The No-Kids Club (8 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

C
lare slicked down a piece of Sellotape on the box of chocolates from Harrods she’d bought for her stepmum. The Mother’s Day gift was almost a week overdue, but Tam had been away last weekend, and today was Clare’s first free day since her date with Nicholas. Not that she was complaining—burying herself in work on Mother’s Day had been a blessing. The occasion was always a harsh reminder that her own mum had chosen not to be a mother. Thank goodness for Tam, Clare thought for the millionth time.

Glancing at her watch, she noticed it was only half past ten—still plenty of time to catch the train to Berkhamsted. Despite
hitting
Carluccio’s for coffee, strolling down Fulham Road, and reading the morning papers, the day was dragging. Maybe she’d have a quick look at the club’s Facebook page before she left.
Fingers
crossed there’d be some new messages. Or perhaps one from
Nicholas
? Almost a week had passed and she’d still heard nothing. She liked that he wasn’t invading her space, but it would be nice to see
him agai
n.

Sighing, Clare opened the browser on her laptop and logged into Facebook. There were the usual random enquiries and messages of support, but nothing that signalled an influx of fresh blood.

She was about to snap the lid closed and head for the door when she spotted the message icon blinking on screen. Clare scrolled to her inbox, eyes bulging and pulse quickening when she saw Edward’s name. Edward? Why would he get in touch?

As she clicked the mouse, she noticed her fingers were shaking, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. Whatever the message said changed nothing. They wanted different things, and that
was that
.

Or was it?

Eagerly, she scanned the sentences before her on the screen, her mouth falling open in surprise. Edward wanted to talk? He missed her? Her heart squeezed with longing. God, she missed him, too. Her lips lifted in a smile as she pictured him typing away on his state-of-the-art laptop, feet tapping the scarred oak floorboards of his flat just off Spitalfields. Before meeting him, Clare had never known much about that part of London. He’d brought the area to life, and ever since their break-up, she hadn’t the heart to return.

Rereading his words, a memory of their first date flashed into her head. It had been a cold December day a few weeks before Christmas, and the sky was already dark by the time Clare headed out. She always tried to meet online dates for a quick drink close to her flat—that way, when they inevitably turned out to be losers, she hadn’t invested much time—but Edward had insisted on a place in East London, saying the food was incredible. Clare hadn’t been thrilled with trekking all the way across town, but she had been quietly impressed with his persistence. Usually, her Internet dates would be happy to chew beef jerky. And if he wasn’t her type, she told herself, she could use the long journey home as an excuse to leave early. She’d run a brush through her glossy dark hair, pulled on her skinny jeans and a soft rose cashmere jumper, then tugged on a heavy black coat and was out the door.

She’d recognised Edward straightaway. Waiting on the steps outside Liverpool Street station, his dark eyes lit up when he saw her. Right down to the tightly curled hair and tan skin, Edward had looked exactly like his photo. So far, so good.

‘Hello!’ He’d leant in to kiss her, and Clare had caught a whiff of his citrusy cologne. Something about the scent of him and the feel of his cheek on hers had made her face flush and her tummy flip. ‘It’s good to meet you.’

‘Good to meet you, too,’ Clare had echoed, actually meaning it for once. They’d stood there for a second, smiling at each other as commuters pushed around them. Then Edward had taken her hand and they’d dodged traffic as they crossed the street to the restaurant. Despite its no-frills interior with long tables lining the room and diners cheek to jowl, the buzz was welcoming. They’d elbowed their way to two empty seats, and with Edward so close she could feel the heat from his leg, Clare had devoured some of the best comfort food she’d ever tasted, finishing off the meal with a jam roly-poly.

Finally, when she could eat no more, Edward had led her out into the night, walking her through the deserted Spitalfields market and then over to Brick Lane past the former Huguenots houses, explaining the history of the area. She’d listened to the pleasant cadence of his voice, falling under the spell of its warm timbre. And by the time he’d deposited her back at the station, it wasn’t just his neighbourhood she was familiar with; she felt like she’d known Edward forever. He’d told her where he’d grown up, how he’d wanted to be a fireman when he was young but had ended up a graphic designer, and about his secret addiction to the
Daily Mail
. Somehow, he’d managed to work his way past her barriers, drawing her out and learning all about her, too.

When they’d said good night, Edward had wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close for a kiss. She’d never forget the warmth of his lips and how their breath had made clouds in the cold night air as they pulled apart, surrounding them in a misty white haze. If she’d been a romantic, she’d have said it was magical. From that moment on, they’d been together.

Until he’d ruined it by mentioning children.

Clare scanned the message again. He wanted to meet up to see if they could hammer this thing out; he thought they were too good together to let what they had go so easily. In theory, Clare agreed, and oh, how she’d love to see him again. But there was the tiny issue of kids and the people carrier . . .

Unless he was open to changing his mind? She looked at the words in front of her. He hadn’t said as much, but . . . A flicker of hope went through her. Maybe she’d give him a call when she was back from her parents’. The possibility of hearing his warm voice made her heart jump as she grabbed the shiny present from the table, threw on a coat, and slammed the door behind her.

A couple of hours later, Clare grinned into her father’s cheery face as he stood at the entrance of the house where she’d grown up. Tikki curled in and out of his legs. ‘Hi, Dad. Sorry I’m late. The trains were a nightmare.’

Dad shook his head, his neat grey hair still showing comb tracks. Every time she saw him, there was more and more white in his bristling beard, but his eyes were just as blue as she remembered. ‘I don’t know why you don’t get a car. With your salary, you could certainly afford one. What’s the point of all those years in medical school if you’re not going to treat yourself to some creature
comforts
?’

Clare rolled her eyes. She’d heard this refrain a million times, on everything from the car to her rented flat. Sure, she could buy a car and her own home, too, but for some reason the thought of it made her uneasy. She liked being able to hop on the Tube or train without worrying about parking or upkeep. ‘Where’s Tam? I brought her something for Mother’s Day.’

‘She’s in the kitchen baking your favourite cake.’ Her father opened the door even wider and ushered Clare inside. The aroma of rich chocolate cake brought Clare back to the days when that dessert was the only thing making life bearable. For a brief instant, as she bit into the warm, spongy goodness, she could forget Mum’s absence had left a gaping hole in her heart that no cake could fill, no matter how many she ate.

‘Oh, yum!’ Despite the heaviness in her stomach, she could always handle cake. Clare gave her dad a hug, then hurried down the narrow corridor towards the kitchen, where she could hear Tam cheerily humming away to a tune on the radio. Tam’s plump, matronly figure was a sharp contrast to Clare’s memory of her mum: slim body and high cheekbones like a model in a magazine. Clare drew a hand to her cheek. Dad used to say she was the spitting image of her mother, a sentiment that made Clare quiver with anxiety. She might look like Mum, but no way did she want to be anything like her. Nothing excused leaving a husband and child just because you decided they weren’t for you.

Thank goodness Tam had come into her life. Soft and gentle, Tam was the only mother figure Clare wanted to remember today. She shoved all other thoughts of Mum from her head and breathed in the heady scent of cake again.

‘Happy Mother’s Day! Sorry I’m a little late.’ Clare threw her arms around Tam, inhaling in the aroma of talcum powder mixed with vanilla and cinnamon. She drew back and held up the chocolates. ‘I brought these for you.’

Tam’s cheeks coloured with pleasure, and she wiped her hands on an apron before reaching out to take the gift. ‘Thank you, love. Come on, sit down. I want to catch up with what’s going on in your life! It’s been ages since we’ve seen you.’

Clare sank onto a floral cushion tied to the roomy pine chair, trying to hide a smile as she noted several cushions now adorned each seat. Tam had a thing for pillows and cushions, and every time Clare came home, she noticed the number had multiplied. It was as if Tam was trying to cover the sparseness left by Clare’s mum and provide a soft landing for Clare and her dad. Well, she had certainly done just that.

‘Sorry I haven’t been by,’ Clare said, pushing back her dark hair. ‘My schedule’s been all over the place lately.’

Tam placed a glass of orange juice in front of Clare, and Clare grinned. Despite telling Tam over and over she’d moved into the wonderful world of caffeine, Tam still insisted on giving her the juice she’d always drunk as a child. Clare took a sip, the citrusy flavour exploding in her mouth.

‘I don’t know how anyone can live a normal life with such topsy-turvy hours,’ Tam tutted as she poured herself a glass and slid into the chair across from Clare. ‘How can they expect you to do that?’

Clare shrugged. ‘It’s just the way it is. You get used to it after
a whil
e.’

‘And what about the men in your life?’ Tam asked, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. ‘You still with that one . . . what was his name, Edward? The one you told me about at Christmastime?’

Oh, God. Had she actually broken her cardinal rule and mentioned a man to Tam? Why, oh why had she done that? She
knew
talking to Tam about relationships in her life was like drawing a moth to a flame. Tam was desperate to pair her off and have grandchildren, despite Clare’s constant refrain that she didn’t want kids. She seemed to think Clare was going through a phase and kept waiting for her maternal clock to start ticking. Clare hadn’t the heart to tell her she’d be waiting forever.

‘Um, no.’ Clare sipped her juice. ‘We broke up a couple weeks ago.’ The spark of hope at Edward’s earlier message flared again. Was there a chance they’d work things out?

‘Oh, I’m sorry, honey.’ Tam reached over and squeezed
Clare’s hand
.

‘It’s all right.’ Clare forced a bright smile. ‘There are plenty of fish in the sea.’ Tam had always told her that when she’d had her heart broken in secondary school. Shame it didn’t seem to be true. ‘So tell me about these cushions!’ She knew Tam wouldn’t be able to resist filling her in on the latest additions to the collection.

But this time, Tam didn’t take the bait. Her normally cheery face was serious as she fixed Clare with her big brown eyes. ‘Clare, listen. There’s something your dad wanted me to talk to you about.’

Clare tilted her head, wondering at her stepmum’s solemn expression. ‘Why can’t he talk to me himself?’

‘Well, he finds anything to do with your mother a little difficult,’ Tam said. ‘So I told him I’d mention it to you.’

‘My mother?’ Clare felt her throat tighten. ‘What about her?’

‘Well, honey, as you know, she’s been in York for the past little bit, working at the university.’

Clare nodded, her eyes fixed firmly on Tam’s face. Yes, she remembered Tam telling her something like that, along with the fact that Clare’s mother wanted her to get in touch. Clare hadn’t even considered it—Mum hadn’t been in contact for years after she’d left, and Clare wasn’t going to rekindle the relationship now.

Grimacing, she recalled how devastated she’d been on her
sixteenth
birthday when Mum failed to ring. Despite the years of silence, Clare had been convinced Mum would call—she’d always said turning sixteen was a major milestone, and she couldn’t wait to celebrate with her daughter. Clare’s friends had tried to
persuade
her to go out, but she’d made an excuse to linger by the phone.

The phone had stayed silent, and Clare had lain on her bed for hours, staring glumly at the ceiling. Finally, Tam had knocked on the door with a piece of her legendary chocolate cake and a glass
of juice
.

‘There’s more of that downstairs, along with some presents from Dad and me. Why don’t you come on down and we can celebrate your sixteenth together?’ She’d smiled and reached out to touch Clare’s shoulder, but Clare had shrugged her off, wrapping her arms around her knees.

‘I’m busy,’ she’d mumbled, not even making the effort to look occupied. Tam would get the hint.

But something must have been wrong with Tam’s radar, because she didn’t leave the room. Instead, she’d sat down beside Clare on the bed. Clare had shifted, not wanting anyone to see the hurt and anger on her face.

‘Love, I know you were hoping your mother would get in touch, and I’m sorry you haven’t heard from her. I’m sure she’s thinking about you and she’ll call when she can. In the meantime, your father and I are all set to celebrate with you.’ She’d leaned over and stroked Clare’s hair, and Clare had jerked away.

‘I don’t want you or Dad. I want Mum!’ The words burst from her in a shout, and as soon as she’d said them, she realised it was her mother she was angry with, not Tam. But it was too late; they were out.

Without saying more, Tam had got up and walked away. She’d closed the door softly behind her, and Clare had felt even worse than before. And when she’d crept downstairs and noticed the huge chocolate cake Tam had decorated for her, along with the elaborately wrapped gifts that clearly weren’t the work of her father, guilt squeezed her gut like a vice.