by Jane Asher
Juliet sat back in the cab and thought through what she had done. She had acted almost without thinking. After telephoning the office to confirm that she wouldn’t be in, she had dressed quickly and left home without a word to Michael, who had been shaving when she had made the call to work, and the one before it to the clinic. It was simpler this way. He didn’t need to know – he would understand, in the end. This time he mustn’t be allowed to interfere – she had to give it every chance, not only for her sake but for Anthony’s – surely that was obvious?
She looked out of the window. The trees in Sloane Square were draped in the hundreds of white bulbs that appeared every December, reminding her just how near it was getting to Christmas. For the first time in a long while she didn’t find the prospect daunting; so many Christmases had been ordeals of pretended jollity; the lack of children to hang stockings for barely acknowledged at the family gatherings round the dining table. Now there was once more a flicker of hope, and she found the prospect of the festive season surprisingly welcome.
Both the eggs had fertilised. There was still a chance. If she could just handle things properly this time – if she could just be left alone to manage things then it might still be all right.
‘Yes?’ Harriet’s voice sounded blurred and indistinct over the intercom.
‘Hat, it’s Jules. I need you. Can you take me to the clinic?’
‘Oh God, what’s the matter? Are you ill?’
‘Look, can you take me? I’ll let the taxi go if you can, otherwise I’ll go on my own, and —’
‘No, of course I’ll take you. Can you come up first?’
‘Yes, OK. Hang on, I’ll just get rid of the cab . . . see you in a minute.’
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ Harriet asked as she let Juliet into the flat moments later, taking in at a glance her friend’s brittle expression and unusually bare face.
‘Nothing. I told you. I just need to get to the clinic to get the embryos put back that’s all, and I—’
‘Oh Jules! How wonderful! They’ve fertilised again, have they? Why didn’t you go on in the taxi? Where’s Michael?’
‘Michael’s at home. He’s busy. And I wanted someone to take me, that’s all. Do I have to explain everything?’
‘Sorry. Sit down a minute and I’ll get my coat.’
Juliet looked at the mess of toys scattered over the floor as she sat on the edge of the kitchen table. She was surprised not to feel the familiar pang of envy as she gazed down at them, and idly wondered why. She turned her head and looked over at the pile of unwashed crockery and saucepans sitting by the side of the sink, and half thought about getting up to rinse them and stack them in the dishwasher but decided against it. Everything from now on must be done to put herself first. Nothing must be allowed to come between her and this chance that had been allowed her. She mustn’t even think of anything but herself, her body, and the positive effort of preparing.
‘Where are the kids?’ she shouted.
‘They’re both in Jessie’s room, playing on the computer. It’s OK, I can get the woman downstairs to come and sit with them while we’re out,’ Harriet answered as she bustled into the kitchen, pulling on her coat as she spoke. ‘Now, where the hell are the car keys? And my bag? How long will we be, by the way?’
‘Not long. Thanks, Hat.’
‘It’s OK.’ Harriet smiled back at her. ‘Just make it worthwhile this time, huh?’
‘Sure.’
After a brief goodbye to the children, who were too distracted by computerised lemmings to pay much attention, Harriet arranged for her downstairs neighbour to go up to the flat within the next few minutes and stay with the children until her return. As she and Juliet made their way down the stairs, Harriet heard the distant sound of her telephone ringing. ‘Jessie, will you answer that?’ she yelled up the stairs. ‘Oh, never mind. They’ll never hear me with the TV on. They’ll ring back, whoever they are.’
Michael put down the receiver and frowned. He had felt sure Juliet had gone round to Harriet’s, guessing that she might have already telephoned the clinic and been too upset to talk to him. He was becoming so used to her unpredictable moods that he wasn’t in the least surprised to find she had left the house without a word, but not to find her at Harriet’s perturbed him. Had there perhaps been good news after all? Could she have gone to the clinic on her own again, but this time without even telling him? He dialled the number and felt comforted by the familiar, friendly, efficient voice that answered.
‘Good morning, can I help you?’
‘Good morning. It’s Michael Evans here. I just wondered if by any chance Mrs Evans was with you?’
‘No, Mr Evans, she hasn’t arrived yet. Is there a message I can give her?’
‘No, no that’s fine, thank you. I just wanted to know if she’d got to you.’
In spite of everything, Michael felt hurt and alone. He had thought he was used to the way Juliet shut him off from her feelings and – increasingly – from the physical aspects of the treatment, but there was something in the way the receptionist had assumed he was included in the knowledge of what must be the successful egg fertilisation that made him suddenly aware just how isolated he felt.
‘For God’s sake, they’re my embryos too,’ he muttered out loud. Feeling suddenly angry and full of unresolved energy, he stood up and moved into the hall. He grabbed his dark blue overcoat off the peg and his keys off the table and went quickly out of the front door, slamming it behind him.
Chapter Fourteen
As Michael walked into the waiting room in Weymouth Street he stopped short at the sight of the woman sitting on the sofa under the window reading a magazine. Hoping he was mistaken in recognising the cut of her hair and the way she sat, he coughed discreetly as he made his way over to one of the armchairs. She looked up, and he was dismayed to find he was right.
‘Harriet,’ he said quietly. ‘For God’s sake, what are you doing here? No, I know that of course. I suppose I mean – why? Why are you here? What did Juliet say to you?’
‘She said you were busy, Michael. I’m sorry, are you – I mean, did you want to bring her yourself? She didn’t – oh dear, this is embarrassing – I don’t quite know what to say.’
‘No, no it’s all right, Harriet. It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to – things have been a bit strained recently I’m afraid, and I suppose she just felt like coming with you, that’s all. It’s not important, it doesn’t matter.’
‘She’s been really strung up lately. I’m sure you’re well aware of that, of course,’ Harriet smiled, a little shame-faced. ‘It’s not surprising. I think you’ve both been marvellous. It can’t have been easy.’
‘No, it certainly hasn’t.’ Michael sat down in the armchair and looked across at her. ‘Anyway, Harriet, I’m grateful to you for coming, but I think perhaps I’ll take over now, if you don’t mind. I’m sure Julie will let you know how things are and so on. Please don’t feel you have to stay. I’m here now and I’ll take her home when she’s finished.’
‘Of course. Could you tell her to give me a ring? I don’t want her to think I just went, if you know what I mean?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll explain what happened, I promise.’
‘Thanks.’ Harriet got up and gathered her handbag and coat from beside her on the sofa. ‘I’ll see you soon then.’
‘Yes, OK. Bye, Harriet.’
Harriet walked towards the door, but paused and turned back just before she reached it. ‘Michael, it’s difficult to say this in the way I really want to, but — well, I hope so very much that things work out.’
‘Yes, thank you, Harriet, I’m sure you do.’
‘No, I really mean it. I shall be thinking of you both over the next couple of weeks. You really do deserve so much for it to be a success. Then I know her moods would go too, you see. It’s so much muddled up with this baby thing and—’
‘Yes, I know. I do see what you’re trying to say, Harriet, and I�
��m very grateful. I know everything’s going to be fine, and don’t worry about today. I’m getting used to it.’
He smiled up at Harriet, who smiled back at him and turned to go.
It seemed only minutes later that Juliet walked into the waiting room. She had a set, tense look to her face, which, still bare of make-up, looked hard and pale in the cold daylight from the window. She glanced at Michael as she crossed to collect her coat from where she had draped it over the arm of the sofa, seemingly unsurprised at his presence.
‘Shall we go?’ she asked, as she stood in the doorway, looking across at him.
‘Yes, OK. How are you? How many?’
‘Both. Two. I’m fine. Let’s go.’
Michael was grateful that the waiting room was empty of witnesses to the bleak little scene. Unable to summon up the energy to pretend an optimism he didn’t feel, but equally weary of recriminations and arguments, he kept silent as he rose from the chair and the two of them made their way into the hall. After running the usual gauntlet of eternally cheerful photographs and smiling receptionists, it was a relief to emerge into the cold greyness outside and to walk along the noncommittal, damp pavements towards the car.
‘Did you find a meter?’ asked Juliet, not turning to look at him but gazing straight ahead of her as they walked.
‘Yes. Well, no — a Pay and Display. It’s not far.’
They walked on in silence for a few moments, then Juliet suddenly stopped. ‘Michael – I’m not going to let anything go wrong this time. You do know that, don’t you?’
Ignoring her oddly threatening tone, Michael assumed his usual placatory one. ‘Of course. I’m sure it won’t. I’m sure we’re on the way now.’ But he had stopped too, and taking Juliet’s shoulders in his hands, he gently turned her towards him. ‘I’ll look after you, Jules, you know that. Don’t worry — I’ll take care of you. You must let me in, darling, that’s all. I can’t help if you freeze me out like this, and it’s not fair.’
He moved aside slightly as a crocodile of schoolchildren, wearing grey overcoats and blue velvet berets, rounded the corner and came briskly towards them. He watched the giggling, chattering girls as they passed, gloved hands clasping them firmly together in pairs, diagonally slung satchels flapping against their hips as they walked. Michael found himself smiling at them and glanced back at Juliet, expecting her, too, to be aware of the small tide of youth flowing past them with such inexorable cheerfulness. But she was still staring ahead, her gaze fixed somewhere just over Michael’s shoulder, her thoughts clearly far from their surroundings.
‘It wasn’t Anthony who put them back,’ she said, ‘do you think that matters?’
‘What?’ said Michael, ‘Anthony Northfield, you mean?’
Yes.’
‘No, of course it doesn’t matter.’
The stream of little girls had passed them now, and Michael took Juliet’s arm and began to walk slowly along the street again. ‘I don’t know why you’ve got such a thing about him; they’re all equally good. Who was it this time?’
‘I can’t remember what he’s called, but he was very kind about it all.’
‘Well, there you are then. It doesn’t make any difference who does it – Professor Hewlett explained that, didn’t he? He did tell us that it would depend on who was around so that the procedures were done at the perfect moment, do you remember?’
‘Yes, I know. Still, it’s odd isn’t it?’
They had reached the car now, and Michael leant down and unlocked the driver’s door with his key. The other door locks popped up as he did so.
‘Why didn’t you use the thing?’ Juliet asked, as she stooped to get in the front passenger seat.
‘It’s not working at all now,’ said Michael. ‘What’s odd?’
‘Well, you know, that it wasn’t Anthony.’
‘Why?’
‘Michael.
‘Michael.
‘Michael.’
The soft, repetitive whisper broke into his dream, and Michael opened his eyes and looked unseeingly into a purple darkness, trying to make sense of where he was. He felt the usual twinges of anonymous dread gathering in his belly and maturing into fully fledged knowledge and awareness as he slowly awoke, but this time the edge was taken off them by a small and puzzling intrusion of warmth and hope. As he struggled to identify this alien feeling, the whisper came again out of the darkness, and at the same time his brain began to translate the signals his eyes had been struggling to convey to it, and he made out the silhouette of a head, leaning over him, very close. He managed to raise himself up on to one elbow, and suddenly knew exactly where he was.
‘Anna? Anna, what is it? Is something wrong? Do you want to talk?’
She didn’t answer, but gently lifted the sheet and blankets and slipped her small, thin body under them and next to his on the sofa. Michael moved to make room for her, turning his hips sideways and pressing himself hard against the back of the sofa, his tee-shirt and shorts twisting as the material clung to the coarse fabric of the upholstery. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered. His right arm was under Anna’s back, where it had been pinned as she lay down next to him; the other he balanced awkwardly along the side of his left hip.
‘Yes, I’m OK,’ she whispered back, ‘I’m sorry to wake you.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
As she turned her body a little towards him, Michael realised with a pleasurable start that, from below the short sleeve of his shirt, the skin of his arm under Anna’s back met soft, warm flesh. For a few seconds they both lay still, their breathing almost in step, then Michael whispered again, almost touching her hair with his lips as he turned his head.
‘Don’t worry, Anna. Do you know, I’ve still got a feeling he’s fine. I really have.’
He felt a small shaking on his arm, like the vibration from a purring kitten, and lifted his head to try and see her face in the darkness, but only the outline of her head was dimly visible against the light background of the carpet.
‘Anna? Are you crying?’
For a moment she didn’t answer, then a small voice came out of the darkness, ‘Yes. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. I don’t think I can bear it.’
‘Oh, my dear. My dear.’ He lifted his left hand and brought it gently to where he guessed her eyes must be. The wetness of her cheek came as a shock; she must have been crying for some time, alone in her bed, before she had come creeping to wake him in the darkness. He smoothed the dampness from her face and into her hair, feeling the wet patch where the tears had already gathered over her temple. He reached down and lifted a corner of the sheet and patted it gently over her face and the side of her head.
‘Thanks,’ she said quietly. ‘Sorry, I just can’t help it.’
‘You don’t have to explain – you told me that, remember? I’m the one person you really don’t have to explain or apologise to, Anna. You cry if you want to.’
Michael’s arm was resting on top of the sheet now, removed from the warmth of her body by the layer of thin, blue fabric. Beneath his forearm he could feel, very faintly, the beating of her heart. Anna pulled her hand out from under the clothes and took Michael’s, clasping it with a ferocity that took him by surprise.
For a further few minutes they lay in silence, taking comfort in the closeness of their bodies and of their thoughts, then, slowly, Anna drew Michael’s hand up towards her face and, very gently, took one of his fingers into her mouth and sucked the tip of it, like a baby sucking at a teat. Michael held his breath and wondered at the violent sensations of desire that washed over him. As Anna took his finger from her mouth she gave a tiny groan and, still grasping his hand in hers, used them both to push the sheet down and away from them to gather in folds over their legs. The whiteness of her body was visible even in the dim light, and Michael took in all at once her nakedness and the small blur of darkness between her legs. Their hands were resting on her belly, then Michael gently disengaged his from hers and brought it u
p towards her breast. He laid it gently over the warm roundness, feeling the hardness of the nipple pressing against his palm and the beating of her heart, strongly now, against his thumb. He stroked the soft skin, surprised and excited by the full, generous roundness of the breast against her slim chest. His fingers played gently with the nipple, exploring the puckered flesh as he circled it, then very gently he slid his hand down to beneath her arm and lifted the weight of the breast up and towards him, bending his head as he did so, pushing the upright nipple towards his open mouth. He sucked at her as she had at his finger, with quiet, tender concentration, while she moved against him and turned her body towards him. Still lapping gently at her breast, he stroked his hand down the side of her waist and over her hip, then softly moved it to between her legs.
Anna sighed, but there was a catch in her breath that caused Michael to raise his head and look up at her silhouetted features. ‘Oh God, Anna,’ he whispered, ‘you’re crying again. Do you want me to stop?’
‘No, no don’t. Yes, I’m crying, but don’t stop. For God’s sake, don’t stop.’
Michael kept his hand gently exploring the wetness between her legs, then bent his head again to kiss her neck. She arched her head back and he moved his mouth up to beneath her chin, kissing and licking so softly that his lips barely touched the white skin. Anna lowered her head back down again and breathed on to his face, as he tried to see her eyes in the low light. They touched lips to lips, mouths open and breathing into each other, sweeping skin against skin in tiny movements from side to side, until he felt the hard tip of her tongue push between his teeth and he opened his mouth and pushed his own tongue against hers, twisting and sucking them together. She was snuffling and whimpering in the effort to keep her mouth on his, then suddenly pulled her head away from him with a gasp. ‘I can’t breathe!’ she laughed in a whisper.
