‘You’re not here just yet, are you?’ The door banged again and I dragged Sonny up onto my hip ready to welcome the next guest, leaving Woody to join the party already gathering in the kitchen. Amy was DJ-ing and the kids were dancing. I picked out Isla’s worried little face through the throng of gyrating children before I turned to see who had knocked.
‘Happy birthday!’ Mel sang. Just seeing her made me want to start crying. The party suddenly felt like a really ridiculous plan. So many people I couldn’t speak to anyone properly. Why had I thought this was a good idea?
‘Are you OK?’ I shook my head. I was going to be sick. I shoved Sonny at her who started screaming and took the stairs two at a time to the middle-floor bathroom, almost tripping on my dress. I didn’t make it, projectile vomiting up the wall and all over the shut toilet seat.
‘Oh, Mands,’ Mel said softly behind me as Sonny tried to grab me but then realised I was ill. He started bawling his eyes out all over again.
‘You weren’t like this with the other ones, were you?’ I shook my head, wiping my watery eyes in some loo roll.
‘Have they said it’s normal to be sick like this, even at three months?’
‘Yes. I was sick through all the others, but I feel wrong all the time. Like I’m ill. I have days where lifting my head is a struggle.’
‘You’ve got sick in your hair. Come here.’ While Mel tidied me up, the door banged again.
‘It’s Sam,’ Ali called up the stairs. ‘Have you got Sonny?’
With wet hair and a dishevelled demeanour, I met Sam downstairs. I had always thought we would celebrate this significant birthday together and a poignant pain struck my side. Mel followed me, heading for the anti-bac spray and kitchen roll. Sam was wearing his scruffy DIY jeans decorated with paint splatters, some of the colours dating back to this house.
‘Hello, Sam,’ Mel said on her way to the kitchen.
‘Oh, wow, Mel, I haven’t seen you for ages!’ He leaned in for an awkward peck on the cheek.
‘Yes, it’s been a while,’ she said non-committedly. ‘Excuse me, Amanda’s roped me into cleaning the loo!’ He laughed like he was at the party. I half expected him to join in with: ‘Oh, how like Amanda,’ then roll his eyes. At this point, if he had, shortly after I would have been in the dock for murder and the baby would be born in prison.
‘Hey, Sonny, you ready to play some football?’ Sam cried, scooping Chug up into his arms and kissing him. Sonny was beaming from ear to ear.
‘Dad! Yes!’
‘Bye…’ Sam called out to the air. No one was listening. I followed him out to his car, the exact same one as mine, parked further down the street. I idly wondered if his new house was anything like this one.
‘Sonny’s fine. I don’t know what you’re making all the fuss about,’ he said, turning round after he had strapped him in the back.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I bet the only reason you made Ali phone me was so you could get hammered with all your mates and not have to deal with all three of them. I’m assuming Woody will be there in charge of proceedings.’
‘I can’t believe you’re saying that.’
‘Oh, come on, Amanda. I’m not stupid.’
‘Don’t you think I want my little boy, one of the loves of my life, at my own birthday? Why on earth would I want him sent away? He won’t stop hitting me! You don’t get it.’
‘Get what?’
‘This is my fortieth. All our friends, people who we’ve both known for years, are in that house having a party. He should be there… So should you.’
‘I can come. If you want me to come, I’ll do it.’
‘No!!!’ I yelled. ‘As my husband!’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
I walked off, a fresh tidal wave of grief crashing over my head, soaking through all the carefully fixed layers of armour, cruelly stripping them off, leaving me bare.
‘I’ll drop him back in the morning!’ Sam called at my retreating back.
*
‘This is for your blood pressure,’ the lady said. I had to slip both arms into an automatic Robocop-type machine with dual airbags that slowly inflated, crushing my arms in the process.
‘There’s something wrong with the baby,’ I said involuntarily.
Woody crouched down on a stool to the side, watching me. He winked.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she reassured me. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because I feel it. I’m too old.’
‘How old are you?’ she asked me in her Eastern European accent. She was tiny, like a porcelain doll, her hair scraped back into a severe bun, high Slavic cheekbones disguising her real age. She could have been anything from twenty-five to forty-five.
‘Forty.’
‘Wow, you certainly don’t look it. But that’s not old. It will be OK.’ But how did she know? She couldn’t see inside my womb and witness the festering doubt suffocating the developing baby. I could. It was happening and I knew it.
‘Don’t say that,’ Woody said softly, stroking my leg. ‘It’ll be all right.’
‘But what if it isn’t?’
‘Then we deal with it.’
I smiled weakly at him, reservation stalking down the wafer-thin optimism I had been feeling that morning. I had never felt anything was untoward with the other three when I came for previous scans. I had blindly assumed the best every time.
When it was time to lie on the couch, the urge to run from the room was visceral. The jelly was cold and Woody held my hand, squeezing it when the baby swam into view, its monochrome heart beating like the clappers. I looked intently at the monitor. Everything appeared normal: two arms, two legs, a head, a beating heart.
‘Can we shut the door?’ the doctor asked quietly.
That was my confirmation. Suddenly the room was humming with people that I hadn’t previously noticed, all of them crowding round the screen, murmuring and nodding at each other. No one was pointing out the baby and telling me about it. I was invisible. The doctor silently took measurements. The Eastern European woman had disappeared. I glanced wildly at Woody but he was staring at the screen, a look of wonder on his face. The Eastern European doctor returned and with her was a tall man in his fifties with thick dark salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a sombre suit. He edged in front of the screen and looked closely, bending over so his face was almost pressing on the glass. He turned to look at me.
‘I’m Dr Almendarez. Your baby has a heart defect, I’m afraid.’
‘How bad is it?’ I asked nervily. Isla had a minor heart murmur but she was alive and well. I detected something even more ominous buried under his words.
‘It’s quite serious. Something that might be able to be fixed with surgery after birth, but there’re the other problems associated with it.’
My body existed in the room with the beeping machines, but I was somewhere else. I wondered if I was having a genuine out-of-body experience. I could hear and feel everything so acutely as if I was the room, the air, the beeping, the urgent footsteps in the corridor, the crying baby in the waiting area.
‘What problems?’ Woody prompted, bringing me crashing back to the bed with a jolt.
‘Looking at the foetus, it would appear it has quite a few characteristics of trisomy twenty-one.’ When we looked nonplussed by his exclusive terminology, he elaborated. ‘Down’s syndrome.’
The words winded me.
‘You see here, the big toe is further away from the second toe, and the nasal bone is very small. Your placenta is also abnormally large, which will make you protrude more obviously. The heart defect is in keeping with Down’s babies, and is in line with this type of Down’s being life debilitating. The baby may not live long after birth.’
I didn’t see. The baby looked perfect. It kicked its delicate legs and curled into a ball. I turned away, frightened to engage, but it was already too late. The moment I’d known the baby was poorly was the second all previous doubts dissolved an
d brought keenly into focus how much I wanted this baby to be OK.
‘Is it certain about the Down’s syndrome?’ Woody asked, stepping up to the plate.
‘No. They are just pointers and only carry a fifty per cent chance of being right. The baby definitely has a heart defect, we know that for sure, but the severity of the Down’s can only be confirmed with another test.’
They both looked at me. What was I supposed to say?
‘What about abortion? How soon could I have one if the baby has Down’s?’
‘Well, you don’t know one hundred per cent yet if the baby has Down’s,’ Dr Almendarez back-tracked. I assumed he was Spanish, and a thought popped into my head – was he Catholic? Did he think I would go to hell if I aborted this baby, even if it was terminally sick?
‘I know that. The test you’re talking about, is it the one with the needle into my womb?’
‘Yes, the amniocentesis. It carries a very small risk of miscarriage but the results will be certain. I think we can fit it in today. Shall I leave you to have a think about options?’ He handed me some paper towels so I could wipe my abdomen of the clear jelly.
‘Do you think you should have the test?’ Woody asked after the doctor left the room.
‘Yes. I think we need to know. Woody, I can’t go ahead with this if the baby is going to die, or have Down’s. It’s not fair on anyone.’
He nodded slowly in agreement.
‘This will hurt,’ Dr Almendarez explained a few hours later, wiping my tummy. No sugar-coating whatsoever. I lay prostrate on the bed; the iodine had stained my vulnerable bump yellow.
‘Ready?’ the doctor asked me.
The second the gargantuan needle came into view I balked.
‘No,’ I squeaked. ‘It’s massive.’
‘It needs to be. We have to aspirate fluid from the amniotic sac. Keep very still, please.’
‘Come on, Mands. Hold my hand.’ Woody grabbed it and kissed my forehead. ‘You’re amazing.’
‘If it upsets you don’t watch the screen.’
But of course that was all I wanted to do. I may never see the baby again. As the foetus innocently twitched on the monitor, Dr Almendarez grazed my skin with the point of the needle, then applied some force. It hurt like fuck as he pressed on through the muscle wall and into my womb. My entire being tensed and it was like no sensation I had ever experienced. I felt violated. I was unconsciously crying and only became aware when Woody handed me a tissue. Watching the needle on the screen narrowly miss the baby sent a shiver down my spine.
‘Noooo,’ I moaned to myself. I couldn’t look any more and buried my head in Woody’s arm. He stroked my head as the doctor extracted the needle. It was over.
‘When will we know?’ Woody asked him as he carefully wiped my diminutive bump clean.
‘It can take a week, but it may be sooner. I’ll leave you in the hands of Maria. She will explain what happens next.’
Time has a way of slowing down so that minutes can stretch into lifetimes and hours can feel like the landscape is being eroded from under your very feet. That was what waiting for the result felt like. Rob now knew about the baby – Woody had summoned him from the hospital when we were trapped having tests. He had had to step in and look after the children while Ali was at work.
‘Does Sam know?’ he asked me when he dropped the kids back.
‘No! And he can never know,’ I replied. ‘My lawyer said it might screw up my chances of a decent financial settlement.’ But the even stranger thing was that the very person I wanted to tell was Sam. I wanted him to hold me, tell me it would be OK, that the baby wouldn’t feel pain if it had to go. Sam had always been in my corner for all previous traumas; he always knew what to say. Apart from when he was causing the trauma. All I wanted was to sit in his imagined front room and drink a cup of tea and just be. Pretend everything was normal; I didn’t even care if Carrie was there. I didn’t understand my own logic, all I knew was that I wasn’t myself and I couldn’t find her even when I searched really hard.
‘What are you doing?’ Woody asked, Saturday bedtime. He’d found me staring into the bathroom mirror. I’d been stuck there for ages.
‘Trying to see where I’ve gone.’
‘You’re right here.’
‘I’m not. I’m lost. I don’t know where I am.’
‘Do you want me to help? What can I do?’
‘Nothing. Only I can do it.’ He tried to touch me but I flinched. ‘Sorry. I think I need to just sleep on my own. Do you mind?’
‘Sure, if that’s what you want.’
He clearly did mind, but I felt secure in my current situation that he wouldn’t challenge it. Playing host to a time bomb gave you special dispensation, or so I thought.
The children crept into my bed most nights that week, like they knew something was up but couldn’t put their fingers on it. I was glad of the cuddles and it certainly helped me through my metamorphosis.
The day finally dawned and I was prepared to hear the news; Woody was the father, but I held the cards. I now knew if the baby was OK, but with a poorly heart, I would face it and go full term. There was life blossoming and we needed to see it through. The instinct to protect was fierce and I felt firmly rooted in my decision.
‘Will it be today for sure?’ Ali had asked as she left for work, dropping Sonny and Grace at nursery on her way.
‘Maria, the midwife, said she would call today, but not what time.’ Ali hugged me on the doorstep.
‘I hope it’s good news. Ring me any time.’
Please let me know as soon as you know.
Mel had texted at six in the morning.
Love you,
Rob texted.
Thinking of you today.
Woody had to work in Essex so was over there today.
Gorgeous, whatever happens, I’ll see it through with you.
He texted just after six in the morning.
I thought of his face and instead of the descendent tug of desire, my stomach clenched with anxiety. Where was his place in all of this?
I dropped Isla and Meg at school and when I walked up to the house to begin my vigil, Jacqui was sitting on the front step, her bike leaning against one of the pillars.
‘Hey, thought you might need some company.’
‘Thanks. Tea?’ Relief flooded through me.
We sat companionably in the back garden sipping tea, listening to the birds chattering, the early morning dew sprinkled like a careless sea of sequins across the lawn, twinkling every time the wind rustled the trees, parting branches so that obscured sunlight could dance through the veil of leaves. We didn’t mention the phone call.
At about eleven, just as the sun arced above the dense treeline, bathing us within its toasty glow, my phone rang. Jacqui put her second cup of tea down on the patio as I answered.
‘Hello, is that Amanda? It’s Maria from King’s.’
‘Yes. It’s me.’
‘Amanda, I have some bad news, I’m afraid. The test results came back positive for trisomy twenty-one.’
25
One Week, Three Endings
‘Why did you tell everyone else first? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Woody was shouting right at the bottom of the garden away from the children. We were tucked up behind the trampoline to find some much-needed privacy. The early evening sunlight had abandoned ship some time ago and sailed round to the front of the house, blasting it with the last warmth of the day. Ali was upstairs bathing Grace and my three were inside glued to Mr Maker and his artistic endeavours. ‘Why did Rob have to tell me?’
I was cross with Rob, but I knew he was trying to build bridges between him and Woody and had just been expressing sympathy.
‘I’m sorry. Rob rang me to see if I was OK just after Maria called. I went to pieces on the phone. He was amazing. I didn’t want to talk to you while I was a mess.’
‘Well, I’m glad he was amazing. Meanwhile you never told me our baby is going to be terminated.
’ He was yelling in such a crazed way that spittle had gathered in the corners of his mouth, waiting to shoot me in the face.
‘Why are you shouting at me? I was going to ring you, but Rob got in there first. He was just trying to be kind.’
‘You took your fucking time telling me!’
I burst into tears and walked back to the house. The lawn was so wild now I would need a scythe to slice it before the mower could even get started. I picked up my pace, eager to escape Woody’s rage, the grass whipping my ankles.
‘Amanda! Don’t walk off! Stop being ridiculous!’
I stopped dead and turned round. ‘I am not being ridiculous. I have to have an operation and have this baby sucked out of me. Never mind that I am terrified of needles, that I am killing a baby, that I have to deal with this, and all you fucking give a shit about is that I was an hour too late telling you. Stop making this about you, you fucking twat.’
‘Right, that’s it, I’m off.’ He stalked towards me and for an unhinged split second I thought he was going to hit me. He thundered past. I didn’t even ask him where he was going; I didn’t care.
*
‘I need a favour.’ I hated the way I had to use that word: favour. They were his bloody kids, too. ‘I have to have an operation on Friday, a gyne thing, lady trouble, won’t go into it, but I can’t have the kids after school. Please can you have them?’
‘Yes, of course. Are you OK?’
‘No.’ And I started crying hysterically. Just tell him, a voice said. No! another one counteracted. You don’t need his sympathy.
‘Oh gosh, are you really poorly?’ Sam asked, fear creeping into his voice. Probably at the thought of a lifetime of four kids permanently living in his love nest after my death.
‘No, it’s not serious,’ I squeezed out between gulps. ‘It’s just I’m terrified of operations and needles and general anaesthetic.’
‘Look, you will be fine. People have them every day. Dying on the operating table is very rare.’
‘I know that. Thanks.’
‘I hope you’re OK, Mands. Really. Just relax and I’ll have the kids as long as you need.’
The Single Mums' Mansion Page 17