The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘It must be strange that you’ve never lived with Camille, not properly,’ she thought aloud.

  ‘It is odd to the outside world, but it made perfect sense for us. By the time she was born, Gen and I were divorced and she was already seeing Jean-Luc. To ask for anything more made me feel like I was imposing on their new life, messing things up, or certainly making it more complicated than any of us could cope with.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And if I’m being honest, it suited me.’ He looked down at the mattress. ‘I don’t think I’ve told anyone that before. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, I do, but I was able to carry on with my life, working hard to get the business established, and not having a small child in tow made it easier. Sometimes I don’t feel like I really know her and that makes me sad. I worry sometimes that it might be too late to properly rectify that. I don’t want her to be a stranger.’

  ‘Well, only seeing someone once a year for the odd week of the holidays doesn’t give you enough time to get to know someone; it’s like starting from scratch every time, and that’s not your fault. But what would be your fault was if you didn’t try to put it right. It’s not too late to get to know her better. It really isn’t.’

  ‘I guess.’ He swallowed.

  Neither voiced the fact that Camille had declined to come for her regular visit earlier in the year. She had mumbled some vague excuse about an assignment for school and keeping her friend Alice company. It all sounded rather ambiguous and had made Lucy feel horrible, as if her presence meant that Jonah had to miss out on this precious event. Not that Camille had been this explicit, and Lucy didn’t want to suggest it in case she were wide of the mark, but nonetheless this was how she felt.

  ‘It was hard to know what to say to Geneviève earlier, though I hate arguing with her, and it feels like for every suggestion I make she has this acid-tongued rebuttal lying in wait.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘It is. We had this amazing courtship, she was such great fun, and it saddens me how quickly it all faded to dust after our marriage. When I talk to her, I always feel like she’s a woman on the edge.’

  ‘Maybe she’s unhappy?’ she suggested.

  ‘Yes. Maybe.’

  ‘Well, I’ve said what I think. You should definitely invite Camille over to stay again. I can give the spare room a quick tidy, remove all those boxes of clutter—’

  ‘Erm, hardly clutter, my precious collection of comics and vinyl,’ he pointed out.

  She ignored his justification. ‘It’d be a lovely chance for me to get to know her, for you to spend some quality time with her, and it would give her mum the break she says she needs.’

  ‘I actually think things would be easier between Camille and me because you are here – less pressure to think of what to say or how to act. It’d be so much better with the three of us together. I’ve often wished there had been an interpreter present, having never been a teenage girl myself.’ He smiled.

  ‘The summer holidays are coming up, in a few months; that might work?’

  ‘Yes, she gets a long break – nine weeks, I think.’

  ‘Perfect, then. She would be more than welcome to come here,’ Lucy confirmed.

  ‘I didn’t want to suggest it, not with everything that’s been happening.’ He again averted his eyes.

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s fine, Jonah. She’s your daughter.’ She dug deep to find a smile that might mask the hurt at having to again confront the fact that he was a parent and she was not. She ignored the punch of envy to her gut, knowing it was misplaced.

  ‘Let’s have a think about it,’ he concluded, reaching out for her and pulling her towards him, clearly now thinking about something else entirely.

  The house was calm in the lull of a Saturday afternoon, as if the bricks and mortar knew there was no need to rush, not today. There were no trains to dash for, no deadlines to make and, unlike the working weekdays, they were not on a timer.

  The sound system jumped between the two playlists and, as always, it made her chuckle. Her love of eighties pop, interspersed with Jonah’s favoured soft rock, meant that they switched from Depeche Mode to Bon Jovi in a blink. He beamed as she sang along, clearly delighted that she had, after a year of forced indoctrination, picked up at least some of the lyrics.

  ‘They’re here!’ she called over her shoulder up the hallway, towards the kitchen where Jonah chopped peppers and onions and stirred his homemade passata which had been bubbling for a while.

  She opened the door to Fay, who inhaled the rich, garlicky aroma. ‘Oh, thank God! Jonah is cooking. Amen!’ She kissed her sister on the cheek.

  ‘Lovely to see you too.’ Lucy smiled, as her sister swept past.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ her mum called.

  Lucy felt a little winded at the sight of her mum walking up the path with Fay’s one-year-old daughter on her hip. She hadn’t realised that Maisie was coming too. Not that it wasn’t lovely to see her, the little darling; it was. But the way her stomach folded with longing that felt a lot like hunger took her quite by surprise.

  ‘Take her, please. I need to visit the bathroom.’

  Jan unceremoniously thrust Maisie into her arms and made a dash along the hallway. ‘Hey, Jonah!’ her mum offered quite warmly. ‘I shan’t be a mo; get ready for my greeting hug,’ she called, before closing the cloakroom door behind her.

  Maisie gave a dribbly smile and reached up to grab a fistful of Lucy’s hair, wrapping it around her chubby fingers. ‘Mama,’ she cooed, before laying her head on Lucy’s chest and settling in for a hug. To be addressed by that word was so beautiful it took her breath away. Lowering her face towards her niece’s scalp, she inhaled the scent of childhood, a glorious mixture of baby powder and sweetness. ‘Thank you, Maisie,’ she whispered. ‘Where’s Rory?’ she called out to her sister.

  ‘He’s having a daddy day. Adam was delighted, let me tell you. I wish I had snapped a picture of his face when I told him the girls were having a day shopping and he was looking after Rory. I could tell that up until that point he could see nothing ahead but a golf course and a few beers at the nineteenth hole.’

  ‘Poor Adam!’ Jonah voiced his brotherly support.

  ‘Poor Adam? They are our children, Jonah. Don’t make me give you the same lecture I gave him – when’s my day off to play bloody golf?’ Fay yelled.

  ‘I concede!’ Jonah waved his wooden spoon in the air.

  ‘Not that I play golf, but you get my point.’ Fay opened the fridge in search of wine.

  As Fay chatted to Jonah, making him laugh with tales of how she had nearly lost her mum in the vast Westfield shopping mall, Lucy walked up and down in the hallway, rocking the little girl gently from side to side, marvelling at the beautiful abandon with which Maisie edged towards sleep. The act of trust was implicit, as if Maisie sensed she would not let her fall.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ she whispered into her scalp.

  As Maisie grew heavier in her arms, her full weight sinking against her and her body drifting deeper into slumber, the skin of her bare legs touched against Lucy’s arms and reminded her so powerfully of the contact she would never have with the baby she had lost that it rendered her still, while her heart continued to race.

  ‘Look at you!’ Fay called, coming up behind her, removing her lightweight jacket and popping it over the newel post. ‘You’re a natural. Looks like she’s nodding off. How marvellous!’

  Lucy laid her head against her niece’s and walked slowly into the sitting room, where she stood in front of the large, ornate mirror above the fireplace and watched herself rocking back and forth.

  I like the way I look holding you, Maisie. I think I look like a mum, a good mum . . .

  ‘Oh dear,’ her sister called loudly behind her, ‘stay away, Jonah, nothing to see here! But if I had to guess, I’d say someone might be getting broody.’

  Lucy looked up as her mum, sister and husband gathered in the doorway. She stared at their faces reflected in the mirror.<
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  ‘I think there must be something in the water.’ Fay sighed. ‘Did you hear Davina is due any day, apparently? I got a call from Auntie Joyce; they are beyond excited, already opened a bank account for school fees and drawing up a list of names. Good luck to them, though; you can’t blame them for being thrilled. It is such an incredible thing when you have a child, not only for yourself, but it’s a wonderful gift for the whole family.’

  I know this, Fay! And believe me, I would like nothing more than to bring that gift to you all! I want it more than you know!

  Lucy tried to order her thoughts, noting that her sister had felt she couldn’t mention Richard when she spoke of Davina, and the way her mother had visibly coloured at the whole topic. It was ridiculous, this awkwardness, quite without foundation; everyone had moved on a long time ago. The omission of her ex in her sister’s chat made it an issue when it really wasn’t. The fact that they all mentally filled in the gaps with his name elevated him to a point of interest that he had no right to.

  ‘I’m right, you know, you are a natural,’ Fay chimed. ‘You should seriously start thinking about swapping your fancy career for a few years of good old-fashioned mothering; after all, you aren’t getting any younger.’ She lifted her glass of wine towards her big sister.

  Lucy got the message loud and clear and felt her chest cave with hurt. Her sister’s words left her feeling hollow. In her mind it already felt like she was letting everyone down, knowing they would feel at best that she was slow off the mark, and at worst that she was deliberately choosing to remain childless. Which, if she were, would be nothing to do with anyone but her and Jonah. It was as if they had a right to the grandchild or niece or nephew they had been expecting, and the weight of that expectation sat on her shoulders, dragging her further down.

  Jonah pushed past them, his expression determined, like a first-aider who has been called into action from the sidelines. He stood by her side. Raising his hand, he stroked Maisie’s head before gently resting his palm on his wife’s shoulder.

  ‘All in good time,’ he whispered, giving her a knowing look.

  She did her best to keep her tears at bay, trying not to think that if things had turned out differently, today might well have been the day that she told them of her happy news, that she had indeed decided to have a few years of good old-fashioned mothering.

  They were right, after all; she wasn’t getting any younger.

  There are a couple of lovely schools around here. I tend to slow up as I walk past them on my way to and from the shops and I can’t help but beam at the little children who run around the playground like busy wasps. The noise they make collectively is glorious! It’s a high-pitched burble of words, suffused with laughter and squeals. I always think that if angels chattered, it would sound something close to this. It’s the sound of innocence, the sound of happy. Their little shoes are scuffed and they have the remnants of lunch on their cuffs and collars and splotches of paint and glue on their shirts. Even now, I envy the mums standing in clusters at the school gate, that disparate group from all four corners of the globe with only one thing in common: that they stand patiently waiting to wrap their hand around the smaller hand of their child and skip them towards home, where a cosy tea waits in a warm kitchen. I picture myself standing and chatting with those mums. ‘Oh she’s doing really well, she loves books! Takes after me like that, a proper little bookworm . . .’ and suddenly, there you are, smiling at me at the day’s end, ready to take my hand and let me lead you home.

  FIVE

  Lucy felt the beginnings of a headache as Tansy banged her palm on the table. ‘I am not being deliberately difficult and I refute the suggestion. I think what you need to understand, John, is that pitching is what I do! I have successfully won the JBBD account, which is still our second-biggest grossing client, and the Met diversity campaign.’ She counted on her fingers, as she reeled off the details.

  ‘Are we going to have to sit and listen to a complete list of your achievements and accolades, Tansy?’ John interrupted. ‘Because if that’s your intention, it might be quicker if you simply gave us a copy of your CV. I wouldn’t want to miss any crucial detail that might clearly indicate your suitability over mine. I mean, did you for example ever get a citizenship award at school or have you run a half-marathon? I would like to take this opportunity to point out that I came second in a Rubik’s cube timed assessment when I was fourteen.’

  ‘Very funny.’ Tansy glared at her male counterpart across the boardroom table, with the twitch of a smile on her lips. John was popular and funny, and in any other circumstances she probably would have been on his side, a friend.

  ‘Okay. Okay.’ Lucy sat forward and took a deep breath. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere.’ She had hoped that by bringing into the boardroom the two top candidates to lead on the green energy project, they might be able to discuss the best way to proceed, allocate tasks, identify the first point of contact for the client and get moving. It had, however, quickly deteriorated into this mock gladiatorial display. Both were more than capable of heading up the pitch, and she was acutely aware that she had to bury her favouring of Tansy based purely on the fact that they were friends outside of the workplace, even though having her on the pitch would make the long hours and lengthy rail and car journeys travelling to and from meetings so much more bearable.

  ‘We are getting quite close to the first deliverable; it’s mid-May already.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, John. I’m aware of the date.’ Lucy gave him a small smile. This was actually a lie; she hadn’t been aware of the date, not at all. ‘Let’s take a break for lunch, I’ll give it some thought and then we can come back in here in an hour and decide how we go forward.’ She closed her laptop and reached for her handbag.

  ‘But . . .’ Tansy pulled a face of irritation, fumbling for words, as Lucy left the room.

  Mid-May, mid-May! The words rattled around her brain as she swept down the stairs and out into the bustling crowds on Victoria Street, where workers and tourists filled the pavement, some clutching small brown paper bags that contained their lunch, eager to get back to their desks, and others holding cameras aloft. Each group travelled at a quite different pace, proving an irritation to the other. Lucy didn’t seem to notice; with a spring in her step she tripped up and down the kerb, dodging crowds and keeping a determination to her stride that meant idlers made way for her in the throng. She paused as she entered the store, pulled a basket from the stack by the front door, and closed her eyes briefly.

  April the seventh, so add on seven days, April fourteenth, April twenty-first, twenty-eighth, May the fifth, twelfth, nineteenth, and now twenty-second . . . makes it six and a half weeks since my last period.

  Her heart skipped as she did the maths, stepping forward into the aisles, her eyes searching for what she was looking for.

  It wasn’t that they had planned to try, far from it; they had simply neglected to be overly careful, trusting Mother Nature to do what she thought best. They had been told that it might be a while before her cycle regulated itself, and she had thought any lack of menstruation might be down to that. It had felt like a relief not to make the decision and go with the flow, as it were, but now, with the pregnancy testing kit safely ensconced inside her handbag as she made her way back towards the office, Lucy was beyond excited.

  She was also delighted that the bathroom at work was empty. She locked the cubicle door and hung her bag from the hook on the wall before trying, as silently as possible, to peel the cellophane from the packet. Her fingers twitched in anticipation as she opened the box and ripped impatiently at the foil-wrapped spatula with her teeth. Holding the white plastic stick above the toilet bowl, she closed her eyes, not daring to think about the possibilities.

  Calm down. Take a breath.

  ‘Lucy? Are you still in here?’ Tansy’s voice bounced off the tiled walls. ‘I saw you walk in; I was waving across the foyer, but I don’t think you saw me.’ She sounded a little put out
.

  ‘Good God, Tansy. Can’t I have five minutes’ peace?’ She extricated the little stick and balanced it on the tissue dispenser.

  ‘Sure, I just wanted to say—’

  ‘Tansy! Honestly, I should be able to use the bathroom without being harassed by you.’ She laughed, in spite of her frustration. ‘Please go away!’

  ‘Okay. Shall I come back in five minutes?’ her friend pushed.

  ‘No! Don’t come back in five minutes. I’ll see you back in the boardroom as we agreed, sheesh!’

  ‘Was that a “sheesh, I am going to make you lead on this project” or a “sheesh, I’m giving it to the inexperienced, youthful John who has a horrible habit of running his tongue up around his gums, hoping he might find a snack”?’

  ‘It’s “sheesh, go away, Tansy!”’ She shook her head and placed her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, looking up only when she heard the bathroom door close.

  It was hard to monitor how long she had waited, but she figured it was long enough by the time she had restored her clothing, flushed the loo and gathered the stick into her sweating palms.

  Lucy squinted at the pregnancy test, holding it up to her face to confirm what she thought she saw in the little results window.

  Pregnant 3+

  She read it again. 3+

  And again. 3+

  3+

  This meant that she was more than three weeks pregnant!

  Closing her eyes, she silently pogoed up and down inside the cubicle holding the test to her chest.

  Taking a minute to compose herself, Lucy washed her hands thoroughly and practised her neutral expression in the mirror, which was difficult. A wide grin kept splitting her face, which instantly caused her tears to prick. She coughed and opened the bathroom door, ready to face the world.