The Bridesmaid Pact (9 page)

‘Good,’ said Caz, ‘I’m glad.’

The conversation turned to other matters and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was only just admitting to myself what a catastrophic mistake my marriage had been. Caz was the last person I wanted to know the truth. Because then I’d have to face up to the fact that she had been right all along.

Beth

‘Mrs Davies, you can come through now,’ a kind-looking nurse ushered me into a room, with a single bed and a curtain round it. She handed me a gown and told me to get undressed. I swallowed nervously. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this. Even after being poked about as much as I had been in the last two years, I still had a prudish hatred of anything happening in that region. I blamed my mother, a wonderful woman in many ways, but so devout she had insisted tampons were the work of the devil. Matt had really wanted to come with me today, but I wanted to come alone. I couldn’t bear the thought of him near me when something so private and sensitive was going on. I sensed his puzzlement, but memories of before kept flooding through me and though I knew this would be different, I just wanted to do this on my own.

Once changed, I lay on the bed, feeling slightly sick. I’d been taking hormonal injections since the weekend – Sarah had rung to ask me to go for a drink with her and Caz, but I’d said no, not wanting to jinx things – and this was it, the moment when it had been decided that my eggs were mature enough to collect. But the procedure itself wasn’t
pleasant. Even though I was going to be under sedation, the thought of having a needle shoved up inside me was not a pleasant one. Matt had insisted he at least came to collect me and as I lay there waiting nervously for the doctor to come in, I realized that I did want him there after all, but now it was too late.

The doctor smiled and inserted a cannula into my hand before injecting me with a sedative. It made me feel woozy and comfortable and for the first time since I’d come into the room I felt relaxed and easy. I started gabbling to the nurse who smiled at me and took my hand.

‘Do you think it will work?’ I said. ‘It has to work, we have to have a baby.’

The nurse smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m sure everything will be just fine.’

I tried not to wince as the doctor inserted the needle inside me. I had a sudden flashback to another room like this, a long time ago, when I had felt alone and unloved, and panic surged through me. Suppose this all went wrong? My mother would say that IVF wasn’t natural. Maybe I would never get my baby.

‘Breathe deeply, in and out,’ the nurse said, squeezing my hand. She could see the distress in my eyes, and hear the panic in my voice, as I asked over and over again if it would be all right.

‘Everything will be fine,’ she kept saying, ‘you’ll see.’

But afterwards when it was over, and I sat waiting for Matt to pick me up, I felt numb and bruised. I had a pain in my stomach similar to period pain, and felt like I was going to throw up. Matt came and found me, looking shell shocked and dazed. He took me in his arms and held me tight.

‘Is it worth it?’ I said as I lay against him. ‘Do you think it’s worth it?’

‘I’m sure it is,’ he said, kissing the top of my head. ‘Come on, you knew it was going to be tough. You’ll feel different when Foetus gets going, you know you will.’

I sat in the car going home in a daze. I wanted him to be right. I wanted this all to be worth the effort, but the dark poisonous side of my soul wouldn’t stop sneaking up behind me and telling me that I didn’t deserve a baby. And I shivered, wondering how we would cope if the IVF didn’t work.

‘Beth? Why are you at home? They said at work you were ill. Is everything all right?’ Dorrie was on the phone all bubbling, cheerful concern. It was amazing how even her phone presence seemed to fill the room. Dearly as I loved Doris, I always felt diminished in her presence. I was shy anyway, but Doris always made me feel shyer.

‘No, I’m fine,’ I said, ‘just a bad cold.’ I sniffed a bit, hoping that she wouldn’t find me out for the phony I was. But luckily being Dorrie, she was on to the next thing.

‘Oh that’s a shame,’ she said. ‘I was heading into town with Woody to look for an outfit to go away in. I was wondering if you’d like to meet up with me.’

‘Sorry, Dorrie,’ I said, ‘not today. I really do feel lousy.’ Which was perfectly true. I felt bruised and battered, and emotionally I had taken a pummelling. Though they had my eggs, which had been unromantically entwined with Matt’s sperm in a Petri dish, I was nowhere near convinced this was going to work. We had one chance to get a freebie on the NHS. One chance. That was it. The financial consequences of it not working were too hideous to contemplate. ‘Is Sarah about?’

‘No, I think she’s busy,’ said Doris, ‘and I can hardly ask Caz at the moment.’

‘Have you heard from her?’ I felt guilty. I’d sent her a text it was true, but I’d been so caught up in my own stuff, I hadn’t followed it up.

‘I spoke to her this morning,’ said Dorrie. ‘Apparently she and Sarah went out for a drink.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Sarah asked me to come too. but I couldn’t make it. I was pretty stunned I can tell you. How did it go?’

‘Sarah said they had a nice time. Well. Maybe not a nice time, given the circumstances, but apparently they’re talking again.’

‘Wonders will never cease,’ I said. That was the last thing I’d expected. I really thought Sarah and Caz were destined never to make up. ‘Do we know when the funeral is yet?’

‘Next Wednesday,’ said Dorrie. ‘You going then?’

‘Of course.’ It had been my first thought when Caz had rung me to tell me about her mum. Even though we’d been distant for so long, I figured she could do with a friend. ‘One four all and all four one and all that.’ I shoved aside the thought that if my eggs were fertilized properly, Foetus might be taking precedence. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

‘Good,’ said Doris. ‘I said I’d go too. Maybe even Sarah will come now.’

‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘Whatever’s happened in the past, Caz had a lousy time with her mum and I think she could use her friends right now.’

‘Perhaps I’ll leave my shopping till after the funeral,’ said Doris. ‘It seems a bit superficial to be going now.’

‘I don’t think you should think like that,’ I said. ‘Just because Caz’s mum died, it doesn’t mean your wedding has to stop. It’s not as if any of us liked her.’

I certainly hadn’t. I still shuddered at the memory of her shouting at us all when we went round once after school. She was so wild and angry, and
drunk
at four in the afternoon. So different from my quiet, calm household. I’d always had a soft spot for Caz after that, which I suppose is why I always forgave her in the end.

‘True,’ said Dorrie. ‘It’s not the same going on my own though. I know…’ I could almost hear the wheels of her excited thoughts turning, ‘…let’s all go shopping together. When things have calmed down for Caz I mean. Wouldn’t that be great?’

‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ I said, wondering if Caz really would think so, and whether I could think up an excuse not to go if I needed more bed rest.

‘Great,’ said Doris. ‘I’ll wait till after the funeral and let the others know. It’ll be just like old times, you’ll see.’

Three days later, I was back at the hospital. This time, Matt had insisted on accompanying me and I had let him. I was too nervous to do this alone. Besides, it was his baby, it didn’t seem right to keep him out of things. Like having sex without him or something.

‘You OK?’ Matt squeezed my hand as we sat in the waiting room, which was filled with other hopeful couples like us. We had a twenty-five per cent chance of the IVF working, which meant that the majority of the people sitting here would be disappointed.

‘Think so,’ I said. I felt sick, and hollow inside. Suppose it didn’t work? Suppose I got pregnant and then lost the
baby? This might be one of our few chances to have a family of our own. It felt huge. And yet, for the first time the possibility that Foetus might actually turn into a proper baby seemed real. After today I could actually be pregnant. In nine months’ time, I might be a mother. It was such a responsibility. I swallowed hard.

‘Are we doing the right thing?’ I said. ‘Maybe we’re not cut out to be parents. That’s why we haven’t got pregnant yet. Perhaps this is nature’s way of telling us it’s not for us.’

‘Shh,’ Matt put his finger to my lips. ‘That’s your nutty mother talking. I refuse to allow you to entertain ideas like that, so stop it right now.’

‘OK,’ I said. I sat back and tried to concentrate on the magazine I was reading until we were called in to see the consultant.

‘Right,’ he said, shaking both our hands, ‘do you want to see your babies?’

‘Um…Matt?’ I said, slightly stunned. ‘Babies? We only wanted the one.’

‘We fertilized twelve of your eggs, and three of them didn’t take,’ the consultant explained, ‘but you can have a look at the ones that have survived through the microscope if you like.’

Matt squeezed my hand. ‘I think that would be great, don’t you, Beth?’

I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to, but allowed myself to be persuaded. We peered curiously down the microscope at the contents of a Petri dish. I don’t know what I expected to see. The shape of a baby perhaps? Even though I knew that was ridiculous, I was absurdly disappointed to see a group of four or five cells overlaid on each other – the
doctor said there were actually eight but we couldn’t see them all. The important thing was that they were dividing, and thus able to be put back inside me.

Matt was more excited than I was. ‘Wow,’ he kept saying, ‘there’s Foetus. Isn’t it fantastic?’ He grinned at me and squeezed my hand. ‘I just can’t get over seeing our baby at the beginning like this, it’s such a privilege.’

I knew what he meant, but I was feeling cautious too. Foetus becoming a reality relied on those cells multiplying inside me, it seemed an absurdly hopeful project to me. So much could still go wrong.

‘Right, shall we get started then?’ said the consultant.

I swallowed hard. It was now or never. Once the cells were injected into me, we’d have a nerve-racking two-week wait to find out if I was pregnant or not. Suddenly I wasn’t sure I could cope with the stress of it all. But Matt steadied me, smiling encouragement as I was sedated once more, my feet hoiked up in stirrups (why is everything relating to having babies so utterly, utterly humiliating?), feeling naked and exposed while the doctor inserted the eggs.

It was awkward and embarrassing – even more so because Matt was there – and a little uncomfortable, but it was over much quicker than I’d thought.

‘Right, that’s it.’ The doctor took off his plastic gloves with an energetic ping. ‘That’s you done. Baby or babies Davies now in place. It’s up to them now. Make sure you rest and don’t do anything stressful or energetic for the next couple of weeks. We’ll give you a pregnancy test and you can let us know the result in a fortnight.’

‘Does that mean she shouldn’t be going to any funerals?’ said Matt pointedly.

He’d been really anxious about it ever since he’d heard that I was determined to go.

‘I wouldn’t advise you to do anything stressful,’ said the doctor, ‘but so long as you’re careful it should be OK. Take it as easy as you can. Your babies need all the help they can get.’

I looked at Matt and he looked at me. I could see the same mixture of anxiety and hope in his eyes as I knew were in mine. Foetus actually existed inside me. And there was nothing either of us could do to make it a reality. Like the doctor said, it was up to Foetus now.

Caz

I sat in the front row of the church staring resolutely ahead. Despite Auntie Nora’s disapproval, I’d opted not to follow the coffin as family custom dictated. I knew most of the family wouldn’t turn up. Mum had managed to alienate nearly all of her many siblings by one means or another. It took some doing to stop the Riley clan from attending a family funeral, but Mum had pulled it off.

I heard a kerfuffle at the back of the church and glanced around. Despite my nerves and queasy stomach I nearly laughed out loud. Sarah, Doris and Beth were marching in led, of course, by Doris: Sarah sporting plaits, Dorrie a blond wig, and Beth a curly black wig. Oh my god, they knew that would lift my spirits. At school we’d always called ourselves the Four Marys after the comic strip in
Bunty
, and now they’d turned up dressed as them for my mum’s funeral. After feeling so long alienated from them, I was touched that they remembered our early bond. I stifled a giggle as Doris winked broadly at me. Trust her to come up with that idea.

‘Shh!’ Auntie Nora turned and glared at my friends as they rustled their way in at the back.

I turned to face the front once more, having just clocked Charlie sitting alone in one of the back pews. I hadn’t been at all sure whether he would come, and though he’d been a tower of strength since I’d turned up semi-hysterical on his doorstep the day after Mum died, his girlfriend, Nadia, clearly hadn’t liked it. So I’d not asked him directly to the funeral. It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling to think he’d come anyway.

The organ started to play ‘Abide With Me’. I hated it. Such a gloomy, gloomy tune, but it had been one of Mum’s favourites. She always did favour the dark side of Catholicism. It was all about hellfire, damnation and suffering for Mum. She didn’t appear to have much time for a forgiving kind of Redeemer. No wonder I was fucked up.

I didn’t watch the coffin as it made its way down the aisle. I stared instead at the altar, so familiar to me from childhood. The light shining through the stained-glass window of the paschal lamb casting colourful shadows on the huge cross that hung above the altar. That cross had terrified me as a child, the statue of Jesus had seemed so lifelike, the crown of thorns, the nails through his hands and feet, had seemed so real to me, I felt like he was suffering up there for me. For, as Mum was always reminding me, He’d died for my many sins.

Now the moment I’d been dreading all week came to pass, as the undertakers solemnly placed the coffin in front of the altar, bowed their heads and left. How could Mum really be in there? How was it possible that someone so vicious and spiteful and hideously alive, could actually die? I’d been on the receiving end of her bitterness all my life, it had shaped and blighted me, and now it was gone. And there was no way I could ever put it right. An overwhelming
sense of loss and rage came over me, a wave of grief so strong I wasn’t sure I could withstand it. I wasn’t just mourning the mother I’d lost, but the one I’d never had, and the life I surely deserved to have had.

The service passed in a blur, and I barely took notice of what was happening. All too soon it was time for the sermon. Another thing I’d been dreading. What could Father Miserecordie (or Misery Guts as Mum insisted on calling him) say about my mother that could possibly show her in any other light than the vicious harpy she was? He’d asked me and Auntie Nora to fill in bits of her life for him and I’d tried to be positive, but found it almost impossible to do so.

‘Dearly Beloved, what can we say about the life of Patricia? She was born Patricia O’Connell, in County Donegal in 1948. She came to England, married and produced a daughter, Caroline. Her sister, Nora speaks of the fun and laughter in the family home…’

Father Miserecordie droned on, painting a picture of my mother which I simply didn’t recognize. Of her work with charity, of her kindness to strangers, of her sincere faith and knowledge that she was a long way from God. And not once did he touch on her alcoholism, or the monstrous way she’d behaved.

A bubble of anger formed inside me as I listened to this travesty of an account of my mother’s life. It seemed dreadful to me that the congregation, which was somewhat larger than I’d been expecting, should be misled in this way.

We’d discussed whether or not I should say something before the funeral. Father Miserecordie had thought it might help me. Originally I’d said no, but now, when he looked in my direction, without even realizing what I was doing,
I found myself moving towards the pulpit and standing up to address the congregation. Who were all these people? Surely none of them could have known my mum? She didn’t have any friends. She was the original rock, that woman. That’s where I get it from.

‘Father Miserecordie has been immensely kind about my mother,’ I
began. My pulse was racing, and I was coming out in a cold sweat, but my fury
impelled me on. ‘The truth is, as anyone who knew her well could tell you, my
mother was an alcoholic who hated the world, especially me. The only thing keeping
her here was her precious God, and it seemed He’d deserted her for most of her
life. Maybe things would have been different – my aunt tells me she was great
fun as a young girl – if she hadn’t had the misfortune of meeting my
dad, who duly impregnated her and then left her high and dry. There wasn’t a
day that went by in my childhood when I wasn’t uncomfortably aware of that
fact.

‘So, Father Miserecordie, I’m sorry, I can’t find any forgiveness for her in my heart. Nor for my father. They brought me into this world, and then they failed me. I’m glad she’s gone. At last I’m free of her.’

I looked at the coffin resplendent with the wreaths of crocuses, daffodils and freesias I’d insisted on having, despite Mum’s typically austere wish for no flowers. It was true. She was gone. Finally I was free. So why did I feel so bereft?

I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that I’d said more than I ought. I looked at the congregation who all seemed to be stunned into silence. One man at the back took it upon himself to leave. I didn’t recognize him, but then I didn’t know who most of these people were, Mum didn’t have any friends. I looked at Father Miserecordie in horror.
He must think
me
the monster. That was my mother in there. Never speak ill of the dead.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’ Then gathering what little dignity I had left, I went back to my pew. Of all the nasty shitty things I’d done in my life, that surely had to be the worst.

‘Neat speech.’ Charlie appeared at my elbow, a welcome relief from the hordes of Mum’s cronies from the old people’s lunch club, and the WI most of whom were un familiar to me, having arrived since I’d left home. Apparently Mum had taken to doing a lot of voluntary work. The old guard had stayed away – they knew what Mum was like. The new lot spoke about someone I didn’t know: a kind, caring soul who’d listened to their problems. I was having a great deal of difficulty fitting this in with my knowledge of her.

They’d all been far too polite to mention my appalling outburst in the church, and I was so ashamed, I’d been avoiding both Father Miserecordie and Auntie Nora ever since. Auntie Nora had never been able to speak aloud the shame that was my mother’s addiction. She’d probably never speak to me again.

‘
Not
my finest hour,’ I said.

‘Well, you could have laid into the dearly departed a bit more,’ said Charlie. ‘I thought you were rather restrained myself.’

‘Stop it,’ I groaned. ‘I doubt I’ll ever be able to show myself back here again.’

Here was the church hall, much beloved of the Irish mafia run by Auntie Nora and her cronies. Not that I’d ever have much cause to come back, not now.

‘Christ,’ I said, ‘this is going to take some getting used to. I really can’t believe she’s gone.’

‘Fancy a beer when you’ve finished doing your duty?’

‘What about Nadia?’ I said. ‘It’s not fair on her. And she hates me enough as it is.’

‘I’ve got a late pass,’ said Charlie, ‘and don’t be daft, she doesn’t hate you.’

‘Well she should,’ I said. ‘I hate myself right now.’

‘And that is totally self-pitying and stupid,’ said Charlie.

‘Isn’t it?’ Dorrie came bounding up; irrepressible, puppylike, wonderful Dorrie.

‘Look, Daz has got to go home and relieve his mum from Woody watching, but the girls and I can stay on for a bit if you’d like.’

Would I like? Trust Dorrie to know exactly what I needed right now.

‘That would be fantastic,’ I said. ‘I’ll just hang on to say goodbye to all these people, whoever they are.’

The wake was beginning to break up and people were peeling themselves away, reasserting the need for normality in their lives. And who could blame them?

Just as I’d said goodbye to two of Mum’s lunchtime club, who seemed for some unfathomable reason to think she was Mother Teresa, Father Miserecordie caught up with me.

‘Caroline,’ he said.

‘Father,’ I said, feeling like I’d felt at school when, aged eight, I’d stolen a lollipop from Martyn Fraser’s satchel.

‘I think your mother was a very troubled soul,’ he said, ‘and at the end, despite her problems, my belief is that she was very close to God.’

I didn’t know what to say. This kind of talk had always embarrassed me.

‘I’m sorry for what I said. Wrong time. Wrong place. Story of my life,’ I said. I liked Father Miserecordie, he’d been nothing but kind to me.

‘But maybe you needed to say it.’ He patted my arm.

I blinked back sudden tears at his kindness. I didn’t share his and Mum’s faith, and he knew it, but he offered his tolerance anyway.

‘It’s just so hard, knowing how much she hated me,’ I said.

‘What gives you that idea?’ he said, genuinely surprised. ‘She always talked of you with great pride.’

‘So why did she say I ruined everything, when she died?’ I asked.

‘Are you sure that’s what she said?’ said Father Miserecordie. ‘She told me on several occasions that she felt like she’d ruined
your
life.’

‘Oh.’ I was stunned. ‘Well, maybe I did get that wrong, but I didn’t imagine the look in her eye. It was one of pure hatred.’

‘Maybe that wasn’t directed at you, but at herself,’ said Father Miserecordie. ‘She was trying to kick the bottle you know. You walking away from her like that did her the power of good. She drank less, and got more involved in the parish. My guess is that she hated herself for having fallen off the wagon.’

‘You think?’ I said, my heart lifting a bit. I wanted badly to believe him.

‘I think,’ he said. ‘I also think your friends are waiting for you. In the meantime, if you ever need me, you know where I am.’

I mumbled a thank you, and made my excuses. But I wasn’t about to escape the wrath of Auntie Nora. She came
bustling up to me with a righteous indignation I knew all too well. My heart sank. Now was going to come the tirade to end all tirades. But to my surprise, she flung her arms tearfully around me.

‘You poor pet,’ she said. ‘I had no idea it had been so hard for you.’

Thinking about it, when I was growing up, Auntie Nora hadn’t been around so much, as she had been lately. She’d had her own family, and Uncle Paddy to care for. Uncle Paddy who had a tendency to wander, but at least he never left her. No wonder she and Mum had turned out so bitter.

‘Your mam wasn’t all bad, you know,’ she said. ‘It’s just that life wasn’t very good to her.’

‘She certainly wasn’t good to me,’ I said.

‘It was the drink,’ said Auntie Nora. ‘She was very proud of you really.’

‘Was she?’ I wished I could believe that. But the malevolent look in
her eye as she’d died would haunt me forever.