‘Don’t, Mum – I’ll be in tears again.’
‘Yes, but in one way she was fortunate, because Papa was allowed one last leave before he was sent to Normandy, so they had some time together, a few months before he died. And, without that final visit, I’d never have been conceived. And, of course, she saw me as part of Papa, so, in a sense, she hadn’t lost him entirely. And you mustn’t forget that her faith was a tremendous support. I suspect it got her through more than anything.’
‘I wish mine did,’ Amy muttered, ruefully. ‘But, to tell the truth, it doesn’t mean much any more. And Hugo’s even worse, aren’t you, darling?’
Maria envied the pair their casual stance on religion. The one time she had left the Church, she had paid extremely dearly for it.
‘Well,’ said Hugo, with a yawn, ‘this poor degenerate Catholic is not only lapsed, he’s pretty dead beat, too! Isn’t it time we went to bed? I didn’t sleep much last night.’
‘No wonder – in that bed.’ Maria felt a twinge of embarrassment every time she thought of Hugo – a six-foot-one ex-rugby player – trying to cram himself and Amy into a small and saggy divan. His parents owned a substantial house, with a tastefully furnished guest bedroom, complete with king-size bed. ‘You should have let me book a hotel. But I can get you in for tomorrow, if you like. At least the roads aren’t quite so bad now.’ She went to the window and lifted the curtain aside. The landscape was still blanketed in white, but the whirling, frantic flakes had stopped falling late last night, as if respecting Hanna’s funeral.
‘We wouldn’t dream of it, Mum. You need us here and here we’ll stay. I feel bad enough, in any case, turfing you out of your room.’
‘Don’t worry, Mama’s bed did me proud.’ Although Eddie had moved the bed back upstairs, she wouldn’t dream of allowing Amy and Hugo to sleep on a mattress stained with urine – and worse. In fact, she hadn’t actually slept on it herself, unable to face lying in the very spot where her mother’s corpse had lain. Instead, she had crept downstairs and curled up on the sofa, beneath a heap of rugs; spent the night counting the endless minutes until a grey and grudging dawn broke, reluctantly, half-heartedly.
‘Hugo, you go on up,’ Amy said, giving him a kiss. ‘But I’ll stay with you a bit longer, Mum. Hugo likes to read before he settles down, so he won’t mind, will you, honey?’
‘Not at all. See you later, darling.’
Having bid goodnight to her son-in-law, Maria listened to his heavy footsteps tramping up the stairs. He was really just too tall and broad for this squat, low-ceilinged cottage, although it was something of a luxury to have any man sleeping here at all. On all their previous visits, Amy and Hugo had stayed at the Rose and Crown, but it had closed down just last year.
‘More wine?’ she offered, once she had moved across to join Amy on the sofa. ‘Or how about a hot drink?’
‘Nothing, Mum – relax! And, listen, now it’s just the two of us, if you want to go ahead and have a good old cry, I’ll completely understand. In fact, I feel close to tears myself every time I think of Grandma all on her own in that grave, instead of being buried with Grandpa.’
‘Well, I’ll be joining her eventually.’ Maria forced a smile. ‘We bought two plots, ages ago, side by side, of course.’
‘Mum, you’re not even to think of dying. I need you to be around for years and years and years yet.’ She broke off, awkwardly. ‘Actually, I wasn’t going to tell you this until tomorrow, at the earliest. Hugo said you were shattered and best leave it for a while. But maybe it will cheer you up.’
‘What will? What d’you mean?’
‘Well, I hope you’re sitting tight, Mum, because this may come as a bit of a shock. Fact is – I’m pregnant. Eight weeks exactly. The doctor confirmed it just before we left.’
Maria stared at her, incredulous. Long ago, she had come to accept that Amy and Hugo would never start a family. After the first five years of their marriage, she had begun to drop broad hints, or issue not-so-veiled warnings about biological clocks, but since Amy resented what she saw as interference, she now deliberately avoided the subject. Invariably, their careers came first. One or other of them was always working flat out for promotion, or Hugo was abroad on some construction project and, after that, they were both in Dubai and then—
‘Mum, what’s the matter? You haven’t said a word. I thought you’d be over the moon.’
‘I am, I am!’ Maria felt a colossal smile spreading from her face to the whole triumphant room. ‘I just couldn’t take it in, that’s all.’
‘No wonder. We’ve kept you waiting long enough.’
‘But the timing’s sort of … perfect.’ Maria enfolded her daughter in a jubilant hug. ‘It’s almost like it’s meant – you know, one life ending as another starts.’
‘Well, actually, if it’s a girl, we’ve decided to call her Hannah.’
‘Oh, Mama would be really chuffed.’ Maria had always seen her daughter as having broken the chain of suffering, which seemed to have dogged their family from generations back. And now, she dared to hope, this new trend of success and happiness might continue down the ages.
‘I’m afraid Hugo’s so conventional, he insists on an “H” at the end, but I’m sure Grandma won’t object to that.’
‘’Course not. Oh, darling I’m just so excited! When’s your actual due date?’
‘August 16th.’
‘Good – a summer baby. I was born in a snowstorm, remember.’
‘Yes, I was telling Hugo,’ Amy laughed, ‘how Grandma couldn’t get to the hospital, because all the roads were blocked, and a midwife couldn’t get out to her, so a kind but clueless neighbour did her best to deliver you at home. The poor darling looked quite terrified and said not to count on him as midwife!’
‘But he’s pleased about the news, I hope?’
‘Delighted. This wasn’t a mistake, Mum, in case you’re wondering. We planned it very carefully, to fit in with the house move and Hugo’s new job and everything.’
Maria hid a smile. Her ultra-efficient daughter would, of course, plan every last detail of a conception, and her confidence was such it would never even occur to her that she might encounter fertility problems and not conceive exactly when she chose. ‘And how about his parents? Are they excited, too?’
‘We haven’t told them yet. We wanted you to be the first to know.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely, Amy – I’m flattered. But shouldn’t you be resting, darling, taking things more slowly altogether?’
‘No way. I’m as fit as a fiddle! OK, thirty-eight is old for a first pregnancy, but three of my friends had their first children in their forties, so it’s all relative, you could say.’
‘But you’ll stop working once the baby’s born?’
‘Not for long – you know me! Anyway, we need two salaries to pay our whopping mortgage. It was totally my fault, of course, for choosing a house in SW1, rather than further out. But it’s wonderfully convenient being so close to the office, instead of having a long trek every day.’
‘So do you intend to get a nanny?’ Maria tried to keep any hint of disapproval from her voice. Who was she to disapprove?
‘No, you have to pay them a fortune, and buying the house has more or less cleaned us out. I read, the other day, that the cost of rearing a child till the age of twenty-one is somewhere in the region of a hundred thousand pounds – and that certainly doesn’t include a nanny or private education.’
Again, Maria had to hide a sense of wry amusement. How could anyone spend so prodigious a sum on raising one small child? Both she and Hanna had done it on a shoestring.
‘We might just about manage an au pair. Otherwise, we’ll use a local childminder.’
Maria said nothing. From what she knew of au pairs, they were usually more interested in learning English or finding a boyfriend than in looking after their charges. And a childminder might be worse. They tended to take in far too many children, which made it most unlikely that an
y individual would receive personal attention.
‘Actually, we did think about asking you, now that Grandma’s passed away. Hugo and I discussed it on the way up here, and I told him I was worried about you living on your own, especially when you get older. But we didn’t want you to feel we were simply using you, you know, as a way to solve our own problem: we can’t afford a nanny, so let’s call on Granny instead.’
Maria could barely digest this new proposal which, anyway, was surely premature. The pregnancy was very new and fragile. However tragic the thought, there was a chance that Amy could lose the baby, considering her age and hectic lifestyle. Once she had passed the twelve-week stage, things would be more stable, of course. But even then, the idea of moving to London seemed too radical to contemplate when her mind was still besieged by the churning mix of grief, remorse, relief and regret that had dogged her since her mother’s death. Besides, the thought of leaving behind not just her friends but the only home she had ever known was daunting in the extreme. And suppose Amy was just ‘using’ her?
On the other hand, she craved the same close bond as had existed between Hanna and Amy; a bond certain to develop if she was in charge of the baby. And it would save her precious grandchild from some bungling, inept minder. In any case, didn’t she owe it to her daughter to make some recompense for her own inadequacies during the first two shaming years?
‘Maybe I’ve sprung this on you too soon, Mum. But, d’you know, the more I think about it, the more I feel it might benefit us all. I mean, do you really want to vegetate up here until you’re as old as Grandma, but with no one to look after you?’
Maria bristled at that ‘vegetate’. She had never vegetated in her life and didn’t intend to now. In fact, considering she was free of ties for the first time in a decade, wasn’t this the perfect chance to do some serious painting and start building up a substantial body of work? Anyway, she couldn’t imagine her daughter looking after her. Amy would always be busy, even twenty or thirty years hence.
She sat in silence, torn two ways: her selfish side wanted time for herself, after her long stint as a carer, while another, equally compelling side longed to be totally involved with the baby, from the moment of its birth.
‘And, if you did decide to come and live with us, don’t worry about us being in each other’s hair. The top floor of our house is more or less self-contained. It used to be the attic, which makes it sound all small and poky, but actually it’s very light and bright, and there’s a fantastic view across the rooftops.’
‘But what about this place?’ Maria felt she was being moved, lock, stock and barrel, before she’d had time to catch her breath.
‘Best sell it, Mum. It’s so remote.’
‘But I have to get probate first, which could take five or six months. Anyway, no buyer would consider it in its present shabby state. And even if I spruced it up, I can’t be showing people round if I’m three hundred miles away in London.’
‘Mum, you need to use professionals, which is far less hassle, anyway. Just get a good solicitor and a decent local estate agent and they’ll handle the whole thing.’
Maria gave a noncommittal shrug. Amy was so persuasive, she could talk a tortoise into surrendering its shell. Indeed, her daughter’s voice had taken on an authoritative tone, as if she were exhorting one of her clients to follow some recommended course.
‘Listen, Mum, I’ve got a good idea – why not give it a trial run? Come for just three months and regard it as more a visit than a total long-term commitment – and see how it works out. And if the arrangement doesn’t suit you, then I’ll investigate the situation with au pairs and local childminders.’
Maria tried to get to grips with what this might entail. ‘But if it was just a trial, I’d need to come to London really soon. Otherwise, if I did decide against it, it would mean letting you down pretty late on in your pregnancy, when it might be much more difficult to make alternative arrangements, and when you’ll be feeling tireder anyway.’
‘Great! The sooner the better.’
Maria shook her head with a certain irritation. ‘Amy,’ she said, more sternly than she’d intended, ‘I’m not free to just drop everything – and it’s far too late to discuss all this, in any case. We need to go to bed.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘No “yes buts”. Hugo’s been waiting ages and, if you don’t need rest, your baby certainly does.’ She laid a gentle hand on her daughter’s still-flat stomach. ‘I’m absolutely thrilled to bits that I’m going to be a grandma. It’s the best news in the world – don’t doubt that for a second – and, of course, I’ll help you any way I can. But let’s leave the actual decisions of exactly when and how I help for just a little bit longer.’
‘But, Mum, don’t you think—’
Maria rose from the sofa and, having coaxed Amy to her feet, steered her gently towards the door. ‘Not another word, OK?’
Once alone, she made no move to go to bed herself, knowing that, with all the ramifications of the pregnancy seething in her mind, she was unlikely to get to sleep. How could she sell the cottage, as if it were nothing but bricks and mortar, rather than her mother’s lifelong home? Or move to London, when she was so firmly rooted here?
Yet, whatever she decided, the dizzyingly exciting prospect of being a grandmother was still worth celebrating, so she poured herself another half-glass of wine and drank a toast to that fragile, precious foetus.
Chapter 5
MARIA GAZED OUT at the rooftops, surprised to see a faint glow in the sky, despite it being only 5 a.m. At home, it would be inky-dark but, here in London, presumably, the sheer volume of street-lamps would always mitigate so intense and deep-dyed a black. And the array of roofs and chimneypots provided a jolting contrast to her usual view of rolling fields and undulating hills.
She jumped at the sound of a siren, followed by the vroom of a police car speeding past the house. How did Amy and Hugo sleep, especially with the intrusive noise of the planes that had started droning over as early as half-past four? And an hour before, she had been woken by a crowd of drunken revellers staggering home after a Saturday night on the town. She had groped her way to the window again and watched their unsteady progress as they lurched along the street, spilling shouts and laughter in their wake.
She let the curtain fall and ventured into her tiny mini-kitchen; filled the squat red kettle; fetched milk from the bijou fridge. Ironic that she should miss her morning ritual of making tea for Hanna, changing her incontinence pad, and struggling to wash and dress her. But, in truth, she felt a little purposeless, with the long day stretching ahead and no role for her to play as yet. Perhaps she could cook Sunday lunch and insist her daughter rested, after the sudden scare last week that had brought her rushing down to help.
Except Amy didn’t need help. ‘I’m fine now, Mum. It was only the weeniest bit of bleeding – a false alarm, the hospital said, and I was discharged within a few hours. Still, I’m so relieved you’ve come, then if there’s any further problem you’re right here on the spot. Oh, I know it’s a lot earlier than we planned, but that’s all to the good, because it’ll give you more time to adjust.’
So, there was no going back, apparently. She was now the full-time, live-in granny, but four months before the date agreed and with no baby to look after.
With a shrug, she took her tea to the window and scanned the vista beyond the road, in an attempt to get her bearings. Having arrived only late last night, she hadn’t much idea, yet, of where Victoria might be, or even which was north and which was south. She winced as another plane roared over, seemingly all but skimming the roof, but however great the noise outside, there wasn’t a sound from within the house. Amy loved her Sunday lie-ins, so she wouldn’t be up for another five hours – a long time to wait for breakfast. As yet, her little food-cupboard was unstocked with provisions, apart from tea and milk, but Amy had told her to help herself from the oversized fridge downstairs.
Throwing on her d
ressing gown, she tiptoed down the narrow attic staircase, pausing a moment outside the master bedroom and imagining Amy and Hugo curled companionably together. She had never shared a bed, apart from that one brief period with Silas, which, even at the time, had seemed miraculous. To be that close to someone; share their smells, their fidgets, listen to their breathing; to wake, frightened, from a nightmare and find a reassuring presence to dissipate the fear and, if they were wakeful, too, to chat with them in the middle of the night; to reach out for them, embrace them.
She walked softly on, down the grander staircase and into the sitting-room. What had struck her last night was its stylishness – combined with its complete unsuitability for children. The two pristine-white sofas would be marked by grubby fingers; the expensive white silk cushions used as Frisbees; the precious ornaments and fragile lamps in constant danger from curious little hands. And was that highly polished dark-oak floor the most comfortable of surfaces for a baby learning to crawl?
She shifted her gaze to the two pictures on the wall, which appeared to have been chosen to blend with the colour scheme rather than for any intrinsic merit. Considering Silas’s talents and her own artistic bent, she had expected Amy to grow up to be some kind of artist – a poet, painter or rock guitarist, not an executive-search consultant – but then Amy differed from her and Silas in almost every way.
Sweltering in the over-heated house, she loosened the belt of her dressing gown. The cottage would be perishing cold this early in the morning, the first week of February, and she would be bundled up in several woolly sweaters.
Creeping on to the kitchen – almost twice the size of her sitting-room at home – she again marvelled at its almost clinical neatness. No clutter on the worktops, or dirty dishes in the sink; the gadgets spanking new; the oven never used, by the looks of it. Well, she would put that right today; fill the room with homely smells of roast beef and apple pie. For now, though, she must content herself with a bowl of cereal.
An Enormous Yes Page 4