by Julie Cohen
‘You didn’t want one either. You were going away.’
‘We neither of us wanted one. And then you, apparently, changed your mind.’ He stopped and turned to her. ‘Is that what happened? Or were you lying to me and you planned to keep her all along?’
‘No! I wasn’t lying. I changed my mind.’
‘After I left, or before?’
‘After. I …’ She didn’t think that mentioning Ben would help at this point. ‘After.’
‘When were you going to tell me? Not ever?’
‘I didn’t think you’d be interested.’
‘You didn’t think I’d be interested? In the fact that I’m a parent?’ He started walking again. ‘Fucking hell!’
She tagged along beside him. ‘But then you showed up today and I couldn’t not tell you.’
‘Meaning that if I hadn’t shown up today, I’d have never known?’
‘I didn’t know where you were.’
‘It wouldn’t have been that hard to find out.’
‘When you left, you said it was better if we— we decided not to keep in touch.’
‘I didn’t know that you were going to keep my child!’
‘You were going to the back of nowhere for two years. You left your phone behind.’
‘There are messages, Romily. Emails. I could pick those up.’
‘I didn’t have your address.’
‘I have a family! Parents, brothers, sisters. You knew they were in London, or Dorset! You knew who I was working for! You saw my footage on the Discovery channel, for fuck’s sake! I wasn’t in outer space, you could have got in touch if you wanted to.’
‘We were finished. We never really started. You said it yourself.’ Though if you’d asked her two days ago, Romily wouldn’t have been able to quote exactly what he’d said.
‘A baby changes things,’ he said.
‘A baby doesn’t change anything. Neither one of us wanted to be tied down, and you were going on this huge exciting assignment. It was the chance of a lifetime. You said you didn’t want a child. You were very definite about it.’
‘Even if you didn’t believe I wanted to know, don’t you think I should have been given the choice?’
He stopped and looked directly at her when he asked that, and the guilt that she’d been so strenuously denying hit her. It was worse than the nausea.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘She looks just like my sister Sally at that age.’
‘She’s a good kid.’
‘Fuck.’
None of this was what Romily had expected. Though, she realized, she hadn’t been expecting anything. She hadn’t even thought about it. Not today, not over the past seven years. Somehow, she’d just assumed it would never happen. Jarvis didn’t want a baby, they’d split up never to see each other again, that was the end of it.
Except it seemed it wasn’t. It seemed she might have made a huge, catastrophic mistake, not only with her life, but with Posie’s.
‘What … do you want to do?’ she asked.
‘I want,’ said Jarvis, his hands still covering his eyes, ‘to walk into the nearest pub. And then I want to order a large drink, and drink it, and then I want to order another. I do not want you to come with me,’ he added. ‘I’m too angry with you to look at you.’
‘Okay.’
‘And then I want to go back to London and not speak with anyone for a few days. I want to get this through my head. And then, I will call you.’
‘You don’t have my number.’
‘I have it.’
Before she could ask how, he was walking away, with long strides that told her how much he wanted to get away from her. Romily leaned against the wall of the nearest shop, breathing hard, trying to suck enough air into her lungs.
Why did she tell him? She and Posie had been fine without him. Hadn’t they? And Jarvis may have conveniently for gotten, but Romily knew with all the certainty she was capable of that eight years ago, back when they were lovers about to split up, back when he was about to embark on the assignment that was going to make a name for him as a wildlife cameraman, he definitely did not want a baby. She hadn’t wanted a baby, either. Until after Jarvis had gone, until she’d spoken with Ben.
And even then, for thirty-four weeks after that, Romily didn’t know if she’d be able to do it, if she’d be able to be a mother. Not until the midwife handed her the hot little squirmy body, still smelling of amniotic fluid, with her slick of pale hair and her screwed-up eyes, the perfect limbs and the stub of the cord sticking out of her belly. Then she knew that she’d fight and fight for this child, no matter what. That she would keep her safe.
Which included keeping her safe from people who didn’t want her.
All at once she was angry at Jarvis, no longer on the defensive. Posie was his daughter. It was a shock to find out about her, but surely the appropriate, the grown-up response to finding out you had a child was not to yell and swear in the street and then go in search of the largest drink you could find?
She shouldn’t have told him. It was only that he looked so much like Posie; she’d had some wild feeling of guilt, some mad idea that they would bond.
And now she was in exactly the position she’d avoided all these years: with Posie having a father who didn’t want her, but who could get in touch and disrupt all their lives at any moment.
Romily felt dizzy and sick. Carefully, she made her way back to the museum. But her refuge had been invaded now. She’d tell them she was unwell, go back to the flat and crawl into bed until she had to pick Posie up. No point telling her anything about it, not now. Maybe Jarvis wouldn’t even bother to get in touch. If he had her phone number, he could have rung any time in the past eight years anyway. Probably he would decide to leave the country as soon as possible, go back to South America where he didn’t have any pesky responsibilities.
It was only when she was climbing the steps to the front entrance, trying to concentrate on keeping down the few sips of mint tea that were the only thing in her stomach, that she realized that Jarvis had taken Posie’s photograph with him.
He didn’t call until two weeks later.
17
Wanted
THE DINNER HAD not been a success. In the passenger seat of the car afterwards, with Ben driving home, Claire switched on Radio 3 to fill the silence.
She’d had a bit too much wine. Mike had kept on filling her glass, for one thing, circulating with the bottle every time an awkward pause fell. Or – to be more generous – he’d probably seen that she was on edge, and he was trying to help her relax.
Priya had been a bridesmaid at Claire’s wedding; they’d known each other from school. When Priya married Mike, years later, Claire had been one of her bridesmaids, too. By the time Priya started getting treatment for infertility, Claire had been through it already and she was always there on the end of a phone line or for coffee. She told Priya the best websites to visit, the best clinic to contact, what to expect at each appointment.
They hadn’t seen Mike and Priya for nearly a year now. Their twins, conceived following their first cycle of IVF, lay asleep upstairs. Their snuffling came through the baby monitor perched near the dining-room table. Everything else, all of the bottles and nappies and toys, had been cleared out of sight.
Before coming out tonight, Claire had made Ben promise not to mention their surrogacy arrangement. She waited for Mike to ask him why he was so obviously happy; she waited for Ben to respond to Priya’s looks of sympathy.
He hadn’t said anything, though at one point he’d disappeared into the back garden with Mike to look at the turf he’d laid, and Claire hadn’t been able to stay in the dining room with Priya making conversation about people they both used to know and trying not to talk about babies. She’d been certain that Ben was going to blurt out their secret, so she’d brought his glass out to him. They’d been talking a
bout building a shed. Ben made their excuses soon after.
She’d apologized, but it didn’t help her feel better, or restore Ben’s good mood. She’d been the one to ruin the evening, the one who’d made Mike and Priya feel bad for being happy, the one who hadn’t trusted her own husband.
What is wrong with me? she asked herself now, gazing out of the window at the passing lights, not listening to Mahler, not talking with her husband. Why can’t I let him have his joy? Why can’t I share it?
Ben’s phone rang and though she hated it when he did that, he automatically took it out of his pocket to glance at it whilst he was driving. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to take this.’ He pulled the car over into a layby. ‘Ed. What can I do for you?’
Claire judged it safe to look at him. He was frowning in the lights from the dashboard, the phone to his ear. She turned down the radio.
‘Uh huh. I understand. Yes, a full ground survey might have picked it up, but you decided against it.’ He rubbed the steering wheel with his free hand. ‘I know that delay is frustrating, but it will require a redesign, and that, of course, has implications for the budget. Yes. Yes, I understand but … Monday morning. Yes. I’ll see you then.’ He hung up and sighed. ‘They found a well on the old site. The Vaughans want to move the building.’
Claire put her hand on his leg. Down deep, she felt mostly relief that his disappointment with her had transferred to frustration with work. ‘Can you do it?’
‘Within budget? Not a chance. I’ve got a furious client and I’m going to have to cancel everything on Monday. This will take at least all day. Oh no!’
‘What?’
‘I’m supposed to be meeting with Romily on Monday.’
She stiffened slightly, and pulled her hand away from his thigh. ‘A midwife appointment?’ Though she knew it wasn’t; she had all the routine ones imprinted in her memory. Unless this was an emergency. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘It’s not a midwife appointment. We’re meeting for coffee.’
She was irritated with herself for her momentary stab of panic. ‘Well, you can reschedule that, surely?’
‘Not so much. She’s not answering her phone.’
‘What? Something is wrong?’
‘She says everything’s fine with the baby. She’s answering texts, but she won’t pick up a call, which isn’t like her. She just lets it go to voicemail and then responds by text. So I pinned her down to meet me on Monday to find out what’s going on. Can you go instead?’
‘What? Why me? She won’t want to see me.’
‘Claire,’ said Ben. He took her hand. The dashlights made his face slightly blue. ‘It’s going to be all right. Romily is fourteen weeks pregnant now. She’s beyond the first trimester danger zone. This baby is going to be okay. You can stop being afraid.’
‘But you just said something was wrong.’
‘I just said there was nothing wrong with the baby. I’m worried about Romily.’ He leaned his head back on the seat. ‘I’m worried about you as well. I know you’re afraid, but there’s this huge change going on in our lives and you won’t let us discuss it with anyone. I feel as if I’m living in a minefield. Have you even looked at the scan picture on the fridge, or have you been closing your eyes every time you’ve got out the milk?’
‘I’ve looked at it,’ she said quietly.
‘I keep waiting for you to give us permission to be happy.’
‘I want to be happy. I just … it’s hard.’
‘Maybe you and Romily don’t see eye to eye about everything. And I can understand why you’d resent her a little bit. But in the end it’s about our child. You do want this baby, don’t you?’
For some reason her student Max flashed into her mind. What he’d said about his stepmother getting pregnant. What he’d said about himself.
She’d been keeping herself from wanting this baby too much, out of self-defence. But when did that cross the line into wilful indifference?
‘I want the baby,’ she said. ‘I do.’
‘Then go and see Romily. Please. Help her with whatever’s going on. She needs us both, and we need her.’
A car passed them, and its headlights lit up the interior of their car. The space between them.
‘All right,’ said Claire.
Claire was there early. Ben had arranged to meet Romily in Starbucks, a place Claire never normally went into because if she was going to treat herself, she preferred the independently owned coffee shop down the road. She ordered a cappuccino and a lemon muffin and chose a table by the window.
She was determined to be rational, sensible, generous. Not necessarily for Romily’s sake, but for Ben’s. And for the baby’s.
Romily appeared ten minutes late and though Claire waved, she stood in the doorway for a few moments before she spotted her. Romily looked awful. She wore a man’s jumper rolled up at the sleeves and her face looked puffy and pale; her hair had grown out of its crop and was shaggy and unkempt. Claire stood up as Romily approached.
‘Where’s Ben?’ asked Romily. Up close, she looked even worse. Her complexion was so pale it bordered on green, and she had dark shadows under her eyes. Her lips were chapped and her nose was pink. There was near-panic in her eyes. Obviously Ben hadn’t told her that he couldn’t make it.
‘He had a problem with a client,’ Claire told her. ‘So I came instead. What would you like to drink?’
‘I’ll get it.’
‘No, I insist.’
‘No, I will.’ Romily turned and went to the counter. Every step was weary.
Well. This was going swimmingly. Claire sat back down and took a sip of her coffee. Eventually, Romily came back with a large frozen pink drink.
‘That looks interesting,’ Claire said pleasantly.
‘It’s okay, it’s got fruit in. Theoretically.’ Romily scraped back the chair and sat heavily in it. Under the roomy jumper, there might have been a bit of a roundness to her belly, but she was so slender it was hard to tell.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I know, I look awful.’
‘I … didn’t mean to imply—’
Romily waved her hand. ‘You don’t have to imply anything. I own a mirror. And besides, I feel awful.’ She put her drink down on the table without tasting it.
‘Is everything okay? With the baby?’
‘Your baby is fine. It’s the damn hormones that are doing me in.’
‘Ben said you had a bit of morning sickness.’
‘It started out as a bit. For the past week I’ve been sick every two hours on the dot. It’s got to the point where I don’t bother to eat anything that looks substantially different coming out than it did going in. Weetabix is the easiest. No offence to all that food you sent or anything.’
‘That’s awful. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. Well, it is, sort of.’ She laughed, but not as if she found it funny.
‘I thought morning sickness wasn’t supposed to last past the first trimester,’ Claire said.
‘In theory, not for most women. I never even had it last time. I’m just getting unlucky this go round.’ She poked her cup with a finger. ‘How are you, anyway?’
‘Fine, thank you. We saw some friends on the weekend. Priya and Mike. You might remember them from the wedding.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘How’s everything else? How’s Posie?’
‘Posie is fine. She misses you.’
Claire bit her lip. ‘Yes, I can imagine. Sorry.’
‘I’ll tell her you said hi.’ Romily sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. ‘So Ben couldn’t make it so you came to check up on me?’
‘He was a bit … worried. He said you weren’t answering his phone calls.’
‘He shouldn’t be offended. I haven’t been answering anybody’s.’
Possibilities zipped through Claire’s mind. Romily had changed her mind. She had antenatal depression. She’d told her work and they’d sacked her. Posie had take
n the news badly.
‘Don’t look so terrified,’ Romily said. ‘Your baby is fine, I told you, though I haven’t had much energy to cook those amazing vegetables or write those heartfelt letters you thought were such a good idea.’
Her tone was so sarcastic that Claire snapped, ‘Actually I wasn’t thinking about the baby or the letters. I was thinking of you.’
‘Worried about whether I’m following all the instructions you gave me?’
‘No, I—’
‘Because there were a lot of them. Books and printouts and pamphlets. Everything in incredible detail. If Ben hadn’t repeatedly assured me otherwise, I’d have thought you didn’t trust me to get it right.’
‘That’s not—’
‘Because I have actually done this before, you know. And Posie hasn’t turned out so badly. I’m not completely hopeless when it comes to incubating a baby. I don’t need every self-help manual on the planet.’
Romily’s eyes were fierce in her tired face. She looked rumpled, almost feral. Claire sat taller in her chair, trying to keep her voice calm, to be the rational one.
‘Ben keeps on saying that I should get involved,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s fair that I should be attacked for it.’
‘Ben told you to be Lady Bountiful?’
‘I was only sending you things to help. I had no idea it was offending you so much. I shall certainly stop if you want me to.’
‘Oh, that’s right, it’s all my fault. You’ve always been the helpful one, the generous one, with Posie and now with this. Don’t you ever think that it might make me feel like I’m not good enough?’
People were watching them. Claire lifted her finger to her lips. ‘Shh.’
‘Don’t shush me! I’m hormonal and I feel like shit and I don’t need someone telling me how to live every minute of my life, what to eat and how to act! I can make decisions by myself, about my own body. Posie’s all right, isn’t she?’
Claire had had enough. She pushed her chair back and said, clearly and loudly, every word enunciated, ‘Don’t you think I would do anything to feel just like you do right now?’
