by Zoë Jenny
Claire hid behind the dresses, her mouth open, as Sadie shouted, “What do you think, Claire?” When she emerged from behind the rail, their eyes met immediately. “May I introduce you to my friend Deborah, the wonderful actress,” Sadie said, obviously proud of her glamorous friend.
“We know each other,” Mrs Ross said, somewhat startled to see her there. “She taught my daughter to swim. And she just quit her job as her nanny.” She smiled and added, “Never mind, Nora almost liked you too much!”
Claire nodded but didn’t say anything; she was much too baffled by the situation and too busy working out the relationship Mrs Ross had with Sadie. She remembered the dragonfly necklace she had seen in Mrs Ross’s house and now it was clear. It must have come from Sadie, a gift.
Claire could instantly tell that Sadie adored Mrs Ross, and possibly even had a crush on her. “Turn around,” she said, moving her hands as if conducting an orchestra. The light cobalt blue fabric was flowing around her tall, slender body. “You are a goddess!” Sadie shrieked, unable to take her eyes off her.
Maybe it was a pang of jealously that grasped Claire, almost taking her breath away for a moment. Wasn’t it enough that she was Nora’s mother; did she have to be so beautiful as to take all of Sadie’s attention too?
Mrs Ross bought the dress, promising Sadie to give her tickets to the premiere of her next play, in which she was playing the lead. “Maybe you could come too,” she said generously to Claire, and then she left, leaving behind a whiff of her expensive perfume.
“She’s just one of those women…” Sadie said, sighing, “strong, independent, everyone at her feet, yet incredibly lonely. No man would ever get or understand her, or be able to make her happy.”
“So you are the one, then?” Claire said, laughing aloud. “Deborah Ross’s saviour.”
“I can tell she is not averse.”
“To what?”
“To lesbianism.”
For a moment she contemplated the concept of Mrs Ross and Sadie as a couple – it was hysterical, but then, why not?
“Well,” Claire said, “I wish you the best of luck and, if it ever comes to you running off with Mrs Deborah Ross, I would be happy to play the role of Nora’s mother.”
That evening in Sadie’s kitchen, over one of her culinary concoctions, Claire told her about their plan to try IVF, the anxiety and the heartache, and she told her about Nora, even how she trespassed into Mrs Ross’s house, and her decision to stop seeing Nora for good. It was just after midnight when Sadie got up, carrying the empty wine glasses to the sink.
“I just never had that. That urge for a child; it just wouldn’t work for me at all. It remains a mystery to me why any woman would want to burden herself with so much responsibility,” Sadie confessed. “I look after my friends; I look after you,” she said. “That’s enough for me.”
“You are looking after me alright,” Claire said, taking her hand in a sudden urge to be physically close. She regretted it immediately; she didn’t want Sadie to think she would play around with her or was sexually interested. As if she had read her thoughts, Sadie laughed out loud. “Don’t be so paranoid,” she chuckled, “you can take my hand and I won’t rape you.”
Claire looked down, embarassed. “I’d better go now,” she muttered, trying to get up, dizzy from all the wine.
“You are not going anywhere,” Sadie insisted, shepherding her into her bedroom. It had the same familiar scent of amber, something oriental and sensuous. Warm from the wine and enveloped in Sadie’s smell she gave in, undressed to her underwear and slipped into the cool satin sheets of her bed.
She looked as Sadie was undressing herself in the half-lit room. “I hope you don’t mind; I always sleep naked.” But it wasn’t awkward to have Sadie naked next to her, and she didn’t mind as Sadie tenderly stroked her back. Claire relaxed, feeling like a cat in its basket, all curled up, warm and cosy.
“Sleep well,” Sadie murmured, kissing her on the forehead. Closing her eyes and, slowly drifting off, she thought of Helena, who was far away, trying her luck in LA. She hoped she was alright and not getting beaten up by life too much. Maybe that was what it all came down to, surviving, and being content with the simple fact that one was lucky to be still alive.
Anthony couldn’t hide his disappointment when he called on the way home. The trip to Scotland hadn’t had the bonding effect with his colleagues he had expected. Although he was now on another level and would soon be promoted, he suddenly seemed uneasy with his newly-acquired position. Never before had he questioned the way the bank did business, but he was now talking of amoral practices and irresponsible risks. Maybe Dave’s words have finally got through to him.
“I know this comes at the worst time, but I don’t know how much longer I can do this job.” It was as much a confession as a warning, but Claire wasn’t concerned yet; maybe he was just nervous because of his new responsibilities.
He would have to get used to it. That’s at least what she told Anne on the phone as she was cooking Anthony’s favourite meal to welcome him back home. She was talking to her sister while basting the roast chicken. Anne had sent her a picture of Margarethe on her BlackBerry, looking round and happy, a tattered Paddington Bear under her arm. His left eye was missing; Maragrethe had plucked it out, fascinated by the round cold glass. Anne and Claire were laughing about the complete ignorance babies have about things, destroying everything they could get their hands on, when she suddenly heard a loud rumbling noise coming from the hallway upstairs.
Immediately she went to put the phone down. “What is it?” she heard her sister shout from the other end. But Claire didn’t answer. There was Anthony standing by the door, blood all over his face.
“Quick!” he said in a shaky voice, grabbing the phone. While he called the police, Claire stepped outside and looked down the half-lit street. But there was no one there. At the end of the street she could see the slow-moving traffic of City Road. Anthony was bleeding from his ear. “There were two of them. I couldn’t see properly; it was dark. One had a hammer.”
Ten minutes later two young, heavily-built policeman were standing in the living room, one of them taking a swab from Anthony’s face with a Q-tip. “Maybe we can match the DNA with an existing offender,” he explained. “You will have to come into the station to have a look at our database; you might remember their faces when you see some pictures.”
A minute later they were gone. Claire stood in front of the house watching the police car speed away with Anthony sitting in the back. No doubt these were kids from the estate. She noticed he didn’t have his bag when he came in – of course they had taken it. He could have been beaten to death for his laptop bag. She went back down into the kitchen and found the roast chicken was black.
Anthony came back from the police station half an hour later. She put some ice on his cheek, which had turned violet. He hadn’t been able to indentify his attackers. “You won’t believe how big their database is,” he said. “They told me violent crime in this area has doubled in the last two years.”
“They’ll probably never find the bastards,” Claire said angrily. “I’m sure that not too far away they’re celebrating their successful haul.”
Anthony put his hand on her shoulder as if to calm her down. “Somewhere down the line these guys are victims themselves.”
She looked at him, amazed that he could be so philosophical about it, as if forgiving them. It was as if he had aged in a very short time. That night, Anthony held on to her like a shipwrecked sailor to a piece of wood.
How easily she could have lost him that night, to a random pointless attack. She listened to his breathing, waiting for it to become deeper, slowly taking on the rhythm of sleep. It was as if the attackers had kicked them out of their own house. Claire was alarmed by every noise. From afar she could hear the helicopter again, but this time it didn’t come closer. Finally they had chosen a different spot to observe.
It seemed they had been waiting f
or something like this to happen. Her parents, Anne and even Karl urged her to move back to Germany. It didn’t help that she told them an attack like this could happen in any city in the world. Since the bombings they were convinced London was an extraordinarily dangerous place.
“Just think about if you ever have children. Do you think this is a good place to grow up?” The blame in her mother’s voice was impossible to ignore.
Claire took a deep breath and sat down. “Yes, in fact I think London is an excellent place to grow up, because this is a real city with real problems and not a fucking fairytale!” She was surprised by her own anger. The immediate silence that followed was almost loud. “I’m sorry, Mum,” she said, in a more measured tone, “but that’s the way it is. We are staying in London, no matter what.”
Her mother called her stubborn and unreasonable, but Claire didn’t mind her criticism anymore. She had her place in the family: she was the difficult one, the one with her own mind. And she knew now that it would always be like that.
****
It was one of those days between seasons, when summer draws to a close and the mornings suddenly become much cooler. They breathed the late September air, fallen leaves, the crisp smell of autumn. Anthony put the collar of his jacket up, wrapping his arm around her to keep her warm. Claire looked at him from the side. Whatever happens they would still have each other. They had discussed it over and over again, and maybe this is was as good as it gets. To have someone you could stick things out with. Since her decision, she felt a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Though it was still very early, the waiting room of the clinic was completely full.
Couples and single women were sitting silently, reading or watching a tennis match on the little TV in the corner. Claire couldn’t help but stare at the women, guessing their age, scanning their faces for signs of hope and fear. She overheard a muttered conversation between two of them, comparing the numbers of follicles they had produced. Even here in the waiting room of a fertility clinic there was competiton.
Although she felt calm and together, her palms were moist when the doctor came in and called their names. It was their initial consultation. The doctor looked like a friendly angel, with her white coat and merciful smile. But the angel didn’t beat about the bush; her words were clear. “You have no time to waste. The sooner you start the better.” She went on to show them statistics of the clinic’s success rates. The graphics on her computer screen were impressive as she talked them through the whole procedure. She spoke about follicles and blastocysts, acronyms like IUI and ICSI.
“We offer counselling as well, of course. For some couples this can be the most stressful time in their lives. And I’m afraid you’ll have to take at least a month off work,” she said, looking at Claire. “This is a full-time commitment. You will have to come in every day for blood tests and scans, up to three times a day and sometimes at very short notice.”
Claire nodded; it sounded like a hell of a schedule.
“Not exactly the most romantic way to have a baby. Being conceived in a petri dish,” Anthony said as they left the clinic, clutching a brochure with a smiling baby on it and a whole folder of consent forms under his arm. “But we knew that, didn’t we?” Claire replied calmly.
The sun peeked out from behind the clouds now and then, immersing London in bright light for a few minutes before hiding again. For a moment they just stood there as if they weren’t quite sure what to do next. “Let’s walk through the park,” Anthony suggested and took her hand.
At this time of day, Regent’s Park was almost empty. “Look at this,” he said, his fingers combing through a stretch of tall silver grass. It was surprisingly soft. She plucked a blade and stroked him, the tender tip of the grass gliding over his skin. She saw the fine hair on his forearm stand up, forming goosebumps, just like the rippling of water when one threw a stone into a still lake.
Suddenly they both looked up as a flock of birds flew overhead, a black compact cloud. There was no lead bird; the group flew as a single unit. As if following the lead of an invisible conductor, they formed synchronised shapes in the sky. A perfectly coordinated aerial dance. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they changed direction.
Book Group Questions
At Legend Press, we only publish books that are well worth talking about, that will generate conversation, as well as being written by some of the world’s top writers and being fantastic reads. After all, the reactions and conversations they generate are what makes books so unique, thought-provoking and so amazing.
A vital part of book conversations are book groups and to be of assistance we’ve listed a few questions in no particular order that may be worth considering. Whether you take them into account or not, we expect this book to generate debate and please feel free to send us any comments:
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1. How do feel towards the central character, Claire, through and at the end of the novel?
2. Claire and her group of friends are a rangle of midthirties character without children. What was your reaction towards them and their depiction?
3. At the time of writing, IVF is a hot topic and is accepted to greatly varying lengths in different countries. How do you feel towards the issue following The Sky is Changing?
4. The Sky is Changing also reflects on nationality and identity – do you feel this led more to a sense of freedom for isolation in the characters?
5. What are your thoughts on the relationship between Claire and Nora, and Nora’s mother, Mrs Ross?
6. How do you feel towards Claire and Anthony’s relationship and their desire and efforts to have children?
7. Do you have any thoughts on the structure, pace and style of the narrative? What effect did it have on you, the reader?
8. The book is set within large cities and includes the fall-out and reaction to terrorist attack. Did you have any thoughts on the setting?
9. The Sky is Changing touches on increased tension and inner-city intimidation. What effect do you believe this has on Claire and Anthony by the end of the novel?
10. The novel is the first in English by Zoë Jenny – author of the all-time highest-selling debut novel by a Swiss author. What are your overall thoughts on The Sky is Changing?
I hope you enjoyed this fantastic novel. Please come and visit us to see Zoë Jenny’s work and also other amazing books at Legend Press:
www.legendpress.co.uk
