Feels Like Maybe

by Claire Allan

  Both Beth and Mr Coffee Shop started laughing again, and Dan looked on completely bemused.

  “Could someone please, for the love of God, explain to me what is going on?” I demanded.

  “I haven’t a bloody clue,” Beth squeaked while Mr Coffee Shop rested his hand on the counter, using the other to rub his aching ribs.

  “This man, Tom, is here to drop off some leaflets and give you a flower apparently,” Dan interjected, his face like thunder. “And as for Beth, well, I don’t bloody think she knows anything any more. She certainly doesn’t know how to act like a grown-up.”

  With that he turned and walked out the door.

  The laughter stopped.

  All I could do was stand and stare, open-mouthed.

  The man with the rose, Tom, blushed and said he would call back later. He put the rose on the counter and I noticed a petal fall to the floor and blow across the room as the door opened and closed and he left.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” I eventually said to the top of Beth’s head as she sat gazing at the floor.

  She looked up, her eyes watery, and lifted a pencil and began to draw.

  “I have a lot of work to do, Aoife. Why don’t you go and see if Maggie is okay? I’m sure I heard a little squeak there.”

  “Beth, what is going on?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything is fine. There are no problems. There is no reason for anything not to be perfect so if you don’t mind, I’ll just get on with this.”

  I looked at her, silently imploring her to open up to me, then glancing at Matilda imploring her to intervene, but the silence continued. I sighed, lifted the rose from the counter and carried it upstairs.

  Something very weird was going on and I didn’t like it one bit.

  I walked to the kitchen and took a tall glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. Sitting it, and the rose, on the windowsill I wondered what on earth had just happened. Why was a virtual stranger giving me a flower and what the hell was going on with Beth and Dan?

  Texting Dan, I told him he could talk to me any time. I then sent the same text to Beth before sitting down and holding Maggie close to me, enjoying the warmth of her. I breathed in her soft, baby smell and kissed her head. It felt okay, in that moment, to have one person at least who would always love me and who I could protect as best as I could for as long as I could.

  *****

  It was a good thing I wasn’t waiting for Beth to come and apologise because five o’clock came and went and she didn’t come anywhere near me. I heard the door rattle and the shutters come down and looked out the window in time to see her pull off in the car.

  This had been the strangest of days and just for a moment – and trust me it was the briefest of moments – I almost wished I was still back in Derry. At least it made sense there. Sort of.

  I gazed at my phone. I hoped for a text from Beth, or Dan, or even Jake. It mocked me silently, peeping into life only once at ten with a message from Anna wishing me sweet dreams. I already missed her desperately.

  Maggie woke, mewling softly, and I walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water to have by my side while I fed her. The rose was there, its petals open wide. Yes, this had been a very strange day indeed, so I did what I always did in such circumstances – lifted the phone and called Anna. Unusually she wasn’t in and I found myself talking to her answerphone.

  “Anna, it’s Aoife. I just wanted to have a wee chat. Maggie misses you dreadfully. I kind of miss you too. Things are a bit mad here. I’m going to go back to work. Don’t worry, only part-time and I’ll be able to keep Maggie with me. Oh, and I got a rose from a handsome stranger. It’s gone ten thirty, so I’m off to bed soon but call me in the morning if you get a chance. Love you.”

  I hung up and settled down into bed. Maggie was lying beside me, staring at the lights of the ceiling as if they held some great magical power, and I nuzzled into her neck for a kiss.

  I felt all at sea. First of all I’d come back hoping to see Jake only to hear he had cleared off to another country. And then Mr Coffee Shop had told me I looked amazing in Morelli’s that morning. That would have been enough excitement for one day without the worry that Beth and Dan were on a hiding to nothing and the mysterious appearance of the rose. Then again maybe Tom really did just want to advertise his business through us – nothing as likely to gain a bit of free publicity as a healthy dose of flirtation and flattery.

  It felt nice though. It really did. I enjoyed having a man look at me with a glimpse of respect and, dare I say, lust in his eyes. I hadn’t had anyone look at me like that in a very long time. After Jake left I immediately fell into such a fit of depression that any man who so much as glanced at me had been met with a look that would kill dead things. The horrors of morning-sickness hadn’t done much for my feminine glow either. At best I looked like all the blood had been drained from my body, at worst I would open the shop with my hair scraped back from my face which was beaded with perspiration from a fresh vomiting session, and my eyes ringed with dark circles, a result of insomnia and floods of unending tears. By the time the shock of Jake doing a runner had left me, I was the size of a house and, trust me, the last thing any man looks for in a new relationship is an in-built third party to add to the dynamic. The only man I had been intimate with in nearly a year had been my doctor – nicknamed Shovel Hands – and that internal examination was truly an experience neither me nor my poor fandango wished to repeat any time in the near future.

  And that’s not to say my fandango wasn’t screaming “Please, for the love of everything pure, don’t even think about touching me ever, ever again!” but a flutter in my heart was leading me to think that I wanted something with a man again, be it a hug, a friendly chat, a mind-blowing bonk or even just an ivory rose . . .

  Jake had never bought me ivory roses, despite knowing they were my favourite flower. He had never bought me flowers at all. In fact, he wasn’t one for presents. I always pretended not to mind – after all he wrote songs for me or dedicated covers to me during his gigs. Surely that was more romantic and I was all about the romance – and the wild, passionate sex that we had night after night.

  God, I missed sex! But what I missed more was companionship and that feeling of belonging to someone or something greater than just me. However imperfect it had been, my relationship with Jake at least made me feel part of something and now I just felt lonely. Maggie let out a little squeak, almost a giggle, and my heart splintered just a little. Of course I wasn’t alone. But then again seeing her, her eyes the mirror image of her father’s, I felt confusion sweep over me.

  I needed to see him and I needed to see him soon. Dan said he would be away a “few” days. I wondered how long a few meant. Was it three? If it was then one of those days was already done and perhaps it would only be two days until I saw him again. I lifted the phone to dial Beth and Dan’s number but then, remembering the scene in the shop earlier and the icy atmosphere between them, I hung up.

  God damn it, why was no one home when I needed to talk? I lifted Maggie and walked around the flat, feeling uneasy and unsettled. When we walked into the kitchen and I saw the rose, for just a second I thought I might phone Tom. Surely his number had to be on the leaflets downstairs. I didn’t know him from Adam but surely that wouldn’t matter? He did, after all, think I looked amazing and if he did think I looked amazing then surely he wouldn’t mind a phone call from me at 10.30pm?

  I padded downstairs, my daughter in my arms, to Beth’s desk, and I noticed her computer was still on. I shouldn’t have looked, but then again I always was a nosey fecker and I couldn’t help it. Clicking on the screen, I was about to enter the world of Betsy Boo and her imaginary friends.

  

  Chapter 29

  Beth

  The flat was in darkness when I came home. I don’t know what I expected. I hoped he would be there, but I kind of knew he wouldn’t be. I had hoped I would walk in and he would envelop
e me in his arms and tell me it was okay. Instead I walked into a cold and dark room. Flicking on the lamps and the gas fire I made myself a cup of tea and curled up on the sofa.

  A sickening feeling filled me. Maybe he wasn’t coming back, ever. I still couldn’t believe I slapped him. I swear I felt my hand sting and my cheeks burn at the memory. It just felt as if everything was going wrong.

  The light was flashing on the answerphone and so I pressed play, hoping but again not expecting, Dan to have left a message,

  “Beth, it’s Mum. It feels like ages since we’ve had a chat. I’m just ringing to tell you I miss you and I really want to see you soon. I’m tired of my only daughter giving me the cold shoulder. Call me back.”

  In those few seconds, I realised how much I missed my mum. I didn’t want to push her away any more. I was tired of pushing people away so I lifted the phone, dialled her number and waited to hear her voice. The phone rang, but there was no answer – just an answerphone for me to talk to – but when the beep came I couldn’t speak. There was a lump in my throat, choking me, and I couldn’t say all the things I wanted to, so I hung up feeling more wretched than before. Funny, I hadn’t thought that possible.

  This was bad. I felt worse than the time I cheated on a maths class test and had the teacher tell me how proud he was of me, when I knew it was all a lie. I had pretended on that occasion too that everything was perfect. But I was tired now, tired of pretending everything was perfect with Dan and me. I didn’t care if the doctors said nothing was wrong, something was clearly very wrong and I was going to get answers. I would demand the Clomid he had talked about prescribing me. I would opt for whatever test they could offer. I would do whatever it took.

  That is, I would if Dan would let me. At the moment I didn’t even know if he wanted me at all. He could be out finding someone else right now – some gorgeous young thing with wide child-bearing hips and a uterus in perfect working order. Someone who didn’t ever slap anyone around the face, no matter how much they irked them.

  I switched on the computer and logged on. It was time to tell the girls that Betsy Boo wasn’t pregnant this month. They would understand. They would be able to comfort me and tell me I wasn’t going mad. Then again, maybe I was just fooling myself about that too. I switched it off almost as quickly as I had switched it on and climbed into bed hoping that if I fell asleep I would wake up and find Dan beside me.

  *****

  I was sixteen when I first kissed him. It wasn’t a remarkable story. It was the college disco and I’d had a vodka and coke, stolen from my mum’s drinks cabinet. I was a little drunk. Dan has teased me about being a cheap date ever since. “Back for Good” by Take That was playing and I was pretending that I hated them when the truth was that if Robbie Williams had walked into the school assembly hall at just that moment I would have completely lost control of my faculties.

  Dan was gorgeous. All the girls loved him. He was one of the cool kids, but he worked hard. We all knew he was going to make it big one day and every one of us wanted to be on his arm when he got there. I couldn’t believe it when he walked over to me and asked me to dance.

  I had been standing there, cool as could be in my distressed denim jeans, white T-shirt and Rachel haircut from Friends when he walked over, hands in his pockets, floppy fringe hanging over his eyes and I felt my heart-beat quicken and my mouth dry and I was sure I would throw up, or choke, or spit or faint and do something so stupid that he would walk away and I would become the laughing stock of the entire college.

  “Wanna dance?” he asked and those two words (or is it three) changed my life forever.

  I did want to dance and we moved awkwardly together, not sure where to put our hands or how close to stand or what to do with our lips. I remember staring at his mouth, willing him to kiss me but being terrified at the same time. What if I was no good? What if he was no good? What if he slobbered and in that one sloppy kiss-moment destroyed my illusions of him, or what if he pulled away at my shoddy sixteen-year-old effort?

  With his hand resting at the small of my back and his fringe tickling the top of my head he leant forward and I tilted my head towards him, our mouths meeting in a gentle, wonderful, sexy kiss that sent every one of my three-and-a-half-million teenage hormones into overdrive.

  We were pretty inseparable after that. Of course everyone said it wouldn’t last. We were much too young. When we went to university the vultures would start circling. We were definitely not going to survive the time apart.

  But it was true for us: absence did make the heart grow fonder.

  I was smug about it, I’ll admit. We had the perfect relationship and I always, always felt one hundred per cent secure in what we had. On those lazy boozy nights out on the piss with Aoife, I never looked at another man. I never felt the need. I had everything I wanted and while I didn’t mind going on the hunt for a man for Aoifs, that’s all it ever was.

  Those few years, when we had stolen weekends crammed together in a single bed for hours on end, only getting up to order a pizza or open another couple of bottles of beer! It was a far cry from the life we had now with our perfect apartment complete with designer drapes, Italian leather sofas and John Rocha Waterford Crystal to drink our wine from.

  Funny, life was simpler then. We were happier then – with nothing but each other. It hurt me to admit it but it seemed now as I lay in bed waiting for the turning of his key in the lock, that that wasn’t enough any more. Without a baby – our baby – nothing was enough.

  I closed my eyes and pulled the duvet up over my face, fooling myself that I could fall asleep. “It’s not bloody fair,” I muttered as hot tears ran down my face. “It’s just not bloody fair.”

  

  Chapter 30

  Aoife

  As it turned out Beth’s imaginary friends weren’t all newly wed bridezillas gossiping about the soaps and the latest fashions in Zara and Ghost. They were women who were obsessed with babies and trying to get pregnant and ovulation, basal temperatures and egg-white cervical mucus, whatever the holy fuck that was.

  My head was spinning. Betsy Boo was one of them – one of those faceless women who had posted month in and month out about their quest to get pregnant.

  Tears poured down my face as I read of her disappointment each and every month. When the tears stopped they were replaced by horror at all the things I’d said – all the times I’d chided her about her childless life, all the times I’d teased her about getting a move on or her eggs would shrivel up to nothing. For all I knew they were already shrivelled up.

  And when the embarrassment lifted, the anger set in. She was my best friend. How could she not share this with me? Didn’t she trust me? Was I not really her friend? Were the past ten years of living and working in each other’s pockets all a big fat lie? For God’s sake, I was a mother now. Surely if anyone could understand what she had been going through it would have been me?

  Slamming closed the laptop I paced the length of the shop. When had we relocated from Richmond to the Twilight Zone? Things could not get any messier or any weirder if they tried their very hardest.

  Putting my life into perspective, things were at the very best eventful and at the very worst completely mental. Here I was, a mother of one, with an ex-partner who wanted to see his daughter and a new mystery man telling me I was amazing and giving me flowers for no apparent reason. And then there was my mother who never really loved me – well, not enough anyway – and my brother who lived so far up his own arse he could brush his teeth from the inside. And him and his perfect wife were about to produce yet another perfect child to make their perfect life more fecking perfect while my best friend, who clearly now desperately wanted to have a baby – and whose life I had thought was perfect – was going through hell and not telling me because I was either too damn selfish to be relied on or she just didn’t think I had a right to know.

  And I was standing in a closed shop at eleven o’clock on a Wednesday night, telling all t
his to a fecking statue of an angel called Matilda who, by the sly look on her face, seemed to find it hilariously funny.

  As if on cue, Maggie started to whimper and I joined in. Walking upstairs, I held her in my arms and wished with every part of me that I could hit the pause button and catch my breath.

  Thankfully Maggie settled quickly – amazing what a good boob can do – and I looked down into her eyes and realised just how hard all this must have been for Beth. All those times she held Maggie, wanting a baby of her own.

  I wanted to call her, but Lord knows if she would be available to take my call or if she and Dan would be having a deep and meaningful encounter. I stared at my mobile, willing a text message to bleep from her telling me she was okay, and at the same time trying not to lift it and text her myself just to tell her how fecking mad at her I was.

  ****

  Beth didn’t show up for work that following morning. I was lying sleeping, blissfully enjoying a snooze after dealing with the early morning feed, when I heard a god-awful clatter from downstairs. The shutters of the shop were being pounded in and just at the stage where I was about to lift the phone and call in the local constabulary, it burst into life itself.

  “Hello?” I asked, cuddling my daughter to me as if that simple gesture would protect me from what I imagined to be a serial killer battering at my door.

  “Aoife, it’s me, Heather. I’ve been standing outside for twenty minutes. It’s bloody freezing and Beth isn’t answering her phone. It’s gone quarter to ten. Can you ever let me in?”

  “I’ll be right down,” I muttered, climbing out of bed and slipping into my furry dressing-gown which made me look kind of like the Abominable Snowman. Typical, the one morning I had no trouble switching off the voices inside my head and falling back to sleep, Beth didn’t show up and I had to let Heather in.