‘Ooh, I’d love to go to Legoland. I was a big Lego fan in my youth.’ Lucy gathered from Camille’s stare of disbelief that she had, of course, been joking.
‘I’m going to FaceTime with Alice.’ Camille let the spoon clatter to the surface and left the table, off to seek out the quiet of her room to natter to her school friend who lived in Poitiers.
Lucy closed the dishwasher door and took a seat next to her husband, who offered a spoonful of ice cream which she refused with a shake of the head.
‘Do you think she’s having a nice time here?’ She kept her eyes downward.
‘Yes! Definitely,’ Jonah enthused.
She looked up at him. ‘I’m not sure she likes me,’ she whispered. It had taken all of her courage to say the words out loud.
‘Of course she does. She thinks you are great!’ He used the same tone that she had heard him use to try to enthuse Camille.
‘I’m not so sure. She’s a bit cool with me. And I feel a bit . . .’ She paused, tapping her nails on the table, trying to phrase her words carefully. ‘I feel like she’d prefer it if I wasn’t here, as if I’m intruding, and that makes me feel a bit crap if I’m honest.’ She exhaled, feeling slightly better for having voiced it.
‘That’s not true, Lucy. It’s great with the three of us here.’
For you maybe . . . She kept the thought to herself.
He continued. ‘I think she’s still settling in and I think your idea of a job is the best one, something that will get her out of the house, and once she meets people her own age, everything will fall into place.’
She nodded. ‘I hope so.’
‘I know so.’ He placed his hand over hers. ‘And also . . .’
‘What?’ She sensed his hesitation.
‘I think you are still reeling a little from what’s happened.’
And you are not? You think we can all just laugh over supper and carry on as normal?
She buried the thought; maybe he was right.
‘And that is perfectly understandable,’ he continued, ‘but I think you are holding back a bit with Camille, not shining your brightest, and that’s not a criticism, my God, you are doing amazingly well. Lots of people would have caved, but not you – you have just dusted yourself off and carried on. You are quite something.’
‘Maybe you are right.’
‘I think I am.’ He smiled at her.
Lucy met his gaze. ‘I know that we have been very relaxed about contraception and everything, taken it in our stride, but I think it’s a good idea if we actively wait before trying again. Maybe put a bit of space between my associations with being pregnant and trying for a baby, if that makes sense? I don’t think I could cope with another disappointment, not for a while.’
‘It makes perfect sense, love. I think that’s probably wise.’ He let the chair scrape on the wooden floor as he leant forward to kiss her cheek.
‘I think I might go and read or knit.’ She stood from the table and grabbed a glass of water from the tap to take with her. She took a sip, trying to swallow the bitter taste of disappointment at the fact that Jonah had agreed so readily. At the back of her mind, she had hoped that he might have fought a little harder to have a baby with her, or at least try.
As she trod the stairs she heard Camille laughing loudly. ‘. . . veux-tu aller à Legoland? Vraiment! No, I swear to God!’
Lucy switched on the lamp and sank on to her bed, taking refuge in her knitting, concentrating on the click-clack of the needles as she crafted the tiny socks, checking the pattern for the right dimensions. She smiled, thinking of the little feet that might one day sit inside these tiny striped things.
It was a hot day in late June. Lucy had the air conditioning on full blast in her office and concocted many excuses not to have to leave its cool confines. Tansy knocked and entered, speaking as she did so.
‘So, John has arranged to go and see the CEO, the eco guy, and I find out via an email?’ Tansy ranted, as she leant on Lucy’s desk. ‘Why didn’t I know about it?’
‘This is the first I have heard of it, but I suggest you talk to John, sort it out.’ She massaged her temples with her fingertips.
‘There is no talking to him! He railroads me at every turn and then acts all innocent in front of you.’ Tansy actually pouted. ‘It’s driving me crazy.’
Lucy stood and stared at the busy London street below her window. ‘Do you know what? I think if you can’t sort out who is leading what aspect and communicate like adults, we will go back to plan A and I will give one person control, and it sounds like that person should probably be John if he’s the one having secret lunches with the CEO.’ She turned on her heel to watch Tansy’s mouth flap, fish-like, as she clearly struggled to think of her next move.
Lucy hated the tone she had used, reminding herself of her mum when she and Fay had once battled over the remote control to the big TV in the lounge. She could no longer remember what they had wanted to watch, but recalled the incident. They had rushed home from school, bickering and racing to see who could get back first. Once there, they tussled on the sofa, each holding tightly to an end of the remote control and shoving the other in an attempt to gain an advantage. Shouting petty insults, they used their feet to try to push each other on to the floor. Their mum had waltzed into the room and very calmly walked over to the corner unit where the TV sat. She unplugged it from the wall and produced a pair of scissors from behind her back, which she then used to snip the cable, cutting the plug away.
‘But? Mum?’
‘No way!’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘God!’
The girls had quickly relinquished their grasp on the now useless block of plastic and sat back against the cushions, united in their grievance against their mother. Lucy’s mouth twitched into a smile as she recalled the hours that felt like days with no TV, until her dad deemed it time to put the plug back on. Lucy was certain it was nothing to do with the fact that he considered they had been adequately punished and everything to do with the fact that he didn’t want to miss the rugby.
‘You’re right, Lucy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it to you. We are grown-ups; we can sort it out.’
‘Good.’ She sat back down behind her desk.
‘The thing is, I’m struggling a bit,’ Tansy began.
‘Oh, how?’ She was concerned for her friend.
‘Michael is playing up a bit, pushing his boundaries, and he and Rick have locked horns over everything from bedtimes to allowances. I feel more like a referee than a mother. It’s driving me nuts. And Benedict’s cutting a tooth and he’s so clingy, you know how they get, it’s “Mummy, Mummy, Mummy”, every five minutes, and if I let him he’d be permanently sat on my hip with his hands clamped around my neck, his face an inch from mine. I hope he grows out of it soon. I need some me time back.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. ‘I guess this is my punishment for having such a big gap – teenage rebellion and teething to cope with.’
Oh, Tansy! What wouldn’t I give to have a little one that close to me and to be called Mummy. That would be the greatest privilege . . .
‘You okay?’ Tansy looked at her with an expression of concern. ‘You look like you’re miles away.’
‘I’m fine.’ She turned her attention to her keyboard, trying to give the hint that she was busy and wanted to be left alone.
‘Oh God!’ Tansy suddenly gasped and leant on her desk. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ she whispered.
Lucy stared at her.
‘I mean, there has been talk.’ She winked. ‘You’ve been married for over a year now and those tubes are about as willing as they are ever going to be. You are, aren’t you? You’re up the spout!’ Her eyes were wide with excitement. ‘You can tell me. I shan’t tell a soul!’ she gabbled.
‘No.’ Her tone was curt, and she avoided looking at her friend. ‘I’m not pregnant.’
‘Are you sure? I think you might have a look about you and I’m usually
a good judge of these things.’
‘Positive.’
‘Oh.’ Tansy straightened. Both tried to ignore the slightly awkward atmosphere that lingered. ‘Still,’ Tansy continued, ‘I guess you don’t need one of your own; you’ve got Camille there now. How is she getting on on this side of the Channel? Settling in okay?’
‘Was there anything else work-related? It’s just that I am really up against it.’ She pointed at her screen. Her slight was unusual, and Lucy knew that with that sentence came a shift in the dynamic of their friendship.
She decided not to tell Jonah about her and Tansy’s conversation, unwilling to relive her friend’s admission that there had been ‘talk’. The idea of everyone debating her decision not to have children was more than she could bear. What business was it of anyone’s but hers and Jonah’s? The fact that she had tried and failed made the idea of their gossip even more unpalatable.
Camille was prostrate on the sofa and Jonah was not yet home. Lucy hated to admit that she always felt slightly awkward when it was just the two of them, preferring Jonah’s presence as an oblivious, amiable mediator.
‘Hey, Camille!’ she called through the open door. ‘How was your day?’
‘Fascinating,’ came the rather drawled response.
‘Any luck on the job front? Did you drop your letters off?’ She did her best to keep a note of positivity to her questioning, remembering her husband’s suggestion that it might in fact be she who needed to try a little harder.
Camille and Jonah had spent the previous evening concocting a letter of introduction and a brief CV. They had stressed her multilingual talents, her punctuality and her willingness to work hard. Lucy had suppressed the many comments that sat on her tongue, deciding it best not to point out that inside the house the girl was unwilling to bring her dirty laundry down a set of stairs or to put her coffee mug in the dishwasher, preferring to leave it by the side of the sofa to be collected by the maid – Lucy herself, of course.
‘I didn’t get a chance, but I’ll do it tomorrow.’ Camille yawned, stretching her arms over her head.
‘I tell you what, why don’t we go and do it right now? It’s a lovely evening and we can walk the main road, pop letters into any place you like the look of and stop for ice cream at the other end? What do you say?’
‘Actually I thought I might wash my hair.’
Camille stood and Lucy smiled at her. ‘Camille, you look amazing. Your skin is like peaches and cream and your hair is shiny. I honestly think you are good to go. I think it’s important we get these letters out now if it’s going to happen at all.’
‘Fine.’ Camille stomped up the stairs without a hint of a smile, as she went to reluctantly get her boots on.
Lucy washed her hands in the kitchen and took a glug of orange juice. It had been a long day, and the last thing she felt like doing was trudging up and down the Salusbury Road. But it would be good to spend a little bit of time with Camille alone and try to break down some of the barriers, and it might just help her get a job and get out of the house.
‘This is nice,’ Lucy commented, as the two turned left at the end of the road and walked side by side. ‘I like living here close to where your dad grew up. He’s seen a lot of changes, I bet.’
‘I used to visit my nan here when I was little, only a couple of times because I didn’t come over here when I was really small, and then she died, but I remember it a bit.’
‘What was she like, your nan?’ Lucy was intrigued.
Camille sighed. ‘She was okay. A regular nan. I didn’t like going to visit her, though.’
‘Oh! Why not?’
Camille shrugged. ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t like her; her house was really funky, interesting. She had these fussy lampshades trimmed with tassels, and every surface was crammed with stuff.’
‘Ah, well that explains a lot. I’ve decided your dad has the potential to be a hoarder.’ She laughed.
‘I remember her neighbour had this hissy cat, which was sometimes nice and wanted a hug and at other times was not and tried to scratch me. But it was Connor that had made me scared. I think he was my nan’s neighbour’s son.’
‘Yes, that sounds right.’ Lucy nodded, trying to remember and knowing that she had heard the name mentioned – the son of one of Jonah’s school friends, or something similar.
‘My nan’s house was overlooked by Wormwood Scrubs, the prison,’ Camille explained, as if Lucy might not know what Wormwood Scrubs was. ‘I was only real small, like, maybe five, and I was playing in the garden with Connor and he pulled me to one side and pointed at the brown high walls, and these pretty towers, and he asked me if I knew what the big building was. I just shook my head, because I didn’t. If I’d had to guess, I might have said that it was a church.’
‘I can see why.’ Lucy pictured the somewhat ecclesiastical design.
‘He whispered to me, like it was a secret, he said, “It’s a prison. Do you know what that is?” And I remember him looking towards the kitchen window. He knew that if he was overheard one of the adults would probably tell him off for trying to scare me.’
‘How mean!’ Lucy gave a small laugh of understanding, happy that they were sharing this chat, this insight.
‘I know, right? Anyways, he told me that was where they sent all the baddies. Murderers, muggers, robbers and worse! I couldn’t even think of what might be worse. But Connor was eight so I figured he must know all about life. He pointed at the windows and said, “Did you never wonder what all those bars were on the windows for?” I think I just stared at him. I was already feeling afraid, and it was the way he whispered. And then he told me it was because if they got out, they would jump over my nan’s back wall and mug and murder and rob me, until I was dead!’ She turned to Lucy and shook her head. ‘I was so scared. And as I was working out what to do next, the neighbour’s hissy cat jumped into the back garden from the side fence. God, I screamed so loud, even Connor was scared! My dad came running out and Connor got into trouble and I was crying, and even though my dad told me over and over that no one could get out and, even if they did manage it, they couldn’t get over my nan’s wall, the damage was done and I never wanted to go there again, just in case.’
‘You poor little thing!’ Lucy pictured the scared little girl, and her heart flexed. ‘And your poor nan.’
‘I got over it. I told my mum when I got home that I’d been in a prison – I got a little confused – and she of course flipped out!’ Camille laughed at the mix-up.
‘Are you and your mum close?’
‘Yes. Very. We really are.’ Camille nodded vigorously and held her eye. ‘Everyone says we are more like best friends. We go out together all the time and we hang out with my mates, who all think she’s great, and we go shopping and stuff. She’s very beautiful and funny and we go to the movies or we just sit by the pool if the weather’s nice. She’s very cool.’
‘Wow, she sounds it.’
No wonder you find me so boring. I hate shopping and I don’t have a pool that we could sit by . . .
‘Have you spoken to her much since you have been here?’ Lucy tried to sound casual, hiding the fear that she might be reporting back to her mum just how boring it was here and how rubbish Lucy was at cooking and how she fared at being a stepmum. A stepmum . . . she didn’t feel like anything of the sort. She felt redundant, surplus to requirements.
‘Not really. She’s busy remodelling a barn in the garden, and her and my dad, Jean-Luc, he travels a lot to suppliers and markets and she goes with him. But we talk occasionally. She makes me laugh so much.’
Lucy saw the way her cheeks coloured at having called the man who raised her ‘my dad’; she wanted to tell her that it was okay, that you could never have too many people who had your back, but she didn’t feel able. It was interesting to her that the reason for Camille’s visit was to get this unruly teen away from her poor mum who was at breaking point, yet this was far from the picture that Camille now painted. She
knew, however, that to raise it with Jonah would only make it seem like she was complaining about Camille’s presence, which would not be the case. It was just a little confusing.
‘This one?’ Camille pointed at the newsagent, the first shop they came to.
‘Yes, great, and then we’ll work our way along. Do you want me to come in with you? Give you a bit of moral support?’ she offered.
Camille’s eyebrows met in a confused V above her nose, as if the idea were laughable. ‘No, I’m good.’
Lucy watched as the girl flicked her bouncy hair over her shoulder and walked confidently inside.
I like to think that we would be great friends and that we would want to spend time together, just hanging out. I like to think that I would be able to fix every little thing that worried you and make it better, smoothing your path through life, be your go-to gal for everything from a spider under the bed to a bad dream. I would hold you and tell you everything was going to be okay, and it would have been okay, because I would be your mum and I would never let anything harm you. Never.
NINE
It was a mere three days later that Lucy arrived home to a distinct hubbub in the kitchen. She was glad of the distraction, the change of tempo, a refreshing change from the whine of the television and the sight of Camille slumped on the cushions that usually greeted her. This was different, and she welcomed the sounds of laughter that filtered under the door of the kitchen.
Her boss had hauled her over the coals not an hour ago; he was, apparently, less than happy at the lack of progress on the eco company job. Tansy and John, it seemed, were so busy bickering about their roles that they were failing to get things done, and this, she rightly understood, was her fault.
‘You only get to wear the big-girl shoes, Lucy, if you are willing to make the tough decisions. That’s what we pay you for, right?’ her boss had asked, sitting behind his desk with his legs splayed and his overpowering cologne stinging her nose and the back of her throat.
The Idea of You Page 12