The Idea of You

by Amanda Prowse

  Lucy quickly looked from Camille’s face to her stomach, as if magnetically drawn to the slightly swollen, tiny rounded bump of her profile. The waistband of her thermal leggings dipped low beneath her tummy, and her grey V-neck T-shirt sat tightly over her form.

  ‘It’s getting bigger, isn’t it?’ Camille ran her hand self-consciously over her taut skin.

  Lucy shook her head. ‘It’s . . . It’s beautiful.’ She stepped forward, feeling a mixture of nostalgia and inadequacy as she stared at Camille’s small bump, the mark of a successful pregnancy.

  ‘I think so too,’ she whispered. This in itself was a sign of how far Camille had come in accepting and enjoying her altered state.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ Lucy ushered Camille into the hallway and closed the door. ‘Is everything okay?’ Her thoughts rushed to the idea that something bad had happened to Jonah or that Camille might be in trouble, and her pulse raced accordingly.

  ‘Yeah, everything is kind of okay.’ She paused. ‘But not perfect.’

  ‘Right.’ Lucy was a little confused by this vague response.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me just turning up at this time of night. Am I disturbing you?’ Camille fiddled with the neckline of her T-shirt.

  ‘Not disturbing me at all. I am glad of the break from work, and of course I don’t mind. It’s so lovely to see you. Does Jonah know where you are?’ The question in itself was a reminder that while Camille might be expecting a baby, she was still a young girl living under her dad’s roof.

  ‘I left him a note.’

  ‘I’m really glad you came.’ Lucy reached forward and embraced her stepdaughter.

  ‘The truth is, I’ve been having a bit of a panic.’ The girl exhaled.

  ‘What about?’ Lucy asked, placing her hand on her arm.

  ‘Everything!’ She placed her fingers in her hair, as if this was where some unseen pressure lurked. ‘I still haven’t told Dex about the baby and I can’t go to college because someone there will tell him. Plus I’m worried about actually having the baby. I’ve had a look at some pictures and stuff on the Internet and I don’t know if I can do it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend looking at anything about it on the Internet. You know it’s like those health sites where you log in with the smallest of aches and according to all the posts you have three weeks to live. I bet it’s a bit like that – probably only the horror stories make the grade. Remember that millions of women all over the world have babies every second of every day. You will be absolutely fine.’ She dug deep to find her most reassuring smile.

  ‘I guess that’s true.’ Camille seemed to breathe a little easier.

  ‘I’m sure it is.’

  ‘Dad is barely speaking to me and my mum is definitely not speaking to me and I’m really worried about everything.’

  ‘It’s okay, Cam. Keep taking deep breaths and we’ll work through each thing. But the most important thing is to try to keep calm and stress-free, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Camille nodded before taking a deep, deep breath.

  Lucy guided her into the apartment and sat her at the breakfast bar.

  ‘Wow! Look at this place!’ Camille gasped as she twisted in her seat, taking in the wide sweep of the apartment and letting her eyes settle on the vast window and the urban landscape beyond. ‘It’s so cool! Very swanky!’ She pulled an impressed face at Lucy.

  Lucy filled the kettle, trying not to think too deeply about the many times she had performed this task in Windermere Avenue in the cosy kitchen that she loved. The fact that they were now in her flat confirmed all of her worst fears; she had been a guest, a visitor, just passing through, although the reasons for this state of affairs were none that she could ever have guessed at.

  ‘So, apart from feeling a bit anxious, are you feeling healthy?’ Lucy asked, taking in the beautiful bloom to Camille’s cheeks and the lustre of her tawny hair, which made her question redundant. ‘You certainly look very well.’

  ‘I think so. I’m eating healthily and doing all the right things. I do feel a bit sick in the mornings, and if I smell something strong, like perfume or fried food, it makes me retch, but apart from that, all good. I have another scan at the end of next week.’ Camille turned and smiled at her, and Lucy saw in her expression the happiness and excitement that she had so often felt in anticipation of what might be revealed. She tried to block out the sound of the sonographer’s words, heard so many times in a variety of ways: ‘I am so sorry . . .’

  ‘That’ll be exciting! It’s really lovely to see you, Cam. Although a bit of notice would have been good – I’d have cooked for us and got out of my pyjamas!’ She smiled.

  ‘That’s okay, I’m not hungry, and besides, I’m used to seeing you like that at home.’ Camille’s words carried a note of affection that made Lucy’s stomach flip with longing. If only she could turn back the clock and start over with Jonah. It killed her that if there had just been a little more confidence and honesty on both their parts, she might still be with him. With the tea half-made, Camille spoke earnestly.

  ‘It’s not the same in Queen’s Park without you there.’

  ‘Well, I miss being there. I miss you and I miss your dad. How is he?’ Lucy stared at the girl, trying to pick up any clues that might lie in her expression about how Jonah was faring.

  ‘He’s a bit rubbish really. Working a lot, but when he’s home he’s very quiet. I think he’s upset and angry at us both.’

  ‘Probably,’ Lucy agreed. ‘But he shouldn’t be angry with you. That’s not what you need right now.’ She thought about how one kind word, one shoulder of support, would have made all the difference to her in her time of need. ‘And in fact he shouldn’t be angry with me. I deserve more from him.’ She levelled with the girl, this admission a mark of their new closeness, allies now rather than enemies.

  ‘I know.’ Camille drummed her fingers on the cold granite surface. ‘I wanted to come here tonight to tell you that I’m sorry, Lucy,’ the girl whispered as she held the end of her long beaded pendant and toyed with its central tassel.

  ‘What are you sorry for?’

  ‘For so many things.’ She flicked her gaze towards Lucy and then away again, as if ashamed. ‘Mainly I’m sorry because you and Dad have fallen out and it’s all because you were being kind and trying to stick up for me.’ She held Lucy’s eye. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone has defended me like that.’

  Lucy recalled the girl’s tearful confession of her turbulent life with Geneviève and Jean-Luc. ‘It’s not your fault, Cam. It is a difficult situation that has changed things, but it wasn’t your fault, just like it wasn’t mine or your dad’s, not solely. We all contributed in our own way. That’s just how it is.’ She shrugged. ‘But not how I want it to be. I can see that I should have trusted your dad with my secret and I should have been more open. I guess at the back of my mind I thought I would tell him one day, but it was hard to find the right time, and the longer I left it, the harder it became. I wish I had found the courage sooner before it became wrapped up with everything else that is going on. Right now it feels like a tight knot with several strands. I am so saddened by his reaction; he seems to have cut me off, says he needs time, but it’s also about my needs.’ She twisted her mouth. ‘Never settle, Cam, for anything other than what is right for you. Always put your needs high on the list; know your worth. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I also feel strangely better because it’s out in the open. Not only has it meant that my mum and I have smoothed things over, but it’s as if a burden has been lifted. Secrets become heavy weights when you carry them around.’

  ‘I’m glad too,’ Camille whispered. ‘I know that more than anyone you get what I’m going through, and I felt like the most stupid girl in the world to get into this mess, but you did too, and you are one of the smartest women I know.’

  Lucy walked over and placed her arms around the girl’s shoulders, feeling a flush of motherly love for her stepd
aughter.

  ‘I’m scared, Lucy!’ Camille cried against her, gripping the back of her robe with clenched fists.

  ‘Don’t be scared, darling. You are not alone,’ she whispered as she smoothed Camille’s hair.

  At the sound of the doorbell, Lucy released her. ‘I’ve never had so many visitors.’

  She opened the door and stared into the face of the man she loved.

  ‘Jonah!’ She touched her hand to her hair which was looped on top of her head, trying to tame it a little.

  ‘Hey. I got home and Camille had left a note,’ he said hurriedly. His chest heaved. He looked like he had been running. ‘Are you both okay?’

  Lucy saw the way his eyes danced across her face with concern and she felt her eyebrows meet in confusion. ‘Yes, yes, we are fine.’ She looked over her shoulder towards where Camille sat in the kitchen. ‘She pitched up a while ago. I was just making us some tea. I think she might have been having a wobble.’ Her heart raced to be talking to her husband face to face. His physical presence confirmed how much she had missed him.

  ‘Jesus!’ He placed his hands on his hips. ‘I’ve driven like a crazy thing to get here as quickly as I could. Her note suggested there was an emergency and that she had to get over to you. I’ve been imagining all sorts.’ He ran his palm over his chin.

  She felt a surge of happiness that he was this concerned, caring for Camille in this way.

  ‘Come in. Please.’ She hated the formality of having to invite him over the threshold.

  He made his way across the hallway and called to his daughter the moment she came into view. ‘What on earth’s going on, Cam?’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘I have been worried sick. Your note said you needed to get to Lucy urgently. I didn’t know if one or both of you were in trouble.’

  Lucy felt a flicker of joy to know he had thought he might be coming to her aid.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Camille shrugged. ‘I guess I must have made a mistake.’ She stood and continued where Lucy had left off with making the tea, avoiding her stepmother’s puzzled stare.

  ‘You made a mistake?’ His voice had gone up an octave in disbelief.

  ‘Yes.’ Camille nodded. ‘I maybe shouldn’t have said that I needed to get to her, just that I wanted to, and not urgently, but I’m very pleased to see her.’ She turned from the worktop, apparently searching for milk.

  Lucy stood like a spectator, trying to figure out what was going on. Jonah stared at his daughter, seemingly at a loss, before turning to face Lucy.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

  ‘I’m . . .’ She tried to think of the words that best described the sense of loss she felt at not being with him and Camille, in their house. ‘I miss you.’ She opted for the simplest explanation and stood looking up at him, as her tears trickled down her face.

  Jonah strode forward and placed his arms around her. ‘You have no idea how overjoyed I was to see you open that front door. No idea.’ He held her tight. ‘I have wanted to talk to you on so many nights. I even drove over and sat in your parking bay, looking up at the apartment and trying to figure out how to say sorry. I’m so embarrassed by my behaviour. I should never have let you leave that night. I meant what I said; this isn’t a soap opera that requires a dramatic ending, as the music fades. I should have paid closer heed to that. I should have made you stay with me so we could talk. That’s how we do it, remember? I hate being away from you. I don’t want those tiny fissures developing into cracks that mean we end up losing what we have. That would be more than I could bear.’

  She pulled away from him and nodded, overcome with emotion, and she saw that his tears now matched her own.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. I should never have said the things I did. I was a shit, insensitive and cruel, and I don’t know where it came from,’ he cried into her ear. ‘I was so angry, and jealous. I regretted my words the moment I said them, but I didn’t know how to take it back or make it better. I messed up with Camille and I messed up with you.’

  ‘You didn’t mess up with me, Dad,’ Camille whispered.

  ‘I did. I did.’ He nodded. ‘I should have tried harder to see you when you were little, should have worked harder at being your dad and not tried so hard to be your friend. I will do better, Cam. I will.’

  Camille beamed.

  Lucy kissed his wet cheek. ‘You need to be my husband, my friend, not my judge. I need to know that when I need it, you have got my back.’ She beat her fists gently on his chest. ‘I need that, Jonah. I need you to let me be free to open up to you without fear of censure, without jealousy – unconditional love.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ He hung his head. ‘I had you on a pedestal of perfection and I now know you are human, and the thing is’ – his distress was making speech difficult – ‘I still love you just as much. I do. I love you, my Lucy.’

  Camille coughed. ‘Now it’s perfect.’

  It had been with an air of relief and quiet contemplation that they had packed her meagre belongings into the suitcase and loaded up the car. It was now late in the evening as the three sat in amiable silence in front of the fire, which crackled and snapped, sending orange flames upwards as they licked the sides of the chimney.

  ‘Welcome home,’ Jonah whispered, as Lucy lay her head on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair. Camille sat on one of the floor cushions, leaning back against the sofa with Lucy’s baby book open in her hands as she flicked from page to page, looking at the diagrams and reading aloud snippets.

  ‘I’m between sixteen and seventeen weeks pregnant, and it says my baby will be about fourteen centimetres long. And he has his own unique set of fingerprints – how amazing is that? Hear that, baby? You can’t commit a crime, you’d get caught.’ She rubbed her stomach, before returning her attention to the book. ‘“Your baby is secreting a thick, white, greasy fat called vernix, and small buds are forming in your baby’s jaw that will eventually form his first or ‘milk’ teeth.” Isn’t that amazing?’

  ‘It really is,’ Lucy agreed.

  ‘Is it as hard for you to hear this without thinking of our own pregnancies?’ Jonah asked.

  She nodded and nestled against her husband, grateful for his comfort as he held her tightly.

  ‘I can’t believe I am nearly halfway. I don’t know if this next bit will go quickly or slowly. Can you remember what it was like for you, Lucy?’

  Lucy looked from Jonah to her stepdaughter. She felt a surge of love for Camille, who was giving her the greatest gift: the chance to talk about Bella without awkwardness, without shame and yet still with a pain in her heart, as if it were only yesterday that she had signed her away. She felt overcome by the moment. ‘Erm . . . I think the whole thing went very quickly. If I remember rightly,’ she whispered.

  ‘When was she born?’ It was Jonah’s turn to ask a question.

  ‘Wait here,’ Lucy murmured softly, as she shrugged free of his embrace before walking slowly up the stairs. She was beyond happy to see her new silk robe, her gift from China, hanging on the back of the bedroom door, and her perfume and toiletries just where she had left them on the dresser. Her bedside table, too, was just as it had been on the night she left, with a reading book, tissues and her water glass, all in place, waiting for her to come home.

  Reaching up to the top of the wardrobe, Lucy pulled down the precious wicker basket. She carried it carefully down the stairs.

  ‘Ah, the knitting basket,’ Jonah noted, as Lucy placed it on the rug in front of the fire and slowly undid the leather straps, easing open the lid with its irritating squeak.

  ‘It’s actually a little bit more than that,’ she informed him.

  Jonah and Camille gathered around, watching in the firelight as Lucy fingered the edge of the white tissue, which was yellowing around the edges. They waited as she peeled it back layer by layer to reveal tightly packed bundles of clothes, tiny pairs of socks, bonnets, cardigans, dresses and the beautiful, newly finished blanket. R
eaching in, she tentatively removed the little items and laid them in neat, lacy, beribboned piles on the floor.

  ‘Oh, look! This is all so cute! And so pretty! There’s tons of it,’ Camille gasped, as she let her fingers dance upon the fruits of Lucy’s labours.

  ‘I’ve been knitting these things for a very long time.’ She looked over at Jonah, who exhaled before wiping his eyes. It was evident that he recognised many of the items that had been intended for their babies who had left them too soon. The little promises made of love that grew wings and took flight before they had the chance to become anchored in this world. His sob was loud and heart-wrenching.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, embarrassed by this show of emotion.

  ‘Don’t be sorry, darling.’ She smiled at him.

  With lightness to her touch, Lucy pulled the fine layers of tissue from their home and laid them next to the clothes. Her face broke into a smile as her eyes fell upon a slightly out-of-focus photograph, taken with a Polaroid camera. It was instantly recognisable by the wide white band that sat along the bottom, upon which someone had written ‘Bella May, 23 January 1994’.

  ‘She was born on 23 January 1994 at ten past eleven in the morning.’

  Lucy lifted the image slowly and felt her resolve collapse, as it always did when she saw the little face peeping back at her. There she was – her perfect, beautiful little girl with big eyes, a dainty mouth, full cheeks and a knowing expression.

  Touching the image to her cheek, Lucy could instantly recall the smell of that room, the way the plastic mask had felt as they placed it over her nose and mouth, the strong scent of bleach that hung heavy in the air and, most important, the way Bella had felt in her arms. She had been light, angel-like, almost weightless, and yet she knew in that instant that the feel and memory of this baby girl would weigh her down for eternity. The idea of this child would sit like a rock in her gut, and having to wake and carry this with her, every day, would make life harder than she ever thought possible.