by Freya North
‘Everything like clockwork,’ Susan assured her. ‘Look, I jotted down a little résumé of each day so you can catch up on all the intricacies.’
‘You are a brick, Susan,’ Fen said sincerely.
‘Now there's a term I haven't heard for a while,’ Susan laughed.
‘It's a Django-ism,’ Fen said. ‘Is there any news, do you know? Results?’
‘Not as far as I'm aware,’ said Susan.
‘Any day now,’ said Fen solemnly.
‘Well, you're all going to Derbyshire this weekend, aren't you?’ said Susan.
‘Cosima's first birthday,’ Fen smiled. ‘Are you sure you can't change your Ladies' Guild thing and be with us?’
‘I can't, my dear,’ Susan apologized. ‘Normally I wouldn't think twice – only it's our annual dinner and it is for charity. And I can't be doing with being the butt of consternation or gossip – not at my age, and not in a village as small as mine.’
‘OK,’ said Fen. ‘Perhaps we'll come to you the following weekend, then?’
‘Lovely. I think all women should be entitled to prolong their birthday celebrations – I'm glad to see you're priming Cosima already,’ Susan said.
Suddenly Fen realized she had no idea when her mother's birthday was. Nor was she sure of her precise age. And she felt she'd really quite like to know the day, that she ought to know the day – not to send cards, but just so that she could acknowledge, at some point, Today is my mother's birthday. Just so she'd be able to say with authority, My mother is fifty-something.
‘And how was Cosima's other grandmother?’ Susan was asking, astutely casual.
Momentarily, Fen was confused. But Susan was quite right; on paper Cosima had two grandmothers, on paper Penny was a mother and a grandmother. ‘She was –’ Fen paused. What was she exactly, this Penny Ericsson? ‘She was – there,’ Fen said thoughtfully and Susan sensed this was information enough at this juncture.
‘Matt missed you,’ Susan told her.
Fen felt her face being scanned for a response. ‘He probably didn't notice me gone,’ she said and she was surprised to hear by her tone that she alluded more to her own inconsequence, than any derogation towards Matt.
‘Oh, he did,’ Susan assured her. ‘I think it did him good.’
Fen pressed her lips against Cosima's fat cheeks. ‘I missed him,’ she said quietly. ‘It did me good too. I can't wait to see him.’
‘If you can stay awake,’ Susan remarked. ‘Go and have a power nap – just an hour or two of restorative oblivion. Cosima can take me to feed the ducks.’
‘Are you sure?’ Fen asked.
‘Of course I'm sure,’ Susan said. ‘She's no trouble at all. She's an absolute pleasure to look after.’
‘Thank you,’ said Fen.
‘Say, See you later, Mummy. Say, Sweet dreams,’ Susan cooed on Cosima's behalf.
‘See you later, little baby,’ Fen said, with a little wave. Then she turned and went upstairs to bed with her share of the Melatonin.
Pip felt slightly insulted by Tom's clothes, strewn around her home in the most unlikely of places. She wondered if she'd been deluded or just unreasonable to hope that her husband and her stepson might at least have tidied the place for her return, even if a bunch of flowers or just a welcome-home note were beyond their imagination. She loaded the washing machine, checked the fridge and wrote a shopping list, made the bed and tidied wet towels from the bathroom floor. If she went to Sainsbury's now, the washing would be ready to hang out by the time she was home. She could then put another load in and take a quick nap before collecting Tom from school. Was Tom staying over that night too? Was June back home now? She could phone Zac and enquire. There again, she could phone June. Or she could just ask Tom when she saw him. But Pip's mind was too befuddled by travel and tiredness to make a decision. And anyway, she didn't need to know just yet.
In the supermarket, perusing the aisles a little absent-mindedly, a peculiar selection of items in her trolley, Pip stopped and stared. It struck her that there was an almost charming paradox about condoms being placed next to home ovulation kits, pregnancy tests sharing shelf space with tampons, KY jelly and cracked-nipple balm tube by tube. It brought to Pip's mind those adverts for pregnancy tests – they never showed the result on the dipstick that was causing the beautiful couple to hug each other in such joy. Were they pleased it was a false alarm after an unprotected shag? Or were they celebrating the outcome of careful planning for a family? She picked up the ovulation kit and wondered, very privately, about buying it, about getting to know her biorhythms and her hormonal peaks and troughs. But she put the pack back hurriedly and rushed away from the section, as if her not lingering a moment longer could somehow banish the thought of tricking Zac and absolve her of momentary, improper intent.
As June lived in Swiss Cottage, just a stone's throw from Sainsbury's at the 02 Centre, and as Pip didn't feel quite so tired any more, she decided that she might as well take a circuitous route home.
June's mother answered the door. ‘Pip – how lovely. Is Tom with you?’
‘No – he's still at school,’ Pip told her, suddenly wondering if her timing was off kilter. She checked her watch. Almost 2 o'clock proper time, as Cat would say. ‘I've just been to Sainsbury's. Just thought I'd pop by. Just got off the plane, actually.’
June's mother smiled benevolently. ‘They're sleeping,’ she apologized. ‘I don't want to wake them – but June will be so sorry to have missed you. You will come in later, won't you, when you bring Tom back?’
‘Of course,’ Pip said, not quite knowing if she was disappointed not to be having Tom at her place that night, or whether she was apprehensive about having Zac to herself. ‘Can't wait.’
‘He's absolutely gorgeous, the little mite,’ June's mother said proudly.
Pip drove back with tears streaming down her face. ‘It's just jet lag,’ she berated herself.
She hadn't seen the note but once she sat down with a cup of tea having put away the shopping, hung out the washing and put the next load in, she found it pride of place on the coffee table.
Welcome home, Mrs.
Would you mind doing the school run – and taking Tom back to June & Rob's?
See you later. Sainsbury's delivering 5–7pm.
I'll cook.
Missed you.
Z xx
Pip sipped her tea and traced the marks of Zac's kisses. And then suddenly she was waking with a start and thinking Christ almighty, I zonked out for two hours and I'm going to be late for Tom.
‘He blows bubbles, my baby brother,’ Tom tells her.
‘Is he gorgeous?’
‘He has yellow runny poo,’ Tom marvels.
‘How's your mum?’
‘She says she has udders,’ Tom reveals, ‘and there's a milking machine she's borrowed from the hospital. No one is allowed in the room when it's on.’
‘It's so exciting for you all,’ Pip says, glancing in the rear-view mirror at Tom who is gazing proudly out of the window with a great big grin on his face.
‘My baby doesn't half burp,’ Tom says.
The first thing Pip thought was that June looked as tired, as disoriented, as she felt. The second thing Pip thought was that baby Nathan Oliver was more tiny, more perfect than she could possibly have imagined. Just then he appeared to be the most beautiful newborn baby in the world.
‘Do you want a cuddle?’ June asked her.
Pip smiled and put her arms around her.
‘Not with me, you daft cow, with the baby!’ June laughed.
Pip cradled Nathan. She remembered this feel from Cosima – that the bundle could be so tiny and yet feel so heavy, so full of life, so enormously and wondrously and terrifyingly precious. She brushed her lips along the crown of the baby's head, the feel of peach fuzz hair mingling with the incomparable fragrance of a newborn accosting all five of her senses at once. She looked at June, her smile spreading. ‘He's absolutely gorgeous,’ she said.
Pip thought about ovulation kits; about surreptitious enhancement of fertility. But this wasn't the same. Zac would expect her to be cuddling the baby. After all, he'd probably already cuddled Nathan too.
June nudged her. ‘Seen Zac yet?’
Pip shook her head.
‘Here,’ said June, ‘have another cuddle with Nathan before you go.’
There were two messages on the home phone when Cat arrived back. One was from Ben, saying he'd left a message on her mobile too, to say he'd forgotten about a talk he was to give to a local hockey team and he'd be back late. The other was from her assistant manager at Dovidels, apologizing profusely, knowing she'd be jet lagged, but they were short staffed and Lorna Craven was visiting the store and was there any chance Cat could come in. She phoned both back and told them not to worry, she'd see them later.
Lorna Craven was high up in head office but subscribed to a hands-on approach across all the stores and was popular with the staff because of it.
‘They tell me you're just back from the US?’ she said to Cat, having praised her for the commendable figures last month.
‘That's right,’ Cat said, ‘family business. I took it as holiday, though. And I don't have any other plans for time off for the foreseeable future.’
‘Everyone needs a break,’ Lorna reassured her, ‘though family business can seldom be classified as a holiday.’
Cat raised her eyebrow in agreement.
‘I thought your family were in the North somewhere?’ Lorna commented.
‘They are,’ Cat said. She paused. ‘They are.’ It was on the tip of her tongue. She could bite it back, or she could let it tumble. ‘My mother lives in Vermont now,’ she said, surprising herself how easy that had been.
‘I see,’ said Lorna. She tipped her head and regarded Cat. ‘You're doing a great job here, well done.’
‘Thanks!’ beamed Cat.
‘We're opening a store in Sheffield – at Meadowhall – do you know it?’
‘Of course I know Meadowhall,’ Cat laughed. ‘I grew up in Chesterfield – Meadowhall was the closest thing to paradise and teenage bankruptcy for me and my sisters.’
Lorna laughed. ‘Do you still have family in Chesterfield?’
‘Yes,’ Cat said, ‘I do.’ And for the first time she wondered how to refer to Django. Everyone who'd ever known her knew him simply as Django; he'd needed no further clarification. But Lorna didn't know anything about Cat, really. ‘Our father lives there,’ Cat told her because it felt right and sounded good and, in essence if not on paper, Django would always be as much Fen and Pip's father as her own.
‘You wouldn't have plans to move back to the area, would you?’ Lorna asked and before Cat could say, God no, my sights are set on Tufnell Park, Lorna added, ‘Because I would give serious consideration to you running the Meadowhall store. It's going to be our flagship. Coffee shop, events hot spot – the lot.’
Cat stood and stared. She wondered if she'd heard right or whether jet lag was now playing tricks on her. She wondered, for one ghastly moment, whether the foam ear plugs were still protruding like fluorescent slugs, from her ears.
‘Think about it!’ Lorna said cheerily. ‘Now let's go through the next month's forecast. Then you ought to go home – you must be exhausted.’
‘My mother gave us some Melatonin,’ Cat said, clicking the computer into action.
Fen McCabe and Matt Holden
If only Matt and Fen could have known each was as apprehensive about their reunion as the other. If only they could have been privy to the information that they both had tampered with the parameters of fidelity but regretted it deeply. And then have such information magically erased from their memories. It is easy to forgive, not so easy to forget. But in some ways, to live with the guilt, to stomach it and suffer it, to learn from it, guards against further transgression. They'd had five days and five nights apart, they'd been separated by a seven-hour flight and several time zones, but in their souls it now felt that they'd made it across a sea far darker and more inclement to be back home together again.
‘Welcome back, cowgirl.’
‘Howdy, partner.’
What on earth possessed me? each thought as they kissed hullo and hugged that it was good to see you. What on earth possessed me to turn away from the love of my life?
In their eyes, each other was staggeringly incomparable to the dalliances of their momentarily misplaced desire. What on earth possessed me? I won't be doing that again. Christ, I almost lost my mate.
‘You need to keep her awake,’ Susan said. ‘She needs to stay up until her proper bedtime or her sleep pattern will be disrupted for days.’
‘It is her proper bedtime,’ Fen said. ‘I was just boiling the kettle to warm her bottle.’
‘I wasn't talking about Cosima,’ Susan said, ‘I was talking about you. And I was talking, actually, to Matt.’ She turned to her son. ‘Take Fen out for a nice spicy curry. I'll babysit.’ Both Fen and Matt sensed that his mother was choreographing the situation, that she had some innate sense that they needed a little time and space to slot back in together, that she sensed their separation had lasted longer than five days and five nights. To be a mother is to be granted a sixth sense. To be a good mother is to use that gift wisely. To use that gift wisely is to have the child's best interests at heart, however old the child. As Fen gave Cosima her bedtime bottle, she thought that perhaps her mother hadn't been granted that sixth sense. As she said goodnight to her dozy baby, she wondered whether her own mother had simply been not a very good one. As she put on a little make-up to mask the jet lag, she wondered if, in fact, her own mother did have a sixth sense and had somehow known intuitively that her daughters' best interests did not feature her. Maybe she had been a good mother in that respect. But spiralling theories could not produce definitive answers and, actually, it didn't really matter. It didn't matter at all, really, any more. Because Fen knew that her own little family was in the safest of hands.
Fen slips her hand into Matt's as they meander back home. Usually, a curry means heads down and eat. Tonight, though, they ate only at opportune pauses in the conversation.
‘Can you believe our little girl is going to be one year old?’ Matt marvels.
‘I hope we have Django's results by then,’ Fen says. ‘Then it can be a double celebration.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Matt says. ‘I wonder if he'll want to know all about your trip. All in all, was it a good trip, Fen?’
‘It was,’ she says. ‘I feel I have answers now, whether or not they were given directly.’
‘Do you think you'll see her again?’ he asks. ‘Keep in touch even?’
‘I don't know,’ Fen thinks about it, ‘I don't know. At the moment, I can't answer that. I'm still not quite sure what I feel or what I want. We all reacted so differently. I think Cat, ultimately, probably accepted her more. Pip, though, still feels pretty raw. And me? I don't know, Matt. I feel a bit indifferent.’
Matt nods thoughtfully.
She takes her hand from his and puts it around his waist, slowing her pace. ‘I think what the trip did for me was finely tune my desire to provide the best for my own little family. For Cosima,’ she stops. ‘For you, Matt.’
He kisses her forehead. ‘That's nice to hear,’ he said.
She hangs her head. ‘I haven't been very nice, have I? For a while.’ Her voice quiet but audible.
Matt is about to protest, but he decides not to. ‘I don't think I have either,’ he says instead. ‘I didn't know it was going to be so tough – so baffling.’
‘And I didn't know it was going to be so all-consuming, so exhausting,’ Fen says.
Matt gives her pony-tail a gentle tug. ‘We'd be pretty daft if we were to let the best thing that's happened to us – as individuals –
cause discord for us as a couple. It's not about choosing the one we love, it's about then loving the one we've chosen.’
Fen nods. ‘You're so right.’
‘We're publishing an article to tie in with the Picasso/Braque exhibition,’ Matt says. ‘It's a good piece. One thing struck me so deeply – Braque said it about Picasso.’
‘He said, “We were like two mountaineers, roped together” – that's what you're going to say!’ Fen interrupts.
Matt looks at her, impressed. Then his expression softens and he regards her more quizzically. ‘That's us, Fen,’ he says, ‘you and me. We're in this together. There's nothing we can't surmount. As for the view from the top – I only ever want to share it with you.’
‘I was starting to fall,’ Fen's voice wavers, ‘I was dragging you down with me.’ She turns to Matt and folds her arms around him. ‘I'm so sorry. But it was never my heart that grew cold – just my feet. For an unfathomable moment.’
‘Me too,’ he says to the top of her head, ‘me too.’
There they stand, locked in an embrace in the middle of the pavement blocking the way like a couple of teenagers. Passers-by must drop down from the kerb to pass them, but they can't help but smile as they do so. Fen and Matt make a lovely sight.
They walk on, holding hands and swinging their arms, feeling so much lighter for love flowing between them. Fen stops. Matt turns to face her. She looks upset. ‘How do you feel about me perhaps going back to work?’ she asks.
Matt regards the lines and the squares of the pavement and the furrows of Fen's brow. ‘I think it might be a really good idea,’ he says measuredly. ‘Not because of the money,’ he hastens, ‘but for you. Cosima will be fine, you know.’
‘I know that now,’ Fen tells him, ‘but more importantly, I now know I'll be fine too.’
‘Course you will,’ Matt encourages her. ‘You'll be more than fine.’
‘I suppose until quite recently – well, until right now – I still felt that we're umbilically attached. My little girl and I. You could say it's actually been me with the separation anxieties, not the baby.’