by Talli Roland
‘Good luck,’ he said as they waited for her debit card to go through. ‘Let me know how it turns out.’
As if, Clare thought as she took the bag from him. Funny how people assumed if you were a certain age, pregnancy was something to celebrate. Right now, it felt like she was holding a ticking time bomb, set to explode her future. She took another deep breath, reminding herself the possibility was very slim and she’d cope with whatever the outcome was.
Forcing herself not to run home, she let herself in slowly and methodically as usual. Finally, when she’d kicked off her shoes and tied back her hair, Clare grabbed the plastic bag from the kitchen table and removed the packet, helpfully containing two tests in case she didn’t believe the first. Fingers crossed she wouldn’t need both.
With shaking hands, she removed the plastic and peeled back the foil package of one stick, then scanned the directions. One line was fine; two was disastrous. Okay, now she just needed to pee on the bloody thing, and that would be that. She padded to the loo, tipped up the toilet seat, and tried to position herself so she’d hit the target. Thank goodness she’d had all that coffee and water earlier! Her bladder was full to busting.
Right, snap on the cap and wait two minutes. She positioned the stick on the sink counter, willing herself not to look until the two minutes were up. God, she really was being ridiculous, wasn’t she? In—she glanced at the clock—just one more minute, she could look back and laugh.
Ready! Clare pulled herself up off the toilet seat and walked the few short steps to the counter. Holding her breath, she slowly leaned over the stick, almost afraid to look.
She blinked, then shook her head.
There was one line, yes. And right beside it—as clear and undeniable as the first—was another.
She was pregnant.
‘Hiya, Pops.’ Oliver grinned cheekily as he slid into a chair at a café in the City, just steps from the gleaming skyscraper where he worked.
‘Hi.’ Poppy leaned over to kiss his cheek, marvelling again at how, despite similar features, he was so different from Alistair. Freshly shaven with hair neatly trimmed and sporting a black suit and paisley silk tie (Hermès’, probably, since Alistair said Oliver wore nothing else), he was worlds away from Alistair’s comfortable wardrobe. Their mum always joked that Alistair looked like he’d crawled rumpled from bed, while Oliver wouldn’t even sleep on sheets that weren’t ironed.
And the differences didn’t stop at wardrobe. Ambitious and driven, Oliver had launched himself straight to the top of London’s financial world, named as one of the UK’s star market traders in his first year. Alistair, on the other hand, was content to work in a small practice as a physiotherapist, never aspiring to his own business. The differences meant that although the two brothers weren’t on bad terms, they weren’t close. She and Oliver had always got on, though, and without any siblings of her own, she considered him a brother.
Even so, this was a big ask. And as much as she hated keeping secrets from Alistair, if he discovered what she was doing, he wouldn’t be happy. But there was no reason he had to find out, she reassured herself. And once she had the IVF and they held their own child in their arms, everything else would fade away.
‘So.’ Oliver met her eyes. ‘What did you want to see me about? Everything okay with Al?’
Poppy grinned—he knew Alistair hated that nickname. ‘Oh, yes. Everything’s fine. It’s just . . . ’ Her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat. ‘Well, I was wondering if I could borrow some money.’ She shifted awkwardly. ‘For, um, a gift for Alistair.’ It was a gift, she told herself to cover the discomfort at keeping secret the real reason for the funds. Alistair was a private sort of person, and although she was sure his family wondered at their lack of kids, they’d never in a million years dream of asking. The less she told Oliver, the better.
‘Well, of course, Pops. You know I’m always here for you.’ Oliver leaned back in the chair. ‘So what’s the occasion? I haven’t missed a birthday or anniversary, have I?’
Poppy bit her lip. ‘No, no. It’s just, er, one of those things. Something I’ve wanted to get him for a very long time.’ That much was true, anyway.
‘What is it?’ Oliver cocked his head. ‘Al’s always going on about non-material things and being happy with what you have. I’d love to hear what my brother’s been longing for!’
Oh, bollocks. Maybe she should have thought this through more. Poppy’s mind whirled as she struggled to think of a large item requiring thousands of pounds. ‘A fridge,’ she said lamely, jumping on the first thing that came into her head. Internally, she rolled her eyes. A bloody fridge? Surely she could have done better than that.
Oliver raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? What, like one of those fancy Smeg ones with a freezer and all that?’
Poppy nodded. ‘Exactly.’ She crossed her fingers Oliver wouldn’t remember his brother crowing how they’d bought a second-hand Smeg off Gumtree for a bargain price just last month.
‘I’ve been thinking about getting one myself. But I eat out so much, I don’t even have enough food to fill my mini-fridge,’ Oliver said. ‘I’m happy to help. Whatever you need, just let me know.’
A whoosh of relief washed over her. ‘Oh, that’s fantastic. Thank you! I hated to ask, but of course I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. I just need a couple thousand. I should be able to save it up within the next few months.’
Oliver waved a hand as he got out his cheque book. ‘No worries. Like I said, I’m happy to help.’ He looked up at her. ‘What if Al finds out, though? He usually treats my money as the root of all evil.’
Poppy felt a flush creeping over her face. ‘Er, well, there’s no reason he needs to find out, is there? I mean, I’ll pay you back quickly.’
Oliver met her eyes, pausing as his hand hovered over the cheque. ‘Well, okay, if you’re sure.’
Poppy nodded. Everything would work out all right, she told herself again, pushing aside the flash of fear that shot through her. It had to, because she couldn’t bear to think of the alternative.
Oliver wrote out the cheque, then carefully tore it out and handed it over. ‘There you are. You know, I’m really pleased you felt comfortable enough to ask. I’ve told Alistair loads of times that I’m always here if he needs money, but I think he’s too proud to take anything from his little brother. And don’t worry—this is strictly between you and me.’
Thank goodness, Poppy thought as she tucked the cheque into the back pocket of her jeans for safekeeping. She felt terrible lying about what she needed the money for, but it was bad enough she’d asked Oliver, let alone sharing the issues she and Alistair had been having.
Onwards and upwards, she told herself, shoving away discomfort at her deception. Alistair hadn’t wanted stress or strain—emotionally or financially. And whatever she was doing, she was doing for him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Clare threaded her way down busy Oxford Street in a daze. Rush-hour commuters moved like blobs in front of her, snapping into focus when she blinked then fading away again. She rubbed her eyes, trying hard to muster up energy for the No-Kids Club meeting tonight. Ever since discovering she was pregnant almost a week ago, it was an effort to concentrate on anything outside of work. The emergency department was so rammed with human tragedy it made her own fade away.
Shame she couldn’t hole up there and forget everything else, she thought now as she trudged to All Bar One. The second she left the hospital, the fact she was pregnant hit her with as much force as a blow to the head, resulting in a curious inertia. It was as if she was frozen, unable to accept the reality of her situation enough to even start thinking about changing it.
After seeing the test, Clare had sat on the toilet seat for what felt like hours, staring at those two pink lines until the image was practically burned into her retina—if she closed her eyes, she’d probably see it again. S
he’d told herself so many times she wasn’t pregnant that she couldn’t connect the test with her. That there was a baby growing and developing inside her body right now seemed like something from science fiction.
Clare had set the test on the counter and backed away from it slowly, as if it was a hand grenade. Then she’d promptly downed five glasses of water, waited, and taken the second test. Again, the same result. She’d collapsed on the toilet seat, mind spinning. Morning sickness didn’t usually occur until four weeks at the very earliest, and she’d started feeling nauseous maybe . . . a few weeks ago, around the time of Ellie’s baby shower? That would make the foetus somewhere around seven weeks old, assuming her queasiness had appeared straight after conception. Conception! She shuddered.
Unable to process the information, she’d crawled into bed and pulled the duvet around her. Maybe when she woke up she’d find the whole thing had been a terrible nightmare.
But when her eyes snapped open and she crept towards the loo, the two tests were still there, both pink lines as visible as ever. She’d picked them up and thrown them in a drawer, then slammed the drawer closed and crawled into bed again. And ever since, she’d been unable to think of anything else while curiously unable to act. She hadn’t even told Ellie—keeping the knowledge locked inside made it seem less real somehow. Anyway, even if she did want to tell her friend, God knows she probably wouldn’t be able to track her down. Clare had left a message telling her all about the stint on telly, but she’d still heard nothing in return. The distance between them was growing with each passing day.
The last place Clare wanted to be tonight was the No-Kids Club, but this was the first meeting since the piece had run on Wake Up London. The Facebook page had been flooded with supportive posts, and her inbox was overflowing with messages from potential members looking forward to tonight. At least there’d be more people besides Poppy and Anna. After last week’s debate, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see them come to blows without others around.
Taking a deep breath, Clare opened the door of All Bar One, the noise hitting her like a slap in the face. Although the space was normally busy, this was a whole new level. Punters were packed into every corner of the room, and the queue for the bar was five people deep. Everywhere she looked, people were laughing, chatting and sipping their drinks. Clare’s eyes bulged—were they all here for the club? She swung her head from left to right, trying to figure out a way to penetrate the crowd.
‘Miss?’ A harried-looking woman appeared at her side. ‘You’re Clare Donoghue, aren’t you?’
Clare nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I thought so. Saw you on telly last week. I’m the manager here, and as much as we appreciate your custom, if you want to hold club meetings for this number of people, you’ll have to book the bar for a private event.’
Clare’s eyebrows flew up. So all these people were here for the club! She knew there were more people like her in London—people without kids, who wanted a place to come out and celebrate that lifestyle. She wasn’t alone.
Except, of course, they weren’t like her, she realised a heartbeat later. She was the only one in this room who was pregnant. Sighing, she pushed the thought into a back corner of her mind.
‘I’m sorry,’ Clare answered, her eyes still roaming the space in astonishment. ‘Of course. I had no idea so many people would turn out tonight.’
‘We’ll let it go this time,’ the woman said, ‘as it looks like our bar is certainly going to turn a healthy profit.’ She grinned. ‘And good luck with your club. When I heard about it on telly last week, I thought it was a great idea.’
‘Thanks,’ Clare said, eyebrows rising even further. She was so used to negative reactions from women around her, it was strange to hear a positive one.
The crowd of faces turned towards her, and she caught sight of Poppy’s blonde head in the corner. Clare was about to make her way over when a smattering of applause broke out. The noise swelled until the whole café resounded with the patter of hands.
Her mouth dropped open. Were they actually applauding her?
Anna appeared through the crowd, pushing her way to Clare’s side. ‘Can you believe this?’ she asked, a grin splitting her normally sombre face.
Clare shook her head. ‘No. I really can’t.’
‘Maybe you should give a little welcome speech,’ Anna prodded gently. ‘I think they’re waiting for you to say something.’
Clare nodded. ‘Okay.’ She cleared her throat, her head still swimming with disbelief that all these people had come out tonight. The buzzing room fell silent when she clapped her hands.
‘Um, I just want to welcome you to the No-Kids Club,’ she started hesitantly. ‘I’m Clare Donoghue, the founder.’ Applause broke out again, and Clare’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. ‘I’m thrilled you could all make it tonight. I want this to be a place where we can have fun without fear or judgment. We’ll be planning trips and outings in the future, but for now, please relax and enjoy yourself. Oh, and make sure we have your contact information, either by posting on our Facebook page or messaging me. We’ll be moving to a new venue for the next meeting.’
She paused, looking at the smiling, supportive faces. The group was a real cross section, from women in their twenties to men in their sixties. Business suits mixed with hipsters, and couples chatted to singles. ‘Thanks for coming, and I hope I get a chance to chat to everyone. Have fun!’ She stepped back and the hum of the crowd started up again.
‘Was that all right?’ she mumbled to Anna.
‘It was great,’ Anna said, touching her arm. ‘Listen, why don’t we divide and conquer? That way, we can try to reach each one and give them a personal welcome to the club. I’ll get everyone to put their names and numbers on a sign-up sheet too, in case they forget to message you. I’d hate for us to lose this momentum.’
‘That would be fantastic. Thanks, Anna.’ For the first time since they’d met, Clare felt a flash of warmth towards the woman.
‘Can you two believe all these people?’ Poppy’s face shone with delight as she reached their sides. ‘It’s fantastic! I’ve already met a couple who couldn’t conceive but are about to undergo another IVF cycle, just like me. Clare, this club was such a good idea.’
‘But you’re not meant to be talking about children,’ Clare reminded her gently, a twinge of sympathy stirring inside. There was something child-like about Poppy and her determined belief that everything would be all right. Clare had learned long ago that wasn’t true—she’d tried to convince herself for months her mum would return.
‘Oh, I know, I know, and we won’t again,’ Poppy said hastily, a guilty expression sliding over her face. ‘Anyway, we’re going to have dinner together sometime next week. I can’t wait.’
‘Right, I’d better get circulating and try to say hi to everyone,’ Clare said, drawing in a big breath to prepare herself. Small talk had never been her forte, and the crowd before her looked daunting.
A few hours later, she was stunned to see the bartenders taking last orders. Clare looked at her watch incredulously—yes, it was almost eleven. Where on earth had the night gone? She’d had a fantastic time meeting everyone.
It was too bad Nicholas hadn’t made it out—again. It would have been nice for him to see the outcome of her Wake Up London appearance, if nothing else. She couldn’t believe the wide array of people who had come, each with their own unique reason for not having children—it was never as simple as black and white. Every one of them said they were tired of justifying their reasons to friends and family, and how they couldn’t wait to join a club that actually understood. There had been the odd one or two like Poppy, still desperate to conceive, but even they’d been interesting to chat with. Clare sensed they were happy to have found a refuge where baby envy didn’t exist. This kind of group was exactly what she’d envisioned when she’d started the club. Finally, it had come
true.
Shame she wasn’t in a more celebratory mood. The weight of the secret inside dragged on her consciousness like a cement block. She leaned back against the wall, smiling vacantly as a woman across the room raised a glass in Clare’s direction. Despite her swirling thoughts, she couldn’t escape the irony that the club had blossomed only days after learning she was pregnant.
If it wasn’t so tragic, she’d almost have laughed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘And then you inject yourself right here with the needle.’ The nurse pinched the skin around Poppy’s belly button. ‘You can also do your thigh, if you prefer.’ Poppy nodded obligingly, even though she’d undergone the same process four times and was likely more experienced with injections than a heroin addict.
A flutter of excitement went through her at the thought of finally starting this IVF cycle. As soon as she’d left Oliver at the café, she’d rung up the clinic and booked an appointment. She had planned to tell Alistair before starting the injections, but then she’d met Marta and Luis at the No-Kids Club and invited them over for dinner next week. Marta was about to begin her fifth IVF cycle, too, and her hope had lifted Poppy’s spirits. She was sure meeting the couple would go a long way towards rekindling Alistair’s enthusiasm.
‘So you’re clear on everything?’ The nurse shot her a quizzical look, and Poppy jerked.
‘Oh yes, absolutely.’ She smiled. ‘I can’t wait to get started. Fifth try lucky!’
The nurse’s face remained neutral, and Poppy told herself they were probably trained to stay impartial. ‘We’ll see you back here in fourteen days to start the stimulation injections. Make an appointment at the reception, and please contact us with any questions or worries.’ She sounded like she was reading off a cue card.
Poppy gathered up her things, then turned and headed out the door. Despite the unease at acting without Alistair’s knowledge—first asking his brother for money and now starting the process without his approval—happiness spurted through her.