Now Is Our Time

by Jo Kessel

  “Are the hormones why I’ve been feeling so angry of late?”

  “You, angry? I don’t believe it.”

  Jonah wouldn’t say that Claire was never angry, only that it was extremely rare. In all the time they’d been together she’d raised her voice just a couple of times. Even when they’d done that regretful thing all those years ago - which they preferred not to think about - she’d held it all in. That was her way. She used to tell him that she didn’t need to be angry. He was fired up enough for them both.

  “Yes,” she half spat, half-smiled, “would you believe that I have been angry of late. Very angry, angry enough that I’d like to punch him in the face with this.”

  She balled her right hand into a fist, wearing a mean look in her eye as she punched the air.

  “Who exactly do you want to punch?” asked Jonah.

  “Anthony,” she punched the air again. “I hate him, I hate him. I hate him.”

  She punched the air three more times just to prove the point and then took a gulp from Jonah’s glass of Merlot.

  “Firecracker, I love your new attitude,” quipped Jonah. “It’s turning me on.”

  It really was. There was something very sexy about Claire’s rage. It was cute and hot and only very slightly scary all rolled into one. Plus he hated Anthony anyway, so the thought that she’d like to do him harm was appealing.

  “Anything else specific he’s done?”

  Claire put down her fork and started telling Jonah exactly what that horrible ex-husband of hers had done. How he hadn’t needed to involve Miriam in any of this but he’d elected to do so anyway. How most kind, caring parents would put their child first and not place them in the unenviable position of having to choose. But no, odious Anthony had gone one step further by arranging for Miriam to be ‘assessed’ by one of the court’s approved child psychologists to see what she wanted out of all of this.

  Claire’s face flushed red and her speech gathered pace as she reached the denouement.

  “And worse than that, because he was ill last weekend, he had the audacity to ask me to take her to the psychologist’s appointment instead. I wanted to say no, but I checked with Benedict Pendleton and he said it would be better for our case if I were seen as ‘compliant’. So I ended up having to take her. What kind of warped world am I living in?”

  Her cheeks matched the shade of her hair.

  “Get it out baby,” smiled Jonah, feeling a weird mix of both amusement and fury. Jonah also liked to win but he would never have used his child as a pawn in this particular game. Then again, being a father himself, it was hard for Jonah not to empathise. Anthony was doing everything he could to keep his daughter close. There are two sides to every story.

  Jonah was paying the price for having been absent for the last twelve days. In the time that Claire had been alone, a battery of thoughts had been stewing in her mind and she was now trying to purge them from her system.

  “So, what did Miriam say to the psychologist?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I tried to get her to open up about it afterwards but it was clear she didn’t want to discuss it, so I let the subject go.”

  Claire sat back in her seat and downed in one a tall glass of water. It looked, to all intents and purposes, as if she’d finally got everything out of her system, but then another thought suddenly hit her.

  “And also, before I forget,” she wagged a finger, “on a completely different subject you and I need to get our stories straight in future. Your daughter told my daughter that we were getting married and about the court case. I hadn’t mentioned either of those things to Miriam.”

  Jonah cocked his head with a half-grin.

  “Fiery Duchess, I’m sorry, but I hadn’t realised that either of those topics were taboo.”

  A silence fell between them and Jonah returned to his shepherd’s pie.

  “Are you done yet?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m full,” said Claire.

  “No, I meant have you finished with your diatribe. Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

  “Nope,” smiled Claire, holding up her hands conciliatorily. “I’m done.”

  “Just to check, though, can the girls be bridesmaids?”

  Claire was quick to answer. She loved the idea.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good, because I already promised Martha.”

  “And I promised Miriam.”

  Jonah finished his plate.

  “Great that we’re done then, because you going on that way has made me hot,” he winked. “What do you reckon? Any chance this old man might get a second innings?”

  “Sweetheart, I’m pregnant, I’m angry, I feel ever so slightly nauseous, we’ve just done it in the shower and I’m tired.”

  “Is that a yes then?” asked Jonah hopefully.

  ------------------

  Two hours later they were lying in Claire’s bed, their limbs so intertwined that it was hard to detect where one body ended and the other started. Jonah was spooning her from behind, his palm gently spread wide across her lower abdomen, desperate not to miss out a single spot of her skin where one of their babies might be lying underneath. Despite her protestations, Claire couldn’t resist Jonah’s advances. He had cleared up after dinner and when she started yawning he had insisted she go to bed. “But I want to wait up with you,” she said, “otherwise you’re going to be lonely.” “Don’t worry about me,” he had reassured.” She brushed her teeth, slipped into a silky short negligee and clambered under the duvet, sighing with gratitude as her back settled flat on the mattress. “Don’t go getting any ideas,” she warned him when he came to join her, removing his clothes. But then he started stroking her and the sensuality of his touch was enough to make her turn onto her side to face him and succumb to his well-patented jet lag cure. She now wore a peaceful smile on her face as Jonah held her close, stroking his splayed hand gently across her stomach.

  “Do you feel them moving yet?” he nuzzled into her ear.

  “I thought I did yesterday. It was a weird fluttery feeling, but I’m not sure if it was nerves or the babies moving. It’s a little bit early yet.”

  “I can’t wait to see them again tomorrow,” said Jonah.

  Claire had booked up a scan for the following afternoon and they were both excited about it.

  “Me either,” Claire agreed. Her eyes were starting to close. “I’ve got to sleep darling, I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”

  Jonah gently leaned over Claire and grabbed the remote control lying on her bedside table.

  “Do you mind if I turn on the television?” he asked.

  “Uh-uh.”

  He pressed the power button and the BBC News at Ten opening credits started to roll. A very attractive lady called Fiona Bruce came up on screen. Jonah propped two pillows behind him and manoeuvred to sitting. A large region of South-Western France has been devastated by floods. Hundreds of people have been forced to leave their homes. Jonah had an ear on the news, but it was Claire whom he couldn’t take his eyes off, observing her fiery ringlets fanned over the pillow and the delicate freckles that decorated her bijou nose. Her nostrils were gently flaring as she inhaled and exhaled. He fervently hoped that their children inherited her perfect nose instead of his oversized one, which was probably the least favourite part of his body. Claire always referred to it as being ‘Roman’ which made him laugh. A helicopter has crashed into a pub in Scotland, leaving eight people dead and two dozen unaccounted for. Would their children end up having red hair or blond? Or perhaps their combined gene pool might create a colour all of its own? He knew that Claire would prefer they had his complexion. She hated that she didn’t tan and was jealous of Jonah’s olive skin. But he rather liked the idea of his children being red-heads. He saw it as something unique, an honour only bestowed on approximately two per cent of the population. Jonah leaned over to kiss Claire’s head. The smell of her hair was divine. She’d washed it in th
e shower. Well, actually, he’d washed it for her, and then it just dried naturally and pinged back into perfect shape within minutes. Many women would kill for hair like Claire’s. Tributes have been pouring in for the actor Orlando Goodman who died tonight, age 52. He was best known for his work at the Royal Shakespeare Company………

  Jonah turned sharply towards the television. Claire had told him that Orlando was doing better recently and that she’d arranged for them to meet.

  “Oh, my God,” Jonah cried.

  Claire had been dozing off but Jonah’s tone disturbed her.

  “What’s up?” she said, eyes still closed.

  Jonah hesitated. Claire was nearly asleep. This news would surely upset her. Perhaps it was best to leave it till morning.

  Orlando Goodman was taken ill while performing at the Adelphi Theatre tonight and died shortly after he was taken to hospital.

  In a flash Claire sat bolt upright, the force of her movement causing the bed to lurch, as if there’d been an earthquake. Footage of Orlando playing the role of Willy Wonka in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory filled the screen and then it cut to theatregoers in the foyer at the Adelphi being asked their opinion of him. He was so versatile and such a commanding presence on the British stage, said one. It’s so sad. I think I’m in shock, said another.

  Claire gasped as she watched and then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, no,” she cried, tears already pricking her eyes. “I don’t believe it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CLAIRE

  Claire was feeling tired. The kind of tired where it’s hard to put one foot in front of the other; the kind of tired which seeps into your bones and makes them feel like they belong to the Tin Man; the kind of tired which makes you want to curl up and hibernate to avoid the harsh conditions which lie ahead. It wasn’t just physical fatigue. She was emotionally drained from worry, from grief and from nourishing two growing babies. It was seeing these babies again the other day which sustained her. The sight of them somersaulting whilst she was being scanned had served as much-needed fortification after hearing the news that Orlando had died. One door closes and another one opens, so goes the circle of life. On this point Orlando would have been philosophical, she was sure of it. That had formed the subject of their final conversation, when he’d been eager to learn all about the twins.

  According to the statistics, four people are born into the world every second with half that number dying during the same time. To make space for the twins to arrive, another soul would have to depart. Perhaps Orlando was that person. She still had in her bag the post-it on which he’d marked his prophecy. I predict you’re having two boys. Jonah hadn’t wanted to know, but Claire privately asked the sonographer after the recent scan if she was able to determine their sex. Apparently it was too soon to tell.

  Benedict Pendleton escorted her as she walked hand-in-hand with Jonah along Fleet Street towards the Royal Courts of Justice. He’d warned her to expect that a few select journalists would attend. What she hadn’t expected was a media circus. There were television satellite trucks lining the road and in front of them stood a wall of flashing lenses and hands holding up long stick-mikes which resembled fluffy brooms. “Show us your ring!” “Congratulations.” “Give us a smile.” “Jonah Kennedy, we’ve heard a rumour that you might come out of retirement?” “Give us your ‘et voila’!” A shower of innocuous comments floated towards them. “Put your head down,” said Jonah. So she did. She stared at her feet and allowed Benedict Pendleton to steer her towards the court’s entrance, all the while trying to focus on the babies inside of her tummy and the reason why they were doing this in the first place. “I don’t think this lot are actually here for you two,” said Benedict. “It’s just bad timing. There’s another much bigger case going on here today.”

  The courtroom into which they were ushered was actually fairly low key. There was no intimidating dock for the witnesses or defendant to stand behind. It was more just a grand room. Benches and chairs for both parties were laid out facing a large desk and red leather throne, which Claire presumed was for the Judge. Anthony and his lawyer were already in situ and barely acknowledged Claire and Jonah as they entered. How sad that it’s come to this. Once seated Jonah took Claire’s hand in his and squeezed it tight for Dutch courage.

  “Anthony’s playing a game,” whispered Benedict Pendleton as he readjusted his curly white barrister’s wig. “He wants to unnerve you. Don’t let him get to you.”

  Following Benedict’s advice, Jonah had dressed in a smart dark suit and Claire was wearing a navy skirt and white blouse, respectful yet casual, not too prim and proper. The message her outfit had to send out was ‘great mother, in control, wants the best for their child’. Benedict had discussed whether or not she should wear a jacket but, in the end, they decided against it preferring instead to show off her ever-swelling stomach, proof of life growing inside. Miriam wasn’t here thankfully and, should events drag on today, Claire had arranged for her mother to pick her up from school. Turning at the sound of a door creaking loudly to the side of them, they saw some media representatives filing into the press box. Go away. Claire started fiddling nervously with her fingers. She wanted to be anywhere but here under the microscope in what were very personal circumstances.

  A court usher came in brandishing a gavel which she banged down on the table.

  “All rise.”

  Everyone in court, including the posse in the press box, rose to their feet. Benedict promised that they shouldn’t need to speak today, that the argument could all be battled out by the legal representatives. Claire glanced across at Anthony’s lawyer to check him out. David Sherwood QC appeared very confident. So frighteningly confident that Claire wondered if Anthony had been giving him lessons in ‘the look’.

  The Judge entered through a door at the rear of the court, a man in his late fifties at a guess. He was unremarkable looking, of medium height, sporting grey hair and a sizeable beer belly. Claire imagined that a woman judge might have been more sympathetic to her plight.

  “Is this Judge good or bad news for us?” she whispered to Benedict.

  She knew from listening to Anthony that the right Judge for the right case could make all the difference. Would a man not always be tempted to help out a fellow male? There should of course be complete impartiality in a court of law but could it nonetheless slightly tip the balance? Benedict’s reply was a subtle wavering hand, signalling ‘fifty-fifty’.

  The Judge motioned that they should all sit down and after approximately twenty seconds of shuffling and throat clearing the court was silent.

  “Case 20454,” introduced the usher. “The Applicant is Claire Ruth Sarah Jackson, formerly known as Mrs Anthony Aidan de Klerk. The Respondent is Mr Anthony Aidan de Klerk. Could counsel please approach the bench?”

  Claire kept her gaze ahead as the two bewigged barristers approached the Judge’s desk and the three of them started conversing in low, measured voices. What on earth are they talking about? A couple of minutes later the black gowns of the two barristers swished as they turned around. David Sherwood QC took a seat next to Anthony whilst Benedict stayed on his feet, calmly shaping the papers in front of him into a neat pile before squaring his shoulders and addressing the Judge.

  “Your Honour,” he began. “This hearing is to seek permission for the Applicant to remove hers and the Respondent’s child from the United Kingdom to go to reside in the United States of America. The case has been brought to the court as a matter of urgency, namely because the Applicant and her fiancé Jonah Kennedy, a resident of the US, have recently learned that they are expecting twins……

  At the word ‘twins’, Claire zoned out. A few chairs and a faux corridor safely separated Anthony from Claire but, as Benedict mentioned the t word, Claire could clearly see her ex-husband’s body tense and a silent sigh pass his lips. The number of babies she was expecting had clearly taken him by surprise. She would never have done it be
cause it would have looked odd, but her instinct was to reach out and take his hand in hers. She wanted to apologise for any discomfort he might be feeling, to empathise with him. She knew how it felt to learn that your ex was having a child with another person and it was strange as hell. It shouldn’t matter whether it was one baby, two, triplets or quads, but Benedict had mentioned that the fact it was twins did serve to strengthen their case. Perhaps that’s why Anthony had physically reacted, when normally his professional demeanour would have given nothing away.

  Claire forced her attention back onto Benedict. He was now offering up the character witnesses, holding out documents for the court usher to pass to the Judge. It wasn’t permitted for them to be written by family members, so both Georgia and Orlando had kindly accepted the task. A wave of nostalgia washed over Claire. Would Orlando’s testimony still be valid now that he was no more?