A Place for Us (38 page)

Karen

May 2013

T
HE PAIN STARTED
in the morning, right after she booked the taxi. But she’d had these pains before, the midwife had said it was false labor. So she carried on packing. It didn’t take long—she knew what she needed. The list said nighties, but who wore those these days? She had her Juicy tracksuits, three pairs, loads of tees, Uggs, flip-flops, breast pads, nursing bras, and that was basically it. Some knickers. Her iPad loaded with seasons two and three of
Modern Family
. And some onesies, nappies,
T-shirts, a very, very small hat, and some socks that made her want to cry when she looked at them, they were so tiny. All the rest of that beautiful new gear for the baby, it could be sent on to her mum’s, or Joe could keep it, if he needed it. Whenever that might be.

Karen wasn’t a stubborn woman, she was just determined. She was used to knowing what she wanted in life and going for it. Men got rewarded for being bold; women didn’t. She knew that, and sometimes it meant she had to step back and restrategize. But on this day of all days, things had to go exactly the way she wanted.

Joe had left early that morning, thinking everything was normal.

“Bye, Karen. See you later,” he’d said, halfway out of the kitchen, mind already on the restaurant and the day ahead. Then he’d turned and faced her. “You all right? Yeah?”

“I’m grand.” She’d looked at him. “Thanks, Joe. Thanks a lot.”

“Okay.” He’d smiled, sort of uncertain, like he didn’t know what that meant. “Call me if you need anything, won’t you?”

She’d waited till she heard the door slam, then pulled the little suitcase out from under the bed and, moving slowly as a hippo, packed the
last of her meager possessions. She left out
Project Management for Dummies,
then put it back in. It had been a present from Bill. Sort of a joke, really, because he knew how much she loved business books. How much she loved planning, getting it right. Three pages of that and she’d be calm again. “Like a hit from a bong,” he’d say.

“Part IV: Steering the Ship: Managing Your Project to Success.”
She’d been planning for a while, really, ever since they’d met Cat in the lane that day. Did they know it, each of them? They must. Something had happened with them, something before that. He’d run into her kid; it was hardly a rosy start, was it?

She’d asked him about Cat that evening, and Joe had said, “Yeah, she’s great, isn’t she? Really glad she came back.”

Karen knew when people were hiding their feelings. She wasn’t stupid. And Joe wasn’t. She was stumped. She bumped into Cat the following week on the green.

“Joe? He’s brilliant. I’m so glad it’s all working out,” Cat had said happily, and Karen had scanned her expression, searching for cracks in her demeanor, but she could see none.

Suddenly she had felt sick, like she’d throw up there and then. She’d blinked and lurched forward, and Cat had caught her, and Karen had to excuse herself. “I’m tired. Blood sugar low. I think I’d better get home.”
Moving slowly back to the flat above the pub, she chewed her nails. Now, now she knew this was all wrong, this brotherly living arrangement with Joe—all wrong. She knew what she wanted, but it was too late.

How could she leave Joe when he’d done so much for her, when he was so excited about this baby? When it was almost certainly his kid? Karen knew she was cornered. She had no idea what to do, and the one thing she knew was that you didn’t start making major life alterations with a tiny baby on board. Unless you were Daisy, and she was no role model. Time was running out. Then the next week, in the pub, Karen saw something magical. She saw a tea towel being thrown.

She was sitting in a window seat in the snug, having a blackcurrant and soda, and wondering whether this would be the highlight of her post-baby social life, when a tea towel sailed through the air toward her. She turned and saw, as though in slow motion, Joe’s hands raised as he
threw it, Cat catching it and hugging it to her, eyes shining, that wide mouth with its huge smile.

“You’re a rubbish thrower, Joe Thorne,” she said. “I can see why you got kicked off the cricket team. Jamie’s better than that.”

“You have the coordination of a day-old lamb, Cat Winter. Your legs wobble. And your arms look like a faulty windmill.” Cat’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “It’s true. You’re a crap fielder. Now, get back to work.”

It wasn’t even so much that they were flirting. She really didn’t think anything was going on between them—it was just that they were completely happy, totally absorbed in each other’s company.

Two days later she’d walked into the post office to see them there together at the counter, picking out seeds from a catalogue. Their heads were bent over the pictures as they talked intently about this variety of thyme versus was there room for sorrel—
Who eats sorrel?
she’d thought. What the hell even
was
sorrel?

Feeling like Miss Marple cracking the village mystery, Karen had cleared her throat, and they’d turned to apologize for being in the way, and seen her.

“Hello!” Cat had said, beaming. “Wow, that caftan is great. Wish I’d been that stylish when I was pregnant.”

“Oh, hello, Karen, love.” Joe had come over to her. “Everything all right?”

“Fine, fine, I just saw you two in here and thought I’d come in. . . .” She’d nodded coldly at Susan. Susan shifted behind the counter awkwardly.

Suddenly Karen wanted to be on the sofa under a blanket, crying her eyes out. She’d told herself it was the hormones. She felt completely surplus to requirements. “I’ll be off, then. I don’t want to stand around too long.”

“See you later,” Joe had said. “I’ll—get you what you want for tea, yes? Cat, I’d like to try some of those verbena plants. It may be the wrong time to get them, though.”

“I think they can be the first thing we put in the greenhouse, if we ever get round to building it.” She laughed. “I’m sure it’ll collapse at the first gust of autumnal wind. Susan, do you think Len would help us? He built that greenhouse up at Stoke Hall, didn’t he?”

“Oh, he did, a girt big one. They’re ever so pleased with it.”

“Well, maybe that’s it.” Cat leaned on the counter. “I might go over and ask him later. Then you can grow squash and suchlike to your heart’s content, Joe.” She turned to Karen. “And the baby can eat all homegrown food. It’ll be wonderful. A girt big greenhouse!”

Oh, God, homegrown squash
. I hate squash. And I’m not going to be one of those mums who spends her time puréeing foods. That’s what supermarkets are for, aren’t they, convenience?

But she smiled at Cat, unable to resist her infectious, happy enthusiasm. “Grow some bacon sandwiches, Cat, my love, and I’ll help you dig them up.”

“Deal.” Cat nodded, as Joe tapped her on the arm.

“The verbena, Cat. What about it? I’d like to try flavoring something like a lamb stew with it. Very delicately, see if it takes.”

She shrugged, smiling at him, and Karen felt a bit sick again.

“Yes, you’re right. Let’s do it.”

“Okay.” He scribbled on the form.

He didn’t even look at Cat when he was talking to her, the way he carefully, solicitously, nervously stared at Karen when asking her how she was or what she wanted, as if she were a Chinese firework with indecipherable instructions that might suddenly explode. Karen left the silly little village shop, the flimsy door banging behind her, the jaunty bell drilling into her tired head.

Karen didn’t know lots of things. She didn’t know if Joe knew he was in love with Cat. Or if Cat knew either. She didn’t know, if she went back home, where she’d end up having this baby—she assumed she’d have to go up to the hospital at Southport. She didn’t know what she’d do afterward, or how she’d care for the baby on her own. She didn’t know if Bill would ever want to speak to her again, and whether it was worth trying. She was pretty certain the answer to that was no. She wanted him to fight for her. He wanted to let her go. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t know how to ask him anymore. Even as the days seemed longer and longer, and she thought of more and more things she wanted to say to him.

I thought we couldn’t have kids.

I thought you didn’t love me anymore.

I’m so, so sorry about your dad, I loved him too.

She was certain of two things: one, she wasn’t in love with Joe, nor he with her, and it wasn’t fair anymore. He’d been good to her, and it was time she grew up and took responsibility.

Two, she had to get out of here and set them both free, because he was never going to do it. If she didn’t go now when there was just one of her, she’d be trapped here until they made other plans, sitting upstairs above the pub with a screaming baby night after night listening to the noise of happiness, of life going on below her. It was time to leave.

•   •   •

The pain got worse as Karen rang the cab company again.

“Could you tell the driver I’ll need a hand with the bag? And—”

She gave a strangled cry and bent over the bed, breathing hard and trying to moan into the pillow, sweat running down her forehead into her hair.

“Ma’am? Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Yes. I’m pre—
aaah
.”

Karen rested the phone on the duvet. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This couldn’t be it; there was no other sign, nothing. It had come on so suddenly, and she wasn’t due for another two weeks, no matter what they’d said at the scan about her due date being earlier than she reckoned. She knew the last time she and Joe had slept together, of course she did. It was false labor, she’d had it for days now. She looked at her watch.

“Ma’am? The cabdriver is just outside now.”

It was do or die. She had a few minutes to get downstairs in case it started again, and she wanted to be in plenty of time for her train. Karen gritted her teeth. “Thank you,” she said, and she put the phone down.

In the center of the coffee table she carefully placed the note she’d written. She’d spent days composing it in her head, setting down carefully and concisely the reason for her departure; and then, at the last minute, writing it out this morning, had suddenly scrawled at the bottom:

PS I think you’re in love with Cat. I don’t know if you realize it, but you ought to do something about it. She’s in love with you too. I want you to be happy, Joe. You’re a good man. X

She eventually got herself downstairs, and as she appeared in the bright sunshine the cabdriver stared at her. Karen realized she must look a sight. Her hair was tied up on top of her head, her shapeless brown maxi-dress looked like potato sacking, and she was bright red, sweating, mascara running down her cheeks. But she straightened herself up and smiled at him. “Thanks. We’re going to Bristol Parkway. I need to catch a twelve p.m. train.” And she buried her head in her handbag, leaning over the seat to check she’d got everything, buying herself a few seconds’ time to stop panting.

“I don’t know, ma’am,” the taxi driver said doubtfully. “I don’t know if you should be traveling. I heard you screaming upstairs—are you, uh, in some kind of trouble?”

Karen faced him, hoping that one day, when this was all a long way in the past, she’d be able to look back and laugh at that moment.
In some kind of trouble.
“I’m fine,” she said firmly, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I just need—” She stopped. “I just need you to take me to the station.”

“Are you going to have the baby?”

“At some point, love,” she said in her sharpest voice. “That’s why I don’t want to stand around chatting. Okay? My bag’s upstairs, could you be very kind and fetch it for me?”

He disappeared upstairs and reappeared with her suitcase, but it was all done with a bad grace. Heaving it into the car, and staring at her again, he said, “Look, I need to call the office again. ’Cause I don’t think we’re insured—health and safety. . . .” he said vaguely.

Karen closed her eyes, trying to stay calm, trying not to burst into tears. “Listen. I booked you and asked you to take me on a job. Are you going to do it or not?”

“I’ll take you,” said a cool, quiet voice behind her, and Karen froze, as though caught in the act. “I’ll take you, Karen,” and she turned round, and there was Bill.

S
LOWLY,
K
AREN STOOD
up straight.

“Hello,” he said.

“Bill. Hi.”

He patted the back of his neck awkwardly. “How are you?”

Karen swallowed. “I’m—not too good. This idiot won’t take me to the station.”

“How strange.” He was eating an apple, and he wrapped it up carefully in a paper napkin—it was a very Bill gesture, and the calm familiarity made her head spin. “Where do you want to go?”

“Bristol Parkway,” she said, trying not to sound panicked. “I just want to go home.”

She hadn’t seen him for weeks. He’d kept himself to himself, and she’d heard he’d been away too, to join his mother visiting Florence in Italy, the trip he was always trying to get her to take. He was tanned, and smiling slightly. Karen stared at him as if he were a long, cold drink, something icy and sweet.

The cabdriver had got off the phone with his head office. He jammed his hands awkwardly on his hips. “Listen, love. I can’t take you. Insurance won’t cover it. Sorry.”

“Hey . . .” Karen looked wildly around her at the quiet high street, baking in the late morning heat. “But I need to go now!”

Bill said again, “I’ll take you.”

“Don’t joke with me,” she said, almost crying. She pulled her suitcase out of the back so swiftly that Bill didn’t have time to get it, and she nearly hit him with it as he leaped forward to try to take its bulk. The car engine revved and she stepped back, exhausted.

“Screw you! You jerk!” she shouted at the taxi driver as he sped away, tires screeching. He beeped his horn, aggressively and long, as he passed out of the village and up the hill, and Karen turned to Bill. “Look,” she said brokenly, “I’m going home to Mum. I have to get there soon. Otherwise . . .” She paused, wincing.

“Otherwise you’re going to have the baby in the street,” Bill said.

“It’s not that,” Karen said. “It’s not coming just yet.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” he said.

“How the hell do you know?”

“Well . . . I’m a doctor. I do know some things, Karen.” His arm tightened gently on hers. “Look, come ho—come back to New Cottages.”

“No, Bill!” she said, raising her voice. “I’m not coming back with you! I’m not!”

An old man, passing slowly on the other side of the narrow street, looked over curiously, then stared straight ahead.

“I’m not trying to kidnap you. I just mean so that you can sit down, have some ice. I’ll check you over and we’ll see what to do next. Okay?”

He held out his arm. Karen stared at the pub, at the long, narrow stairs leading up to the flat. Maybe she should go back up there, plonk herself down on the sofa for the rest of the day, and wait for Joe to finish work this evening, then act like none of this had happened.

She couldn’t. No matter how mad it seemed, now that she had decided upon this course of action, she had to keep moving. “I’m leaving Joe,” she said, taking Bill’s arm, and they set off, Bill pulling her suitcase. “I know this isn’t the best way to have this conversation, but it’s not going to work out, us living together like that.”

She didn’t know what he’d say to this, and she supposed he had the right to say anything, but he stopped and said mildly, “Well, good that you realized it now, I suppose. What does he think?”

Karen ignored this. “I think it’s best if I go back to Mum’s. Then see what’s what.”

“Right,” Bill said. “That seems sane.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” she said quietly. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Bill stopped pulling her case. He stood in front of her on the narrow pavement and wiped the trembling tear away with one finger and said
softly, “I’d never do that, Karen. I’m sure you’ve made the right decision. You always were good at rational thinking. Most of the time. Keep walking.”

She remembered why she’d liked him so much at the start—he’d never been threatened by her, where so many men were. That she could work out the tip on a bill faster, could drive better, drink more, strategize better. That first year they’d been dating, he’d bought her
The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
and read it out to her on holiday in the Seychelles while she sunbathed with the dedication of a pro.

And she remembered too how much they had both loved her tanned, glowing body, slick with cream, and the hot, lazy afternoons with cool wind blowing in through the room as they made love for hours, each as surprised as the other by how close, how good it felt to be together, how right it was. His kind, steady gaze on her, his huge smile that broke over him after they’d finished, his boyishness. He really was a little boy in so many ways, pretending to be old and grown-up, but really wanting approval, wanting to make people feel better.

He’d asked her to marry him in Bristol, at the top of the Cabot Tower, overlooking the whole of the city. And afterward they’d walked down past a playground, and he’d sat on a swing while she’d fastened her shoe, and she’d seen him there, clutching the cold chains of the swing, feet scuffing the ground, watching her with this look in his eyes, so happy and smiling and warm, swaying gently back and forward. So hopeful. So glad.

Karen blushed, pushing the thoughts away. “So, how have you been, Bill?” she said as they progressed slowly up the street, Bill carrying her small case.

“I’m well, thanks. Been busy.”

“How was Italy? You were there, weren’t you?” She leaned on him, grateful for the strength of his right arm.

“Yes, four days. It was great, actually. Didn’t do very much, just pottered around. Flo’s flat is wonderful.”

“Is she glad about the court case?” Karen asked.

“Oh, she’s much more pleased than she lets on. Some TV producers want to make a pilot with her. Don’t you think she’d be wonderful on TV?” Bill smiled. “I can see her, waving her arms around in front of some painting, can’t you?”

One foot in front of the other, slowly and surely. Already Karen felt
calmer. “Yes,” she said. “She’d be absolutely great.” She added, “Good for Florence. I’m so happy for her.”

“Me—me too. We’ve just worked out Skype, you know. It’s great. She’s coming back for a visit in August, and Ma’s already worked up about it.”

“Is she? Why?”

Bill hesitated. “Long story. Daisy . . . you know. Dad . . . all of it.” He looked at her, and a sweetly sad look came into his eyes. “Some other time.” She didn’t have the right to hear any more about his family, about Winterfold, she knew. “I think Flo pretends to like being alone, but she doesn’t, not really.” He stopped. “I don’t think anyone does.”

They were silent for a few minutes. As they passed the church, Bill cleared his throat delicately.

“So, does Joe know you’ve left him?”

“No.”

“Shouldn’t you tell him?”

“I’ve left him a note.”

They were back at their old home. “I’m sure you’re right, Karen. But I don’t know why you have to leave today, this very minute.” Bill opened the door and she went in, grateful for the front room that had always seemed so poky and was now welcomingly cool and fresh.

She heaved herself onto the sofa. “I have to get to Mum’s before the baby’s born. Otherwise I’d have been there—been trapped there, above that pub. I wouldn’t have been able to get away.”

Bill stood in front of her, chewing a finger, and he said quietly, “Of course you would. Do you really think that?”

“Yes,” she said sharply. “Look, Bill, thank you, but can you just get me a glass of water and the keys and we’ll go? Oh.
Oh . . .
”

She turned on the sofa, sliding herself slowly onto the ground until she was on all fours, eyes squinting, trying to focus on the shelves, counting anything she could in an effort not to scream at the splitting pain that seemed to twist her in two. She didn’t care where Bill was, whether he was watching her. It seemed to last for an age, and when it was over, she sat back on the sofa again, light-headed, clammy, legs sticking out in front of her like a child’s.

Bill put a glass of water in front of her on the cool glass table.

“Karen, will you let me examine you?”

“What?” She blinked. “No! No way.”

He grinned. “Why do I keep having to remind you that I’m a doctor, Karen? You were always complaining about me working too hard, you’d think you’d remember why I wasn’t around.”

“I don’t care. You’re not—” She stifled a moan of pain.

“Oh, my love.” He looked at her with concern. “I really do think you’re in labor, you know. I’ve seen plenty of contractions in my time. That was a contraction. Has your water broken?”

She shook her head miserably. “No. It’s all fine. I just need you to—” But her voice cracked into a whisper.

He crouched down in front of her. “I’ll take you there.”

“To Mum’s?”

“No. To the hospital. Here in Bath. The RUH. And after that, I’ll drive you to your mum’s. Promise. If that’s what you want, I’ll pack up your stuff, I’ll collect you and the baby and drive you over. It’s two hours, three hours. Please, don’t keep worrying about that.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You’re my wife, Karen,” he said, and there was a catch in his voice.

“You mean because this is your kid according to the law.” Karen buried her head in her hands.

Bill shrugged. “No, because we’re not divorced yet and I promised to love and protect you. That’s why.” Karen looked up, and thought she’d never realized before how much he looked like his father. “I still love you. Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal, I’ll get over it at some point. But I want to look after you because you need some help and you’re—you’re having a baby. It’s a wonderful thing, whatever the circumstances.” He picked up his car keys. “Will you trust me?”

“Why are you doing this?” She wiped the clammy nape of her neck.

“Because . . . well, what I just said.”

“Oh.”

“And because I—I didn’t do enough when we were together. I was too . . . too stiff. Not enough like my dad, you know.” He rolled up his sleeves. “But don’t let’s think about that now. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“That’s nice of you, Bill.” She wanted to tell him how sorry she was. How she’d got them all wrong, called them snobs, and she was the snob. How much she wished she could be a part of it all again, only—she shook her head, waiting for the next wave of pain.

“Come on, then,” he said.

“Just give me a minute. Let me sit still for just a moment.”

He smiled and sat down next to her. “You know,” he said conversationally, “I’ve been thinking of moving back to Bristol anyway. I always liked it there.”

“I like Bristol too. . . .”

She thought afterward she’d heard a soft, high
pop
, but she must have been mistaken. But suddenly there was water everywhere, gushing onto the floor, coming out of her like a torrent. She rubbed her tired eyes, tried to stand up. “Look—oh! Oh, no, I’m so sorry. Oh, God. I’ve peed all over the sofa. Oh, my God! Oh, my flaming God!”

Bill looked down. “No. But now your water has broken. I told you you were in labor. Let’s go.”

She sat still for a moment. “The sofa’s ruined! I loved this sofa!”

“I hated it,” he said.

Karen glanced away from her stomach. “What? We bought it at the leather workshop sale! You said you loved that color.”

“It’s slippery, and it doesn’t fit in here. Nothing really fits in here.” Bill put his jacket on and jangled his keys in his pocket. “Come on, then,” he said calmly. “I’m making no promises, but I’d say you’ll be a mum by teatime.”

“Bill . . .” Karen looked down at the mess of her water, the immaculate sofa and floor awash in sticky gloop. “Thanks.”

She wanted to say more, wanted to tell him how he’d broken her heart, slowly driven her away, how she’d loved him so much. But of course she couldn’t, not right now. “I—I never meant to hurt you,” she said, and then she smiled. “You know? That’s crap. I did want to hurt you. I wanted you to notice me.”

He was bending over to pick up her bag, and at that he straightened up, his expression tight. He said in a small voice, “I always noticed you.”

“You didn’t, Bill. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but you nearly sent me mad. You did!” She was laughing, through her tears.

“Oh.” Bill swallowed. He closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain, and nodded. “I expect I did. I got used to doing my own thing when I was growing up, as Lucy keeps pointing out to me. I had to. I’ve changed, anyway. Hope so.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Bill. I shouldn’t have said it, now’s not the time, let’s—”

“It’s the perfect time.” His sad, sweet face broke into a smile. “Karen, come on, stand up—otherwise I’ll carry you to the hospital myself and very likely you’ll have to give birth in a hedge. I won’t leave you. Let’s worry about the rest of it all later. Deal?”

“Deal,” Karen said. They nodded, smiling at one another, and then Bill heaved her to her feet and slung her bag over his shoulder, and they left the house, shutting the door on the ruined sofa, the immaculate front room, and the plastic gerberas, the home that had never quite worked for them.