Finally she found the keys, running her finger over Chloe’s photograph, which had been made into a key ring. It was a cheesy gift that her mum and dad had bought as a souvenir of their day at the seaside. Tasteless, yes, yet that two-inch square gave Grace pleasure on a daily basis. She thought again of Chloe, who had been to pre-school that morning, which probably meant another masterpiece for the kitchen wall. They would soon have to find another ‘gallery’ as the kitchen was already groaning under the weight of macaroni glued onto card, paper chains, coloured-in handprints, and bells and stars made of painted salt dough. Her art portfolio was growing weekly. Chloe, darling, sweet, chubby Chloe…
Grace approached the car and pressed the button. Popping the hatch, she threw her briefcase into the boot and slammed it shut. It was bloody cold. The large 4x4, with its leather seats and softly glowing interior light, looked invitingly warm and comfortable. She considered what music to listen to on the journey home, deciding on Ryan Adams, with whom she would duet.
It was a twenty-minute drive via a series of high-hedged lanes to Nettlecombe, where her family would be waiting. Despite losing herself in the lilting lyrics of ‘Gimme Something Good’, her mind whirred through her never-ending to-do list. It was this virtual catalogue that routinely kept her awake into the early hours, caused her to lose her thread of thought when in conversation, and was responsible for the random shouting of words as she remembered something urgent that she’d forgotten. Must get milk out of freezer as we’re running low. Shit, I didn’t return Ruthie’s call. Her school friend had left her two messages asking about lunch. What can I get Mum for her birthday? I could organise a bouquet, but that feels a little like I haven’t bothered to put any thought in. I’ll ask Alice if she’s got any ideas. Must get Jayney to send the proofs off to Nell, if we’re going to make the lead-time. Did I reply to Angharad about the final cost? Need to check that. Wonder if Tom has packed Chloe’s bag for Monday. What will she need? Not much, I suppose. I’ll have to check. God, I’m tired.
Grace dipped the headlights and pulled up to the house in darkness. Their solid, red-brick, Edwardian home sat in the centre of the circular driveway, a later addition that allowed cars to turn and park. The evening had become still. No breeze ruffled the wintry shrubs, but the air was crisp. A large moon lit up the back of the house, their brick oasis, their haven, a place of peace and belonging. Their lovely home.
A light shone over the garden, casting a honey-coloured glow. It came from the kitchen, in the extension to the right of the property. Grace sat taking in the scene that greeted her. She felt quite remote, a casual observer. Chloe was at the table in her special chair. She was up late and in her pyjamas, suggesting that she had been put to bed once but had resurfaced, probably so that she could see her mummy. Her mouth was full of tomatoey pasta, her hands gesticulating wildly as the day’s events were relayed to her daddy, who was carving a bloated loaf. She was a lively, energetic child, a chatterbox, thoroughly inquisitive and slightly naughty, all the things that Grace and Tom had hoped she would be and more.
Bread in hand, Tom now sat slouched at the head of the table, his crisp cotton shirt visible beneath his favourite dark green jersey. His fingers toyed with the stem of a wine glass. He swilled the red wine around the bowl before throwing it into his mouth and instantly reaching for a refill.
Grace watched, mesmerised, as Tom lunged forward quickly and jabbed two fingers in the direction of Chloe’s ribs. He stopped just short of actual contact, at which point Chloe threw back her soft blonde curls and screamed, spraying the area with pasta. Scrambling out of her seat, she dropped herself into Tom’s lap and nuzzled into his chest, smearing his jersey with her sauce-covered face. He kissed her forehead and tried in vain to smooth down her defiant curls, cuddling her tight.
The sight of her little girl caused Grace’s stomach to twist with longing. Chloe still carried a wonderful layer of fat that meant to hug her was like folding a warm and comfortable cushion into your chest. Around each wrist was the fleshy bracelet that all small children have, as if she’d been constructed like a doll and there was a seam where her hand had been stuck on to her arm. Grace missed her. Even one day working away felt like too much.
The carefully positioned lamps sent arcs of warmth around the room, the checked cushions in the window seats were plumped just so and at the far end of the scrubbed pine table sat a shallow blue bowl full of snowdrops, no doubt the fruit of Chloe’s labours. It was magazine perfect. Her perfect family in their perfect home. It was one of those images that would crystallise in her mind for her to look at whenever she wanted, like a favourite picture or landscape.
She watched her husband sip his wine and stretch his long legs under the table, crossing them at the ankle. Grace wondered not for the first time how he managed to run the house and look after Chloe while still giving the impression that life was one long party. It fascinated her that he seemed to always have time for a natter and a glass of plonk, whereas she could barely find the time to think straight.
Theirs was one of those relationships that people on the outside couldn’t fathom; he was the life and soul, whereas Grace came across as sober, her every action and syllable considered. The select few that were close to the couple, however, knew that Grace had evolved this persona as a counterbalance to Tom’s often reckless antics and sometimes irresponsible attitude. They had met during their final year at university, where he was reluctantly studying architecture and she was reading English literature, thinking it would be a good way to harness her love of words and help develop her creativity. They had grown into a single unit to which all the clichés really did apply – they genuinely were two halves of a whole, soulmates and all the rest. Trust, open and honest communication, extreme kindness and a strong friendship: these were the foundations on which their life together was built before Chloe came along. They had found their perfect formula.
It had been no surprise to any of their inner circle that, following the birth of Chloe, Tom had jumped at the chance to give up the daily grind of travelling into London to a job that bored him stupid. He had long ago decided he would never become the next Norman Foster and he was sick of daily swallowing the bile of disappointment as he sketched plans for remodelling projects in Holland Park and kitchen extensions on the better side of Wandsworth. It fascinated and exasperated him how many meetings were necessary to discuss minutiae such as the position of a mirror or the particular finish on a bathroom tap. He was fed up with dealing with women who had too much time on their hands and too much money with which to indulge their whims. It therefore made perfect sense for him to stay at home. Grace earned more than he did and if Chloe was with him, they would never have to worry about her well-being.
It had worked well on both counts: Grace’s earnings were more than enough to cover their outgoings and Tom was a devoted and patient father. With Mrs Roper coming in twice a week to clean, and Grace’s parents on speed dial for any minor emergency, he was free to be the perfect parent. He was now pushing for a second baby, confident that he could cope just as easily with two, once Grace had dispatched said infant and tootled off back to work. It was becoming a bone of contention, with Tom harassing her, pointing out cute pictures in magazines and going on about how much Chloe would love a sibling, how lonely it must be to be an only child, how his brother, Jack, had been the one thing that had kept him sane during his crazy childhood. Grace couldn’t counter his arguments but found it hard to explain how difficult it was to leave one child behind every day; leaving two would be unbearable. That she sometimes felt deeply resentful as she jumped up to her alarm at 5 a.m. each morning, and begrudgingly watched as Chloe instinctively ran to Daddy for all her immediate needs, was rarely mentioned. She was lucky, really. She had it all.
Tom loved her deeply and with a certainty that sometimes bordered on complacency; he looked at their friends and knew that none of them shared what he and Grace had. They were perfectly matched intellectually and though their
physical desire for each other was no longer all-consuming, it was still very present, just a little less passionate. It was as though they had a secret world that existed behind their bedroom door, known only to the two of them. No matter what kind of challenge the day presented, the promise and comfort their intimacy brought made everything okay.
Grace had never been physically confident and Tom’s relationships, of which there had been many, had all been short-lived. When he met Grace, it was as if he could finally shake off the outer persona that impressed his peers. She was the first person in his life to love him unconditionally because of how he was and not who he was. In fact, the bullish antics and sarcastic humour that garnered the respect of his mates were the very aspects that Grace liked the least and it was with an almost perceptible relief that Tom allowed his softer, more human side to be exposed.
People would tell Tom he was lucky. He knew it wasn’t luck but fate that had steered his soulmate into his path. He had been warned that things would ‘change’ when the baby arrived and he inferred from the long sighs, the sucking of teeth and consolatory pats on the back from his contemporaries who were already parents that those changes were not necessarily for the good. They had been wrong, all of them. The arrival of Chloe was not just a good thing, it was a wonderful thing, and it had been the making of them as a couple. She was the creeping vine that bound them even closer together, covering their ordinariness with something entirely beautiful.
From the moment of Chloe’s conception he had loved her, or at least the idea of her, and the reality had proved even better. He relished every aspect of being a dad. He saw being a father as a gift and an opportunity to take all that he had learnt about parenting from his own childhood and do it differently. In return, Chloe adored her daddy. She knew that he would never let her down, never be too tired or otherwise occupied to give her the attention she wanted or to solve any problem she might have.
Grace felt torn as she stared fuzzy eyed at Chloe and Tom in the kitchen. At one level it hurt that she was often the outsider, yet she was also delighted and fascinated by the commitment and love that her husband demonstrated on a daily basis. She let the car roll closer, and Chloe spotted her immediately. Waving furiously with both hands, she hopped off her dad’s lap, ran to the conservatory wall adjoining the kitchen and stuck her lips onto the windowpane, leaving a tomatoey print.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Chloe mouthed, jumping up and down on the spot, eager to regale Grace with the story of her day.
Grace jumped from the car and grabbed her bags, letting herself in via the kitchen door.
‘Hello, little one!’
Chloe ran full tilt towards her mum with her hands outstretched.
‘Whoa there! Tom, can you get some kitchen roll?’ she called out to her husband as she held her daughter by the wrists. ‘I love you, Chlo, but I don’t want pasta sauce all over my skirt.’
‘It’s only tomatoes!’ Tom tutted.
‘Only ‘matoes Mummy!’ Chloe echoed as Grace wiped at her sticky fingers with the kitchen roll.
‘I know it’s only ‘matoes, Miss Chloe May, but I can still do without a trip to the drycleaners!’ she said as she bent down, scooping her little girl into her arms and inhaling the scent of her as she grazed the top of her baby’s head with a kiss. She squeezed her a little too tightly so that Chloe wriggled to be free of her grip.
‘Chloe has made you a present!’
‘Oh, how lovely. I love presents.’ Grace smiled, knowing a present could be anything from a work of art to a leaf glued into an empty yoghurt pot.
‘It’s this big!’ Chloe spread her arms wide.
‘Wow! That’s as big as a whale!’ Grace kissed her nose. ‘Where is it? Can I have it now?’
‘No. It’s not a present for today, Mummy; it’s for a special day.’ She nodded. ‘I going to the hostipal soon to have my noperation.’ She opened her mouth wide and tilted her head back, hooking her index fingers into the sides of her mouth so Grace could see the cause of her pain.
‘I know, darling!’ Grace kissed her chin. ‘It’s quite exciting, going to hospital! You might see Dr Ranj.’
‘I love him,’ Chloe asserted, dreamy eyed.
‘I know you do.’ Grace kissed her face again, as Chloe arched backwards and slid down to the floor before waddling off to re-join her daddy. Grace wiped the tomato sauce from her cheek.
‘Hey, you! All good?’ Tom said.
‘Yes, fine.’ Grace nodded after their daughter. ‘She seems on good form.’
‘She is. Sod’s law, isn’t it; the days before she goes in to have her bloody tonsils removed, they’re behaving perfectly. Makes me wonder if we’re doing the right thing.’ Tom drained his glass.
‘Oh God, Tom, just think of all those nights, up at silly o’clock, her crying, unable to swallow or eat, it’s just not worth it. It’s as we agreed, the right thing to do if we can stop her going through that in the future. And no more bloody antibiotics!’
Tom ran his fingers through his short, thick hair. ‘I know, no more bloody antibiotics. Just don’t like the idea of her having an anaesthetic and all that. You caught your train okay, then?’
‘Yep, just made it, everywhere was packed. But I tell you what…’ She yawned. ‘It’s been one of those days.’
‘Gracie, it’s always one of those days.’ He sighed.
‘True.’ She smiled. Her phone beeped. ‘Shit, sorry.’ She slid the screen and fired off a text to Roseanne before returning her attention to her husband. ‘I’m all yours!’
‘Have you eaten?’ He was, as ever, preoccupied with feeding her.
She washed her hands in the large square kitchen sink. Her husband padded up behind her and pulled her hair free of her collar. Grace tensed as his fingers touched her neck. Just give me a little bit of space, I’m too tired…
‘I’ve cooked pasta, if you’re hungry?’ He jerked his head towards the stove, where a large pot sat on the hob.
Grace shook her head, knowing she was too exhausted to eat.
Tom continued, wanting to chat to his wife. ‘You look shattered, babe.’ His worry was genuine and touching, sending a spike of guilt through her.
‘I am actually.’ She felt him retreat and was guiltily grateful. ‘Where’s my lovely present from Chloe? That’d be a nice way to start my weekend.’
‘Ah, it’s a beauty!’ Tom smiled.
‘Yes, and it’s as big as a whale, apparently.’ Grace laughed.
‘Hmmm, not sure about that, and I’m afraid you can’t have it tonight. It’s for your birthday, she was quite firm on that.’
Grace frowned. ‘Guess I’ll just have to wait.’
It was two hours later, after a catch-up on the news and a large glass of red in front of the telly while trying not to fall asleep, that Grace crept into Chloe’s room. The little girl lay in the middle of her little bed with her arms raised above her head and her chubby legs forming an O-shape. Her eyelids fluttered in sleep. Grace reached out and moved a stray curl from her forehead. ‘Goodnight, baby. I love you, Chloe. You have the whole wide world at your feet: dream it and make it happen, my beautiful girl.’
The little girl tipped her head back and so began the characteristic snoring that, post operation, Grace wouldn’t miss.
Tom stole up behind her. ‘What does she sound like!’
The two folded into supressed giggles against the wall as the sound resonated.
‘She sounds like my grandad after a full lunch, having his afternoon snooze!’
‘Can you imagine her at uni, pulling the captain of the rowing team and he wakes up in the middle of the night listening to that!’ Tom pointed at his sleeping daughter. ‘She’s never going to get a second date!’
‘Oi! She is not going to be pulling the captain of the rowing team. And if she does, she certainly won’t sleep with him on the first date. She’s going to be studious and smart and save herself for marriage.’ Grace smiled.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I just
assumed she’d take after her mum and put out for little more than a bottle of Budweiser and a bag of chips.’ He hid his face behind his raised arms as if expecting a battering.
‘I only put out for you because I knew I was going to marry you, clever clogs!’ She thumped him playfully on the arm.
He caught her wrist and pulled her out onto the landing, shutting Chloe’s door after them. ‘Let’s continue this fight under the duvet. Let’s go make her baby brother or sister…’ He waggled his eyebrows.
Grace let her head fall against her chest. ‘Tom, pleeeease don’t nag me! I can’t think about that when I’m this tired, and you badgering just makes it awkward. I’ve told you it will happen when it happens, and you going on about it isn’t fair.’
‘Are we going to fight about it?’ He stepped forward and kissed her nose.
‘Tom, we don’t fight, you know that. We just keep talking and sort through the muddle until we’re in agreement.’ That had always been their way.
‘Shame, I was looking forward to a bit of a tussle.’ He winked.
‘What has got into you, Mr Penderford?’ She tutted.
Tom grinned as he took her by the wrist and led her into the bedroom. He peeled off his socks and flung them in a heap by the wall before removing his jersey with one hand, tugging hard on the back of the neck until it slipped over his head, something she had never worked out how to do. She figured it was a bloke thing, guessing he’d be just as bad at shrugging off his bra without taking off his top, a neat trick she had learnt at school.
Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats Page 2
