Babies in Waiting (17 page)

‘So tell me everything. What’s the place like? What’s the house like? What will you be doing?’

‘Slow down! It’s really lovely. It’s not far from Thorpe Park, on what must have been an old farm. Adam lives in the farmhouse, and the printing presses are in the barn behind. They do large outdoor print, so not what I’m used to, but most of the principles are the same. Adam’s built the business from scratch . . . he started it after he left college.’

‘Wow . . . sounds great.’

‘It really is. Adam says he’s thinking of expanding into exhibition stands next year, but he needs to build a relationship with a construction firm. It all sounds really exciting.’

‘And the house?’

‘It’s okay . . . very male and functional. Adam’s got this old Siamese cat called Millicent. I’ll have to look after her. She hates me already, but she adores him.’

‘I’m guessing she’s not alone,’ Simon said wryly.

‘What do you mean?’ Louise was already pink. She hoped Simon would assume it was the wine.

‘You’ve got a really bad case of mentionitis.’

‘Of what?’

‘Mentionitis. You’ve managed to say “Adam” about five times in the last two minutes. Dr Simon diagnoses a case of the crushes.’

‘Oh my God. I know. I have to get my hormones under control. But it’s very difficult.’

‘Is he very hot?’

‘In an Eric-Bana-meets-the-Croatian-doctor-from-ER kind of way. With an Edinburgh accent.’

‘Oh dear. That’s bad.’

‘I know. Thank God he’ll be hundreds of miles away, climbing the rigging of a tall ship.’

‘With his shirt off, getting all bronzed and muscly?’

‘Stop it, Simon! I have to work for this man!’

‘So is he married?’

‘My guess is that he’s divorced. He mentioned teenage kids, and he certainly knows all about pregnancy, but he definitely lives alone. After all, if there was a wife, he wouldn’t need me to live in his house, would he?’

‘All right, Miss Marple. You really have thought this through!’

Louise was serious for a moment. ‘I really liked him, Si. Yes, he’s very attractive, but he also seems to be a really good man. Reasonable, fair, kind to his cat . . . I haven’t met a nice single man in years and years. Why now? Why when I can’t do anything about it?’

‘Well, you can’t do anything now, but there’s no reason why you can’t fantasise . . . and when he comes back . . .’

‘When he comes back, it’ll be to evict me from his house.
I’ll either be the size of said house, or I’ll have a tiny baby and my stomach will be flapping around near my knees. Along with my tits.’

‘You paint such a sexy picture.’

‘Sorry. But I have to accept my dating days, such as they were, are over.’ She cupped her tidy little bump with one hand. ‘This has to be my priority now.’

‘It doesn’t mean you have to be a nun.’

‘No, but it’s a moot point anyway. He didn’t show any sign of being attracted to me, and that’s no big surprise. He’s not going to pull a move on a knocked-up bird while he’s interviewing her for a job, is he?’

‘That’s true. Even if he fancied you rotten, it would be a bit sleazy.’

‘It would. Either way, it’s been an amazing day. I’ve got a job, and got somewhere to live for the next few months.’

‘Not bad for an afternoon’s work.’ Simon yawned and stood up. ‘I’m going to have a shower, sweetie. I’m thrilled for you.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and went off to the bathroom.

Louise wandered over to her laptop and switched it on. She had a few automated response emails from recruitment firms. She was thrilled to be able to dash off a quick response to them all, saying she’d found a position. They’d done nothing to help her. She was very glad none of them would be earning a commission from her good fortune. She sent a very thankful email to Edward. Somehow, she managed to resist the urge to pump him for information about Adam.

Then she logged onto the baby website. It seemed there had been a very heated discussion about giving birth with or without pain relief. There was one post with over three hundred replies, and more kept popping up while she read them. She got caught up in reading the arguments, so it took a while to notice that there was a personal message waiting for her. It was from Toni.

Hi there . . .
Sorry to be a stalker, but I’ve not seen you on here
today. Just wanted to check you were OK.
Txx.

Louise smiled. It was so nice to have a friend, even if it was a digital one, who cared where she was. She typed a reply, filling Toni in on her eventful day. She didn’t say anything about being attracted to Adam. After all she didn’t know Ton . . . no reason to spill her guts to her. But it was great to be able to write down that she had a good job and somewhere to live, at least for now. On impulse, she added her email address to the message. They could move their chat away from the site that way.

She then composed a short, polite and formal email to Adam, thanking him for meeting with her and giving her the opportunity to work with him. She summarised everything they had agreed and asked him to confirm the terms in writing. Putting things on a professional footing between them made her feel a little more secure.

She slept better that night than she had in months,
and the next day met Rachel in a riverside cafe for lunch. Rachel was excited, and duly asked all the wrong questions – ‘Are you
sure
you have to work? Will you be able to take days off so we can go shopping for baby things? You won’t have to lift anything heavy, will you? What about poisonous chemicals?’ Louise answered them all patiently, and in the end, Rachel seemed happy, especially about the fact that Louise would now be living just a few miles away. Louise patiently explained that it was a normal office job and that she’d be working normal office hours, and wouldn’t be constantly free for lunches and shopping.

Their food came and they started to eat. Then Rachel suddenly said excitedly, ‘Ooh, you’ll never guess what!’

‘You’re right, I never will. What?’

‘Do you remember David and Samantha? You met them at our place when you and Si came for lunch.’

‘Richard’s boss and his wife? Very posh?’

‘Yes, well, maybe not so posh. Their teenage daughter’s pregnant!’

‘Really? How old is she?’

‘Oh, she’s eighteen, but not at all the sort you’d expect to get pregnant . . . one of those blonde, skinny ballet girls, good at everything and a bit superior. Apparently she’s got some bad-boy-musician boyfriend who got her up the duff. David’s about to explode, he’s so furious.’

‘I’m sure. After all that expensive private schooling, that probably wasn’t the return on his investment he was expecting.’

‘Samantha just couldn’t cope, so she’s gone off to some posh spa near Cheltenham for a rest cure.’

‘Really? Sounds like something out of a Jane Austen novel. Did she get the vapours?’

‘No, I think she got the gin . . . Richard said she was at some work cocktail party and she was a real embarrassment, telling anyone who’d listen how her daughter had failed her and it was all David’s fault. He packed her off the next day.’

‘My goodness!’ Louise said. ‘Well, it sounds like it’s all happening down in leafy Surrey.’

‘Anyway, Richard mentioned to David that you’re pregnant too . . .’

(I bet he did, Louise thought. Sucking up to the boss . . . ‘Oooh, my wife’s sister’s also a disgrace, pregnant and alone’) ‘ . . . and David said maybe you could talk to Gemma.’

‘What?’ Louise said, alarmed.

‘Maybe you could come down this weekend and meet Gemma and talk to her. About being pregnant and stuff.’

‘Gemma’s the daughter,’ Louise said, playing for time.

‘Of course,’ Rachel said, impatiently. ‘So will you come? Samantha’s going to be away for another few weeks at least, so David’s going to bring Gemma round to ours on Sunday afternoon. For tea.’

‘For tea,’ Louise repeated weakly. ‘Gosh, that sounds fun. So tell me, Rach, what is the well-dressed hostess serving to the knocked-up adolescent and the middle-aged single mum this season?’

‘There’s no need to be mean,’ Rachel said snippily. ‘I’d consider it a big favour if you came. And so would Richard.’

To be fair, Louise didn’t give a toss what Richard thought. But she found herself saying, ‘Okay. I’ll come. Can Simon come too?’

‘I already asked him, but he said he was busy.’

I bet he did, Louise thought.

‘Listen, I’d love to sit and chat all afternoon, but I have to go. I’ve got a step class at gym. Sunday at three then?’ Rachel asked.

‘Sunday at three.’

Subject: Guilt, Guilt, Guilt

Dear Toni,
Why does everything have to be so damned complicated? I don’t know if
I told you about my sister before . . . she’s three years younger than me, and you’re never likely to meet two more different siblings. I’m tall and dark, she’s petite and blonde (although that’s now courtesy of her very expensive colourist). I went to uni, and I’ve worked all my life. She got married as soon as she could and gave up work to be a corporate wife. And of course, the ultimate irony is that I’ve got knocked up by mistake in my late thirties, and she’s been trying for a baby for years with no success. There are plenty of reasons for me to feel bad about my
situation, but for some reason, this is the thing that makes me feel worst.

I know, I know. I didn’t do it on purpose, but I still feel like I have to make it up to her in some way. So I say yes to anything she asks me to do. So we’ve just been out for lunch and she asked me to go round for tea on Sunday . . . her husband’s boss’s teenage daughter (yes, I know it’s complicated, keep up) is pregnant, and no one knows what to do with her. Solution – ask another pregnant woman to speak to her. Me. Yes, I know it’s mad, you know it’s mad, but in Rachel-land, it makes sense. So I’m driving to Oxshott this weekend to counsel a pregnant teenager. Any ideas as to what I should say?

Hope you’re okay, by the way, and please excuse the massive brain dump. Ignore it if you like.

Lou
X

Subject: Re: Guilt, Guilt, Guilt

Dear Lou,
I’m normally rubbish at advice, but I heard something on the radio the other day that I think might help a bit. It was all about the principle of limited good. Apparently in some primitive societies (and Oxshott’s definitely one of those), they believe that there’s only so much good fortune in
the world. So, for example, if you get a nice new car or job or date with George Clooney, it means
I
can’t have a nice new car or job, and Mr Clooney will give me the shove. Now in civilised places like Kingston (more developed than Oxshott, we like to think), we know that that isn’t true. Your good fortune doesn’t cancel out my good fortune, unless we’re going for the same job or bloke (so scratch the George-Clooney thing above, it doesn’t make sense at all).

Maybe that’s a bit intellectual, but think about it this way. If you weren’t pregnant, Rachel wouldn’t be pregnant in your place. I’m going to type in caps now for emphasis, but I’m not shouting . . . I just want you to know IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT.

I told you I have primary ovarian insufficiency. It means I had to try and fall pregnant immediately, even though James and I weren’t really ready to start our family. It probably also means that I can only have one child. But that’s nobody else’s fault. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life jealous of women who had carefree years in their twenties and got to go further in their careers, or women who get to have four lovely kids. Because IT’S NOT THEIR FAULT.

You’ve got plenty of things on your plate right now . . . don’t beat yourself up about things you can’t change. But it’s still a good thing to go and meet the poor teenage girl. She’s probably really frightened
and freaked out. She could do with hanging out with
someone who isn’t going to judge her.

Love
Txx

Subject: Re: Re: Guilt, Guilt, Guilt

Dear Toni,
Thank you, thank you, thank you. Your advice is brilliant, and makes perfect sense. From what you say I’m guessing you’re still in your twenties . . . wow . . . you’re going through an awful lot at a comparatively young age, and you sound so sorted when you talk about it. I’ll try to take your advice . . . as you say guilt is really a wasted emotion. Thanks again and chat soon. I’ll update you after
Surrey Sunday.
Love,
Lou
Xxx

The twelve-week mark came and went, and Gemma still hadn’t found the courage to tell Ben. Then, one rainy Saturday afternoon, it all came to a head. He’d been really quite sweet that day: they’d gone to see a film, which they’d both laughed at a lot, then come back and he’d made them each a jacket potato with beans and cheese. Gemma ate it all: she was hungry all the time now, and she knew her waistline was thickening.

After their meal, they were sitting on his bed, watching some videos on YouTube on his computer. He slipped an arm around her waist and started stroking up and down her side. She didn’t say anything, but she stiffened up a little and moved away from him slightly. Out of nowhere, he snapped. ‘Why do you keep coming here?’ he said sharply.

‘What?’ She knew this had been coming, but she was caught off guard.

‘Well, you don’t want to sleep with me any more. So, what, do you want to be, like, friends?’ He sneered when he said this, as if it was the most ridiculous idea.

‘No! I mean, I want to be with you, Ben. I love you.’

They’d told each other they loved each other in the beginning, when things between them were new and exciting. But he had stopped saying it a long time ago, and because he had, so had she. Saying it out loud sounded shocking, and Ben shrank back as if she’d slapped him.

‘But . . . Gemma, I dunno. I mean . . . things between us have been kind of weird lately. I’ve been thinking, and . . . This isn’t working. I think we should break up.’

She wasn’t surprised to hear him say it, and amazingly, she wasn’t upset at all. Very calmly, she said, ‘Things
are
about to change, though. I’ve got amazing news. I’m pregnant. We’re going to be a family.’

The silence was terrible. It just went on and on. Ben’s face went a strange pasty colour, and sweat broke out on his forehead. Then, suddenly, he stood up and walked out of the room. A few seconds later, Gemma heard the front door slam. His mum was out, so she was left alone in their house. She didn’t know what to do so she stayed sitting on Ben’s bed for another hour or so. He didn’t come back, so eventually she got her things together and left. She walked slowly to the bus stop, looking out for him along the way, but there was no sign of him. It was starting to get very cold and dark. Eventually she had to get on a bus and go home.