Now Is Our Time (24 page)

“Darling, do you know how much I love you?”

Claire stroked Miriam’s hair back off her face. The love she felt for her daughter was so immense that she was scared what she was about to say would hurt her.

“I love you more,” said Miriam.

“Not possible.”

“Yes it is.”

They giggled and shook their heads furiously. Then Claire turned serious.

“Sweetie, there’s a couple of things I need to discuss with you.”

Which ‘thing’ should she start with?

“I hope this doesn’t come as too much of a shock to you, but I wanted you to know that you’re going to have another brother or sister…….actually, you’re going to have two of them.”

“Two? You mean Jasper and yours?”

“No sweetie, I mean that I have two tiny little babies growing inside my tummy at the moment.” And then, to clarify, she added: “Jonah’s the father.”

Miriam sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide.

“You’re having
twins
?”

Claire wasn’t sure if Miriam looked thrilled or pained.

“Yes, all being well.”

Claire knew there were complications involved with carrying twins, so she didn’t want to tempt fate.

“Cool,” beamed Miriam.

“That’s really ok with you?” checked Claire.

“As long as they’re not as annoying as Jasper, then yes, that’s fine with me.”

Crikey, Claire suddenly feared they might be
more
annoying than Jasper. Two sets of lungs, two sets of crying and two mouths to feed.

“It might not always be easy,” Claire stroked her daughter’s face, “but you know that you’ll always be my very special big girl.”

Miriam nodded, leaning her cheek into her mother’s caress.

“Where will we live?” she asked. “Is this house going to be big enough for everyone?”

Claire sucked in her breath.

“That’s the other thing sweetheart. Jonah has asked us if we’d like to go and live with him in America, permanently. How would you feel about that?”

Damn, she shouldn’t have asked a question. She should have delivered the information as a fait accompli.

“When would we go? When the babies come?”

“No honey, I was hoping to go a little sooner; perhaps in the next few weeks. My job with ABC Television starts soon and it would be much easier if we were living there than if I had to keep flying back and forth.”

Miriam was quiet, digesting all the information. 

“What school would I go to?”

“Jonah’s already managed to get you a place at Martha’s school.”

Claire was about to ask if that sounded ok, but what if it
wasn’t
ok with her daughter? 

Miriam remained taciturn. Claire felt certain there was a myriad of questions buzzing inside her daughter’s head.

“What about all my friends?”

“You can still stay in contact with them if you want to by email and Skype. And we’ll definitely be coming back to London from time to time. I’m hoping to even keep this house.”

“Ok then,” said Miriam, as she lay back down.

“Ok?”

“Yes, it all sounds ok.”

Claire was waiting for and expecting Miriam to bring up the subject of her father, but perhaps she hadn’t yet quite worked out that their move would result in her seeing her daddy less.

“If there’s anything you ever want to ask or if you feel sad or worried, then please talk to me darling. I’m here and I want you to be happy. Nothing you can say will upset me. I’d be more upset if you
didn’t
tell me about something important which was on your mind.”

“What about grandma?” Miriam asked. “How will she come to see us?”

“Grandma has booked herself onto a course which will hopefully get rid of her fear of flying.”

Claire laughed, but actually the prospect of seeing her mother less did make her sad. Transatlantic air fares were costly. Nobody would be making that journey on a regular basis. Miriam took the book out of Claire’s hands and opened it. It was
Matilda
by Roald Dahl. 

“Can you read to me now?”

“Of course I can darling.”

CLAIRE AND JONAH

Claire took a left off Fleet Street and entered a twisted warren of cobbled pedestrian streets called Middle Temple. This was a little-known part of central London which Claire was only familiar with because she’d been married to Anthony.  The terraced Dickensian buildings lining the narrow lanes housed hundreds of barristers’ offices, which were called chambers. Near to where she was the alleys opened up into a pretty square with a fountain and a church on the side. This was where they had got married, in a grand Elizabethan hall whose high-beamed timber ceiling and dark oak walls had made it look like a set from
Shakespeare in Love
. They’d chosen bowls of green apples and gothic candelabra to dress the tables instead of flowers. Claire paused for a moment to recall this better time in their marriage and then picked up her pace. Anthony’s set of chambers wasn’t far from where she was now headed and she was petrified that she might bump into him. It made her feel very uncomfortable, but Jonah’s US-based law firm Quinn, Sullivan & Pentecost had recommended the best family lawyer to represent their case in the UK and, if the ‘best’ worked round the corner from her ex-husband, then so be it.

She’d spoken to Jonah the night before and those had been his words.
So be it
. “We need to win this thing, baby,” his dulcet tones soothed her, “so don’t worry if you bump into your ex-hubby. In fact, if you do, just smile and tell him ‘hey’. Don’t let him think for one second that you’re nervous.” They both giggled at the thought of her casually telling him ‘hey’. She touched the glass screen and he met her hand with his, their fingers meeting in a blurry pink mass of pixels. She hated how he was so far away, how when she reached out to him, all she got back was cold, un-giving LCD. “I wish you were coming with me,” Claire said in a small voice.  It felt odd and wrong being here in London, pregnant and without the father around. How on earth did army wives cope with that kind of agony, let alone with much longer absences than this? Hell, she needed to man up and be brave. She’d been a single mother and coped just fine before Jonah had reappeared on the scene, so she knew full-well that she
could
do it alone. It’s just that she no longer
wanted
to do it alone. Jonah planned to fly to the UK a couple of days before the hearing. She asked if he could maybe come a little earlier but he said that wasn’t possible. “There’s this work thing that I’ve got to do,” he told her, “plus Martha’s Mom is having an operation and I promised to have Martha for a few extra days.” It took all of Claire’s willpower not to pout and wallow in self-pity; right this second, should she not be his priority?
Get over it
. There would be plenty of other times in the future when Martha or Miriam would be put first so she needed to get used to it now.

She told Jonah about her conversation with Miriam and how well it had gone. He was jealous that she’d got it over and done with and vowed that when he picked up Martha that afternoon, he, too, would have the ‘conversation’. In fact, it might well have been done by now. This is what Claire was thinking as she saw the name of the barrister she’d come to meet, Benedict Pendleton, engraved on a brass plaque outside 10, Temple Gardens.

The clerk called up to Mr. Pendleton’s office to announce Claire’s arrival and then led her up a spiral stone staircase. Benedict was standing at his open door waiting, hand extended.

“Benedict Pendleton,” he introduced.

“Claire Jackson.” 

He motioned that she should enter and take a seat in the area next to his desk where there was a cosy selection of burgundy leather armchairs assembled round a coffee table. His office felt homely and comfortable, far less austere than Anthony’s. But then again, Anthony was usually meeting with hardened criminals, not divorcees. Perhaps that’s what people going through messy family disputes needed - a milieu which dampened the blow of acrimony. Benedict picked a file of papers off his desk and came to join Claire, sitting down in one of the chairs opposite, leaning forward.

“Ms Jackson,” he started.

“Please, call me Claire.”

Benedict smiled and cleared his throat. He reminded her of a younger and taller Robert de Niro.

“Claire,” he smiled warmly. “Let me start by saying congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she said.

She wasn’t sure if he was referring to the pregnancy or the fact that she was getting married. Or that she’d snared one of America’s most eligible suitors. 

“How far along are you?”

Now she knew.

“Nearly three months.”

“And have you gone public with it yet?”

“No, why?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her tone.

He threw the papers on the table and looked her straight in the eye.

“I’m not sure if you are aware, but normally this type of hearing would take place behind closed doors. But due to the nature of your application and the fact that it’s been expedited, I received news this morning that this case will be heard in an open family court.”

Claire wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“Should that be worrying me?”

“Well, it just means that your dirty laundry will be aired in public. There could even be members of the press present, although they’re not permitted to actually report it.”

“Surely the press wouldn’t be interested in me?”

Claire still didn’t think of herself as someone in the limelight and would the British press be that interested in Jonah? Or was Benedict suggesting that the American media could be there too? No, that was ridiculous. Who on earth would be interested in the fact that she was moving to America to live with Jonah? It was no big deal. People did it the whole time. Was she being naïve?

“My wife loves your slots on
Morning Cuppa,
so much that not only has she made several of your recipes - and let me tell you, she hates cooking normally - but she’s also now bugging me to spend next summer in California. And I don’t think she’s alone. That show has millions of viewers and your partner, Mr Kennedy, would definitely still be of interest to the media, especially in a situation like this.”

“But I, I mean we, don’t have any dirty laundry to air. Won’t the hearing just be a formality?”

Claire could feel her hands turning clammy. There were several small bottles of sparkling water on the table. She leaned forward to open one and half-filled a glass. Mr Pendleton waited until she’d taken a sip. 

“I haven’t yet received full disclosure of documents but it would surprise me greatly if your ex-husband didn’t put up a strong fight.”

“Do you know my ex-husband?”

“I don’t personally know him but he has a reputation. And he’s got one of the best family lawyers representing him.”

“But Quinn, Sullivan & Pentecost claim that
you’re
the best.”

Claire said it as a half-joke and Mr. Pendleton smiled but suddenly nothing about any of this felt in the least amusing. 

“We’ll be good adversaries and your case is strong but don’t be fooled into believing this will be a walkover. In normal situations it would be, but your ex-husband is likely to throw everything he’s got at this.”

“But I don’t
have
any dirty laundry,” Claire repeated.

“You might think you don’t but he’ll dig it out, of that I’m sure. So it’s quid pro quo. You need to go away and think hard about every bad parenting decision he’s ever made and any unsavoury characteristics he might have. Does he have a temper? Has he ever been violent or physically attacked your daughter or any of her friends? How present has he been as a father? We need independent character references for yourself and Mr. Kennedy also, to prove that you’re both excellent parents who have never put a foot wrong, that kind of thing.”

Claire could feel her palms moistening and her head was starting to spin. She took another sip of water. She hated confrontation and she didn’t want to be vindictive towards Anthony. She didn’t want to ruin his reputation or suggest to the world that he was a bad father.

“So your strategy is to tear my ex-husband’s credibility to shreds?”

Mr. Pendleton opened his hands in a gesture of apology.

“I’m afraid we can’t afford to sugar coat the situation. If necessary, fire will need to be met with fire.”

“Anything else I should know?” Claire attempted a weak smile.

Mr. Pendleton picked up the papers again and flicked through them.

“Yes,” he acknowledged, “I thought so. Your ex-husband has also asked for a social worker to interview your daughter.”

This information hit Claire like a vertiginous blow. Damn Anthony. It was one matter throwing sticks and stones at Claire, it was quite another to involve Miriam. Or worse still, to try to get her to choose. Claire’s legs were turning to jelly. She doubted she’d be able to stand if she tried.  

“I’m starting to think this is all a bad idea.”

“This is all par for the course, trust me. But that doesn’t mean that we won’t win. That’s why your ex-husband has to play it dirty, because he knows like I know that nine times out of ten this kind of case will sway in the mother’s favour.”

“And what happens the other ten per cent of the time?”

Benedict Pendleton’s demeanour oozed quiet confidence and professionalism.

“We’re not going to think about that. We’re only going to think positively. So your job is to go home, get yourself and your partner some sparkling character references and think hard about your ex-husband’s bad points. He’s a man,” Mr Pendleton eyes sparkled as he winked, “he must have lots of them!”

                                                  ------------

Claire took a double
decker red bus to get home, sitting at the front on top, opening one of the little side-panel windows to let in some air. All of a sudden her throat felt tight. She reminded herself to breathe and her inhalations took on a laboured heaviness as she sought cooler, fresher oxygen to replenish her lungs. Now she really did wish Jonah was here with her. She looked at her watch. It was only 11 am in the UK, 3 am in California. She would dearly love to call him to discuss Mr. Benedict Pendleton’s pearls of wisdom, but she didn’t dare. Better to let him sleep and spare him from the news for a while longer. Lord knows, she wished she’d been spared. Back in the US, when they hatched this plan, it all felt so simple and made complete and utter sense. Now there were ugly hurdles to jump and an uneasiness spread through her chest like heartburn.

She absent-mindedly flicked open her I-phone and glanced at her emails as a distraction. There was one from Will Ryan, ABC.

I received an anonymous letter informing me that you’re pregnant. If that’s not true, then please ignore this. If it is true then the team at ABC send you heartfelt congratulations. Pregnant presenters are always a ratings winner here in the US, the bigger the bump, the better! Just finalising the filming schedule our end, will be in touch very soon.

Best

Will 

On the one hand, this mail delighted Claire. On the other hand, what was all this about an anonymous letter? Who on earth would send something like that and why? And who even knew that she was pregnant in America? The only people she could think of were the doctors at the hospital. But what would they have to gain by sending a letter to ABC? Claire started trying to work out who else might send Will Ryan a tip-off but quickly gave up. It didn’t really matter. No harm had been done. Much more worrying were today’s enlightenments.

Everything was so complicated - love, divorce, children, happiness. Perhaps if it all came too easily the victories wouldn’t taste quite so sweet. But, for every victory, there was a flip side, someone who lost or suffered. Transatlantic relationships were problematic. Claire thought about Madonna and Guy Ritchie, Gwyneth and Chris Martin. When everything’s good, it’s great, but when the parents either consciously or unconsciously uncouple, it’s the children and parent left behind who suffer. Claire couldn’t help that Jonah lived in America, but was she being selfish in wanting to emigrate and take Miriam with her? What was the alternative? If Jonah came to the UK, when would he see Martha? Someone would lose out whichever way you looked at it. It was an imperfect world. She leaned her head on the rail in front of her and closed her eyes.