The Baby Group (14 page)

Robert blinked at the table for a moment and then at Meg, who was jiggling a squalling Iris on her shoulder.

‘For God's sake just feed her,
please
,' he said as he sat down heavily. ‘I'm shattered, I just need some peace and quiet.'

Meg sat opposite him, unbuttoned the top of her nightie and put Iris to her breast. She watched Robert as he poured himself a glass of the wine and then buttered some bread. He seemed pleased with the food at least.

‘I was thinking,' Meg ventured, ‘it's ages since we've just had some time together on our own.' She looked down at Iris. ‘Well, almost on our own. And so I thought it might be nice if I waited up for you.' She paused, not exactly sure how to say what she wanted to say. ‘So that we could go to bed . . . together for once.'

‘Actually, I'm really tired,' Robert said, dropping the knife onto the plate with a clatter and pushing the untouched food away. ‘I think I'll just go to bed now.'

Meg put Iris in her bassinet and stayed downstairs for a few moments longer, carefully covering the cheese and the meat with cling film before putting them away and feeding Gripper a few titbits as she went in the hope that it would encourage her not to raid the fridge again. She wasn't exactly sure what she had expected to happen when Robert came in, she realised, as she went rather hesitantly up the stairs but she supposed she had thought he would be so pleased to see her up, awake and romantically inclined, even if she wasn't that much of an expert at showing it. She had thought that he would at least be . . . friendly. Meg told herself she wasn't being fair. After all the hard work he put in he was entitled to be tired and grumpy. And if he'd stopped out even later than usual to have a drink then he deserved it.

‘Quality time isn't snatching a few minutes when both of you are exhausted,' she told Iris in a soft, low whisper as she laid her down in her cot. ‘It's about creating time and space to be together. I'll suggest we find an evening. I'll get a babysitter. When we're both relaxed and in good moods we'll be just like we always used to be, you'll see.' She smoothed the back of her forefinger along Iris's cheek before creeping out and pulling the nursery door to.

Robert was already in bed, his back facing the door.

Meg slid off her dressing gown and climbed in beside him, feeling rather obvious now in the lacy nightie she had last worn on the romantic weekend break that had resulted in Iris.

‘I saw this thing on the telly,' she said conversationally. ‘Silly really, about how women should cherish their husbands more . . .'

‘Really,' Robert said without turning over, an edge of irritation to his voice.

‘That's why I got you the food and stayed up, or tried to. I should have realised you'd be tired . . .' Meg trailed off, looking at the familiar and yet newly alien contours of Robert's back. She reached out and laid her palm flat against one shoulder, feeling his muscles tense at her touch.

‘After all,' she said, resolving to keep her hand against his skin. ‘We hardly see each other any more, do we? And when was the last time you and I had time to ourselves?'

Robert turned abruptly onto his back, requiring Meg to move her hand quickly out of the way to avoid it being trapped by the weight of his torso.

‘Don't have a go at
me
,' he said, with quiet, compressed fury as he stared at the ceiling. ‘This is the way
you
wanted it.'

Meg tucked her hand underneath her head as she lay on her side and looked at his profile. She knew he was angry, she knew he was tired, she realised it was pointless trying to resolve any of that now when all he wanted to do was sleep, but still she couldn't let the question that had framed in her mind go unspoken. She knew by asking it she was crossing the border into some place she might not want to go. But still she asked.

‘What do you mean, this is the way I wanted it?' she said, feeling suddenly frightened.

‘You wanted all this,' Robert said, gesturing sharply around at their bedroom, but meaning, Meg supposed, their house, their life. ‘And you wanted the big family and to be a full-time mum . . .'

‘We both did, didn't we?' Meg asked him.

‘It takes a lot of work to keep this up on my own, Megan,' Robert went on without pausing to answer her and, Meg thought, maybe not even hearing her. ‘A lot of hard work. So I'm
sorry
if I'm not home at seven on the dot every evening to eat at a table with my family. I'm
sorry
if I'm out till all hours working my arse off to keep you in the manner to which you have clearly become accustomed but that is just that way it is, because of what
you
wanted.' He rolled over to face away from her again, his shoulders as stiff as bared teeth.

‘That's not what I meant,' Meg said, unable to let the unravelling thread of the conversation go, even though she knew that the more she tugged at it the more the fabric of her life might fray and fall apart. ‘I didn't mean to blame you, Robert. I do know why you are working all these hours. It's hard for us both at the moment with four small children, but it will get better. And I just thought that perhaps we might be able to make a little bit of time for us here and there . . .'

Robert did not move. He did not even appear to breathe for several frightening moments and then he said, ‘I never wanted all this. All I wanted when we got married was you and me, but you kept banging on about how much a big family meant to you, about your dream house and your dream life. Sometimes I wonder if that is all you ever wanted me for, to dish out the sperm and the cash.'

‘Robert . . .'

‘Because,' Robert went on, ‘if we didn't have the kids and this house and a mortgage the size of the national debt then . . .'

‘Then what?' Meg asked compulsively.

‘Then perhaps I'd have wife I wanted to come home to,' Robert said, his voice hard and angry. For a few seconds longer Meg watched him, waiting for him to turn back to her, to take her in his arms and tell her he was just tired and he'd had a bad day at work and that he was really sorry, he hadn't meant anything he had said. Instead, more than a minute passed before he sat up and roughly pulled his dressing gown on around him.

‘I'm hungry,' he said, getting out of bed. He turned the bedroom light off as he closed the door behind him.

That was what Robert had said to her last night, or rather earlier this morning. So yes, she felt that she and James's teddy had quite a lot in common right now.

The doorbell went and Gripper halted her assault on Teddy to bowl up the hallway and hurl herself at the front door, barking enthusiastically at the shadow on the other side of the stained glass. Meg realised that, with much the same excitement as the dog, James would soon be out of bed and downstairs to see who had arrived. At last she got off the chair, her backside numb and her back painfully stiff as she bent to sweep the remnants of Teddy off the tiles and shove them in the bin on her way to answer the door. For one mad, wonderful moment she thought it might be Robert full of remorse and ready to apologise, but then Robert had a key so why would he ring? For a split second she thought about flowers. He might have sent her flowers. But he hadn't been out long enough to organise a bouquet.

She must have slept at some point during the night because she had woken late to hear the front door slam and to find her four-year-old, Hazel, leaning over her dressed in her uniform and school coat.

‘Daddy's taking us to school!' Hazel had exclaimed, so happy that she got a ten minute car ride with her father that Meg almost wanted to cry.

‘That's lovely,' she had said. ‘Where's Daddy?'

‘Waiting in the car. Alex is with him. But I wanted to say bye,' Hazel had said. She was a forthright little girl, she said what she felt and she usually did what she wanted.

‘Bye then, sweetie,' Meg had said, kissing her daughter. ‘See you at home time.'

No, it wouldn't be flowers. If Robert could wash and dress the children and give them breakfast, a job he never usually had time for, rather than have to risk another conversation with her, then it definitely wouldn't be flowers.

Sure enough, James was already at the door banging his palms against it as Gripper used the little boy's shoulders to prop herself up onto her back feet. Above the noise Meg could hear Iris's irritated wail begin to rise and thicken, proclaiming that she was hungry and wet and generally fed up.

Sweeping boy and dog aside, Meg opened the door.

‘You're not dressed!' Frances said, looking at her wristwatch. ‘We're going to be really late.'

‘Late?' Meg asked her. Frances tutted and bustled past her with little Henry bundled in a thickly padded snowsuit that made his arms and legs stick out at doll-like angles.

‘James is still in his pyjamas, and is that Iris crying?' Frances shoved Gripper out of the way with a firm sweep of her leg. Meg followed her dumbly up the stairs and into the nursery.

‘Late for what?' she managed to ask Frances as she picked up Iris and took her to the change table.

‘Steve's!' Frances exclaimed irritably. ‘It's that baby aerobics thing and we're supposed to be going to Steve's place first – remember? I said that meeting more than once a week would be too much but you were all for it. And now look. We're supposed to be there in ten minutes.' Frances looked around the nursery as if formulating a plan of attack.

‘Well, we'll just have to leave this mess for now. I'll dress James while you see to Iris and then have a quick wash. If we motor we should only be about ten minutes late, which is just about acceptable even if you do only live over the road.'

Meg let the tidal force of Frances's voice wash over her and recede before she spoke.

‘I'm not going today,' she said eventually.

Frances stopped folding Babygros.

‘Not going?' she asked. ‘But you have too!'

‘I'm coming down with something. I'm really tired. You go, send my apologies, OK?' Meg sat down in the rocking chair and began to feed Iris, noticing how uncomfortable Frances was, being in the same room with her and her naked breast.

‘I can't go if you don't go,' Frances said, sitting down abruptly and shifting the starfish-shaped Henry onto her knee.

‘Why not?' Meg asked her. ‘Of course you can.'

‘I can't. You know I can't. They don't like me.'

Meg sank her head into her shoulders. The last thing she needed was to have to support Frances through another of her occasional bouts of paranoia.

‘Of course they like you.' Meg forced her voice to sound friendly.

‘They like
you
,' Frances said flatly. ‘They won't like me going on my own without you.'

‘Well, don't go then!' Meg said edgily.

‘Are you saying I'm right?' Frances asked her, her tone particularly high and thin. ‘Are you saying they don't like me?'

‘You said it, not me,' Meg replied. ‘I don't think it at all. But in any case I'm not going today.'

‘There's no need to shout at me,' Frances said, even though Megan was sure she had not shouted.

‘I'm just so tired and . . .' Meg had wanted to say sad, but she stopped herself. Frances would want to know why she was sad and she couldn't tell Robert's sister the truth. She'd have to make something up on the spot, and whatever it was it wouldn't be a good enough to convince Frances that sadness was justified.

Frances was not the kind of person to give sympathy for any minor ills or worries. You needed to have had a leg drop off on the same day your house burnt down for Frances to think you had anything to moan about. A few weeks ago Meg had dared to express sadness about breaking an old and treasured vase that had belonged to her grandmother.

‘Well, at least you haven't been killed in a tsunami,' Frances had admonished her. And she was right of course, in the scheme of things an old vase with purely sentimental value was nothing at all. But even so Meg felt she should be allowed to feel a little bit sorry for herself now and again – especially now.

‘OK, we won't go,' Frances said, setting Henry on the floor and beginning to unzip him. ‘I'll stay and here and help you get this place straight.

‘No!' Meg said with much more force than she intended.

Frances froze and looked up at Meg.

‘No?' she asked, perplexed.

‘Just go to the group, go to Baby Aerobics and have a good time,
please
,' Meg said, knowing she sounded quite rude and feeling both appalled at and proud of herself at the same time.

‘Fine,' Frances said, zipping Henry smartly up again. ‘Fine, I will go. I know when I'm not wanted.'

‘Frances . . .' Meg called out without much enthusiasm as Frances flounced out of the nursery and stalked down the stairs.

‘It's just that I don't feel well . . .' Meg tried again, but the front door had slammed shut even before she reached the end of the sentence.

‘Mummy?' James's tear-stained face appeared in the doorway. His lip trembling, he approached her, holding out something very small that glinted amber in the light. It was one of Teddy's eyes.

‘Teddy's gone!' he wailed, tipping backwards and hitting the carpet with a painful thud. ‘Gripper's killed Teddy!'

Meg looked at her little boy lying on the floor, rigid with grief and bawling his eyes out. And she had to resist – with every ounce of her strength – the urge to lie down next to him and do the very same thing.

Chapter Nine