Paul’s voice is husky, which makes me feel all funny inside. Until I realise he’s probably whispering so Sharon won’t hear him.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ I say mournfully.
‘Oh, sweetheart. Did you get my card?’
I sigh. ‘Yes. It arrived this morning. Lovely, thank you.’
‘I found the one you left at the flat. Thanks, Stella.’
‘That was before I knew you were taking you-know-who with you. Cracked open the champers yet?’
‘Still sore about it, huh?’
I stare into the phone. You think?
‘So, anyway,’ Paul says, wisely changing the subject, ‘How’s Lipsy? And, you know, the baby?’
‘Phoenix and my daughter are both fine, thank you.’ I don’t mean it to come out so stiffly, but he’s right, I am sore about it. I should have said no. No, Paul, you can’t take her with you. No, it’s not OK. Fine, go off on a jolly with your daughter to salve your conscience now that you’re moving eighty miles away and getting married to someone other than her mother, but taking said mother along with you? A step too far, in my opinion.
There is an uncomfortable silence on the line.
‘How is Hannah?’ I ask eventually.
‘Fine.’
‘Weather any good?’
‘Not really.’
Poor Paul. Always trying to do the right thing, always getting it slightly off. I take pity and ease the tension by telling him how Lipsy and Robert have popped out for an hour to celebrate, leaving me to babysit.
‘You can’t let them take advantage of you, Stella. Should they be going out so soon? Phoenix is only two days old.’ This is more or less what I knew he’d say, but once he’s said it I bridle.
‘But Lipsy’s only got me for another fortnight. I want her to take advantage.’
‘What were you moaning about, then?’
Who was moaning? This is called sharing, I explain: a bonding exercise undertaken by two individuals with the purpose of cementing the understanding between them.
And if the two individuals are a man and a woman, it usually leads to a row. I keep this thought to myself, however.
‘Have you been reading Robert’s parenting books again?’ Paul says with laughter in his voice.
‘I can’t wait to see you next week,’ I tell him just before we say goodbye.
‘I can’t wait until next Saturday,’ he whispers. ‘Our big day.’
‘And I’ve got something important to tell you,’ I say softly. Too softly: Paul has already said goodbye and hung up. I say it anyway, into the empty space between us.
‘I’m pregnant.’
It feels good to say it out loud. Even if no one is listening.
Paul will be the first hurdle to get over. Once I’ve told him, we can decide together whether to tell the rest of the family before or after the wedding. Maybe during the reception. A hysterical giggle bubbles up inside me as I think about the fact that I’ll be getting married while up the duff. It’s not the way we planned it, but it still feels just fine to me.
It took me at least an hour to get everything ready for Phoenix’s first bottle feed, so I start ahead of time before he wakes up again, and this time I make up a batch for the fridge. I was nervous he wouldn’t take to formula after being breastfed for two days, but I’d worried over nothing. This is one hungry baby.
We settle on the armchair in the lounge, and I prop my elbow on a cushion. Phoenix sucks on the bottle like he’s never tasted anything so good, and I close my eyes and rest my head. I think about Lipsy and Robert at the pub, and I wonder if they are managing to talk about anything other than Phoenix. I try not to think about a certain caravan on a hillside in Wales.
Time slips away. It’s quiet here on a weekday evening; my neighbours keep to themselves and I expect a new baby waking through the night will be the most excitement Chaplin Grove has seen for some time. Since the fire, in fact. I watch Phoenix feeding, his eyes closed tight with pleasure, and I smile to myself. It’s been a hell of a few days. But here in my arms I hold my very own grandson, and inside another little life is starting to take shape. Yes, my daughter is an unmarried teenage mum, and yes, I’m soon to become an older mum – albeit a married one – but right now, with the warmth of this baby heavy in my arms and the sound of his gentle sucking filling my ears, I am totally and supremely happy.
*
‘What a beautiful sight.’
A deep voice pulls me out of a dream. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been asleep; judging by Phoenix’s contented sucking, not very long at all. I smile up at my dad, who is standing on the threshold holding an enormous wicker hamper. I really hope that hamper is full of chocolate now wine is off the menu. And maybe the odd olive to count towards my five a day.
‘Come in,’ I tell him, waving at the sofa. ‘Take the weight off.’
He shakes his head. ‘I won’t, if you don’t mind. I’m filthy. I’ve just finished my shift, but your mum wanted me to drop this off for you. Just a few things to keep you going, you know what she’s like. I’ll pop it in the kitchen, shall I?’
‘Sure, if you can find room.’
‘Jesus! What happened in here?’ My dad sticks his head back around the door. ‘It’s like a tornado struck a branch of Mothercare.’
‘Lipsy sent me shopping,’ I tell him. He nods knowingly.
‘Ah. That explains it. Old habits die hard, eh?’
I’m not going to rise to the bait. My family have this idea of me as someone who loves to shop, but that was before the fire, before I had to lose everything to find out what really mattered to me. Now I’m a reformed shopper – if there was a twelve-step programme for shopaholics I’d be right there in the middle of the circle talking success. I positively hate shopping these days.
Mainly because I have no spare money, and shopping’s just no fun if you can’t buy stuff.
Eyeing the hamper, I ask, ‘Didn’t Mum want to bring it over herself? I’m surprised you managed to keep her away.’
We could, in fact, do with a little help here.
‘She didn’t want to overwhelm you, love. Thought she’d give Lipsy some space to get settled into a routine and all that.’
Typical. When you don’t want her around she’s all over you like a rash; when you need her she’s nowhere to be seen.
The hamper’s a nice idea, though. I struggle out of the chair holding Phoenix to my shoulder and take a peek. Home-cooked lasagne, French bread and pâté, packets of ham and pitta bread and Brie – and two bottles of wine. And no chocolate.
Fantastic.
‘How’s her ladyship?’ my dad asks.
‘She’s fine. Mainly because Mary Poppins here is in charge.’
He raises an inquiring eyebrow.
‘She’s out with Robert,’ I explain. ‘It is Valentine’s Day, after all. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be taking Mum out somewhere? Or are you having a romantic meal at home?’
‘Don’t let her wear you out, Stella. He’s her baby, not yours. You’ve got enough on your plate with the wedding and getting ready for the move.’
I smile. It’s so funny how this conversation mirrors the one I just had with Paul.
‘What?’ he says. I just shake my head.
‘So shouldn’t you be getting on home?’ I prod him with a free elbow. ‘Won’t Mum be expecting the whole red roses thing?’
He laughs and heads for the door. ‘I’m on my way.’
‘Via the petrol station, right? Last minute bunch of flowers and a box of Terry’s All Gold?’
‘No way, Stella. I’ve learned my lesson. She’s had her card already and I’ve got a special surprise for her.’
‘What is it?’
He taps the side of his nose. ‘Not telling. You’ll have to wait until after the wedding to see.’
I’m not a big fan of secrets when they’re someone else’s. But then it’s not like I don’t have a pretty big secret of my own.
I could tell
him right now. There’s just the two of us, and I know my dad will be one hundred per cent supportive of me. It might be nice to have someone on the inside. Also he could help with the fallout, because I know my mum and Lipsy will go ballistic. Maybe it would be good to get him onside ahead of time.
But shouldn’t Paul be the first to know? It being his baby and all.
Dad starts talking again and the moment passes. Ah, well. All in good time.
‘Looking forward to your last week at work?’
‘Yes and no,’ I tell him. ‘I’m going to miss them all so much. I keep thinking – how will they cope without me?’
He’s opened the door, but now he pushes it to and turns to consider me. ‘There goes Stella with her omnipotence complex.’
‘What do you mean?’
He sighs. ‘You always do this, Stella. You get too involved in other people’s lives, in sorting out their problems. It’s an old folks’ home, not MI5. They’ll be fine without you – life will just go on exactly the same as it did before.’
I’m stung, but I try not to show it. Instead I come out fighting. ‘You didn’t mind my so-called omnipotence complex when it was Mum’s problems I was trying to sort out while you were inside. Then it was OK for me to feel responsible, but not now?’
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I wish I could bite off my tongue. The last thing I want to do is hurt my dad. I’d rather stick pins under my nails.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking contrite. He rubs his hand over his scalp as if raking through the hair he used to have. The look on his face brings tears to my eyes. I still haven’t forgiven myself for deserting him when he got sent to prison – wrongly, I might add – for tax evasion three years ago. We made up when the whole debacle got sorted out (long story) but I feel so protective of him I can’t bear to see him upset.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ I say, giving him a one-handed hug. ‘I’m just feeling tetchy, is all. No need to take it out on you.’
‘Because Paul’s away on Valentine’s Day?’
I nod. It’s as good a reason as any.
‘And you’re right about work. They will be fine without me. Besides, I can’t wait to see the back of Velma. She has to be the worst boss I’ve ever had.’
‘Be nice to have a bit of time off, hey?’
I nod again, but another lump forms in my throat. Dad and I had planned to go into business together, using his building skills to renovate houses and rent them out. But our plans came to nothing. He was a changed man when he came out of prison, risk-averse, with no desire to go self-employed again. Plus I figured the recession wasn’t the best time to start a new business. So now he’s working shifts at B&Q, and I’ve been employed as a care assistant at the Twilight Retirement Home for the past six months.
He says he’s happy. I just hope it’s true.
‘Will we see you before the big day?’ he asks, opening the door again. I tuck Phoenix’s blanket around him more securely and shake my head.
‘Unlikely. I imagine I’ll be pretty tied up here once I finish work. You’re still driving me to the register office, right?’
‘You betcha. Happy Valentine’s Day, Stella love.’
I wave goodbye and watch him walk to his car, the outside light throwing his long shadow ahead of him. His gait, like the way he brushes his hands through non-existent hair, is so familiar it hurts my throat.
This is the thing with parents, isn’t it? You’re always their baby, even when you’ve got a baby of your own. Even when your baby’s got a baby of her own. To them, we never really grow up, and they never lose the right to tell you what’s what, even if it’s the last thing you want to hear. It’s both a blessing and a curse.
But then one day you look at them and realise they’re getting old. You realise that one day you might be the one taking care of them. And it makes all the hurtful things you’ve ever done or said rub at your soul like sandpaper.
Chapter 5
Four days later I’m on babysitting duties again. I’ve got the two till nine shift this weekend, so when Lipsy asked me to look after Phoenix so she and Robert could ‘do lunch’ I happily agreed. The clock is counting down to the time when I won’t be able to see my gorgeous grandson every day; I need to stack up the memories while I can.
I’m settling Phoenix into his bassinet when Lipsy and Robert storm in. I’m surprised to see them back so soon – and you don’t have to be good at reading body language to tell they’ve had an almighty row.
‘I’m sick of you,’ cries Lipsy, turning her back on Robert with an exaggerated huff. Her eye make-up is smudged and her lips are blurred from crying. She throws me a despairing look, plants a gentle kiss on Phoenix’s head, and then runs up the stairs. I listen for the door to slam, eyeing the sleeping baby warily, but I needn’t have worried. Maybe the histrionics are only for effect. With Lipsy, it’s impossible to tell.
‘Robert?’
He’s still standing by the front door with his head bowed. I can see where he’s going just a little bit bald on top; it makes him look vulnerable, like an old man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. But I guess a part of me has never truly forgiven him for taking up with a girl practically half his age, and getting her pregnant to boot. So I resist the urge to reach out a comforting hand, folding my arms around myself instead.
‘She’s planning on going back to work,’ he says. His voice is flat, his face expressionless.
I shrug. ‘That’s what you’ve had planned all along, isn’t it? She said you’d talked about it.’
‘Well, yes. Eventually. She says we need the money. My job’s not too secure at the moment, there’s been talk of pay cuts across the board. There might even be redundancies.’
I didn’t know this, and I feel my face pinking up. And there was me hassling Lipsy about Robert asking for a pay rise. I guess things will be pretty tight for them when I move out, but living here will be cheaper than renting a flat. At least I can console myself with that.
It also gives me a good reason to hang on to my house, of course. Not that I need one, but Paul is putting his flat on the market, and although he hasn’t said that I should sell up too, I do wonder if that’s what he’s hoping for ...
But this is Lipsy’s home, and for as long as she wants to stay she can. I think it’s what Robert wants too, but he’s one of those closed-off kinds of people. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking.
Robert has moved over to the bassinet and is gazing down at his son. ‘She’s talking about going back in a matter of weeks, not months. She earns a pittance at that boutique, Stella,’ he says, looking up at me. I can see that he’s been crying too. ‘It’s hardly worth it anyway. And it’s too soon for her to go back to work. Don’t you think so?’
Damn right I do, but I’m not about to side with Robert over Lipsy. Not openly, anyway. Relations with teenage daughters are delicate at the best of times. Mums have to tread a very narrow and precarious line.
I leave Robert minding Phoenix and head upstairs to find Lipsy sobbing into the bathroom sink.
‘He’s so old-fashioned, Mum,’ she wails the minute I walk in. ‘He wants to keep me chained up here forever. I’m going to be one of those dreadful women with no life outside of their babies, getting fat and boring and talking about nappies all the time … It’s not fair, Mum. I hate him.’
Oh, Lipsy. How I could have predicted all this and more. How I hate being right.
Teenage pregnancy ends in happy ever after? Not in my lifetime.
‘Sweetheart, you don’t hate him. You’ve just had a baby, you’re bound to be overwrought. Come here, give me a cuddle.’
For once, she complies. She smells of fried food and wine. Wine! At lunchtime. The luxury of it. I pull her into my bedroom and we sit side by side on the bed.
‘Robert says you want to go straight back to work. Is that true?’
She nods and cries onto my shoulder.
‘Are they putting pressure on you?�
�� I ask. ‘Is that why?’
Lipsy is a sales assistant at an upmarket boutique in the city centre; I can’t imagine they are hassling her to go back any sooner than the standard six months.
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t get paid while I’m off, Mum. No more than the statutory maternity pay, which is rubbish, of course.’
‘How about I help with the bills for a while?’ I offer. I should probably discuss this with Paul first – what’s mine is his, I guess – but I can’t bear to think of Lipsy worrying about money.
‘It’s great of you to offer, Mum,’ she says, sniffing, ‘but it’s not just about the money. I still want to go back to work. As soon as possible.’
‘Why?’ I ask again.
She shrugs, stretches out her shoulders, and looks up at the ceiling. A mermaid mobile revolves slowly above her head. I hadn’t even noticed it until now. This room is turning into a nursery by stealth.
‘I just want to, I can’t explain it any better than that. I want to be more than just a mum. Robert doesn’t understand, and I don’t expect you to understand either, but it’s something I realised the minute Phoenix and I came home from the hospital.’
Which was, in fact, less than a week ago. ‘It’s early days, Lipsy. You’ve got to give it time, settle into the swing of it. Get into a routine – remember we talked about that? You need to get to know Phoenix and he needs his mum.’
‘I’m not planning on going back tomorrow,’ she snaps, rounding on me. ‘But I’m not waiting six months either. Everything will have moved on without me, Mum. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that I don’t want life to leave me behind?’
A memory comes to me, unbidden. Lipsy is two weeks old and I’m walking her in the park by my parents’ house in Shenley Church End. In the distance I see two of my old college friends. They are sitting on a bench with their heads close together, brightly coloured shopping bags at their feet. I’m excited – it’s been ages since I’ve spoken to someone my own age, and I’m eager to show off my cute little baby in her pink and white fluffy jacket with bunny ears on the hood.
The Family Trap Page 4