by Julie Cohen
And now the baby changing room. Claire had a quick look around to make certain there weren’t any desperate parents with bulging nappy bags before she went in. Romily closed the door behind them and plopped her bag down on the changing table.
‘Now take off your top,’ she said.
‘Pardon?’
‘You’ll understand in a minute. I promise.’
Claire unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off. Romily immediately took out several scarves and a cushion from her rucksack. Claire recognized the cushion as being from Romily’s sofa.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked for the dozenth time, beginning to laugh.
‘I’m making you pregnant. Turn around.’ Romily placed the cushion on Claire’s stomach and quickly tied the scarves around her waist to keep it in place. She did some adjustments and then stood back to survey her work.
‘My shirt is never going to fit over this,’ said Claire.
‘No worries. I’ve just the thing.’ Romily pulled out a pink T-shirt and handed it to her. It had BABY printed across the chest, with an arrow pointing down to the belly. ‘I bought it specially. Just to banish any lingering doubts.’
Claire would never wear such a thing in a million years. She put it on.
‘Perfect,’ said Romily. ‘You are now, officially, knocked up.’
There wasn’t a mirror in the room. Claire looked down at herself. ‘This must look fake.’
‘No, it’s pretty convincing. As long as no one pulls up your T-shirt, you should be fine. Come on.’ She opened the door.
Claire hesitated again. ‘I see what you’re trying to do, Romily, and I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t really think this is a good idea.’
‘Nobody knows you out there. You’re among strangers. Nobody knows anything about you, nobody’s going to think twice about it.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Trust me,’ said Romily.
Claire followed her out, feeling extremely self-conscious, expecting stares and questions. Nobody appeared to notice them at all.
On their way out of the services, Claire caught sight of her reflection in the glass door. She stopped and stared at herself. It wasn’t a clear reflection, not like in a mirror, but it was clear enough.
She looked pregnant. This was the way she would look if she were pregnant. She was rounded and flushed and pretty. She looked happy.
‘You look great,’ Romily told her. ‘Even I would give up my seat to you on a bus. Are you ready for the next stage?’
‘You even have to sit differently,’ Claire was saying as they arrived at the address Romily had looked up on the internet. ‘Your legs have to go wider. It affects absolutely every movement you take.’
‘The first time I was pregnant I kept on getting stuck between things. I forgot I couldn’t fit through.’ Romily turned off the ignition. So far the experiment was a success; Claire had been exclaiming for the past half an hour about how strange it felt to have an enormous belly. She looked younger and more vulnerable when she smiled. Romily could understand why Ben liked making her do it.
Though Ben made Claire smile because he loved her. Unlike Romily, who was trying to expiate her guilt.
‘What are we doing here? Where are we – Marlborough?’ Claire asked, and then she looked out of her window. ‘Oh.’
‘It’s a baby boutique and it’s far enough away from where you live and work that nobody is going to know you.’ Romily gestured to the front door of the boutique, painted a pastel blue. There were fluffy cotton clouds hanging in the window. ‘Go ahead. It’s Thing shopping-time. After that, if you want, we can find the café with the most yummy mummies in it and sit right in the middle of them.’
‘Do you – do you think it’s bad luck to buy clothes for the baby?’
‘You’ve decorated the nursery. How can this hurt? Go on, enjoy yourself.’
Claire opened the car door and got out. She bent, clearly with some difficulty, and looked back in at Romily. ‘Aren’t you coming?’
‘You don’t need me. I’d be surplus to requirements.’
‘I’d like you to come too.’
‘No no, I’d be a distraction. This is for you.’
‘It’ll be much more fun with two of us. And I’d feel less of a fool.’
It was Romily’s turn to hesitate. This was the downside to her plan. She’d thought she’d be able to stay in the car. Not have to look at the little things.
‘What if one of the scarves slips and I need you to tie it up again?’ said Claire. Romily gave in and got out of the car.
‘I’ll just buy one or two bits,’ said Claire. ‘Maybe a hat or a cardigan, if they have them in yellow or green or white.’
The boutique was exactly what Romily had pictured. It was painted white inside, white walls and off-white floorboards, with tiny beautiful clothes hanging everywhere. Teddy bears. Cuddly lambs. Handmade rag dolls. Everything safe and soft, in the colours of jewels and nature. A woman folding clothes near the front greeted them both.
‘Good morning,’ said Claire, bright and cheerful, and began looking around. She obviously had a talent for shopping that Romily didn’t possess. Romily glanced at a price tag. That much for something that was just going to get baby poop on it?
She tried to glide around looking noncommittal, while Claire examined everything, exclaiming over the gorgeous little dresses and darling little trousers. She picked out a knitted green cardigan and considered a pack of organic cotton Babygros. The sales assistant gravitated towards her, judging her the more likely of the two of them to make purchases.
‘When’s Baby due?’ she asked.
‘The sixth of January,’ Claire answered.
‘You look great.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is it your first? How have you been feeling?’
Claire glanced briefly at Romily before she answered. ‘I had quite a bit of sickness until I was seventeen weeks, but aside from that it’s been fine.’
‘That’s awful. I was really sick with my first pregnancy, too.’
‘And now I keep on getting stuck between things! I think I’ll fit through and then I don’t.’
This was what Romily should concentrate on: Claire’s joy. How Romily was helping to create it. Not the little clothes that Romily did not need to buy. The tops she would not pull over a downy head, the sleeves she would not arrange on chubby arms. Surreptitiously, she picked up a blanket with a duck on it and rubbed it between her fingers. She put it down on the shelf next to a small pair of white shoes.
Baby shoes. What a useless item. But these were embroidered, exquisite, unsoiled and empty. They both fitted into the palm of one hand. Tiny feet with that curling reflex when you ran your finger up a bare sole.
‘And are you looking for anything special?’ the sales assistant asked, and it took a moment before Romily realized she was speaking to her.
‘Oh no. No, I’m just here with my friend.’ She put down the shoes.
‘You should choose something too.’ Claire had added a hat and some white pyjamas to her pile of small clothes, which was now quite tall.
‘I think this place is a little out of my price bracket,’ Romily said.
‘Don’t worry about that. It’ll be my gift. I think the baby should have something special that you’ve chosen yourself. Don’t you?’
‘Oh no, that’s not necessary.’
‘Aren’t those shoes adorable?’ said the sales assistant. ‘They’re handmade locally.’
Claire came over and picked them up. She cradled them. ‘They’re wonderful. Can you just imagine?’ She met Romily’s eyes. Romily bit her lip, inside her mouth where Claire wouldn’t see it, and nodded.
Claire brought everything to the till and chatted with the assistant as she rang it all up. An affluent mum, overspending maybe, but who could blame her when it was for her firstborn, who anyone could see would have a charmed life? She slipped into the role effortlessly and Romily knew it was because
Claire had imagined it, rehearsed it in her head, the stance, the words, the rueful, happy smile as she passed over her credit card. She’d imagined it just like Romily was imagining buckling those little shoes on her little boy, those little shoes that would not get dirty.
‘Thank you,’ Claire whispered to her as they stepped onto the pavement outside. She hugged Romily and their bellies, one real and one pretend, pressed together. Only Romily knew that they were both pretending to be something they weren’t.
Dear Thing,
But oh, how I want you. How I want you so much.
34
Threads
Dear Mrs Lawrence,
Yes I did work on that Alan piece some more. I recorded it for you on my phone, here it is. Mrs Radcliffe who they have brought in to replace you is letting me use the practice rooms if I ask but most of the time I’ve found somewhere I can play where people don’t bother me (the cricket pavilion tho it is cold and full of fag ends).
Look I’m sorry again that my dad is such a pig. Everyone says you’re not coming back and it’s all his fault. Thank you for writing to Mr Doughty about my recital tho. There’s less than 4 weeks left and I’m not sure I won’t bottle out. I feel a little sick when I think about it. Maybe you will come if you can? I hope you can find another damn job, you deserve a place with nicer parents.
Max xx
Dear Claire,
Thank you so much for your lovely and very comprehensive lesson plans since you have left. It is so good to know that the students have enjoyed continuity over this term. I’m writing, however, to say that Helena Radcliffe has indicated that she’d prefer to start with her own lesson plans in the Easter term. She comes to us from Cape Town, where she was Head of Music at the International School.
I hope you are well. Please let us know when your lovely baby has arrived!
Yours
Veronica Greasley, Head, St Dominick’s School
Claire saved Max’s music files to listen to later, got up from her laptop and went to find Ben, who was spending the evening working on the sofa, his own laptop open and the football on the telly in front of him.
‘They’ve already found my permanent replacement,’ she said. ‘Mrs Helena Radcliffe. Head of Music from Cape Town.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ said Ben, still scrolling down pages. ‘Now you don’t have to worry.’
‘I like worrying.’
‘I’ve noticed.’ He reached for a folder, checking the score on the telly. Claire considered joining him on the sofa, cuddling under his arm while he worked. Once, she’d have done it without a second thought. She’d have her own stack of marking to do, her own work to get on with. They would sit together in their own worlds, sharing.
But she didn’t have anything of her own and she didn’t want to seem needy.
‘Would you like a cup of—’ she began, and then she heard her phone ringing.
‘Yes, please,’ Ben said absently, not seeming to notice that she was heading for the front door where she’d left her handbag, rather than the kitchen. When she answered, it was Romily.
‘I need a favour,’ Romily said, her voice hushed. ‘Is Ben there?’
‘Yes, he’s just here.’ Claire hesitated. ‘Do you want me to hand you over?’
‘No! No, I wanted to talk to you. Can Ben hear you?’
Claire sat on the stairs, lowering her own voice. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. Jarvis wants to have dinner with me next Friday.’
‘That’s great!’
‘He wants to talk about more formal visiting arrangements with Posie.’
‘Oh.’
‘So I need someone to look after Pose, and Mrs Spencer has got bingo.’
‘I’ll look after Posie, that’s no problem at all.’
‘The thing is, can you come over here? Because I don’t really want Ben …’
‘I see.’
‘I mean, obviously he’ll have to know sometime, but he’s got a thing against Jarvis and I think it would be much easier just to present him with …’
‘It’s your decision,’ Claire said. ‘I don’t expect you to be telling us how to raise our child either. I mean, once we …’
‘Yes. So …’
‘I’ll come over at half six next Friday. Is that all right?’
‘And you won’t tell Ben, will you?’
She glanced through the banisters at Ben. He was absorbed in his work. He probably didn’t remember the cup of tea she’d offered, let alone their conversation about her being replaced at school. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I won’t.’
‘Girls together, eh?’ Romily sounded relieved.
‘Girls together.’
There was no way around it: she looked like a fat cow. Breeding someone else’s calf.
But the dress wasn’t bad, she supposed. Romily turned around, trying to see her arse, but the mirror wasn’t long enough. She stood on tiptoes.
‘Nice threads,’ said Posie, coming into the bedroom and throwing herself on the bed.
‘Where did you learn to say that?’
She shrugged. ‘Is Jarvis taking you somewhere expensive? Is that why you’ve got a new dress?’
‘No. Sasha’s mum gave me this dress. It was hers. So it’s not new.’
‘It wasn’t Sasha’s mum, it was Alexa’s mum.’
‘Alexa. Right. How do you know? Is Alexa one of your friends?’
‘No.’ Posie stretched her arms out over her head. ‘Do you think Claire will bring that Swan Lake DVD?’
‘I didn’t know you liked ballet.’
‘I think I might be a ballerina every now and then, in between exploring.’
‘That’s an idea.’ Romily gave up tugging at her hem and started tugging at her neckline instead. She wasn’t used to showing quite so much cleavage. She wasn’t used to owning quite so much cleavage. ‘Maybe I should just wear jeans and a T-shirt.’
‘Nah, wear the dress. It’s pretty.’ The knocker went, and Posie leaped off the bed and ran to the door like a shot. Romily heard her greeting Claire.
Romily redirected her fussing to her hair. She’d not had her hair this long in ages; she’d had to borrow Posie’s brush. She’d never have agreed to go out with Jarvis if she’d known she’d be so uptight about it. It would be the first time they’d been alone together since they’d had that conversation about who she loved and why he’d gone away; and even then, Posie had been in the next room. This was the first time she’d really be alone with him, without Posie at all, since the time he’d walked into the museum, taken her completely by surprise, and made her throw up. That was probably why she was paying so much attention to how she looked: she was trying to distract herself from anticipating an evening full of long, awkward silences where they realized that they had nothing in common except for the child they’d made. Or an evening where he continually berated her for getting pregnant with the child of the married man she was in love with. Or an evening where they coldly compared diaries and worked out when they could safely exchange custody of their daughter. None of these was a particularly appealing prospect. At least she could look like a nicely dressed fat cow. It might make her feel a little better.
And it wasn’t only the evening she felt uptight about, either. She’d been cleaning the flat for three days straight to get it up to Claire’s standard. Not that she could get it remotely close, with the amount of stuff they had in this tiny place. If Claire opened any of the cupboards she’d be in for a nasty surprise or two.
But the flat and herself were the best she could make them. They were going to have to do.
The story of her life.
When she emerged from the bedroom, Claire and Posie were already on the sofa together, poring over a book of colourful paper dolls. Claire looked up at Romily and smiled. ‘You look pretty. Is that a new dress?’
‘No. One of the mums at school gave it to me. I don’t know why, but when people see that you’re pregnant, they just give you stuff
whether you even know them or not.’
The mums kept on trying to give her baby clothes as well. Sooner or later she was going to have to say something.
She just hadn’t found the right moment, that was all.
‘It really suits you,’ said Claire. ‘Blue is your colour.’
‘She’s dressing up for Jarvis,’ Posie told Claire. They exchanged a not-so-secret smile.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, I’m going to change into jeans,’ said Romily, turning around. Someone else knocked on the door, and Posie jumped up to answer that too.
It was Jarvis. Early. Of course. Posie hugged him and he said, ‘Hello Claire,’ in a neutral, friendly tone. Romily grabbed her handbag.
‘Have a wonderful time,’ Claire called after them.
They walked down the pavement together. Jarvis was wearing actual trousers without large pockets on the sides of them. His shirt was untucked, but it looked as if it might have been ironed. He glanced at her sideways. ‘You look nice.’
‘It’s not a new dress,’ Romily said.
‘Can I have another pillow?’
Posie already had three of them piled up under her head. ‘Do you have any more?’ asked Claire.
‘Romily won’t mind if you take one from her bed.’ Posie smiled at her appealingly. ‘She lets me use all of them when I want to play Princess and the Pea.’
Claire went to Romily’s bedroom, where a rumpled duvet had been spread out over the bed. She knew full well that Posie was playing her, but she didn’t mind spoiling her occasionally. She was going to have to watch out with her own child, though.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the chest of drawers. Look at her, worrying about spoiling a child she didn’t have yet. Playing Mummy while Ben thought she was at book club. She should feel guilty; she should feel worried. Tonight, she didn’t. Being with a child took her out of herself. It let her relax and be in the present. They’d spent the entire evening watching Swan Lake and then pretending to dance. Her hair was in disarray; her cheeks were pink. She had a bit of toothpaste on her blouse from helping Posie.