All her cards had been flung in the air now. There was no way on this planet that she could even think about handing the baby over to someone else. This baby that she talked to in the bath and in bed and in the kitchen was her child and she was its mother. There, she’d dared to use the word. She tried it on like a coat and found it fitted her. They’d manage somehow. Other people did. Even Emma Collins had managed to raise her to adulthood and that was with bugger all care. Palma’s child would be loved and looked after in a way she herself never had been. She couldn’t let it go to someone else, it was her baby. Hers. Not even if they owned a yacht and a mansion and had the world’s biggest Arctic cabin in their twenty-four-acre garden.
On the bus back to work, she wondered if she would have felt the same had she still been Tabitha’s surrogate. Would she have been able to remain detached, seeing a baby on the screen that she had promised to someone else? Sold to someone else? A shudder rippled across her shoulders when she thought how stupid and naïve she’d been to think her emotions wouldn’t have come into play. For someone as organised and base-covering as Palma had always prided herself on being, that had been a major oversight. One of many recently. Thank the Lord that Christian Stephenson had been a feckless, faithless arsehole.
Chapter 30
Jacques and Eve called in at a country pub for brunch before going back to Winterworld after the scan. Eve had ordered a breakfast from the waitress but couldn’t for the life of her think of what hash browns were called.
‘Those triangular fried thingies,’ she said. ‘What’s the name of them?’
‘Hash browns?’ tried the waitress.
‘That’s it. Can I have a side order of those please?’ As the waitress walked into the kitchen to give the chef the order, Eve shook her head at herself. ‘How can you forget what a hash brown is called?’
‘Baby brain?’ Jacques suggested.
‘How do you know about baby brain?’
‘I’ve read about it in your Miriam Stoppard book,’ said Jacques, who had ordered an Olympic-size breakfast because elation had given him a monster appetite.
‘I think Effin has baby brain,’ Eve replied. ‘I’m worried about him.’
Jacques’ eyebrows dipped in a gesture of concern and he made a deep ‘hmm’ noise. Effin was in denial about his memory loss which was making him prone to even more mistakes. Jacques had warned Davy MacDuff against winding him up. He didn’t want any more of those Santapark letters falling off and smashing someone’s skull in.
‘Do you think I should have a quiet word with Cariad?’ asked Eve, after a few moments of contemplation. ‘He might get himself checked out by a doctor if she persuaded him to. He’d listen to her.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Jacques. ‘Should we really put pressure on her to do that when Effin already knows he has a problem?’
Eve nodded. ‘Maybe you’re right. I hope it isn’t the onset of Alzheimer’s or anything like that. That would be so cruel.’
‘It would,’ Jacques agreed. That had crossed his mind also and it must have crossed Effin’s.
Then the waitress arrived with their all-day breakfasts and snapped off that line of conversation.
‘Ah, your thingies have arrived,’ said Jacques, handing Eve the bowl of hash browns.
‘Funny.’
‘I know, I’m such a hoot.’ He did an excited little dance in his chair. ‘I can’t believe I’ve seen our baby today.’
Eve shuddered with delight. ‘What do you think it is, a boy or a girl?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. Preferably one or the other. Have you thought of any names?’
‘I’ve ordered a baby names book on the net. But I don’t think you can really name them until you see them.’
‘Okay, boss,’ said Jacques, stealing a hash brown. ‘I’ll be guided by you. Six months to go. I can’t wait.’
They both grinned at each other. They had grinned at each other more in the past two days than they had in all the rest of their relationship, and that was saying something.
*
‘Yes, I like her a lot,’ said Iris, constructing some cheap precut crackers quickly and deftly. ‘And her funny hair.’ They were talking about Palma, who was due back from the hospital any time soon after having her scan.
‘I think it suits her,’ said Joe from the rolling table, where he and Annie were finishing off the crackers for Rolls Royce.
‘She dyes it herself,’ said Annie. ‘She was telling me. Her hair is naturally very blonde so it absorbs the colour easily. She used to have it blue.’
‘Blue hair? Mind you, Doreen Turbot’s recently had a purple rinse and it looks nice. I never did understand why people want to spend so much at the hairdressers. When our Linda goes, it’s over sixty pounds for a cut and blow.’ She shook her head in disapproval.
‘I bet blue hair suited Palma,’ said Joe, stretching some stiffness out of his back. ‘It would match her eyes.’
‘What are you doing looking at other women’s eyes, Joe Pandoro?’ asked Iris with a stern expression.
‘Oh come on, Iris, even I’ve been looking at her eyes,’ said Annie. ‘She’s such a bonny girl.’
‘I think she must have had it hard in her life,’ decided Iris. ‘And if I’m right, well, that’s a proper shame. I sometimes get a waft of sadness coming from her, if that makes any sense.’
Annie understood what she meant. She’d felt it too but blamed pregnancy hormones for making her maudlin. ‘It’s her birthday next Friday. What do you think about getting her a pamper treatment for Glam Beauty Salon in Dodley? I don’t suppose she has a lot of luxuries. And they’re very good.’
‘That’s a lovely idea,’ said Iris, reaching for her purse. ‘You can put me down for twenty pounds. Here, Joe. Take it off me before you put the kettle on.’
Joe half-sighed, half-chuckled. ‘I’m just a slave in this company,’ he said, taking it from her and putting it in his pocket, just as Palma walked in through the door, huge smile on her face.
‘Come on, let’s have a look at the scan photo,’ said Annie, thinking there seemed to be something different about Palma today. Something softer and brighter, as if a light inside her had been switched on. Or maybe that was her baby brain imagining the ridiculous.
The Daily Trumpet would like to apologise to the family of Peter Winstanley-Hughes for the unfortunate error which appeared in his obituary printed last Friday. Mr Winstanley-Hughes was a renowned drag racer appearing all over Europe and not a drag queen as stated. The Daily Trumpet has made a donation to the Winstanley-Hughes Young People’s Foundation charity by way of recompense.
Chapter 31
Palma didn’t find it half as scary going in to the second Christmas Pudding Club meeting and seeing everyone again. Especially as Annie had gone out of her way to give her a lift. Palma liked Annie enormously. She reminded her of her foster mother Grace in a way that she couldn’t really explain because they looked nothing like each other, but kindness danced around them both like a perfumed aura.
They were amongst the last to arrive; everyone else was sorted with tea, coffee but mainly juice and water. They were down one member. Colleen, the one who hadn’t wanted a child, wasn’t there. The loud one, Di, had Raychel pinned in the corner. It was less conversation and more monologue delivered at high volume so that everyone heard.
‘. . . Come back? I said. Are you joking? Why would I want to stay with a man who’s slept with my own mother? MOTHER. I won’t talk to her again either. My father’s forgiven her. Then again, he couldn’t wipe his own arse if he lived by himself . . .’
‘Hello again,’ said Cheryl, the woman who part-owned the cleaning company. ‘You both okay?’
‘Yep,’ Palma and Annie answered together.
‘Had my scan this week. Amazing, isn’t it?’ said Di, joining them. ‘I’m having bloody twins.’ She tutted but she looked thrilled at the same time.
‘I shouldn’t tell you this but John fainted in the
scan room,’ said Cheryl. ‘I was a bit scared before I went in and he was, “You’ve nothing to be scared of, Cheryl. I’m here.” Then he goes and passes out. And he’s supposed to have tackled Charles Bronson to the floor in prison once, he reckons he’s that hard.’
They were chuckling over that when Eve rushed in. ‘Hello everyone, I got stuck in traffic, thank goodness you haven’t started.’ Palma poured Eve a glass of juice because she looked flustered and warm.
‘Oh, thanks, Palma,’ Eve said, thinking that was kind of her and what a lovely young woman she was. Some people you really took to on sight, and Palma was one of those.
‘Ladies, can we take our seats please?’ said Chloe, clapping her hands to alert their attention. They all drifted to the chairs, arranged in a small circle now, as a new lady arrived and Sharon welcomed her. She was tall and black with the cheekbones of a model and a figure to kill for.
‘It appears we have lost a sheep and found one,’ said Sharon, then asked the new member of the group if she’d like to introduce herself. She did so very confidently.
‘Hello everyone, I’m Ophilia – Fil for short. This is my first baby and probably my last, as I’m forty.’ She was older than Di but looked half her age, thought Annie. ‘My husband and I come from Nigeria and we’ve lived in England for four years now. He’s a maths professor at the University of Huddersfield and I am a translator. I speak five languages but I can’t get my head around Yorkshire. I’m nineteen weeks pregnant and I don’t know how much detail you need . . .’ She looked at the midwives for advice.
‘That’ll do nicely, thank you,’ said Sharon, thinking as they all did that she looked far too glamorous to be called Fil. She briefly filled in Fil on the session she’d missed. ‘Last time we were talking about diet during pregnancy. I’ll make sure to give you a handout. It’s got all the information you’ll need on it.’
‘This week we are talking about things to buy during your maternity period, because no doubt you’re itching to go shopping. And top of the list for you all will be clothes because I bet a few of you are busting out of yours already. How many of you sleep with a bra on?’ said Chloe.
That prompted a few of the ladies to start patting their breasts as if it was a natural response to her words.
Sharon stood to attach a flipchart to an easel. She turned to the first page which featured a woman wearing a very comfy-looking brassiere and an old-fashioned nightcap.
‘I’ve never heard of sleep bras,’ Annie whispered to Palma.
‘I’ve never heard of a belly band,’ Palma whispered back when they got to page two.
Di, at the other side of her, shuffled in her seat quite a bit during the talk, obviously not that interested in this week’s topic, but Palma was. It would be good to look stylish during pregnancy. She didn’t want to slouch around in leggings and stained baggy jumpers like a lot of the pregnant women did in Ketherwood. Or pyjamas. She could never understand how anyone could venture out to the shops in a fleecy onesie and stupid bunny slippers, but she used to see it all the time there. There were at least two dressing-gowned customers a shift when she worked in Ketherwood Fried Chicken. She liked the idea of the empire line dresses or the pinafores with the large pockets. And the trousers with the expandable sides that she’d probably need by the fifth month. And she was sure she could put together a nice layered look to go to the local Co-op with, because it was hardly likely she’d have a fabulous social life over the next few months; but she didn’t want to hide her bump away, she wanted to decorate it.
Chloe and Sharon had really done their homework and found some great pregnancy clothes sites, some with introductory money-off codes. Sadly Palma knew she probably wouldn’t be buying anything from the store that sold floor-length gowns in velvet and shimmery materials, but it would be nice to browse through and fantasise that one day she’d be at a dinner where the men all wore suits and the ladies dazzled. The poshest event she’d ever been to in her life was the wedding of the daughter of the woman who owned the sandwich shop where she used to work. They’d hired Higher Hoppleton Hall and had a roast-beef reception for a hundred people and it was all very swanky. Then the groom was found in the toilets with one of the bridesmaids and the bride was arrested for trying to thump the living daylights out of her – so not very classy by international standards.
Chloe said that their feet might grow half a size and water retention would make them puff up, so investing in a decent pair of slip-on shoes that supported their arches would be a good idea. ‘Like Fil’s,’ she suggested, noticing what Fil was wearing. Beautiful flip-flops encrusted with sparkling crystals. Her toenails were painted silver to match. Even her feet looked model material.
‘Fit-flops,’ said Fil. ‘I live in them.’
‘Don’t forget it’s going to be hard to bend over so if you have fiddly shoe straps that need tying and threading into buckles, you’d better have someone willing to do it for you,’ said Sharon. ‘Best to keep low and safe as far as heels go, ladies. And that concludes our session for today, unless you have any questions?’
No one did so the midwives wished everyone a good three weeks until the next session, when they would be talking about safe exercise.
Eve was talking to Annie when Palma returned from a quick visit to the loo. Annie beckoned her into the conversation.
‘This is my star worker,’ she told Eve, then turned quickly to Palma, ‘For goodness sake don’t tell Iris I said that.’
‘Please come and see us in Winterworld next week if you’re free, Annie.’ Eve reached into her handbag for a business card. ‘Ring me tomorrow and let’s fix up a meeting. I’m definitely free Monday, if you are.’
‘I’d be delighted,’ said Annie, with breathy delight.
‘See you next time, Palma,’ said Eve.
‘Yeah, see you, Eve. Take care.’
When Eve moved off, Annie gave Palma a very large smile. ‘I have you to thank for this, dear girl.’ She fluttered the business card. ‘You put in a good word with Eve in the scan department, apparently.’
‘Well, I only mentioned where I worked.’ Palma shrugged her shoulders modestly. ‘But I did give your crackers a good shout out.’
Which was a great cue for her to go on and say what was on her mind, except that she wasn’t quite brave enough. Then, as they were buckling up in the car, Palma gulped, took a deep breath and charged in.
‘Annie, do you mind if I tell you something? You might hate me for it, but I really should say it.’
Annie’s hand stilled on the ignition key. ‘What?’ Her face registered alarm.
‘Your website’s crap,’ said Palma.
Annie burst into laughter. ‘Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were going to tell me you were thinking of leaving us.’ She twisted the key and started the engine.
‘God no, not that,’ said Palma. ‘I’ve been wanting to say it since I saw it. It’s all over the place. It’s not easy to use and some of the links don’t even work.’
‘Joe hates updating it and I’ll be honest, I’m not the best on computers,’ Annie said. ‘It’s been on my list of to-look-ats for ages but I’ve been putting it off, if I’m honest. Don’t mind if I take a detour into town to visit the cashpoint, do you?’
‘No, not at all. And you have no presence on social media. No Instagram pics, no Facebook account or Twitter,’ Palma went on, emboldened by Annie’s receptiveness.
‘I have no idea about social media,’ Annie confessed. ‘I can’t get my head around it. Do we need it?’
‘I’d say so. Eve didn’t even know you existed, which is tragic considering what she does and what you do all in the same area. You could have had a contract there from them opening.’
‘We couldn’t take the work on then, though. I’m not even sure we can now. Getting hold of staff is unbelievably difficult. I don’t know why it’s so hard, do you?’
‘I have no idea.’ Palma answered her honestly. ‘But I think maybe that agency isn’t doing y
ou any favours.’
Annie had to stop sharply outside the town hall at the lights. They’d turned green and some idiot stepped out in front of her, eyes down on his phone. She couldn’t believe it. Him again. Clint O’Gowan. That was twice now he’d stepped out in front of her car and twice now she’d regretted not ploughing into him. Maybe it was fate’s way of trying to deliver him to her.
As Annie indicated to pull into a space, Palma turned to look through the back window. Clint was heading down the hill towards them, not looking at his phone anymore now. ‘Please don’t stop here, Annie,’ she said, urgency in her voice. ‘There’s someone I don’t want to see.’
It could only be him, there was no one else around.
‘Clint O’Gowan? How do you know him?’ Annie asked incredulously, driving on as Palma asked.
‘I grew up with him,’ Palma answered.
‘Oh, did you.’ Annie’s tone had hardened. Tightened.
‘How do you know him?’ asked Palma, wondering how Annie’s path could possibly have crossed with Clint’s.
‘He’s the reason why Joe and I couldn’t adopt, that’s how I know him,’ said Annie, her jaw clenched, her mouth a grim line. Then she swung the car around the corner too fast as if she hoped that Clint O’Gowan would be there and the chance to brake in time wouldn’t be an option.
The Mother of All Christmases Page 16