‘Stella?’
I jump – she’s standing right behind me. She takes my hand and leads me back to the kitchen table. I don’t pull away this time.
‘Does he know?’ she asks. Her voice is barely a whisper. I shake my head. She nods, and an expression passes over her face that’s hard to read.
She makes the tea in silence, and I watch her skinny back and try not to think about how perfect she is for Paul. They both love the outdoors: running, skiing, mountain biking. They have Hannah, of course, which is a bond I’ve never seriously considered before. What if they do get back together? I’ll only have myself to blame, but when the baby comes, what then? Then I’ll be in Sharon’s place, and she’ll be with Paul. In my place.
It’s all just too confusing.
What if I tell Paul about the baby now, today, and ask him if we can give it another go? What if I just ring him right now and ask him? For the sake of the baby. And what if he says yes? I need Paul to be with me because he wants to be, not because he has to be, or even because he should be. Which has always been the problem. If I tell him now, how will I ever know for sure?
And if I don’t tell him? Well, that’s not an option anymore, is it? Sharon will tell him as soon as she leaves this house. Or maybe she’ll wait until she gets to Derby and break it to him gently. After all, she knows how hard it was for him to find out about Hannah after eight years of secrecy. She won’t want to risk him going through that again. If Sharon’s set her sights on Paul, there’ll be no more secrets. She’s far too wily for that.
We sip our tea in silence. I have no idea what to say to her now, and she seems lost in thought. I’m starting to wonder if either of us will ever speak again when I hear Phoenix stirring upstairs. I send a message up to the ceiling: Thank you.
‘I’d better go and see to him,’ I tell her. My voice is croaky. I clear my throat.
‘Right.’ She nods. Without the false smile fixed to her face, Sharon is actually very pretty. It stabs at my heart to think about it, but I’m fairly sure she and Paul will be happy together. And maybe having her around will help him get over me. I shouldn’t begrudge him that, should I?
Sharon puts one foot outside the front door, then stops and turns around.
‘Stella, before I go, there’s something I want to say.’
‘What?’ I’m so tired now I just want to get rid of her and go and lie down in the nursery with Phoenix. There’s this overarching sense of anticlimax.
‘I don’t blame you.’
‘Right. What?’
‘I don’t blame you, for not telling him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. I understand, is all. And I just wanted … it doesn’t matter.’ She turns away with an infuriating little shake of her head and heads for her car.
‘Wait,’ I call. ‘Sharon, wait. What do you understand?’
With nothing on my feet and most of my body on show I am not going to run after her. Nor am I going to stand on my doorstep shrieking. I call her name once more, and she stops and turns to look at me. Her eyes are full of a sympathy I don’t want to see.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Really, really sorry.’
Then she jumps in her car and drives away.
Chapter 17
Phoenix is the reason I finally close the door. Phoenix is the reason I manage to pull on proper clothes and clear my head and get on with the rest of my day. Phoenix, and the baby inside me, who is suddenly active, bouncing and bubbling away in there as if it can sense that something just turned its world upside down.
By the time Lipsy arrives home I’m calm and together.
‘Jesus, Mum, what the hell happened to you? You look terrible.’
Or so I thought.
I tell her about Sharon’s visit. Holding Phoenix on my lap, making a game out of bouncing him from one knee to the other, helps to keep me calm.
‘That’s just horrible.’ My daughter’s expression is almost as shaken as my own. I get to my feet and give her a hug.
‘It’s OK, sweetie. It doesn’t matter. If they are getting back together, I guess it just means I did the right thing after all. I mean, maybe I had a sixth sense or something.’
Or maybe Paul’s downright refusal to start a family with me was because of Sharon. Who knows what happened between them while they were stuck in a caravan together night after night. Come to think of it, all my problems started around about the same time …
‘No, Mum,’ Lipsy says. She looks like she’s about to cry. ‘It is not OK. It’s not OK at all.’
I’m comforted, if a little surprised, by her distress. While we get Phoenix ready for his bath I feel closer to her than I have for a long time. ‘I love you,’ I tell her when she comes into the bathroom carrying fresh towels.
‘I love you too,’ she says. Her face is drawn; the skin under her eyes is purple. She’s working too hard. Well, aren’t we all? But I’m not going to spoil the equilibrium by telling her.
We kneel on the bathroom floor side by side, throwing water over Phoenix, who giggles delightedly. Seeing him in his funny little bath chair makes me realise how much he’s grown.
‘He’s so long,’ I say to Lipsy. ‘Look – his head barely reached the top of that a couple of weeks ago. He won’t fit in it soon.’
She smiles. ‘I’ll put it to one side for you, shall I? For the baby.’
I give her a sideways hug. ‘You’ll always be my baby, you know that, don’t you?’
‘I know. It’s all right, Mum. I know.’
I hope she does know. Sometimes it’s easy to get a little lost, to forget what’s really important and to lose sight of the people who care about you. Something I know all about. But as I sit back on my heels and watch her wash her baby’s hair, shielding his eyes with an upturned hand, I realise that Lipsy is nothing like me. She’s capable and strong. She knows what she wants and she always gets it. And she’s not a baby anymore, either. She’s a woman, a mother, and a damned good one too.
*
As soon as Robert walks in the door, Lipsy issues him with a list of instructions and drags me to the pub. I try to protest – I’ve got an early start tomorrow – but Lipsy’s having none of it. We order non-alcoholic spritzers and I settle into a booth opposite the bar, shuffling my bottom along the seat until I’m facing straight out. Lipsy slides in beside me and slaps two packets of crisps on the table.
‘Dinner,’ she says, laughing. She picks up her glass and holds it out to be chinked. ‘Cheers! Here’s to having a wonderful man who’s quite happy to put the baby to bed while his girlfriend lives it up at the pub.’
I stare at her, my own glass frozen mid-air.
‘Oops,’ she says, wrinkling up her nose. ‘Guess that was a bit insensitive.’
I give her a wan smile. My non-alcoholic spritzer is a pale imitation of the real thing.
‘I’m glad you still think Robert is a wonderful man, though. Sometimes lately, with you two rowing a lot, I’ve been worried that things aren’t right between you. You know, with the age difference and all ...’
Lipsy laughs and shakes her head. ‘Oh, Mum. You are so old-fashioned. All couples argue, it’s healthy. And Rob is perfect for me. He keeps me grounded. Really, you have nothing to worry about. We really are blissfully happy.’
Oh, well. At least someone is. Maybe that was the problem with Paul and me: we didn’t argue enough.
Lipsy puts down her drink and sighs. ‘But, happy as we are, I guess we can’t go on like this forever, can we?’
‘Like what?’
‘With us living in the house and you in a bedsit. I mean, I can see it’s not fair, you know. I’m not a monster.’
‘Who said you were a monster?’
‘Grandma. Well, not a monster exactly. But she said I shouldn’t be letting you live in “that place” in “your condition”. I’m sorry, Mum. I guess I’ve been really selfish.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ I lie. ‘Once you get used to it
and all.’
‘Don’t get mad with her, OK, but Grandma said she drove past your place last week and there were drug dealers hanging around outside.’
‘Oh, that would have been Stig and Barry. They’re all right once you get to know them.’
‘Mum! You’re on first name terms with the resident druggies?’ She drops her head into her hands and groans. ‘It’s worse than I thought.’
‘Well, they aren’t druggies, Lipsy. Dealers never take their own drugs. They’re far too sensible.’
‘Listen to yourself, Mum. What’s happened to you? One minute you’re the bride to be, the next minute you’re pregnant, single, and living in squalor. I blame myself entirely – Rob and I should never have made you move out.’ She bashes her fist on the wooden table and I wince. ‘I honestly expected you would get back with Paul in no time. We both did. We all did. That’s why I gave him your address when he phoned, that’s why I even …’
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ she says morosely. ‘It doesn’t matter. But listen, are you sure about him and Sharon? I just can’t see him going back with her. He loves you so much, Mum.’
‘Loved me. Past tense. No matter what the rights or the wrongs of what I did, Lipsy, he’s never going to forgive me for walking out on our own wedding. And I don’t blame him.’
‘But it was only because of what he said to you. Because you were confused about the baby, about the future. If you could just tell him that, just explain …’
‘I didn’t expect him to disappear so quickly afterwards, that’s for sure. I kind of thought he might stick around and sort it out. But when you think about it, Paul’s always been a bachelor at heart. That’s what kept us apart so long, and it was only when he found out about Hannah he began to think differently. I guess asking him to start a family with me was pushing it too far.’
‘But if you’d just told him the truth?’ Lipsy’s eyes are wide and innocent. Uncomprehending. How can I expect her to understand? I barely understand myself.
‘We’ve been through this, Lipsy. Once I knew how he felt, it was too late. Don’t you see? I couldn’t trap him. I loved him too much.’
‘Loved. Past tense?’ she says, eyebrows raised.
I shrug. ‘What difference does it make? He’s made it perfectly clear how he feels about having a family, and even if I did tell him about the baby – even if I told him right now and begged him to reconsider – there’s no guarantee he’d come back to me. But even if he did, I’d never know if it was for the right reasons. No, Lipsy. I just need to focus on what’s important and leave Paul and Sharon to it.’
‘Isn’t Paul important to you anymore?’
‘Of course he is.’ I can’t keep the sadness out of my voice. Attempting to keep positive is wearing me down. ‘But right now there are more important things to worry about. You and Phee, for example, and the baby of course. And figuring out where we’re all going to be living in about four months’ time.’
For once she doesn’t berate me for calling him Phee, but I don’t know whether this is a good sign or not. A group of young lads wearing fake stag antlers push through the door and herd around the bar. The noise level increases and someone turns up the music to compensate. I look at my phone to check the time.
‘But he wouldn’t really go back to her, would he?’ Lipsy says. I have to strain to hear her; she seems to be talking mainly to herself.
‘I think if he does it will be because of Hannah. When you have a child with someone you’re linked forever. I guess you’ll always feel something for that person.’
As I say the words I wonder about Paul and his sense of duty. And I wonder what his sense of duty will demand when Sharon tells him about my baby.
How long will it take for him to get in touch?
And what will I do if he doesn’t?
‘Sounds like a trap,’ Lipsy says, wrinkling her nose. ‘If Robert did the dirty on me I’d never get back with him, child or no child. I’d rather be on my own.’
She means it as well. I sip my spritzer and make a silent wish that Robert never falls foul of Lipsy. He won’t know what’s hit him.
‘Come here,’ I say, pulling her in for another cuddle. But the guys at the bar are giving Lipsy the once over, and she pushes me away, embarrassed.
It’s still light when Lipsy and I head back to the car, and I drive the short distance to drop her off. The clocks went forward last weekend, giving us an extra hour of daylight, and only now is the sky starting to turn that dusky purple that makes everything look fuzzy. Before long it will be summer, and I’ll be wafting around in cotton dresses, showing off my bump to the world, making the most of the sunshine. A feeling washes over me, and it takes a couple of minutes to place it.
Happiness. Just a tiny sliver of happiness, bubbling up in my chest. Or maybe it’s excitement. Same thing. As I pull up outside number three Chaplin Grove I’m suddenly convinced that everything is going to work out fine. How, I’ve no idea. But I’m having a baby, I have a family who loves me and a job I think might be my true vocation – maybe these things are all that matter.
I lean over and give Lipsy a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and laugh when she wipes her face with her sleeve.
‘Mum?’ she says as she gets out of the car. Her eyes look enormous.
‘Yes,’ I answer with a smile.
‘Don’t give up on Paul just yet, OK? You never know what might be around the corner. He might surprise you. He might change his mind.’
I smile again and shrug, and watch her safely into the house. Then I turn the car around and head for home.
My daughter has hope and blind faith, which can’t be a bad thing. But all mine has been used up, I’m afraid. From now on, me and Bump are on our own.
*
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 3 April 2012 20:06
Dear Paul,
How are you? I hope things are going OK. The reason I’m emailing is, I’ve heard that Sharon and Hannah are coming to stay with you for Easter, and I think you should know that my mum thinks you and Sharon are about to get back together. Is this true? I can’t believe you would do that to my mum, no matter what’s happened between you. I know that my mum still loves you, and we are all surprised you haven’t sorted it out by now, to be honest. Are you sure you won’t just come and visit her? I’m sure you’d be glad if you did. You might get the answers to all your questions.
It might also be best if you came to see her before Sharon’s visit. Will you come?
Lipsy
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 3 April 2012 22:31
Dear Lipsy,
Hannah is due for a visit at Easter, but there’s been no mention of her mum coming too. I’ve just rung her but she was very strange on the phone and I’m not sure what’s going on there.
Rest assured I am not going to “get back together” with Hannah’s mum. Why would Stella even think that? I just can’t understand what’s going on in her head. But I’m not going to visit your mum, Lipsy, for the reasons I stated in my last email. If your mum wants to talk then I need to hear it from her, not you. I just can’t risk it. I’m sorry. What happened was too painful and I can’t risk getting hurt again.
You asked how things are going – they aren’t too good, actually. It seems I don’t have the “killer instinct” to succeed in the rental market (Tom’s words, not mine). He thinks my “personal problems” might be getting in the way. I’m not sure how much longer I can stick it up here, to be honest. But please keep this to yourself.
I miss your mum so much. I think about her all the time. Could you tell her that? That I think about her every second and I wish I could go back and do it all again. This time I’d figure out what was wrong and put it right, I know I would. But I still don’t know why she called off the wedding, and that just tears me apart. Can you imagine how that feels? Do you kn
ow why? Can you tell me?
Paul x
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 3 April 2012 22:40
Dear Paul,
I can’t tell you, Paul, but I do know why. And I really think that if you came back here and met up with her it would all become clear to you. I can’t force you. Just think about it, OK?
Lipsy
Chapter 18
At the end of April I finally go shopping for proper maternity clothes, something I’ve been dreading. But once I’ve tried on my first pair of jeans I realise it’s not so bad after all. In the changing room at Mothercare they have strap on bumps so you can tell how the clothes will fit at different stages of the pregnancy. Right now I have a pretty big round bump that pushes proudly over the top of the elasticated blue jeans, but in a few months, according to the label on the bump-strap, I’ll be sticking out so far I won’t be able to see my feet.
I buy the jeans, along with some smart grey leggings and two tunic tops in blue and beige. Ordinarily I wouldn’t be seen dead in beige, but it’s either that or shocking pink, and I draw the line at looking like an extra from CBeebies. Into my basket I pop some roomy tights and a maternity bra, and I’m done.
On my way back to the car I pass Cafe Crème. Last year I had a part-time job in my favourite coffee shop, but I’ve hardly been in there since I handed in my notice. Should I pop in now, treat myself to a mocha frappuccino? I’m just about to decide against it when I spot my mum and dad sitting at what was, in happier times, mine and Paul’s favourite table. They have their heads together and appear to be reading something on my dad’s phone.
The Family Trap Page 14