The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  Her bleeding had all but stopped, with nothing more than a spot the last time she checked. ‘Please stay where you are, baby. Stay safe and snug and give me a chance, little one. We can do this.’ She spoke out loud, fighting to hold in the tears that threatened. She reached down for the book she had placed on the floor by her side. She flipped open the page and read again the words with which she was well acquainted.

  Around one in five confirmed pregnancies sadly ends this way. The reasons for miscarriage are many and varied . . .

  Drawing back her arm, she launched the book at the wall with all her might, watching as it hit the pristine white paint, leaving a dark grey mark before it hit the floor. ‘I can’t go through this again, I can’t!’ She cried then in sadness and frustration, rocking and sobbing, as she lay alone in this place that used to be home.

  I told Camille that a year would pass quickly and I meant it. A year passes so quickly that when ten have passed you have to count on your fingers to check that you haven’t got your calculations wrong. And then twenty years, two whole decades, now that requires a double-check going over your fingers twice. So yes, it will pass quickly, so much so that when it comes to the end, the speed at which it has gone will leave you completely stunned. Two decades? How is that even possible? Sometimes it feels like no time at all and at others, a whole lifetime . . .

  FIFTEEN

  Lucy was woken bright and early the next day by the doorbell. It took a full second for her to remember where she was and why. She pulled her sweatshirt over her pyjamas and slid along the pale tiles in her socks. A quick peek through the spyhole revealed Jonah. She felt a quake of nerves at the sight of him. Opening the door, she stole nervous glimpses of her husband, wary of his reaction and intentions, knowing she didn’t have the energy for another discussion about Camille, and feeling a flicker of aggravation that he had invaded her space. She placed her hand on her stomach.

  ‘Morning, sleepyhead.’ He walked in and swept her into his arms. ‘Shit, Lucy, that was a crappy night’s sleep,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘There was no one to chat to me just as I was preparing for sleep and prevent me from nodding off, and no one stealing the duvet in the middle of the night or warming their feet on me. No one disturbing me with noisy trips to the bathroom – where’s the fun in that? It was a thoroughly boring, uneventful night. A lonely night, and not one I care to repeat.’ He kissed her forehead.

  They stood in the hallway as he held her tightly.

  ‘I cried on the sofa and then slept in a wrinkled sleeping bag,’ she confessed.

  He chortled. ‘Well the good news is, I brought breakfast!’ Jonah held up a brown paper bag with ‘Gail’s’ written on the side. ‘Croissants, muffins, various pastries and bottles of fresh OJ.’

  ‘How lovely. Thank you.’ She beckoned him inside, knowing he must have been up with the lark to go to so much trouble and make it all the way across town by now. Yet still she found it hard to soften her clipped tone, knowing deep down that bringing croissants and turning up with a hug wasn’t enough to ease the resentment she felt at his treatment of her. If anything, this air of appeasement only reinforced how easily he felt he could dismiss the very real issues that plagued her, as if all it took to make things better were a gift and a giggle.

  With the front door closed, he spoke earnestly. ‘You can’t run out on me, Lucy. This isn’t a soap opera that requires a dramatic ending as the music fades. You have to stay with me so we can talk. That’s how we do it. Things got out of hand yesterday. I felt pulled. I hated it. But don’t ever run out because that puts tiny fissures in the surface of us, and if we’re not careful those fissures can become chasms that are impossible to cross. And that would be the very worst thing that I can imagine.’

  ‘I know. I only wanted a bit of time. I couldn’t think straight. I thought a different, calmer environment might give me a bit of clarity.’ His expression told her he wasn’t buying it. ‘And I’m glad you prescribe talking because yes, that’s exactly what we need, to understand the other’s viewpoint and meet in the middle.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded. She hoped he meant it.

  ‘How’s Camille doing?’ It was easier to get the topic under way rather than dread it for longer than was necessary.

  ‘She more or less disappeared to bed after you left and she was still sleeping this morning.’ He held her eyeline. ‘She’s very upset – and I know you are too!’ He held up a palm, as if trying to keep any hostile response at bay.

  ‘So what’s this job Dex has got in New York?’ She had been denied the chance to enquire before.

  ‘It’s an internship, pretty much, no pay, but with accommodation and expenses, working for a digital recording studio, and it sounds too good for him to miss, but of course Camille feels abandoned and is hurting. I didn’t bother trying to justify it to her. She knows it’s good for him, but she’s just a kid and she’s upset.’

  ‘I understand that.’ And she did, kind of. ‘But no matter how upset she is, that doesn’t give her carte blanche to talk to me in any way she sees fit.’

  ‘I know that, Lucy. You are right.’

  She was grateful for the admission, happy that he agreed. It felt like progress. She watched his eyes rove the flat in which they had once courted.

  ‘It’s strange being here, isn’t it?’ she asked, as they walked across the cool tiled floor to the spacious open-plan sitting room and kitchen with the magnificent view of the water and the industrial buildings of the docks rising up on the other side of the river.

  ‘I remember the first time I came here,’ Jonah recalled, ‘and the place was so pristine, with fancy furniture and statement lamps, and I couldn’t see how someone like you, a total neat freak, could live in the chaos that surrounds me.’ He ran his fingers over the cold grey granite worktop.

  ‘I wondered that too,’ she confessed, ‘but I realised that being with you and waking up with you in that dusty bedroom of yours with those terrible car pictures was more important than having a sparkling environment.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘And what do you mean “terrible car pictures”? They are classics. Anyway, it’s our bedroom now and I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’ She let her head hang forward on to her chest as her tears fell. It was a sweet reminder that this was their strength, how much they loved each other. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. I should have said something last night, but I didn’t want to add any more drama. I couldn’t have coped.’ She saw his eyes widen in anticipation. ‘I did a pregnancy test last week and it was positive and I’ve been waiting to speak to you in person, but then when I started bleeding last night . . .’ She cried some more.

  ‘Oh God! No. No!’ He placed his hand over his eyes, and she watched his chest heave. ‘Lucy, you should have told me.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t stand you going through this over and over. I can’t.’

  ‘I don’t want to go through it any more,’ she whimpered. ‘I just want it to go right for us. I want our baby!’

  ‘I know, I know.’ He held her in a loose embrace, for which she was grateful. It gave her enough space to breathe and cry. And just like that, everything else paled into the background as they dealt with this, the most important thing. ‘Are you still pregnant?’ His expression was tortured and she could see that it was hard for him to ask.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully. ‘I haven’t bled since last night, so I don’t know. It . . . it might just have been a blip, it might be fine.’

  ‘We have to go to the early pregnancy clinic. They run the emergency one at University College Hospital at the weekend.’

  She hated that he knew this.

  ‘Get dressed. We’ll go right now.’ He smiled encouragingly.

  ‘I don’t want to.’ She looked up at him, wrapping her arms around her trunk. ‘I thought about going last night but decided instead to tough it out. I don’t want to go through the questions, the process, the s
ympathy. I don’t want to do it. And I don’t want to know. I don’t feel strong enough to lose another, I really don’t.’ She shook her head, as her tears fell.

  ‘We have no choice but to go, Lucy. This isn’t something we can stick our heads in the sand about, and I will be right by your side every step of the way. I promise. Always.’

  ‘Can’t I just stay like this and wait and see?’ she whimpered. ‘I can’t bear the idea of them telling me that it’s failed again, I can’t! At least by staying here, I can pretend,’ she whispered.

  He shook his head. ‘No, you can’t, my darling. You know that, don’t you?’

  She nodded, reluctantly, knowing this was the right thing to do, but dreading it nonetheless as she went to shower and locate her jeans.

  It was nearly lunchtime by the time they made their way back to Queen’s Park, discharged from the hospital with a cloud of resignation hanging over them. It was a familiar routine. Jonah steered his flashy car through the busy streets as Lucy stared out of the window, her sadness wrapped around her like a rope that anchored her to this moment in time. She tried not to focus on the men with baby slings, the mummies with toddlers, the babyGap stores that lined the high streets, the pushchairs, and the many billboard advertisements for formula and teething gel. It was as if London put on a parade of all the things she could only aspire to have.

  ‘I sometimes think the whole world is pregnant or giving birth or parenting toddlers, except me.’ She spoke her thoughts aloud.

  ‘It just feels that way, honey,’ he soothed.

  ‘I didn’t want to go to the hospital; I didn’t want them to tell me. I wanted to keep her for a little bit longer.’ She continued to stare out of the window as she spoke.

  ‘I know,’ Jonah whispered, ‘but you know something, Lucy? We have a lot to feel thankful for; we have a great life.’

  ‘Are you saying we should give up?’ She turned in the passenger seat to face him.

  ‘No, no, I’m not saying that.’ He met her eye. ‘I am saying that I love you and I like the life we have together, and if we get lucky then I will be the happiest man on the planet. And if we don’t, I have you, and I consider myself to be the luckiest man on the planet.’

  ‘Is that a roundabout way of saying you don’t mind either way? Because I think it needs more commitment than that.’ She stared at him, hoping to read the truth in his every nuance.

  ‘Commitment? Jesus, Lucy, you have a way of phrasing things that leaves me cold sometimes. I am committed – that’s why I chased across town this morning, and why I didn’t sleep a wink trying to think how to put things right. There are only so many times I can tell you that we are in this together.’

  ‘I know, you say that, but words are easy, Jonah. If you are indifferent—’

  He cut her off. ‘I know you are hurting, but stop putting words into my mouth.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She sat up straight. ‘I just want you to be honest with me about this. You don’t have to sweeten things. I’m stronger than that.’

  The way he did a double take told her he doubted this. She felt her stomach flip, knowing he viewed her as weak. And it hurt. She heard him sigh, and when he spoke it was as if a wrapper of well-intentioned deceit slipped from his tongue. ‘I don’t know how strong you are right now. You are tightly coiled, and I worry that makes you fragile. I do love the life we have, that’s the truth, and it’s enough for me.’

  Lucy stared at him. She felt torn: grateful for his honesty and yet reeling from his words.

  ‘That said’ – he glanced at her – ‘I think a baby would be an incredible gift to us, wonderful.’ He beat his hands on the steering wheel. ‘But be under no illusion; every time I see you go through this loss, every time we get back in the car with the veneer of hope scraped from your face and a new reason to feel sad, it feels like shit. And yet strangely each time hurts a little less than the last for me, and I hate how I am getting used to it, expecting it almost. It takes the joy from the pregnancy, and I can only imagine what that must be like for you. I feel torn.’

  Lucy heard the catch in his voice. And she nodded at his words of truth. It made her sad beyond belief to hear her own fears voiced so clearly. ‘It takes the joy from the pregnancy.’ He was right; it did.

  ‘I want to give you the baby you want, the baby we want,’ he corrected himself. Lucy thought of Camille and knew how easy it was to let the truth slip out when you weren’t watching your words. ‘But I am worried that it is a price that is too high to pay. I love you more than I love any potential baby. You are my priority and it’s difficult to know when the time to stop is. How many times do we go through this? How many times do we put your body through the strain? How much can you take mentally?’ he asked. ‘How much can we take as a couple?’

  Lucy felt her limbs shake at the prospect of not trying again, and at the same time knew that she couldn’t face another pregnancy failing. His words left an imprint in her mind. He was right – how much could they take as a couple? The fact that she didn’t know the answer caused more hot tears to fall down her cheeks.

  She pictured the sonographer earlier, who had, as always, smiled benignly and sounded out the script that Lucy knew better than he did. There was only ever a small variation in the explanation. ‘. . . no gestation sac, at least not now . . . already lost . . . nothing . . . HCG levels might still read positive, but it would be false . . . not viable . . . gone.’

  The process was now so familiar to her that it was hard to imagine it ending any other way.

  ‘Push! That’s a clever girl! Nearly there! Push hard now!’

  She took a sharp intake of breath which fuelled her next sob.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully.

  Jonah reached across the fancy hand-stitched red leather of the centre console and held her limp hand. ‘Me either.’

  Camille was ensconced on the sofa when they walked through the door. Lucy was happy to see her sitting calmly. She was in no mood for an outburst of any kind.

  ‘Where did you stay last night?’ Camille asked, a little sheepishly; this apparently had been her main concern.

  ‘I have an apartment that I rent out, where I lived before I married your dad. It’s on the river, very modern. I think you’d like it.’

  Camille nodded.

  ‘And Ross, the tenant, has left, so it’s empty at the moment while we think of what to do with it,’ she explained.

  Camille’s voice was calm, quiet, as she stood. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ she whispered the offer.

  ‘Where is my daughter and what have you done with her?’ Jonah tried to joke, as he deposited Lucy’s small suitcase by the door.

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea, thank you.’ Lucy sat down and closed her eyes briefly. Camille came back in with a tray and three mugs of tea. She handed one to Lucy, one to her dad and took one for herself before curling into the chair by the fireplace opposite them and tucking her feet beneath her.

  ‘I’m sorry I flipped out yesterday, Lucy.’ Camille kept her eyes on her mug of tea.

  Lucy felt Jonah shift his position on the sofa next to her and could sense his delight at this apology.

  ‘It made me feel on edge, unhappy.’ Lucy kept her tone friendly yet concise.

  Camille nodded and looked down to the floor. Lucy wasn’t overly consoled. She had seen this model of behaviour before and knew that contrition from Camille could be replaced in an instant with a demand, a tantrum or an outburst of meanness.

  ‘I want us to be on the same side,’ Lucy offered, deciding not to mention that it wasn’t only yesterday’s outburst that bothered her, but the whole build-up over the last couple of weeks, her snide comments and overreactions. She felt Jonah’s hand snake over her thigh to hold her tea-free hand, urging her on.

  Camille nodded. ‘I can’t believe that Dex would ask me to stay here and then go to New York for a whole year.’ The girl’s tears pooled again, and she wiped them on the back of her sleeve.
<
br />   ‘I understand that you are hurt, but it sounds like a big opportunity for him. And you have college to look forward to. Fashion design – it’s going to be brilliant.’

  Camille nodded again. ‘I know.’

  ‘And I think when you love someone,’ Lucy began, ‘you sometimes have to want what is best for them, even if it might not always be what is best for you.’

  Jonah tightened his grip on her hand.

  ‘And you know, Camille, as hard as it is to think about, you are both so very young, and if you are meant to be together you will, and if you are not then someone else will be waiting right around the corner.’ She sighed. ‘I mean, look at me and your dad. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I went to a christening and the party afterwards, and instead of leaving with a goody bag, I left with a husband.’ She tried out a small smile.

  ‘But I don’t want anyone else; I want Dex.’ Camille looked up with her large eyes full of sorrow, and Lucy felt the stir of sympathy for the young girl who was experiencing heartache.

  ‘I know.’ Lucy nodded and sipped her tea.

  ‘I need to go and get showered.’ Camille sniffed. ‘I’m working at Bill’s for a few hours this afternoon. I’m really nervous about seeing Dex.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ She smiled at the girl. ‘If he goes to New York, you will regret every opportunity you missed to spend time with him and talk to him while he was here, so make the most of it.’

  ‘Make the most of every second, Lucy. Before you know it, she’ll be gone!’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Jonah reached up and wiped the tear that trickled down Lucy’s face as Camille left the room. She raised her palm and held his fingers fast against her cheek. Her desire to talk to him, openly and without guile, had always been strong, knowing that confessing everything might help him understand her a little better. But recently the idea of sharing with him something that was still so raw, so damning, so painful, was more than she could bear while things between them were a little fractured. ‘Yes,’ she lied.