by Beth Miller
Miffy lights a cigarette as soon as we’re outside. ‘That was lovely!’ she says as we return to the car. ‘So much nicer than a hospital.’
‘Mmm. So what were you saying? About a sperm donor?’
She blows a stream of smoke into the sky. ‘Makes sense, Laura. I’m still pretty fertile, least I was according to some tests Jay and I had the year before last.’
‘You might meet someone, though.’
She clicks her seatbelt into place, dangles her cigarette out of the window. ‘Even if I meet someone tomorrow. Even if I say yes to your friend Nick, who keeps texting me. How long before we’re ready to make that commitment? How long before we’re ready to start trying? I haven’t got that sort of time, Laura.’
‘I’m older than you, and look at me!’ I gesture at my belly.
‘We can’t all be as lucky as you.’
We’re quiet on the drive home. I can’t stop thinking about what Heifer said. What a crazy, lovely idea. A way to say sorry to Miffy. Sorry for everything I did to hurt her when we were young.
I think I can make everything all right.
26 MARCH 2003
Spaced out and weird this morning. My head’s woolly and nothing quite connects. Things move more slowly than usual. Even the baby’s calm – none of the usual flutters when I’m in the shower. When I put my hairbrush down on the shelf, it makes such a noise I jump. It’s like being hung over without the fun of getting pissed the night before. I think I see a tiny bit of blood when I wipe myself. But my head’s too muddled to decide if it is blood or just a mark on the bog roll, that stupid bamboo stuff with bits in that Huw buys.
I’m not really safe to drive, but Miffy’s gone to the gym early so I can’t get her to take Evie to school. Cars flash past us, leaving dancing streams of red and yellow in front of my eyes. I stop at a zebra crossing even though there’s no one waiting, and the car behind me hoots, which is unheard of: usually everyone round here drives like an old lady. I’m the most old lady person on the road today.
‘Why we going so slowly, Mum? God, you’re really sweating. Gross.’
I wipe my arm across my soaking forehead. ‘It’s just very hot, isn’t it?’
‘Not particularly.’
Once I’ve dropped her at school, things are easier. Luckily I don’t have to go to work. Every cloud. On the journey home I stick to side roads, go at 20 mph, though it still feels very fast. I’m so happy to get home. I drink three glasses of water, standing at the sink, then I lie down and sleep for an hour. A shrink would love this dream. Miffy is Marilyn Monroe and we’re in a restaurant. Marilyn/Miffy keeps lighting matches then blowing them out just before they burn her fingers. The waitress is Ceri in a wedding dress. When the food arrives, it’s just plates full of flower petals.
Miffy’s still not back when I wake up and make my way down to the kitchen. I wish she’d hurry. I want to tell her my idea. Maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling weird: because of my idea. Because I don’t know how she’ll react. I can’t work out any more if it’s brilliant or stupid; I just know that I have to tell her. But she doesn’t come. Glynn mooches in, looking for Miffy to read his application form.
‘I can look at it, Glynn. I may not have a degree but I’m not entirely stupid.’
‘Yeah. It’s just Miffy knows more about the job.’
‘Miffy is a nickname for her old friends. You should call her Melissa.’
‘I’ll leave it there for her.’ He puts the form on the kitchen table and stomps upstairs.
I make a cup of tea, and put it down on Glynn’s form. That’ll teach the little shit. Then I take it off. I’m going to have to start filling in job applications myself soon; I don’t want bad karma. After I’ve drunk the tea I decide that rather than wait here all unsettled, I’ll go to confession. Father Davies talks a lot of sense. I scribble a note and drive sedately into Bangor, managing to get up to 30 mph on the main road. Wooh, Speedy Gonzales. I haven’t been to church much in the last few months, but that doesn’t matter: you can always confess.
Except you can’t. As I climb the steps to the entrance, Father Davies comes running out. We almost bump into each other.
‘Oh, Laura! Did you want me? I’m so sorry, Mrs Mayfield just called. Her husband’s been taken terribly ill.’
There’s a taxi waiting for him, its engine running.
‘It was just … I think I’ve found a way to make things right with my stepsister. I was hoping to talk it through in confession.’
‘That’s wonderful, Laura.’ He clasps my hand. ‘To repair the wounds of the past is a tremendous thing.’
‘Shall I go for it, then, Father?’
‘Yes, yes. Why don’t you come back this afternoon and I’ll hear your confession then?’
He gets into the taxi and waves as it drives off. Too late I realise I should have offered to drive him, then we could have talked on the way. I step into the cold dark church and the sweat evaporates from my face. There’s no one else here so I go into the confessional box anyway. I love it in there, all tiny like a Wendy house. Just enough space for a chair. I sit down, do some pregnancy breathing, close my eyes. Unbidden, a montage of images flits across my mind. Images that have been playing more and more in my head lately. I annotate them, imagine it’s a slideshow of the past.
A young face in a three-way mirror.
Lacy white shorts, smeared with dust.
A piece of paper ripped from a school book, black biro.
A flash of high-heeled orange sandal.
Two young naked bodies, flickering like a black-and-white movie.
A derelict shed at the side of the road.
Perching on a windowsill to smoke a cigarette.
Piano scales going up and down behind a closed door.
A sheet flapping in the hot Spanish sun.
Sitting in confession, tears soaking my shirt.
Miffy’s mouth saying, ‘I don’t want this any more.’
I open my eyes and make it all disappear by summoning the present-day Miffy. The more I think about it, the more right it seems. Not everyone has the chance to offer something so special, so big, that it can make the past white.
At last! Miffy’s back when I get home, sitting in the kitchen reading Glynn’s application. ‘Hi, Laura. Glynn’s done well with his form.’
Bully for him. ‘How was the gym?’
‘Good. Knackering. I had a swim as well.’ She points to my note. ‘How was church?’
I sit down. ‘Pretty quiet. Good for my mortal soul.’
‘Would your mortal soul like some lunch?’
‘Thanks, that’d be great.’
I watch her, bustling about, finding plates and cutlery. I’m going to tell her my idea now. I’m just going to go for it. That’s what Miffy says I’m like, doesn’t she? I’m a risk taker.
‘Miff, you know you asked me to do a spot of matchmaking?’
‘Yes, indeed. Nick’s a good start. Do you want cheese or chicken?’
‘Cheese, thanks. What if I was to tell you I had your perfect match?’
‘Really? Who is he?’ She closes the fridge door with her hip.
‘Not perfect as a partner, but the most perfect match for a sperm donor.’
‘Ah. Not quite the sort of matchmaking I had in mind. Chutney?’
‘No thanks.’
‘I’m sure you know some lovely Welsh boyos, Laura, but I thought I’d go down the official route. Clinics and that.’
‘Cost a bomb, though. Quite cold, too. Clinical.’
‘That’s the thing about clinics – their clinical-ness. I’ll do a bit of salad, shall I?’
‘You said you wanted to be more adventurous.’ I smile.
‘When I said that, I wasn’t thinking of impregnation by a stranger, though.’
‘I’m not talking about a stranger. What if I said I’d got someone who totally fits the bill? Nice-looking, fertile.’
‘Fertile’s such a funny word, isn’t it? Can I us
e up this cucumber?’
‘Someone who wouldn’t try to get involved. Someone who’s already got his own family.’
She stops what she’s doing and looks at me. ‘Oh my God, Laura. You surely don’t mean …’
‘Honestly, he only has to look at me and I’m pregnant. Those sperm are still going strong, Miffy-sister.’
‘Have I got this right, Laura? Are you offering me your husband?’
‘I think it’s a brilliant solution.’
‘Are you serious? You have got to be kidding me.’ She starts to laugh. ‘You really are a case. A total case. What’s the plan, then? Will he wank into a tube or would it be better if he and I did it the old-fashioned way?’
‘Miffy! I hadn’t thought about that side of it.’ I have, of course. I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m sure Huw would vote for the more traditional route, but of course we’d do it with a turkey baster. But I don’t want to go into the mechanics right now.
‘We could do it in your bed,’ Miffy says, still laughing. ‘That’s the place that’s always worked for you, isn’t it? Or has his office floor been more productive?’ She laughs harder and harder, till her whole body shakes so much that she knocks against the counter and a plate falls and shatters. The pieces skid across the quarry tiles like marbles, but she just carries on laughing manically. She looks out of control. She’s still holding the knife, which worries me a bit.
‘Sloppy seconds, don’t they call it?’ She gasps. ‘It’s like Towse all over again.’
‘Towels? What have towels got to do with it?’
‘I can’t believe you don’t remember. It was such a mean thing you did.’ She’s not laughing any more; tears pour down her face. I step across the shards of china and try to hug her, but her arms remain rigidly at her sides, hand still clutching the knife.
‘Or why don’t you just give me your baby?’
I step back. ‘Don’t be silly, Miffy.’
‘It’s no sillier than your suggestion. Why don’t you? It’s not like you or your husband want it.’ She points at my stomach; she points with the hand holding the knife.
I say calmly, ‘Give that to me, Miffy.’
The tears keep falling down her face. It’s like a scene from a TV drama.
Laura: Give that to me, Miffy.
Miffy: Leave me alone!
Laura: You were always jealous of me: I was the cool one, the pretty one. Now I’m the one with the husband and kids. I’ve got it all, haven’t I?
Miffy: Yes! And I hate you for it! I’m going to make sure you lose that baby. (She lunges with the knife …)
‘You always just blunder in, barge across people, never mind what they want.’
‘Miffy, give me the knife.’
‘You never think about how anyone else might feel.’ She drops the knife on the floor, thank God. I put my hand on her arm and she yells, ‘Get away from me!’ and pushes me, a hard shove, so abrupt and unexpected that I stumble and fall onto my knees on the hard quarry tiles.
‘Fuck, Miffy!’
She stands over me as I kneel there, stares as if she’s never seen me before. She makes a funny little gesture, like wiping her hands, and I put my arms over my head in case she’s going to thump me or grab the knife and stab me. ‘Christ,’ she says. ‘Christ, Christ, Christ,’ and runs out, crunching bits of plate underfoot. The front door slams.
When I’m sure she’s not coming back, I get up carefully and lower myself into a chair. One sharp piece of china is sticking to my knee, and when I brush it off I see it has pierced my jeans. I slowly roll up the trouser leg and dab at the cut with a tissue. Then I walk stiffly to the sink and get out the dustpan and brush. You can’t leave broken china lying on the floor. It could be dangerous.
My knees ache as I drive slowly along. Things still look off-kilter. A man walking his dog appears from nowhere and I do an emergency stop before realising he’s a lot further away than I thought. He doesn’t even notice me. After this, my back spasms so painfully that I pull over onto someone’s drive. There’s nowhere else to stop. The old bag whose house it is comes out and says, ‘Can I help you?’ in an unfriendly tone. I explain I’m not feeling well and will move on in just a moment, and she says she’s sorry to hear that but she’s expecting a delivery. I tell her to go fuck herself and reverse noisily off her precious bastard drive and nearly bash into an SUV with bull-bars. I can hear her yelling abuse after me all the way up the road. It seems so mean that I start crying, and only just manage to stop when I reach the school.
Evie’s leaning against the gate, trots over on her gangly legs when I pull up. How come kids are so thin? The girls Evie knows all look as if they’ve got nowhere to store their internal organs.
She whirls into her seat. ‘You’re late.’
‘I know. Sorry. Not been feeling well.’
‘Have you been crying? Your face is a state.’
‘Not really. I had a bit of a row with Auntie Melissa.’
I look in the mirror before setting off: something I haven’t done since I learned to drive.
‘About Uncle Danny, was it?’
‘What? No, not at all. Why would you think that?’
‘You told her you loved him. You kissed him.’
Ah – there we have it. She wasn’t asleep in the back of the car, after all. So it was her who told Glynn, and he’s probably told the whole of North fucking Wales.
‘I wasn’t serious, okay? Danny and I went out together for a while when we were kids, not much older than you and Micah. I was excited to see him again, is all.’
She doesn’t say anything. I glance at her. She is staring straight ahead, fiddling with the heart-shaped pendant.
‘Evie? You all right?’
‘You told me you and Daddy weren’t getting divorced.’
‘We’re not, baby, okay?’
‘Glynn …’
‘What’s he said?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Listen, whatever crap Glynn’s been putting in your head, ignore it. Everything is fine, all right?’
‘All right.’ Sulkily.
At home, I make peppermint tea and sip it slowly, stalling the moment that I have to go up and see if Miffy’s in her room. My tummy feels a bit better; it’s just a kind of dull, bearable ache now. I refresh my lipstick before knocking tentatively on Miffy’s door. She’s in there, thank the Lord, sitting up in bed and typing on her laptop. She pushes it aside when I come in.
‘God, Laura, are you all right?’
‘Miff, I’m so sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry. I feel terrible. I shoved a pregnant woman. I don’t exactly feel good about myself. Really, are you all right? Did I hurt you?’
‘My knees are a bit sore, but I’ll live.’ I sit down on the bed.
‘Laura, I am so, so sorry. I don’t know what got into me.’
‘I didn’t think it through, Miff, didn’t think how you might react.’ Actually, I did think it through but assumed she’d be pleased.
‘I over-reacted. You caught me off guard. Babies are kind of an emotional topic for me.’ She reaches for a cigarette. ‘Slight understatement.’
‘I was shit and you were right. I didn’t consider your feelings. I do blunder in sometimes.’ It feels like the confession I didn’t make to Father Davies.
‘It’s my own fault. I said I loved your bull-in-a-china-shop quality.’ She strikes a match to the cigarette and lets out a long breath. ‘Laura, love, listen. I know your head must be in an awful state. You’re pregnant, you’ve lost your job. I really don’t mean to upset you. But from where I’m sitting, things don’t look too great between you and Huw. Spin it how you like, it’s obvious to me that he is having an affair, and you’re just trying to pretend it isn’t happening.’
Miffy’s become such a bitch. Wish with all my heart I’d never told her about that stupid blonde. I should never tell anyone anything. I’m sure it was nothing. I check his pockets, sniff his shirts, look at his credit card bill.
Clean as a whistle. Apart from the working late, there’s no hint of anything. The more I think about seeing him that night in the pub, the more I think she could just have been a colleague. They weren’t doing anything, after all.
‘You know nothing about Huw and me, Melissa. You only just met us. We got together against all advert-isy.’ I always have trouble saying ‘adversity’ and it makes Miffy smile. Which makes me furious. ‘Everyone was against us but we made it through. All long-term relationships have wobbly patches. You should know that. But we don’t all split up at the drop of a hat.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘That’s me told, then.’
‘Anyway. I’m sorry I suggested it. I haven’t even asked Huw yet.’
‘I kind of guessed that. I wouldn’t mention it to him, if I were you.’
‘Thanks for the Relate advice.’ I stand up. ‘I’m making chilli. Want some?’
‘Yes, please. Be good to have something before I go.’
My anger drains away. ‘You’re leaving? Now? Because of this?’
‘Not just that, Laura-sister.’ She smiles. ‘I need to get on with my life. Whatever it’s going to be.’
‘Where will you go?’ I’m embarrassed to feel tears starting again. I don’t normally cry from one week to the next. Today, it’s every other minute.
‘For now, back to Mum’s. After that, who knows?’
The tears come, and she pulls me into an awkward embrace. We sit like that for some time, my face against her shoulder, smoke from her cigarette coiling into my face.
It’s gone ten by the time Huw gets home. He eats a bowl of chilli, standing up like a starving man.
‘Why don’t you sit down, Huw?’
‘I’m going to head back again in a minute to finish this paper.’
‘Do you have to? I’m feeling a bit low.’ I haven’t told him about the job yet. There hasn’t really been time. And it’s complicated, explaining why I got sacked. So I just say, ‘Miffy’s leaving later tonight and I’ll miss her …’
‘That’s unfortunate timing.’ He clatters his bowl down onto the counter. ‘Why’s she going so suddenly?’
I try to think how to phrase it, and a laugh spurts out of my mouth. ‘I, um, made her an offer she wanted to refuse.’
