Soul to Take

by Helen Bateman

  I'm lucky to have Ric too. Although at the minute it feels like he's a stranger. I know he's distracted by the restaurant and money, or lack of it. But surely this is more important than anything else. We've not even really talked about my miscarriage. And when I try he just says all the wrong things. He just goes on about trying again, like buying another lottery ticket when you've not won. But how will another baby ever replace the one we've lost? I actually don't think I could go through all of this again and if there's any chance it could happen a second time, well, maybe we just count our blessings and be content with one, beautiful daughter.

  Is that the time? We must get going. I said we'd meet Rachel in the park to feed the ducks at ten thirty. Somehow, it's not as bad seeing Rachel with her baby; I'm happy for her, really I am. I just struggle when Laura's there with her bump, all glowing and expectant. She's at her mum's house today so it will be much easier.

  SHANNON

  Could this week get any sicker? First, Howden puts me in Isolation for three days for swearin’ again. Trust Lucy Fartford - or what ever she’s called - to be nickin’ one o’ me crisps at breaktime just as Pervy Peckham walks past. I mean I like Lucy; we’ve been ’avin’ a good crack in English ’cos we’re the only girls but you’ve gotta say somethin’ when someone nicks a crisp ‘

  ’aven’ you? An’ she knew I was only jokin’ when I shouted “Fuck off you silly tart!”. But not Pervy Peckham, no, he marches me straight to Howden sayin’ I’ve been abusive to other students. Then Howden thinks ’e’s gotta do somethin’ serious about it ’cos it was Pervy Peckham who told ’im. I’m sure those two are bummin’ each other or somethin’.

  But actually, what they don’t know is that I’m dead pleased I’m in Isolation; it’s well safe. No-one bothers me to do work or anythin’. I mean, the teachers are meant to send stuff for us to do but they can never be bothered. So I can just sit there an’ ’ave a think, sort stuff out, y’know. I went on the computer yesterday but you’re not allowed internet access or messagin’, just school games so there’s no point in that.

  An’ there’s this well tidy Year Ten lad, who looks much older than a Year Ten, called Evan Jones, who had a fight with a boy in Year Nine, so he’s in there too. I've caught ’im starin’ at me loads. But I shouldn't be lookin’ back an’ I defo won’t today ’cause me an’ Rhys are up to our three month anniversary. I can’t believe it’s been a whole three months since he asked Sian to ask me out when we was all getting wrecked at the park. I remember I wasn’t sure at first ’cause I’d always thought ’e was a bit quiet and with ’im ’avin’ left school and everythin’, I didn’t think he’d be interested in a Year Eleven. But when ’e came over and chatted to me and I got off with ’im, ’e was dead sweet and walked me ’ome and made sure I had some chewin’ gum so I didn’t smell of cider when I got in. Not that they’d’ve given a shit but I thought it was kind anyway.

  And now, red roses on Valentines’ Day! I feel proper grown up. When I opened the door and the delivery lady was standin’ there, I thought she’d got the wrong ’ouse. No-one’s ever got flowers ’ere before. Rob would never send mum flowers ’cause he says they’re a ‘bloody waste of money’. But she checked the address and sure enough, she’d got the right one. I was gobsmacked! I still am! They’re amazin’; they must’ve cost a fortune, especially on Valentines’ Day. This seals it. Rhys is definitely ‘the One’, sending me flowers an’ everythin’. Oh, they've got a proper gift card on them. Let’s ’ave a look and see what he’s put, "To R from S x". The daft bastard’s only gone an’ got our initials the wrong way round! Never mind, it’s the thought that counts. I'll go text ’im now an’ tell ’im I got them.

  What to put? "ta 4 roses will giv u ur prez ltr ;)". There. Send. Oops. I ’aven’t got ’im a present. An’ that does sound a bit funny when I look at it now. Maybe he’ll think I mean we’ll do it later. Maybe we’ll ’ave to do it ’cos I can’t get into town to buy ’im anythin’ before I meet ’im when ’e finishes at the garage at five.

  These’ll need some water, I suppose. I'm sure Mum’s got a vase round ’ere somewhere but I can’t find it. That pint glass’ll ’ave to do. If I just chop the bottom off the roses and make the stalks a bit smaller, they’ll not fall out. They’re really tough though. And sharp. Ouch! Got a bloody cut on my finger now. "Mum! I need a plaster!"

  SARAH

  What a busy night that was! If I hear another screaming baby or another moaning mother ..! Who am I trying to kid? I’d give my right arm ten times over to be that mother moaning about her screaming baby. Every time I hear them complaining that they’re exhausted after being in labour for two days, or that they’ve had no sleep during their child’s first night on Earth, I want to tell them to count their blessings and simply enjoy that special time because not everyone is that lucky. But they wouldn’t understand and I don’t expect them to. It wouldn’t be very professional either so I just smile and make sure that they, and their babies, are okay.

  I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s just not meant to be, that my procreational days are over. I guess that God put some of us on the earth to be mothers and some of us to help others be mothers. And I’m definitely in the latter category. I mean, who would be telling a labouring woman which position will make her more comfortable, or teaching a new mum the best position for her baby to latch on, if it wasn’t for us lot? At least I get to spend time with babies and to feel part of that wonderful experience. If I had my own kids, I’d be constantly juggling my family life with work and probably doing a bad job of both, if some of my friends are anything to go by. That’s if I made it back to work at all. I’m good at what I do and I feel needed; this is my place in the world.

  Indeed, the time has come to focus on me and Tim. I know I’ve been snappy with him the last week or two; I can hear how unreasonable I sound when I speak to him and I sense him biting his tongue for fear of upsetting me more. But I’ve just felt under so much pressure to be pregnant. When we got married, it just seemed like the next step, to start trying for a family of our own. Gradually, all of our friends who got married around the same time have announced their new arrivals and Tim’s parents have made very unsubtle hints about ‘the pitter patter of tiny feet’. And it truly has been what we have wanted too. To make a new life with the person you love and watch it grow and fill your home with laughter and play would be literally quite awesome. But maybe there is more to life. We got married to be together, and love one another, so to ruin that all by obsessing about a third person, seems crazy.

  We should put all of this heartache behind us and start a new chapter. I mean, we can start spending some of that “Baby Pot” he’s been saving from his bonuses. Exotic holidays could become a new hobby of ours! Just because all of our friends are having families doesn’t mean that we have to follow suit. We can be happy without children.

  Even thinking these thoughts feels like I have eased my burden a little, lightened the load. I’m going to speak to Tim about how I feel and I’m certain that eventually he’ll see that I’m right. We’ll chat over lunch before his flight. It’s not like Tim to be so romantic as to take me to posh restaurants for lunch but I think he feels bad about leaving me on my own on Valentines’ night. I don’t mind at all really. He’s been looking forward to Gaz’s Stag Do for ages and the time away will be good for both of us.

  I’m planning a warm bath, a good book and a glass or two of red tonight. See, I couldn’t do that if I’d been pregnant. Indeed, today is the start of the new me!

  ME

  My strange experience has left me feeling dreadful. I am disorientated, I lack any clarity of thought and worst of all, I am still uncertain of my future. For such a long time, I watched these women and now I have briefly been these women but which one is right for me? I do not know. From what I have seen, I cannot imagine belonging to any of them. How on Earth can I possibly be born to a feral teenager who thrives on the attention gained by flouting authority?
And the others, although more mature in their years, are little better. One is so externally referenced and influenced by what others think that she could never prioritise the needs of a child before her own. Another is stricken with grief for a lost soul and as a result, is submerged in a world which is not fit for my entrance. The last has so little will power or control that she has given up all hope of becoming a mother. There is simply no harmony in any of these lives and certainly no attraction for this sorry soul. If this is my lot, I need to go back, to delve further into their worlds and to learn more. I must continue to go from one to another and look through their eyes until I know them like I knew my former selves. Only then will I know where this journey ends and which mother will bring me into her sphere.

  VICKY

  I couldn’t be more pleased with how that went; my party was every bit the success I knew it would be. Lying here, I must be the most contented woman in Freddock. How many people can say that they’re so happy that they can’t sleep? Well, Dan’s snoring isn’t helping either, bless him! I just keep re-living the evening over in my head; it gets better every time, like a good chic-flick on a girly night in!

  If I do say so myself, I looked sensational. Lots of people admired the cat-suit, although I must have put on a couple of pounds since Christmas as it was starting to restrict my breathing by the end of the night. As they say, pride is painful! All that time I spent doing my hair and make-up really paid off and I’m proud that I managed to keep steady on my heels on all night, despite the vodkas! Seems a bit silly, when you think about it, wearing heels to a party in your own house, when you don’t intend stepping foot outside. But I wouldn’t be seen dead without them.

  Anyway, I was pleased that so many people came. Barbara and Frances turned up first. I think they said their husbands were looking after their kids or something. Isn’t that what you pay babysitters for? I’m sure it wouldn’t keep me in on a Friday night. They’re a bit odd but I think I could grow to like them. It was all a bit awkward at first when they insisted on talking about their bloody Parent Teacher Committee - I do wonder how many committees one person can belong to - and which teachers their kids like at school. I thought I might nod off when one of them started listing the spellings their son had this week! They did get a bit more interesting after the large glasses of wine I was pouring though! I’ve just remembered them telling me about one of the mums from the playground who openly talks about how she’s shagging the guy from the Freddock butcher’s shop. And her husband has absolutely no idea. Now that was worth listening to.

  I knew Dan’s parents would turn up with Emma and Tom. I mean it’s not like they’re not welcome but we could have had lunch on Sunday with them or something. Parties can’t be their sort of thing. I wasn’t sure what kind of party they were expecting when she brought that corned beef pie. It totally spoiled the food table and certainly didn’t go with my Indian theme; it looked really stupid stuck between the samosas and the tikka bites. And as for Emma and Tom, they’re not exactly sociable. I can’t believe they sat in the corner, just talking to each other. Mind you, better that than talk to my friends. I don’t know what she’d say about me; I swear she doesn’t like me. I’m still furious about the way she burst into tears and then went home in the middle of the evening. Talk about an attention seeker!

  Poor old Eliza got the brunt of my moaning about Dan’s family. She’ll always listen though; she’s good like that. I’ll never forget how she helped me when my dad died. I remember how she’d bring me dinner round to make sure I’d eaten. “I cooked too much so I wondered if you wanted some,” she’d say, while opening my curtains and dragging three day old washing out of the machine for me. Lord knows how I’d have survived without her, living in that little flat, in that state, by myself, in my pre-Dan days. I did try to repay the favour when that horrible Baz ran off and left her with the kids. I’m so glad Eliza’s picked herself up too now. We’re like two different people. I do remember hugging her rather a lot and telling her how much I love her tonight!

  Maggie and her husband got here next, I think, in the middle of my Eliza hugging. It was really sweet that they’d skipped desert at the pub so as not to miss my party. Some of the things she wears are so outrageous. They’d look awful on anyone else, but with Maggie, well, it just works. Take tonight, she had a bright pink satin trouser suit on, the likes of which I have never seen in any shop or magazine. And I’m sure she wears a wig. Never mind, they did bring those two bottles of champagne which came in very handy later on.

  I wish I’d looked at my watch to see what time it was when the gym girls eventually arrived and rolled out of their taxi. Anyway, at least they came and I can always count on them to liven things up a bit. Luckily they were quite dressed up too and aren’t shy of a drink. So much so that they had to order another taxi to take Mel home early. She seemed alright to me but someone was saying she’d fallen asleep in the loo. Cass did say that they’d intended to stay at least a couple more hours but after all, it would cost less if they all just left together and shared another taxi home. I’m glad I managed to get the karaoke machine switched on before they left. We were fabulous at “Raining Men”, the five of us. No surprise pressie from them, though. Maybe they’ll save it for Monday when we meet up for coffee after our spin class.

  They definitely left before 11 o’clock because that’s when the lads Dan drinks with in the pub came over. They’d clearly been in there since finishing work and said they’d been up for getting a taxi into town to go clubbing, until they’d seen our light on and heard the music. So that was a real compliment that they chose to come over to ours. One of them, I think he’s called Mark, was desperate to do a bit of karaoke so I did a duet with him before the others dragged him off into the lounge.

  I must’ve felt a bit more confident, or more drunk, than usual, when I did those solos. I only sang the ones I know I’m good at, the ones Dan says I do ‘Okay’. The one I did with Barbara and Frances was good fun too. They were a bit microphone-shy at first but they soon warmed up and I think they were glad they stayed that little bit longer after all.

  When they said they really must get home, I knew that was my moment. Switching the karaoke machine off but leaving the mic’ on was a great idea. The lads all came back through to the kitchen really quickly when I said I had an important announcement to make. I’m trying to remember exactly how I put it but I thanked everyone for coming and for helping me celebrate my birthday, that’s right.

  Taking a deep breath and absorbing the moment, I looked around my fabulous kitchen, in my fabulous home, and thought about how lucky I am. I looked at my black granite work tops, and my centre island with my induction hob, which has been simply begging for a party like this since we had it installed last year. I looked at the people who were sitting at my red, high-gloss bar stools and I caught Frances staring at my low floor unit lights. I had friends around me and the atmosphere was perfect.

  “Well,” I remember stalling, “There’s another reason I wanted to gather everyone we hold dear.” Their attention was mine now and I loved every second of it! “I know it’s not February 29th, but it is a leap year. And it’s Valentine’s Day and my birthday. So I felt they were good enough reasons to allow me take the plunge and ask Dan, ‘Will you marry me?’”

  Sure enough, everyone cheered as much as I’d always imagined and then there was that pause, when I think they all realised that Dan hadn’t had a chance to respond! Of course he said “Yes”, or at least he must have done - that bit’s quite hazy - as the whooping continued! Maggie swiftly remembered the champagne she’d brought and got it back out of the fridge.

  And here I lie, smiling and remembering. I don’t think life gets any better than this. I’ve got my house, got my man and soon, I’ll get the fairytale wedding I’ve dreamt about from being a little girl. Ooh, that’ll be fun to plan. I must call Eliza in the morning to come round for a glass of wine to discuss my ideas.

  NELL

 
; Like my week’s not been hideous enough, Fate has to throw in another blow. Trying to piece together bits of today feels like putting together a jigsaw from two entirely different boxes. I remember putting Rosie’s red jumper on her and getting ready to go to the park. And I know that currently, I’m here in a hospital bed, on a noisy ward of ill people, feeling rather ropey myself. But in between is just a blur of images. What does that clock say? About four o’clock? I haven’t had this kind of memory loss since my student days! At least back then, there was a cracking night out to make it all worthwhile.

  When I was getting Rosie dressed, I must admit, I did feel a bit grim but to be honest, I’ve felt rough for weeks. The morning sickness and sheer exhaustion had already set in before I lost the baby. It was when it all stopped one day and I’d not been up for a wee in the night that I knew something was wrong. And sure enough, the bleeding started that night. And then I’ve felt rubbish ever since. Lack of proper sleep, I’ve been putting it down to. But actually, now that I think about it, it did feel a bit different this morning, more like I was getting a cold, sort of fuzzy headed with waves of hot and cold.

  We must have got to the park because more snapshots are coming back to me; I was seething when Rachel and I bumped into that awful Donna woman from Rosie’s and Callum’s Ante-Natal group. I didn’t like her or her attitude when we all used to meet up for coffee and certainly didn’t feel like making small talk with her today. I swear she is the most emotionally unintelligent woman I have ever met. Having just given birth to her second child, she was coo-ing and comparing notes with Rachel. Of course, I don’t begrudge her that; we’ve all done it. But the way she turned to me and asked, “Are you not having any more Nell?” defied belief really. I mean, what was she expecting me to say? “No, I only ever want to experience the joys of motherhood - which you know I have loved - once in my entire life” or, “Yes, Ric and I are scheduled to attempt conception tomorrow night when my basal temperatures indicate that I’ll be ovulating”. Or even, the harsher reality of “Actually, my body repelled an eleven week old embryo last week and I’m still feeling rather traumatised.” So I smiled and said, “This one keeps me busy for now”. I’m too nice sometimes.