The Secret of Happy Ever After (55 page)

Anna knew she was tormenting herself, but she couldn’t get the thought out of her head – that
she’d
let Becca down. To have the shaming evidence of her parenting failure on one side of the screen while the real mother paraded her fecundity on the other felt like a particularly mean punishment.

Anna longed to make it up to Becca somehow, but she couldn’t, because Becca wasn’t even there any more. Owen had asked her to move into the flat above Home Sweet Home at the beginning of November, and she’d gone, with all her books and her guitar and her dry sense of humour that kept Anna sane. Anna had offered to take her to her scans and midwife appointments, but Becca had insisted, kindly, that Owen would go with her.

‘I know Dad’s just waiting for him to do a bunk,’ she explained. ‘He can hardly think that if he’s the one learning breathing exercises with me. And anyway, we can’t both leave the bookshop, can we?’

Michelle had given Becca a full-time job between the bookshop and Home Sweet Home, fulfilling the Christmas internet orders and taking charge of restocking. Anna was grateful for the practical way Michelle was helping, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to have a proper conversation with her about it, not with those angry words still hanging between them. Once upon a time, the idea of the pair of them hovering over a cradle like hopelessly unqualified fairy godmothers would have made them both roar with laughter – how bad could they be? – but now they were polite, and that was about it.

With no one to talk to any more, Anna’s sadness flooded her. The slightest emotional nudge and tears spilled out of her like an overfilled glass, sending her into the back room of the shop whenever someone brought in a baby or discussed Michael Morpurgo animal stories. It was bad enough coping with Becca, but with every empty day that passed, she was forced to face the horrible truth that her marriage seemed to be over, too. Phil, cold and distant, seemed oblivious to her misery, and they passed each other like strangers in the house, while Chloe sang louder and Lily begged for more stories to fill up the growing silence.

Anna phoned Becca most nights that she wasn’t round at the McQueens, ‘just to check she was OK’.

‘Where’s Owen?’ she asked, one Friday night in early December, tucking the phone under her ear while she scooped out Pongo’s kibble with one hand and switched on the kettle with the other.

‘He’s gone to London for a meeting.’ Becca sounded more relaxed out of the house than she’d ever done in it. ‘He’s trying to get some work going so he can move to Cambridge with me after the baby’s born – tell Dad he’s really trying hard, OK?’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come round?’

‘No! I’m looking forward to putting my feet up, actually. I’ve got a bar of chocolate and my book. Don’t ask what though. It’s pure trash fiction. This baby wants romance and Dairy Milk.’

Anna smiled sadly. ‘As long as you’re reading. Give me a shout if you need anything.’

‘I will.’ Becca’s voice changed. ‘Why don’t you go out? Take Dad to the movies or something?’

Anna blinked hard to stop her voice changing too. ‘I can’t. He’s out tonight with some guys from work. Leaving do, I think. He didn’t say, just that he’d be back late.’

‘And he didn’t take you? Charming. I’ll tell him to make it up to you this weekend!’

‘There’s no need.’ Anna didn’t want Becca to know how bad things were between her and Phil. Not even bad. Just . . . nothing. Two people who worked together in a parenting office, but with less chance of an office romance.

She shook herself. ‘Listen, you enjoy your night in and I’ll see you tomorrow. Chloe’s making some kind of baby shower parcel for your mum and she wants your help. By which she means, your twenty quid.’

‘As long as she’s not recording a song for the baby. Can you imagine her lullaby album? Night, Anna.’

While Anna had been talking, Lily had appeared, snaking her hand round Anna’s arm. She looked up at her now, already changed into her pyjamas even though it was just gone six. ‘Are you ready for a story? I chose a new book at the shop. I thought it might be good for Chloe.’

‘I was humouring you,’ came a voice from the sofa. ‘But if Anna’s making cocoa I might come up and listen for a bit. Until something good’s on telly.’

It was moments like this, thought Anna, which kept her in the house, in this family. Only just, though. They were tiny clothes pegs that stopped her blowing away altogether.

Anna lay awake, listening to Phil snoring, and decided that from now on, she was going to start each night in Becca’s old bed, instead of creeping in there at 2 a.m. each morning. Who was she fooling, anyway? It wasn’t as though either of them were missing anything.

Phil had rolled in at half one, after his leaving do, reeking of beer. He never used to drink beer, priding himself on his preference for wine. It was just in the last few months he’d suddenly overcome his aversion to it.

She swung her feet out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown grumpily. If she was going to be kept awake, then she might as well be reading in peace.

Anna padded quietly down the stairs to make herself a milky drink, and was passing the hall phone when it rang.

She grabbed it almost absent-mindedly, trying to work out what time it was in America. Had Sarah forgotten the time difference?

‘Anna!’ It was Becca and her voice sounded ragged. ‘Anna, I’ve been trying your mobiles for ages.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Her brain sprang into wakefulness. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I feel terrible. I’ve been puking all night and I’ve hurt my ankle. Owen’s in London, and I can’t get up. I’m really worried about the baby.’ Becca dissolved into tears.

‘Don’t worry, I’m coming,’ said Anna, turning to run back up the stairs. ‘I’ll be right there.’

She dashed upstairs two at a time, trying not to wake Lily or Chloe.

‘Phil.’ She shut the bedroom door behind her. She shook his shoulder till he woke. ‘Phil.’

‘What?’ He rolled over, bleary-eyed and annoyed.

‘Becca’s sick. I’ve got to go over there.’

He sat up at once. ‘Shit. Where’s Owen?’

‘London.’

‘What the hell’s he doing in London? He should be looking after her.’ He tried to get up but lost his balance and fell back heavily onto the bed.

‘Stay here with Lily and Chloe,’ said Anna. ‘I’ll go. I’ll call you.’

Phil looked at her resentfully. ‘I’m her dad.
I
should go.’

‘What difference does that make? And you can’t drive in that state. How much did you put away tonight?’

‘Don’t start.’

He glared at her. He didn’t look like the man she’d married, thought Anna, with a stab of misery. He looked like some random middle-aged man who didn’t even like her. And if she stayed for Lily, until she left, she had another nine years of this.

‘I’ll call you,’ she said.

Anna drove like a mad thing to the high street and let herself in with the spare key.

‘Becca?’ she yelled, running up the stairs. ‘Becca?’

‘Bathroom.’

Anna pushed open the door to the bathroom and found her wedged between the bath and the loo. The air smelled of vomit and Becca’s face was grey, with tiny flakes of loo roll stuck to her lip. ‘Poor darling!’

‘I was throwing up, then I slipped and hurt my ankle and now I’m stuck.’ She started to cry.

‘How long have you been here?’ Anna asked, lifting her up gently.

‘Since eleven. I texted everyone but my reception kept fading and I don’t think they all went through. Then my phone died and I couldn’t move . . .’ Becca’s hand went to her stomach. ‘If I’ve done something to the bean, I’ll never forgive myself,’ she hiccupped. ‘It’s my fault.’

‘That’s motherhood for you,’ said Anna, stroking her hair and wiping her face. ‘It’s always your fault. Now I’m taking you to the hospital, no arguments.’

Phil joined them in A&E, having left Lily with Chloe under strict instructions to return to bed and not put on her
Glee
DVD – itself tantamount to an invitation and a bribe at the same time.

He looked grey with worry, and when the nurse was showing Becca to the loo, he grabbed Anna’s hand.

‘Is she OK?’ he asked. ‘What happened?’

Anna filled him in on the details she’d gathered – a prawn curry Becca thought couldn’t hurt, the vomiting, the sprained ankle, the all-clear with the baby – and relief swept his face.

‘That’s it, she’s coming home,’ he said. ‘There’s no way I can leave her in that flat on her own.’ Phil had his paterfamilias expression on – a bit late, Anna thought – and had obviously been rehearsing on the way over. ‘I won’t be happy unless I know she’s safe. She’s moving back in.’

‘You realise Owen’s going to want to be with her too?’ Anna pointed out.

‘Fine!’ Phil raised his hands. ‘The more the merrier! We’ve got room.’

‘Not really.’ Anna’s head swam at the thought of all the cooking and cleaning required for Becca and Owen, Lily, Chloe, the various Apricotz who always seemed to need feeding, Pongo, and her and Phil. The house wasn’t small but when they’d bought it, they hadn’t had a family that big in mind.

‘It’s family. That’s what life’s like with a big family.’ He didn’t add, ‘Isn’t that what you always wanted?’ but the implication was there.

Anna stared at him, and he glared back. Around them, hugely pregnant women were wheeled past by their beaming, dazed husbands; others were carrying pink new babies in their arms.

Anna thought of Becca’s baby, only a few months away now. That made seven – seven, and definitely no chance of eight – and she wondered just how much more she was expected to bear.

On 5 December, Sarah had a little boy called Henry Graham Boston Rogers, 8lb 3oz.

Henry after Jeff’s father; Graham after hers. No one wanted to think too hard about the Boston part.

Since Sarah left a webcam in the baby’s room, Chloe, Becca and Lily were on Skype constantly, staring at their new half-brother as if he and they were on some sort of television programme. Anna developed an immunity to the sound of transatlantic baby crying, but inside it felt as if someone was peeling the skin off her heart. Henry’s surprised face and wispy duckling hair were everywhere: on the fridge, on cards, in emails. The house felt crowded. Becca’s bump was getting bigger by the day, and there never seemed to be a room that didn’t contain a pregnancy magazine or something Sarah had sent from America to help with stretch marks or morning sickness.

Phil said nothing. Now he barely even looked at her, and she spent most evenings on the sofa, or upstairs in Lily’s room, reading
What Katy Did
and
The Little Prince
, and flinching at all the messages about love that seemed so clear.

It was while she was packing the girls’ bags for their Christmas visit to their mother that Anna made up her mind: while they were away, she would move into the flat above the shop. Just for a few days until she worked out what she wanted to do.

She had Becca’s keys already. She knew she should call Michelle, but decided it wasn’t worth trying to have a personal conversation with someone in the grip of a new relationship. Michelle and Rory were at the bantering, dewy-eyed stage of first dates, and it added a new edge to Anna’s isolation.

Michelle was the only person she could have confided in: it was a dilemma she didn’t dare reveal to a parent. How could she leave the stepchildren who needed her, who she’d signed up for from the start, for the sake of a child who didn’t even exist? Anna thought about ringing the Samaritans, but she felt ashamed to ask even them.

She knew it was selfish, but she also knew, deep down, that being a second-string mother wasn’t enough for her. Especially when their father didn’t seem to care. Leaving Phil was easy; leaving his children was the hardest part.

There was no room in the car to the airport for Anna, since Owen was going to Sarah’s for Christmas too, so she said her goodbyes in the house, with the usual tears all round. Anna couldn’t make hers stop.

‘No books this year,’ she said, hugging Lily as she handed her the bags she’d packed with presents. ‘Don’t worry, it’s wishlist stuff only.’

‘But I wanted books,’ said Lily. ‘Didn’t you see my wishlist?’

Anna wiped her nose. ‘Well, there’s always the sales.’

‘Bye, Anna,’ said Chloe. ‘Or should I say,
so long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good-byeeeeee
?’ She added a theatrical flourish and narrowly missed backhanding Becca in the face. Her new ambition for the year was to audition for a West End musical.

‘It’s going to be very quiet without you,’ Anna gulped. ‘Bye, Becca.’

‘Have a lovely time without us.’ Becca hugged her hard and Anna felt the firm pressure of her baby bump against her stomach, and had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut.

‘Everyone ready?’ Phil jangled his keys and avoided her eye.

When the door closed behind them, Pongo went sadly to his bed in the kitchen, his tail between his long legs, and Anna went upstairs to pack.

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