It was past dinnertime when David got home. I had spent the afternoon unpacking and tidying the house, trying to distract myself from the gnawing sensation in my belly, between the repeated calls to Harry’s phone in the hope that he might answer regardless, the automated voice on his answering machine a stinging reminder of his absence.
‘There you are.’
I was on the sofa, my book, unread, on the armrest, my toes curled tightly under a cushion.
‘Sorry, I got held up.’
He leaned down to kiss me. ‘I’m going to head straight up, have a shower. Everything OK?’
The sun had streaked the front of his hair, which was at odds with the formal shirt and tie, knotted at a slight angle. There was something endearing about how unnaturally he wore his work uniform, how ill-fitting it seemed.
I had not intended to say anything, not yet, not until I was sure. But there was an urgency to my voice when I spoke his name. Instantly, dread spread across his face.
‘What is it? Did you speak to the doctor?’
‘Sit down.’
My hand lay on the sofa beside me, and he lifted it gently to his face as he sat.
There was no easier way to say it, and no way I could keep it to myself, the weight of it pressing down on top of all the secrets already buzzing inside me, like wasps trapped in a jar.
‘I’m pregnant.’
His expression was suspended, and for a moment I thought I was off the hook. The decision had been made for me, I would have to go it alone.
But then his mouth finally opened and he gave a cry, faint but joyful.
‘Oh my God.’
He squeezed my hand tightly against his face, pulling me towards him.
‘Oh my God, Anna.’
‘Is it good?’ I asked, afraid of the answer.
He held me away so that I was at arm’s length, his eyes shining. ‘I think so.’
In that moment, despite everything, I actually believed him.
My sleep, when it eventually came, was deep and undisturbed. By the time I woke up, David had already left for work, the smell of his shower gel lingering in the hall. There was a note on the table, resting against a vase of flowers.
I didn’t want to wake you … Rest! I love you. X
Knowing my colleagues would still be in conference, I texted Clarissa and told her I was sick and would not be coming in for the next couple of days, pressing the reject button when she called back half an hour later.
By the time Harry finally rang me back, it was nearly lunchtime. I had spent most of the morning thinking of him, lingering over our moments together, which always seemed to end too soon. Longingly, I thought of the day we had created our joint email account, conspiring to save the world.
‘Anna, this is serious,’ he had reminded me, as if I needed reminding, making me commit to memory the login and password, forbidding me from ever writing it down.
‘It’s best to put together two random words. Let’s see: hair, soup,’ he said, looking at me first and then at the bowl of food, untouched on the table in front of us.
‘That can be our username. Now you go, say the first two words that spring to mind.’
The words ‘lips’ and ‘ache’ popped into my head and, embarrassed, I lowered my eyes. ‘Hand, spoon.’
He typed the words into the password box and then pressed ‘confirm’.
‘Done! Now, log in, create a new message and write your message into that, but never, under any circumstances, press send. Got it? Just save it in the drafts folder and leave it there, I’ll find it. Once it says ‘saved’ you can log out. Be sure to always log out so you don’t leave a trail.
Harry’s voice had been that of a patient teacher speaking to an unreliable student. ‘Once you’ve left me something, send me a text to let me know and I’ll log in and leave my reply also in drafts. Whatever you do, don’t download things to anywhere that could be hacked.’
By comparison, his voice, as I answered the phone this afternoon, was brisk.
‘I’m pregnant.’ I blurted it out as soon as I heard him at the end of the line. There was a silence before he spoke, his tone less self-assured now.
‘Are you sure?’
I let the question hang there, useless, while he rallied himself.
‘Wow, OK, how are you feeling?’
I was standing in the kitchen, facing the garden; the clouds through the glass appeared in layers, like holograms, above a bed of midsummer blooms.
‘I’m OK. Tired.’
I knew it was not the question he was really asking, but I was not prepared to answer that one yet; something inside me refused to let him off the hook so easily. The truth was, although I was not necessarily averse to the concept of abortion, until that moment the possibility had not even crossed my mind.
‘And you’re …?’
‘I’m keeping it.’
He could have held out a moment longer, could have feigned at least a moment’s interest in my well-being before moving on.
‘And David—’
‘David’s at work.’
‘Have you told him?’
I paused. ‘Yes.’
From Harry’s silence I could sense he had expected something else of me – hysteria, perhaps – but I felt strangely calm.
‘OK.’
What else had I expected him to say? Whatever it was, it was not this. I hated how easily he warmed to the idea, how readily he accepted the possibility of me carrying another man’s child.
Without ever having had the faintest interest in interiors or design before, I had realised not long after joining the magazine that by simply watching and listening, carefully repackaging my boss’s thoughts and tastes, lightly injected with a few key words which I read in the trend forecasts kept in bound journals, and selling them back to her, I could floor her with my great taste and meticulous eye for detail.
The more it became clear that Clarissa was not one to feel easily threatened – her vast wealth and superior social standing instilling in her not just a sense of her own entitlement, but an absolute belief in her own abilities – the more I had felt myself relax into my role. In my time as her assistant, I had become impervious to the pens gripped tighter around the table as I raised my voice in editorial meetings, tentatively at first, to add my thoughts on that month’s theme, and in return any resentment from colleagues across the magazine for my obvious favour was suppressed under cool smiles.
Clarissa’s message had arrived the day after I had taken the test:
‘I’ve been trying to call … Hope you’re feeling better. Ring me back, I want to ask you something …’
Something about her voice, as she picked up the phone, made me desperate to tell her. There was already so much deception, so many lies. If I had to add another, I might implode.
But before I could get the words out, she spoke excitedly.
‘Now, this isn’t public knowledge yet but Jessica is leaving us, and I want you to apply for her job.’
Features editor? It was a dream come true. If I told her now, though, about my pregnancy, I would be putting paid to any chance of being considered for the role. The only thing to do was wait until the offer was formal. She could hardly retract it then because I was pregnant, at least not openly. But, to my relief and shame, her reaction when I finally told her of my situation, weeks later, was one of genuine delight.
‘Pregnant? Oh, Anna, that is … Well, it’s wonderful.’
Her face was creased with compassion.
‘Now, don’t you look so forlorn.’ Shutting the office door behind her, pulling the blinds against the watching eyes, she took my hand in hers.
‘If you love David and you’re both … Well, put it this way, there is rarely a perfect time.’
‘I know,’ I said, grateful for her wisdom. ‘But I didn’t want this …’ I recoiled at my own words; already I had proven myself an unworthy mother.
‘I mean …’ I tried to rephrase it to sound less ca
llous, but Clarissa raised her hand, ‘I know what you mean, Anna, it’s OK.’
‘I’m sorry, obviously I’ll understand if you don’t want me to apply for the—’
‘You bloody will.’ Her voice was insistent. ‘In the time that you’ve been here, you’ve been a more committed, and frankly more talented, employee than I’ve seen in a long time. So many of the girls who breeze through here think they deserve a career without so much as lifting a finger. Spoilt bloody brats. Besides, you’ll have your pregnancy in which to get used to the role. I’ll get some cover in for while you’re on leave, and then you’ll be back. And nobody makes for a more productive employee than a mother. Believe me.’
There was no regret in her voice, though I knew from earlier conversations with David that Clarissa and her wife had tried to conceive through IVF, with no success.
‘Now you will apply, if I have to write the application for you.’
It was the first time I had cried about it. As I did so, Clarissa nodded and smiled.
‘You’re going to be a wonderful mum.’
I swallowed, pushing down the lump in my throat.
That evening, I returned from work ready for sleep, but as I stepped through the door, David greeted me.
‘We’re going out for supper.’
The excitement in his face was such that I had not the energy to argue. Besides, I was ravenous, and before I could speak he was pressing a bag into my hand.
‘I know it’s still early days and you’re not showing or anything, but I nipped out at lunchtime, and …’
I pulled open the bag. Inside, was a black crepe shirt from a high-end maternity label, with a gift receipt. At the bottom of the bag, in perfect packaging, was a honey-coloured lipstick, and a thick body moisturiser which smelt of honeysuckle. The influx of gifts had gathered pace since we had returned from Greece, and as I opened them, it felt like fancy dress – each piece a new uniform to reflect the body I no longer recognised.
As we stepped out of the taxi in Primrose Hill, an hour later, the lights twinkled like tiny stars outside Lemonia.
‘I thought we could pretend we were back in Greece.’
David pressed his hand gently against my lower back as we entered the restaurant.
‘I can’t believe it’s only been a month since we were there,’ I heard myself reply. Already it felt like another lifetime.
‘They don’t do those courgette and cheese fritters quite like Nico’s but the calamari is to die for …’
David shook the manager’s hand, and I spotted Clive looking up from the table. David leaned into me.
‘I hope you don’t mind, I invited my father. He was so excited about your promotion, he was desperate to come.’
He read my look, or part of it.
‘It’s OK, I know you don’t want to tell anyone before the scan. You know you can trust me … Dad!’
When he turned, there was something in Clive’s face that made me start, and then we moved closer and it was gone, and I wondered if it had ever been there at all.
‘To Anna.’ Clive lifted his glass as the waiter brought our starters, a selection of plates brimming with pastries and fried cheese, beans and yoghurt dishes, along with three glasses of Metaxa.
David shot me a look and rested his hand reassuringly on my knee as Clive lifted the glass to his lips, willing us to do the same.
Interjecting, David laughed. He was trying so hard to protect me from awkward questions that I felt a surge of love which struck me with such force that I felt tears pushing at the corners of my eyes.
‘You won’t believe it, but Anna and I have decided to lay off booze for a few days. After Greece …’ He indicated his liver. ‘Obviously getting old.’
He laughed and Clive raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable.
‘Good for you. Well, I have not made such a decision, and I would like to raise a toast to Anna, for all her efforts.’
His hand rested where it was for a moment, poised in front of his lips, his eyes meeting mine. Cheeks flushing, I picked up my water glass, my fingers slipping against the condensation.
‘Well, I haven’t definitely got the job yet.’
Clive’s mouth moved in a gesture I could not quite read, and I drank, thirstily, my fingers clutching the water glass, before looking up again just in time to see Clive look away.
The next morning I woke to find the sheets in the bed beside me had not been slept in. Clive had explained that he was due to leave town for a few weeks the following morning, and he and David had headed to his club, 5 Hertford Street, for a nightcap after the restaurant. David had winked at me before turning towards the cab, laughing to Clive at how short-lived his own efforts at teetotalism had been, the silhouette of his head disappearing as our taxis moved in opposite directions.
Reaching to the bedside table, the smooth lacquered wood soft against my fingers, I picked up my phone. As I expected, there was a text from David.
Crashed at my dad’s in the end, too much to drink.
Stretching, I turned on my side, remembering, with a diminishing sense of panic, the cells multiplying in my stomach. It was extraordinary what hormones could do; within a month of discovering my pregnancy I had progressed from abject terror to tentative acceptance.
David’s hair was ruffled and he was wearing the same suit as the night before when he finally arrived home, not long before supper.
‘Sorry, I had stuff to do. I’m feeling rough, I’m going to jump in the shower.’
His voice was husky and unconvincing as he moved towards the stairs, turning at the last minute, barely meeting my eye.
CHAPTER 26
Maria
I had been living in London a few weeks when the call came from my mother, the first of many that would berate me over the following months, reminding me of what I already knew.
‘You told me yourself, the flat is disgusting – and still you cannot afford to pay the rent.’
Her voice was insistent, hissing over the line, filling the room that was already over-capacity despite holding little more than a single bed.
‘You are stubborn, like your father, but look what good it did him. The way I see it you have two choices – either you take up Clive’s offer and move into his flat, or you come home.’
‘Oh please.’ This rhetoric – was there even any point trying to fight it? ‘Mum, I am a student, not a prostitute.’
She shot me down, refusing to rise to my bait.
‘You are a student who can no longer afford to study. I’ve told you, Maria, I cannot give you any more money. I have no money. You lied to me about how much the flat was going to cost you.’
‘I didn’t lie! The original place fell through and there is nothing else, nothing cheaper and …’
It was true, I was living on borrowed time. There was no way I could afford to stay on. Now that the reality of what it cost to live in London had hit home, the fact had become undeniable, even for one so firmly ensconced in denial.
Athena must have sensed my dejection for she softened then.
‘Come now, darling. As for your insinuations, Clive has no shortage of female admirers, I’m sure. I can’t imagine he would be unable to resist you. Even if he was living in the same flat, which I have told you a hundred times he would not be.’
‘Mama, I can’t talk right now. I’ll find a way, but I have told you, please stop making me say it. I’m not living in that man’s flat.’
But even then, as I said it, I was less convinced by my own words. Involuntarily, I thought of David and there was a tug in my chest.
Before I could say another word, I hung up.
CHAPTER 27
Anna
Summer was drawing on and the sky was thick with heat as David and I made our way to the hospital.
He had been working full pelt since news of the baby had broken. Something was bothering him, but the harder I pushed for information, the more he resisted. He was busy, he would explain over the phone f
rom the office, where he was increasingly working late, after snapping that he just needed space.
I reached for his hand as we approached the front of the hospital building, which stood back from the road opposite Great Portland Street station.
As our skin met, I thought I felt him pull back, but then he squeezed my fingers before moving through the revolving glass doors.
Inside the lobby, the air was unnaturally cool. Huge glass bowls stuffed with orchids lined the foyer, where women with perfect skin were arranged behind a sleek white desk.
‘You must be Anna?’
A well-built man in a pristine medical gown shook my hand first.
‘Yes, hello. And this is David, my boyfriend.’
The medic held out a hand, which David took distractedly. We had not discussed the reason for our appointment at breakfast that morning. Still, the words remained unspoken between us as the taxi swung around Regent’s Park towards Great Portland Street, talking around it, the tiredness, the ravenous hunger.
‘Is it the baby? Are you having second thoughts?’ I had asked a few nights earlier, feeling his hand flinch as I had laid it on my tiny bump.
‘Of course not. I’ve told you, I’m just stressed … Please, stop asking.’
And so I had.
‘Welcome both. I’m Manuel.’
The sonographer spread his hands in a show of openness, as he led us through to the examination room.
‘I’ll be carrying out your scan today. I take it this is your first?’
I nodded, following Manuel towards the reclining bed.
‘This might feel a bit cold.’
He placed the ultrasound firmly against the unfamiliar mound of flesh that had begun to form around my belly. I watched it roll over my skin, left to right in deliberate sweeping strokes; there was a sharp pain as he pushed down hard against my abdomen.
‘Sorry, I just want to make sure I’ve … Yes, it is …’
A smile stretched tentatively across his face.
‘Do either of you have a history of twins in your family?’
‘Twins?’
David spoke as if Manuel had been making a terrible joke. He turned to face me but my attention was fixated on the outline of the foetuses, mutating on the screen by the bed; two of them, entwined, dissolving into one. Instinctively, my hands moved to my belly, a wave of longing filling my body.
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