Bella Summer Takes a Chance (14 page)

‘I took the test last week.’ She sighed. ‘You know my periods aren’t regular. I didn’t think anything of it at first. Then, well, it started to be obvious that something was up. I went to the doctor on Monday to confirm it. It’s definitely not a false positive.’

‘Wait a minute! April Fool’s, right?’

‘Huh, I wish.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m preggers. With child.’

‘Wow. Knocked up.’ What a bombshell.

‘Up the duff.’

‘In a family way,’ I said.

‘Speaking of family…’

‘Have you told them?’

‘No, not till I decide what to do.’

‘Of course. Otherwise they’ll just worry.’

‘I don’t mean what to do about the pregnancy. I know what I’m going to do about that.’

‘Oh, right, sure. I– I understand. I’ll go with you. We’ll go together, with Faith. I guess your GP will know where to send you. I wonder if you need a referr–’

‘I’m not having an abortion. I want to have the baby. I just need to decide what to do afterwards.’

It wasn’t just a bombshell. It was carpet bombing. ‘You mean like finding childcare?’ I said, trying hard to find the right responses in the mercurial circumstances. ‘Well, I guess you could get a nanny, or try one of those crèches.’

‘I’m not talking about childcare!’ The waiter backed away at her outburst. So much for our lunch orders.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘But you’re speaking in tongues. You say you know what you’re going to do but I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re keeping the baby but don’t want to talk about who’s going to look after it while you work. Frankly, this is very confusing. Not to mention a bit of a shock.’

She sighed. ‘Tell me about it. I’m sorry. I’ll back up. My first thought when I found out was, well, blind panic, obviously. I can’t have a baby. I’m only twenty-six, I’m single, I work stupid hours, sometimes in other countries. How would I do it? I don’t mean financially. I mean logistically. And even if I could do it, would I want to at this point in my life? That’s always been something for later.’

‘Clare, I wish you’d told me when you first suspected. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this by yourself.’

‘Thanks, but I needed the time to think without other people’s opinions. This isn’t a decision to make by committee.’

‘No, that’s true. So…’

‘So, I thought about having an abortion, but it just doesn’t feel right. Personally, I mean, not as a political ideology. Well, you know it’s not a moral question for me, from when Kat…’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Kat thought she was pregnant just when Jonathan’s illness was at its worst. She panicked at the thought of trying to look after him and a new baby as well. It was a false alarm – the stress of his illness threw her cycle off – but it made us all think about what we’d do in the circumstances, which choice we’d make. We agreed that it was an option we’d consider if, for whatever reason, the situation wasn’t right.

‘It just doesn’t seem like a good idea to have a baby on my own. I don’t know how single mothers cope without anyone to help. Tsch, I sound like this is just a practical decision, but it’s not. It’s also about what’s best for the child. I could hire someone, like you said. But how would the child feel when I’m working twelve-hour days, or away in Zurich, or Prague, or Paris all week long? I’d be its only parent, and it’d hardly see me. It’s not like I can cut my hours. Not if I want to keep earning enough to support us. And I wouldn’t want to. I love working the way we do. So yes, there’s been a lot to think about.’

While I’d spent most of my twenties trying to get out of working too hard, Clare revelled in challenging clients and new assignments. She was one of those women who always knew exactly what she wanted, and what she wanted was to be at the top of her profession. Having a baby wasn’t going to boost her up that career ladder.

‘That’s why I’m thinking about adoption,’ she said.

‘Wow. That’s a big step. It’s wonderful, if it’s what you want to do. It’ll be a dream come true for some couple. Well, you know. Just look at your parents. They got you.’

She smiled briefly. ‘But it’s not that simple. I see my parents’ point of view, but then I also know how it feels to find out your birth mother gave you away. Her circumstances didn’t make any difference to me. Being given away hurts. I’m not sure I want to do that to a child.’

‘But you’ve also got to think about that child’s life, as you said, and what’s best in terms of an upbringing. Maybe two parents are better than one. God, that sounds righteous, doesn’t it? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come over all Archbishop of Canterbury.’

‘It’s okay. That’s exactly the question I’m weighing up. I don’t know the answer. And I’ve got The Shag calling every day to ask what I’ve decided.’

‘You’ve told him, then?’

‘Yeah, I called him after I did the first test. It’s the oddest thing, B. He’s now decided that I’m the one for him. He wants us to be a family unit.’ She laughed, without much mirth. ‘How many years did I hope he’d commit, and now, when I don’t want him, he does? Life is ridiculous sometimes.’

‘But are you sure you don’t want him? I mean, you were in love with him once upon a time.’

‘You sound just like him. He keeps saying we’re good together. Good at what? Shagging? Granted. Late-night phone calls? We don’t even go out in public.’

‘That’s your choice, though, not his. He’s asked you out and you’ve always said no.’

‘We’re shag pals, B., that’s all. The time for romantic happily-ever-afters is over for us. He had his chance.’

‘You’re right. Getting together for the sake of the children isn’t what you want. It’d be different if you loved him.’ When I searched her face for signs of the aforementioned emotion she raised her eyebrows. Guess not. ‘Well, if you really don’t want to be together with him, then you shouldn’t be together. Just don’t dismiss the idea till you’ve thought it all the way through, okay?’

‘B., I’m doing nothing
but
thinking it through. It’s rather at the front of my mind right now. This is hard enough as it is. I don’t need him complicating things with empty promises.’

‘But what if they’re not empty promises? I’m just playing devil’s advocate, but what if he really does love you? Would that make a difference?’

‘He doesn’t love me.’

‘You say so. But what if he does?’

‘It doesn’t matter. This is The Shag we’re talking about. He’s not equipped to be a boyfriend, let alone a father. Can you imagine what that would be like? He’d warm the baby in the microwave and read bedtime stories to the takeaway. He’s not in this equation. It doesn’t do any good to wonder what it’d be like. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I guess I’ve got six months to decide.’

We called the waiter over to order lunch. Neither of us ate very much.

Jesus, pregnant. By a man she didn’t want to share a cup of tea with in public, let alone her life. I felt terrible for Clare. None of her options would be easy ones. I couldn’t even imagine how I’d cope in the same situation. Luckily, I’d never had to think about it. I had virtually no urge for children, despite being of the age at which my ticking biological clock should have deafened me. On babies, Mattias and I had always stood resolutely united, and were absolutely paranoid about precautions. If I had found myself in the family way, I’d be as freaked out as Clare. Just thinking about it certainly put my music setback into perspective. At least I had the
option
to follow my dreams, unencumbered by morning sickness, fat ankles, or offspring. I dug Sunglasses’ card out of my wallet, from behind the credit card that I should have cut up before I maxed it out. My heart raced as I dialled.

‘Right, hi, B.,’ said Sunglasses, after what seemed like the millionth ring. ‘What can I do for you?’

Clearly he didn’t remember me. ‘You mentioned that I should give you a call if…’ If what? If I wanted him to launch my music career? That seemed a little presumptuous. ‘… if I wanted.’

‘Yes, yes, sure. We met at the, em, club.’

‘Right, right. It was pretty late.’

‘It usually is.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s a late-night job. That’s what I mean. So, at the club. You were singing?’

‘Right, with the quartet.’

‘Jog my memory.’

He wanted me to sing down the phone? Did I need to warm up first? God, no, he’d think I was neutering a cat without anaesthetic. ‘Ehem.’ I began crooning Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.

‘Thanks. I meant who did we meet through? But now I remember you.’

I couldn’t believe I’d just serenaded the man. And with Ella. What was I thinking? ‘That was embarrassing. I’m sorry.’

‘Not at all. You’ve got a good voice. And well done for launching in there. Wallflowers don’t make it in this business. When are you singing next?’

I had precisely, let’s see, no gigs lined up. That made me the worst kind of amateur. ‘Er, I’ll have to let you know. Nothing is firmed up yet.’

‘Sure. Do you have a demo you can send me? Great, send it over. And why don’t you get in touch when you’ve got some dates in the diary and I’ll see if I can line up a couple of people to stop by.’

‘Sure, that sounds good. Thanks so much. I really appreciate it!’

‘Sure, we’ll talk soon.’ He hung up.

Well, that achieved precisely nothing. I was just going to have to sing to him again when I called back. In the meantime, I had to find some gigs.

Chapter 11

I didn’t hit the ground running so much as walking with a large coffee in my hand, a bag full of demos on my shoulder, and a nervous flutter in my tummy. I had the same feeling I’d had when I left Mattias, of balancing on the cusp of a mighty change, one completely of my making. On the one hand it was certainly empowering. On the other, my efforts would succeed or fail because of me. The other hand made me a bit queasy.

I hadn’t finished writing the little notes to include with the demos until nearly 3 a.m. I planned to hand-deliver one to each club, charming the pants off the booker in the process.

I could have let Royal Mail do the legwork, but with about a million musicians pestering each booking manager, I had as much chance as the other million of being chosen for work. I only just stopped myself before breaking out the flour and eggs to bake cupcakes. There was every chance that domestic goddess bribery might backfire.

The first nondescript entrance, which smelled a bit of wee, masked one of the most venerable live music clubs in London. My aspirations knew no bounds. ‘Hello?’ I called into the murky depths of the bar area.

‘Yes?’ Said the young woman unloading the dishwasher behind the bar.

‘Hi! Is your booker in?’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, okay. Well, I just wanted to stop in and drop off my demo, for any jazz nights you may have coming up.’

‘Give it to me. I’ll give it to him when he’s in.’

‘Is there somewhere I can leave it for him?’

‘Suit yourself. Through there.’ She gestured to the office door. ‘Leave it on the desk.’

I thanked her, hurrying to the office. My heart lurched into my oesophagus when I saw the desk. Dozens of CDs were piled there. Dozens. All the hopefuls who’d come before me. I balanced my demo on top, sure it would be covered within the hour by the next musician with a plan. I thanked the barmaid and trudged to the next venue with a heavy bag and a heavy heart, hoping both would lighten as the day wore on.

By the end of the mission I’d delivered nearly forty demos. Big venues, small ones, top end, bottom of the barrel, I tried them all. The demo piles at the low-end clubs were smaller, and gave me just the tiniest smidge of hope that the booker would call. Only the tiniest smidge. It was such a chicken-and-egg game. Without the exposure of working regularly I wasn’t going to get a manager. And with no manager to pester the venues to give me a chance, I wasn’t going to get the work. I was pretty deflated by the time I got back to the flat.

‘Hello!’ Faith called from the sofa, where she was giving Fred a manicure. Their friendship was still unsettling, though it made perfect sense. Faith got a camp best friend to dote on her and Fred got lovely arm candy. They had the perfect twenty-first-century dysfunctional relationship. ‘How did it go?’

‘I dropped off all the demos, and met a few of the bookers. But I didn’t feel the love.’ I slumped in the chair.

‘Oh, angel heart,’ Fred said. ‘As soon as they hear your music they’ll be on the phone to book you. It just takes some time, that’s all.’

‘I don’t have time! I probably left it too late.’

‘It sounds like you’re talking about popping out bambini,’ Faith said. ‘Don’t worry, music doesn’t have a ticking biological clock.’

‘No, you’re right. Music has an actual clock. And it says that if you’re over about twenty-five, you’re too old.’

‘But you sing for old people,’ Fred said. ‘I mean, you sing for jazz lovers. I’ve seen the clientele at The Boisdale. You don’t have to be a spring chicken in your business. Your voice is beautiful, your songs are beautiful, you worked for years at The Boisdale, and you’ll work in lots of clubs, I just know it.’ He examined his newly buffed nails. ‘You just need to get noticed.’

‘That manager I met suggested that I put something on YouTube. But I don’t know what.’

‘Ohh, porn! Excellent idea. What have you done recently? Though perhaps,’ he said, looking me up and down. ‘Some earlier work would be better for marketing purposes.’

‘Thanks, Fred. No porn. I think he was talking about some singing.’

‘Oh, come on, surely there’s at least one indiscretion posted somewhere on the Net. An “artful” video? Or was it a dirrrty one?’

‘None of the above. The only videos I’ve been in are the ones that Dad makes of Mum and me at Christmas. I don’t even know where they are.’ That was a lie. I was having an attack of the bashfuls. What a great worldwide singing sensation I’d make, afraid to face audiences. I’d be the Banksy of the musical world. ‘I guess I could dig one out.’

Ten minutes later, as the video ended, I was blushing with pride.

‘I think I’m going to cry,’ Faith said. She did look a little wet around the edges. ‘That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.’