by Carrie Elks
Alex is awake when I go back into our bedroom, watching me as I walk into the room, my wet body covered by the tiniest of towels, my damp hair hanging down my back. I flick it over my shoulder and he grins, sitting up as if to watch the show.
“Go and get ready for work,” I whisper. “This isn't a strip club.”
Alex laughs. “I'd have to pay in a strip club. This show's all free. A private dance for one.”
“Two.” I incline my head to the cot. “And minors aren't allowed to watch the show.”
“Good job he's asleep then.”
I make a face. “Even you should draw the line at that.” The sooner we can afford a two bedroom flat, the better.
“Spoilsport.” He swings his legs out of bed, stretching his arms up. His yawn is loud, exaggerated, but I'm too busy looking at his chest to complain.
Max isn't though. He grumbles and turns in his cot, so I run to the wardrobe, hoping I have five minutes before he wakes up. Long enough to get dressed, at least.
An hour later I'm yanking Max's buggy onto the bus, trying to manoeuvre it past irritated commuters who really don't want to move. There are only five stops to the nursery, but the journey seems to take forever, the bus impeded by road works and traffic lights and the sheer volume of traffic. It's amazing how different the vibe is to later in the morning. The need to get to work makes everybody angry, unwilling to converse or meet eyes or do anything but stare out the window.
It took us nearly a month to decide on which nursery to send Max to. There are a plethora of them in London, catering to every taste, and between us, we must have visited a dozen or more. Some we immediately discounted—the one where babies were left to cry until their sobs turned to tiny gasps stands out—but in the end we narrowed it down to two. The first was around the corner from our flat—convenient for drop offs, but not so easy if either of us needed to get there quickly from work. So we chose the second—a cheery converted house a couple of roads from the clinic—which has the friendliest staff and more flexible hours. The downside, of course, is I’ll be the one dropping him off every morning, since Alex never knows where his next job will be. Often he'll get a last minute phone call dragging him to Shepherds Bush or Acton, and with unsteady hours, relying on him will never work. So it's me who gets to experience the joys of the drop off.
When I walk inside, having been buzzed in, I'm struck by how bright and airy the house feels. The east-facing windows are bathed in light, as children of various ages sit in the dining room, eating breakfast. Half of them will leave pretty soon, when the bus drops them off at school, leaving the under-fives to rule the roost for a few hours. And though they all look happy and unfazed, I feel my heart clench when I realise one day it will be Max being dropped off at school, a tie knotted around his neck, his hair askew from playing around. These years are going to disappear in the blink of an eyelid, and I'm going to miss half of them.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself this is the dilemma every mother faces. As much as I love Max, I love my career, too. Surely I can somehow manage to juggle the two?
Max has been allocated to the baby room, three doors down from the spacious dining area. I cart him down there, his over-stuffed bag slung across my shoulder, and push the door open with my foot. It's altogether quieter in here; a couple of the staff are holding babies, chatting away, cooing and making them laugh. In the corner are a bank of white-painted cots, lined with fresh, yellow bedding. Two of them are occupied by sleeping babies, but the rest are empty, waiting patiently for nap time.
“Mrs Cartwright, let me take Max for you.” Holly is Max's carer. She greets me with a cheery smile and holds her arms out, waiting for me to place him in them.
I hesitate. It's only for a moment, but enough to see her smile start to waver, and I wonder what is going through her mind. She must be fed up with mums like me, with our resistance, our anxieties. I can't help but feel a little guilty.
“Max, Mummy has to go to work. But I'll be back to pick you up at five o'clock, and Holly is going to look after you. I promise you'll have a lovely time.” My voice wobbles. I know he can't understand a word I'm saying; it's more for my benefit than his. I press my lips to his cheek and kiss him, and he makes a quick grab for my hair. His fingers close around my tightly-wound bun, loosening it until some brown locks spill out. Then as Holly goes to take him, he grabs on tighter, and it feels as though he's pulling my hair out by the roots.
On the positive side, at least I have a good excuse for my watering eyes.
“He'll probably cry the first few times, Mrs Cartwright. It's better for you both to leave quickly, less upsetting.” Holly turns around so Max can no longer see me, and he starts to protest, wailing loudly. Though it almost kills me, I walk away, the sound of his screams reverberating in my ears. They are still echoing in the halls as I sign him in at reception, wiping at my face as the tears stream unbidden.
By the time I'm out of the nursery my chest is hitching with sobs, and I'm feeling furious with the world. Angry at London for having such high house prices that we can barely afford to live here, in spite of two incomes. I'm angry at Alex, too, for not being a millionaire, and at myself for not saving more money back when I had a lucrative job in a bank.
Most of all, it’s life I'm railing at. The pure, bloody minded way nature pulls at our heartstrings until we're little more than slaves to her whims. Have a baby, she whispered, seducing me with the thought, it will be easy, everybody does it. But it isn't easy, it's not easy at all. In fact, it's a nightmare.
I haven't even made it to the clinic before I've pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket, and I'm pressing Beth's number, desperate for any reassurance a fellow mother can give me.
* * *
The day is long and tiring. In the afternoon, during a lull between appointments, I find myself falling asleep. When my head falls into my chest, the sudden movement makes me jump, and I sit straight up, looking around the room with wide, anxious eyes. The disorientation is swift, and for a moment I'm looking for Max, wondering where I put him. That's when I remember where I am, what I'm supposed to be doing. The fact I'm being paid to work.
Coffee, a splash of cold water on my face, and a walk around the clinic to find someone to talk to. I do all these things to wake myself up, but they don’t work. Perhaps I should make a recording of Max crying and play it on a loop, since that manages to keep me up most of the night.
I call the nursery twice, which is a huge victory for self-restraint. Both times I'm reassured he's happy, thriving, and I try to ignore the mean thoughts that tell me he's much happier because I'm not there.
I once asked Alex how he felt, leaving Max every day when he went to work. He stared at me quizzically and shrugged as if it was a stupid question. He doesn't second guess himself the way I do, at least not about Max. I wonder if this guilt is gender-specific.
Or perhaps it's only me.
My last client leaves at 4:30 p.m., and I walk him to the door, showing him out. I have thirty minutes left to type up my case notes before I need to pick up Max. Way too short a time. I'm only onto the second case when there's a knock on the door. Fingertips against the wood. Soft. Hesitant.
“Come in.” I'm never going to get this write-up done. Our data protection policy means I can't do it at home either. Somehow I'm going to have to fit it in first thing in the morning. I scowl at my laptop, wanting to throw it across the room.
“Hey, stranger.”
The biggest smile pulls at my lips. I'm out of my chair, running across the room. What the hell is Beth doing here?
“Oh, my God! I thought you were in Brighton. You never said anything this morning.” I'm hugging her and we’re both laughing like sisters who haven't seen each other in years.
“I was. But I heard your voice and I had to come and see you. Don't worry, Niall agreed to pick up Allegra.”
“I can't believe you did this for me.” I'm so happy I want to scream. “You're the sweetest friend.”
“After everything you did for me? I was on that train faster than you can say 'Day return to London, please.' Now I'm going to sit in the corner while you finish up here and then we can go and pick up your beautiful boy.”
Instead I decide to log off right away. Today's sessions were pretty standard, and I have the scribbles I made on my notepad. Silently I promise myself that tomorrow I will be more conscientious.
“How long are you here for?”
“I have to catch the last train home. Niall has a meeting tomorrow, so I need to do the school run.” She notices my glum face. “Don't worry though, the last train doesn't leave Victoria Station until one.”
It's like getting a gift when it isn't my birthday. I lock the laptop in my drawer and slide the key in my purse, and the two of us leave my office.
Beth slides her arm through mine when we walk down the corridor. “God, it feels weird to be back. Almost as if I've never been away. I popped in on the after school club and didn't recognize any of the kids.”
Beth used to love running the club when she worked here. To say she had a close relationship with the children is an understatement.
“They're all growing up. Some of them too fast.” I wince, thinking of the last time I saw Cameron Gibb. His face smashed in after some gang deal gone wrong. It's not something I want to tell Beth about, though. One of the reasons she moved to Brighton after she fostered Allegra—the orphaned child of an addict—was to get away from these tragedies.
“Do you ever miss being here?” I ask. I'm genuinely interested. Beth was as committed to the clinic as I am, before her circumstances changed.
“I'm not really sure.” She laughs. “I wouldn't change a thing, because I love where I am now. Things are great with Niall, and Allegra is settling in so nicely. Plus we've had the heads up that the adoption could be going through soon. But I do feel nostalgic when I come here, as if I'd like to turn back the clock for one day and say hello to everybody again.” She takes my hand and squeezes it tight. “Of course I miss the hell out of you.”
We say goodbye to the rest of the staff, and make the short walk to Rainbow Nursery, both of us chatting up a storm. I marvel at how different I feel to this morning, when I made the same walk but in the opposite direction. A few hours ago I was crying down the phone to my best friend, and now here she is in person.
When we get to the nursery, she lingers on the steps. “You go in, I'll wait out here.”
“Why? Max will be so pleased to see you.”
She shrugs. “It'd be like intruding on a lover's reunion. I can't do it. Seriously, go in there and make his day. I'll have a cuddle with him as soon as you're outside.”
I'm so excited to see him I almost run inside. The receptionist calls after me when I rush straight past her, asking me to fill in a couple of forms. Then I'm there, walking into the brightly-coloured baby room, my face one huge smile. That familiar ache tugs at my heart. The need to see him, to hold him.
“Look who's here, Max.” Holly takes his arm and makes him give a little wave. “Say, 'Hello, Mummy'.”
Of course, he says nothing of the sort, but he's sporting a huge grin and babbling like crazy, his arms reaching out for me as he squirms against Holly. Then I'm holding him, burying my face against his head, breathing in his warm, baby scent. I get a rush from it, feeling giddy and high. When he grabs me with his chubby hands it feels as though all is right with the world.
It's amazing how quickly things can change. In the space of a few hours I've gone from crazed and harassed to happy and blissful; thanks in no small measure to the surprise appearance of my best friend.
When we walk out into the sunshine, Max seems as happy as I am. I can see his little legs kicking as I push his buggy down the slope they've built beside the front steps. Then Beth launches herself at him, tickling his belly, and he giggles so much I'm scared he's going to be sick.
“He's so beautiful.” Beth sighs.
“He is,” I agree. “Though not so cute at three o'clock in the morning when he's wide awake and wanting some company.”
“Well, the next time I come up I'll stay over and give you a break for the night.” She tugs at his foot and he kicks in delight.
I smile and grab her hand. “Sounds like a fabulous idea to me.”
8
David steps back onto the pavement, his face screwed up in concentration. Lifting his hand to his hair, he scratches hard. “It's not going to fit.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Amy has been watching our attempts at loading the car for half an hour. She's sat down on the front wall of our tiny garden, and is polishing her toenails with a dark blue hue. David turns around and shoots her a look. She carries on painting, oblivious.
“The buggy has to go. And maybe you can only bring one bag?” Andrea sounds apologetic. “We can take turns holding Max, or we can use that papoose?” She gestures at the tangle of fabric I've stuffed on top of the buggy.
It's no good; babies and music festivals clearly don't mix. The days of slinging a short dress and a pair of Wellington boots in a bag are clearly over. Packing for today has been like a military operation.
“Let me take out some toys.” I rummage through the huge bag full of everything Max could possibly need for a day trip in the country. “And if I can work out how to attach that bloody baby sling, we can use it.” I've had it since Max was born, and not once have I been able to fasten it. The one time I tried to tie Max against me, he slid out. I managed to catch him by the shoulder of his sleep suit, but it was a close-run thing.
“How difficult can it be?” David asks. He has the confidence of a man who thinks he knows it all.
“I guess we'll find out.” Is that a smirk on Amy's face? For a moment she looks so much like her brother it's unbelievable. Same face shape, same inky black hair. She has the same sense of mischief, too, though I sense she still has a bit of growing up to do. Which is fine, because she's almost ten years younger than me.
Eventually, we manage to tessellate Max's things, and then we have the pleasure of trying to strap his car seat in. It's a feat of engineering when we finally succeed, and we practically collapse into the car, exhausted.
“I never realised kids were so complicated,” Andrea murmurs, smoothing her dress across her knees. She twists the key and the engine rumbles.
“That's not the half of it,” I say. “I thought I packed light.”
I lean forward to talk to her. She's sitting in the driver's seat, with David and his long legs on the passenger side. Max's car seat is behind him on the back seat, and I'm squashed in the middle between Max and Amy. “That's a pretty dress, Andrea, where's it from?” I think it's the first time I've seen her in a dress. It complements her toned, smooth legs. I've noticed David glancing at them more than once.
“I've had it for ages,” she answers airily. “I can't remember where it's from.”
She's so convincing I almost believe her. Then I see the corner of a white paper price tag sticking up from the neckline and smile to myself. “You should wear it more often.”
I hear a low, “Yeah,” coming from the passenger seat and try not to laugh. It's kind of strange that David seems into Andrea after they've only met once. They seem to be getting on pretty well—having bonded over the boot of doom—but I still can't quite see they have much in common, unless David really does have a librarian fetish.
It takes a few hours to get to the festival site. The last thirty minutes are spent crawling in a huge line of cars as each one has to be checked by security before heading towards the car park. Max begins to get restless and we all end up trying to entertain him, with David doing an amazing rendition of a Kylie Minogue song, falsetto tone and all.
During the wait I stare out of the window at the fields spread out before us, their greenery obscured by a sea of tents that stretches out towards the horizon. I find myself getting excited for Alex, as well as a little bit nervous. When he referred to this as a 'small festival', I'd imagined
a few dozen tents and a hay barn. But this is Glastonbury-Lite. Even if they're playing on the smallest stage, it's still one heck of an opportunity for them.
We park up and unload the car, the process so much simpler than when we were trying to fit everything in. David shows me how to strap the baby sling to my chest so Max is snug against me, his little legs dangling down and pressing into my stomach. Max thinks it's hilarious, being so close to me, and he gets all grabby, going for my hair, my face, and occasionally my chest.
He is, after all, his father's son.
It's one of those rare Saturdays when the sun decides it has nothing better to do than blast down on us, the lack of clouds leaving the sky a deep, cerulean blue. The result is a thousand pairs of closely cropped denim shorts and tiny flowery dresses, without a Wellington boot in sight. Even though I've managed to lose most of the baby weight I put on during pregnancy—not through any concerted effort but because Max has spent the last six months literally sucking the life out of me—I can't help but feel a little bit dowdy in comparison to these young, luscious girls.
It's okay. It's not as if I've had a baby and immediately decided I must always wear a trouser suit and elasticated skirts. At the moment I'm wearing a black and pink floral mini skirt and a tight grey vest, plus my accessory du jour; a slobbery, giggling Max who keeps pulling down the neckline to flash my tits at everybody. But there are some things you give up when you have a baby: drunkenness, debauchery, and the ability to wear crop tops. I can't help but feel jealous of all these smooth, tanned stomachs.
I used to have one of those. Not anymore, though. It's disappeared into the ether, along with the chances of a good night's sleep and the ability to hold my pee in whenever I cough.
“What time is the band on?” David asks, lifting up the bag full of baby stuff and pulling it onto his shoulder. Andrea grabs my handbag and kindly carries it for me. Amy's wandered off somewhere, walking away with a cheery “See you later”, so it's the three of us.