The Family Trap

by Joanne Phillips

  ‘Thanks, everyone,’ I say, trying to keep it light. ‘Thanks for all the support you’ve shown me since you found out about the baby.’ Might as well let Velma think she wasn’t the only one in the dark. ‘But it’s fine, honestly. Velma only wants to have a little chat about when I’m starting my leave. Isn’t that right?’ I turn to her and she forces a quick nod of her head.

  I follow her out of the lounge, down the corridor, past reception – where Martha and Jean are huddled with their heads together, whispering – and through into Velma’s office.

  There are no family photographs in here, because Velma doesn’t have a family. She’s a career woman, she told me once, and there was no room on her agenda for kids. Or a husband. I hope for her sake it’s been worth it. Being the manager of a retirement home is a pretty important job, and incredibly rewarding too, but somehow I get the feeling her heart’s not really in it.

  ‘Sit,’ she tells me, so I do.

  She perches on her desk and sneers down at me, openly staring at my belly. ‘They all believed the lies you told about calling off the wedding, but it seems to me like the truth is right here in front of us.’

  I’m not going to rise to it. I’m not.

  ‘Way I figure it, either you got knocked up by someone else and your fella found out just in time, or he got cold feet and dumped you at the altar. Not the other way around.’

  Everybody’s got a theory. And some are surprisingly creative.

  ‘Is there a work-related reason you needed to talk to me, Velma? Only, I’ve got to get Edie and Mr Price ready for their physio sessions, and you know how they don’t like to have their routines disrupted.’

  She grimaces and picks up a yellow manila file from her desk. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t feel you could confide in me,’ she says, as if this was even possible. ‘I had to hear about it from head office. They’ve sent your maternity leave forms for you to fill in.’

  ‘Great,’ is all I answer, and I hold out my hand. She doesn’t hand over the file, though. It seems she has more to say.

  ‘Word will be out there by this afternoon, no doubt,’ she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, ‘but I wanted to be the one to tell you my news. In person,’ she adds pointedly.

  I shift in my seat. Lately it’s getting harder and harder to get comfortable in any position. My back aches, my stomach feels like it’s going to drop off it’s so heavy, and my bladder is constantly squeezed to dribbling point. But I make myself look interested. The sooner she gets this over with, the sooner I can get out of here and give my back a good rub.

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  I tip my head to the side. Did I hear right?

  ‘You’re leaving?’ I say incredulously. ‘Why?’

  ‘On to bigger and better things,’ she says with a tinkling laugh that is entirely false. I laugh along with her, also falsely, and heave myself out of my chair.

  ‘Well,’ I say, holding out my hand for the file, ‘I wish you every success in the future. And thanks so much for telling me. In person. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get on.’

  When I exit her office, yellow file in hand, Martha and Jean jump back. They’ve obviously been listening at the keyhole.

  ‘Well, go on, then,’ I tell them once the office door is firmly closed behind me. ‘What are you waiting for? You’d better go and spread the good news.’

  But as I walk away, rubbing my aching back with my free hand, I can’t help but feel sad for Velma. The sudden meeting with the board of directors? The even more sudden resignation from a job that defined her? I’m not stupid. She jumped before she was pushed.

  Which is, when you think about it, exactly what I did with Paul.

  By the time I make it upstairs, Edie’s physiotherapy session is already under way, so I get on with my other afternoon jobs and keep an eye on the time. It’s essential I talk to Edie today. But my plan will need a bit of help from the catering section, so once I’ve tidied up the laundry room and sorted out the evening’s meds, I wander down to have a word with Sally.

  ‘Have you heard?’ she says the minute I poke my head around the kitchen door. She’s standing at one of the huge industrial sinks, washing a gigantic copper saucepan. ‘Velma’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? What, like totally gone? Already?’

  ‘Yup. She was told to clear her office, apparently. Put out on garden leave for her notice period.’

  ‘Poor thing.’

  Sally does a double take. ‘Poor thing? You couldn’t stand the woman.’

  ‘I know, but it doesn’t mean I wanted to see her chucked out of her job.’

  I lean against the reflective metal worktop, taking my weight on my elbow.

  ‘From what I hear,’ Sally says with a shrug, ‘she’s been on a warning for ages. Something about fiddling the budgets. Siphoning cash.’

  ‘Who did you hear that from?’

  ‘Martha. Who else?’

  Who else indeed.

  ‘Do you think it’s true?’ I ask.

  She shrugs again. ‘Probably. Most of the stock we get in here now is cut-price rubbish, but apparently the board has been upping the budget for months. Anyway, we’re well shot of her.’

  I imagine Velma paying for this year’s exotic holiday with money she’s taken out of Twilight’s shallow pockets. The thought doesn’t make me angry, it just makes me sad.

  ‘Yes, well. Maybe we are. Except …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Better the devil you know and all that. The new manager might be even worse.’

  Sally snorts. ‘Worse? I can’t imagine how. You know, Stella, you should apply for it.’

  ‘Me?’ Now it’s my turn to snort derisively. ‘Very funny.’

  ‘No, really.’ She dries her hands and gives me a thoughtful look. ‘You’d be a brilliant manager. You care about the oldies more than anyone I’ve ever met.’

  ‘They don’t really like being called oldies, Sally,’ I say, wincing.

  ‘See! You even know all the politically correct terminology.’

  ‘But …’ There’s so much wrong with her suggestion I don’t know where to start. ‘I’ve only been in the job a year. I’ve got no qualifications, no experience of managing anything, and in case it’s escaped your notice, I’m just about to go off on maternity leave. Even if I was a suitable candidate, the board would never give me the job.’

  ‘I might apply for it,’ she says quietly, pleating the tea towel in her hands.

  ‘Sally! You should. That’s a great idea. You’ve been here forever, and the “oldies” just love you so much. And you manage your own budget for the kitchen now, so you’ve got experience of that. Go for it, girl.’

  She shakes her head dismissively. ‘I can’t, Stella. It’s the childcare. It would cripple me. With shifts I can just about manage but if I was here nine to five I’d never be able to afford it. Even with the increase in salary.’

  ‘But wouldn’t you like to work nine to five? See more of the kids?’

  ‘Of course I would. But it just wouldn’t work.’ She throws the tea towel into the empty sink and brushes off her hands. ‘Anyway, doesn’t hurt to dream. So, did you want anything in particular or did you just want a gossip?’

  I tell her about my plan for Edie, and she agrees to help me out. Before I go I give her a quick hug. I’m not quite ready to announce it publicly yet, but I’ve got a feeling my other news is going to be a big relief for her too.

  ‘Fill out the application, Sally. Just give it a try. You never know what’s around the corner.’

  She snorts again, and walks away, shaking her head. I smile at her retreating back and head off up to Edie’s room. I’m all about spreading happiness today. Messing in other people’s lives is much more fun that sorting out your own.

  *

  Edie is sitting up in bed when I knock on her door. She looks tired and older than usual. Some of her spark has gone, and I notice that she hasn’t bothered putting on her strawberry lip trea
tment today. I pick up the slippers I bought her and take them over to the bed.

  ‘Come on,’ I say sternly. ‘No lounging about on a weekday.’

  She smiles tiredly and shakes her head. ‘I think you can make an exception for me, can’t you?’

  ‘Well, OK. Just this once. But you have to let me give you a hand massage.’

  Edie loves having her hands massaged. All the female residents of Twilight do, and I’ve managed to convince a couple of the men to give it a try too. But not many. They just can’t take the ribbing. Which is a shame. Gender stereotypes survive well into old age, you’ll not be surprised to learn.

  I fill a bowl with warm water then pull up a chair and sit next to the bed while Edie immerses her hands.

  ‘Did you mean what you said the other day, Edie?’ I ask, gazing out of the window nonchalantly.

  ‘Could you be a bit more specific?’

  ‘About understanding why my family got involved in my business. Do you really think it’s OK for someone to try and bring two people together if you can see that they are meant for each other, but the two of them are incapable of getting past a friendship, say?’

  Edie wriggles her fingers and purses her lips. ‘I suppose so, yes. I know it didn’t work in your case, but sometimes people need a bit of a push, don’t they? I used to be quite the matchmaker in my day, you know,’ she says with a smile. ‘That’s the one good thing about being a spinster. You have loads of friends, male and female, and it’s lovely to pair them off with each other.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever feel left behind?’

  ‘Oh, Stella. You’re such an old romantic. Life is what it is, my dear. Sometimes you just have to accept that your chances have passed you by. I don’t cry myself to sleep every night, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  With my head lowered over her hands, I pull a sceptical face. The tissues on the floor in the mornings tell a slightly different story.

  ‘Have they been interfering again?’ she asks while I dry her hands on a fluffy towel.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your family.’

  ‘Oh, no. Not at all.’ I start to massage lavender-scented lotion into her curled up hands. ‘They are all behaving themselves beautifully. Listen, Edie. I know you’re all organising something for my last day next week–’

  ‘How did you know? Oh, Martha. Of course.’

  ‘Anyway, I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me that evening. Nothing special, and it’ll be right here at Twilight, but I’d really like to say thank you for being such a great friend to me. If the weather’s fine I thought we could eat in the gardens.’

  ‘Why, Stella, that’s a lovely idea.’

  I lower my head again so she can’t see my eyes. ‘I thought I’d invite Franklin too. If that’s OK with you?’ There’s no answer, but when I look up she’s gazing out of the window, a tiny smile hovering about her mouth. ‘I thought I could come up for you beforehand, help you get ready. Do your make-up or something. How does that sound? If you haven’t got anything else on, of course.’

  ‘Lovely,’ she says, lifting up one hand to inspect it closely. ‘That will be just lovely.’

  As I get ready to leave, Edie turns her attention back to me. ‘Stella, have you sorted things out with that man of yours yet?’ I shake my head. Thinking of other people for a change has been a great distraction. But I do know I can’t avoid it much longer.

  ‘You know, Stella, he’s going to be in your life forever now, no matter what. He’s your baby’s father. Sooner or later you’ll have to come to terms with that, and if there’s the slightest chance you could resurrect more than just your friendship, you owe it to yourself to give it everything you’ve got. There is nothing worse than having to see someone you love every day and not be able to hold them. Believe me, my dear, it’s not something you want to experience.’

  I could tell her that I have experienced it. Before Paul and I got together in the first place, that’s what it was like for me. Seeing him every day, not able to tell him how I felt. But I get the feeling she’s talking about someone much closer to home.

  ‘What can I do, Edie?’ I ask her. ‘He doesn’t want a family. I love him, that’s never changed, and I know he’d make a wonderful father, and I know we could have had a wonderful life together. But he didn’t want that. And now … I just think it’s too late.’

  Edie looks down at her hands again. When she raises her head and meets my eyes, the hope there cuts right through me. ‘It’s never too late, my dear,’ she says softly. ‘You, of all people, should know that.’

  Chapter 27

  I’m getting to the stage now where I can’t put on my own socks. Washing and drying my hair are mammoth tasks, as is taking a bath. This very afternoon I’m moving back into my own home, which is just as well: the stairs at Termite Towers are killing me. My belly is so huge I’ve had to buy a bump support, a stretchy strap thing that goes under my stomach and holds the baby up. I don’t walk anymore, I waddle. Even my shoulders are fat. I’m enormous, I’m whale-like, and I’m loving it.

  Walking around Willen Lake with Lipsy, pushing Phoenix in his buggy, soaking up the sun and watching the geese waddle along the footpath – the geese look like they’re mimicking me – is just about the best fun I’ve had in ages.

  OK, I really do need to get out more.

  The only cloud on my horizon is what to do about Paul. Yesterday I remembered the letter I was about to write before Sharon came to see me and sent everything spinning; I’m thinking a letter is still a good idea. I can explain everything properly – no more misunderstandings, as my dad instructed – and then I can leave it up to him. If he wants me, when he knows how I feel and knows what’s on offer, then he can damn well come and get me.

  And if he doesn’t …

  I can deal with that. I really can. Real life is not a love story. It’s a series of tough decisions, disappointments and compromise. It ain’t glamorous or fluffy, and it doesn’t always have a happy ending. We live. And we learn. And sometimes that’s the best we can hope for.

  When we reach the far side of the lake, I stop, feigning tiredness. I am tired, but secretly I just need to stand here for a moment and let the memories wash over me. The scene of my impassioned last-ditch attempt to win Paul over; the setting for Paul’s Christmas proposal. If I’m quiet enough I might hear the echoes of our love coming back across the lake.

  There are no tears today.

  ‘Mum,’ says Lipsy, laying her head against my shoulder, ‘do you still love Paul?’

  I reach my arm around her, pulling her in for a sideways hug. It’s the only way I can hug these days.

  ‘More than anything else in the world, Lipsy. Except for you and Phoenix, of course. And the baby. And perhaps my sanity, which is seriously at risk if this doesn’t get sorted out soon.’

  Joking about it helps, but I don’t think Lipsy’s fooled for a minute.

  ‘Jesus. How did it all get so complicated?’ she says, gazing off across the lake.

  Well, I was born and then …

  ‘It’s just life,’ I tell her, smiling bravely. ‘But don’t you worry your pretty head about it. It’ll all work out for the best. You’ll see.’

  Wish I believed that. I don’t half talk some shit at times.

  *

  The letter doesn’t take long to write. Back at the bedsit, the tiny window open to the sound of boy-racers screeching up and down outside, out it all pours: every fear, every hurt, every wrong assumption and misguided decision. I tell him exactly why I called off the wedding, and writing it down reminds me that at the time, I really did feel it was the only option.

  Now I can see about a hundred different options. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

  It’s hard – my pride is just as sore as his, if not more so – but I also tell him how much I love him and how I wish it could have been different. Like, if he’d wanted a family with me. If he didn’t think I was too old, and that families were dull an
d boring and a waste of time. OK, maybe he didn’t say that exactly, but that was the impression he gave.

  When the letter is finished, I reach into my make-up bag and pull out two objects I’ve been carrying around with me for months. The locket I hang around my neck like a talisman. I don’t tempt fate by trying to slip the ring onto my finger – there’s not the slightest chance it would fit anyway. Instead I wrap the letter around it and seal the envelope. Then I put the envelope in my bag and finish packing up the last few items left in the bedsit. I’ll miss Termite Towers, with its piles of rubbish and odd, quirky characters. I’ve made no impression here; no one noticed me arrive and no one will notice I’ve gone. Except Stephan, perhaps. I’ve already pushed a card under his door with a ten pound note in it. Have a drink on me, it read. I think Stephan can have several on that.

  Before I head home, I drive to the city centre and head for Silbury Boulevard. Working in Bletchley, I hardly ever come up here anymore. It seems busier. More people, all bustling about with their heads down, fixed on their own narrow paths. It’s cool for mid July, but the sun is high and the sky is a deep azure blue. The mirrored buildings reflect the trees and the cars over and over again; the effect is mesmerising. I find a parking space not too far from Paul’s office and heave my enormous frame out of the car.

  Right. This is it.

  Smart Homes. The facade hasn’t changed, even though my dad said Paul is relaunching the business as something completely different. I guess he couldn’t just open the doors and go back to how it was before. Going back isn’t in Paul’s nature. Ever.

  Stop it, Stella. That way madness lies.

  The office is in darkness, so I slip the letter under the door and turn to walk back to the car. That’s when I see him. He’s sitting on the floor facing away from me, surrounded by boxes and files. The one remaining desk, just to his left, is piled so high with stuff it looks likely to collapse under the weight. For a moment I picture this office full of life and people. A year ago, when I worked here with Susan and Joe and evil Loretta, there was never a dull moment. Who’d have thought we’d all have moved on so quickly, so resolutely. Loretta works for Smart Homes’ arch rival now. Susan and Joe got married at Christmas and moved up the road to Northampton.