More Than You Know (34 page)

“Matt, can we have a talk, please?”

“Of course. But not right now.”

“No, of course not now. But … maybe tonight.”

“Yes, sure. What about?”

“Well … about … about …” God, what could she say? Get at least an idea of how he might react? Then, inspiration. “About my flat. The lease is about to expire and I—”

“Eliza, talk to Louise. She’s got a few residential properties on the side. She knows about leases. Sorry, got to go; Barry Floyd’s here.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Well, what had she expected? That he would say, “Oh, don’t renew your lease; move in with me”? Or, “Let’s get somewhere together”? Not expected that, no. But—maybe—hoped for.

It was a clue, at least.

“Maddy, hi, it’s me. It’s positive.”

“Oh, God. Well … I suppose … anyway, what does Matt say?”

“I haven’t told Matt.”

“What!”

“He was rushing into a meeting.”

“Tell him tonight, then.”

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

“Promise!”

“Yes, I promise. Of course.”

“Matt—”

“Yes. God, I’m exhausted. And starving. Is there anything we can eat? Otherwise, let’s go out.”

“Um … well … no, there isn’t. But I do want to talk to you.”

“We can talk in the restaurant. Surely.”

“Yes, OK.”

“Meet me in the Soup Kitchen, the one near Harrods, in half an hour, OK?”

“Yes, OK.”

Over a bowl of vegetable soup, she tried again.

“Matt, now can we talk?”

“Oh—yes. All right. What, about this lease of yours?”

“Yes. And—”

“I’ve been thinking and”—
Please, please say, “and I want you to move in with me” … “and I think we should get a place together.” But—
“and I think you should just renew the lease on that flat. It’s very good value, and you’ll waste a lot of time and effort looking for somewhere else. Ask Louise to check the lease; she’ll know if it’s a good one, OK? Now. let me tell you about the meeting we had today, Barry Floyd and I with his builders, really promising …”

She pushed her chair back and stood up. He stared at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel too good, that’s what’s wrong. I’m tired as well, very tired. I don’t want this soup, and I don’t want to hear about your meeting; I just want to go home and go to bed.”

“Well, let me finish mine and we’ll go.”

“No, Matt, I want to go home to my own bed, OK? In my flat. You just take your time. Enjoy your soup.”

She would have enjoyed it if it hadn’t been so serious. She couldn’t remember when she last stood up to him like that.

“Eliza, what on earth was that about last night?”

Eliza glared into the phone.

“It was about me being sick of you never wanting to talk about what I want to talk about.”

“But I told you what to do about your flat. We talked about that first.”

“I know. But … don’t you think there might be something else here?”

“Like what?”

“Well … maybe, about us … well, about the … the …” Her courage was failing her. This was not a conversation she should be having. Well, not initiating.

“The what, Eliza?”

“You really can’t think what?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Then I think you should just try a bit harder, OK? Call me when you’ve got a suggestion.”

“Eliza, hallo, it’s Matt. Look, I think I know what you’re on about. It’s getting a flat together, isn’t it?”

“It … could be. Well done, Matt.”

“Yes, it was Scarlett who made me see it.”

“Scarlett?”

“Yes. I talked to her about it, about how you were upset and I didn’t know why, and she said maybe it was that.”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t work that out for yourself.”

“Well, no. Anyway, I just don’t think it’s a good idea, not yet. Maybe in another few months or so. Thing is, I’m so busy and I haven’t got the time to look at places, and I can’t see why it’s not OK how we are. I mean, there isn’t a rush, is there, and we’re still feeling our way, really, and—”

“Just fuck off, Matt, will you? I’d hate you to be late for whatever meeting you’re supposed to be in.”

She put down the phone and burst into tears.

“Mrs. Munroe, I … well, I hope I didn’t misunderstand something you said to me.”

“And what was that?” Alison Munroe smiled at her.

“Well, you said if I wanted to talk anything over with you, then you would be happy to help.”

“Go ahead. I’ll try.”

“Well … well, you see, the thing is …” God, this was so hard. So, so hard. When she didn’t know what she wanted herself.

“Yes? What is the thing?”

“Well … I—Oh, dear, sorry …”

Alison Munroe passed her a tissue.

“That’s quite all right. Pregnancy makes one very emotional. I should know; I’ve had four.”

“Four children! And … and you went on working?”

“I did. With great difficulty.” She smiled again. “But, you know, you can do anything if you want it enough.”

“How … I mean was … was your husband happy about all that?”

“Oh, yes. As long as it didn’t interfere with his much more important career, I could do what I liked with mine. He’s a barrister,” she added, with a slightly cooler smile.

“I suppose you must have had lots of nannies and so on.”

“Oh, yes. Expensive, of course, but I thought it was worth it. I love my job and I’d have been a very poor full-time mother. Now then, what about you; what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Well, you see, my … my boyfriend … I’m not married, as you know. I really think he won’t want this baby. I mean, we’re not even living together properly—”

“Improperly, perhaps?” She smiled again. “Sorry, bad joke.”

“No, no,” said Eliza, smiling back. “My parents would certainly think so. Anyway, he’s going to be totally horrified; I know he is. And I really think … well I … I—”

“Want a termination?”

“Yes!”

There. She had said it. She didn’t, of course. She wanted to have the baby—somehow—and keep working—somehow—but she wanted Matt to want it too, and that most certainly wasn’t going to happen.

“I see. Well, to start with, you know that is illegal, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. Of course.”

“Now, I happen to belong to the Abortion Law Reform group. I believe that in certain instances—such as rape, risk of health to the mother, either physical or mental, and serious financial hardship, abortion should be legalised. I have had women come to me with a fifth, sixth pregnancy, so desperate they’ll do anything. I’ve been unable to help them, and I have to send them away knowing full well they’ll go to some backstreet butcher and quite possibly die as a consequence. So I can’t help you, I’m afraid. And even if the law was changed, I don’t
think you would qualify, do you? Not really? I mean, you are young, healthy, well-off, you are at least in a relationship, you have a good job, friends, a big family, from what I’ve always understood—”

“Yes, but … but Matt’s very difficult. He just wouldn’t go along with it. And even if I could twist his arm, make him marry me, he’d resent it terribly. It wouldn’t be a good … good start in life for a baby.”

“Eliza, if you knew how many young women have sat there over the years saying all this, and then come to see me again a few weeks later, radiantly happy, you’d be surprised. I’d put it at thousands, certainly hundreds. Now, the first thing you have to do is tell your Matt, and yes, I’m quite sure he’ll be very put out. But he’ll come round. Almost certainly. He’ll even, dare I suggest, be quite pleased. Once he’s got over the idea. Men do like to know they’re potent and fertile and all that.” She didn’t actually say “poor things” but it hung in the air. “And do it sooner rather than later, as soon as you can indeed.”

Eliza just sat, looking at her hands.

“Try to believe me,” Alison Munroe said. “Be brave. How about your boss; do you think he’ll be sympathetic?”

“I absolutely know he won’t,” said Eliza.