine, squeezing them. We opened and read the email together.
Albie coughed in Oscar’s arms, making him sit up straight, giving me a reprieve from speaking as I took in the result again.
‘You okay?’ Oscar said softly.
I turned my face to his and swallowed. ‘I’m fine,’ I managed.
‘No secrets, remember?’ he said looking right at me, reading me.
‘I guess it just feels weird,’ I bowed my head. ‘I can’t help wishing his daddy was you.’ I paused. ‘You did ask for the truth.’
Oscar put his hand on my chin and lifted my face upwards, so I had no choice but to look into his eyes as he spoke. He slid his hand slowly around my shoulders and pulled me close.
‘I’m so sorry for hurting you with this,’ I said remorsefully. ‘Albie and I are so lucky to have you.’ I stopped and looked into his eyes. ‘Kiss me, if it’s going to be all right,’ I whispered.
And he did.
My fortieth birthday came and went in October, without me really wanting to mark it at all. Oscar cooked me dinner at home and it was all very low-key. Once we had got through Christmas, the decorations had been packed away and the dust had settled on everything that had happened, Oscar and I had decided to move away from Clapham. We really needed a fresh start. Besides, we had always imagined the rented house was a stop-gap. In truth, it had been a trial for our relationship, and somehow, despite it all, we had managed to come out stronger.
We craved a house with a decent-sized garden for Albie, in close proximity to good schools and a station for Oscar’s commute, but not too far from Pippa who lived with Evie and Ollie in Sheen.
We had viewed three houses in Kingston upon Thames, and had opted for the middle one. With Oscar’s salary, plus the money from my flat, which I had sold to my tenant, we had been able to upscale to a five-bed with an ample garden. I had loved the house immediately – it was a new build, but in a traditional style. A proper family home. It had plenty of storage space, which appealed to my love of order and neatness, and there was a brand-new kitchen, with a white marble-topped island, which made my heart sing. I had got back into cooking over the last few months and was starting to foster dreams of starting a home-baking company and writing a cook book, once Albie started at nursery and I had some more time on my hands. I knew a great PR and marketing company who could take it on for me.
And now it was early summer. Albie was a lively boy, energetic and inquisitive, and was already walking and chatting nonsense by the time he turned one. He seemed to need constant entertaining so I embraced taking him to various classes and activities, being in the fortunate position of not having to rush back to work just yet, despite having been on maternity leave for just over a year.
We had just returned home from a local Gymboree session when the message appeared on my phone. It was the first message on the Baby Group thread in a long while and seeing that baby bottle icon again stopped me in my tracks. My stomach flipped.
Susie: Hello everyone, long time! Hope you and the little ones are all doing well? Hasn’t time flown?! We’re having a naming ceremony for Charlie, on Saturday 30th September on Clapham Common, 3 p.m., under the big oak tree by the Windmill pub. I know it’s a little way off, but since most of you have moved away now, we thought we’d get the date booked in. Lin, Charlie and I would absolutely love to see you there. We can call it a reunion of sorts! No presents, just bring a dish – for old times’ sake ;-). Pray for good weather.
Maggie is not invited!! Mooooo! Ha ha.
RSVP.
Love Susie xx
Then moments later, my phone lit up again.
Will: It’s so great to hear from you. Count us in! xx
Helen: Aaaah, our babies are all ONE now! Hope everyone’s well. Maddie is keeping us busy! We would love to join you. Ian and I are back to together btw :-) See you on the 30th. Hx
I looked at my online calendar – Oscar and I had no plans on 30th September, the weekend before my forty-first birthday. I hadn’t yet thought about what I might do for it. I hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate my fortieth last year, so Oscar had loosely mentioned that maybe we would make up for it this year. Perhaps we would end up going away, but for now, the date looked free.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Aisha
Friday, 30th September
As we neared the gathering, my heart started to pound. The spot they had chosen for the ceremony was only a stone’s throw from the
bandstand on the Common, the place Jason chose to deliver the news, so the thought of coming back here had initially made a chill run up my spine. But I had wanted to come; to not let a bad memory beat me. I – we – had moved on.
Now we were here, though, I started having doubts.
‘Do you think this is a good idea, Jason?’ I asked, a lump in my throat. I was pretty sure Lucy and Oscar wouldn’t turn up, but it wasn’t unthinkable. Granted almost a year had gone past since it all came out, but I still felt queasy at the thought of coming face-to-face with them, especially with Lucy.
Although still some distance from us, the group was easy to spot: there was bunting hung on the lower branches, and a trestle table covered in a white cloth had been set up to one side. There were glasses and ice buckets on it, plus a large cake.
When we arrived, there was no sign of Lucy and Oscar. Susie and Lin greeted us with warm hugs like the old friends I supposed we now were. It was really lovely catching up with the others and seeing their not-so-little ‘babies’ again. We immediately began swapping stories about our children’s first words, going back to work and how we were all adapting to a new lifestyle as parents.
But in a quiet moment later on, Susie pulled me to one side and examined my face carefully.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked.
I had withdrawn from the WhatsApp group after that dreadful time, yet something made me unable to leave it completely, and I took an interest from afar in the occasional conversation about nursery places, first steps, first haircuts and moans about missing pelvic floors; they made for amusing anecdotes from time to time.
Of course Lucy stayed mute on the group too, although I noticed she hadn’t exited it either. I had only told Susie what happened, when she had private messaged me, sensing something might be up because of my lack of communication. Of course she was floored when she heard.
