Finally, Dr Cousins turns to him and says, ‘Your mother is one of my patients, Dan. I had no idea.’ She turns back to me, holds my gaze. ‘Really, I didn’t.’
‘And I obviously had no idea you were dating my son.’ I look at Daniel. ‘Didn’t you tell Dr Cousins—’
‘Please,’ Dr Cousins interjects before I can finish my sentence, ‘we’re not in a session; you can call me Freya.’
‘OK,’ I say, now wishing more than ever that Greg was here. I also realize she must be a good seven or eight years older than Daniel. How will that work? Perhaps he thinks she’ll give him the emotional stability he never got from me. I turn back to Daniel and say, ‘Didn’t you tell Freya about your family? About me, about our past?’
I feel cross with my son, even though I probably don’t have the right to be. Cross that he’s clearly so ashamed of me – of our family, of what we’ve been through – that he’s deliberately kept who we are from the person he intends to spend the rest of his life with. I’m cross because, instead of being able to applaud him for his choice of wife (because, let’s face it, he’s managed to hook himself the woman who has it all – looks, brains, a good job), I’m angry with him for not being upfront with her from the beginning. If he had been, we’d have saved ourselves this awkwardness. And obviously I can’t be angry with Dr Cousins because, being the consummate professional she is, she won’t have discussed me with Daniel. I hate being angry with him, but I am, and he can tell this from the look I give him as the three of us continue to linger uneasily on the doorstep.
‘Well, can we come in at least?’ Daniel barks. ‘I’d like a drink before explaining why I don’t particularly enjoy airing our dirty laundry to other people.’
I catch Dr Cousins’ reaction to Daniel’s comment. She looks hurt, and I can’t say I blame her. Her fiancé has just referred to her as other people. Completely tactless. ‘Is that all I am to you?’ she asks, with a wobble in her voice I’ve not heard before. ‘Other people?’
I feel sorry for her, and am suddenly filled with the urge to comfort the person whose job is to comfort me. And then I think about Janine, what she’ll make of all this. She’ll be as gobsmacked as me. As will Miranda.
Daniel looks horrified with himself. He immediately pulls Dr Cousins towards him, kisses her forcefully on the cheek, at the same time cutting me an evil look. ‘No, no, of course you aren’t. It’s just that you’re so out of my league, and I fell so head-over-heels in love with you the first time we met, I guess I was frightened of scaring you off. Plus, you deal with crazy people—’ (Thanks, son, that’s actually quite offensive) ‘—all day, for God’s sake. The last thing you need is to come home to more craziness. I didn’t want to burden you with all that. I wanted to seem normal.’
Guilt hits me like a punch to my guts. My son doesn’t consider himself normal, and it’s all my fault. What kind of a mother causes her son to feel abnormal? Still, it baffles me how he ever imagined he could keep the truth from his fiancée. Perhaps it was a case of getting her to say yes first, before he aired our dirty laundry.
I put him on the spot. ‘But she was bound to find out the truth sooner or later, Daniel. You couldn’t have hidden our past forever.’
‘Yeah, thanks, Mum, I know that. Look, it’s cold, I’m freezing my bollocks off, can we please come in?’
I let my guests inside, still not quite over my shock. And then I remember the tempting smell of coffee and eggs in Dr Cousins’ flat yesterday afternoon, her explanation that she and her boyfriend had had a late breakfast. And I realize it was my son who’d been there with her.
Five minutes later, I’ve poured each of us a glass of wine and we’re sitting in the living room, me on an armchair, Freya – it still feels odd calling her by her Christian name, but she insisted again when I automatically called her Dr Cousins – and Daniel side by side on the sofa. Poor Freya sits there looking awkward, still as much in shock as I am. I feel frustrated because it felt like our sessions were doing me good, but now I wonder how we can possibly continue them, now that I know she’s sleeping with my son. Surely, that would be ethically wrong.
‘Can I use your bathroom?’ Freya asks, breaking the painful silence.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘You can use the main one upstairs if you like? First on the left.’
She smiles, says thanks, leaves the room and I am alone with my son.
‘Well, this is awkward, isn’t it, Mum?’ Daniel says cuttingly. He glares at me as if it’s all my fault. I’m not angry with him for meeting Dr Cousins – I can’t be, he wasn’t to know – but equally, I am not to blame for the awkwardness he’s just referred to.
‘Janine recommended Dr Cousins to me,’ I say, keeping my voice down. The last thing I want is to come across as defensive, simply because I’ve done nothing wrong. I explain Miranda’s chance meeting with Freya, how she passed on her details to Janine. ‘She helped Janine deal with Nate’s death,’ I say, ‘and, very kindly, Janine thought she might be able to help me.’
Daniel tuts and rolls his eyes, then says under his breath, ‘You’re beyond help, Mum.’
His words wound me. So bitter, so full of contempt. I want to be mad at him, but I don’t have the right. His contempt is warranted. My heart is suddenly thumping hard inside my chest, but again, I manage to keep my voice even. ‘I don’t blame you for thinking that way, Daniel, but Dr Cousins is different to my other psychiatrists. There’s something about her and her methods that gives me hope that I can finally overcome my issues.’
He looks up, raises an eyebrow. ‘Twenty-odd years too late, though, isn’t it, Mum?’
I look at my son, my heart full of sadness as I think about what I have done to him. Resentful and cynical at the grand old age of twenty-two. Thank goodness for Freya, though. Even in this short time I’ve seen them together, it’s obvious to me how different he is around her; the way he looks at her, touches her, shows a soft side I’ve never seen before. Perhaps the age gap’s no bad thing.
‘No, I don’t think it’s too late,’ I say. ‘There is still so much we can look forward to as a family. You and Ella getting married, you both having kids. I may have failed you as a mother, but I can try and make it up to you now, by being a good grandmother.’
Even as I say the words, I know I am being deceitful, trying to smooth things over just so we can have a peaceful lunch. Because how can I freely look forward to their futures, when I know Heidi might still be out there? When I have the note hanging over me? And it’s only now that I realize it would be wrong to keep the note from my children; I must tell them because I cannot lie to them any more. Even so, I want Greg to be at my side when I do.
A hint of a smile, or is it a smirk, creeps across Daniel’s face, and he’s about to reply when Freya walks back into the room.
‘What have I missed?’ she asks brightly.
‘Nothing much,’ I say. ‘Let’s eat.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Christine
Before
We both know who the father of my unborn child is. You agreed to take a test just to put us out of our misery. I’m not sure getting an answer has helped, though. Whichever way it went, it was never going to make us happy; never going to make things OK. We’re still cheating on our partners, and neither of us wants to stop, despite our guilt.
Greg is so excited about the baby, getting the nursery ready, baby-proofing the house. I’m only twenty weeks gone, but we’ve already bought a pram, Moses basket, cot, baby bath – the list seems to be never-ending and I’m feeling quite overwhelmed by it all. This baby is taking over our lives even before it’s arrived, and although I hate myself for thinking it, I find myself disliking it more and more by the day.
Which already makes me a bad mother, right?
I’m looking a bit podgy around the hips and bum, and my face is rounder, my waist gradually disappearing. I hate being this way. I’m scared you won’t find me attractive any more, even though you tell me that you love
my bigger boobs. I’d die if you went off me. You help me feel more like myself, rather than the mother Greg wants me to be. He already looks at me like I’m a different person. A sort of ‘aww’ look, rather than a ‘phwoar’ look, and I hate him for that. It’s infuriating, and I don’t feel the least bit attracted to him right now. In fact, I find him downright irritating to be around. The one good thing is that I can use the ‘I don’t want to hurt the baby’ excuse whenever he tries to initiate sex. He falls for it every time, even though the midwife told me there’s no reason for us to stop having sex. Thank heavens for that. She didn’t realize I was asking on our behalf rather than mine and Greg’s.
A big plus about being pregnant is that I feel incredibly horny much of the time, and experience the most intense orgasms, especially when I go on top. The downside is having to slow down generally. I’ve never been one to sit around, take it easy. But these days, all Greg can say is ‘Put your feet up’, ‘What can I get you?’, ‘Don’t overdo things.’ Jesus, it’s driving me fucking crazy! I ranted to you about it the other day, and when I was done I worried you were going to walk out the door and never come back because who wants to be with a pregnant psycho bitch, right? But you didn’t. You said my rant turned you on, and you unhooked my bra to reveal my swelling breasts, sucked them as if you were dying of thirst, then roughly turned me onto all fours and entered me from behind, cupping my boobs at the same time, driving me insane with pleasure.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to ditch all I’ve worked for, for the sake of this child. All those years of study, all those shitty jobs as a trainee, working all-nighters, I can’t bear for them to go to waste. I love my independence, I love having my own income, not being dependent on a man for money. All that puts me on a level playing field with Greg, and no baby is going to change that. As soon as the first six months are over, I’ll be back in my suit and handing the child over to a full-time nanny, no shadow of a doubt.
Nothing is going to change.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Miranda
Before
You’ve been in such a foul mood since falling pregnant, Chrissy, and I can’t help but feel sorry for Greg. I was green with envy when he told me you were going to have a baby. What made things worse, more painful, is that I’d only just suffered a miscarriage myself. I mean, you’re so lucky to be carrying Greg’s child. It should be the happiest time of your life. But you seem more concerned about your weight gain, about not being able to fit into your tight pencil skirts, about not being able to put in the same outrageous hours at the firm, than your precious unborn child. Every time I see you you’re snappish with me, and it pisses me off. You’re so bloody ungrateful. Not only are you married to a wonderful man, in a few months’ time you’ll give birth to his baby. If it were me, I’d be on cloud nine.
I had a word with Janine about you last night but as usual she took your side. Said I needed to give you a break. That you had a whole host of hormones raging around inside your body, and as neither of us have ever been pregnant we didn’t have the right to judge you. She doesn’t know that’s not true, though; that I’ve also felt those crazy emotions which are often heightened in the first trimester. But she’s the last person I’d tell about my miscarriage. I don’t want her fake tears. Having said that, she’s probably right that I need to cut you some slack. It’s just that you seem to have it all, but don’t actually realize it.
I haven’t told you, but Duncan came round to the idea of having a baby several months ago. Hence, the miscarriage. I think he’s mellowing with age, wants something of him left in this world when he departs it. Either that, or he’s harbouring a guilty conscience about something. Trouble is, I’ve completely lost interest in having sex with him because I’m certain he’s cheating on me. I keep imagining how my life might have been different had I married Greg and had children with him. Mini Gregs with his unique looks and mannerisms. A distinctive part of him that belonged to me. But maybe I’m not destined to have children? Perhaps my body doesn’t work like yours?
Just thinking about that heartbreaking possibility makes me even madder when I catch you sulking about your ‘condition’ as if you’ve got some kind of disease. Your unborn child isn’t a fucking cancer! I just feel so sorry for it. I know what it’s like not to be loved as a child, not to feel wanted, and it’s taken every morsel of effort for me not to have a go at you and tell you to grow up and start acting like a mother; to actually put someone else’s needs above yours for a change. It strikes me that you just don’t seem happy with Greg, and I’m convinced you’ve played around behind his back, even though I can’t prove it. I almost mentioned it to Janine last night on the phone, but then thought better of it. She’s so ferociously protective of you, she’d probably tell you, and I can’t risk that. Can’t risk you ditching me as a friend, because then Greg might be forced to cut me out of his life and I can’t cope with that.
I have to be patient, more subtle about things. Even so, your attitude really ticks me off. To bring a child into this world but not love it is downright evil as far as I’m concerned. Sometimes I think an unloved child would be better off dead than be forced to endure an unhappy childhood that scars them for life and turns them into fucked-up adults. It may sound harsh – a bit unhinged, even – but I don’t think I’m being cruel or irrational. If anything, I’m being kind. I just hope you change your attitude once the baby is born. Else it’ll be nigh on impossible for me to stand by and do nothing about it.
I just won’t stand for it.
Chapter Thirty
Christine
Before
No words can describe the pain of childbirth to someone who hasn’t gone through it. It’s simply impossible to comprehend. That feeling as though your entire body is being ripped apart, that your pelvic area is about to explode. But on the flip side, it’s the best kind of pain; the most fulfilling, uplifting kind of pain. In fact, looking back, it was the most exhilarating thirty hours of my life. I have never felt so empowered, never felt such an overwhelming sense of achievement, invincibility, self-worth, as I did after giving birth to you. Nothing compares to it. Nothing compares to you. And everything has changed now that you are here.
You were ten days late, and I went in overnight to be induced the next morning. But at 4 a.m. I started contracting spontaneously, and no induction was necessary. The pain was so bad so quickly, I felt sure you would make an appearance sooner rather than later. But, can you believe it, my waters hadn’t broken, and twenty hours of excruciating contractions later, I was still only two centimetres dilated. I was cranking up my TENS machine to the max, inhaling gas until I was blue in the face, but neither did anything to alleviate the pain. Although I kept begging for an epidural, all the anaesthetists were busy with caesareans, and I thought I couldn’t go on. But, of course, stopping isn’t an option when you’re giving birth, and somehow, I soldiered on until finally, after twenty-seven hours, I got my epidural and was suddenly floating on air.
Six hours later, I pushed you out, and within seconds I heard you cry before they put you to my breast. All at once my indifferent heart melted, my selfish desires faded into obscurity, and you became the most important thing in the world to me. It was as if the person I was before you appeared had never existed. I couldn’t believe you were mine – you were just so perfect, with your tiny fingers and toes, and your nails so small they seemed like a miracle of creation, which they were, of course. And that tiny rosebud mouth, cute snub nose, eyes that barely opened, you were so full of sleep. As I lay there, I marvelled at the way you immediately latched onto my breast; such a wonderful feeling that I, and only I, could sustain you, nourish you, help you grow into a healthy human being. I remember the overwhelming love in Greg’s eyes as he edged closer and gazed down at you cushioned snugly in my arms. He looked so content, so amazed at me and you, and said, ‘You are amazing, our daughter is perfect. I am so proud of you.’
And at that moment, I didn’t think about him
and what we had done, the lies we had told, the people we had hurt and continued to hurt. I didn’t want to think about all that. So I parked that sinful side of my life at the back of my mind, as if the person I was with him was a separate being from the person I was with you and Greg right then in the hospital.
I didn’t want this perfect, pure moment to be sullied by lies and deceit, by gratuitous human folly. You didn’t deserve that, and neither did Greg, who had been such a pillar of strength throughout my labour. I don’t think I’ve ever been as content with life as I was in the few hours after giving birth, all the pain I had endured swiftly fading to insignificance because I knew you had changed my life forever.
Chapter Thirty-One
Greg
Now
It’s 3 a.m. and I can’t sleep. I’m lying on my back staring into darkness, thinking about how tired you looked, Chrissy, when I came home last night. It was clear you’d had too much wine, but I didn’t admonish you on this occasion. You had good reason, and now I feel bad for not being at your side when Daniel and his fiancée came round for lunch. But at least I was telling the truth for once. I was working, not off banging my mistress. Even though I could have been. She called me Sunday morning, asking if I was free to meet up. But I wasn’t; I told her I had no choice but to go into the office. So really, I shouldn’t feel bad. But I do.
At least before the note, we were plodding along a reasonably straight line; the same line we’d been walking for years. Dull, yes, but at least we knew what we were doing, what to expect. But in the space of a few days, there’s been the note, and now the surprise that Daniel’s engaged to your psychiatrist. It’s unsettling, makes me wonder what other surprises await us. And I feel bad for you because lately, your mood has seemed better. This particular shrink is obviously helping you, but now, understandably, you feel unnerved because you don’t know if you can look at her in the same way. It’s an odd, downright uncomfortable situation to be in even though she assured you over and over that things don’t have to change until they are married (at which point she will be related to you and therefore unable to treat you), that there’s no reason why you can’t keep your private and professional lives separate in the meantime.
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