The Sunday Lunch Club

by Juliet Ashton

She carried on. ‘She hates me. She signs herself Carly. But to me she’s Bonnie. I named her Bonnie, you see, secretly.’ She touched her chest, where her heart was. ‘Here.’ Anna was glad of Yeti’s bulk beside her as she said, ‘I was sixteen. She had green eyes. Sorry, I’m not making much sense. I was ashamed and excited. I didn’t dare do a pregnancy test. Mum took me straight to the doctor and he confirmed it.’

  She’d been in school uniform when she heard she was going to be a mother.

  ‘Mum cried, I mean wept. She kept saying she didn’t know what would happen when my dad found out. But she did know. We both knew.’

  Her father had erupted. The younger children bundled off to a neighbour, Neil already living on his own, there was no need for Anna’s dad to hold back.

  ‘He told me I disgusted him. That I brought shame on the family. As if we were royalty or something. Nobody mentioned abortion – we were too Catholic for that. But nobody mentioned a future with the baby, either. It was a problem to solve. I had no say.’

  Anna’s voice stretched to nothing. The memory of her powerlessness swarmed through her. She’d been mute, ignored. A thing, not a girl.

  ‘Dad calmed down and he wasn’t quite so hellfire about it. I could tell he wanted to reach out to me.’

  Anna paused. Was that true? Or had she retrofitted that detail in order to make the memory bearable?

  ‘They talked to me endlessly about it. Always in hushed voices, behind closed doors, so Maeve and Josh wouldn’t find out.’

  So that I wouldn’t infect my little brother and sister.

  ‘Over and over they said it was the right thing to do. Adoption. The only way. Best for me. Best for the child. But . . .’ Anna gritted her teeth. The anger had arrived, red-hot and taking no prisoners. ‘But, Luca, what they meant was it was the best thing for them!’

  That, she knew, was why they’d pressurised her. Softly. Harshly. With words of love. With reason. Until she’d stood her ground.

  ‘I said I wanted to keep the baby. I was optimistic, the way you are at sixteen. I was so naive about what it would entail. I mean, I couldn’t even keep my room tidy. But I said Dinkie would help and Dad shouted that his mother must never ever hear about this or it would kill her.’

  A small sigh, heavy with empathy, escaped Luca.

  ‘It felt that nobody loved me any more. The real me. They would only love the version of me who wasn’t pregnant, who hadn’t had ess ee ex. The baby was a complication to be tidied away. Dad took over. I signed papers, but he had to sign them too, as my guardian.’

  She didn’t describe the birth. She never thought about it. She’d efficiently locked it away. But she remembered how proud she’d been of herself for coming through it, and pushing out a perfect human. With green eyes.

  ‘Bonnie arrived on November eleventh. I had her for a week. In a nursing home nice and far away. Maeve and Josh thought I was on a school trip.’ She paused, said again, ‘I had her for a week.’

  ‘That’s a very short time,’ said Luca, in a heavy voice. ‘And a very long time too.’

  ‘Yes!’ Being understood almost made Anna cry again. ‘I knew every inch of her. I could draw you a map of her tiny pink body. The way she cried . . .’ Anna heard it echoed sometimes in birdsong. ‘She knew I was her mother, Luca. She knew me. And they took her.’

  That memory was one she’d have loved to lock away along with the birth, but it was too bright, too vile.

  ‘They had to physically pull her away from me. I would have killed them all if I’d had a weapon. She was crying.’ Anna put her hands to her face. ‘Oh God, Luca, she was crying so hard.’

  Luca let her sob. Anna was grateful to him for not leaving his post to sit beside her. She needed his calm demeanour to get through it.

  ‘I dressed her in a romper thing I’d saved up for. I brushed her hair. I’d washed it, silly little fluff that it was, with this baby shampoo the nursing home supplied. She smelt so wonderful.’

  ‘Of vanilla?’

  ‘Yes.’ Anna smiled, sad, wan. ‘That’s why . . . the perfume . . . Anyway. I’d told Dad I wanted to give Bonnie a note for her to read when she was older. He told me that was irresponsible, selfish. The baby – he never used her name – needed a fresh start. He forbade it. But I wrote it anyway.’

  The glow of triumph still burned. A small but very important victory had been won when she tucked the handwritten page into the embroidered pocket on the front of Bonnie’s outfit.

  ‘I wrote . . .’ Anna leaned back, closed her eyes. ‘Dear Bonnie, I want you to know that you are loved, and you’ll be loved as long as I live. I’ll think of you every day and never stop hoping that you are appreciated and happy and growing up just fine. You are special. You are beautiful. You are my one and only Bonnie. We must live apart. But we’ll be OK, won’t we? Because we love each other. Your first mummy, Anna Piper.’

  None of that had ever been said out loud. ‘I regretted for years and years that I didn’t put our address. A clue. To find me, you know? But I didn’t feel I had the right to expect that. My head was all over the place. And now, Luca, she has come back.’ Anna leaned forward, handed him the letters. ‘And she hates me.’

  Paul insisted on washing up.

  ‘Innee great?’ cheeped Maeve, leaning against Anna, almost toppling her.

  ‘He is.’ Anna itched to take the plates away from him and put them in the dishwasher. The clue to its job was in its title. She turned away rather than watch Paul put things away in the wrong places. She appreciated any and all help, but Paul’s good deed was a performance of sorts.

  From the untidy, post-lunch table, Storm watched Paul too. Anna put her arms around Storm from behind, laid her cheek on the top of his head. ‘I know you’re thinking about everything you gave up for your mum,’ she whispered, breathing in that familiar Storm smell of hair goo, pencils, boy. ‘You don’t have to like Paul. That’s OK.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He’s good to Maeve.’ Anna forgave the showing off when she balanced it against the affection, the security, the honesty. This guy was going to be around for a long while; it was her auntly duty to help Storm come to terms with the situation.

  ‘You’re strangling me.’ Storm shook her off, turning from sweet Jekyll to hormonal Hyde.

  Unwilling to fall apart, the party moved to the small sitting room. Dinkie walked through on Luca’s arm like a duchess, Sheba her shadow as ever. The others dribbled through, taking glasses and cups, chatting, arguing. Paloma crawled after Yeti; the dog was terrified of the baby.

  Sam peeled off, made for his coat hanging in the hall.

  ‘You off?’ Anna was disappointed.

  ‘Yeah. Not in the mood.’

  ‘Don’t you feel any better?’

  ‘You make Isabel sound like a cold I’ve got to get over.’

  There truly was no way for Anna to mention Isabel that Sam would accept.

  ‘I only meant—’

  ‘Can we not?’ Sam kept his gaze pinned on the front door as he wound a scarf around his neck. He took absurd care of himself; the slightest breeze sent him into arctic clothing.

  ‘OK, but . . . when can we be normal again?’ That was rushed, garbled. When Anna rehearsed, it had sounded smooth, sane, warm.

  ‘We are normal,’ huffed Sam, and he was gone.

  Yeti skidded to a stop at Anna’s legs as she watched Sam’s shape fade beyond the leaded lights of the front door. ‘I know, I know.’ She tickled his ears. ‘Paloma is scary, isn’t she?’

  The full-length hall mirror showed Anna herself and Yeti. No doubts about the condition of the woman in the navy dress and the flat pumps. She was in full sail. And still Luca stuck around.

  She was beginning to hope.

  Luca been the perfect person to talk to about Bonnie. Carly, she corrected herself.

  ‘Your daughter doesn’t hate you,’ he’d said. Clearly. Firmly. Luca had reached out to take both her hands as they sat on opposite sofas. ‘She’s c
onfused. Hurt. But she’s come looking for you.’

  ‘No, she hasn’t suggested a meeting. There’s no address, no phone number. Only accusations.’

  ‘Somehow,’ said Luca, ‘your lovely note seems to have done more harm than good.’

  ‘It’s as if she thinks I was mocking her.’ Anna had almost retched at that. ‘All I wanted was to . . . to . . .’

  ‘I can hear pain in Carly’s letters. Not hate.’

  Anna couldn’t quite believe that. But it had sounded wonderful to her ears. Then Luca had said, very grave, ‘Please don’t call this a confession. There’s nothing to confess. You were young and powerless. You’re a victim of this terrible situation.’

  ‘I don’t like being a victim.’

  ‘Nobody does. It’s just a word.’ Luca had taken her fingers, kissed them. ‘Maybe Carly’s handing you a second chance.’

  So far, this second chance hadn’t come about. Telling Luca had changed nothing.

  Except it brought us closer together. Anna hugged herself as Neil hurtled out of the room, holding Paloma.

  Over his shoulder, he shouted, ‘I’m doing it, aren’t I?’ Taking in Anna, he narrowed his eyes. ‘Honestly, I thought he was keeping an eye on her.’ Paloma had tea all over her white dress. ‘How do I . . .’ He held the baby out.

  Anna refused the cue. ‘It’ll come out with cold water. I’m sure you’ve got an alternative couture ensemble in one of the four bags you brought with you.’ She leaned into the sitting room, whistled at Maeve. ‘Want to look at those clothes I’m chucking?’

  ‘Ooh yes!’ Maeve hopped over outstretched feet. She loved a rummage through Anna’s jumble sale bags.

  Upstairs in the bedroom, Anna gratefully stretched out on the bed as Maeve critiqued her cast-offs.

  ‘Hmm. No. Naff. Too big for me. Too big for me.’ Jumpers, jeans, camisoles flew over her shoulder. ‘Hang on. That’s nice.’ She stood up, held a short tartan dress against her in the mirror. ‘Maybe . . .’

  Anna closed her eyes. This was like when she and Maeve had shared a room, back home. A seventeen- and a ten-year-old is an uneasy mix, but many nights she’d fallen asleep to Maeve’s chatter. It was relaxing.

  The conversation with Luca was near the surface of her mind. She’d cried. She’d shared her darkest thoughts.

  ‘Did Carly have a terrible childhood? Were they cruel to her? Is she living in squalor? Maybe she’s a drug addict.’

  ‘You’re joining dots that aren’t there,’ Luca had said. ‘You’ll drive yourself nuts if you carry on like this.’

  ‘I’ve been like this ever since I gave up Bonnie.’ It wasn’t heartburn that kept Anna awake at night. The feelings came and went, but never stayed away for long. The little baby with the note tucked in her clothes was always in her sight line.

  She’d even shown him the newspapers. Luca had followed her to the attic, stood beside her as she opened the trunk. ‘I don’t want to put another paper in this year.’ Anna had turned, slammed herself against Luca’s chest, knowing his arms would close around her. ‘I want to find her,’ she’d whispered.

  That had galvanised Luca. ‘No, not a good idea.’ He’d held her at arm’s length so he could look into her eyes. ‘Proceed carefully. Let Carly be in charge. Go slow.’

  ‘If I went slow,’ she’d said, stroking his face, ‘we wouldn’t be together.’

  ‘So,’ Maeve was saying, ‘I’ll take this black dress, the tartan one and the shorts. Paul loves me in black.’

  ‘How long have you been going out with him now?’ asked Anna idly, straightening the bed.

  ‘Three months.’ Anna was eyeing her in the mirror on the wardrobe.

  ‘Hmm.’ Anna made a non-committal noise; she wasn’t concentrating. The small of her back hurt. She kicked the discarded clothes into a pile.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Maeve was bullish. Her pointy chin stuck out. ‘Hmm that’s not long or hmm it’ll never last?’

  ‘It’s neither, you idiot.’ Anna’s smile evaporated as she turned and saw Maeve was mad at her.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Anna.’

  ‘No you don’t.’

  ‘You’re thinking that I’ve gone off at the deep end again. Made a fool of myself. But Paul’s different.’

  ‘Hey, hey! I know that. Anybody with eyes to see—’

  ‘You can’t disapprove of me forever.’ Maeve’s eyes were wet. Her voice was cracked around the edges. ‘At some point you’ll have to say, “Well done, Maeve.” I’d even settle for “You tried your best”.’ She lashed out at the hug Anna offered. ‘Get off me. I see you and Neil and your little looks.’ She affected a hoity-toity voice. ‘What’s Maeve gone and done now, eh?’ Her face crumpled with the effort not to cry. ‘It’s not easy, Anna.’ She thumped the bed. ‘It’s not easy! You don’t know what it’s like to have a baby.’

  I do! Anna could have replied with equal heat. She could have yelled, You don’t know what it’s like to give one away! She could tell Maeve the truth. Spill her secret. Maybe it would help.

  The moment passed. She couldn’t admit it. She couldn’t offer pressure from Mum and Dad as an excuse because she didn’t believe it was an excuse.

  ‘I’m on my own, trying to bring up Storm, and I get it all wrong most of the time, and you all think I don’t care, but I do bloody care!’ Maeve was bawling now, fists in her eyes. ‘It’s so lonely, Anna. It’s so so lonely. That’s why I grab at love. You’ll do it too.’ Maeve shocked herself out of her tantrum. ‘Oh God, I don’t mean you and Luca will split up! He’s great. You’re great together.’

  ‘Yes, everything’s great,’ laughed Anna, taking advantage of Maeve’s change in demeanour to lighten the mood. ‘Come here, you fool.’ She folded her up. Chased away the demons. Like she had when they shared a room and Maeve had illicitly watched a Hammer film.

  ‘Come here.’ This time it was Luca saying it. They were alone again, unless you counted Yeti and the small Piper coming together inside Anna. ‘Oi!’ He laughed good-naturedly as she ignored him, leaning on the sink, staring out at the garden.

  ‘Sorry, sorry.’ Anna turned around. Her head hurt. She rubbed her temples. ‘I was thinking about Storm. He gave me an extra-hard cuddle when he left. Whispered “sorry”. Because he snapped at me earlier.’

  ‘He’s a good kid,’ said Luca, only half listening as he took up the Sunday Times magazine from the morass of newsprint on the table.

  So there is such a thing as a good kid. The vehemence of her inner voice startled Anna. She often recalled that comment Luca had made before they got together – ‘Children annoy me’ – but never with such venom.

  She looked at him. All the usual Luca bits and pieces were present and correct. His strong forearms. His adamant chin. His long lashes. The bump on his nose that she adored. And yet irritation prickled on her skin.

  You have no idea, she found herself thinking. There he was, happy and relaxed, looking forward to an evening of telly and then an hour of naughtiness in bed before falling asleep secure in the knowledge that she’d be up before him and have his porridge ready just the way he liked it.

  And there Anna was, tired, overheated, beset by her past, unsure of the future, growing an inch a day, trying not to be ‘too pregnant’ in case he fled.

  Somewhere, a small voice reminded Anna that none of this was his fault. That Luca was relaxed about her pregnancy. She strained to hear that voice, and said, flopping down on the opposite sofa, ‘Maeve let rip at me earlier.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Still not really listening.

  Anna carried on. As if she was laying a trap for him. Why a woman would lay a trap for the man she loved wasn’t quite clear. But nothing was clear. Her head was fuzzy. Her judgement had gone for a post-lunch lie-down. Hormones rampaged through her body, holding everything to ransom. ‘She said I look down on her. I don’t, do I?’ She threw the sports section at him. ‘Luca! I’m talking to you.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. I’m a bit . . .’
He held up his brimming wine glass. ‘No, you don’t look down on Maeve.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Although . . .’ Luca closed the magazine, looked at the ceiling. ‘You do this big sister number on her.’

  ‘Well, I am her big sister.’

  ‘It’s a bit . . . what’s the word . . .’

  Anna waited for the word.

  ‘A bit condescending.’ Luca nodded, pleased with the word.

  ‘Rubbish!’

  ‘No, you are,’ laughed Luca. He didn’t see the trap. Didn’t realise that whatever he said would annoy her. ‘You talk down to her. Especially about men. But then . . .’

  ‘But then?’

  ‘You do the same with Josh.’

  Anna goggled at him. ‘Thanks,’ she snapped.

  ‘You know you do.’

  ‘I protect him. I worry about him.’

  ‘He’s a grown-ass man, Anna.’

  ‘I think I know him better than you do.’

  Luca stared at her. He sobered up slightly. ‘OK, I take it back.’

  ‘Good.’ Anna was disappointed. That small voice still shouted, Beware! but her hormones shouted, Tell him to shit or get off the pot!

  ‘Are you . . .’ Luca paused. Perhaps he saw the mouth of the trap after all. ‘Are you OK, Anna?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On . . .?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘When women say that it—’

  ‘Not only women say it.’

  ‘If you’re going to bite my head off, I won’t bother talking.’ Luca went back to the magazine. One brown eye regarded her over a cover picture of a Hollywood actress half Anna’s age and half her current dress size. ‘Is it safe to come out yet?’

  ‘Did you mean it when you said you didn’t like children?’ Anna blurted it out. She felt as surprised as Luca looked.

  ‘When did I say that? Did I say that?’ He looked perplexed.

  ‘The very first time we met. You haven’t said it since.’ Anna looked wry. ‘For obvious reasons.’

  Luca looked at her. A long moment passed. His face was set, all his playfulness drained away. ‘What is this?’ he said eventually.

  ‘We’re having a row,’ said Anna. ‘You should be good at it. You being a therapist.’