Feels Like Maybe

by Claire Allan

  When Beth and I started college on the same day and met at registration she was already one year into her relationship with Dan. They had met at sixth-form college and everyone was convinced it was never going to work. I was a hopeless romantic back then, however, and I knew from the first time I saw them together that it was going to work. They seemed together, so very madly in love, and as I welcomed Beth into my life as my new best gal pal I soon realised that Dan came as part of the package. He became like the brother I never had. (I do of course have a brother, but the ability of my parents to see the rays of sunshine pour from his arsehole has left our relationship tense to say the least.) I wasn’t competitive with Dan. We just laughed, drank and partied our way through college.

  After graduation, when we all moved en masse to London, that partying continued except that while I wanted to hit the clubs six nights a week (Sunday I devoted to Where the Heart Is and being hungover) I started to realise ever so slowly that Beth and Dan only wanted to party five nights . . . then four . . . then three . . . you get the picture.

  It was around that time that they bought the “Ivory Tower” as we have dubbed it – a gorgeous two-bedroomed penthouse flat which has been the subject of some serious coveting on my behalf. I could never afford such a place – renting the flat above Instant Karma stretched me to my limits but, with Dan’s career going into orbit at the law firm and Beth’s tidy inheritance from her grandfather, it was well within their means.

  I realised, as any good friend should, that if I owned a flat such as their flat I would want to forsake my partying to spend time lying on the shagpile rugs on the real oak floors drinking expensive wine from John Rocha Waterford Crystal and discussing the newest addition to the Bar. And shagging of course – they did lots of shagging.

  I was jealous because love just didn’t seem to come my way – until of course I met Jake four years ago and even then I could never have classed what we had as love.

  It was hard to believe that Jake and Dan shared any of the same gene pool. They were so diametrically different and yet when the four of us went out together I felt like a Queen Bee. Here we were, me and Beth, businesswomen with a hip and happening boutique, Dan the hotshot lawyer and Jake the sexy singer in a band.

  I knew people looked at us and envied us. There was a lot to envy and every night I would come home and Jake would follow and we would spend glorious hours entwined in each other. Oh yes. There was shagging. There was lots of shagging.

  The highlight of our little ménage à quatre (even though we never “ménaged” anything) was Beth and Dan’s wedding day. She looked radiant in a shot-silk gown, her hair delicately dressed with a pale pink orchid. Dan looked handsome almost beyond words in his suit and there was me, all Sex and the City with my pale green tea-length gown, my tanned shoulders, my auburn curls cascading around my shoulders.

  Jake could barely keep his eyes, or his hands for that matter, off me that day. He was entranced with me, bewitched with me, and I was with him. As he took to the stage to sing “Lean on Me” for Beth and Dan’s first dance I thought my heart might burst with pride. I wanted to run on the stage, shouting “He’s mine, he’s mine!” and I imagined the day when we would dance together under the stars – me in the shot-silk gown, him in the handsome suit – and I couldn’t wait. Mum would be so proud.

  I’m not sure where it went wrong for any of us.

  *****

  I picked up the phone and dialled Beth’s number. Dan answered the phone and I knew something was wrong. I could barely explain it. Dan has a certain way of answering the phone, always emphasising the “o” of hello, showing off his bright and cheery disposition. I didn’t get that from him this time, however. I got a subdued, monotone hello that unnerved me.

  Immediately I asked if everything was okay.

  “Hey, Irish,” he responded, a deep sigh following, “Yes, things are fine.”

  “Is Beth about?”

  “Erm, she’s busy at the moment.”

  I felt my hormones surge a little just at the same time I felt my heart sink. This isn’t what I expected. I expected Beth to answer, in her usual cheerful tone, all bad feeling forgotten, because unlike me Beth was never one to stay mad at anyone for long.

  “Do you know when she will be free?” I asked, a little wobble creeping into my voice. I figured I’d better just come clean with Dan. “You see, we had a little spat today, I was a bit of cow – hormones, you know – and I just wanted to apologise.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dan answered. “She’ll be fine. You know Beth, takes everything on the chin.”

  I should have been reassured by his words, but I felt there was something he wasn’t telling me. The bounciness was still missing from his voice.

  “Dan, you would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course I would,” he answered, and if there hadn’t been a three-second pause between my question and his response I would have believed him.

  The darned thing was I couldn’t just jump up and rush over there as I would have done a month or two ago. It would require an operation of military precision now to get me and the baby out the door on a cold, wet evening and I wasn’t sure if I was fit enough to drive anyway.

  I looked at Maggie and realised once again just how much my life was changing minute by minute and I felt utterly useless. “Can you let Beth know I called and I’m sorry and if she needs me I’m here,” I muttered, tears pricking at my eyes as I said my goodbyes.

  *****

  An hour later I was still unable to settle so I wandered downstairs, baby monitor in hand, to the shop. In times gone by whenever I felt edgy – on those nights I sat in waiting for Jake to call for his requisite post-gig bonk – I would go downstairs, flick through the fabric books and work on my designs.

  Of course now I was officially on maternity leave, I didn’t have any designs of my own to work on so I would have to make do with casting an eye over the books and looking at the latest swatches sent in from our suppliers. I looked at our diary. Things were going to be hectic for Beth for the next few months, I realised. We had two living-rooms, a dining-room, a bathroom and a studio flat to complete before Easter. I gazed at her mood boards – sketches which showed off her talent, swatches which were very much ‘now’ – and I could see the warmth of her personality jump off the page. No one had the ability to transform a client’s vision to reality just exactly the way Beth had.

  I rubbed my fingers along some plush velvets and wondered just what was wrong with my friend and if this wee baby, my daughter, was already driving a wedge between us. Could Instant Karma survive such a change?

  *****

  As I sipped from my coffee cup the phone rang and I jumped a little. I had been lost in a gorgeous design for a bathroom which Beth had half finished. It was my sad little attempt at a peace offering – a way of lightening her load.

  It was Anna.

  “Hey, you,” she said. “How are you? How is the baby?”

  “Ach grand, and you?”

  “Just fine, sweetheart. Look, I’ve been thinking, and I think you need to come home. This will be much easier if they can see the little one in real life – then they will fall in love with her. And besides, I’m dying to give her a big cuddle. I’m willing to bet you could do with a hug yourself,” she added perceptively. I knew she was right. Telling the folks would be easier face to face but I wasn’t sure I felt that brave.

  I mean, I would need a brass neck to walk down Shipquay Street, where everyone knew Mum, with my baby in her fancy pram. They’d think I was getting ideas above my station. Mum would be mortified. It could all go horribly wrong.

  “I’ll think about it,” I answered.

  “Please do,” said Anna. “You can stay with me if you want. The spare room is yours whenever you need it, you know that.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning. I think I can hear Maggie stirring,” I lied.

  We said our goodbyes and I closed my s
ketchpad and turned to head upstairs. There she was again, looking down on me. “Matilda, you know it was only a wee white lie that time. No harm done.”

  *****

  As some form of divine retribution, or instant karma if you prefer, Maggie did decide to be amazingly unsettled through the night. I’m sure something in her clicked that night to let her know she was outside the womb and there was a whole big world she could explore. Only wimps wait for daylight.

  I spent that night pacing up and down in my battered dressing- gown, my eyelids drooping and my spirit, and boobs, sagging. I still hadn’t heard from Beth, which worried me, but more than that I was mulling over Anna’s suggestion that I go home and face the music.

  Looking at Maggie, even though she had turned into a mewling terror with no mercy for her mother or anyone else, I knew that my mother would love her, eventually. I don’t think I ever really doubted that if I was honest, it was her reaction to me that worried me.

  I slept fitfully between four and six, waking to the sound of the rain battering off the window pane. Maggie was asleep now, curled into the smallest of balls in her crib, her tiny hands clenched in determined little fists. I knew she would tell me, if she could, to wise up and stop being such a coward. Beth, should she ever speak to me again, would agree and I know Matilda was certainly on the side of me coming clean – so I suppose all I had to do was bite the bullet and book some flights.

  Only, if I went so soon, and Jake did find out about his daughter, it would look awful, wouldn’t it, if he came to find us and we had left the country? My head was a mess, so at seven thirty I slipped on some tracksuit bottoms and a baggy T-shirt and sweater, wrapped Maggie up again and headed to Morelli’s.

  The cakes were still warm from the oven and the coffee was just percolating as I pushed open the door and walked in.

  “Eeva, you look so tired,” Mrs Morelli called, walking towards me with her arms outstretched at the pram. “Did the bambina give you a hard night?”

  I nodded, sitting down wearily at the table while Maggie dozed comfortably.

  “I’ll bring you a nice breakfast, on the house,” Mrs Morelli said, ignoring my protestations and calling to her husband in the kitchen to put on a Full English. “You need to keep your strength up with a little one.”

  “Thank you,” I mouthed and dropped my head in my hands.

  What was it about the kindness of this woman which reduced me to tears time and time again? I was almost embarrassed now.

  “Now, now, Eeva. Let those tears out. Crying is good and no one is here anyway to see you but me.”

  I leant into Mrs Morelli, feeling the softness of her shoulder against my cheek and she patted my back comfortably, as if she were trying to get my wind up. I only stopped when the bell over the door tinkled and a man walked in looking for his morning coffee.

  He glanced in my direction, taking in the sorry sight of the woman in battered tracksuit bottoms with the tearstained face, and quickly looked away. I was too tired and bereft to care and I simply let out the biggest snottiest blubber so far.

  “Now, now, Eeva, everyone gets like this after they have a baby. You just have to take it easy and be kind to yourself.” Kind to myself? How did I do that? All I seemed to do to myself these days was tie myself up in knots, lying to people, withholding information and making enemies of my best friends. I wasn’t sure I could be kind to myself any more.

  Mr Morelli set a plate down in front of me – sausage, egg, mushrooms and bacon staring back at me – and although I didn’t feel even a touch hungry I started eating. Spearing a mushroom on my fork I looked and saw the man who had come in for his coffee give me a half smile. I figured he was afraid I was some care-in-the-community case and decided that being nice to me was the safest option. I smiled back – feeling the urge to run to him and tell him I wasn’t actually mental. Instead, I decided just to keep quiet and keep eating.

  As I ate I felt myself relax and as I relaxed I realised I would have to take action.

  *****

  It was a quarter to nine by the time I got back to the shop. The shutters were already up and as I pushed my way in the door I saw Beth at her desk, a pencil pushed through a neat chignon on the top of her head. She looked up at us as we walked in and smiled a hello.

  I should have known she would be okay. Beth can never hold a grudge for long – it is one of the many things I love about her – her ability to see the silver lining in every cloud and to leave the past in the past.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, and she waved her hand at me as if to tell me my words were unnecessary.

  “If you can’t let off steam at me, who can you?” she said, stepping out from behind her desk and coming towards me and Maggie. “How’ve you been?”

  “Okay, I s’ppose. Is everything okay with you and Dan? I called last night and he seemed a little out of sorts.”

  “Ach, tough day at the office,” she muttered, reaching into the pram for a cuddle. “I swear she gets more gorgeous every day!”

  “Hey,” I answered. “I’m supposed to be the hormonal one.”

  She shrugged, kissing Maggie’s downy head. “Were you down in Morelli’s again?”

  I nodded. “She helped me make a pretty big decision.”

  “What’s that, then?” Beth asked, sitting on the daybed.

  “I’m going to go home.”

  She looked at me, her jaw dropping ever so slightly in disbelief before she recovered herself enough to talk. “Really?”

  “I think I have to,” I said, sitting beside her. “She isn’t going to go away.” I nodded towards my daughter. “I need to let them see her and if they don’t fall in love with her then they don’t have hearts.”

  “You have always wondered about your mother,” Beth said with a wry smile.

  “I know, but who could not love this wee one?” I touched Maggie’s head as if she were made of the most delicate china.

  “I don’t know. She had me from ‘Wah’,” Beth said, smiling as she quoted our favourite film.

  We sat in silence for a moment, contemplating what I was about to do. Eventually Beth reached her hand to mine and squeezed it. “You’ll be fine, Aoife. It will all work out. Just you wait and see.”

  With those words ringing in my ears I made my way upstairs, switched on my laptop and booked two return flights to Derry, leaving Stansted five days from then. When that was done I jotted off a quick email to Anna letting her know that we would very much love to take up her offer of a place to rest our weary heads. At that I lay down and allowed myself to drift off to a dreamless sleep until the mewling cries of a hungry Maggie woke me again. Fighting every urge in my body to go back to sleep for at least another three hours, I sat up, my gelatinous post-baby belly wobbling. Five days. I wondered if it was possible to lose a stone in five days.

  

  Chapter 11

  Beth

  I refuse to define myself by my infertility,” I told my reflection that morning as I got up and ready for work.

  This was another month – another chance to start again and boy, it was going to be damned busy. Maybe the distraction would be a good thing.

  Of course Aoife was entitled to maternity leave, but it didn’t make my life any easier. We had hired an assistant Heather to help but she wasn’t exactly what you would call talented, or organised, or particularly punctual, but she did at least make me laugh – mostly by continuing to refer to Laura Ashley as Laura Astley. The likes of Elena Kennedy and the rest of her Richmond set didn’t appreciate her little faux pas, but Aoife and I found it strangely endearing.

  If we weren’t careful, really careful, we would find ourselves saying it too. It would become one of those private joke things that slip into everyday conversation. I made a note to correct Heather the next time she said it.

  In some ways I was delighted that Aoife had told me she was going back to Derry – even if it did mean I would only have Heather to rely on for support. I wondered if her being away wo
uld make everything easier. As it stood I had to physically stop myself from reaching for Maggie every time I saw her and taking her home with me. I knew Dan was worried that I would find myself on the nine o’clock news as some mad baby-snatcher, so while it would hurt and while I would miss Maggie madly it might actually be a blessing in disguise.

  I could at least pretend to focus on the jobs at hand which included a makeover of Dan’s boss Karl Rodgers’ house. Talk about pressure!

  I sighed, scraps of fabric and wallpapers scattered on the desk in front of me. I was leafing through a lighting supplier’s catalogue when the doorbell pinged and I looked up to see a tall dark stranger before me.

  He wandered around, not really looking at anything in particular – with the distinct look of a man sent out by his wife to “get something for the house” but who clearly didn’t know where to start.

  “Hello there,” I started. “Can I help you?”

  He looked up, slightly startled by my voice. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said.

  “No problem. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  “Just browsing,” he answered awkwardly.

  “Well, if you need anything . . .” I trailed off, turning my attention back to the selection of crystal chandeliers which would look fabulous hanging in the dining-room of Karl Rodgers’ Chelsea pad. I loved lighting, it was my sad little obsession. No room looked complete without the correct ambience.

  Mr Handsome Stranger wandered about for another bit, lifting trinkets from the dresser and putting them down without really looking at them. He gazed absent-mindedly at a drape fabric sample book before turning his attention to the daybed. I was, I admit, starting to wonder if he was going to shoplift. He didn’t look the type but then again, they say you never can tell.