by Julie Cohen
As a child and a teenager, she’d told her mother everything. It was only since becoming an adult, since marrying Ben, since realizing that she herself wasn’t perfect, that she’d begun the soft process of concealment, of gently obscuring parts of her private life. It wasn’t an untruth she offered her mother: it was an edit.
From the expression on her mother’s face right now, she’d been unaware of the editing.
‘If it was so right,’ Louisa said, ‘why didn’t you tell us?’
Claire went to her mother, who was still holding the scan photo, and hugged her. One part of her was thinking this was another person she’d let down with her worry, with her detachment. But another part, a bigger part, was wondering, for the first time, if one day her own grown-up child would edit its own life. She was almost excited at the idea of being kept in the dark, because that meant there would be someone to do it.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said. ‘We were going to tell you. We just wanted to make certain that nothing was going to go wrong this time. Before you got your hopes up.’
‘But it seems such a risky proposition anyway.’
‘I couldn’t believe it myself,’ said Claire. ‘I’ve been worried that the baby didn’t exist, that it was a figment of my imagination. Especially as I’m not pregnant myself and I can’t feel the physical changes. But we’ve got the scan here, Mum. It’s going to be born, and it’s going to be ours.’
‘Well, if you’re going through with it, then of course you must do what you think best. I just don’t want you to be hurt, darling. I don’t want you to be hurt.’
She held her mother tighter. ‘I won’t be. I promise.’
‘What should we tell everyone?’ asked her father.
‘Tell them the truth,’ said Ben. ‘That we’re having a baby in January, and a surrogate is carrying it for us, and that we’re incredibly happy and we’ll take the baby to visit everyone once it’s born.’
Her father went round to stand behind Claire and Louisa, looking down at the photograph she held. A gentle, mischievous smile touched his face, and he put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘I know what I’ll say. I’ll tell them you’re doing an Elton John. That’ll shut them up.’
‘You,’ said Ben, after a very late supper and when they were alone at last, in their bedroom, ‘were amazing.’
‘I was truthful,’ she said. ‘That’s all. And you were right to make me go and see Romily. I’ve been too afraid, and it’s wrong.’
‘So we can shout out about our baby from the rooftops?’
‘Well, maybe start with friends and family first. Before the rooftop shouting.’
He took her in his arms. ‘I love you.’
Claire nestled her head into his shoulder. She kissed the side of his neck. ‘How tired are you?’
‘Not too tired at all.’ He slid his hand downwards and pulled her closer.
Her sister Helen rang first thing the next morning, before Claire left for school. ‘So you went through with it after all,’ she said. ‘You kept that under wraps.’
‘Sorry, Helen. We didn’t want to say anything until we knew it was all right.’
‘Mum is going round in circles and Dad has been muttering about talking to Mr Fredericks.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I think it’s great.’
‘You do?’
‘Even Mum had to admit that you looked happy. And once you’ve got a baby we’ll see more of you. That’s good enough for me.’
Claire spent most of Saturday afternoon composing an email and sending it to her various groups, friends, relatives and colleagues. Ben said it was so good that she might as well send it to his contact list too. She printed off every single response and tucked them into a scrapbook so that the baby could see them when he or she was older. Every email, every card that came through the letter slot, made her feel that this was really going to happen.
Or almost as if it was really going to happen. She could pretend the rest.
19
The Right Thing
IT WASN’T RAINING yet at least, which was good. And Posie hadn’t suspected anything. Romily wasn’t sure whether that was good or not. The little girl sprinted ahead of her across the park to the playground and immediately swarmed up the cone-shaped rope climbing-frame. Romily followed through the gate, went to the nearest bench and sat down. She checked her phone, but he hadn’t texted her to cancel.
‘See, Romily, I can do this one too!’ called Posie to her, hanging off the pinnacle and waving. Romily waved back.
She’d chosen this park because it was across town from the one they normally went to. They’d been here before, so it was comfortable, but not too often, so it had some novelty for Posie. It was also far enough away from their flat so that if this all went terribly wrong, they would never have to come here again. The heavy grey skies meant that the play park was empty of other children, although some hardy souls were playing football in the adjoining field. Romily craned her neck, looking out for Jarvis.
‘You’re not watching!’
‘Sorry, Pose.’ She forced her attention back to her daughter, who was now trying to balance on one foot on the slender rope, the toes of her other foot pointed like a ballerina’s. ‘Be careful there.’
‘Don’t worry, I can fly!’
But you can’t, Romily thought, halfway off the bench, poised to run and catch her if she fell.
She had looked into some of the baby books Claire had sent her last night when she couldn’t sleep, searching for a chapter on what to do when your child met their father for the first time in their lives. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t much advice in there. The closest she got was a paragraph suggesting that she express breast milk so that Daddy could give the night feed and let Mummy get some extra sleep.
Romily remembered the night feeds alone in her old one-bedroom flat. How she went to bed with Posie beside her so the baby could latch on in the night without either one of them really waking. How some nights when Posie wouldn’t settle she’d pace the flat, from bedroom to front room to bathroom to bedroom again, patting Posie on her bottom, murmuring lullabies of Latin names she’d memorized long ago. Ephemeroptera. Embiidina.
Those were the most alone times: four in the morning when the rest of the world was asleep, and four in the afternoon when the rest of the world was at work. The times when you willed the hours to pass so you could pick up a phone and talk to someone who understood language. The times when you knew there must be something wrong with you for wanting this to be over because everyone knew that mothers and babies made a world of two, made perfect happiness together. Because even carrion beetles could nurture and protect their young without feeling bored and desperate and alone.
Posie put both her feet on the rope and Romily sat on the bench, sighing in relief. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blond man in a dull green jacket.
‘Watch this!’ called Posie again and Romily said, ‘Okay,’ but she didn’t stop watching Jarvis, who stood outside the barrier watching his daughter. He had one hand on the gate but he didn’t open it. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, whether he was going to step inside or turn away.
‘Look, no hands! Whoops!’
Instinctively Romily was off the bench again, but Posie managed to catch herself. Romily felt rather than saw Jarvis sit on the bench beside her.
‘How do you handle the terror?’ he asked her in a low voice.
‘Badly.’
On the climbing-frame, Posie was pushing her feet one way on the rope and her hands the other way on the central pole, making the cone spin on its axis. Her entire attention was on going as fast as possible. Her hair tumbled around her face and her jacket was half-open.
‘She’s bigger than in the picture,’ said Jarvis.
‘That happens.’
‘When was her birthday?’
‘February the seventh.’
He grunted. They both watched Posie, who, deciding that t
he frame was spinning as fast as it would go, scrambled down and jumped off. She landed with a happy whoosh, sure on both feet, and ran to the swings.
‘She’s brave,’ said Jarvis.
‘That’s quite new. She started walking early, but she was physically timid up until she started school. She’s mostly a reader. She has an amazing imagination.’
‘Bright girl.’
‘Frighteningly so, sometimes.’
‘What have you told her all these years?’
‘That I didn’t know where her father was.’
‘Nothing else about me?’
‘Not much.’
‘Kind of you.’ There was a frown between his eyebrows.
‘I didn’t want her to be expecting you to turn up. I didn’t want her to be disappointed if you didn’t.’
‘That’s rich.’
‘We’re doing fine on our own.’
‘I have a life, you know, Romily. I wasn’t expecting to be hit over the head with this. If I haven’t been around for eight years, that’s your fault. Not mine.’
She set her jaw. He crossed his arms.
‘What did you tell her about today?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. I wasn’t sure you’d come, to be honest.’
He shot her a look at this. ‘You haven’t a very high opinion of me, have you?’
‘I have no opinion at all. You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to be. The less I think about it, the less I worry I’ve made a horrible mistake.’
‘What’s your horrible mistake, in your opinion? Telling me now, or not telling me before?’
‘Take your pick.’
‘Oh, believe me, I know which one was the horrible mistake.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Okay, here’s the deal. Someone said to me that it was important that a child should know they are wanted. If you plan to be part of her life, then you can tell her who you are. If you don’t, then don’t. Either way is fine. Today, you’ve got a free go. But if you want to see her again after this, we’ll have to tell her who you are and she’ll need to know she matters to you. I’m not going to have my daughter mucked around.’
‘I’m her father.’
‘You produced the sperm, yes. Whether you’re going to do anything else is up to you.’
‘No,’ said Jarvis. ‘Up till two weeks ago, it was up to you.’
‘Like it or not, those are the rules.’
‘I don’t think you have much right to be setting rules. Not after you robbed me of the chance to make up my own mind.’
‘Romily!’ Posie came running up from the swings, panting. ‘Do you have my bottle of water?’
Romily produced it. Posie took a long drink, oblivious of the man sitting beside her mother. She handed the bottle and the cap back to Romily separately. ‘Come and push me,’ she said, and ran back to the swings.
Romily and Jarvis considered each other for a long moment. Then Jarvis got up and went to the swings.
Romily pulled her legs up on the bench, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on one of her knees. My daughter, she thought. Mine.
But she stayed where she was.
Not far off nine years ago, when she’d recently started her PhD and Ben and Claire had started planning their wedding, she had met Jarvis on a blind date set up by some of her Museum of Natural History buddies. They’d met at the Queen’s Arms in South Kensington; Romily got to the pub very early and had been sitting there for two and a half hours, drinking pints of London Pride and rereading The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat. He’d turned up carrying a large parcel which he put down on the table.
‘You’ve started without me,’ he said. He was wearing a T-shirt and combat trousers. He was thinner than Ben, untidier than Ben, fairer than Ben. When he ran his hand through his hair, slightly damp from sweat, his T-shirt rode up enough so she could see a hint of skin.
You’ll do, she thought.
‘You’re late,’ she said. ‘What’s in the parcel?’
‘It’s my cousin’s birthday gift. I missed the Post Office.’
‘I’m on London Pride.’
‘Excellent.’
He’d returned with a pint for each of them and a shot of Jack Daniel’s for himself. ‘I need to catch up,’ he said.
Four hours later, they were in his bed in his studio flat in Hackney. The walls were papered with his photographs of woodpeckers. He’d won an award.
‘I’m not looking for love,’ she told him, her head on his hard shoulder, running her hand up and down his chest to see how it felt.
‘Now that’s a relief,’ he said. ‘I’m off round the world anyway. Someday.’
‘So am I.’
He bent his head to kiss her and pull her closer so they could make love again.
As Romily recalled, most of their dates went like that.
On the swings, he pushed Posie higher and longer than Romily would have pushed her, and then he spun her on the roundabout so fast that she couldn’t stop laughing. When the ice-cream van passed the park, Posie got her usual hopeful look and Jarvis loped over to the van, his hand in his pocket.
Romily opened her mouth to protest but then she shut it. He had not bought her an ice cream in seven years. Typical that Posie didn’t ask her permission, though. And she noticed that Jarvis bought two cornets, ignoring Romily.
The two of them sat side by side on the swings to eat their ice creams and Romily watched them from her bench. They were talking about something but she couldn’t hear what. She itched to go over and join them. She would go over if Posie seemed at all uncomfortable, or Jarvis seemed at all angry. But they just chatted.
Jarvis didn’t stop her from wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
Posie jumped up and ran to the climbing-frame again. ‘Watch!’ Romily heard her call. Jarvis watched for a little while, then he picked up her discarded ice-cream wrapper and brought it over to the bin near Romily’s bench.
‘I don’t think that went too badly,’ he said.
‘She gets on with most grown-ups. It comes with being an only child. What did you talk about?’
‘I didn’t tell her I was her father, if that’s what you’re asking.’
It was, but Romily shrugged. ‘We’re fine,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t got a big hole in her life or anything like that.’
‘I like her.’ His voice caught.
Romily hugged her knees and concentrated on watching Posie, who climbed on, oblivious.
Jarvis cleared his throat. ‘I want to see her again.’
‘That means you’re going to tell her.’
‘It’s my right.’
‘I’m not thinking of what’s best for you, Jarvis.’
‘I’m staying at my brother-in-law’s flat in London. He’ll let me stay as long as I like.’
‘And when do you go off again?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.’
She stood up. ‘You can’t muck her around, Jarvis. I warned you.’
‘Because you have always, one hundred per cent, made decisions for her that were the right ones. Correct?’
‘You don’t know what it’s like to be a parent.’
‘Funny, that,’ he said, and his voice was dangerously low.
‘Romily! Jarvis! Watch!’
Posie hung upside down from the climbing-frame. She waved at them, clambered upright, and hung upside down again from another rung.
‘Good work, Pose,’ called Romily.
‘I’m off now, Posie,’ called Jarvis. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He turned to Romily. ‘I’ll ring you next week.’
Romily watched him go. She wondered whether they were doing the right thing.
20
Inner Calm
‘YOU’VE BOOKED US into pregnancy yoga,’ said Romily. Her voice sounded less than enthusiastic.
‘I think it’ll be fun,’ Claire said, tucking her gym membership card back into her purse. ‘It’ll be good for the three of us to do something to
gether for the baby. Also, studies have shown that it can reduce morning sickness.’
‘Well, that would be worth getting a babysitter for.’
‘Yoga helps you live in the moment,’ Claire added. ‘Which is something I could do with.’
‘And I get to see the women in their tight leggings,’ said Ben. ‘So it’s win-win all round.’ He was grinning. It was so easy to make him happy, Claire thought, and when he was happy it was catching. And things seemed easier between her and Romily this time. As if their argument in Starbucks had cleared the air.
Ben opened the yoga studio door for Claire and Romily, but Romily paused on the threshold, taking in the mirrors and the wooden floors, the New Age music playing, the serene-looking women sitting on blue mats, their hands folded over their swollen bellies. For a moment, Claire expected her to turn around and leave.
‘Why isn’t there pregnancy football, is what I’d like to know,’ Romily muttered, and went in. She was wearing loose drawstring jogging bottoms and a mismatched T-shirt. At seventeen weeks, in clothes that weren’t too big for her, she was definitely beginning to show; there was a roundness to her stomach and it looked as if she’d gone up a bra size or two. Ben, still grinning, fetched mats for all of them and they settled in a row on the floor with him in the middle. Claire automatically assumed the lotus position, closed her eyes and breathed in and out, seeking to empty her mind of the thought that yet again she was in a room full of other women who were going to have babies.
