Magpie

by Elizabeth Day

  Quickly, she launched into a sing-song rendition of her thoughts and anxieties from that particular day.

  ‘So we’re organising a junket, Leo, and you’ll never guess what one of the film’s stars asked us to do …’ She waited. Leo, attention diverted from his threatened tantrum, widened his eyes as if to say, ‘Please, continue.’

  ‘Well, she wants us to repaint the entire hotel suite. Says the smell of tired hotel rooms triggers her. I know! Crazy, right?’

  Leo banged his spoon against the plastic tray.

  ‘You and me both, mate,’ Kate said. ‘So I said no, and then she threatened to pull out altogether and so now’ – she lifted Leo out of his high chair and scooped him close to her – ‘I don’t know what to fucking do. Yes, yes that’s right, poppet, I don’t know. Mummy doesn’t know.’

  Leo’s mouth split into a smile. She laughed, then, and he rested his head against her clavicle. There was no better feeling.

  The first few months had been brutal, of course. Although Kate had known all about the sleep deprivation in theory – had longed for it, even, during all those years of trying – the reality was still difficult to deal with. But it was true what those blissed-out new mothers said, the ones she had once found so annoying: she genuinely wouldn’t have it any other way. Leo was a gift so precious that it was only logical to be expected to work for it. Take away my sleep, she wanted to say. Take away my individuality, my job, my nights out, my ability to read a book, my trendy clothes – take all of it and see if I care. There was no sacrifice too great; no lack that she wouldn’t willingly suffer. She had her baby. Finally, after so much time and so much suffering: he was here.

  As for Jake, he was an attentive, sweet-natured father who got up to do night feeds, tucking the baby into one arm with a bottle and checking his emails on his phone with his other hand. He was proud of the technique. Seeing him like this made her love him more.

  She liked the fact their home was now filled with baby paraphernalia and toys: fabric books that crinkled to the touch, bears in waistcoats, brightly coloured play-mats and foam balls and tinkling rattles. They had turned Marisa’s room into the nursery, installing shelves for baby clothes and muslin cloths and nappies. Before she left, Marisa had given them a mobile of elephants and beach balls to hang above Leo’s cot. She had painted it herself. It caught the light in the mornings, and Leo followed the movement of the shapes and the shadows they cast on the ceiling.

  Marisa had moved in with Jas after they got back to London. It had been agreed between the four of them: they all knew it was a good idea for Marisa to have her own space, and Jas’s flat was only a short drive away from the clinic. Jas had a beaten-up VW Golf and offered to take Marisa to appointments whenever necessary. Kate and Jake covered the rent, topping it up when they could and, in this way, they got through the last month of the pregnancy.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jas had said to Kate when she came to pick Marisa up, packing her belongings into the back of the car. There were only two suitcases, which made Kate sad. ‘I’ve got her. I’ll look out for her. Make sure she’s taking care of herself.’

  ‘I’m just anxious about her after the birth,’ Kate said, arms crossed as she stood in the street. ‘I want her to be OK.’

  ‘She will be. She wanted to do this for you, remember?’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  Jas glanced at her sharply. ‘Ris is my friend. She’d do the same for me.’

  In the end, Marisa had surprised them all with her strength. A few months after Leo was born, she went travelling. She called them before she left, and Kate put her on speakerphone as Marisa told them her plans. She was going to fly to San Francisco and make her way down the Pacific Coast, before wending her way to Mexico and backpacking through South America.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to do it,’ she told them. ‘And I’ve got some money set aside. Plus I saved so much on rent thanks to you guys, so now I can.’

  Kate was taken aback by how emotional she felt.

  ‘Look after yourself, won’t you?’ she said, a grizzling Leo on her chest. ‘You’re very special to us.’

  There was a static pause on the line and the sound of Marisa swallowing hard.

  ‘Thank you, Kate,’ her voice was faint. ‘That means a lot.’

  ‘And please tell us how you’re getting on,’ Jake added. ‘Let us know you’re still alive.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I will.’

  Marisa had been as good as her word. Every month or so, a postcard would slide through their letterbox: an image of the Golden Gate Bridge or bronzed divers in Acapulco or Christ the Redeemer spreading grey stone arms out across the mountains. On the back, Marisa would always write the same thing: ‘Still alive! Having a great time. Love to you both and kisses to baby Leo.’

  The gaps between the postcards got longer as time went on and then they stopped altogether. Kate was secretly relieved. It was difficult for the three of them to know how to be with each other. So much had happened, and the experiences they had shared had been uniquely intense. It was necessary to maintain a distance between them now for the good of everyone involved. There was no easy place for Marisa to occupy in their family.

  But she still wanted to know that Marisa was safe. Every now and then, Kate would meet Jas for a coffee at the cafe in Finsbury Park to check in on her.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ Kate would say and she wouldn’t have to refer to Marisa by name for Jas to know who she was talking about.

  At one of these catch-ups, Jas told her that Marisa was dating an Australian yoga instructor she had met on the Machu Picchu trail.

  ‘He sounds great,’ Jas said. ‘Really down to earth and kind.’

  ‘But she hates yoga.’

  ‘I know!’ Jas snorted. ‘That’s what I love about it.’

  Landscapes change and shift, Kate thinks, as she and Jake and Leo walk along the river. She watches their reflections distort in the shimmering windows of the smart new apartment blocks. This is their story now, not Marisa’s.

  They would tell Leo when the time was right, when he was old enough to understand.

  ‘Mummy and Daddy had help to make you extra special,’ is what they would say. What happened after that, and whether Leo would want to make contact with Marisa, would be beyond Kate’s control. She tries not to think about it. She is his mother, she keeps telling herself. He is her dark-haired boy. She would do anything to protect him. She has come to realise that the ferocity of this kind of love is enough to drive you mad; that the tragic flaw of parenthood is that you equip your child to leave you. But what if you never want to let them go? And then she thinks, inevitably, of Annabelle.

  ‘Penny for them,’ Jake says.

  She laughs.

  ‘Does anyone actually say that?’

  His eyes crinkle.

  ‘I do.’

  They have reached the edge of Battersea Park. The sun is low in the sky, casting a misty light over the surface of the Thames. On the river, two long rowing boats sweep past, eight silhouetted people sitting low in the water, their bodies flexing and straightening in unison. The boats edge back and forth for advantage. The dipping oars make a light splashing sound as they enter the water.

  Kate checks on the baby, whose eyes are flickering shut, his small fingers slowly uncurling. She speaks softly when she replies.

  ‘I was just thinking about a mother’s love.’

  ‘Wow. OK. Deep.’

  She brings her hand up to her forehead to shield her squinting eyes from the sunlight as she looks into Jake’s face.

  ‘It’s not that I’ve forgiven Annabelle, exactly,’ she starts.

  ‘I should hope not,’ he says.

  ‘It’s more that I think I can understand a bit better.’

  He turns his head to the river.

  ‘You’re a m
ore generous person than I am.’

  She places her hand on his cheek, bringing his face back to hers, and she stretches up on tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth.

  ‘I understand why she loves you so much. I couldn’t stand it if I felt Leo was being taken away from me by someone who didn’t like me.’

  Jake smiles at her, but his face is shuttered.

  ‘Let’s not talk about it,’ he says. ‘I want to have a nice afternoon.’

  ‘OK.’ She snuggles closer to him, winding her arm around his waist. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  Kate always thought that, out of the two of them, she was the angrier one. She had certainly been furious with Annabelle for a long time after the baby shower. But when Leo was born, it seemed such a waste of energy to keep the fire of her outrage burning from afar. There was no focus for it now that Jake had cut his parents out of their lives. He had been horrified by Annabelle’s schemes, and ashamed of how he had – unwittingly – taken part in them. He told her that his sisters were estranged from their mother because Annabelle had meddled in their lives to such an extent that they couldn’t take it any more. Toad had developed an eating disorder. Millie was a workaholic. Julia had married an abusive man simply to placate their mother.

  ‘Mum thought he was “the right sort”,’ Jake explained. ‘You know, double-barrelled surname, country shooting weekends, public school, that kind of crap. They’re divorced now. But it’s why all three of them have moved so far away. I should have told you, but I suppose I didn’t want you to think badly of Mum. Which is stupid, I know, because no one thinks more badly of her now than I do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  He had apologised repeatedly to Kate for his ‘weakness’ and his ‘disloyalty’ until she told him to stop. She couldn’t take the constant re-hashing of the past, the awareness of what he could have done differently. It was pointless.

  ‘Annabelle can be very convincing,’ she said to him. ‘You stood up to her in the end and that’s what matters.’

  Besides, she asked, hadn’t Annabelle and Chris helped them when they most needed it? Did it matter what the ulterior motive had been? When they were in crisis, and had feared losing everything, it was Jake’s parents who had shown up. She is grateful for that, in spite of everything.

  Annabelle had sent a pair of blue knitted booties when Leo was born. The envelope was addressed to Jake, and when he opened it, he threw the card away unopened and stuffed the booties in the kitchen drawer where they kept the spare batteries and elastic bands. The booties are still there in their plastic gift box, long outgrown. Whenever Kate catches sight of them, she thinks of how Annabelle remembered their due date.

  She knows not to press the issue with Jake. It is his pain to carry and his to reconcile, not hers. In time, maybe they will allow Leo’s grandparents back into their lives. For now, though, there is no need. They are complete, the three of them. A perfect family, just as they are.

  They reach the Peace Pagoda at the edge of the park. Its two layered roofs remind Kate of a Victorian lady lifting her skirts. She read somewhere that the pagoda was presented to London as a gift by a Japanese monk who, after the atrocities at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, had vowed to spend the rest of his life building shrines to peace. She looks at the golden Buddha shining out from the centre, its clean brightness like a fresh, new coin. Peace, she thinks. She understands it now. She rests her hand against Leo’s head and feels the sleeping warmth of him.

  ‘Shall we go home?’ she asks.

  ‘Sure,’ he says.

  The baby is swaddled in his sling. Jake’s arm is around her shoulders. They walk back to where they came from, and the golden Buddha watches them go.

  Acknowledgements

  Much of this novel was written during the first national lockdown of the Covid-19 pandemic in Spring 2020. I’m not sure what I would have done without the wise, calm, generous, kind and funny counsel of Helen Garnons-Williams, my beloved editor. Although she is no longer at 4th Estate, one of her last tasks before leaving was to finish edits on Magpie, and I’m forever grateful.

  I’m grateful too for her leaving me in the capable hands of the brilliant Michelle Kane who inherited me as her author and has done such a great job ushering Magpie into the world and WhatsApping me pictures of cats, when appropriate.

  My agent Nelle Andrew is my champion in more ways than I can enumerate. I count myself so incredibly lucky to have her in my corner – in life as in books.

  Naomi Mantin is a peerless publicist but also someone who has become a dear friend. Thank you, Naomi, for everything you do which goes far beyond necessity.

  Thank you to Liv Marsden for your exceptional marketing skills and nail art, Jo Thomson for the beautiful cover design, Amber Burlinson for always being my favourite copy-editor and Katy Archer for project management. In Ireland, thank you to Ciara Swift.

  I love my publisher, so a little extra thank you to everyone who makes me feel so supported there. You know who you are and I never ever take your hard work for granted.

  Emma Reed Turrell, you are everything I’ve ever needed in a best friend – and more (and yes, that is a Leanne Hainsby reference).

  If you’ve read this far, you’ll know that Magpie has a plot twist. This meant I was very strict with myself about who I confided in, but Lisa Albert was one of the first to give me encouragement, as was Dolly Alderton. Thank you both.

  Thank you to my parents – my father Tom for the medical advice on correct drug dosages, and my mother Christine for her kindness in always being one of my first readers.

  Thank you to my most cherished friends. I couldn’t do life without you.

  Thank you to all the women who have shared their stories of fertility with me. I am honoured every single time you choose to tell me the paths you have travelled. I see you.

  And finally, thank you to Justin. During the course of writing this book, we went through a lot. Every single day of it, you made me feel loved. You still do. Thank you for that – and for showing me that the happiest plot twists in life come after we get the pacing right.

  London, April 2021

  About the Author

  Elizabeth Day is the author of four novels and the Sunday Times bestselling memoir, How to Fail. Her acclaimed debut Scissors, Paper, Stone won a Betty Trask Award and Home Fires was an Observer book of the year. Her third, Paradise City, was named one of the best novels of 2015 in the Evening Standard, and The Party was a Richard & Judy Book Club pick. She is an award-winning journalist and presents BBC Radio 4 ’ s Open Book and the Sky Arts Book Club. She is also the creator and host of the iTunes chart-topping podcast How To Fail.

  Also by Elizabeth Day

  FICTION

  Scissors, Paper, Stone

  Home Fires

  Paradise City

  The Party

  NON-FICTION

  How to Fail: Everything I’ve Ever Learned From Things Going Wrong

  Failosophy: A Handbook For When Things Go Wrong

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