by Julie Cohen
Romily, who happened to know that Ben was not keen on mushrooms, mouthed Thanks.
She’d been beaming too. She’d decided, after giving Ben the news, that the best feeling for her to have was unalloyed joy. Uncomplicated, straightforward, and happy. Why choose to feel any other way?
‘I’ll have a salad,’ said Claire.
‘That’s not much,’ Ben said. ‘You’re not planning on stealing my mushrooms too, are you?’
‘I’m not very hungry.’
Claire hadn’t said a lot, just played with her mineral-water glass. Romily wondered if, now that they’d started for real on this baby thing, she was getting cold feet. If she’d decided she didn’t want to do this, it was going to be pretty crappy for Romily and Ben. And the baby, of course, whatever it was.
Ben seemed cheerful enough. ‘Want to go outside and see the ducks, peanut?’
‘Yeah.’ Posie hopped off her chair and they went out of the door of the pub, down to the Thames which flowed at the end of the beer garden.
Romily was left with Claire. She seemed to be being left alone with Claire a lot, lately. She cleared her throat.
‘So,’ she said. ‘It’s good news, eh? I didn’t expect it to happen so fast. But that’s good, anyway. You two have been waiting long enough.’
Claire appeared to come back from whatever distant cloud she’d been floating on since they’d entered the pub. ‘Yes. We’ve been waiting a long time.’
‘Well, hopefully only nine months now. Posie was two weeks late, so maybe we’ll have to wait a little bit longer for this one too.’
‘Do you feel any different?’
‘No, not really. I wouldn’t have known if I didn’t do the test.’
‘You don’t even feel pregnant?’
Romily shrugged. ‘But I didn’t feel pregnant with Posie, either. I didn’t quite believe it until my belly started to grow.’
Claire was watching her with an expression that was calm, un emotional. No wonder Romily could never figure out what she thought.
‘Do you intend to stay vegetarian throughout your pregnancy?’ Claire asked.
‘Um. Well, yes.’
‘We’ll have to look into additional supplements to make sure the baby gets everything it needs.’
Romily opened her mouth to say that Posie had grown pretty well on Pot Noodles and veggie burgers, but Ben and Posie came back then, so instead she said, ‘Excuse me, I’m going to nip to the loo before our food shows up.’
Ben helped her by pulling back her chair for her, and when Romily stood up she caught a glimpse of Claire’s face. And this time, she could read the expression. It was undisguised dislike.
Then it was gone.
12
What to Expect
BEN TURNED UP at Romily’s flat on a Sunday with two enormous cardboard boxes.
‘Is it a present for me?’ Posie wanted to know immediately.
‘No, but I do have this.’ He took a notebook covered with multicoloured birds out of his pocket, and a matching pen out of the other pocket. ‘I thought maybe you could write me a story in it.’
Romily, who had already glimpsed What to Expect When You’re Expecting beneath the flap of one of the boxes, added, ‘In your room.’
‘Fortuitous!’ Posie took the notebook and pen and disappeared.
‘Are you sure you really want a kid?’ Romily asked Ben. ‘She’s been up since five thirty this morning. We’ve already gone around the park four times on her bicycle and she’s still not worn out. And then she cost me six quid in cake and hot chocolate, and asked me what the difference was between Jesus and Mohammed.’
Ben chuckled. ‘Clever girl.’
‘Children are expensive and they never let you sleep.’ Romily sank onto the sofa. ‘You are heading for eighteen years of being torn between wanting them to go away and leave you alone for a minute, and being petrified when they wander out of your sight.’
‘I’ll take her out this afternoon if you want to have a nap.’
‘I wouldn’t mind, to be honest. She was go go go yesterday, too.’ Romily winced, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘And my boobs are killing me.’
‘That’s good news.’
‘You wouldn’t think so if they were attached to your chest.’ Romily poked open the first box. ‘Has Claire been shopping?’
‘Spent all day yesterday at it. I have no idea what’s in there.’
‘One, two, three, four pregnancy books.’ Romily lifted them out and peered inside. ‘More vitamins. Cocoa butter. It’s a bit early to worry about stretchmarks, don’t you think?’
‘She’s very thoughtful.’ Ben went to Romily’s little fridge and took out a Coke. He leaned against the kitchenette arch, crossing his legs at the ankles, completely at home, and cracked the can open. She realized this was the first time she’d been alone with him, even for a minute, since confirming that she’d carry his baby. Those few moments alone with a syringe of his sperm didn’t really count. She delved back into the box.
‘Lavender essential oil. A Chopin CD? Am I supposed to be playing this to your embryo to make it more intelligent or something?’
‘I have no idea. Maybe Claire thinks it will help you relax.’
‘Because Posie is the cleverest little kid I know and she mostly listened to Green Day.’
‘Claire’s done a lot of research. She’s very good at this sort of thing.’
Romily pulled out a cloth-covered notebook, embellished with embroidered flowers and suns and clouds. ‘My Pregnancy Journal,’ she read. ‘You have got to be kidding me. What am I supposed to write in there? Five weeks: my tits hurt. Three months: getting fat. Six months: really fat now. Nine months: oh look – a baby.’
‘I think she had some ideas about that. There’s a printout or something.’
Romily unfolded a piece of paper that had been slipped between the pages. ‘Children who have unconventional beginnings – those conceived via surrogacy, or those who are adopted or fostered from birth – can often benefit from being reassured that they were wanted before they were even born. Write letters to your unborn child, describing your emotions. Explain why he or she is so important in your life. This can be a good idea for the adoptive parents as well as the surrogate or biological parents, and will give a rich resource for your child when he or she is curious about his or her origins.’ She put down the paper. ‘So she wants me to write letters as well as keeping a diary? This is feeling more like a homework assignment than incubating a kid, Ben.’
‘It’s only a suggestion.’
‘Letters describing my emotions. What the hell is that all about? Why would a kid I’m not keeping care how I feel while it’s using my womb-space for nine months? Even if I did want to spill whatever non-existent emotions I had onto a page for posterity, which I do not, I can’t think of anything worse – and where am I going to find the time anyway, when I’m popping vitamins every five minutes?’
Ben held up his hand. ‘Okay, okay, it’s not compulsory. Claire likes sharing emotions. Talking things through.’
‘I don’t.’
‘I know.’
‘The whole thing makes me feel like I’m going to come out in hives. Claire can write the letters if she thinks it’s important. The best thing for this baby is for me to just fade into the background. It’s not mine, it’s yours.’
‘Well, we did hope you’d be his or her godmother.’
‘You did? Or Claire did?’
He grimaced slightly, and Romily could see she’d hit a sore point.
‘She doesn’t even like me much,’ Romily said, putting the diary and the printout back in the box. ‘I mean, not to make things difficult for you, Ben, but you have to admit we hardly have anything in common these days except for you. Which is fine, because I don’t have to have anything in common with her. As long as she wants this baby, that’s good with me. But I don’t think she trusts me.’
‘Of course she trusts you.’
&n
bsp; ‘Then why has she sent half a tonne of vitamins and a Chopin CD?’
Ben sighed. He came and sat down next to Romily on the sofa.
‘You have to understand Claire,’ he said. ‘So much of what has happened with us for the past few years has been completely beyond her control. She didn’t choose to have faulty eggs, nor to lose the pregnancy. You can’t blame her for wanting to be part of the process.’
‘She is part of the process. She’s getting the baby at the end of it, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, Romily. But I think she’s going to want more input.’
‘For example, giving me homework to do?’
‘Well, I thought she’d want to come to the midwife appointments, maybe. And it’s natural that she wants to look after you while you’re carrying a baby for us. We both do.’
‘That’s fair enough. It’s your baby. But it’s my body.’
Ben frowned. ‘Are you having second thoughts about this now?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly. ‘No no no no. Of course not. It’s just … all of this is a bit much. All this stuff. I have to keep it hidden until we tell Posie, for one thing. And I don’t need it, not really.’
‘But if you do need something, anything, you’ll let us know, won’t you? I’ve been looking into all the legal ins and outs and I’ve made an appointment with a solicitor. The most important thing seems to be that we can’t give you anything that could be construed as payment, because that’s illegal in the UK. But we can cover your expenses, and your maternity clothes, and whatever pay you might lose for time off work, so you’re not out of pocket.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Romily said, uncomfortable. ‘If I have trouble accepting a Chopin CD, I’m not about to ask you for a new wardrobe. Anyway, this isn’t the issue. The issue is that I can’t be pregnant and be a mum and be working and jump through hoops, too, to fulfil what Claire thinks a perfect pregnancy would be like. I don’t have time for everything.’
Ben took Romily’s hand. ‘She’s never had it,’ he said softly. ‘Never once, what’s easy for you. And preparing for every eventuality is how she copes with uncertainty. Let her be a little part of it, Romily.’
His palm and fingers were warm around hers. Almost guiltily, she withdrew her hand.
Claire doesn’t know what she does have, she thought. Nor that I want him, too.
‘All right,’ she said.
‘No,’ said Claire.
Ben had been waiting for her when she got in from her walk. There was a large bouquet of flowers beside him on the table, in a vase that was too small for them. She ignored them.
‘You don’t have to take any time off work,’ he said. ‘She’s made the first appointment for five o’clock. You’ll have plenty of time to get there.’
‘I’m not going to a midwife appointment.’
‘Claire, this is our baby. I thought you’d want to be involved. More involved than sending boxes of supplies for me to deliver. Don’t you think you’ll regret it later, if you aren’t?’
‘This isn’t about regret. This is about self-preservation. I know what I can and cannot do, Ben. I can buy vitamins, I can buy supplies from the internet. I can research what’s best for a developing pregnancy. But I cannot go and sit in a midwife’s reception room next to a woman who’s having a baby for me.’
‘Why not, darling? I’d be there too.’
‘It will be full of pregnant women. I’ll feel like a failure.’
‘You’re not a failure. We’re going about things a different way, that’s all.’
Claire went past him to the tap and got herself a glass of water. ‘Let’s stop talking about this. We’re just going round in circles. I’m not attending the midwife appointment, not this one. I can’t.’
‘No one in the waiting room is going to know that you’ve tried to get pregnant,’ Ben said. ‘They’ll think you’re Romily’s sister, or her friend, or her lesbian lover. And who cares what they think, anyway? This is about us.’
‘But I’ll know. I always know.’
He sighed. ‘And I’m in the middle here with Romily. You haven’t seen her since the day she took the positive test. She’s worried that you don’t like her.’
‘Right at this moment, I don’t.’
‘So you can’t go to the midwife with her, fair enough. But what if you did something else together, just the two of you relaxing and having a good time? I could get you a spa day—’
Claire laughed, once, humourlessly. ‘A pregnant woman can’t do a spa day. You’re not allowed any of the treatments.’
‘Okay, something else then. Lunch, or the cinema. A gallery.’
‘Ben, she’s pregnant with your baby and I’m not. A visit to a gallery isn’t going to change that.’
Ben got up. He put his hand on her neck, and stroked his thumb down her nape. Claire didn’t respond.
‘She’s not my wife,’ he said. ‘You are.’
‘Don’t ask it of me, Ben. Please.’
‘She’s doing the most incredible thing for us. For us, Claire.’
‘She told me it was for you. Because you convinced her to have Posie.’
‘Whatever she does for me, she does for you too. She knows that.’
Claire put down her glass of water and braced both her hands against the sink. It was a salvaged farmhouse sink of heavy white porcelain, cold and smooth under her hands. ‘I’ve been trying to sort it all out in my head, Ben. I know it’s an incredible thing. I know I should be happy that we’re going to have a family. But it’s all been too fast. I haven’t had time to assimilate it. You have to let me come to terms with it in my own time.’
‘Maybe you should write a diary, or letters. Like you asked Romily to do. It could help you sort out your emotions.’
‘I’m not sure the baby would want to read what’s going through my head right now.’
‘I hate to break it to you, Claire, but I don’t think the baby’s going to come out reading.’
She managed a shaky laugh.
‘I love you,’ he told her. ‘I’ll accept that maybe I can’t understand how you feel, not exactly. But I think it’s important that you try.’
‘Maybe … maybe later. After the first trimester, when it’s safer.’
‘I know you’re worried about losing the baby. But there’s no reason to think it’ll happen this time.’
And don’t you think your certainty hurts me? she thought, but she didn’t say it. Instead, she turned and went into his arms.
‘I don’t have that innocence any more,’ she said, her cheek against his chest. ‘I can’t afford to hope.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll have to hope for both of us, then.’
13
Rupert or Guinevere
‘ROMILY,’ SAID POSIE, ‘why have we got a big box of vegetables outside our front door?’
Romily, who had been trying to tighten her bra straps as she walked so that her boobs didn’t move quite so much, and had just about given it up and decided she needed to buy some new, proper bras, preferably ones involving some sort of hydraulic lift system, stopped and looked where Posie was pointing. Sure enough, there was a big box of vegetables outside their front door. Stonyfield Organic Farm, it said on the side.
‘I think we’ve been visited by the veg fairy,’ said Romily, though of course she knew who’d arranged it. Lady Bountiful, sending gifts from a distance. She’d be sending a cleaner next; Romily hadn’t missed the way she’d looked around the flat the one time she’d been there. Because God knew that healthy babies were never born in a house that had a few dust bunnies. ‘Help me take it in.’
It looked like a huge pile of healthiness in their otherwise barren kitchen. Cabbage, onions, leeks, courgettes. Great. All stuff she had to cook, and which created smells too. Smells were a problem just now; everything made her want to retch. Romily peeled a carrot, gave it to Posie and then lay down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the arm. All by themselves, her eyelids drif
ted shut.
The morning sickness was new. She’d never been so much as nauseated when pregnant with Posie. But this was nearly constant, dragging her down, stopping her from thinking properly. For the last three mornings, she’d had to get up at 5 a.m. to run to the toilet and vomit. At the museum, she couldn’t even get close to anything remotely smelling of naphthalene; she’d been stuck working on the database. Eating supposedly helped, but she wasn’t ever hungry.
She hadn’t mentioned it to Ben, knowing if she did, a big box of organic, safe nausea remedies would turn up at her door.
Crunch.
She opened her eyes. Posie was standing over her, chewing on her carrot.
‘Nice rabbit impression, Pose.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘I’m really tired, love. I’ll make tea in a minute, I just need to rest first. Why don’t you look up cabbage recipes on the internet?’
‘I know what’s wrong with you.’
Her blue eyes were serious under her blonde fringe. Romily sat up.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m absolutely fine, Pose.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re tired all the time. You keep on taking those pills when you think I’m not looking. You keep on sending me out of the room when you talk to Ben and Claire. And now you’re trying to get us to eat more healthy food.’
Romily made a mental note to no longer underestimate Posie’s powers of observation. ‘None of that means anything is wrong, Posie. I’m just trying to get healthier.’
‘Even I know that you get healthier by exercising, not by lying on the sofa every day after school. And I’ve heard you throwing up.’ Posie sat down next to Romily and took her hand, a gesture that was so un-Posie-like that Romily sat up even straighter. ‘You’ve got cancer, haven’t you?’
‘What? No, I haven’t got cancer.’
‘It’s okay, I’ve looked it all up so I understand. I can help look after you. It’s your breasts, isn’t it? Mrs Corrigan is starting up a Knitting Club at school so I can join that even though I don’t like clubs, because you’ll probably want some hats for when your hair falls out.’
