If You're Not the One

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If You're Not the One Page 28

by Jemma Forte


  PRESENT DAY

  As far as the doctors were concerned, Jennifer was doing really well. She was making progress and her condition had now been stable for a week. What they had no way of knowing of course, was that inside she felt desperately sad.

  Meeting Max again had been the most surreal of her experiences so far. She had been flooded with memories as she recalled how good they’d been together back in the early days of their relationship. The nostalgia had been overwhelming and she couldn’t believe either of them had ever forgotten what had pulled them together in the first place. He was her Max. Her funny, sweet, good looking, bright, laid back, clever Max. How had they managed, over the years, to forget what they had together? How had they let becoming parents change them into different people? How could he ever have even contemplated risking everything they had for a cheap fling? Suddenly she wanted to get back. She needed to get back, for lots of reasons, one of them being to tell him how angry she was.

  But she could sense that her body hadn’t yet caught up with her mind and so was powerless to do anything but wait. Her physical self still needed longer to heal. What should she do?

  In the end it appeared she didn’t have much choice. Apparently she had to see this through and so she found herself floating down tunnel number three again, where she would find out once and for all what life with Steve would have brought with it.

  TUNNEL NUMBER THREE

  What Could Have Been—Steve

  Jennifer and Steve sat in the car, both gazing fixedly ahead at the windscreen. The weather matched their mood. It was a grey, bleak, miserable day.

  She was the one to break the protracted silence first by suddenly sniffing loudly before rummaging in her handbag for a tissue.

  ‘We’d better get going hadn’t we?’ she suggested, voice tight. ‘You don’t want to be late.’

  Steve sighed heavily and by way of reply simply turned the key in the ignition.

  While he was putting his seatbelt on Jennifer asked, ‘Is there really no way you can get out of going in? Surely if you said you’d been violently sick they’d have to cope without you somehow, wouldn’t they?’

  Steve shook his head, his face despairing. ‘I’m not lying. No point letting them down.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘What about you? Where do you want dropping?’

  ‘Um…’ Jennifer’s brain felt utterly blank. She decided then that there was no way she personally could put herself through going into work when feeling like this. ‘If you’ve got time to, just drop me home. I’ll phone and say I’m going to work from there for the rest of the day.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Twenty minutes later Jennifer waved goodbye to Steve and shut the door behind her. She had thought she’d prefer to be with him but as it turned out it was a relief to be alone. Besides, Steve was a big boy and if he thought going into work was the best thing to do she wasn’t going to stop him. Perhaps he needed the distraction? There was so much to say to one another. Only not yet. They needed time to absorb. Time to digest.

  Unsure what to do with herself, she pottered aimlessly about the kitchen for a while. It was already pretty tidy but she still wiped all the surfaces and unloaded the dishwasher, drawing comfort from the mundane tasks. Once there was nothing left to clean she made herself a huge doorstep sandwich stuffed with cheese, ham and mayonnaise, which she chewed morosely at the table.

  Once she’d finished, despite feeling totally full, she decided to have a piece of cake as well. It would be total comfort eating but frankly it was comfort she was after. She was dealing with so many different emotions at the moment; relief, horror, grief, pity and above all a huge sense of injustice. Her stomach churned at the mere thought of how they were going to cope.

  ‘Cooeee,’ came the familiar voice of her mother-in-law. She heard the front door slam. Her solitude was destroyed. She felt like screaming.

  ‘You home, Jen?’

  ‘In here,’ she called back, glancing at the clock. Damn. Just for once, she’d thought she’d have the house to herself for a change. She could have sworn June had said she wouldn’t be back till gone six.

  ‘What are you doing back so early?’ she said, trying but failing not to sound accusatory. Not that June noticed.

  ‘Sue had to leave. We were at the Marks and Spencer’s cafe having a nice éclair and a cup of tea when she got a text. There was some emergency,’ she said, bustling in, arms laden with shopping bags. ‘So her daughter-in-law needed her to pick up the little one from nursery. Janice was obviously only too happy to help. That little girl is the love of her life.’

  Jennifer smiled a rueful smile, used to these kinds of veiled digs.

  ‘Anyway, have you set the Sky plus? Stevie boy’s on in a minute isn’t he?’

  ‘He is indeed,’ said Jennifer. ‘I was going to watch him with a piece of cake and a cup of tea.’

  ‘Good idea, get the kettle on then, love. Though I’m not sure you want to be having any cake. You’ll lose your figure before you’ve even got preggy,’ the older woman cackled.

  Jennifer’s jaw literally dropped. What a bitch. She hated living with her mother-in-law sometimes. She could still hardly believe she’d allowed it to happen. Yet it made perfect financial sense of course. She and Steve were saving a fortune between the two of them each month and had already built up a pretty impressive nest egg. Their wedding had been stupidly expensive and if they wanted a chance of buying a place of their own this was the way. Still, at moments like this she’d sooner rent for the rest of her life.

  As Jennifer and June sunk into the settee, Jennifer felt a dull ache in her lower abdomen.

  ‘I’m just going to the loo,’ she said dully to her mother-in-law.

  ‘Well hurry up,’ June flapped. ‘He’ll be on in a minute.’

  Jennifer thought she would probably get over it if she missed a few minutes but didn’t say anything. In the privacy of the bathroom however, once she’d seen the inevitable tell-tale sign that once again there would be no baby that month, she wept. She may have been far cooler about getting pregnant when she hadn’t wanted to be, but the minute she’d decided it was time to go for it, it had become her be all and end all. She and Steve had been mutually upset every month when their attempts kept failing. In fact, more recently, it had probably been her who’d been most despondent as every period had arrived with sickening punctuality.

  Right, she needed to be strong. Firstly because she was not ready to discuss anything with June yet, and secondly for Steve. She fumbled under the sink for a Tampax, splashed her face with cold water, washed her hands and went to join June in the lounge just as the title music for the Price Smash DIY bonanza was about to begin.

  ‘Good afternoon and welcome,’ said the heavily made-up blonde who Jennifer had met a few times and actually quite liked. Her off-screen persona wasn’t nearly as brassy as her on-screen one. ‘You’re watching Price Smash with myself Debbie Pierman, and Steve Barrett, our resident DIY expert. Hiya Steve.’

  ‘Hiya Debbie.’

  ‘Now, over the next two hours, we’re going to be bringing you some incredible deals on big name brands from the world of home improvement aren’t we, Steve?’

  ‘Yeah that’s right, Debbie. Not only have I got a leaf shredder coming up for you but also a power drill from Black and Decker and a pressure washer from Kärcher which we’re selling at the lowest price it’s ever been.’

  ‘He’s so slick,’ said June.

  Jennifer nodded and was relieved to see that on screen at least Steve appeared to be OK.

  Later that night, Jennifer lay in bed half watching a film, passing the time as she waited for Steve to come in.

  It was gone midnight when the door finally opened, and Steve tentatively peered round it, trying to detect whether or not his wife was asleep.

  ‘Hey you,’ said Jennifer.

  ‘Hey,’ said Steve, coming in properly now he knew she was awake and going to hang his suit jacket up.


  ‘Are you OK? How was work?’

  Steve took off his tie then sunk heavily down onto the end of the bed, narrowly missing Jennifer’s foot under the duvet. He hung his head and massaged his temples with his thumb and finger for a while but didn’t say anything.

  Jennifer crawled across the bed to where he was and stroked his back at which point her husband turned around. Her heart ached as she realised he was crying. Clearly the ordeal of having to go to work and then not only having to appear normal but having to talk about power tools for two hours straight, while looking as if he actually gave a shit, had caught up with him. As sobs wracked through his tired, stressed body his shoulders began to shudder. It was so sad. Jennifer’s heart actually contracted with pain.

  ‘Oh Steve,’ she soothed, her own tears finally catching up with her properly.

  A while later, having let it all out, they lay in bed, facing one another. Eventually Jennifer decided to ask the question which had been on her mind all day.

  ‘So, what are we going to do? Do we adopt?’

  Steve sniffed and raised a hand to stroke her hair. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think I want to. I just don’t think it would be the same.’

  ‘But you’re not ruling it out?’ whispered Jennifer, who also had no idea at this stage how she really felt about anything.

  ‘No, I’m not ruling it out,’ said Steve.

  Jennifer leaned in to kiss him on the mouth but Steve pulled away. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t. Not tonight.’

  ‘I’m not trying to have sex,’ she said. ‘Just a kiss.’

  He pulled her in close and kissed her on the top of her head. It would do. It was closeness Jennifer was after.

  ‘Everyone’s going to laugh,’ he mumbled into her hair.

  ‘What?’ asked Jennifer, bemused and by this point utterly exhausted too.

  ‘When it’s this way round. Blokes get the piss ripped out of them.’

  Jennifer was moved to half sit up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, resting on one elbow, ‘but if anybody thought this was an appropriate thing to take the piss out of someone for, then frankly they’re not worth knowing.’

  Steve shrugged and gave her a strange look which took her a while to decipher.

  ‘Oh my god. You want to say it’s me don’t you?’

  Unable to say it Steve shut his eyes and turned over.

  Jennifer started to cry. It was all so shit and so bloody unfair. Why them? Eighteen months they’d been trying for a baby. Eighteen months of shagging on cue, not drinking, peeing on sticks and taking supplements they’d endured, interspersed with bitter disappointment every four weeks or so. All of that time, money, energy and effort had been used up, only for Jennifer to find out that her fit, seemingly virile husband who had desperately wanted to be a dad ever since she could remember was firing blanks and had as much hope of conceiving as he did of becoming president of the United States.

  Steve turned round, his face full of despair. ‘I’m so sorry Jen, and I will completely understand if you want to leave me.’

  ‘Oh you silly sod,’ she sniffed. ‘No, I’m just a bit flabbergasted that you care so much about what other people are going to think. Personally I think we don’t tell them anything. It’s none of their business, and I for one will just say that we’ve had trouble and that it’s not going to happen. End of story. I don’t think either of us need to go around filling people in on the details.’

  ‘OK,’ said Steve, looking sheepish. ‘But also…if you do want to leave me and find someone who can give you children I’d understand.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘Kidding me,’ said Steve, his eyes full of bitter disappointment and despair. ‘Good choice of word.’

  Jennifer laughed through her tears. ‘Oh come here you.’

  She held him tight and slowly could feel some of the tension starting to seep out of his body. They clung on to one another in this manner for hours, united in their grief for the family they would never have.

  ‘I love you so much,’ said Steve at one point. ‘I can’t believe you’re not going to leave me.’

  ‘If you even so much as suggest that again I’ll be livid,’ said Jennifer firmly.

  It was three am by this point. The digital clock by their bed displayed it in green. Sleep for either of them seemed unlikely now.

  ‘But…’

  ‘But what?’ said Steve, his expression one of pure panic.

  ‘Please don’t totally rule out adoption. There are lots of children out there with nobody to love them.’

  ‘I know,’ said Steve. ‘I know. I love you, Jen.’

  ‘I love you too. And Steve?

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m so so sorry.’

  PRESENT DAY

  Jennifer was getting used to finding out things she never could have predicted. Poor Steve. Of all the people to be infertile. Sometimes life didn’t half play cruel tricks on people.

  For a while Jennifer pondered over the lives she could have had and the children she’d borne in each of them. If she’d been with Aidan she’d have had endearing, sweet Nathan who she knew she would have loved fiercely with every inch of her being. Then there were the four children she’d shared with Tim, each one lovely but very much a product of their upbringing and ultimately all to be damaged by losing their mother at such tender ages. Then she thought of Polly and Eadie and with a stab of potent, maternal love, her insides lurched with a sense of urgency, another sign that slowly reality was taking hold. She needed to return to them. She needed to feel their small bodies in her arms. Her little girls. Her real, living, breathing, little girls who thrilled and drained her every day in equal measure.

  Suddenly, Jennifer could sense that her experience was beginning to draw to a close. Something was either going to change or end soon. But first she had one more journey to make. She hoped, really hoped, that everything was going to be OK. Not perfect. She would probably never expect that ever again because she no longer believed it even existed, but OK would be just fine. OK would be nice.

  TUNNEL NUMBER THREE

  What Could Have Been—Steve

  Jennifer got out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel before removing her shower cap. She’d been to the hairdressers earlier and hadn’t wanted to ruin her hair before the party. She was very pleased when it tumbled out and didn’t look frizzy.

  ‘You all right, gorgeous?’ called Steve from the bedroom where he was also getting ready. ‘You excited?’

  ‘Very,’ replied Jennifer, applying a nice generous portion of Lancôme moisturiser to her face. As the steam started to clear from the mirror she regarded her reflection. Her hairdresser had done a great job. All the grey was covered and recently she’d started having a few low lights which helped soften everything up a bit. She was confident that once she had her make-up on and was wearing her nice new Phase Eight dress, she’d look really nice, elegant, ‘good for her age’. Although when your age was sixty you were never going to be exuding a youthful bloom or the kind of sex appeal you once had in your thirties and to an extent forties. Still, one of the few advantages of getting older was that you tended to care less about things that weren’t really important in the grand scheme of things. Walking past a building site and not being whistled at wasn’t the end of the world. These days Jennifer was happy to blend into the background and be a spectator rather than the main event. As time marched on she had an increasing amount of life to look back on and less future to worry about which enabled her to enjoy the present more.

  Her patience levels had definitely improved too. Take the arrangements for today for instance. The person she’d been in her twenties would have spent the last few weeks panicking that it wouldn’t be perfect, that people would be bored/not come/hate the food. As it was she’d taken all the planning in her stride, knowing that of course her guests would have a lovely time and that if the caterers she’d hired to do a barbecue weren’t very good, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Pe
rhaps people should put off getting married till they were in their sixties, she mused idly? For if she had her time again, she certainly wouldn’t waste all that energy fretting over tiny details no one cared about.

  ‘Who’s dressing your mother?’ she asked, poking her head out of the en-suite as the thought suddenly occurred to her.

  ‘I’ll do her,’ replied Steve, bending down from where he was sat on the edge of the bed, levering his shoes on with a shoe horn. When it had come to what suit he was going to wear he’d been spoilt for choice. As one of Price Smash’s highest sellers he was provided with a new suit every quarter. Over the years he’d accrued so many that he regularly sold them on eBay.

  ‘Thanks love,’ said Jennifer, glad he was happy to do it. She wanted to quickly paint her nails and getting June dressed would have meant she couldn’t.

  Three hours later, glass of champagne in hand, Steve stood under the gazebo which they’d had erected on the patio the day before. He tinged his glass.

  ‘Hi everyone, can I have your attention please? And don’t worry, I’m not going to try and sell you anything.’

  The forty or so assembled guests laughed with varying degrees of gusto determined largely by how much they’d had to drink. Jennifer experienced a huge pang of thankfulness as she surveyed the scene. So far the day had been blissful. The garden and house looked fantastic, the weather had held, the food was delicious, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. To be surrounded by all their friends and family was a wonderful thing and so rare too. She loved the mix of generations present and it was great watching her parents, who were both still in rude health, catching up with some of her friends. She could tell they were having a wonderful time, as was June who, despite driving Jennifer mad on a daily basis, had earned her respect over the years. She may have been in a wheelchair for the last five of them but today she was sat upright in it surveying proceedings almost regally. Of course she loved the fact that so many of Price Smash’s presenters were currently standing in her back garden.

 

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