One Step Closer to You (12 page)

@GateauAuChocolat
It’s another fishy Friday & it’s Mary-Jane’s fish chowder, Jean’s fish pie and Polly’s choc-peanut butter cake!

‘Thank Crunchie it’s Friday,’ Louis and I had said to one another this morning, like we always do on a Friday. He’s looking forward to the weekend; I’m looking forward to AA.

I slide the cake folder out from the bookshelf. Mary-Jane is stirring the fish chowder. Aunt Viv joins me in the kitchen to make herself a coffee. She looks sophisticated even in a pair of charcoal palazzo pants; her brown hair is tied back accentuating her cheekbones and nut-brown eyes. Aunt Viv practises yoga every morning; it’s something she got into whilst living in Los Angeles. She swears by it, saying it helps her tap into a kind of calmness.

‘Jean is driving me mad,’ she says, glancing at the menu board. ‘Fish soup
and
fish pie?’

‘I heard that!’ he shouts from upstairs.

‘And fishcakes for pudding,’ I joke. Mary-Jane shoots me one of her famous disapproving looks.

Aunt Viv and I try not to laugh. Aunt Viv says she’s Mrs Danvers in Marigolds.

‘How’s Louis?’ she asks as I melt butter in a pan.

‘Good.’ His questions about Matt have calmed down in the last few days. ‘He’s beginning to enjoy cooking too.’ I tell her that when I’d taken him to the supermarket last weekend, telling him he could eat whatever he liked as a special treat for getting a gold star at school … ‘He went for red bream because he liked the colour. We grilled it and made a tomato salad.’

‘He’s a lovely boy, Polly. And how’s that handsome man? The uncle.’

I smile, knowing she’s fishing for gossip. ‘Fine.’

She raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t trust the word fine. Fine means nothing. ‘Is he a friend of Bill’s?’ she asks.

Bill Wilson, or Bill W., was the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, so when we ask if someone is a friend of Bill’s, it’s code for asking if he’s in our tribe. ‘How do you know?’

‘I sort of sensed it, Polly.’

‘Well it was a good guess. Actually Aunt Viv, can I have some advice about Ben?’

‘Sure.’

I remove the butter from the heat before leading her to the communal table; we sit in the corner. ‘You know, more
than anyone …’ I take her hand, ‘what it’s like to lose someone.’

She nods.

‘I’ve been reading up about bereavement and how language can confuse a child.’ I tell her that Emily isn’t sleeping because she’s terrified that something might happen to her at night. Ben had told her that Grace had died in her sleep, so now Emily doesn’t dare shut her eyes. ‘How stupid can I be?’ Ben had said to Jim and me one Monday morning at the school gates. ‘Children take things so literally.’ She’s also convinced that her mum will come back for her birthday this summer; she can’t understand that death is a permanent state.

‘Tell me if this is stupid,’ I continue, ‘but I was wondering if they should have some kind of ritual for their old dog, Patch, to show he’s never coming back?’

‘Yes,’ she replies, and immediately I feel relieved that she’s not laughing at my suggestion.

‘Maybe they should get another dog?’

‘Maybe, but it’s important Emily doesn’t think life can be replaced, just like that. When did Patch die?’

‘Over a year ago.’

‘Does Ben like dogs?’

‘I don’t think he’s ever thought about them either way.’

‘You care for him, don’t you?’

I nod. ‘And Emily too.’

Jean joins us. ‘I couldn’t help eavesdropping.’

‘Nosy bugger,’ says Aunt Viv.

He ignores her. ‘Have you heard of Bernard Crettaz?’

I shake my head.

‘He set up the Mortal Café in Switzerland and France, a place where people come and drink tea, eat cake and talk about life, death, mourning, the loss of a spouse, a child …’ He looks at Aunt Viv with deep love in his eyes. ‘The café is the opposite of the British stiff upper lip.’ He pulls a face that makes both Aunt Viv and me smile. ‘In this country, we go to the funeral and then after a set amount of time we are supposed to move on. No more tears. As children we are told not to cry, we pull ourselves together, so it’s not surprising that we find it hard to show emotion. I think a dog for Emily is a wonderful idea, it will remind her of those happy days with her mother. Ben needs to keep those memories alive.’

*

Three days later, Jim, Ben and I are having coffee after the Monday morning school run and moaning that given it is March, shouldn’t it be a little warmer? I’ve prepped Jim to encourage the dog idea. I won’t mention it immediately; maybe buy Ben a blueberry muffin first. Ben is letting off steam, something I’ve become used to. Emily will not brush her teeth in the mornings and he cannot seem to get through to her that it’s unhygienic.

‘What do you say to her?’ I ask.

‘That all her teeth will fall out if she doesn’t do it.’

Jim and I glance at one another.

‘Then she cries. You see?’ He shrugs, registering our faces. ‘I’m hopeless.’

‘No, you’re not,’ both Jim and I say at the same time.

‘I can’t do this. I’m never going to be enough for her.’

‘What Emily has gone through, is going through, is horrific, but she has
you
and you are making progress. I see it in Emily, I do. I’d love Louis to have a father, of course I would, but he’ll be just fine, I’ll make sure of that.’

‘I know my position is completely different to yours, Ben, but I feel inadequate most of the time as well.’ Ben and I turn to Jim, unsure how he can quite compete in this arena. ‘Just hear me out, OK?’

We nod.

‘I live with constant guilt because a mother’s pair of shoes are a hard pair to fill. I only started looking after Maisy when she was four and all she used to say to me was, “When’s it Mummy’s turn to be at home again?” It’s better now,’ he admits. ‘She realises this is how it is. Emily will also grow to understand that you are her father, the person she can trust. Children are resilient, much more so than adults sometimes, and they’re good at adapting, don’t underestimate that. There is one thing I am much better at,’ Jim goes on, brewing a smile. ‘Maisy loves me driving her to swimming classes or dancing.’

‘Why?’ Ben and I ask at the same time.

‘“Because when I drive with Dad,” Jim says, imitating Maisy’s voice, “there are so many buggers and wankers on the road!”’

We all laugh.

‘You’ve got to laugh sometimes, haven’t you?’ Jim says. ‘Otherwise you’d cry. Muffins?’ I feel a soft kick under the table.

As Jim heads over to the counter to order a slice of banana bread and two blueberry muffins …

‘What is it?’ Ben asks me. ‘You look constipated.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Spit it out.’

‘OK, I’ve been thinking …’

‘Always overrated.’

‘I’ve been thinking about Emily and how she grabs hold of the leads of other people’s dogs when we’re out walking.’

‘I know. Awkward, that.’

‘She really misses Patch.’

‘You think I should get a dog?’

‘A dog! What a great idea,’ says Jim, overdoing it as he hands us our sweet fixes.

‘I think it could help Emily,’ I suggest. ‘It would give her something to care for. I know someone whose dog has just had puppies, she’s …’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Ben interrupts, before heading outside for a cigarette.

*

It’s the Easter holidays and in front of me is a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Scottie, who has the most enormous ears you have ever seen. ‘Do my ears look big in this?’ I joke to Ben.

We’d visited the puppy last Monday, and of course it was a done deal the moment Emily clapped eyes on her rolling around and playing in the pen. ‘You can have her for free,’ the owner had said, knowing Ben’s background. He thanked her for her enormous generosity, holding the puppy in both hands and promising to take great care of her.

The ball of black fluff makes her way into Emily’s bedroom, all of us following closely behind. Each time I visit Ben’s flat I notice yet more small changes. Luckily for Emily, Ben has replaced the painting in her room that looked like a nosebleed with an old-fashioned fairy print they found together in a second-hand bookshop in Primrose Hill. Emily also has a new dressing table that shows off a collection of snow globes she found with her mother.

I also noticed a small framed picture of Grace in Ben’s room, placed on his bedside table. She’s sitting on a lawn, her hair held back in a patterned scarf. Ben tells me it was taken in her garden.

The puppy darts out of Emily’s room, skids across the floor and is now back in the sitting room, where she decides it’s a good time and place to do a piddle, missing the nappy mats Ben has strategically placed throughout the flat. He
rushes over to the scene of the crime with his cloth and small bowl of soapy water. ‘I’ve counted fourteen bloody wees,’ Ben says when Louis, Emily and puppy are out of earshot, ‘and three poos already this morning. She escaped her pen, the bugger.’

‘Once she’s trained, she’ll be fine,’ I say, before adding, ‘but we’ve got to give her a name.’

‘Patch!’ Emily jumps up and down, before Ben and I try to explain that Patch can’t be replaced. We have to think of something new.

We watch Emily rocking the puppy in her arms, a look of pure joy on her face. Ben stands close to me, his arm brushing against mine. ‘Thank you, Polly.’

‘What for?’

‘This. She’s a different girl.’

I’m at the kitchen table, preparing myself to tell Matthew. It’s great news, I reassure myself. A new life! When I have a baby I won’t want to party all night or drink until dawn. I’ll be so wrapped up in my baby that even if I were invited to the best gig in Hollywood I wouldn’t want to go. I’m looking forward to having a break from teaching in the first six months. I’ll miss the children, but already I can see myself slipping into a new routine. I’ll bake again, like I used to. We’ll have pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast, go for walks in the park, swings in the playground and feeding bread to the ducks. I’ll meet the other mums and we’ll go out for coffee mornings. Matthew will be a great father; he’ll be the kind caring dad that he never had. His business will provide for us. Maybe we’ll buy our own place with a garden and a paddling pool. I can learn to garden.

When I hear the key in the lock, I pray it’s Hugo. I couldn’t concentrate at school today; all I could think about was our argument last night. He sent me a message saying he was moving out. He’d pick his things up at the weekend.

‘Polly?’ he calls.

‘In here,’ I say, registering my disappointment.

Matt drops his overnight bag by the kitchen door. ‘What are you doing sitting in the dark, Miss Stephens?’ He switches on the light, walks towards me. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me as if he hasn’t seen me for a year. I hold him close and breathe in his scent. I can’t get enough of his touch. He pulls me to my feet and makes me sit on the kitchen table.

‘Matt, I need to tell you …’

‘Shh.’ He unzips the back of my skirt, only one thing on his mind. His hands are running down the insides of my thighs; slowly he spreads my legs apart.

‘We don’t need one,’ I murmur when he produces a condom from his pocket.

‘What?’

‘I’m having a baby,’ I whisper, my heart beating hard and fast.

He stands back. ‘But we were being careful, weren’t we?’

‘Not
all
the time, Matt …’

‘How many weeks? You don’t look any different.’

‘Twelve.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I can show you the blue line. I’ve done it three times.’

He remains silent.

‘You’re not happy, are you?’

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know if I’m ready. Are you?’

‘It’ll be fine. I can look after it,’ I assure him. ‘Babies are like puppies to begin with; all they need is plenty of food and sleep. It’ll be fun.’ I try to kiss him, remind him where we were, but the moment has gone.

*

Later that evening, when we’re in bed, I tell him about Hugo moving out, pretending he’d wanted to give us more space.

‘Polly, he hates my guts, doesn’t he?’

‘He’s not your number one fan.’

Matthew strokes my cheek. ‘What with the baby and all, why don’t I move in, permanently?’

*

Eight weeks later it’s the morning of my twenty-week scan and Janey and I are in the crowded waiting room at Queen Charlotte’s Hospital, flicking through magazines. Matt couldn’t come today. He has an important meeting with his architect, going over construction plans for the Wandsworth house. ‘See if Blondie can go with you,’ he’d said.

‘Oh look,’ Janey says, stopping on a page. I lean across to see what she’s reading. ‘Am I an Alcoholic?’ is written
in bold. ‘Has binge drinking become a way of life?’ Below are questions and all you need to do is tick yes or no in the boxes besides them, add up the numbers of yeses and nos and the test will tell you the rest.

‘This should be interesting.’ She digs into her handbag for a pen.

“
Are you more in a hurry to get your first drink of the day than you used to be?
”

‘Definitely,’ Janey says, heading straight for the ‘yes’ box. ‘I tell you, the first thing I do when I get back from work is open a bottle. I’m convinced I’m going to be made redundant. “
Do you feel uncomfortable if alcohol isn’t available?
”’

She ticks the ‘yes’ box. ‘I was at a wedding recently and all the people on our table, even the men, were talking about which bloody schools they were going to send their kids to and all the wine had run out. It was awful.

‘“
Have you ever been unable to remember part of the previous evening? Has a family friend expressed concern about your drinking?
”’

‘Stop it, Janey. We both know we drink like two old fish.’

‘I could do with a nine-month detox. Have you had any cravings by the way?’

‘Wine and fags.’

We both smile. She closes the magazine, chucks it onto the table. ‘You definitely don’t want to know the sex?’

‘Matt doesn’t want to find out.’

‘How’s it all going with him?’

I detect concern in her voice so overcompensate by saying, ‘Great! He’s really thrilled, can’t wait!’ I glance at the other couples in the room. It’s not odd he didn’t want to come, I reassure myself.

‘How’s your mum?’ Janey continues.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Is she excited?’

I shrug. ‘She calls Matt “that man”.’

Janey narrows her eyes. ‘To be fair, she hasn’t met him.’

‘Because I know it will be a disaster. Nothing I do is good enough for her. This …’ I gesture to my bump, ‘is another disappointment. I’m not married, no ring on my finger …’

‘She’s probably looking forward to being a grandmother though,’ Janey says. ‘You should take Matt up to Norfolk. Give your mum a chance to meet him.’

*

The nurse is telling me to relax as she performs the ultrasound but all I can think of is Mum meeting Matt. I’m also waiting for her to tell me something is wrong. I can tell from the way she’s looking at the screen that my baby has two heads.

‘Everything looks healthy.’

‘Really? Are you sure?’ I burst into tears. Janey squeezes my hand.

The nurse smiles at me sympathetically, as if she’s used to hormonal mothers-to-be. Gently she points out to me on the screen where my baby’s spine is, and those are the
little fingers and toes. When I see its heart, my eyes fill with tears. There is a little person inside me, breathing. I need to cast aside any doubts. I can do this. I am going to be a great mother. I can’t let him or her down.