She looks duly mortified, and Felicity keeps smiling, even though I can see it in her eyes: the vulnerability, the sadness.
It was last year when she told us she wouldn’t be able to have children, and why.
Felicity’s mother, Diane, died when the four of us were fifteen; babies, really. Ovarian cancer, long and drawn-out. The year after, Felicity had some time off school – none of us knew where she was, only that she was off sick. The teachers told us it was stress, the shock of the bereavement.
It was only later that we found out the truth.
Ovarian cancer is hereditary; it carries a risk. After Diane’s death, Felicity’s father, Michael, took it upon himself to take that risk away. Felicity’s operation, illegal without her consent in the UK, removed the possibility of it happening to her too.
None of us could believe she’d gone along with it; nor that her father had done such a thing. She was far too young to understand the implications of what her consent actually meant.
She told us over brunch one day, as we sipped coffee with foam artwork on the top and ate avocado toast before moving onto mimosas. It was a sunny day, I remember, and we were in the window of a café in West London. The cherry blossom was out on the trees, pink and joyful, and I recall how unfair the whole thing felt – that Felicity, our beautiful, generous friend – not a flawless person, but a fundamentally good one – should be handed this card by life, without her having any say in the matter at all.
She’d said it quite matter-of-factly, as though it didn’t matter in the slightest, but obviously, we all knew that it did.
‘I couldn’t let Dad risk losing me too,’ she’d told us calmly, but the three of us reeled in horror, and I knew that there was a darker side to what Mr Denbigh had done. At fifteen, Felicity was a child with her whole future ahead of her. He had made a decision that was not his to make. The night she told us, we relayed the story to Chris over at Hannah’s, whose expression told us everything we needed to know.
Felicity had as much right to want children as Hannah did – Hannah had always been the most maternal of the group – but now there was no chance.
‘No chance at all?’ Alice had asked hesitantly, and Felicity had shaken her head, the sun bouncing off her hair, creating almost a halo effect around her blonde head. We stared at her, unable to comprehend the enormity of the decision that had been taken out of her hands at such an early age. Chris showed us the laws a few days later, and for months I wondered whether to confront her, to show her the reality of what her father had done, the miscarriage of justice that had taken place. I never did; fear stopping me in my tracks, memories of Michael roaming around their old house.
‘Anyway,’ she’d said, ‘I just wanted to let you all know. Shall we order more mimosas?’
We’d tried to talk to her about it again, a month or so later, the three of us conspiring frantically over WhatsApp, planning our approach – we didn’t want to make her feel worse but we wanted her to know that we were there if she needed us, that whenever she wanted to discuss it – the unfairness of it, the way she felt, we would be here, ready and waiting. We whispered about her father, of course, about what he had done; speculating about the details, about how he’d got away with it. Alice thought we should tell someone, some sort of authority, but I’d pointed out that it was all too late. But when the time came, with Hannah, inevitably, leading the way, Felicity simply shut the conversation down as quickly as it had begun.
‘I’d rather not discuss it,’ she’d said, her tone slightly clipped, ‘it is what it is, after all. And there are other ways to have children, you know. Biology isn’t everything! I don’t blame anyone for it. My father did it because he loves me.’
‘Oh God, of course!’ We’d rushed to compensate her, ready to talk about adoption, surrogacy, the myriad options available to twenty-first-century women, but she didn’t want to discuss those either.
‘Maybe she just needs more time,’ Alice had wisely said later, and Hannah and I had nodded along, resolved not to mention it again unless Felicity herself brought it up. I haven’t seen Michael Denbigh since she told us: I hope never to have to again.
What happened to Felicity prompted me to think about my own choices, too, forced me to look at the facts. Did I want children? I didn’t have a partner to try with. My relationship with my own mother was, and always had been, fraught, made much worse by the events of the last eighteen months, and the thought of recreating that filled me with a sort of dread, a terror even. I decided I’d think about it later – it wasn’t as though I was even thirty yet. My future was wide open, still to be decided. All to play for, as Alice might say, although most days I found I couldn’t think about the future at all; it had narrowed, darkened, after what happened when I met Nathaniel Archer. The girls were basically the only people I continued to see; I never dated, never hooked up with anyone. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to anymore.
So it wasn’t that we had forgotten about Felicity’s infertility, no, but it hasn’t been mentioned for so long that clearly, in the moment, Hannah has failed to remember. I feel horrible, for them both – Hannah’s guilt at her own crassness is written all over her face, and something in Felicity’s eyes looks stricken. I wonder, briefly, whether Nathaniel knows – whether it is the sort of thing one announces straight away to possible life-partners, or whether it is something she prefers to keep under wraps until asked directly. The thought of her and Nathaniel having children makes me want to vomit – the permanency with which he would then be in our lives, even though it is, of course, an impossibility.
As if on cue, Felicity speaks, quietly, her voice serious. ‘He doesn’t know, by the way. So please, don’t mention it in front of him. I haven’t found a way to tell him yet. It would be – bad – if he knew.’
Hannah looks admonished. My gut twists.
I know I will have to speak to her, to warn her, but just as I am about to open my mouth, he reappears.
‘Sorry I’ve been so long, it’s mad in there.’
As tall as I remember from my nightmares, he looms over us, then folds his long legs into the seat beside Felicity, pressing his lips against her cold, pale cheek. When he pulls away, there is a slight sucking sound; we all pretend not to notice.
‘You must be Hannah,’ Nathaniel says, turning his smile onto her, blissfully unaware of the awkward exchange that has gone previously. She grins at him, clearly charmed, and then lets out a hiccup – a sure giveaway of her drunkenness, and an unfortunate side-effect I have always been glad I am never subjected to. But he turns smoothly away from her, saving her embarrassment, and then it is happening, the moment I have dreaded – his eyes are on mine, clear and bright blue, his pupils small and focused, like laser beams.
I feel like an animal, trapped in the headlights. He is testing me, seeing if I’ll run, or speak up. The old flight or fight instinct rises up and I have to force myself to sit still, moving my hands to underneath my belongings to prevent them all from seeing the tremor that has not stopped and is in fact getting worse.
I stare at him for one second, two, then shift my gaze down to the tabletop, unable to bear it any longer. Nobody else notices; it feels as though I am behind thick glass, that even if I stood up and screamed blue murder, my friends would carry on without paying the slightest bit of attention. What would I have to do, I thought, to make them really listen to me? How far would I have to go?
Chapter Seventeen
Hannah
Hannah has drunk too much. The thought hits her all at once, slamming into her consciousness as she sloppily reaches for her phone, ignoring the three new messages from Chris asking her to call him, telling her to come home, checking more and more desperately if she’s all right.
No, Chris, I’m not all right, she thinks angrily, even though she knows deep down that this is not his fault, that he doesn’t want this to be happening any more than she does. Hannah’s stomach clenches, and she reminds herself cruelly yet again that the ins
ide of her is empty. Emptied, she should say.
She miscarried her second rainbow child two days ago.
It was worse than the last time – they were further along, and the awful thing is that Hannah had allowed herself to hope. To let those little glimmers of sunshine filter through her mind. She had believed the doctors when they’d told her, after the first miscarriage last year, that it was very common, that it happened to a lot of women, and that one miscarriage was no reason to think she would have another, no reason at all to think that she wouldn’t be able to carry a baby to full term.
But they were wrong.
It has happened again, and inside her, underneath the haze of alcohol making its way around her bloodstream, is a tidal wave of sadness, a sadness that she thought she could control but that perhaps she cannot. She is out tonight with her closest friends and yet the thought of telling them what she is going through makes her feel sick – somehow, the revelation that once again, her body has failed her, is more than she can take. She has always been sensible, reliable, strong Hannah. Calm in a crisis. There for her friends. To weep and moan about the fact that she has lost this child, especially when Felicity herself cannot have children, due to such horrific circumstances, would be out-of-keeping, unjust. So Hannah keeps it to herself. She’s already said something she shouldn’t this evening – that blundering remark to Felicity, so she must keep her mouth shut. It’s the safest thing to do.
And so, instead of talking, she drinks. And she drinks.
It’s approaching 10 p.m., now, and the pub will be closing its doors within the hour. Richmond pubs aren’t Soho pubs – the streets here are largely residential, the people who come here are well-behaved. The Red Lion is a friendly place, not a debauched one. There will be no lingering on the streets, no lock-ins after hours.
Hannah doesn’t want to go back home.
She invited Alice and Grace to stay over because she can’t bear the thought of being alone with her thoughts, or of crawling into bed beside Chris, having to deal with his hand stroking her back, his sympathy. It isn’t the same for you, she wants to scream at him. These babies weren’t inside you. It’s not your body that is letting go of your own children. He thinks they are in the same boat, but they aren’t. He steers the boat, whilst she begins to drown, barely clinging to the side.
‘Who’s for one more?’ she says, loudly, only realising how loudly when Felicity stops speaking and stares at her, her mouth twitching up at the sides, a pretty red bow.
‘I think Drunk Hannah’s coming out to play tonight!’ she says, laughing, pearly teeth gleaming, and Nathaniel looks at Hannah, amused. She feels a flicker of fury in her stomach; she doesn’t want them to laugh at her. Why is she not allowed to be drunk? She has seen Felicity drunk thousands of times, and never felt the need to comment. Hannah doesn’t like it when Felicity gets like this, it feels like she’s playing games. They aren’t teenagers in the attic anymore.
‘I need to get home,’ Grace says. Hannah looks sideways at her and blinks; she’s being very weird tonight. All that business about leaving earlier. And she’s barely made any effort with Nathaniel, which Hannah thinks is a bit rude. Felicity’s bound to notice. As Hannah stares, Grace’s face seems to melt and shift until there are two of her; God, she really is a bit out of it.
Have a glass of water, the grown-up, sensible Hannah inside her says, but she ignores her, pushes her to the back of her brain. Sensible Hannah has let her down. She’s done what she wants for years and look where it’s got her. Clots of blood in her underwear. Two lost babies. A boyfriend she can’t face going home to.
‘Come on,’ Hannah slurs, ‘just one more.’ An idea makes its way through the fog of her brain.
‘I know, let’s go to The Upper Vault!’ As soon as the idea takes hold, Hannah knows it’s the right one – The Upper Vault bar is just what she needs right now. Noise, darkness, heat, dancing – she can forget about everything for a couple of hours, and put off seeing Chris.
Alice laughs, a big, throaty laugh.
‘The Upper Vault! Christ, Han, we haven’t been there in years!’
‘All the more reason to go,’ Hannah tries to say, but it comes out differently, the words running together. She giggles, then hiccups, clapping a hand to her mouth. She can feel her phone vibrating against her hip again, but she ignores it. She will ignore everything, just for tonight. She is allowed one night, isn’t she? Tomorrow, Hannah will grieve. She will talk to Chris, she will book an appointment at the clinic, she will make plans and be reasonable and decide that yes, they can try again, they can have another go at making a baby. But for now, she just wants to lose herself.
What’s so wrong with that?
Alice
Inside The Upper Vault, it’s exactly as Alice remembers it. They go up the carpeted flight of stairs, the bouncer on the door nodding them through – clearly, they’re all past their prime – and into the top floor of the warehouse. The bar isn’t that busy yet – it’s February, after all, but the high, tall stools are exactly as they used to be, and the low lighting is flattering; Alice tosses her hair, runs her finger across her lips, tries not to think about the throbbing that persists in her arm, the imprint Tom’s grip will have left. She wonders if it will bruise, a little ring of purple that fades to green like a fairy ring, found deep in the forest. A secret: shameful and dark. She wonders if he will do it again, now that a line has been crossed.
Music plays, a low, thumping bass, and beside Alice, Hannah is laughing, giddily, clamouring for another drink. Alice doesn’t know what’s got into her tonight but she doesn’t mind it – it is cute, in a way. She never lets her hair down, does Han. Alice sees Felicity look over at her, whisper something to Nate. They both laugh, and she feels suddenly protective of Hannah. So what if she’s had a few? Living with Chris – well, it must be a bit boring. She’s probably glad to be out of the house.
‘Tequila!’ she is proclaiming, and Alice shrugs and tells her, sure. Grace has disappeared to the Ladies, but Alice orders her one anyway. God knows, she needs something to liven her up – she’s no fun at all tonight. It’s strange, she thinks, out of all of them, surely she is the only one with something to feel sad about tonight. She’s the one whose boyfriend hates her. She’s the one who will wake up tomorrow with a bruise – not to mention a hangover, at this rate. But the girls are all behaving oddly, even though they’ve got nothing to be fed up about.
Least of all Felicity. She and Nathaniel are at the bar, but Alice can see the way his head is turned slightly away from her, and as she watches, Nate swivels around, meets her eye. For some reason, Alice can feel herself blushing – thank God it’s dark in there, and Hannah can’t see.
Stop it! Alice tells herself. Christ, the last thing she needs is to develop some sort of hideously inappropriate crush on Felicity’s brand-new boyfriend. He is attractive, though, and it’s so nice to have a man look at her without seeing the horrible, weird scorn she is now so accustomed to seeing in Tom’s eyes. He gestures at her now, and Alice goes over.
‘Three tequilas, I think,’ she says, trying to sound jaunty, and Nate whistles, raises an eyebrow.
‘Tequila, the good stuff, hey. Felicity didn’t tell me that her friends were so much fun. Well, one of them, anyway.’
Next to him, Felicity squeals, elbows him in the ribs. He’s well-built; he probably barely felt a thing. Stop it. Why is she thinking about his body, for God’s sake?
‘Are you having fun, Al?’ Felicity says, leaning around him on the bar, her other arm snaking around Nathaniel, a woman claiming her possession. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed – Alice realises with a jolt that she looks happier than she has seen her in months – since Diane died, even, though it was so long ago now. For years afterwards, it was as if the light inside Felicity had been dimmed, but now it seems that it’s back. Nate must be a pretty special guy.
‘Remember the last time we came to The Upper Vault?’ Felicity is having to shout, slight
ly, the thrum of the music feels as though it’s getting louder. A gaggle of girls appear on the other side of Alice, laughing and shrieking. Alice looks at them quickly – they must be at least five years younger than her and the girls. One of them catches her eye and grins; Alice sees her gaze flicker to Nathaniel and the almost imperceptible widening of her eyes. Her head turns, long hair flicking, and Alice sees her whisper something to her friends, followed by fresh peals of laughter. She’d bet money on the fact that she’s told them how hot he is.
‘Alice?’ Felicity is still looking at her, and she forces herself to pay attention.
‘God, well, it’s been ages, hasn’t it? I think it was after that birthday thing, you know, whatshername’s.’ Alice is struggling, now, for her name – a girl they’d grown up with had hired the whole place out for her twenty-fifth birthday, decked it out in gold and silver metallic balloons. They’d been mocking, at the time, secure in their foursome, with no real need to keep ties to the wider hangers-on. Balloons, Alice remembers Felicity hissing bitchily, what is she, five years old?
‘Tequilas coming up,’ Nathaniel interrupts, taking a tray from the barmaid, who is also looking at him almost hungrily. Alice sees Felicity notice and the way her arm tightens around his waist like a spring.
‘Bottoms up,’ Alice says, tipping salt into the space between her thumb and her index finger, looking around for Hannah. She is, hilariously, dancing by herself, bopping away to the music with her eyes closed, a strange, far-away expression on her face.
‘Han!’ Alice calls, but the music is too loud and besides, perhaps she doesn’t really need a shot of tequila anyway, not by the looks of it. Alice hasn’t seen her this hammered in ages. She never handles it well; she’ll feel awful tomorrow, bless her.
Alice downs the shot quickly, feeling the adrenaline hit her and along with it, the thought of Tom, simmering on his way home, hood obscuring his face. All that anger. And what for? She hasn’t looked at her phone since he left, nor does she want to. She needs to decide what to do, she knows she does; things cannot go on the way they are, and tonight has proved that, once and for all. She bites into the slice of lime Nate has given her, the acidic taste making her momentarily close her eyes and purse her lips. When she opens them, Nate is watching her, his eyes on her mouth.
The Wild Girls Page 20
