by Julie Cohen
‘Romily!’ Posie was running up the beach towards her, her feet slipping in the sand. She was, predictably, soaked to the skin. ‘Come and play!’
‘You’re having a good time with Jarvis,’ Romily said. ‘You don’t need me.’
‘We want you!’ Posie grabbed her hand with her cold, sea-wet fingers and tugged. ‘It’s fun.’
Romily got to her feet and went along with Posie. Jarvis was waiting for them, ankle-deep in shifting water, his hair ruffled by the wind. He grinned at her, the sort of grin she hadn’t seen from him for eight years, and rare enough even back then. It made him look younger.
‘Your daughter reckons she can command the sea by the force of her will,’ he said.
‘I wouldn’t put it past her.’
‘Let’s do it together.’ Posie reached out and took Jarvis’s hand with her other one. ‘One, two, three, run!’
They launched together into the surf, chasing the wave down the slope. It foamed away from them and the sand hissed under their feet. ‘And stay there!’ yelled Posie, and then she screamed as the water came rushing back, backpedalling up the beach with Romily and Jarvis on either side.
‘There’s this thing called the tide,’ began Romily, but then they were running back towards the sea as it retreated, and up the beach again as it advanced. Breathless, laughing, with salt on their lips and in their hair, grasping slippery fingers and swinging Posie between them.
On a downward run, just as the sea was about to turn and rush back, Posie let go of their hands and sprawled headfirst into the water. Instinctively Romily grabbed for her, but Jarvis got there first and Romily collided with him. He steadied her with one arm, pulling Posie up with the other.
‘Again!’ spluttered Posie, her hair in wet rat’s-tails, laughing. She squirmed free of Jarvis and rolled in the froth. For a split second Romily was held against Jarvis’s side. She could feel his ribs against his wet shirt, the lithe strength of his chest and arm, his quick breath.
Then he let her go and backed away a step or two.
‘I think the idea is to play in the sea, Pose, not to drink half of it,’ said Romily, wringing water out of her top.
‘Lemonade,’ said Jarvis, reaching down and hauling a giggling Posie out of the water again. ‘And then shell-hunting. Come on, explorers, let’s go.’
‘I don’t want to wear a hat,’ said Posie, scrambling up the beach to where they’d left their stuff.
‘You will,’ said Romily and Jarvis at the same time. ‘Young lady,’ added Jarvis. Romily covered her mouth with her hand.
She twisted off a strawberry stem and handed the berry to Posie before popping another one in her mouth. ‘You,’ she said to Jarvis, ‘really do know how to pack a picnic.’
The blanket was littered with sandwich crusts, empty crisp packets, crumbs of cake. Posie had commandeered a corner of it for her treasures and she rearranged her shells and seaweed in a circle, with the one fossil they’d found in the centre: a curve of ammonite. A drop of strawberry juice ran down her chin and she absently wiped it away on her bare arm.
‘We used to come here every summer,’ Jarvis said. ‘We had picnics just like this one, only I remember vast quantities of potted meat.’
‘Ew,’ said Posie.
‘Don’t knock it. It’s hard to be a vegetarian when you’re a world explorer.’
‘I might eat snake, maybe.’
‘Snake is delicious.’ He poured the last of a tube of crisps into his hand and tipped them into his mouth. ‘I never found a fossil on this beach, though. I’ve got a boxful of fossils that I found further along the coast.’
‘Bet I can find more.’
‘I’ll take you up on that. In a minute.’ He leaned back on his elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him. Romily found herself looking at his feet. They were dusted with sand, long, lean and familiar, as familiar as his body had felt an hour ago in the surf.
In a different world they might have been here as a family. She would have heard about his childhood picnics already. She would probably be sick of hearing about his childhood picnics.
‘You’ve got a big family, haven’t you?’ she asked, memory tickling. ‘Still in London?’
‘Spread out all over the South of England. You can’t throw a stone without hitting one. They’d like to meet you, Posie.’
‘You’ve told them about her?’
‘Yes.’ He raised his eyebrows as if he expected her to object, but she didn’t. She was too relaxed, and besides, he had a right.
‘They probably all hate me for not telling you sooner.’
‘No. That is, my mother does. But my sisters say I am a feckless gadabout and that they’d think twice about telling me, too.’
‘They say that?’
‘Not in those words exactly. But I know them well.’
‘I’m going to have a brother or sister soon,’ volunteered Posie. ‘We call it Thing.’
‘Posie.’
‘Yes,’ said Jarvis. ‘How … when is the baby due?’
‘At the beginning of January.’
‘You and Ben must be pleased.’ He pulled his leg up, away from her.
‘And Claire’s pleased too,’ said Posie. ‘Claire has decorated the nursery already. I saw it, it’s yellow like sunshine. I don’t mind sharing it. They have a spare room for you, if you want it, Jarvis, because I know you don’t have a house in England.’
‘Posie, leave it.’
Jarvis frowned. ‘Claire decorated the nursery?’
‘Yes, Claire doesn’t have good eggs so Romily is having the baby for her. She and Ben used artificial respiration.’
‘Insemination, Posie, and that’s enough. Why don’t you build a sandcastle.’ Romily pushed buckets and spades in her direction. She felt Jarvis’s stare.
‘Okay,’ said Posie, and went a little way off to start digging sand.
‘Ben is still married to Claire?’ Jarvis said, in a low furious tone. ‘You’re acting as their surrogate?’
‘Yes. It’s no big deal, Jarvis. I volunteered.’
‘What are you, fucking stupid?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘I take that back. You’re clearly not stupid, but you must be insane.’
‘Jarvis, this is none of your business.’
‘You’re carrying Ben’s baby. It’s yours and Ben’s.’
‘Genetically it’s ours, but legally—’
‘Legally! As if that matters. You’ve been in love with Ben for years.’
It was like a punch in the chest. ‘How—’
‘I’ve got eyes, Romily. You might call him your best friend, but I was never fooled by that. He’s some sort of god to you – who knows why.’
‘You don’t know anything.’ The two of them were both on their knees now, face to face, talking in a cross between shouts and whispers. Two metres away, Posie dug in the sand, humming quietly to herself.
‘Your capacity for self-delusion hasn’t changed at all,’ said Jarvis. ‘Do you really think you’re going to be able to give this baby away?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course I will. Ben and Claire want this baby. It’s theirs.’
‘You couldn’t give up Posie, and you didn’t even love me.’
Romily put both her hands on her stomach. ‘It’s different.’
‘The difference is, this one is Ben’s. Or maybe you’re using this baby as leverage to finally get Ben for yourself.’
‘Like I used Posie as leverage to get you to stay? Oh no, wait – I didn’t do that, did I? You said you wanted freedom and I let you have it.’ Romily scrambled to her feet and grabbed her sandals. ‘I’m not having this conversation with you. I’m going for a walk. Look after Posie for me.’
Jarvis said something else, but she didn’t hear it. She was walking rapidly across the soft sand towards the dunes. A path led her through them between tufts of spiky grass.
How did he know? She’d never told him. She’d never told anyone, except for the pages
of that notebook. She’d been hiding it for years with everything she said and did. She’d even chosen Jarvis initially because he was the opposite physical type to Ben.
Except she’d built her entire life around being near Ben, and now she was having his baby.
Romily left the path and climbed over a dune, brushing through grass. Jarvis was full of shit. This was Ben and Claire’s baby, and she wasn’t going to have any trouble giving it up, because it was theirs. Theirs, together. Not hers. Not to be used as leverage, or emotional blackmail, or something to torture herself with. She was an incubator for their child, pure and simple, and if she happened to have deeper feelings for its father than she let on, well then, that was nobody’s business but her own. Certainly not Jarvis’s.
You couldn’t give up Posie, and you didn’t even love me.
Posie was hers, though. She’d been Romily’s, and nobody else’s, right from the beginning. Although Romily never could have guessed how complex and hurtful and wonderful and exhausting that belonging could be.
A seagull hovered above her, riding the air currents, using minuscule movements to hang still in the air. Back there on the beach, her daughter and her daughter’s father dug in the sand together and laughed and forged a relationship. Whatever Romily did affected Posie, and Jarvis did have a say about that. Whether she liked it or not, Posie was not only hers any more.
And Jarvis had seen how she really felt about Ben. He was the only one in the world to see it.
What if he was right? What if she had volunteered to have Ben’s baby because somewhere, down deep, she thought it would make him love her?
The wind and sun made her squint. From here she couldn’t see the beach; the dunes were too tall. She turned to climb back over the dune towards the sea, and when she’d reached the top, a bird exploded out of the grass to her left at the same time as her foot slipped in the sand. She put out her hands but there wasn’t anything to grab hold of, only waving grass, enough to unbalance her further, and her foot caught on something, a root or a stone or a hole, and momentum pitched her forward onto her face. She slid down the dune, a high bird-cry in her ears, catching at nothing.
She came to a stop and lay there, sand in her mouth and eyes, trying to work out whether she was hurt. She could feel scratches on her face and knees, but her ankle throbbed and she felt as if she’d been punched in the belly. My baby, she thought, and rolled over and put both her hands on her stomach, too late to protect it.
‘Mummy!’
‘Romily!’ Jarvis came running up to her, Posie behind him. ‘Are you okay?’ He put his hands on her arms gently, his eyes probing her face.
‘Guess I can’t fly after all,’ Romily said, and tried to smile.
‘Can you sit up? Have you hurt yourself?’
‘I think I’m all right.’ She sat up, ignoring a pull of pain, spat out sand, and reached out to Posie. ‘I’m okay, Pose. Don’t worry, sweetheart.’
Posie threw herself into Romily’s arms. Romily winced, but held her.
‘What happened?’ Jarvis was kneeling next to them. ‘Did you slip?’
‘I caught my foot in a hole or something. It’s okay. I think I twisted it.’
‘We need to get you to a doctor.’
Romily saw the fear in Posie’s face. ‘No, no, I’m fine.’
They had attracted a small crowd of fellow beach-goers. One of them handed Jarvis a water bottle, which he gave to her so she could rinse out her mouth. The adrenaline had caught up with her, making her feel dizzy and sick. She bent her head and put it between her knees.
She hadn’t broken anything, by the feel of it. She’d fallen harder because of being front-heavy, and she’d have some bruises and scrapes. She might have struck a rock or a root, or something hard. But as long as the baby was fine …
Through the pain and the dizziness and the sound of the sea and the people around her talking, she felt what she hadn’t before: warm wetness between her legs. Dropping the water bottle, she put her hands to her bare inner thighs. When she lifted her hands to her face, her fingers were covered with bright blood.
27
Don’t Go
JARVIS PICKED HER up and carried her to the car, Posie hurrying after them. Romily didn’t protest. She held her belly and tried to feel a movement, prayed to feel a movement.
He didn’t say anything, laying her on the back seat, driving what she suspected was considerably over the speed limit. Posie sat quietly too, and all that Romily could hear was the sound of the engine and her heart beating.
Don’t go, Thing, she thought as hard as she could. Don’t go.
She found a packet of tissues in the back-seat pocket and shoved some of them in her pants. Borrowed car. Don’t want to take it back with a stain on the seat. Her hand came out with more blood on it; she wiped it on her shirt.
Don’t go.
It seemed to take a very long time to get to the hospital. Once they’d arrived, Jarvis said, ‘Wait here,’ and disappeared into the building. The silence in the stopped car was very large.
‘It’ll be fine, Posie,’ said Romily. ‘I’m okay, we’re just a little worried about Thing.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘It’s probably nothing. Babies are tough. They survive almost everything. And it’s well-protected inside me. It’s as if I wrapped you up in a whole load of pillows.’
But she could feel the cramping now, low in her stomach and in her back. It was hard to tell how bad it was, how much was her own pain and how much of it was from the baby, but she didn’t think it was bad. Not yet.
‘I’m sorry,’ Romily said, though she wasn’t certain which of her children she was saying it to.
Jarvis reappeared and opened the back door. ‘Do you think you can get into this wheelchair?’ he asked her.
He helped her out of the car. Her muscles had stiffened up from lying in the back of the car, and her ankle protested when she put her foot on the ground. Jarvis wheeled her into A&E, where they were met by a nurse who gave Jarvis a clipboard and took Romily into a cubicle. ‘We are going to decide where to send you. You had a fall?’ She had a kind face and a brisk Eastern European accent.
‘Yes, on Great Knoll Beach, about thirty minutes ago, I think.’
‘And you are bleeding? How much?’
‘I – don’t know.’
‘Are you losing a lot of blood or is it more like a period, or is it just spotting?’
‘I’m not pooling with it. I … used a tissue.’
‘Let’s see.’
Romily didn’t want to see. She reached into her pants and pulled out the wad of tissue. It was less than she’d feared, but not by much.
‘Okay. Your life is not in danger from it. We are mostly concerned about the baby.’ She gave Romily some more tissues. ‘Did you bang your head? Are you feeling sick?’
‘No, I didn’t bang my head. I’m fine. I’m worried about the baby.’
The nurse did a quick checkover. ‘Yes. You have had a blow to your stomach. There is a bruise coming up already. How many weeks are you?’
‘Twenty-one.’
‘Over twenty weeks, you will go to the maternity ward. I will ring them to expect you. Your husband can take you in the wheelchair. There are signs to the ward. Here is a sanitary towel.’ She dropped a light box onto Romily’s lap, then adjusted the wheelchair so that her ankle was elevated and put a cold pack on the swelling before she wheeled her back out into Reception. ‘She must go to the maternity ward,’ she told Jarvis, who was waiting. He didn’t have the clipboard any more.
‘You don’t know all my details,’ she said to Jarvis.
‘Posie did.’ He immediately took the handles of the wheelchair and began wheeling her to the double doors at the back of A&E. Posie trotted along beside them, quiet.
It was out of her hands now. She was in the NHS machine. Whatever happened would happen and she would be helped as much as she could be. Romily closed her eyes and held on to the box containing a
pad of cotton that would never, ever be enough to soak up everything that was inside her.
The maternity ward was much quieter than A&E. Jarvis wheeled her straight up to the desk and the receptionist said, ‘Yes, you’ve been called through and we have your details on the computer. The midwife will be with you in just a moment.’ He pointed them to a line of waiting chairs.
Jarvis parked her and sat beside her, Posie on his other side. ‘This is my fault,’ he said in a low voice.
‘It is utterly and completely my own fault. I stepped in the wrong place and I slipped. You weren’t even there.’
‘I shouldn’t have argued with you.’
‘Don’t.’
The procedure, the quiet, the silk flowers on the reception desk, were all there to take the edge off her panic, but she was still breathing quickly, her heart pounding, her fingers shaking. She wanted to run screaming down the hall demanding to be seen right now, right this minute. But that wouldn’t do any good.
‘What can I do?’ asked Jarvis.
‘We need to tell Ben and Claire.’
‘I’ll go outside and call them. What’s the number?’
She gave Ben’s mobile number to him from heart.
It wasn’t going to be the most popular move having Jarvis call him, but she didn’t dare leave this hospital, not even for a moment.
‘And can you take Posie to the café or something? I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
He nodded. ‘We’ll come back and check on you. Posie? Your mum’s going to be fine but it might be a long wait, so let’s go get some cake.’
Posie gave her a swift kiss on the cheek before they went. It was all Romily could do not to clutch her and not let her go.
The midwife strapped a monitor to her belly and the sound of the heartbeat was immediate and strong. ‘That’s a good sign,’ she said, smiling.
‘I’ll take all the good signs I can get.’
Waiting for the obstetrician, she lay on the table and looked at the poster on the wall, a cross-section of a pregnant woman. It wasn’t unlike the animal specimens Romily had dissected herself.
