The Secret of Happy Ever After

by Lucy Dillon

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Anna. ‘That’s a relief. I thought Chloe had developed some kind of eating disorder.’

  Becca looked guilt-stricken. ‘Why did you think that?’

  ‘I can’t seem to keep the fridge full, and I knew it wasn’t Lily, or me, or your dad. I didn’t think it was you, because you only eat cottage cheese, so I assumed it was Chloe. And she wasn’t getting any fatter, so I . . .’ Anna stopped. She didn’t need to go into her insane Googling of bulimia symptoms, or her spirals of guilt that ended with Chloe on a drip in a treatment centre blaming Anna for not spotting her dairy product cries for help. ‘I don’t mind you lot eating, it’s just when no one will admit to it I wonder if I’m going mad and leaving unpacked bags of shopping to rot behind the sofa or something.’

  Becca looked down at the pot of mascarpone. ‘Sorry. I didn’t think about it like that.’

  ‘You’ll think about it soon enough when you’re having to fill your own fridge,’ said Anna. ‘Have you got your marker pen ready for putting lines on the orange juice? Would you like your own lockable tuckbox? It can be arranged.’

  ‘I’ll borrow Lily’s.’

  Lily had been going through a Chalet School phase now she’d despatched Malory Towers; so far she had a tuckbox, a washbag with a flannel, and two bottles of ginger beer in the fridge, which would be there for years since everyone hated it.

  Becca hesitated, then went back to eating the mascarpone, spooning it into her mouth with a rhythmic compulsion, as if she wasn’t even tasting it.

  ‘You’re not comfort-eating because you’re unhappy, are you?’ Anna asked, paranoid that maybe Becca had picked up on the coldness between her and Phil. ‘You’d tell me if you were? It’s better to talk about stuff, Becca. Don’t bottle it up.’

  ‘I don’t want to worry anyone.’

  ‘You won’t worry us! I’ll only worry if you don’t say anything!’ protested Anna. ‘I’ll miss you, you know. You’re the voice of reason round here. You neither sing everything nor express your inner thoughts through the medium of a velour pig.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ said Becca. ‘I can stay if you like.’

  ‘No, you’ve got to go,’ said Anna. ‘You’ve worked hard. You deserve it all.’

  Becca looked at her with big eyes that forecast rain. ‘Anna . . .’

  Anna didn’t wait for her to say any more. She opened her arms and pulled Becca into a big hug.

  ‘It’s going to be fine,’ she said, stroking her hair. ‘Just remember, you can always come home. That’s what my dad said to me, when he drove me to Manchester. “If it gets too awful and you can’t bear it any more, you can always come home.” And you know what? I phoned home on the third night and begged them to come and get me, and he said, “Of course, Annie, we’ll come at the weekend.”And what happened at the weekend?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Becca in a dull voice.

  ‘I was at a party and I missed them arriving.’ Anna unwound her arms and looked into Becca’s face. ‘Call me if you want to come home,’ she said. ‘Call me if you need anything.’

  Becca smiled, keeping her lips together.

  ‘Listen, I’m going up to Butterfields to read to the old folk,’ said Anna. ‘Want to come with me?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Go on. It’ll be a chance to see your gran before you go. And I’d like to hear you read,’ Anna went on. ‘I could do with half an hour of relaxation myself.’

  ‘OK,’ said Becca. ‘But no set texts, please.’

  If Anna had hoped there’d be some tender grandmotherly behaviour from Evelyn on the eve of Becca’s departure, she was disappointed.

  She and Becca were waiting in the day room, talking to Mr Quentin, who had Tavish tucked happily on his knee, when Evelyn stalked into the Reading Aloud session as if it were a verruca clinic. She swept the room with her gaze and sighed with disappointment to see Anna. She managed a wintry smile for Becca.

  ‘Hello, Evelyn,’ said Anna. ‘Not wearing your new scarf ?’

  ‘When I find something in my wardrobe that it goes with, it’ll be the first thing I’ll reach for,’ she said witheringly, and focused her attention instead on Becca. ‘You’re looking very peaky,’ she informed her. ‘Too many late nights?’

  ‘I’ve been working on my reading list,’ said Becca. ‘I’ve got loads to do before I go away.’

  ‘Too much studying isn’t attractive. No one likes a smarty-pants. Especially men.’

  ‘Wrong,’ said Mr Quentin from his wing chair. ‘Nothing more interesting than a lady you can discuss a good book with. Even better if she has some smarty-pants too.’

  He winked at Anna and Becca, who smiled back. Mr Quentin always seemed to perk up when Tavish arrived, thought Anna, as if his dog and a story reminded him of happier times.

  Evelyn raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that thing staying during our literary hour?’ she demanded, enunciating each word. She liked to imply that everyone but her was deaf or mentally impaired. ‘Is it hygienic to have animals on the furniture?’

  ‘No more unhygienic than having incontinent old women around the place,’ said Mr Quentin.

  ‘Do you mean me?’ Evelyn began furiously, but Anna interrupted her.

  ‘Becca’s going to read for us today,’ she said. ‘It’ll be her last reading session before she goes to university, so I know you’ll want to wish her luck!’

  There was a ripple of applause and murmurs from the assembled residents, and Becca rounded her shoulders shyly under the attention.

  ‘What do you want to read?’ Anna asked. ‘I don’t think we had any requests in Joyce’s book.’ She handed her the anthology they’d been using and Becca flicked through the index, then stopped.

  ‘I’ll read this,’ she said, glancing at Anna. ‘For you. It’s one of your favourites. Little Women.’

  Anna settled back into her chair as Becca began to speak. She had a confident reading voice, with the long local vowels and rolling intonation. Anna wondered how much of that would still be there when she came back to them in a term’s time.

  She had chosen the chapter about Beth creeping into the Palace Beautiful, as the Marches called the Laurences’ big house, to play their piano – one of Anna’s favourites. There was something about unassuming but talented Beth, with her big shy eyes, that reminded her of Lily – she could imagine Lily playing to herself in an empty house and not noticing the staff watching her in secret.

  She could imagine her own grandfather, too, ordering complete silence so Beth would believe she was on her own, so she could play freely. Anna loved stern but gentle Mr Laurence, and this chapter often brought her to tears, thinking how good a grandfather her own dad would be. When she was Lily’s age he used to wait until she was playing the piano, clumping away badly at her exercises, then walk in and say, in pretend amazement, ‘Isn’t the radio on? I thought I could hear a record!’

  Anna’s eyes misted over and she nearly missed the murmur that ran around the room. She blinked. Becca had stopped reading and tears were running down her face. With one look at Anna, she pushed the book into her hands and ran out of the room.

  ‘It wasn’t that emotional,’ said Evelyn dismissively. ‘It wasn’t even the chapter where the child nearly dies.’

  It took Anna a while to find Becca, but when she pushed open the door of the staff lavatories she heard sobbing coming from inside the disabled cubicle.

  She knocked softly on the locked door. ‘Becca? It’s me. Come on out, sweetheart.’

  The sobbing stopped momentarily, then started again, harder.

  ‘Becca? Is it college?’ Anna didn’t want to put more worries in Becca’s mind, but she wanted her to know she understood. ‘Is it leaving Owen? Because terms aren’t very long. They fly by before you know it.’ She paused, then added, ‘And if he moves back to London he’ll only be an hour or so away.’

  There was no response. ‘Is that not it?’

  Anna leaned her forehead a
gainst the door, trying to remember what it felt like to be eighteen, and the first person in the world to fall in love. ‘I know it’s hard to leave him. I know. But the next few years are going to be so wonderful. So many opportunities and new things. The people, and the lectures, and the parties . . .’

  Slowly the door opened and Becca’s tear-stained face appeared. She looked about twelve years old, exhausted and scared. Anna’s heart ached for her; surely this wasn’t about leaving Longhampton to go to the university she’d been looking forward to for so long. This had to be the aftermath of all that exam stress, and Sarah’s news, and exhaustion. Becca had coped so well. Too well. She knew that feeling too.

  She held out her arms and Becca flung herself into them.

  ‘What was it that upset you?’ she asked, as Becca, nearly a head taller than she was, clung to her. ‘Was it thinking about your granddad?’

  ‘It was thinking about . . . Dad.’

  Anna couldn’t see Becca’s face, but she could picture it. Becca adored Phil and he adored her, his uncomplicated, high-achieving first-born. He didn’t hug Becca as much as the other two, limpet-like, girls, but his intense love for her radiated around them in other ways, in their private jokes, and his near-bewildered pride in everything she did.

  ‘You’ll always be his little girl,’ she said, stroking Becca’s hair. ‘Even now you’re grown-up and ready to make your own way in the world. He’s so proud of you.’

  That provoked another flurry of hiccuppy sobbing. Anna was congratulating herself on correctly diagnosing the cause of Becca’s distress when she pulled away from her shoulder and looked her in the eye, then looked straight down at the cubicle floor.

  ‘Anna.’ Becca’s voice was barely a whisper and she seemed to be testing each word carefully, as if she was scared to hear them come out of her mouth. ‘Anna, I’ve got to tell you something, but you can’t tell Dad.’

  Anna’s heart sank. ‘You know I can’t promise that,’ she started, but Becca was insistent.

  ‘You have to,’ she said wildly. ‘You have to promise.’

  Anna held her by her arms, trying to look calmer than she felt. ‘You haven’t got engaged to Owen?’

  Becca shook her head, and relief washed over Anna’s chest.

  ‘Thank God. I mean, he’s a nice guy, a lovely guy, but you’re very young and . . .’

  Shut up, Anna.

  ‘So what? What’s so bad that you can’t tell your dad, eh?’

  Becca lifted her wet eyes, beseeching her to understand. ‘I can’t take up my place.’

  ‘Why not? Is it the course? Because you can always change after a year if you really don’t enjoy it. I’m sure with the grades you’ve got they’d be fine about letting you read something else. What about English?’

  Becca’s lip wobbled. ‘Dad’ll be so disappointed.’

  ‘No, he won’t! He only wants what you want and he thought you always wanted to do Law. Don’t tell him, but I’d be thrilled if you did English. I’d love it! It’d be our secret that I made you change courses by letting you work in the bookshop. Eh?’ Anna smiled encouragingly.

  Becca managed a broken half-smile, then her face collapsed again. Anna put her arms round her again, feeling more confident now.

  ‘Things change,’ she said into her hair. ‘That’s life. We’re all allowed to change our minds, and you’re not letting anyone down by wanting something different. I mean, it’s not like there’s a ten-year-old in your old house stamping her foot because she’s not going to grow up to be Judge Judy. Hmm? But you’ve earned that place, and it’s yours to take. And you should take it.’

  ‘I can’t go,’ said Becca, more emphatically this time, and she pulled away, staring at the floor now as if she was dragging up all her reserves.

  ‘Owen will understand,’ Anna began, but Becca stopped her.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Anna, I can’t go to Cambridge next week.’ She swallowed, then looked her in the eye and said, ‘I’m pregnant.’

  27

  ‘Reading my old favourite Ballet Shoes again to my grandchildren, it struck me how those three girls coped with rejection and success, all with a commendable resilience. They just stiffened their upper lips and got on with it.’

  Gillian Knight

  Later, when Anna replayed the moment in her head, she really hoped that her first reaction hadn’t shown on her face, because she wasn’t proud of it. It was going straight into the box of terrible things that she kept locked at the back of her mind, to pick over masochistically on sleepless nights.

  The bitter, white-hot thought that flashed across Anna’s brain like a streak of sheet lightning was: How come everyone else gets to have a baby except me?

  She slammed it down instantly, ashamed of herself for even thinking it, but she had the awful feeling that Becca had caught a brief glimpse of it as it crossed behind her eyes, and Anna hated herself.

  But there it was. Another baby. Another unarguable reason for Phil to say no to theirs.

  She started talking immediately to wash the thought away – ‘How many weeks? Are you sure? Have you done a test? Does Owen know?’ – but the questions were too much for both of them. Becca started crying again and Anna felt a dam burst in her own heart, and they cried and hugged each other until a sharp voice cut through the air behind them.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, what’s going on? This is a public place, anyone could walk in! Have some dignity!’

  Anna spun round. Evelyn was standing by the cubicle door with an expression of curiosity mixed with disapproval, pinching her mouth into a scarlet crimp. She had to press her hands against her sides, so strong was the impulse to slap her.

  ‘Becca’s upset,’ she said tightly. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘It’s very obvious. It’s obvious all the way down the corridor. What is it this time?’ Evelyn tipped her head like a bird. ‘Something to do with Sarah again? She always was a troublemaker, right from the time she got herself pregnant when she was barely out of school. I did tell Philip that – a mother can always see when a girl has no moral fibre, but—’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with Sarah,’ snapped Anna, feeling Becca flinch under her arm.

  ‘Rebecca?’ Evelyn peered at her beadily. ‘Cat got your tongue? Aren’t you a bit old for this sort of carry-on? This is behaviour I’d expect from that silly little sister of yours, running out of rooms like a drama queen. Come on, what’s this about? They’re all talking, you know,’ she went on, as if it was a personal slight. ‘It’s going to be the only topic of conversation at dinner . . .’

  ‘Stop it!’ Anna was startled by her own anger. How Phil – thoughtful, easy-going, loving Phil – could possibly be related to this self-absorbed old bag was beyond her. Evelyn didn’t deserve family. She didn’t deserve grandchildren.

  ‘Evelyn,’ she said, her voice shaking, ‘I’m no relation of yours, so I have absolutely no compunction in telling you to mind your own bloody business.’

  ‘She’s my granddaughter, and as you say, you’re no relation,’ Evelyn retorted. ‘So in the circumstances, as her only real family member present, I think I’ve got every right to ask what’s going on.’

  ‘Becca, come on,’ said Anna, before she lost her temper properly. She put her arm around Becca and started to usher her out.

  ‘I really thought more of you,’ said Evelyn, as Anna passed. ‘I really did.’

  Anna couldn’t work out whether she was talking to her or to Becca, but she was too furious to ask.

  Anna called Phil at work and by the time she and Becca pulled up outside the house, they could see him in the kitchen, staring anxiously out of the window.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Becca under her breath. She shrank back in her seat. ‘He’s going to be so disappointed with me.’ The last word vanished in a new hiccupping sob.

  Anna turned round and grabbed Becca’s hand. ‘Listen, just remember that whatever he says first, he loves you,’ she said urgently. ‘He will alw
ays love you, whatever you do. He might say some things first that he’ll regret, but—’

  ‘Can’t you tell him? Can you go in first and tell him?’

  ‘No.’ Anna’s voice was firm. ‘I’ll be right behind you, but if you want him to treat you like an adult, then you’ve got to do this yourself. We’ll do it together.’

  Becca nodded as if it hurt her head to move it.

  ‘And I’ll help you make all the calls you need to, and I promise I won’t lecture you, and . . .’ She stopped, close to tears herself. These were calls she’d hoped to make, with happier news than this. ‘Becca, I know it’s not the same as having your mum here, but till she gets here I’ll do everything I can. I promise that. You mean the world to me. If I could take some of the pain away for you, you know I would.’

  Becca looked up at Anna. ‘I know. And I need you here because you’re not my mum,’ she said. ‘That sounds wrong. But I mean it in a good way.’

  She gave Anna a brief, awkward hug, then got out of the car with a determined set to her jaw, before she could change her mind.

  Anna watched as she marched down the path, her biker boots huge on the end of her slender legs, Owen’s leather jacket slung over her shoulders. Already she looked like a different person.

  That’s the end of her childhood, thought Anna, watching the buckles on Becca’s boots flash in the cool autumn sun as she made the short journey from car to kitchen. That’s the beginning of the end of Phil’s parenthood; and I’m going to be a step-granny before I get the chance to be a mother in my own right. And there’s no way Phil will agree to us trying for a baby now.

  She closed her eyes against the stab of bitterness that nearly stopped her heart beating. It was so unfair, she couldn’t see the whole unfairness at once – just the middle of it, the tiny baby in Becca and Owen’s arms part.

  Then, just as quickly as Becca had left the car, Anna pushed her own door open and hurried up the path after her.

  She was just in time to see Phil’s face as Becca said, ‘. . . pregnant.’