Paul
*
Food. The great comforter. I’ve ingested an entire roast chicken, five potatoes and a pile of vegetables the size of my head before I start to feel even marginally calmer. The wedding breakfast – I keep calling it a wedding breakfast because every time I do my mum’s face breaks into a gigantic smile – is just for family and close friends, and the friends have been shoved to the other end of the table. We have a function room to ourselves, and the twee decor, with curtain swags and a fake candelabrum on each wall, is surprisingly soothing. I’m surrounded by the people who love me, and like this, I might just get through it.
Paul thinks I’m pregnant by someone else. That’s a truth I can’t shy away from. Of all the stupid, ridiculous … Well, what did I expect? Paul’s a gold medallist in jumping to the wrong conclusions. Look at what he was like about Joshua. And John Dean. But this? This takes the biscuit.
OK, I called off the wedding and never quite got around to telling him exactly why. But, hey – figure it out, genius. You don’t want to start a family, I’m in the family way. Recipe for a happy life? No, not really. I set him free. You’d think he’d be grateful, once the shock had worn off. But no, Paul has to go on a typical Paul Smart not-very-smart flight of fancy that has me running off and getting knocked up by another guy.
‘Are you OK, love?’ my mum asks, leaning over.
‘Was I muttering to myself again?’ I say, embarrassed. She nods. Ah, great. I smile and wave to my mum’s friend Anne and her daughter, then I turn my chair so their view of me is blocked.
‘What I don’t understand is, how on earth he thinks I had the opportunity to meet someone else. We spent every second together, apart from when we were working, for goodness sake. And, tell me this – shouldn’t someone who is so dead set against having a baby be a bit more concerned about contraception? Huh?’
My mum nods and pats my hand. She’s heard this twice already, but has the grace not to look bored. Dad leans in and goes to top up my glass, but I put my hand across it. I’m allowing myself a tipple today, but not more than one. The last thing I need is a hangover and another shedload of guilt to add to my already unmanageable load.
‘He’s an arse,’ my dad says definitively.
‘Yes,’ Mum agrees. ‘He is. An arse.’
The way she says ‘arse’ is so funny, I crease up laughing despite myself. Lipsy looks up.
‘What’s the joke?’ she says. Her face is a picture of anxiety. She knows she’s in for it later, but I’m not laying into her here. I’ve made enough of a spectacle of myself for one day.
I’m about to say something cutting, when her phone beeps and she fishes it from her bag. I glare at her: this is a family meal, not to mention a chance to comfort me, not an opportunity to check her messages. I try to catch her eye, forbidding stare at the ready, but as she reads her face grows even paler than usual and tears well up in her eyes. She slams the phone down violently and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Robert reaches for her hand.
‘What’s up?’ he says. He’s feeding Phoenix, holding him awkwardly with one arm while trying to balance the bottle with the same hand. Phoenix doesn’t seem to mind, though. At least there’s someone in our family who doesn’t have a care in the world.
‘Nothing.’ Lipsy shakes her head and shoots Robert a warning glance. My antennae are up and receiving immediately.
‘Who was the text from, Lipsy?’
‘No one,’ she says. ‘And it wasn’t a text. It was an email.’
I can see that she regrets this addition as soon as it’s out of her mouth.
‘Who emails you?’ I say with a laugh. ‘I thought you lot were all Facebook and Twitter now. Or texting. And no one spells properly anymore,’ I add, turning to my dad. ‘It’s all “great” spelt with a G and a number eight, and “R U OK”. No wonder the education system in this country is going down the pan.’
I think I might be a little bit drunk. I haven’t had alcohol for months, and this one glass of wine seems to have gone straight to my head. I hope Bump isn’t getting any. Must shovel in some more food to soak it up.
I might not have given the email another thought if not for what happens next. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lipsy slip her phone under the table to my mother. Then I watch, pretending to be absorbed in my chocolate cake and fresh whipped cream, while my mother reads something on the screen, steals a quick glance at me, then hands it back to Lipsy.
I throw down my spoon and shove my hand across the table, palm up.
‘Give me that phone right now.’
Lipsy jumps and nearly drops the phone into her pudding. ‘What?’ she says, clearly stalling for time. Trying to think of a reason to say no.
‘Don’t play the innocent with me,’ I tell her. ‘Today has been weird enough without you sharing secret messages with your grandma. Just hand over the phone, Lipsy. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make it any worse for yourself.’
Reluctantly, with a lot of grumbling and muttering, she hands me the phone. Then she lifts Phoenix from Robert’s arms and takes over feeding. Obviously assuming I won’t be too hard on her if she’s holding my grandson.
This must be bad.
I give everyone a warning glare, then drop my head to read the email showing on the screen.
Funny how it isn’t even a shock to see that the message is from Paul. I guess I must have figured out that they’d been in touch. The shock is the realisation that my mother was involved in all this somehow. And then, when I look up and see my dad’s guilty face, the shock multiplies.
‘You too?’ I say to him, astonished.
He nods and lowers his head in shame.
‘Oh. My. God. My whole family have been conspiring against me? It was you lot who invited Paul to the blessing?’
I’ll be damned if I’m going to call it a wedding breakfast now.
‘Well,’ I say, indignation making my voice a little pompous, ‘even though the man has just practically called me a whore and accused me of carrying another man’s child, I have to say I agree with him, Lipsy. He’s right to be angry with you, and you really shouldn’t contact him again. In fact, I absolutely forbid it.’
Chapter 24
‘Two sets of five, and everything to play for.’
I’m sitting in the residents’ lounge while Edie plays double rummy with Franklin, Violet and Rosa, and listens to my account of the weekend’s events. She’s good at multitasking. With her pedigree it’s not surprising.
Franklin shuffles the pack one more time then deals ten cards each, deftly turning over the last one and laying it down with a flourish. He loves cards. They all do. But double rummy is a complex affair involving two packs and six separate games. Rosa is supposed to be keeping score, a running total of the losing hands, but I don’t trust her one bit. I’ve a feeling Franklin is keeping an eye on her, but you’d never know it from his devil-may-care expression.
‘Your turn, Edie,’ he says. She picks up her cards and swiftly moves them around in her hand, splaying them out in a fan shape when she’s satisfied. She picks up a card from the top of the pack, regards it carefully for a full minute, then sighs and lays it down. Turns back to me.
‘What I don’t understand,’ she says, holding her cards to her narrow chest, ‘is how they pulled it off. I can see why they did it, but how did they get Paul to think you’d invited him?’
I pull my chair in a little closer. ‘You’ll never believe it. They conned me into signing the invitation. Said it was a birthday card for some distant relative.’
Edie snorts with laughter and I give a little huff. ‘It’s not funny. I feel really, really stupid. Not to mention completely humiliated.’
Rosa is staring hard at her cards while the others look on impatiently. The impatience of the older generation was a surprise to me when I first started working here. You’d think they had all the time in the world to play cards, say, or read a book or finish a project. But no – there’
s a sense of urgency about the folks here that is hard to explain. It’s not just the sense that time may be about to run out. It’s more of an itchy restlessness. Maybe after a life of rushing from one task to the next it’s impossible to slow down. Even when you can. Even the residents who are forced, by illness or incapacity, to do little more than sit and watch TV all day do so with an inherent urgency, gobbling up the images on the screen, impatient for the next programme to begin. They make me tired just watching them.
‘I’ll buy that,’ shouts Violet the minute Rosa throws down a card. She duly parts with two pence – this card playing is a serious business, carried out with prize money at stake – and then seizes her new card with relish.
‘Much good it’ll do her,’ Edie whispers to me. ‘She’s collecting aces. No one ever gives away aces when it’s two sets of five.’
‘But Rosa just did,’ I point out.
‘She’s playing with Violet’s head. Mind games. Trying to psych her out.’
I suppress a giggle and shake my head at Edie.
‘Can you really understand why they did it?’ I ask. She raises her eyebrows questioningly. ‘You said just now that you could see why they did it but not how. Can you really?’
And if you can, could you please explain it to me?
‘They want you to be happy, Stella. And they probably thought that getting the two of you in the same place at the same time would enable you both to finally sort things out.’
‘That’s pretty much what they said,’ I agree. ‘But it kind of didn’t work out that way, did it?’
She shakes her head. Picks up a card, swaps it for one in her hand, then throws the spare away. ‘You can’t blame them for trying. They’re your family. They just want what’s best for you.’
Which is what, exactly? Now that Paul thinks the worst of me, should I run to him and try and explain? Or leave things the way they are? I’d love to ask Edie for advice. She has an aura of competence about her, of contentment and wisdom, the quiet peace of someone who’s seen it all. But it would be crossing a line, and I’m not sure she’d feel comfortable with the question. Anyway, it’s not her mess to sort out. It’s mine. And sitting here discussing it with Edie is not going to progress me any further along that road.
I stand up and stretch out my legs.
‘Whoa!’ says Franklin. ‘Someone’s forgotten their tabard.’
I look down at my bump and smile. ‘Not forgotten, Franklin. Deliberately discarded.’
Four pairs of eyes regard me warily.
‘Stella,’ Edie says, ‘are you sure you’re ready to do this?’
‘Not really. But I’m sick of hiding it, Edie. I’m sick of feeling guilty about this baby. Now Paul knows, it seems crazy to try and keep it from Velma and the others. Besides, I’ve completely run out of clothes baggy enough to hide it anymore.’
‘It is a very large bump,’ says Rosa, her lips pursed in concern.
‘And that bloody tabard is so uncomfortable now.’ Although strangely practical. I kind of miss it. When the baby comes I might even buy one to wear at home.
This is just one of the reasons why I will no doubt be on my own forever.
‘But what about Velma?’ Edie asks. ‘What will she say?’
‘She can say whatever the hell she likes,’ I tell them bravely. ‘This is two thousand and twelve. There are all sorts of employment laws to protect mums-to-be. She’ll just have to deal with it, won’t she?’
Rosa claps her hands delightedly, and Violet and Franklin join in.
‘You go for it, Stella,’ says Franklin.
Edie stands up and lays down her cards.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she says. ‘Just in case.’
I start to protest – I’m pretty sure Edie was only one card away from two sets of five – but then I notice where her eyes are trained. Making her way across the TV lounge, stopping to give each resident she passes a pat on the arm or a brief hug, is Maude. And she’s heading straight for the card table.
‘Come on, then.’ I grab Edie by the hand and we race for the opposite exit. Race is perhaps overstating it somewhat. An arthritic old lady and a pregnant care worker – we must make an odd sight as we burst out into the corridor and collapse, giggling, against the wall.
Edie follows me as far as the staffroom, then says she feels quite tired and might just go for a little lie down.
‘You’ll be fine on your own, Stella,’ she says, still keeping up the charade that this was why she left the game of cards.
But as she turns to walk away, I just can’t help myself. It’s the sadness in her eyes that does it. Life was perfect for Edie before Maude came. And even though Twilight’s newest resident is sweetness and light personified, I can only imagine how hard it must be for Edie to see herself replaced as Franklin’s favourite.
‘It’ll wear off soon, you know,’ I say.
She looks around, surprised. Raises a drawn-on eyebrow.
‘What will, dear?’
I swallow. Too late to back out now. Stepping closer, I smile and say, ‘You know what Franklin’s like. It’s just the novelty – a new face, someone to charm. But you and him, you’ve always been so …’
How to put it? I’ve seen the way he looks at her, how protective he is of her. And I’m sure Edie’s feelings for him go way beyond close friendship. But what do I know of love in your twilight years? I can’t even figure out love in your thirties.
Edie smiles and shakes her head. ‘Oh, Stella, you are funny. I’m fine, really I am. You mustn’t worry about me. You’ve got enough on your plate. Now, run along and face the music. I can’t wait to hear all about it later.’
But Edie can’t hide the way her smile slides off her face as she turns away to open her door.
*
‘Martha, where’s Velma?’
Figuring it will be best to just get it over and done with, I’ve decided to seek out my boss and confront her with the news as soon as possible. Martha’s face is a picture of confusion, astonishment, and finally delight, as she takes in my bump.
‘Oh, Stella,’ she says, leaping off her chair and running around the reception desk to hug me. ‘You never said! How on earth did you manage to keep this to yourself?’
‘A combination of baggy clothes and subterfuge. And the help of a few of our lovely residents,’ I tell her with a smile.
‘Ah, well. It all makes sense now. All those times Velma couldn’t find you and Edie said you’d been helping her in the garden. I thought, gardening? That’s not in Stella’s job description.’
‘Edie’s been a star.’
‘And that time Bernie stole Violet’s false teeth – was that you too?’
‘A diversion. I was throwing up all over Edie’s slippers at the time.’
Martha shakes her head in amazement. ‘Wow. You’re a sly one, aren’t you? So, how far gone are you? Looks like you’re about to drop.’
‘It’s all the cakes I’ve been eating. Actually I’ve got over a month to go yet.’
‘Jesus! You’re enormous for eight months. My Dora was half your size right up until the end. It really is incredible you’ve been able to keep it hidden. Mind you, I did say to Jean the other day that I thought you’d been comfort eating after your break up with … Oh, my. What about Paul? Is this why you broke up? Didn’t he want a baby? Or …’ Her eyes go wide with alarm. ‘Isn’t it his?’
Et tu, Brute.
‘Contrary to popular opinion,’ I say huffily, ‘I am not carrying another man’s child. Now, if you could just tell me where Velma is, I’ll get out of your hair.’
Martha gives me a look that says she thinks I protest too much, and that I’ve just confirmed her suspicions, then tells me that Velma has been called out to meet with the board of directors.
‘Really? What for?’
‘I don’t know. It was all very mysterious. The secretary phoned this morning and said Velma had to go to head office at twelve o’clock sharp.’
‘
Interesting.’ I look at my watch: it’s half past one. I can’t help but hope that Velma is right now being given a severe bollocking. Goodness knows I could think of enough reasons for her to be in trouble with the board. She’s evil to her staff, indifferent to the residents’ needs, and so power-crazed she has a photo of herself above the reception desk. I look up at it now and smile.
‘She won’t be back before the end of my shift, then,’ I say with a fake sigh. ‘What a shame.’
‘Wait till Jean hears about the baby,’ Martha calls as I head off to finish my rounds. I lift a hand to wave but don’t turn around. Let her be the one to spread the word amongst the rest of the staff. Saves me a job.
I finish up in double-quick time, and head into the lounge to say goodbye to Edie. Mid afternoon on a Sunday everyone gathers in here for family visits. Of course, hardly any families actually visit, but the ones who do are shared out amongst the residents like chocolates. Today there’s an adorable little girl with a red flower headband standing in the middle of the room reciting Humpty Dumpty to an audience with hushed, delighted faces. A woman who must be her mother holds a baby to her shoulders and bounces up and down on her toes. I smile and wave to Sally from the kitchen, who looks down at my stomach and gives me a thumbs up. Sally has three children, all of them under four, and often says she doesn’t know why she works at all with the cost of childcare what it is.
Which starts me thinking again about how I’ll manage when Bump comes along.
I love my job, and even though the money isn’t wonderful, it’s enough to live on. I need to look into my rights pretty damn quick, and work out just how long I can afford to stay home with the baby before I’m forced to start thinking about childminders. And speaking of childminders, Lipsy had better sort herself out with one soon. I’m not going to be able to keep up with one job for much longer, let alone two.
These days, that dodgy friend of hers isn’t looking like such a terrible prospect.
And it’s right then, as I’m leaning against the flock wallpaper at the edge of the TV lounge, that the thought pops into my head. It’s just the tiniest grain of an idea, a seed that plants itself in the front of my brain and begins to grow. I watch the little girl singing; I take in Sally’s encouraging smile. I consider all the hopeful expressions of joy on the faces in front of me.
The Family Trap Page 18
