by Vivien Brown
Flicking on the light, she walked to the mirror and took a good close look at herself. She was a tad overweight, no denying that, and her hair was looking a bit wild, which wasn’t surprising after she’d spent the last couple of days running her hands through it like a mad woman trying to decide what to do, and the last half an hour squashing the back of it flat on the bed, but what sort of a hairdresser would she be if she couldn’t fix that?
No, all in all, she wasn’t bad looking. Just because Jake had chosen to look elsewhere, didn’t mean she was necessarily lacking in any way. His loss, someone else’s gain! Now she’d hauled herself out of the rut that for too long had been known as Beth-and-Jake, a whole host of possibilities could open up for her. It could be Beth-and-Brad Pitt next. Unlikely, as he lived in America and already had six kids, but you never know! Or Beth-and-the-bloke-in-the-chip-shop. She’d always thought he had a soft spot for her, piling a few extra chips onto her portion and keeping his hand over hers for just a little longer than needed when handing her the change. Or, better still, Beth-and-Mister-Mystery. A man she hadn’t even met yet, who could be waiting just around the corner, ready and willing to sweep her off her feet. Not that she was in any hurry. A bit of time on her own, to get used to her Jakelessness, and to adjust to being young, free and single wouldn’t be a bad thing. But one day …
She switched on the straighteners and went to work on her hair. If there was one thing she was good at, it was hair. And for now, she needed to feel good at something. Needed to feel special. Then, remembering something Ollie had said the other night, she picked up a brush and held it up in front of her face, smiled to herself and pretending it was a microphone, she started to sing, tentatively at first, but remembering there was nobody else in the house to hear her, she was soon belting out the words of ‘I will survive’ like Gloria Gaynor on speed.
And I will survive, she thought, when she’d sung her heart out and reached the final chorus. Too damned right I will. In fact, I’ll do better than that. I’ll thrive. Who needs Jake? Jake who? In fact, sod Jake, that’s what I say. She was quite surprised to see her own face looking back at her from the mirror, strong, defiant and laughing. Not a sorry-for-herself tear in sight.
Once upon a time, she’d have screamed blue murder, cried, probably tried to scratch the other girl’s eyes out. But not now. Now, the older and wiser Beth Campbell hadn’t even bothered to ask the girl’s name. And, why? Because she didn’t want to know. That was why. Didn’t need to know. What difference would it make to anything? It wouldn’t bring Jake back, the old Jake she had once loved and trusted, and had finally outgrown. Once a cheat, always a cheat. What he’d done to Beth he’d probably do to this new girl in time. And to the one after that. Let the poor cow have him. From now on, Beth thought, putting her impromptu mike down and reaching for the straighteners, it’s all going to be about me.
Chapter 23
Kate, 1987
I’d never heard the term ‘selective reduction’ until that moment, but the doctor was dropping it into the conversation as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘Carrying four babies will be hard,’ he was saying, looking down at my notes rather than into my eyes. ‘On you, and on them. And dangerous. Your uterus would be stretched to well beyond its normal capacity, you’d probably have to spend a considerable time on bed rest in hospital and you’d be unlikely to go anywhere near full term, with all the risks of prematurity. Poor birth weight, underdeveloped lungs, disability, even death … In short, four is too many. We knew there were risks when we agreed to try with so many embryos but, with your age and your previous history, having this many survive the implantation process was always extremely unlikely. It’s come as something of a surprise, to us and to you. It’s not an ideal situation, but it is one we can try to correct.’
‘Correct? You’re talking about abortion, right?’
‘Not a word I would choose to use in these circumstances, but yes, if we were to reduce things to a twin pregnancy, say, it would certainly be safer for all of you. And much easier to manage, and to maintain.’
‘Twins? So you want to just get rid of two of them? Is that what you’re suggesting?’ I clutched hard at Dan’s hand, aware that he was sitting very still and hadn’t yet said a word. ‘Two have already slipped away of their own accord, and now you want me to abort two more? Of my own babies. After everything we went through to get this far …’
‘They’re still very small. Not really babies yet. Try not to think of them as babies. What would happen is that we’d inject a chemical into two of the foetuses and they would simply cease to develop.’
‘They’d die, you mean?’
‘What I mean is that they would no longer have the potential to grow, develop, form a living baby. It’s not quite the same thing. Please don’t upset yourself so much. In the long run, it would be the best and safest option. And the nervous system isn’t fully in place at this stage, so they wouldn’t feel a thing, I can assure you of that. No pain.’
‘But I would, wouldn’t I? Let me tell you what I’d feel. Like a bloody murderer, that’s what. After all this time, waiting and hoping for a baby …’
‘A baby. One baby. I’m sure you didn’t actually hope for four at once?’
‘But that’s what I’ve got, isn’t it?’ I tried to get him to look at me. Properly look at me. But he had his doctor face on, the one that talks science and not emotion. ‘And you expect me to just discard them as if they’re nothing? How would you even select which ones live and which ones die, anyway? Because that’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it? Selecting. Playing God.’
‘Just as we did when selecting embryos, we would try to hang on to the biggest, the strongest, the ones that appear to be most likely to succeed.’
‘Well, God help the little people, then, eh? Condemned for being small. Not given a chance …’
‘Kate!’ Dan flung an arm across my shoulders, I think more to hold me down and stop me from hitting someone than to offer any comfort. ‘I think maybe we need to go away and calm down a bit and talk about this.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not doing it. It’s my body and they’re my babies. And I’m having them. All four of them.’
‘But, the risks? Please, Kate, let’s look at the risks. Weigh up the pros and cons.’ Oh, God, sometimes I wished Dan wasn’t an accountant.
‘This isn’t about some balance sheet, Dan. Life’s a risk. Stepping out into the road is a risk. Sometimes you just have to take risks, don’t you? If you want to get to the other side.’
***
Four babies. I just kept telling myself that at least it was better than six. Easier to carry, a better chance of survival. Not as expensive. I never thought I would, but I realised I had started to sound horribly like Dan.
But then I felt guilty about the two that had started out inside me but had already gone and I was worried sick the rest would follow. What was done was done now. We had more than expected, probably more than we knew how to cope with, but I believed we would learn. Like all parents do. No going back. You do realise that, don’t you? You do believe me? That I would have done anything – anything – to keep all four alive.
There would be no selective reduction. No choosing which to keep and which to dispose of. We would stick together like glue – all of us – and everything would be all right in the end. But I couldn’t promise that, could I? Couldn’t promise anything. It was all down to hope and luck. All bravado. Deep inside, with five heartbeats now inextricably linked and playing in tune, believe me, I was absolutely terrified.
***
‘Quads are pretty unusual, you know.’ Dan was sitting at the other end of the sofa, tapping at a calculator with one hand and rubbing my feet under the blanket with the other. It had been a tough day, one that had started with the kind of overwhelming sickness that had prevented me eating anything all morning and ended with me having to leave work early because I was just too tired to stand up.
/> ‘Yes, I expect they are. I’ve never met any, have you?’
‘Nope. And I was thinking about the Waltons again. How they would have managed, you know, practically, financially, with so many kids, if they hadn’t become front page news, such a media sensation …’
‘They had six, Dan. And all girls, which made them even more special. No wonder the TV people snapped them up. But I don’t see what they have to do with us. Our situation is totally different. We’re only having four and we’ve no idea about their sex.’
‘Still unusual, though, isn’t it? Having four. Not something you see every day, walking down the high street. Enough to draw attention. Lots of attention.’
‘And?’
‘Well, let’s face it, if we get through this and end up with all four, there’s no way you’ll be able to keep going to work. It’s all you can do to stagger in there every day now and you’re hardly even showing yet. The cost of childcare would outweigh anything you can earn, and my salary isn’t going to be enough, is it? I’ve been trying to tot it all up. Clothes, milk, nappies, prams and the car will need replacing, let alone where they’re all going to sleep, especially when they get older. We’ll probably have to move, or build an extension, just to get all the beds in. Yes, I can work some extra hours, maybe even push for a pay rise or a promotion, but then I’ll be working so much I’ll hardly ever be here, hardly see my own kids. It’s not ideal, when you’re going to need all the help you can get.’
‘There’s always Mum.’
‘Of course, and I’m sure she’ll want to help out as much as she can, but she’s getting older. She may not have the energy. And she does have a life of her own, what with her wedding coming up soon. And, besides, she doesn’t live here with us, so she can’t be here all the time, can’t help with all the night feeds and stuff. No, what we need is something to take the financial pressure off a bit, maybe even allow me to cut my working hours back instead of upping them, and I think that’s some kind of sponsorship deal.’
‘What do you mean? Have their little faces on nappy packets or something?’
‘Yes. Why not? Although nappy packets are more likely to show bottoms than faces, I should think. But there’s talcum powder, milk, maybe those wipe things, or they could model for baby clothes catalogues …’
‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. But it’s a possibility, I suppose. Do you think there’s much money in it?’
‘I have no idea, but I intend to find out. So, you just get on with lying there and keeping them warm, and I’ll do what I do best, eh? Finding us a way to afford it.’
‘And while I’m lying here keeping them warm, do you think you might be able to rustle up some dinner tonight?’
‘Dinner? I thought you were too sick to eat?’
‘That was earlier. Now I’m so ravenous I could eat a horse!’
‘I can check in the freezer, but I don’t think we have any horse. But, okay then. You rest, I’ll cook. Just don’t make a habit of it and expect me to be at your beck and call every night for the next six months or more. There’ll be enough of that after they’re born. Will lasagne do?’
‘Lovely. Make it a big one. I am eating for five, remember?’
‘As if I could forget.’ He dropped the calculator down on the carpet and eased his hand out from under the blanket. ‘And, if it’s going to be that big a lasagne, how about I invite your mum and Trev round to share it? It’s time we told them what’s going on, don’t you think? Now that it’s all definite.’
‘I want to tell her. Of course I do. I want to tell the whole world! But what if something goes wrong? It’s still very early days. I can hardly believe any of it myself yet, and I feel like I might jinx the whole thing if I even say it out loud.’
‘That’s silly, and you know it. Now shall I call them, or will you?’
‘But, Trevor? Do we have to? Can’t we just ask Mum to come round on her own?’
‘No, we can’t. This silly feud has to stop now, Kate. It’s gone on long enough and I’ve never understood why. So, he’s not your dad. He can hardly help that, can he? And, as far as I can see, he’s done nothing wrong. He’s not an axe murderer or a drug addict. And your mum loves him. Enough to marry him. And as you’re supposed to be her bridesmaid, I think it’s probably time you explained why you just might need a considerably bigger dress.’
‘And what if she’s making a mistake?’
‘What if we are?’
‘Dan! You can’t think that.’
‘But, if it turns out that way, then at least it was our mistake to make. Just like marrying Trevor is hers. And he’s not so bad, you know.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Now make the call and I’ll make a start on chopping the onions. Get the crying started early, because I’m sure there’s going to be plenty of it once you tell your mum she’s going to be a granny four times over!’
Chapter 24
Jenny, 2017
Jenny had never had a client die before. It was bound to happen sooner or later, she supposed, when you worked with the elderly, but still a shock when it happened for real. Mr Jenkins may have been a stubborn old devil sometimes, but she’d had a soft spot for him, and the phone call from the agency this morning, telling her that he’d passed away over the weekend and that there was no need to call there any more had hit her hard.
‘I feel like there’s something I should have done,’ she wailed, dabbing at her eyes with a torn lump of soggy tissue.
Beth was sitting close to her on the bed, still in her pyjamas. ‘Like what, Jen? He was an old man. If it was his time …’
‘But he was okay. He was eating his porridge and watching TV, just like anybody else. He didn’t know he only had a few days left, did he?’
‘None of us know when though, do we? Imagine if we did. If we knew exactly when we were going to die, then I don’t think we’d ever be able to enjoy living. It would be like some horrible countdown ticking relentlessly away over our heads and nothing we could do to stop it. Better to just go, surely?’
‘But he was on his own, Beth. His daughter found him in bed, just gone in his sleep. It’s so sad. I don’t like to think of him dying all by himself.’
‘But, if he was asleep, he won’t have known anything about it. It’s not like he was found on the floor, clutching his chest, or he’d lain there for hours in agony with a broken hip or something. Best way to go, I think, in your own bed. Who knows? He might have been having a lovely dream and just drifted away …’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ Jenny took a last loud sniff and threw the tissue at the bin in the corner. ‘And I know it’s silly but it’s made me think of Dad, living all by himself, when he should have his family around him.’
‘Hardly the same thing, Jen. And Dad’s not old. Well, not that old.’
‘I know. It’s just sad though, isn’t it? People splitting up, losing loved ones, trying to get by on memories …’
‘Dad’s okay. He’s still got us. It’s not as if we’re going anywhere, is it? And don’t forget he’s had – what? – three girlfriends since he left!’
‘That we know of.’ Jenny tried to laugh but it still came out as a sob. ‘But what’s happened, with old Mr J, well, it’s made me realise something. I don’t want to do this job any more. Caring. It’s not really for me, not long term.’
‘Jenny, you do know you’re the most caring person I know, don’t you? But, okay, what do you want to do instead?’
‘I’m not sure, but seeing Laura, and listening to her, it’s made me realise there must be so many women out there battling with pregnancy problems, losing babies, maybe struggling to get pregnant in the first place. Feeling anxious and guilty, and lots of them coping with their feelings all on their own. I mean, it’s not just Laura. It happened to Mum too, didn’t it? Miscarriage. Infertility. IVF. Post-natal depression. All those awful things women have to deal with. I just wish I could do something.’
‘Like?’
&n
bsp; ‘Well, I was wondering if I could train to be a midwife or a health visitor or even some kind of specialist counsellor. I’d love to be involved in helping mums to bring new babies into the world, not watching old people leave it.’
‘But those jobs will need a lot of training, Jen. College, exams, probably years of it. You sure you’re up for that?’
‘Well, I won’t know unless I make the effort to find out, will I?’
‘True. But right now …’ Beth looked at her watch. ‘We’re both going to be late for work. I have a full head of foils and two cut and blows awaiting me this morning.’
‘And I’ve got five breakfasts to make, a pair of compression stockings to peel off and rinse through, and Mrs Crabbe’s toenails in need of a good cutting. Not that I’m supposed to do it, but there’s nobody else and she can’t reach! Best get to it, eh?’
‘That’s the spirit. Life goes on, Jen.’ Beth turned at the door. ‘Warts and all!’
***
Jenny sat on the bus later, staring out of the grimy rain-splashed window and thought about James. Okay, so he wasn’t real, but that didn’t seem to matter much. Ever since Natalie had caught her whispering down the phone to Laura and assumed she was seeing someone, she’d been giving James a lot more thought. He’d always been tall, dark and handsome. Well, that went without saying, didn’t it? What self-respecting hero wasn’t? But lately he’d started to develop much more clearly defined features. He had the sort of hair, for instance, that roughed up in the wind (she imagined him out in the wind quite often, for some strange reason) and needed to be flattened down again, with the aid of a strong hand displaying long tanned fingers and short neatly trimmed nails. A vision of the thick yellowed nails she’d just left at the end of Mrs Crabbe’s toes tried to creep into her mind but was swiftly pushed aside.
