by Vivien Brown
I can’t pretend that any of it had been painless or easy, but there had been a feeling of hope lingering behind it all, through every step of the treatment, and in knowing that we were doing something positive at last, not just sitting and waiting for it to happen all by itself. Now even that was gone.
‘We’ll have to give it a year,’ Dan said, putting his pen down. ‘There’s no chance of saving enough before that. And, before you even say it, no, we can’t borrow it either. The mortgage is manageable, but taking on any more debt just wouldn’t make sense.’
‘Can’t we just forget about being sensible for once?’
‘Oh, Kate. This is all still so recent. So raw. It’s like being kicked in the teeth, isn’t it? Neither of us is going to be thinking straight for a while. Can’t we leave it a while before we start thinking about another try?’
‘But the longer we leave it, the older we’ll be. And the older we are – the older I am – the less chance of it working at all. You must see that?’
‘Yes, of course I do, but …’
‘So we have to try again, Dan. Not in a year, but now. Before it’s too late. There has to be a way of finding the money, surely?’
‘I don’t know, Kate. I really don’t know.’
‘But you’ll think about it? You won’t give up? Because I can’t give up. Not while there’s still a chance. I don’t want us to look back at all this in ten years’ time, or twenty, and say ‘If only we’d found a way’…’
Dan got up and walked over to the sofa, flopped down beside me and gave me a hug. ‘I know. I do. Honestly. But let’s sleep on it, shall we? Wait for this period to pass and your body to recover a bit before we do anything. Take a month or two off from it, at least. I’d kind of like to see your bum without pinholes in it, for a change. In fact, I’d quite like to see your bum, full stop. It’s been a while …’
‘Is that all you can think about? Sex? For God’s sake, Dan. Now, of all days. It’s not as if sex is going to make a baby, so what’s the bloody point in doing it at all?’
I wasn’t looking at him, but I could feel him pull away from me, even before his angry words started to spit their way out of his mouth just inches from my ear.
‘I can’t believe you just said that. Is that all I am to you nowadays? A sperm machine? No baby, no sex? How about doing it for love? To feel close to each other again, to give some comfort? Have fun, even? Do you think having to do it into a sample bottle was my idea of fun? Because, believe me, it wasn’t. It was bloody humiliating, to tell you the truth. That nasty little room, the pile of mucky magazines, and knowing there were people right outside the door who knew exactly what I was doing in there? No, I did it because I had to, because the clinic needed it, then and there, made to order, but as far as I’m concerned, there’s still a lot to be said for good old-fashioned penetration. If I can still remember how, it’s been so fucking long …’
‘There’s no need to swear.’ I turned round and stared at him, my husband, suddenly ragingly angry, and why? Because I wasn’t jumping straight into bed with my legs in the air? Or because he too was struggling and lashing out, looking for someone to blame?
‘No need? There’s every need. This whole IVF business is taking away any kind of normality. We don’t talk about anything but scans and embryos. We don’t go out any more because you can’t, or won’t, drink, and we don’t have the spare cash anyway. If I so much as try to cuddle up to you in bed I get pushed away. This isn’t what I signed up for, Kate. I want a baby, of course I do, but I want you more. Us. I want us. The way we were before.’
‘But we can’t be like that now.’ I was trying really hard not to raise my voice, not to give our neighbours on the other side of the wall any more gossip to dine out on than they’d already had. ‘We’re not those same people any more, are we? The carefree couple, with all the time in the world and nothing to think about but ourselves. We’re … we’re …’
‘We’re what? Go on, tell me, because I’d like to know.’
I tried to grab for his hand, to calm him down a bit, to stop him shouting and just make him talk and listen, and be reasonable, but he wouldn’t have it. ‘We’re patients, I suppose. Infertility patients, or clients, or whatever they like to call us. Things are out of our hands. We’re dependent on other people now, to give us what we want. To provide the miracle.’
‘Patients? We’re not sick, Kate. We’re just …’
‘Yes? Just what? Doing it for the sheer hell of it? On a whim? No, Dan. We are patients, because we need help. Medical help. We’re not on some stupid joyride, able to hop off when we’ve had enough. This is real and it’s important, and I’m not getting off until we’ve seen it through to the end.’
‘Whatever the end is.’
‘A baby, of course. What did you think I meant?’
‘You tell me. You’re the one with all the answers. But as for patience … I don’t have a lot of that left.’ And then he walked out, slamming the door so hard behind him it dislodged a picture on the wall. I sat for a long time, staring at it, wanting to get up and straighten it but not having the energy. And, all the while, my embryos were swimming away, tiny dots of matter, lost in the blood that was leaking out of me, never to be seen again. Didn’t he understand that? Didn’t he care?
I clutched the hot water bottle in its knitted cover and cried. It smelled of rubber and soggy wool, and it had gone almost cold, so there wasn’t much hope of it helping, but right then I couldn’t think of anything that would. The future opened up in front of me like a big black, gaping hole. There was no knowing how many more attempts it might take. There was one woman I’d met at the clinic who was on her seventh and somehow she kept on smiling, kept on wishing and hoping. How did she do that? We’d only just begun, but already I didn’t know how much more pain and disappointment I would be able to take.
Chapter 16
Jenny, 2017
Laura was still staying with her Aunt Clara. Jenny had wheedled her new mobile number out of her so she didn’t have to keep calling the house and trying to get past what must be the most protective aunt in all of Christendom.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?’ she said now, whispering into her phone in the kitchen so Natalie wouldn’t hear her through the wall. ‘If you won’t let me tell Ollie, then at least let me help you. I hate to think of you all alone and coping with everything by yourself. And we’re family, or as good as. Money? How about money?’
Laura laughed. ‘Jen, you don’t have any money. You’ve never had any money, as long as I’ve known you. But I’m fine, honestly. And I’m not on my own. Clara’s been great. She’s like a mum to me. Always has been, ever since my own mum died. And she’s given me a roof over my head, a safe haven, a comfy room. You of all people know how important that is …’
‘I do. Of course I do, but …’
‘Look, Clara doesn’t charge me any rent, and I have enough put by to pay my way in food and clothes. Once the baby’s born and I know everything is all right, then, and only then, I will tell Ollie he’s a dad, I promise. And we’ll see what happens next. Okay? Let’s be honest, he may not even want me back after I walked out on him, but we’ll see … Now, stop fussing and let me get some sleep. It’s tiring, you know, having a big lump like this to contend with all day long!’
‘Talking about Ollie again?’
‘Not that big lump.’ Laura giggled. ‘How’s he doing, anyway? I do miss him. And I worry about him, you know, but there are only so many worries I can deal with at once, and keeping this baby alive and well has to come first. You do get that, don’t you?’
‘Of course. Go on, you get off to bed. Ollie will be fine. We all take it in turns to babysit him. And you give my little niece or nephew a big kiss from me.’
‘How exactly am I supposed to manage that?’
‘Kiss your hand and rub it on your tummy. That’ll have to do until it’s born. Here … Catch this!’ Jenny blew a loud kiss down the phon
e and rang off.
Laura had sounded okay, but it could all be just a front. Still, there wasn’t much she could do about it from this distance, and you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. She knew that only too well, from some of the cantankerous old buggers she had to deal with at work.
‘Who were you talking to so furtively?’ Natalie had come in behind her and was getting milk from the fridge.
‘Nobody.’
‘Do you always blow goodnight kisses to nobody?’ Natalie teased. ‘I think you just might be hiding something, missy. A secret boyfriend, maybe? Go on, cough up. What’s his name?’
‘Never you mind.’ Jenny couldn’t resist teasing her, leading her on. One whiff of a bit of gossip and her sisters would be hanging around her like moths around a flame. James. That’s what she’d say if they forced it out of her. She’d always fancied having a boyfriend called James. Six feet tall, dark wavy hair, big brown smouldering eyes. Ha! If only!
***
Old Mr Jenkins was refusing his porridge again. He was sitting at the small table in the corner, still wearing his pyjamas, and the TV across the other side of the room was on way too loud. Jenny only had twenty minutes here and then she’d have to leave to get to her next client.
‘Come on, Mr J. Eat a little bit, just for me? I’ve put honey on it, just the way you like it. We still have to get you washed and dressed, and the bed made before I go. And you haven’t told me what you fancy for lunch yet. Shall I make you up a nice sandwich and leave it in the fridge? Cheese and pickle, or ham? You like a nice bit of ham, don’t you?’
The old man didn’t answer. He was trying to peer round her to get a better view of the TV screen. She suspected he’d taken a liking to that Susannah Reid. His face always seemed to perk up when she was on.
‘I’ll turn it off if you don’t co-operate.’ She grabbed for the remote control and waved it in front of him.
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Oh, so you do speak, then? I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost your voice. Or your hearing! That volume really is turned up much too high, you know.’
‘Stops me having to listen to you.’ He was teasing her now, the twinkle back in his eyes, but he didn’t object when she turned it down.
‘Bathroom. Now!’
‘Oh, all right. Have you got my clothes out ready? I thought I might wear the navy pinstripe today, and my best dress shirt with the ruffles … and my Eton tie of course.’
‘Oh, get away with you, you old devil.’
‘You sound just like my Vera. She used to nag me too.’
‘You miss her, don’t you?’
‘Of course I miss her. Every day. Lovely blonde hair she had, just like yours, when she was young. So pretty, she was too. And she used to tell me what to wear, just like you do. Not that I minded. Not really one for fashion, me.’
‘Right! So, it’s up to me, is it? It’ll be your corduroy trousers and the green jumper, then, okay? Or I’ll leave you in your PJs all day.’
‘Suits me. Not as if I’m going anywhere, so nobody’s going to see what I wear anyway. Except you. And you don’t count.’
‘You won’t be saying that if I leave you with no lunch, now, will you? Come on, let’s get you scrubbed behind the ears and settled in your armchair, or you’ll be getting me the sack.’
‘Right you are.’ He heaved himself slowly out of the chair, spooning a last dollop of cold porridge into his mouth and spilling half of it down the front of his pyjama top. ‘And I’ll have cheese please. Getting a bit sick of ham all the time. Make a nice change, it will. Variety’s the spice of life, so they say. Not that there’s much of it going on around here.’
A quarter of an hour later Jenny was back outside and waiting for the bus. Getting about without a car was a real hassle, but she was lucky most of her clients lived within walking distance of each other, a couple even in the same sheltered block. It was only Mrs Crabbe who was far enough out to warrant the bus ride.
Laura had certainly been right about one thing last night. She didn’t have any money, and probably never would while she carried on like this. Most of her friends were either forging proper careers for themselves or had already settled down with children, but she wasn’t ready for that. Not at her age. The trouble was that she still couldn’t decide what she really wanted to do with her life. Having watched her dad juggling piles of paper and fretting over a calculator year in and year out, and Natalie coming home drained from another day stuck at a desk with a phone in her hand, she knew she couldn’t face an office job. At least the others were doing something … improving, for want of a better word. Beth cutting women’s hair, making them look and feel better about themselves, Ollie running kids around a chilly field, keeping them fit and healthy and secretly hoping he’d one day discover a future Olympic champion.
It was certainly the jobs that would bring her into contact with people, real people she could help in some way, which held the greatest pull. Becoming a carer wasn’t something she’d planned, but in many ways it suited her. Coming out of school with a set of average qualifications and a need to earn some cash, she’d dabbled with shop work before seeing an ad asking for carers, thought it looked easy enough and had fallen into the job more as a stopgap than a long-term career. Still, it had its rewards. Some of the people she visited were difficult, resentful of her presence, convinced they could still manage alone when it was clear to everyone else that they couldn’t. But the majority were okay. Usually quite frail, often lonely and glad of a friendly face every morning and evening, a helping hand when they needed it, someone to talk to.
The bus pulled up with a squeak of brakes and she climbed on. It was only four stops to get to Mrs Crabbe’s, but after visiting three elderly clients and a hip replacement already this morning, she lacked the energy to walk. She settled in a seat near the front, yawning as she gazed out of the window and already looking forward to getting away from Mrs Crabbe’s and back home, putting her feet up for a while before the evening shift.
Hang on! Wasn’t that Jake over there? Beth’s Jake? She turned her head as the bus eased past. It wasn’t the best of angles and the window was grimy, but it was definitely him, leaning against a wall by the green, sort of half sitting on it, his legs stretched out ahead of him across the pavement, his arms locked tight around the waist of some girl whose face she couldn’t see. Partly because the girl had her back towards her, but mainly because she was bent forwards and pressed against Jake, nose to nose, her lips locked onto his.
The bus had gone right past them now and was speeding away, and Jenny was twisting around in her seat, trying to get a final glimpse before they disappeared from sight. Jake wasn’t looking up at all. Too busy sucking the girl’s face off to notice a bus or who was on it, let alone realise he’d been rumbled.
My God! How on earth was she going to tell Beth? Or should she say nothing, pretend she hadn’t seen a thing, let her sister find out for herself what a slime ball her so-called boyfriend really was? Don’t shoot the messenger, that’s what they said in situations like this. She knew there’d be hell to pay when Beth heard about it, especially if she figured out that Jenny had known all along and not told her, so she’d have to say something. But Beth could be very fiery when she wanted to be, and getting caught in the firing line, innocent bringer of bad news or not, didn’t seem to Jenny like the ideal place to be.
She was still trying to work out what to do when she looked up to see Mrs Crabbe’s house outside the window and she had to jump up and dash for the doors to get out before they slid shut behind her and the bus moved off again.
Chapter 17
Kate, 1987
Dan had gone down to visit his parents. I could have gone too, but there was no knowing when I might need to ask for more time off work, either for treatment or just to rest afterwards. Our IVF attempt had taken its toll, and I was still feeling drained, listless, trying to find someone to blame, yet constantly blaming myself. It seeme
d a waste to use up precious leave on family visits, something we could do at any time. But I didn’t try to stop Dan from going alone.
I wondered how much he’d told them. Our infertility problems weren’t something Dan found easy to talk about, not even with those closest to him, and certainly not down the phone. Perhaps that was part of the reason he’d gone, to tell them all about it face to face. Maybe even to ask for money, a loan, a gift, a donation, whatever, so we could get started on our next attempt. Either that, or he’d gone to get away from me. Things hadn’t been easy for a while, I had to admit. A few days apart could be just what we both needed.
After he left, I watched TV and went to bed early. I slept badly, turning over and over in the bed with nobody to bump into, my dreams a swirling mess of jumbled images that reminded me of the insides of my own abdomen as seen on the ultrasound screen, and left me feeling more exhausted when I woke up than when I’d gone to bed. I sat in the kitchen the next morning, hugging a cup of strong coffee, wondering if I should have gone with him, and thinking about my own parents.
Dad had been gone so long now I was having trouble picturing his face. Remembering the coffin lying at the front of the crematorium, covered in flowers, was easy. The muted music playing, the mourners filing past after the service, just me and Mum waiting behind to say a silent goodbye before it slid away for the final time. I didn’t think I’d ever forget that moment, yet I was struggling with the good stuff. The bike rides, the Christmases, the holidays in caravans, building sandcastles on the beach. I knew they were all there, at the back of my mind, but sometimes they just wouldn’t come to the front, not with any clarity. They were all just days that blurred into one another, as if they had happened to someone else.
