by Jane Asher
‘Yes, OK, Julie, you’re right. Fetch the blanket out of my car and we’ll wrap her in that.’
Chapter Eleven
‘Are you sure you should be doing this, darling?’ As they lifted the dead weight of Lucy’s hairy frame on to the car rug, Michael glanced up at Julie anxiously.
‘It’s OK. She doesn’t feel heavy like this.’
They carried the awkward bundle out of the front door and on to the top step. Juliet had always hated the wide, pillared stone entrance with its pretentious promise of an interior far bigger and grander than the rather modest hall on to which it opened, and now the steps seemed steeper and more daunting than ever as they hauled the dog’s body down them and towards the car.
‘Hang on, darling,’ said Michael, ‘I’ll just have to get the keys out of my pocket. Can you manage her for a second? Look, prop her up against the bumper – that’s it.’
He unlocked the boot of the blue hatchback and began to pull up the door. As he did so, a corner caught on the fringe of the Gordon tartan rug and the large, still warm parcel began to tip ominously towards the asphalt surface of the road.
‘Oh, help! Michael – she’s going to unroll, for Christ’s sake – quick! Catch the corner of the—’
Michael let the boot door slam down again and lunged to catch the top of the bundle as it fell. ‘OK, OK I’ve got her. Darling, can you open the boot again’. I think the rug’s shut in it. That’s it, well done. Now, let’s lift her in.’
Juliet checked that the door of the boot was safely opened to its upper limit, then stooped to lift the other end of the rug-wrapped dog. ‘God, she does seem heavy now,’ she said, as she tried to slide her hands further beneath the weight.
‘I know,’ answered Michael. ‘Are you sure you’re OK’. I can probably manage her.’
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘OK, now when I say go. One, two, three – go!’
Moving together, they managed to haul the bundle over the raised lip of the boot space and on to the rubber-lined interior. Juliet walked round and slipped into the front passenger seat as Michael tucked the ends of the rug in and closed up.
‘Are you sure you want to come? I can perfectly well do this on my own,’ he said, as he stooped to sit in the driving seat next to her.
She turned her head and smiled at him. Thanks, but no, I’d like to come. I don’t feel I’ve quite said goodbye, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I don’t feel like being on my own.’
The vet’s smart little Georgian house was only ten minutes’ drive away, and they were able to find a place to stop on a single yellow line immediately outside. Juliet opened the glove compartment and pulled out the small paper pad and pencil she kept handy for just this purpose, and scribbled a note ‘Visiting vet – back 5 mins’ which she tucked behind the plastic case of the resident’s parking permit on the front windscreen. As Michael opened the boot, she came round the back of the car and grabbed one end of the rug.
‘I think if we carry it like a hammock it’ll be easier,’ she said. ‘You take the other end there and we can sort of sling it between us.’
‘All right, darling, let’s go.’
Holding the gathered-up edges of the rug in one hand, Michael locked the car with the other, then together they made their way up the front steps of the vet’s and pressed the bell. A buzzer sounded as the automatic door release was pressed from the inside, and they heaved their weighty burden over the threshold. As they moved through into the waiting room, Michael glanced up and for a split second lost his balance. The hammock tipped slightly to one side, and suddenly Lucy’s large, lolling head slipped out of one end and hung out, tipped backwards as if the neck was broken, eyes half open and tongue protruding grotesquely.
‘Bring her through here, Mr Evans,’ said the white-coated nurse sharply from the doorway at the other side of the room.
As he obediently began the trek across the space between, Michael became aware of the row of quietly waiting clients in the chairs against one wall. An elderly lady in skirt and cardigan with a shivering Yorkshire terrier on her knee; a large, red-faced man with a wicker basket on the chair next to him, out of which a black cat peered ferociously; a couple holding a large cage between them, in which a hamster relentlessly trod its endless, squeaking wheel.
A small yelp made Michael look round, and he quickly registered three or four more people, each sitting with an animal on or next to them, and all gazing at Lucy’s protruding head with the same look of fascinated horror.
‘Can I give you a hand, Mr Evans?’ asked the nurse, with a hint of desperation, as she moved towards him.
Michael glanced round once more and suddenly felt the urge to giggle. The outraged audience clutched their assorted charges tightly to them, pulling in their knees and pursing their mouths, as if trying to edge as far as possible away from the reminder passing through their midst of their own pets’ final destination.
‘Sorry,’ whispered Michael breathily to the nurse, ‘not really the best advertisement for your services, is it? Carrying a large, dead dog right through the waiting room?’
Juliet caught the slight quiver in his voice and looked across at him; then she too suddenly saw the funny side of it and brought a hand quickly up to her mouth to stifle a laugh. This left her holding her end of the package with only the remaining hand, which threatened its precarious balance even more.
Just as Lucy’s tail began to emerge from Juliet’s end of the rug and threaten to flop on to the floor, the nurse rushed forward, tucked it in and took firm control, hurrying the little procession out of the waiting room and into the surgery at the back.
By the time they emerged from the house, Michael and Juliet were in hysterics. Finding a parking ticket on the bonnet of the car merely made them laugh even more.
‘Oh, God,’ said Juliet, wiping her eyes with a tissue as she still gulped with the effort to stop laughing. ‘Did you see the couple with the hamster? I thought they were going to explode. They looked so indignant, as if we were parading Lucy to make some sort of point or something. And the lady with the Yorkshire terrier looked absolutely terrified. Somehow I don’t think we’ll be very welcome at that vet’s again.’
‘I know,’ said Michael. ‘Now let’s get home. Do you really have to go to work, darling? Why don’t you ring them and take the day off? Tell them you’ve had a bereavement.’
This produced another burst of giggling, which continued on and off until they reached the house.
‘Now,’ said Michael as they walked into the kitchen, ‘where’s that coffee you offered me? How are you feeling, darling?’
‘Wonderful,’ beamed Juliet, ‘I can’t think why, but just wonderful.’
The next morning, as Juliet stepped into the bath, she felt blood trickling warmly down the inside of her thigh.
Andrea was sitting behind her chrome and melamine desk at Chewton PR in Baker Street, swivelling on her bright blue stress-reducing patented executive chair and thinking about tomatoes. The competition plans were going well, and having presented Middlesex Foods with a list of five possible charities, she was making a start on drafting a press release, attempting to link the three aspects – pizza, prizes and do-gooding – into one telling headline. She was pleased that the client had opted for the blind children – or the visually impaired, as she was trying hard to learn to call them. She wasn’t sure just how much she could capitalise on the angle that particularly pleased her: she liked to think that those in whom one sense is non-existent or not up to par, as with these youngsters, must surely develop heightened awareness in the other four, with particular reference, from Andrea’s point of view, to the sense of taste. She scrawled idly with a pencil on the pink pad in front of her. They may not be able to see – but you can help them to a great taste!’ and They don’t need to look to know it’s great pizza!’ Much as they pleased her, she knew that such phrases would never get past the charity officials, so she tried to temper her natural enthusiasm for a tie-up of ideas and co
ncentrated instead on more subtle wording. She began a list of possible useful material, and had got as far as ‘sight’, ‘insight’, ‘topping toppings’ and the pedestrian but ever-popular ‘win a holiday for two’, when the phone rang. ‘Andrea Williams,’ she answered, in what she liked to think was a suitably intriguing mixture of the businesslike and the warmly inviting, while she added ‘light to their darkness’ to the list with her free hand.
‘Darling, it’s me.’
‘Hi!’
‘Hi. Look, I’m going to stay a bit late so if you want to go ahead to Janet and Toby’s do, I’ll meet you there.’
‘Sure. Everything OK?’
‘Yup, it’s fine. I’ve just got to chat to Juliet Evans – the one I was telling you about the other day. The embryos didn’t take and apparently she wants to see me personally before she decides whether to start again.’
‘Oh, OK.’
‘Bob feels she needs to talk to someone today – it’s hit her pretty badly I think. I’m in theatre this afternoon, so I’ve said I’ll see her after that.’
‘Why you? You don’t usually come in at this stage do you?’
‘Just my natural charm and skill, my love. No one else will do.’
‘Of course, silly me.’ Andrea laughed. ‘I’ll see you at Janet’s, then.’
She sat for a moment after she had put the receiver down, aware of how much she enjoyed manipulating Anthony. She felt no jealousy whatsoever of the patients who, every now and then, showed interest in the tall, attractive doctor. She was well aware of just how strongly the doctor-patient relationship could work as the equivalent of an aphrodisiac, and accepted the prospect of any infatuations that might develop in female clients, knowing that Anthony’s need for her was strong enough to prevent him taking the risk of succumbing to temptation. Andrea was more aware than he knew of his buried insecurity, and liked to use her power over him by frightening him just a little with the thought that she did mind. There was an unspoken acknowledgement between them that he was the more dependent of the two on their partnership, which left her free to enjoy his love for her without feeling that she would necessarily always need it, whereas he felt he had made, unofficially, a lifetime commitment.
She sighed with the fun of it all as she scrawled, ‘Keep your eye out for a new pizza topping!’ on the pad.
‘No, maybe not,’ she said to herself as she reluctantly crossed it out.
‘Now, Mrs Evans,’ smiled Anthony across the desk in his second-floor office in the clinic, ‘I quite understand how lost and disoriented you’re feeling; it’s only to be expected. You really should give yourself a few days to recover from the disappointment before you even begin to think about the future. You do know, don’t you, just how many attempts end like this? Specially the first time? It’s not really my particular area to counsel you about choices and so on, but I must stress how typical it is for the first try not to take, and—’
‘How do you know it didn’t take?’ interrupted Juliet, staring at him intently.
‘Well, I’m sorry, I rather gathered that. . .’
‘No, I mean what makes you think that it didn’t take, rather than that it did take and that I lost it? Did something to dislodge it?’
‘You mustn’t think that, Mrs Evans, you really mustn’t. It won’t be anything you’ve done, I can —’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, I just know,” Anthony returned, feeling a little uncomfortable under the fierce gaze she was giving him, ‘there’s no doubt in my mind that as you began to bleed on the twelfth day, the embryos hadn’t implanted.’
‘I think it had. I think one of them had.’
‘Look, Mrs Evans, it’s a terribly common feeling among women who’ve had a failed attempt that they must have somehow caused an embryo to abort, but I do assure you that it just isn’t the case. If the embryo had taken fully then I’m sure nothing you’ve done would have caused it to leave the womb. Just think of all the extraordinary things women get up to to try to rid themselves of unwanted pregnancies. I know that’s hardly the sort of idea that you may wish to be listening to just now, but it really is relevant. People talk a lot about stress and health and so on, but I can assure you, half the population of the planet wouldn’t exist if babies were that easy to dislodge. Do reassure yourself. . .’
‘I can’t. You see, our dog died and I was stupid enough to let my husband persuade me to lift her body into the car – and out again. She’s very heavy. I knew I shouldn’t, but my husband—’
‘Please, please, you mustn’t let this cause problems between you and your husband. The IVF programme is extremely stressful and difficult for you both, and you need each other’s strength and support if you’re going to continue with it. Whatever you do, don’t start blaming each other for anything to do with these attempts. I’ve seen so many couples walk in here at the start of their treatment, happily facing it together, and then watched the strain come between them. Don’t let that happen to you. I can only say again, Mrs Evans, categorically, that nothing you have done in this case will have started the bleeding. From all the evidence I would assume that unfortunately the embryos just didn’t embed properly into the wall of your uterus. We still don’t understand why they so often don’t under these circumstances, but I am completely satisfied that’s what happened in your case.’
‘But you see, I felt pregnant. I really did. I didn’t want to say it to anyone because it seemed like tempting fate, but I just felt different. I know I’m right. If only that bloody dog hadn’t died—’
‘Oh, if only, if only! Now, you know that’s the one thing we never say here. That’s just too easy. My advice to you is to go home and have a quiet evening with your husband, and not think at all about—’
‘I don’t know quite why you’re pushing my husband at me so strongly all the time. Nor why you’re so anxious to defend him, it’s perfectly obvious to me that—’
‘This isn’t getting anywhere, Mrs Evans. I completely understand why you’re so upset, it’s only natural, but do please take my advice and put all this out of your mind as much as you can for a few days. Then, if you want to, come and see us again and we’ll have another talk.’
Juliet looked at him for a moment. Throughout the conversation she had been watching and listening for the signal that she was waiting for, and knew that this was the moment when it might happen. She waited for a few seconds, thought of saying something, then smiled a little. If he was going to play it this way, she might as well go along with it. He still made himself crystal clear to her, and that was what mattered. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t use that word “natural” so much,’ she said, ‘you’re beginning to sound like my mother.’
Anthony was relieved to see the smile softening the corners of her mouth. ‘Quite right, Mrs Evans, not a word we tend to favour much around here, with all its misunderstood implications. Now, I hope you’ll forget this nonsense about blaming someone – yourself or your husband – and concentrate on thinking about what you’d like to do next. When you’re ready of course; take your time.’
‘No, I’ve decided. I want to try again straightaway. I never had any doubt about that:’
‘Don’t you think you ought to discuss this with your husband first?’
‘No, no, of course not, it doesn’t – I mean, we have. We both feel the same. We want to try again. As soon as possible.’
‘OK, Mrs Evans, just give the girls a ring in the morning and we’ll sort out your schedule.’
‘Thank you. And thank you for seeing me this evening – it’s very kind of you. I’m sorry to have made you so late.’
‘Not at all, don’t worry. That’s what we’re here for. I’ll see you out. Don’t hesitate to get back in touch if you need me. I’ll always be happy to see you.’
And there it was. Spoken at last.
Juliet’s mind was whirring as she walked along Weymouth Street in the cold November air. She huddled her coat around herself and smiled, knowin
g now that what she had begun to suspect at the first egg collection three weeks ago was true. Now it wasn’t only in a look held a fraction too long that he had let her know, it had been in his words as well. She almost laughed out loud; how clever he was not to let anyone else know; how she admired his restraint in the way he was handling it. He would not have to wait too much longer, she would make sure of that now.
‘He said I should never have lifted Lucy into the car. He said I should have been more careful. Why didn’t you stop me? I told you she was too heavy. I knew something like this would happen.’
‘Oh, darling, that’s awful. You mustn’t feel like this, you mustn’t blame yourself. Yes, you’re right, I should never have let you lift her; but do remember, darling, that Professor Hewlett told us quite clearly that you should lead a completely normal life and that nothing you could do would cause th—’
‘Well, I don’t know how you’re suddenly such an authority. I don’t know why you think you know so much about babies. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do to lift her, and I shall always blame myself. I know I was pregnant; I just know it and now I’ve killed it. I shall never forgive myself.’
Juliet was trying to remember when she had last fed Simon. He was still sleeping, but a pool of foetid liquid was seeping out from under the coat. ‘Can you change him, Michael?’ she called out loud into the darkness of the room, then listened intently to the whisper she thought she heard in reply. ‘What?’ she whispered back, then ‘What?’ again, more loudly. ‘Who is that? Michael, is it you? Can you change the baby? He smells. I don’t like it. Oh God, no!’ The face was back. The large, menacing, red face had burst into her vision suddenly from above, speaking horribly close to her and making her retch with its breath that smelt of shit.
‘Shut up! Michael can’t hear you. He isn’t here,’ it breathed down at her.
‘Who are you?’ Juliet asked it again, in a half-swallowed whisper. ‘Please, please tell me who you are. Where’s Anthony? Did he come? I thought I saw him. Please don’t hurt me, I’m really sorry, just please, please don’t hurt me.’ She shuddered, then relaxed for a moment, then shuddered again, and this time it went on, becoming a protracted shiver that rattled her teeth and shook droplets of cold sweat down the sides of her face and into her ears.
