by Linda Green
‘I’ve only got one,’ he says. ‘I think you might remember. It’s Harrison.’
I nod, swallowing hard. This is another chance. Maybe I can still change things. But I’m worried that if I do suggest a different name, and Lee agrees to it, Harrison will never exist. Maybe something will happen to this baby and I will lose him. At least I know now that Harrison is alive out there in the future, even if I’m not.
‘Harrison’s great. But why don’t we just call him H for now? I don’t want people to know his full name until he’s born.’
‘Fine by me.’ Lee shrugs. ‘I guess it’s nice to keep something a secret until the birth.’
I smile at him. I feel like I have bought myself some more time. All I need to do now is use it wisely.
*
Lee drops me off back at the flat. He’d arranged for me to have a half-day off work, just in case the appointment ran late. And because I said I’d like to go home afterwards and get myself cleaned up and changed for work.
He waves as he drives off. He is going straight to meet a client in Harrogate. I go through the main door and press the button for the lift. It comes straight away. I step inside and the doors close in front of me. I put my hand on my bump and stroke it.
‘I saw you, H,’ I say. ‘So I know you’re in there now. And I can’t wait to meet you. But, in the meantime, I’m going to take such good care of you. I promise.’
The doors open. I step out and get the key from my pocket, jiggling it in the lock until it turns. I dump my backpack in the hallway, still holding the scan of H in my other hand. I walk towards the kitchen, intending to stick it on the fridge with a magnet. I am going to be like every other pregnant woman in the country. I am going to be normal and this is going to be a normal pregnancy and I am going to do all that soppy stuff that other women do, because all I want right now is to be normal.
The bathroom door opens. I feel myself go cold inside. A dark figure comes out carrying something and I scream. I scream so loudly that I can hear it vibrating inside me long after it has come out. There is a gasp and a clatter and a young woman is staring back at me. A slight woman wearing a hijab, with dark, scared eyes.
‘I am sorry,’ she says, in slightly broken English. ‘It is me, your cleaner. I did not mean to scare you.’
I nod at her, gasping, waiting until I am able to speak.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, bending to pick up the bathroom cleaner she has dropped and passing it to her. ‘I forgot you would be here.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, taking it from me. ‘You are Mrs Griffiths. I have seen you in the photo.’ She points towards the living room. ‘Forgive me looking, but it is such a beautiful dress.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply, my breathing starting to return to normal. ‘Please call me Jess.’
She wipes her hand on her apron and holds it out to me. ‘Pleased to meet you. I am Farah.’
Jess
November 2008
The carriage is packed with commuters as the train pulls out of Leeds station. I went over after school to get a birthday present for Sadie and now I’m wishing I’d waited until the weekend. I don’t normally travel at rush hour. I don’t like the sensation of someone else’s body pressed up against mine. I don’t want to breathe in as they breathe out. I want my own air, my own space.
I should shuffle further down inside the carriage, where there is a little more space, but I do not want to be that far away from the emergency pull handle. If anything were to happen, that is where I would need to be. Ideally between that and the thing you can use to break the glass. I try to find a spot where I can see both. I plot my route towards them: past the woman with the pink tote bag and stopping just before the middle-aged man with a beard and glasses. They won’t do it, you see. People freeze in an emergency. Well, some people do anyway, I have read about it. Paralysed by fear. That is why you always have to stay alert and have your wits about you. You can’t rely on other people to be good in a crisis, which is why I spend the first part of every journey working out my exit strategy. Sometimes I move away from fat people, fearing they could fall on top of me. It would be no good if the only person in the carriage who knew what to do was trapped underneath some lard arse.
Today I am OK – the people around me all happen to be lightweights. No bulky luggage either, which is good. The last thing you want is to be trapped underneath one of those giant suitcases.
The train starts to gather pace as we head out of Leeds. I clutch the pole I am holding more tightly, watching as my knuckles whiten. I didn’t manage to get a proper look at the driver because I ran onto the train a minute before it was due to leave. Usually, if I’m waiting on the platform, I will have a good look as it comes in. The middle-aged drivers are the best; if they’re too young they might be inexperienced. Too old and they might have a heart attack or be more likely to fall asleep.
We take a bend at speed and the man next to me steps backwards and bumps into me. He mumbles an apology. I slide my hand down the pole a little, aware that my palm is sweating. I try looking out of the window, but things are starting to rush past too quickly. I bring my attention back inside the carriage, look down at the floor and try to guess what shoe size people are. I notice one woman with tiny feet, maybe a size three or less. It is harder to tell with the men, particularly between nine and eleven. A young man opposite me has pointy shoes on, perhaps a size twelve, although the points always make their feet look bigger than they are.
I glance up as the train jolts. Something isn’t right, I know it. I take a step towards the emergency alarm. He’s going too fast. It doesn’t usually feel this bumpy. Maybe the driver is young and doing it for a dare. Some of the lads at school are stupid enough to do things like that. Either that or he’s older and he’s falling asleep, unaware that the train is gathering pace.
My top is damp against my back. I can hear my breath, fast and shallow. If the guard comes past I will ask him what the problem is. Maybe he can go and have a word. I look in both directions but there is no sign of a guard. He is probably at the other end of the train, checking tickets. Paying no attention to what is happening. It will be ages before he gets to me. Too late, in fact. I let go of the pole and take another step towards the alarm. Nobody around me seems bothered. They are too busy looking at their phones to notice, of course. The train jolts again, and seems to get faster still. No one else is going to do this. It is going to have to be me. I wipe the sweat from my brow then wipe my hand on my skirt. I can hear the wheels grating on the tracks, they’re out of control. We will derail any moment if I don’t do it.
I lunge forward, grab the emergency handle and pull. The brakes screech and the carriage jolts forward before the train judders to a halt. People look up from their phones and stare at me. A man calls out, ‘Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ I smile at him, knowing I have saved him, saved myself, saved everyone. Other people start shouting and swearing and pointing. I sink down onto my heels, shaking at the thought of how close we came to disaster. I am still squatting like that on the floor when the guard arrives. Squatting and calling out for my mummy.
Angela
Sunday, 25 December 2016
I have always loved Christmas. So many memories of Lee waking up at three in the morning to dive to the bottom of Santa’s sack. He always started at the bottom for some reason, never the top. Simon didn’t even bother coming in to watch him sometimes, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. They grow up so quickly, you see. Before you know it, they’re grumpy teens who don’t even get out of bed on Christmas morning.
To be honest, it’s not been the same for many years now. I’ve busied myself preparing lunch for Lee, having a little bop in the kitchen to all the Christmas songs while I work. And don’t get me wrong, it’s been lovely having him to dinner. But at the end of the day, Christmas is about children. And next year there will be a child in this
house again. Granted, he will be a bit young to know what it’s all about, but that won’t stop us making an enormous fuss of him. Christmas is on again. A proper family Christmas. Even this year I have Jess and her dad coming. That is two more than last year. It made sense to invite her father. They might have left early to go to his place otherwise and it would have been such a shame for the day to end there.
I am glad it’s a little boy they’re having. I think Lee will like it, having a lad he can play football with and take to matches when he’s older. There’s plenty of time for them to try for a girl later. That’s why it’s good they have started so early. And why I’m glad he didn’t settle down with one of these career women who wait until their mid-thirties before they even think about starting a family. Talk about leaving it to the last minute. No, have them young and enjoy them, I say. And the bonus is you get grandparents young enough to be able to help out with them too.
They won’t tell me the name they have chosen. They insist on only calling him H, and although I have been through every boy’s name beginning with H in the baby books, they remain tight-lipped. My money is on Harley; it’s modern enough to appeal to them and Lee used to like his bikes when he was younger. Either that or Hilton, after the hotel they stayed in on their honeymoon. The celebrities do that, don’t they? Name their child after the place where they were conceived. The Beckhams did it with Brooklyn, anyway. It’s a shame he wasn’t conceived in Horsforth, although I don’t suppose they’d have gone for it if he was.
At least knowing his initials has helped. I have embroidered them on the baby blankets already. And knowing it is a boy means I have been able to start buying blue things. There is only so far you can go with lemon or beige before it starts to get a bit much.
I check the turkey, then the veg and roasties. Everything is under control. I cook a good Christmas dinner. Even Simon used to say so, albeit somewhat grudgingly. Jess’s father did offer to cook for us. I told Jess to thank him and suggested he brought the Christmas pudding, so he felt he had contributed something. To be honest, I wouldn’t have wanted a chef running around cooking in my kitchen. From what I’ve seen on the TV, they’re not the tidiest of people. This way, he’ll simply turn up with one bowl to warm up and I won’t have to worry about all of the mess.
I go upstairs to freshen up before they arrive. The whole house is decorated. Lee always jokes that it’s like stepping into Santa’s grotto. It’s nice though, to make a bit of an effort. It cheers everyone up. It cheers me up, anyway.
Jess’s father arrives first. It feels quite strange, having a man kiss me on both cheeks on my doorstep and wish me a happy Christmas. He hands me a bottle of wine; I don’t really know anything about wine, but I suspect it is a good one because I’ve never heard of it.
He smells nice as well. I noticed that about him at the wedding. Something to do with the Italian blood, I expect. I always think Mediterranean types take more pride in their personal grooming. Although having said that, Lee always smells nice too.
‘Hello, Joe. And a happy Christmas to you too. Our Lee and Jess aren’t here yet, but come in and make yourself at home.’
‘Thanks. I’ve got the pudding in here,’ he says, holding up a bag. ‘It’ll just need warming up.’
I take his coat and hang it up before he follows me through to the kitchen. The table is already laid; the crackers are from the Pound Shop, because no one will know the difference, and I’ve added a bit of holly from the market to give it the finishing touch.
‘This all looks very festive,’ says Joe, putting the bag down on the counter and rubbing his hands together.
‘Well, we haven’t had guests for Christmas for a while. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait till next year – it will be so lovely to have the little one here. I’m counting down the days already.’
‘I think Jess is too. It’s been a tough pregnancy for her.’
‘I know, but it’ll all be forgotten once he arrives. Her whole world will change then. I know mine did.’
‘Yeah. Mine too.’
‘She is looking forward to it, isn’t she? Only she’s seemed a bit quiet lately.’
‘Just a bit anxious about how she’ll manage, I think. It’ll be tough for her without her mum around.’
‘Yes, of course, but I’ve already told her I’ll do whatever I can to help out. I’ll pop round every day.’
‘Thank you. I know she really appreciates that.’
‘And our Lee will be a very hands-on dad, I’m sure. It’ll be the making of them both, being parents. There’s nothing in the world better than it, is there?’
‘No. No there’s not.’
*
Lee and Jess arrive shortly afterwards. She’s wearing a baggy beige tunic. There are shadows under her eyes and her hair isn’t as shiny as usual.
‘Happy Christmas to you both,’ I say, giving them each a hug. ‘And to this little one.’ I put my hand on Jess’s bump. She flinches and steps back. I don’t know why, because I’ve done it before and she has never said anything.
Lee looks at her and back to me. ‘I think she’s trying to make sure he doesn’t kick you,’ he says.
‘Is he moving? Can you feel him kick now?’
Jess nods.
‘Oh, how lovely. It makes such a difference, doesn’t it? When you can actually feel them moving about inside you.’
‘Yeah.’
Joe comes out into the hall. Jess throws her arms around him. I see her bottom lip trembling.
‘Did you take them?’ she asks quietly.
‘Yes. They’re in the vase next to mine. It’s all neat and tidy down there.’
He looks up and catches my eye. Whatever they’re talking about, they clearly don’t want to share it.
‘Now, come in and sit down, love,’ I say.’ Take the weight off your feet.’
She zips off her boots, follows me through to the kitchen and sits down next to her dad at the table.
‘Can you give me a hand with the wine, please, Lee?’ I ask. He comes over. ‘Is she OK?’ I whisper as I pass him the bottle opener.
‘Yeah. Just a bit upset about her mum. It’s the first year she hadn’t been to the grave on Christmas day, but I told her she should take it easy. Put the baby first.’
‘Absolutely. You did right, love. I expect it’s just her hormones playing up.’
Lee opens the wine and takes it over to the table while I get the warmed plates out of the oven.
‘Right, time to get the turkey out, I think.’
‘Can I give you a hand at all?’ Joe asks.
‘No need, thanks. Our Lee will take care of it. He’s the chief carver in this house.’
I hand Lee the carving knife. I suggested getting one of those electric ones in the sale one year but he wasn’t keen. Said he was perfectly capable of doing it without. I wonder if he remembers how we had to look away when Simon did it. How he hated us watching in case it went wrong.
I dish up the roasties, carrots and parsnips as Lee passes the plates along. I take the gravy jug over to the table along with the cranberry sauce, which I’ve got in specially this year. Lee brings the first two plates over while I go back for the others.
‘Right we are then,’ I say, sitting myself down and picking up my wine glass. ‘I think this calls for a toast.’ I look at Lee.
‘To next Christmas,’ he says, raising his glass. ‘Which I am sure will be a lot noisier than this one.’
‘And to absent loved ones,’ adds Joe, raising his.
I look at Jess and realise she still has an empty glass.
‘Oh, I’m sorry love. What can I get you?’
I see Joe glance at Lee and then back to Jess.
‘You can have a spot of wine, love,’ her father says. ‘A little bit won’t hurt.’
She shakes her head. ‘Water wil
l be fine, thanks.’
‘I’ve got orange juice, if you’d prefer? Or Coke, if you can handle the fizzy stuff.’
‘Honestly, water will be great.’
I take her glass and go and fill it. The Christmas CD finishes, so I press play again and sit back down at the table having given her the water.
‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! comes on. I always liked the sleigh bells in it, proper little Christmas classic it is. I usually sing along, but not when we have guests.
‘Right. Where were we?’ I say. ‘Jess, did you want to make a toast?’
Her mouth opens but nothing comes out. Tears start spilling out of her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she says, standing up. ‘You start without me.’
She pushes her chair back and hurries out of the kitchen. I look at the others, not quite sure what to do. ‘You’d better go after her, Lee,’ I say. ‘See what’s the matter.’
Lee stands up, but Joe reaches out and puts a hand on his arm.
‘Give her a few minutes,’ he says. ‘It’s always a tough day for her. She’ll need a bit of time to get herself together.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I say. ‘She was so young when she lost her, too. I was fifty when I lost my mum and that was hard enough.’
‘Do start, though,’ says Joe. ‘Like she said.’
‘You’re right. It would be a shame to let it all go cold. Shall I put hers back in the oven to keep warm, do you think?’
‘I’ll do it,’ says Lee, standing up and taking it over. ‘Though she hasn’t got much of an appetite at the moment anyway, to be honest.’
‘Did she take it badly?’ I ask Joe. ‘When her mum died, I mean.’
‘She had a tough time,’ replies Joe.
Lee sits back down at the table and we all start eating.
‘And did she get any help?’ I ask between mouthfuls. ‘Only it’s never too late for it, you know. I was listening to someone talking about it on Radio 2 last week, how losses like that can affect you for years to come.’
Joe looks at me. He seems to be struggling for words.