How normal was normal?
As soon as Samantha had been diagnosed, Becky had started to treat her like a china doll, unable to do otherwise, and always at the back of her mind was the feeling that she might lose her. It had a funny effect. Part of her was screaming at her not to love her too much in case she lost her, to step back. The other half was having none of that.
It had made her incredibly precious to them, even more so than if she had been perfectly healthy, and that powerful if mixed up maternal feeling had been something she could not share. Her mother, more than Simon, understood but her mum had been miles away when she had most needed her in the weeks leading up to the operation, when she had crossed each day off the calendar, looking at the circled date with both hopeful anticipation and increasing alarm.
Over in Australia, it turned out her mum was doing exactly the same thing. The way she had once thought about her mum, the slight embarrassment she had always caused her, gave her such feelings of guilt now that she was a mum herself that it was hard to take. And, on the very day of the operation, she had wanted her mum at her side every bit as much as Simon.
More so perhaps. The night before she had had a dream where her mum turned up unexpectedly at the hospital, clattering along the corridor, suntanned in a skimpy frock wearing dangly earrings and a jangle of silver bracelets. ‘Do you think I’d let you go through this on your own, Becky, love?’ she had trilled as she drew near. ‘Come here and give me a kiss. I’m knackered. That flight is a nightmare.’
The dream was just that a dream, even though, next day, she had felt incredibly disappointed that she hadn’t turned up, that there was no ray of sunshine powering down the corridor to take her in her arms and tell her it was going to be all right.
She felt incredibly nervous at what faced her now. It was her responsibility to look after Samantha when she was still scared of looking at the enormous scar that almost split her baby girl in two. And that was why, with Simon’s blessing, she had engaged a nursery nurse for a week or two, just until she got used to it, just to make her feel more secure, to help with the bathing when the scar was at its most prominent. Samantha had recovered well as youngsters do but was still wobbly on her feet, resorting to crawling for ease of movement. Poor darling, she had only just learned to walk before the operation and now she had to learn to do it all over again, but this time she would no longer be breathless as a result. The problem with the holes and the malfunctioning valve was sorted. Becky told herself that she really had to learn to relax.
‘I kissed Miss Ho, the surgeon who did Alex’s operation,’ Adele told her, dabbing a napkin at her mouth to remove a splodge of cream. ‘Rory and I were just sitting there in that awful room, holding hands. We weren’t talking any more, just sitting, waiting. I was watching that damned clock wondering why we had heard nothing because it had gone over the time they had anticipated it would take. But then, Miss Ho came in smiling and I was so overjoyed I went over and gave her a hug. I think she was a bit taken aback. She’s rather serious, isn’t she? Then she sat me back down and started to tell us what she had done and what they were doing now in intensive care. I didn’t hear half of what she said. Rory took it all in. He asked all the right questions. There was a problem during the op, something unexpected, but she dealt with it. It was her first time she had done that particular operation, she told us, and I’m glad I didn’t know that. Imagine … Isn’t she wonderful? I love the woman. All I can do with my life is cook, something as trivial as that, but she saves lives. It makes you feel so inadequate.’
‘I know. I didn’t kiss Mr Jenkins …’
They laughed. Mr Jenkins was not the kissable sort. ‘But he looked so pleased for us. How do they do a job like that? What happens when it goes wrong? How do they face the parents then?’
‘Come on, don’t let’s get on to that. We’ll only get depressed. We’re the lucky ones.’
‘Look, Adele …’ Becky said, pausing as their plates were removed. ‘We must keep in touch.’
‘What a good idea. Of course we must.’
It was suddenly important to Becky that they did. She had lost some of her old friends. She had tried her best to stay the same for them but they all knew it wasn’t the same any more. She had money now and nice clothes and a little car of her own and so they had drifted apart gradually and, with her mum gone and the old house sold, she had no reason to go back to the old haunts. She needed to make new friends but her neighbours at the apartment were largely young professionals and not around much. She was, she realized, in danger of becoming lonely and now that the anxiety about the baby had been removed, or partly, she needed to look forward and move on and making friends or at least one friend was a start.
It was so easy to say the words ‘do keep in touch’ but she knew from experience that, often, once out of sight it was out of mind too. She needed Adele. They had suffered the same trauma and come through it, together almost, and that had to count for an awful lot. Also, she needed to keep track of little Alexander whom she had grown fond of over the weeks they had been here. He was such a sweet little boy, as dark as Samantha was fair. She picked up her shamefully expensive handbag and took out her diary, pointedly waiting for Adele to do the same.
One of them had to do it.
‘Let’s arrange a date,’ she said.
TWENTY
AFTER A FEW weeks, the change in the child was nothing short of miraculous. She was now eating well, gaining weight, she had some colour in her cheeks, she was no longer breathless and she had not had a chest cold, which had previously dragged her dangerously down, since the operation.
The nursery nurse’s time with them came to a close and, whilst Becky was grateful for the support and confidence she had given her in those difficult first few weeks, she was not sorry to see her go. She was looking forward to looking after her child herself now, as the anxiety she had felt slowly diminished. Little human beings were remarkably resilient and it helped that Samantha, little as she was, had no real inkling of what she had gone through.
With the improvement in Samantha’s health came a gradual change in Becky and Simon’s relationship. Only now did she realize what a tough call it had been for both of them. She had sailed through the pregnancy in spite of her mum’s ever-anxious calls from across the world. The birth itself had been a breeze and she had felt remarkably in control of the whole business with Simon at her side.
The baby’s birth had to count as one of the most precious moments in her life and, seeing Simon’s face, his excitement and sheer joy, mirrored she supposed in her own, had been the stuff of happy dreams. They could never be quite so happy again.
And then, almost at once, they got the news of the heart problem. This had shattered that happiness into a thousand little shards, having the effect of sending them spiralling inwards into their own thoughts. She had been so caught up with her worries that she had neglected him terribly, even accusing him once of not caring, but had he ever hit back? No. Not once. He had the patience of a saint. She had a husband in a million and now she determined to make it up to him.
And so, after a period of gentle adjustment, their relationship returned slowly and wonderfully to what it used to be. They were able to talk at last about what a tremendous strain it had been with both of them trying their best to be strong for the other. Subconsciously, they had operated a see-saw system. She would be optimistic when he was not and vice versa.
It was only on the day of the operation itself that she had lost patience with his patience but, being the man he was, he had understood. It had been such a whirlwind of emotions that day and she had even been annoyed with him because he was so understanding. A row might have helped. She had maybe wanted to see some fire in his eyes, some fight, not the resigned acceptance he had shown.
Coming back to the hospital, after her entirely forgettable lunch with Adele Chandler, she had taken one look at his stricken face and rushed at him, into the comfort and warmth of his arms, needing him
to hold her tight a moment.
‘Sorry,’ she had murmured against his chest. ‘I’m being an absolute bitch. I’m so sorry.’
‘For what?’ he asked gently, smoothing her hair. ‘I know you’re just trying your best to cope. We all go through it in our own way, sweetheart.’
However, the way she had acted, the way she had pushed him aside in her hour of need, could have festered within him. She could see now why for some people in their situation, the relationship broke down completely.
Becky, although she thought seriously about it, decided it was sensible not to pursue her hoped-for college course but to stay at home for the moment and put all her time and energy into looking after Samantha. How could she leave her little girl to somebody else’s charge after all she had gone through? Later, she might think about it and, in the meantime, there was nothing to stop her sketching and drawing whenever the mood caught her.
She was Simon’s support, just as he had hoped she would be, and, if other women might scoff at that, at the way she had taken to the ‘little woman’ role, then that was their problem. She met up with a now free-as-air Marina from time to time but there was a subtle change in their relationship, the slightest cooling, that she couldn’t quite pin down. She wondered if Marina’s fondness for Simon did not have a more serious tinge than she let on and perhaps seeing the two of them together and obviously happy, with a lovely little daughter to put the icing on the cake, was too much for her. But if she had truly felt like that, why in heaven’s name had she introduced them in the first place? Perhaps she had never bargained on it being a match made in heaven?
Her days were taking on a pleasant routine. Simon was busy but not excessively so and when he was home work was forgotten. The weekends were their time together as a family. They paid parental visits to Esther and Johnny, Esther utterly entranced by her little granddaughter, Johnny presumably equally pleased if not quite so in-your-face.
They never quite fell into the category of duty visits, mainly because Becky got on so well with her mother-in-law, but she and Simon preferred being together as a little family unit, just the three of them. What they liked to do most was to drive over to the coast, over to Southport in particular where they would take a leisurely walk along Lord Street, window shopping, before crossing to the promenade, looking across what was often a grey, blustery sea towards Blackpool and the distinctive tower. Becky had talked to Simon a lot about her dad and his short but important role in her life, about fishing on the jetty over there with him and Simon had laughed, saying that when she was old enough, he might inflict the same on Samantha except he would be dragging her around archaeological sites. Archaeology, when he had time, was his other passion.
‘She will be bored rigid. You dads!’ But she smiled as she said it.
Simon was not so forthcoming in talking about his family and she detected a certain reserve creeping in particularly when he mentioned his father. He had been sent to boarding school at twelve, an experience he had more or less enjoyed but she gathered it had been very much his father’s decision and that his mother had ultimately and sadly relented to having her son, her only child, go away from home. It said something about Esther. She was a strong woman in many ways but perhaps for the wrong reason. Becky felt she ought to stick up for herself more, as her mum would put it, and not be quite so willing to succumb every single blessed time to Johnny’s wishes. Johnny was a bit of a bully where women were concerned and she didn’t like it – but she knew he was unlikely to change now.
One thing was sure. No way was she letting Samantha go away to school, but then thankfully Simon agreed with her on that.
It was obvious, although never said, that Simon was fonder of his mother, that his relationship with his father was, for whatever reason, not so close. Knowing what she did know, knowing that in a way Johnny had driven her mother to a still not proven second marriage which had shunted her off to Australia, Becky did not press him. It made her feel strangely protective of Esther, though, when she thought of what the woman might have had to put up with over the years. A man like Johnny was sure to have had affairs. Either Esther was blissfully ignorant or, more likely, because she was an intelligent woman, she was fully aware of it, of her husband’s faults and indiscretions, but chose to do nothing. She, after all, led a very comfortable life and maybe she had decided to be happy with what she did have and turn a blind eye.
During the week, weather permitting, Becky often took a leisurely stroll through the little garden square just outside the apartment, talking all the while to Samantha, whose blue eyes seemed to take it all in. Just now, the trees were in full leaf and the little girl would lie in her buggy and look up at them, at the sunlight filtering through. Deep down, Becky suspected they would not have another child. After Samantha, she felt that she should not push her luck and she knew that Simon was very concerned about that. At her age, over forty now, there might be all sorts of problems and she could not risk it. If there was to be another problem with another child, it might not work out so well next time and the thought of setting foot on that roller-coaster of anxiety and emotion yet again was something she could not seriously contemplate.
The only cloud on the horizon these days was that she still missed her mum dreadfully. They had tried letter writing but it was one-sided because Shelley was not a great correspondent and when they telephoned each other it was never completely satisfactory, one or either of them usually ending up in tears as they said goodbye. Phoning Australia was not something to be taken lightly. You had to think about the time difference for a start and she had once made the mistake of ringing in the middle of their night which had panicked her mum and annoyed Alan.
She had taken recently to having Samantha with her when she phoned so that she could put the baby on the line, as it were, and then she would hear her mum talking baby-talk to her, putting on that special voice mums and grandmums use. As often as not, Samantha would not notice, trying to grab the phone itself or Becky’s hair.
‘She’s smiling, Mum,’ Becky would say, knowing that the white lie was a lifeline for her mum to grab. ‘She can hear your voice. She recognizes it.’
‘Does she?’ Her mum was happy to be grabbing at straws. ‘Put her back on to say bye-bye.’
‘She’s waving, Mum,’ Becky would say, as the little one, hearing the excited mumsy voice on the other end of the line, looked merely puzzled.
And, when she finally put the phone down, every time, every single time, she had to stopper the tears. Simon did his best. He knew she missed Shelley and had promised a visit as soon as they could get it organized but perversely Becky was not pushing it because, even though they had got the go-ahead from the medical team, she was still a little concerned about dragging Samantha all that way.
Esther was great, a doting grandmother, a very nice woman who treated Becky like the daughter she had never had.
But she was not her mum.
TWENTY-ONE
‘SO WHAT’S HAPPENING with the catering business these days?’ Becky asked, clicking the brake of the buggy as she and Adele reached the bench on the park. ‘Oh, by the way, Simon’s mother remembered you straightaway from the wedding. “Wasn’t she our caterer? she said” You made a lovely job of it.’
Adele laughed. ‘I hope you’re not just saying that. It was one of our first big jobs, that, and your mother-in-law knew exactly what she wanted. That makes it easier in some ways but harder in others. It’s wonderful working with people. I like it.’
‘So it’s going well, then?’
They had settled into a routine now of meeting each other once a week, varying the venue. Becky liked to go to Adele’s home, a house she secretly coveted. When she did that, the two of them would sit outside on the flagged area by the French doors, weather permitting, and the children could play in the wild and wonderful garden although they had to be sure to keep them well away from the little pond.
Visits to Becky’s followed a different pattern. They had h
ad a light lunch at the apartment and then strolled through the square and beyond, down to the gently undulating park beside the river, taking advantage of the summer sunshine. Adele looked lovely as always in a light-as-air lime-green sundress, her shoulders lightly tanned, eyes shaded in designer sunglasses, Becky covered up more in a baggy linen over-shirt and lightweight trousers. Her weight had ballooned when she was pregnant, dipped a little during the worst times afterwards but, overall, she had not lost as much as she would have wanted, although Simon, bless him, said he loved every inch. Nevertheless, unbeknown to him, she was on a diet. Sort of.
‘The business is doing very well, although at the moment it’s no thanks to me,’ Adele told her, pulling her face as she said it. ‘I feel very bad about it. The truth is I’m not as committed as I was. I’ve lost interest a little. I have to keep going because it’s not fair to Emma but if she could find somebody else to work with then I’d happily give it all up. Having Alex and all the problems he brought with him has made me look at life differently. If that doesn’t sound too trite?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean to sound as if I’m giving up on life. And I’ve enjoyed doing the catering up to now. I still do to some extent but it’s not the be-all and end-all any more. It never was, to be honest. And we don’t really need the money. Rory’s doing very well.’
Becky didn’t need to be told that. Adele was always beautifully dressed, sporting a new diamond ring today, a birthday gift from Rory. She wouldn’t dream of asking how much it had cost, if indeed Adele knew, but the way it flashed and sparkled meant she would take a bet that it hadn’t come from Argos.
‘I understand exactly what you mean,’ she said, responding to Adele’s concerns about her lack of interest in her business. ‘You get your priorities right when something like this happens. Health is everything, Adele. You can have all the money in the world but … oh well, you know what I mean. It’s the old, old story.’
Rumours and Red Roses Page 16