‘Well, there’s many a slip . . .’ Stephanie started, but managed to stop herself, with obvious superhuman effort. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she changed tack. ‘A grandchild. At long last. I’m the last of all my friends, you know.’ Even that comment implied criticism, but Serena let it all wash over her. She was far too excited about getting started.
The process itself was not all that foreign to them. It mirrored the IVF process they’d already been through, but this time the twins went through the most stressful parts of it together: the egg-harvesting for Serena and, for her sister, implantation of the embryo.
Luna was remarkably uncomplaining about it all. She’d committed to it and she was going to see it through. Will and Serena were unspeakably grateful and fussed around her as though she were an invalid. In the two weeks following implantation, they dropped round to her flat with home-cooked meals and made sure she had her feet up in the evenings.
‘You know, I bloody hope this has worked,’ Luna joked. ‘I’m going to be seriously cheesed off if I don’t get to enjoy nine months of this pampering.’
After a very long fortnight, the day for the testing appointment arrived. It also happened to be Luna and Serena’s birthday. The three of them were so nervous on the drive to the fertility clinic they could barely speak to each other. The doctor laughed when he saw them.
‘I can almost smell the nerves,’ he smiled. ‘Let’s get this testing done as soon as possible.’ He took a sample of blood from Luna’s arm and told them he’d be back in five minutes. True to his word, he arrived back in the room a few minutes later.
‘It’s good news. Congratulations!’ he said, looking squarely at Will and Serena in the manner he had quite clearly learned to adopt in scenarios such as this. ‘You’re going to have a baby!’
Luna jumped up immediately and hugged them both. ‘I can’t believe it’s bloody worked!’ she said, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
29.
SEPTEMBER 2015
‘I’ve got to go now,’ Serena said.
‘Hey, please, Serena. Don’t let me scare you off. Please let’s chat. We’ve got so much to catch up on.’
‘We don’t actually, Freddie. We aren’t a part of each other’s lives any more. We could have been. But you ended that. Please don’t call me again.’
‘If that’s what you want . . .’
‘It is . . . And Freddie,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘If it had been anyone but her, I’d have forgiven you at the time.’
She hung up and drained the rest of her brandy.
On the short walk back to the Vicarage, Serena realised she felt revitalised. Perhaps the shock of hearing from Freddie had been a wake-up call, making her realise it was time to get things into perspective. Her life was here, right now, with Will, and it was important to make it work. As Will had so rightly told her, it was time to move on. Not to give up, as far as she was concerned, but definitely time to get on with life.
She arrived home and found Will in the study.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, dashing over and sitting on his lap, running her hands through his thick red hair. ‘I know I’ve not been helping by fixating on Mrs Pipe’s curse. I’m going to tell the Colonel not to worry about doing the research. We need more than ever to work together to get the village on side and I promise I’m going to plough my energy into that, Will. Tomorrow I’m going to start organising the Harvest Supper and it’s going to be the best damned party the village has ever known,’ she gabbled.
Will laughed, clearly relieved, and hugged her to him. ‘You’re back,’ he said and they kissed. Moments later, Will drew apart from Serena.
‘I’m sorry too,’ he said. ‘Not just for offloading to Alice, but for getting cross at lunch. The stupid thing is, I keep telling you we need to move on, but I’m trying to convince myself just as much as you. I don’t know what else to do . . .’ Will hung his head, a gesture so unlike his usual optimistic and enthusiastic self that Serena felt incredibly protective of him.
‘You’re right, in many ways. We do need to move on. But, Will, please let’s never give up hope. Hope is all there is.’
Will looked up. ‘You’re right. I promise. Let’s allow ourselves that . . . hope,’ he mumbled into Serena’s ear and they hugged again, clinging to one another as though holding on for dear life.
As promised, the next morning Serena began preparations for the Harvest Supper, which was only a month away. For this she needed, first and foremost, Alice.
‘Are you free today?’ she asked, calling at nine o’clock on the dot.
‘Absolutely. Just back from dropping the children at school and I’m free until pickup. Shall I come to you?’
‘Please. We need to get our thinking caps on.’
‘Be with you in ten minutes.’
Serena made her way down to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, then rifled around in the larder and found the gluten-free brownies she’d made a couple of days ago in a burst of domesticity. She located teacups, teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl in the pantry and even found a starched white tablecloth, which she shook out and laid over the kitchen table. She returned to the pantry and picked out a couple of plates to match the tea set. It was an ancient set passed down from her maternal grandmother – fine white china with a pale pink-and-gold pattern. By the time Alice arrived, letting herself in, the kettle was boiling.
‘Well, look at this, a tea party fit for a queen!’ laughed Alice, as she settled herself down on one of the pine chairs.
‘This is me showing I mean business,’ Serena told her, filling the teapot with hot water and carrying it over to the beautifully laid table. ‘I’ll just let that stew a moment or two,’ she said. ‘And look – I’ve got a notepad and pen here too, to jot down all your good ideas.’
‘Very organised. Now, let me get my diary out,’ said Alice, reaching for a smooth leather book in her handbag. ‘So, first things first: remind me of the date.’
‘Friday the 23rd of October. I thought eight o’clock?’
‘Let me write it in,’ said Alice, scribbling away. ‘You know, we don’t actually have that long to get this organised. But sometimes that’s a good thing – concentrates the mind. So . . . let’s note down a few headings and then we’ll deal with detail. “Venue and Furniture”, “Food”, “Drink”, “Paid Help”, “Music”, “Decorations”, “Advertising”, “Tickets” . . . Do you still want to go with Max’s idea and make it cheap and rustic?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Serena. ‘It’s a massive risk, as I know it’s always been so popular as a smarter do, but I just don’t think we’ll sell enough tickets . . .’
‘You’re right. Much better to make it free – far more likely to get lots of people coming along. But I think you’ll need to make it ticketed anyway, even if they’re free, so you can limit numbers to a manageable amount. I’ll be in charge of making them and I’ll draw up some posters too. I’ll get all that done by the end of the week. I’ll speak to Bob the butcher and Gill at the florist’s and ask them to be in charge of giving away the tickets to anyone who’s interested. You know, the Harvest Supper was always lovely, but it was a bit stiff. I think this will be much more like a Harvest Supper should be. Like something from a Hardy novel.’
‘I do hope so,’ Serena replied. ‘We’ll have it in the church hall, obviously, and we can use all the tables and chairs there, as well as all the crockery and cutlery. Glasses we’ll need to hire, but that shouldn’t be too expensive. Ashna has kindly said she’ll make tablecloths – a different colour for every table – and we’ll need some sort of centrepiece for each table: perhaps a cream church candle with ivy swathed around it?’
‘I’m happy to make them. I’ve got a stack of candles. And Rob has a cellar absolutely full of wine. I’ll get him to contribute a dozen bottles of his best Claret.’
‘Really?’
‘He’s in no position to argue,’ Alice answered crisply and Seren
a felt a teeny bit sorry for Rob, but was extremely grateful nonetheless.
‘That would be fantastic. At least that way, we’ll have a really good bottle on each table to start with. And perhaps we could say “bring your own” on the tickets too. If everyone brought one, we’d have masses. And Will’s been busy brewing some of his own beer lately so we can offer that too.’
‘What about decorations?’ Alice wondered. ‘You said Max thought it might be an idea to hang dried hops up all over the show . . .’
‘Yes, a brilliant idea, don’t you think? Shall I ask Jake?’
‘Perfect, he’s bound to be able to help – just the season for hop-picking and they’ll make the hall smell divine. Now, food . . . Were you thinking lasagne, that kind of thing?’
‘Yes, I’m going to make masses of lasagne, a gluten-free one too, a vegetarian dish and chilli con carne with rice and I’ll freeze them all so we can just defrost them on the day. Then all we need to buy is some bread and salad to serve with them.’
‘I’ll get the bread, if you do the salad,’ said Alice. ‘And if it’s a buffet, we won’t need anyone to dish up; everyone can just help themselves one table at a time. You and I can heat everything up in the ovens in the hall kitchen – thank goodness they’re those massive industrial ones – then bring it all out. I’m sure Ashna, Max and Pete would lend a hand too. We could maybe just ask Mrs Pipe to help with washing up afterwards? Puddings too, we need to think about. Now . . . one last thing. Music. No string quartet this year?’
‘Nope. I’m going to get the piano in the church hall tuned next week and Will and I are going to practise a few hymns, so after the meal we’ll hopefully get everyone joining in with some good old favourites – you know, “Jerusalem” and the like. “And did those feet in ancient time . . .” ’ Serena sang with gusto and Alice laughed.
Provisional plans made, they sat back and enjoyed their tea and brownies. After waving Alice off, Serena realised she hadn’t thought about the curse all morning. This was definitely the turning point for her. And it was about time too.
30.
APRIL–JUNE 2014
Serena held back Luna’s hair for about the thirtieth time that day, as she was sick into the loo. Serena’s knees ached from being in this position all day so she could hardly bear to imagine how her poor sister must feel.
‘This can’t be normal,’ Luna said eventually. Serena passed her a glass of water. Luna looked deathly pale. She was now eight weeks pregnant and this was her second week of being violently sick all day long. ‘Why do they call it morning sickness? It’s bloody all-day-long sickness. Serena, I can’t handle much more of this. When will it stop?’
‘I don’t know. I’m so sorry,’ Serena said, feeling guilty that Luna was going through all of this just for her. ‘I think we should see a doctor. It doesn’t seem right. I hope it doesn’t indicate a problem with the baby.’
‘Ring the doctor now,’ Luna said as she groaned, her head dipping back into the loo. ‘See if you can get an appointment today.’
Serena managed to and half an hour later they were sitting opposite Luna’s GP.
‘You’re suffering with hyperemesis gravidarum, I’m afraid – a very rare condition that affects pregnant women. If it makes you feel any better, you’re in good company. The Duchess of Cambridge suffers with it.’
‘It doesn’t!’ Luna told him bluntly. She looked a wreck. Thin as a rake, her skin grey, her hair lank.
‘How long have you been sick for?’
‘Two weeks to the day,’ Luna told him. ‘Please tell me it’s going to stop. I can’t even go to work. I’ve had to take some unpaid leave. Serena has too,’ she explained.
‘I’m afraid it can last for weeks. Are you managing to eat and drink anything?’
‘Yes, but it all comes up again about five minutes later. I’m being sick about forty times a day . . .’ Luna stopped. She seemed to pale even more. ‘Shit, everything’s gone black,’ she said, and a moment later she collapsed.
‘Don’t panic,’ the doctor said to Serena. ‘This can happen with her condition. She’ll be fine, and so will the baby. But we need to get her to hospital. They’ll put her on a drip and make sure the problem is managed now. Can you get the receptionist to call an ambulance?’ he asked Serena, as he knelt down and gently moved Luna into the recovery position.
‘How are you feeling?’ Serena asked. It was evening now and Luna was in a ward, supine on a hospital bed and hooked up to a drip.
‘So much better,’ Luna told her, smiling weakly. ‘But I can hardly stay in here for the rest of my pregnancy. What’s going to happen?’
‘I’ve spoken to a doctor,’ Serena told her. ‘Basically, the choice is ours. There are some anti-sickness drugs you can take that pose a very small risk to the baby, but will help you to carry on as normally as possible and actually allow you to get all the nutrients you and the baby need. Or you can carry on vomiting, passing out and being in and out of hospital to be put on a drip.’
‘What a lovely choice,’ Luna said, raising her eyebrows. ‘I think it had better be your call.’
‘Well, I’ve spoken to Will and we’ve agreed there’s potentially more risk to the baby if you don’t take the drugs, and it’s just not fair on you to continue feeling so dreadful. We’re happy for you to take the medication.’
‘Are you sure?’ Luna asked. ‘Because I’ll understand if you don’t want me to.’
‘We’re sure,’ Serena told her, squeezing her hand. ‘Would you like some now?’
‘Please,’ Luna whispered, as she reached for a kidney-shaped bowl.
By the end of the next day, Luna had been able to return home and, as a result of the medication, the pregnancy continued much more smoothly.
It was now summer and the day of the eagerly anticipated twelve-week scan. Will and Serena met Luna at the hospital, nervously excited – increasingly so, as they were kept waiting an hour. Eventually, though, it was time.
‘Baby’s due on Christmas Eve, I see,’ the sonographer said, and Will and Serena nodded: they could barely wait for their Christmas present.
‘This will feel a bit cold,’ the sonographer told Luna, as she rubbed cool jelly onto her stomach. Will and Serena gripped hands and the next thing they knew, they could see their baby on the screen. Everyone held their breath while various tests were conducted and measurements taken.
‘Is everything okay?’ Serena asked eventually. She noticed Luna was gazing at her navel, having clearly decided not to look at the picture of the baby. Zara had advised her to keep as detached as possible.
‘Baby seems fine,’ the lady told her with a smile. ‘Look, it’s waving at you!’ she laughed. Will and Serena smiled.
‘Are you okay?’ Serena asked Luna. She was conscious that she and Will were so fixated on the baby it could be easy to overlook how Luna was feeling. She hoped her sister didn’t feel too much like a vessel, rather than a human being.
‘Of course,’ she told them. ‘But I’m dying for a wee. How much longer?’ she asked.
‘Nearly done,’ the sonographer told her. ‘And you won’t need a full bladder for the next scan at twenty weeks, so that’s something.’
‘Thank heavens for that,’ Luna replied.
‘Can you tell the sex yet?’ Will asked.
‘Not yet. We’ll probably be able to next time though, if you’d like to find out.’
Will and Serena looked at each other and nodded.
‘Yes, definitely,’ Will said.
‘See you in a couple of months then,’ the sonographer told them and, as Luna dashed off to the loo, Will and Serena stood in the corridor, wide-eyed with excitement.
‘It’s really happening,’ Will said, wiping a tear away. ‘A baby. Our baby. At last.’
31.
OCTOBER 2015
It was early October and Ashna stood nervously in the entrance hall, waiting for Will, wearing a black suit of Serena’s (a relic from her working days).
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‘All set?’ he asked.
‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ she replied.
‘Good luck!’ Serena told her, squeezing her tight. ‘And remember, it’s them on trial. Not you. Just answer the questions slowly and truthfully, and it will all be over before you know it. I’m going to spend the afternoon cooking for the Harvest Supper and I’ll keep some of it for us to have for dinner. And I’ll put some bubbly in the fridge. We can celebrate.’
‘Let’s just hope there’s something to celebrate,’ said Ashna, her dark eyes wide with fear.
‘Think positively, Ashna. You’re so good at that.’
Serena kissed Will and waved them off at the front door. She went back inside. The house felt very still and quiet with just her there. Max and Pete were also witnesses at the trial of Ashna’s father and brother and had been advised to travel to Court separately.
Alice was due to arrive in the afternoon to help Serena with her batch cooking, but for now Serena was alone. It actually felt quite nice. She loved company, but sometimes she relished moments to herself. It felt like the ultimate luxury to be able to choose exactly what to do with her time for a few hours. Such luxury was curtailed very quickly. She’d just made herself a cup of tea and was contentedly fussing over Paddington by the Rayburn when she heard the doorbell.
‘Morning!’ It was the Colonel. ‘Just on my way to the library to begin my research on the house,’ he explained. ‘Going to catch the bus into Rye, but it’s not due for another half an hour. Thought I’d pop by, keep you briefed.’
‘Come in!’ welcomed Serena. ‘Come and have a quick coffee before you get your bus.’
The Colonel followed Serena. With his solitary arm, his lanky frame and slightly skewed spectacles, there was something touchingly vulnerable about the Colonel, despite his rather military conversation style.
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