by Carrie Adams
“Exactly.”
Claudia opened her bag and for a moment I thought that she was literally going to pull a baby out of the bag. This isn’t as stupid as it sounds. It was a big bag. A Mary Poppins sort of bag. Excuse me, I was operating on limited sleep.
“Our daughter,” said Claudia, passing over a grainy black and white ultrasound image of perfection. A clenched hand floated over a pouting mouth, a tiny thumb extended to the ready. Above it perched a ski-jump nose and a bowling ball head which tapered into a softly curved nape. I stared and stared at it. Look, I’ve seen these things before and they’ve all looked the same to me. I’ve often wondered if it wasn’t a great con—different women go into the scanning rooms but only one picture comes out. But this little lady looked as complete and unique as if she were swaddled on my lap.
“I’m three months’ pregnant,” said Claudia. “I haven’t told anyone, just in case. There is only so much sympathy a person can take, but she’s still here and the doctors tell me I’m as safe as any other woman at this stage.”
I nodded because I couldn’t speak. Then she pulled me towards her and I sobbed in the same way that Claudia had done as time and time again they had failed to make a baby. She held me, like I’d held her. I hadn’t realized until that moment what a huge strain it had been watching my dear friend go through something that I couldn’t help her with. I sobbed and sobbed with relief, fear and joy.
“I know, I have a long way to go, but right now I’m pregnant, Tessa, I’m pregnant. I’m not going to fear this miracle. I’m going to be like any other expectant mum. The doctors say I’m playing on an even field, and I’m determined to enjoy it.”
I cried again. So much for bravery.
Claudia made me tea and toast. I think I was in shock. While Caspar slept on, she filled me in on the previous three months. “And then yesterday I could have sworn I felt it move,” said Claudia. “It was like someone was blowing bubbles inside me. It was amazing.” She was radiating happiness.
“Fran said it was like butterflies dancing,” I said, as always, falling back on my friends’ experiences in all things domestic and familial as if they were my own. Actually, Fran had said that about Caspar, the first one. She hadn’t been so complimentary about the girls’ first signals. Katie wasn’t butterflies fluttering, she was six extra pounds overnight and the sure knowledge that the scales were only moving in one direction.
“How is Al?” I asked.
“Cautious, but ecstatic,” said Claudia, taking a seat on my cream sofa. “God, this view is incredible,” she said, changing the subject and staring out over the river. “It never fails to amaze me.”
“I’m very proud of you,” I said, taking Claudia’s hand. “You and Al are amazing. Most couples fold after being subjected to one tenth of what you’ve been subjected to. This little girl is very lucky to have you as parents,” I said.
“Luckier still to have the best godmother in the world.”
“Hardly.”
“You let your godson puke up all over your 100 percent Egyptian cotton bed sheets. If that was all I knew about you it would be enough.”
“Royal sateen percale cotton bed sheets, with a thread count of 250,” I said.
“Well, there you go.”
We sat on my sofa, our hands held over her little belly that contained a seven-centimeter miracle and stared out at the diamond-freckled river below us. She was right, it was an amazing view. I felt blessed.
A little while after Claudia had taken her prize possession home, Caspar walked unsteadily into the living room. As a lawyer, I’d seen the products of broken homes and abuse; Caspar was not one of these. I knew that everything in life was relative and I couldn’t ask him to compare himself to a starving child in Sudan. That “Third World shit,” as he described it, was beyond his comprehension and sometimes mine, if I were honest. But was the softly, softly approach the way to go? Should I just drive him home and dump him in it? Was parental fury going to get to the bottom of this or make it worse? Why didn’t children come with a manual? Maybe this was my chance to prove that I meant what I said when I took on the role of godmother. That I would step up to the plate. That I would be more than a donator of gifts and treats. In spirit I believed myself more akin to Caspar and his generation than I did to his parents. I had not stepped over the fence. I had not said goodbye to irresponsibility. After all, I was young enough to be Caspar’s friend with the added advantage of age. I could step into the role of mother. Not despite being childless, but because of it. Thinking about it, it had to be me. Who else was there?
I ran a bath for him, I made more tea and bacon sandwiches, I found some Gatorade and a couple of Aleve, and when he had relaxed, and all the defensiveness had left his body, I changed tack. It’s another legal trick.
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” he grunted.
“What I saw didn’t look like ‘fine.’”
He gave me a sort of “Fuck off, Mum” face, before remembering he wasn’t at home.
“Is that the thanks I get for scraping you off the pavement?”
“Sorry.”
“So tell me. I’m here for you.”
“Drank too much, I guess.”
“Kind of worked that one out for myself since the contents of your stomach are still in my shoes.”
He pulled a face.
“And it’s not really the booze I’m worried about. How long have you been smoking this stuff for?”
He shrugged.
“Caspar, either you talk to me or we go home and you can tell Nick and Fran. You decide.”
He pulled a cushion up under his chin. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“I don’t need to tell you anything,” he said, his voice taut with petulance.
“Oh yes you do. You’d be waking up in hospital if it wasn’t for me. Or worse, not waking up at all, ever, since you were unconscious and still vomiting. Do you know how many people die a year choking on their own puke?”
At least he looked a little embarrassed.
“Not only that, if it wasn’t for me you’d have the police to deal with,” I said. “Because while you were unconscious you were searched. And they found this.” I held out the tin.
“It’s not illegal to have it on you.”
“You’re right. But it is illegal to have this!” I opened my other hand. The one holding the talcum powder. I was taking a gamble here, hoping he didn’t know he’d been duped.
“So I’ll ask you again. What the hell is going on?”
“You don’t know what it’s like.”
“What? Tell me. Are you being bullied?”
“No.”
“Someone broken your heart?”
“No.”
“Are you gay?”
“No!”
“Then what is it?”
I waited. He twiddled the cord of my dressing gown around his finger. He looked very small. I softened.
“Caspar, tell me. Whatever it is, we can sort it.”
“You’ll think I’m being stupid.”
Probably. “I’ll try very hard not to.”
That seemed to be an acceptable answer.
“Home,” he said.
“Home?”
He nodded. I could see that it hurt his head because he winced.
“What’s going on at home?”
The fact that he wouldn’t tell me made me worried at first; I let my imagination take me to places I shouldn’t. Then it made me furious, because it was worse than I’d imagined—turned out it was nothing. Nothing. He felt left out. Left out. It seemed that Katie and Poppy took up too much of Nick and Francesca’s time. I frowned, disappointed. “Let me get this straight. You’re pissed off because you don’t have exclusive rights over your parents?”
“I’ve never had exclusive rights. Nick and Francesca only have exclusive rights for themselves and the girls.”
The use of their first na
mes annoyed me. “Don’t disrespect your parents in my presence, you ungrateful little toad.”
He moved to get up. “Here we go.”
“Sit. Down.” Something in my voice worked. He sat back down. I leaned forward. “In four years’ time you will give birth to a son. You won’t be able to celebrate your twentieth birthday because your girlfriend has just struggled through her finals and soon after went into labor. While all your friends are partying hard, you and she are up all night with a baby you know nothing about. It’s fun at first. Quite romantic, actually. But six months down the road your son still isn’t sleeping through the night and you and she are exhausted. You are doing three jobs you hate in order to pay the rent and have enough money for milk and nappies. Remember, you are twenty years old. Four years from now. All your friends tell you to run, that you were trapped, that social workers will take care of your girlfriend and baby. It is mighty tempting because your girlfriend is too exhausted to talk to you as every last piece of her energy goes into keeping this tiny, dependent creature alive. Instead of bolting, you propose marriage, you take responsibility and spend the next sixteen years making your little family work. Can you imagine that? You, four years’ time, a father for life.”
“It’s not my fault Mum got pregnant.”
“No. Has she ever made you feel as if it were?”
Caspar shook his head.
“I didn’t catch that.”
“No.”
“So what’s this all about, then?”
“Tessa, you don’t know what it’s like. Mum and Dad are always so involved with each other.”
“And this is your problem?”
“You make me sound like a spoilt brat.”
“You said it.”
“I thought you understood. I thought you weren’t angry with me.”
“I’m not. I’m fucking furious.”
After that the conversation took a turn for worse.
“They’ve done bloody everything for you. Do you have any idea what they missed out on?” I wasn’t even talking about all the big things they missed out on, like holidays, a dishwasher, a car, Fran’s career; I was talking about nipping down to the pub for a quick pint. I was talking about attending their graduation party. Having a twenty-first. Friends.
“Your mum was the smartest girl I knew, have ever known.” Not so easy to tell these days, I had to admit, but she was far smarter than me. I’d always had to work twice as hard to stay level with her. I sat next to her in the first lecture, I was sitting next to her at the last; the only difference between her and me on that last lecture was that she had a huge stomach and I had a hangover. In the months that followed graduation, we were both up all night but for different reasons. While I was at law school, she was at playschool. By the time I was doing the rounds of regional courthouses, Francesca was on the school run.
“She had big dreams, Caspar. She wanted to work for the UN, travel all over the world, make things better. All it would have taken was twenty minutes under general anesthetic.”
Caspar winced. But it was true, one abortion, the abortion I told her to have, and Francesca could have been running the UN by now.
“When it came to it, she couldn’t do it and her reasons, it turned out, were sound. Don’t repay them with this shoddy behavior, Caspar, please. For her and you. Because I tell you, you’ll regret it eventually and you’ll never be able to make it up to her. And then you might really need this shit.” I held out the packet of talcum powder again.
“It was only a bit of speed.”
Speed. OK, I figured that was better than coke or crack. “‘Only’? And what about all this skunk you’re smoking. Do you know it can make you paranoid? Antisocial? Irrational? Angry? I wonder whom I’m describing…”
“It’s only weed.”
“It’s not only weed or only speed, these are drugs, Caspar. I don’t care what you think, but I don’t know many heroin addicts who went from Kool-Aid to heroin—you know what I mean? There is a process that sucks you in. And it starts with this. Honestly, I thought you were more intelligent than this.”
It was about this point that we both started to tire of the fight.
We went to the kitchen and I put the kettle on. Caspar dragged his sorry arse on to a stool and put his chin into his hands. My cherubic, number one godson, all curls and pink cheeks—taking speed. It was a horrendous thought. He’d been so well loved; what more could any parent do than love their child? What did they want, these kids?
“Would you prefer it if your parents hated each other?”
“No, but it’s embarrassing.”
“It embarrasses you because they are in love with each other?”
He grimaced.
“You have no idea how lucky you are. You think happy marriages are the norm? Think about it. Fran’s parents aren’t together, Ben’s parents were never married, Billy is divorced, I’m alone—”
“You’re not married. It doesn’t count.”
“I might be if one of my relationships had worked.”
“You need a boyfriend first, Tessa,” said Caspar. Out of the mouths of babes.
“Oi, you’re in the doghouse, don’t be cheeky. If your mum and dad reward themselves with a private joke that you are not part of, or a cuddle on the sofa, or holding each other’s hands rather than yours, you should thank your lucky stars. It’s why you have the foundation you do. It’s why you have a home.”
He picked at a digestive biscuit. “I feel left out.”
“So you think it’s your turn to embarrass them?”
“Maybe.”
“But the only person you’re embarrassing is yourself.”
Caspar couldn’t grasp the reasons for his behavior or how he felt because he didn’t understand them himself. He was a boy. Having a childish reaction. Throwing his toys out of his pram. The trouble was, at sixteen, he had access to more adult toys. He rubbed his hands over his face. When he looked up he had tears in his eyes.
“You’re right. I’ve lost all my friends. Zac’s an arsehole, I don’t know why I listen to him; I’ve put Mum and Dad through hell…”
I walked round the bar and put my arm around him. He leaned against me like he used to do when he was a child. I could feel my heart surge with love for him and nearly burst into tears myself with relief.
“Tessa?” he said quietly after a few minutes.
“Yes?”
“I stole £50 from your wallet,” he said.
If I thought I couldn’t love him more, I was wrong. I kissed his head. “I know,” I said.
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I was waiting for you to tell me.”
“I’m sorry, Tessa—for that, for last night, for my behavior when you came home…”
“Ssh. No more sorries. Not to me, anyway.” I held him, feeling the full force of unconditional love.
“Have I got a record?”
“No,” I said. “But it was close and trust me, a drug record is a very hard thing to shake.” I knew what I was talking about, not just from a legal point of view, but from a personal one. Claudia and Al had wanted to adopt after their third attempt at IVF failed. They had a horrendous time. Al had a record. He was caught bringing half an ounce of cannabis resin into the country from Vietnam. It was a mistake, of course. He’d thought he’d lost the stuff but it had fallen through a tear in the lining of his bag. The adoption agency could only read in black and white; Al’s grey story couldn’t be heard. Ironically, Claudia was told that she’d be more likely to get a child if she wasn’t married to Al, but Claudia wouldn’t listen to his idea of divorce, even if it was only on paper. We all thought his insignificant record would not play a part in his adult life. We were very wrong.
“Thank you for bailing me out.”
“It wasn’t me. The officer gave you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I should thank her for that.”
“Well, you can. I know where she’s stationed.”
&n
bsp; “I’ll write a note…” He sighed heavily. “It’s over, Tessa,” he said into my shoulder. “I’ve been an arsehole.”
That was when I felt the little boy I loved was gone, and a fine man would emerge, though not all at once, in his place. So much for my maternal instinct.
6
ticktock
Why is it that when I know I have to be suited and booted and on parade I fall in through my flat door at four in the morning, having popped out for a quick drink nine hours earlier? It was innocent enough. I’d spent the week effectively ignoring all the things I had to do while spending hours on the things I didn’t. Despite having long chats with my parents about my next move, I managed to forget to make any of the calls I had to until I was in the middle of a yoga class, in the cinema, or it was three o’clock in the morning. I’d lie awake having lengthy rehearsals of what I would say when I called the recruitment agency but in the morning I’d have a boiled egg, make some coffee and spend a happy four hours listening to music and clearing out my wardrobe. Procrastination is an art I have clearly mastered.
But then on Friday evening a girl I used to work with sent me a text message saying she was in the area. We agreed to meet up in my local pub for a speedy catch up. I would have ducked it, although I liked the girl very much, because she was closer to the work drama than I cared to go at present. However, she told me she was meeting friends for dinner, which meant we couldn’t get stuck into a long debate about my ex-boss, and also, she had moved to another chambers. It was to be one quick drink before going home to think pure thoughts about renouncing the devil at the twins’ christening the following morning. I had a shandy, for heaven’s sake. What trouble could a shandy get me into? Less and less lemonade, that’s what. I am a weak-willed woman with a terrible desire to flout responsibility—except, of course, that’s only half the story. Because I long for responsibility too. I long to say, “Sorry, can’t find a babysitter. See you in seventeen years.”
I should have never left my flat because after a few more pints, and a great deal of gossip, it seemed like a good idea to make my ex-colleague’s friends come to where we were. Then it seemed like crisps were as good as anything for dinner. And then the bell tolled and someone suggested a sweaty disco club round the corner that I didn’t even know existed. And then, of course, tequila…