‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Liz grabbed her phone off the table and rang the emergency services, talking efficiently to the operator, her other arm round Carrie’s back. ‘They won’t be long,’ she said, hanging up.
Christ, it hurt, thought Carrie. Jesus, it couldn’t really be labour, could it? She still had four weeks to go.
‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Luke, standing. He seemed out of his depth.
‘Just water, please.’
‘I’ll get it,’ said Adrian quickly, disappearing out of the door. Carrie wished he’d stayed with her and let Luke go.
No one spoke and, feeling outnumbered by females, Luke excused himself on the pretext of giving Adrian a hand. Carrie saw him stop outside in the open-plan office, collared by various members of staff who were clearly very taken with this dramatic turn of events but were trying not to glance through the glass doors too often. Emma was there too, looking concerned.
Adrian returned and handed her a glass of water, which she suddenly didn’t want. ‘Can I get you a blanket?’ he asked.
‘Why would I need a blanket?’ she said, more curtly than she’d intended, but the pain was back again.
Chastened, he looked out of the window onto the street. ‘They’re here!’ he exclaimed in relief.
In a matter of minutes the paramedics were upstairs, two capable professionals helping Carrie through another spasm.
‘I’ll go and get your bag,’ said Liz, diving out of the room.
‘Best get you somewhere more comfortable before baby comes,’ said one paramedic kindly. ‘You ready to go?’
She nodded and held on to one of them as he helped her walk. As they got to the door, Carrie turned, expecting Adrian to be right behind her, but he was still by the window.
She was struck by the utterly lost and fearful expression on his face. He immediately overcompensated, all arms and legs, tripping over a chair on his way to her.
As they crossed the open office to a chorus of ‘Good luck’ and ‘You can do it’, Emma suddenly appeared at Carrie’s side.
‘Don’t worry about anything here,’ she said, smiling broadly, assuredly. ‘I’ll take care of Luke.’
Carrie had no time to answer as her bag was thrust into her hand, the lift door pinged open and the paramedics were leading her in just as another contraction took hold of her body, doubling her over in pain.
SEVEN
Thursday 26 October
Carrie stared into the Moses basket at the side of her dishevelled bed. Inside lay her still nameless baby, his eyes closed but lids flickering, his arms occasionally jerking in sleep. Every time they moved he was in danger of waking himself up and that was something she dreaded. Not now. Not for . . . one hour? Dare she pray for two? Anything, anything to get some sleep, to not have to deal with the incessant crying. She took one last look at him and did her usual apprehensive search for the bond that was promised to her by the parenting books and websites. It wasn’t there. Mostly she was just terrified of him.
Slowly and silently she backed out of the room. Pulled the door to very, very carefully. Waited, breath held. Had she made it? All was silent. Thank God.
She wondered what to do. Exhaustion had rendered her unable to think. And the baby was in the bedroom, so she couldn’t lie down there. Should she shower or just go and collapse on the sofa and close her eyes?
Adrian had moved into the spare room in order to get some sleep so he could work. Carrie glanced at her watch. It was five thirty in the morning and still dark. She looked longingly at the closed spare-room door but decided to leave him and went down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen as quietly as she could. She was just filling the kettle when there was a sound from Adrian’s office.
She looked up. Crossed the room and tentatively opened the door. The rope noose that hung against the wall, Adrian’s trophy prop, swung in the breeze.
‘Jesus, you scared me!’ said Adrian, looking round from the desk.
‘Sorry. I thought you were asleep upstairs.’
‘Baby woke me at four. You too, I guess.’
She nodded and noticed the bags under his eyes matched her own.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She suddenly wanted some company, human company from someone who didn’t scream at her no matter how long she picked him up and soothed him in her well-meaning, albeit frazzled way. ‘You busy?’
She saw him hesitate; then he gestured to the armchair. ‘Just writing. Come,’ he said.
‘Sorry. You’re working . . .’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s nice to see you. Forgotten what it’s like to spend some time with my wife without a baby attached to you.’
‘It’s only been ten days.’
‘Feels longer.’ He quickly smiled to lighten the gloom.
‘I was thinking of Rory,’ she said. ‘For a name.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Or Toby?’
‘I like that too.’
‘Which do you like better?’
‘I think they’re both great.’
She felt the knot in the pit of her stomach tighten. ‘Do you not have more of an opinion?’
He sighed. ‘Sorry. It’s just . . . I’m no good at names.’
Her frayed nerves hissed. What did that mean? How hard was it to pick a name? He did it every time he wrote a script.
‘Rory. I like Rory,’ he said. ‘Rory Kennedy-Hill. It has a nice ring to it.’
She nodded. Looked over at his desk. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Still trying to get this last episode done.’
‘Sorry. I know it’s been hard. Baby . . . Rory . . . waking up every three hours.’
She sounded so deflated he suddenly put his arms round her.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I know it’s much harder for you.’
His act of kindness broke the dam of tears. God, she was so tired.
‘Hey, you’re not crying, are you?’ He smiled at her, rubbed her face with his thumbs. ‘Maybe I can help. Do some feeds.’
‘You got boobs?’
He squeezed his chest. ‘Yes, unfortunately. Moobs.’
She laughed. Blew her nose. ‘Thanks for the offer.’
‘What about – what is it, that fake milk?’
‘Formula?’
‘Yeah. The stuff you put in bottles.’
‘I did think about it . . . but it seems unfair somehow. The midwives keep telling me I’ve got the good stuff. Feels like I’d be short-changing him.’
Adrian squeezed her arm. ‘You’re a good mum.’
She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Am I? Haven’t got a clue what I’m doing.’
‘Rubbish. You’re doing amazingly.’
She knew that he didn’t really know that and it felt like a brush-off. She saw him glance at his computer screen. ‘Do you need to get on?’
‘It’s OK,’ he said unconvincingly.
‘I should leave you.’
‘It’s OK if you want to talk.’
‘No, really. I think I could do with a sleep, to be honest.’
‘Do it,’ he said quickly. ‘Before Toby wakes up again.’
She waited for him to correct himself, but it didn’t come. ‘Rory,’ she said.
‘Sorry. Rory. Course.’ He smiled. Banged his forehead with his fist. ‘Bananas for brains.’
‘Must be the lack of sleep getting to you too.’
‘Must be.’
‘OK. Well, see you later.’
She closed the door softly behind her and listened to him go back to his desk. Alone again, she took a deep breath and went upstairs to the living room. Plumped up the sofa cushions and lay back, resting her head in their soft cradle. If only Mum were here, she thought. She always knew what to do. How to make the scary seem normal. She closed her eyes. Wished more than anything her mum was still around. So she didn’t feel as alone. She felt the blissful drifting sensation as sleep beckoned.
A spluttering cry, which amplified into a full-blown
wail at a pace that always amazed her. And then the return of the familiar terror that gripped her and made her feel nothing but despair.
She clamped down on the tears, got up. Went upstairs and picked up her baby. Patted his back nervously, realizing as she did so she was totally out of her depth. What in God’s name had made her decide to do this?
Maybe he needed feeding. But she couldn’t bear to be in this prison of a room a minute longer. She took him back down to the living room and switched on the TV. It was an old rerun of a quiz show that hadn’t been made for over a decade. She took the cushions that had briefly held her head and used them to support her son’s while she lifted her baggy jersey top and offered her breast, struggling to get the position right. Second attempt and he was on. A fleeting sense of achievement, mixed with relief.
She looked up to see Adrian in the doorway, watching.
‘Hi. You taking a break?’
‘Actually, I need to get a shower. Got to run into town.’
‘Something going on?’
He looked at her quizzically. ‘The breakfast meeting? With Michael Sheen?’
She jolted and her shock threatened to disturb Rory. He whimpered for a second and in a panic she got him latched on again.
She’d completely forgotten. What had happened to her? She was a crumbling mess, didn’t recognize herself. Just over a week ago, she had in her diary to meet one of the best actors of his generation, and now? She looked down at her baby’s head.
Adrian saw her distress. ‘You’ve had something else to occupy you. Don’t give yourself a hard time.’
He was right, so why did she feel so desolate, so bereft?
‘After . . . I thought I’d stay at the office. Get some proper writing time in.’
Her mouth dropped open in dismay. ‘What?’
‘It’ll only be for the day,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll be back by seven. Six, then. Make you something to eat. We’ll sit down and have dinner together. Make something of it.’
Both of them knew this was never going to happen. Not with a newborn around.
‘I’m just finding it a bit hard to write. And I – we – need this to be good. For all three of us.’ He came over to her, knelt down beside her. Tentatively touched the top of his son’s head. ‘It’s just until he’s a little more sociable, OK?’
Five minutes later, she could hear the shower running.
A tiny crack of grey light was coming up behind the houses on the opposite side of the street. The beginning of another very long day.
EIGHT
Thursday 26 October
Everything was slower, and planned and timed to almost debilitating levels. What would’ve once been the simplest thing – going to the office – was now littered with potential pitfalls: were there stairs to the station platform? (No.) Was it late enough to miss the rush-hour crush so she could actually get on the train with a pram? (Hopefully.) Could she change trains at the London terminus and get on the Tube via a lift? (Yes, she’d checked on the website and the newly revamped Tottenham Court Road had lifts aplenty, thank God.) Then she’d packed the large bag with the surprising number of essentials Rory would need, fed him and set off, feeling as if she were abandoning the safety net of home.
It was her first trip out with him since he’d been born. Miraculously he seemed to sleep the entire way, perhaps lulled by the movement of the trains, something she was deeply relieved about. At the same time, she was consumed with trepidation that if he was sleeping now, as soon as they got to the office, he’d open his lungs. But faced with another bleak autumn day in the house, Carrie had decided to take Rory into work for the obligatory office introduction – and at the same time she’d find out how the meeting had gone with Michael Sheen.
As she pushed the pram through the doors, struggling to hold one open, heads turned round and eyes lit up and she was glad she’d come. She and Rory were showered with compliments and she actually looked when the girls said he was adorable and thought he did look sort of sweet in his green-and-blue-striped pixie-style hat.
Carrie glanced towards Liz’s office and saw it was empty.
‘They’re still out,’ said Zack.
‘At the breakfast meeting?’ She looked at her watch – it was gone ten. She would’ve thought they’d have returned by now. People were drifting back to their desks and she decided to log in to her computer and check her emails. Her desk was towards the back of the small open-plan area, near the window. She switched on the computer and started typing her log-in.
‘I really don’t think that could have gone any better,’ said Liz, coming through the door, followed by an exuberant Adrian and Emma.
‘What was it he said? He wanted to “work with nice people”. Seems like you passed the test, Emma,’ teased Adrian.
‘Yeah, well, there are enough tricky customers in this business, and life’s too short,’ said Liz. ‘He seemed very impressed with you, Emma. I have to say, you’ve only been with us a couple of weeks and you’ve got those scripts nailed.’
Carrie had stood up the moment they walked in, but so far none of them seemed to have noticed her. Suddenly Emma looked across the desks and the exhilarated expression on her face slipped momentarily before she recovered. She walked over.
‘Carrie! How lovely to see you!’
Then they all came, Liz throwing her arms round her, admonishing her for not letting anyone know she was coming, Adrian brushing her cheek with a kiss.
‘Oh my God, he’s devastating!’ exclaimed Liz, gazing into the pram. ‘He looks just like you.’
Carrie wasn’t sure he did. He just looked like a newborn and they all were alike at this age, she’d noticed – one just occasionally had more hair than the next.
‘So it went well, then?’ said Carrie. It felt strange having to ask.
‘It went brilliantly,’ said Liz. ‘He’s on board – we have a verbal commitment. And we’re not a million miles off on the deal, so it should all be signed and sealed very soon.’
‘That’s fantastic.’
‘Emma here did a great job. She didn’t let you down.’
Carrie exchanged a smile with Emma, which she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes. Emma looked away first.
There was an unfilled silence.
‘Right,’ started Adrian in a jolly tone, ‘best get to work.’ He turned to Emma. ‘Shall we have a chat about those script suggestions Michael’s made?’
‘Oh, what are they?’ asked Carrie, aware she was the only one who didn’t know.
‘I can type them up for you, if you like,’ said Emma quickly.
‘Or I can just join the script meeting now.’
‘Oh yes! Of course!’ agreed Emma.
Liz tapped Carrie’s arm. ‘See, workaholic. You’re meant to be on maternity leave.’
‘Doesn’t mean I have to forget about my show, though,’ she said pointedly.
She faced the polite smiles with the distinct sensation of turning up to a party to which she wasn’t invited, something she knew she had brought upon herself with her possessive undertones.
Emma was the one to break the silence. ‘OK, cool. Shall I make some coffees?’
‘Great,’ said Carrie.
‘I’ll see you in there,’ said Adrian as he turned towards the back office.
‘Adrian,’ said Carrie, and he looked back, mildly quizzical.
Did he not know?
‘You haven’t said hello,’ she admonished lightly.
He looked even more puzzled, but she wasn’t talking about herself. She nodded towards the pram. Enlightenment crossed his face.
‘I didn’t want to wake him,’ he said, and she knew he’d made it up on the spot.
Emma, who’d been hovering, looked embarrassed and quickly headed away to the kitchen.
He peered in. ‘Has he been good for you this morning?’
‘Good as gold,’ said Carrie, suddenly feeling as if she had to prove herself and the last ten days of misery had never happen
ed. Adrian looked at her strangely, but she ignored it, and then Rory decided to wake. A tentative grumble at first, eyes still closed. Carrie quickly pushed the pram back and forth, but he was having none of it. She glanced at her watch – it had been three hours since his last feed. Once again she was required to get her tits out or all hell would break loose.
‘Meeting room’s free,’ said Liz, and Carrie knew Rory was making so much racket now, she had no choice. Frazzled and self-conscious, she quickly wheeled him away and into the meeting room, choosing a chair that let her sit with her back to the glass door. Draping herself with the breastfeeding scarf, she sat on her own and fed him as quickly as she could, but it was still forty minutes by the time they were done. He was resting on her shoulder, winded and content, and Carrie decided not to give up. She left the meeting room and, carrying her baby, went to the back office. She stood outside a second wondering if she should knock, then thinking that was ridiculous and why had her confidence reached an all-time low, she opened the door.
The room was empty.
It took a moment for it to sink in and she looked over her shoulder, bewildered, wondering if she’d missed them. Zack was at the photocopier.
‘Zack, do you know where Adrian and Emma are?’ asked Carrie.
‘They went out to get a coffee. We ran out of the instant stuff.’
‘You know where?’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
Carrie looked around at the low buzz of the office, people working, getting on with their day, being purposeful, not noticing her. Through Liz’s window she could see she was in deep conversation on the phone. She quickly got the pram, tucked Rory in, and with a brief wave at Liz, signalling some pretence at needing to get away for a baby-related misadventure, she left.
Out on the street, she tried to pull herself together. It was because she was tired, that’s all; she felt everything so keenly because she was so goddamn tired. She looked around at the busy Soho cafes near the office, glancing into one or two windows, but couldn’t see her husband or Emma. Someone needed to get past her and the pram was in the way. She shoved it further up onto the narrow pavement, but the passer-by was on his phone and didn’t even acknowledge her, let alone offer his thanks.
The Temp Page 4