by Claire Allan
“So you’ve got him wearing boxers and eating all the right foods and everything?”
I raised my eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that, Beth. I read magazines. This is more common than you think.”
“I know, Mum. I know it’s common,” I said, shaking my head, but sometimes, when faced with Aoife and her amazing procreational abilities, it didn’t feel common at all. I mean, for God’s sake, Aoife threw up one pill – one pill – and bam, sperm, egg, baby. Job done.
Mum continued: “Look, I know it must be lonely. I know you must feel like the only person in the world who has ever tried and failed to conceive a baby, but it really is more common than you think. There was an article in Marie Claire about it just last month. Wait there, I’ll run and find the copy.”
“Mum, there’s no need,” I said as she disappeared out of the room.
Well, at least she knew. And Aoife knew. It was all out there in the open now and thankfully the pair of them had taken it well. They hadn’t stared at me with unwanted sympathy, they’d just got on with it.
I heard her run down the stairs and then she re-entered the kitchen, Marie Claire under her arm and a rather sheepish-looking husband behind her.
“Your mum has told me,” Dad said, his face blushing as crimson as my red pyjama trousers. “Princess, whatever it takes. Whatever money you need. Whatever we can do, we’ll help you through this.”
I smiled, weakly. God only knows what Mother had told him. Knowing her, she’d even revealed Dan’s sperm was A-okay. And I definitely did not want my daddy to know anything about sperm. No way.
He came over and hugged me, an awkward middle-class kind of a hug which radiated embarrassment but a certain sense of duty.
“And Beth, if it turns out that you can’t have babies, sure we can always buy one of those ones from one of those eastern countries or the like.”
At least that made me laugh, but for the life of him my father couldn’t understand why.
We chatted for a little longer and then, all of a sudden, I felt tired. The kind of tiredness that only comes when you have truly been unburdened. There might only have been a wee glimpse of it but as I climbed the stairs to bed, Marie Claire under my arm, I felt – just for a split second – a little glimmer of hope.
I climbed into bed, spooning myself against a still sleeping Dan and fell into the most restful sleep I had had in about a year.
*****
When I woke he had gone. The sun was streaming through the Roman blinds, casting a shadow across the room and from a quick glance at the height of the sun in the sky I realised I must have been asleep for a long time. I looked at the clock by the bed and saw it had gone eleven. Ordinarily this would have me sitting bolt upright and jumping at the day, but not today. Today I felt relaxed and I allowed myself to sink back down into the pillows and close my eyes again.
When I woke for a second time, Dan was beside me, cup of tea and bacon sandwich in hand. I had a sense he had been there for some time and as I opened my eyes he reached over and kissed me gently on the forehead.
“Morning, Betsy,” he said with a smile.
“Hey, you.”
“So you told your parents then?” he said, rubbing his hand gently along my arm.
“I did.”
“And they were fine?”
“They were fine but most of all, Dan, I was fine. I’m sorry. You were right. We should have told them a long time ago. We had nothing to be ashamed of, and I’m sorry for all I’ve put you through.”
He put his finger to my lips – in an act so tender and delicate that I felt my heart leap in my chest in the way it had done all those years ago.
“For better or worse, Beth,” he said and then he kissed me.
Chapter 38
Aoife
“So there were two kisses then?” Beth asked, as I curled my feet up under me on the daybed and opened our second packet of Jaffa Cakes.
“Well, I don’t know if Tom’s counts as a kiss,” I said through a mouthful of biscuity goodness.
“Did his lips touch your anatomy?” Beth said with a wicked smile.
“Well, yes, but it wasn’t a snog. Jesus, I sound like a fourteen-year-old talking about snogs! Surely there must be a more acceptable way to discuss a curt with a member of the opposite sex.”
“Curt, I like that word,” Beth laughed, practising her best Derry accent. In our thirteen years of friendship she had mastered an impressive repertoire of Derry phrases, and curt, Derry teenage slang for snogging, was her current favourite. “You could always say embrace,” she added.
“I think I’ll stay with curt!” I answered. “Anyway, we were talking and, Beth, I have to tell you he’s a great listener. Things just happened. I don’t even know how.” I touched my fingers to my cheek, to the exact spot where his lips had made contact. “But I’m sure it was just a friendly kiss and I’m sure that’s all I want it to be,” I said with a false confidence.
“And what do you want from Jake? Please tell me you don’t want him back, not after everything he has done!”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I sighed, cramming a full Jaffa Cake into my mouth.
“Because we care about you,” Beth said.
I rolled my eyes in what I admit was a very childish gesture. I was rewarded for my childishness with a Jaffa Cake hurled directly at my head.
“He destroyed you, Aoife, and he walked out on Maggie.”
“But he didn’t. He didn’t walk out on Maggie. Yes, he left me and he left a positive pregnancy test, but he didn’t leave her. He came for her and you should have seen how he looked at her – like she was the most precious thing in the world!”
“So where is he now? Where was he yesterday when you were dining with Mr Austin? Where is he today?”
“Working,” I said, and got up to put the kettle on. “Things are starting to happen for him.”
It was her turn to roll her eyes. I realised this conversation wasn’t going anywhere positive.
“Anyway, Tom is calling around later to look at our yard,” I said in an effort to avert a crisis.
“Just look at it?” she said, a smile letting me know I had been successful.
“No, we were out there last night after dinner and he said it had a lot of potential as one of those gorgeous little city gardens. I don’t know why we never thought of it before but now that I have Maggie I can’t help but feel it would be nice to have somewhere to sit out in the summer. Not to mention, Tom said he would do it at a knock-down price if we showed it to clients looking for a similar makeover. Everyone’s a winner!”
“And you get to spend more time with Tom,” Beth said, eyebrow now seemingly permanently raised.
“Yes, I get to spend more time with a friend.”
“Whose kiss on the cheek makes you all flustered.”
Perhaps it was time to start talking about Jake again.
Beth had seemed more like herself that evening. I couldn’t quite believe the transformation in her and yet, at the same time, I had a flash of guilt that I hadn’t really realised how unlike herself she had become over the last few months.
I know that as excuses go mine was a pretty damn good one. I mean, how was I supposed to keep a track of her moods when my own were all over the place, while oestrogen and progesterone and whatever else was coursing through my veins at a rate of knots? But all that aside, she was my best friend. I had known her for thirteen years. I should have noticed her light dimming a little. But at least now I could see it brighten again. I could put all my problems, worries and concerns aside for just a few moments and be thankful for that.
And then I would go back to thinking about Jake and Tom, but Jake mostly with occasional thoughts of Tom and that softest of kisses on the cheek. At the end of the day, when Jake kissed me (and used his tongue) I’d known what his intentions were. He wanted me. I knew that and I knew I liked it. There was a familiar stirring in me and I knew –
leaky boobs aside – that if he kissed me again I would be powerless to resist.
As for Tom. He was sweet and kind. He planted nice flowers. But his kiss was just a friendly one.
“It didn’t mean anything,” I said to Maggie as she gazed into my eyes, trying to convince myself I meant it.
*****
Tuesday was always going to be a bit of a strange day. First of all I had agreed with Beth to take Maggie with me when I accompanied her on a visit to Elena Kennedy’s pad. Apparently Elena’s boudoir was now “dated” and she wanted a new look for the spring. We couldn’t complain really – the woman was one of the sole reasons Instant Karma had stayed afloat in the early, dodgy years and thanks to her connections we were kept busier than we could really manage.
And then Jake was going to call round. He could finally slot us in – and I’m sure it was in the hope I could “slot him in” in return.
Packing Maggie’s industrial-sized baby bag, I told her of our plans. “First we are going to see the lovely, Mrs Kennedy. If you could manage to look really, really cute and not throw up or do one of those big skittery poos of yours or squeal your head off, that would be grand. I’ve only brought three changes of clothes, so please keep that in mind. Feel free to sleep, my angel, too, any time you want.”
I kissed her head and wondered if anyone in the world had hair as soft and downy as hers.
As I started to strap her into her car seat, the phone rang, making her jump out of her contented doze and scream blue murder.
It was Perfect Jacqueline. “Hi, Aoife. Goodness, Margaret doesn’t sound too happy there, does she? Is it colic? It sounds like a colicky cry to me. Odhran had it for a bit but only after I ate out one night. You are eating properly, aren’t you? It’s very important when you are breast-feeding.”
“Hi, Jacqueline, how are you?” I said, choosing to ignore her barbs.
“Well, actually, I was phoning to ask when you might be available to do the baby’s nursery. Time is ticking on.”
I rolled my eyes. “But surely you are only about eighteen weeks gone? There’s a lot of time.”
“But you know your brother, Aoife. He likes things sorted long before time.”
I knew that was a blatant lie. Joe was a typical man. He didn’t give a flying feck if things were done on time or late. All he cared about was his work, his beer and the footie.
“But surely the baby will be with you for a couple of months first?”
“Six actually, or maybe seven. You know you’re supposed to keep them with you for six at least? I hope you haven’t put Margaret in her own room yet – she’s much too young.”
“Maggie is fine and she is with me,” I answered tersely. “But then surely if Baby is going to be with you for six or seven months there is no rush at all.”
She sighed. I swear I heard her eyes rolling. “You’re being quite unhelpful, Aoife, and my hormones are all over the place. You should have more consideration.”
“Jacqueline, my baby is barely six weeks old. I’m on maternity leave and I’m in another country. What exactly do you expect me to do?”
“No need to get shirty!”
“That’s where you’re wrong. There is every need to get shirty. Every bloody need in the world!” And at that I slammed the phone down with such strength that the number two bounced off and flew across the room.
“Feck,” I said and, now more than just a little flustered, I lifted my daughter, still screeching in her car seat, and headed downstairs to meet Beth.
Waving to Heather, who was lost in the most recent edition of Heat magazine I climbed into Beth’s car and set about ranting about the god-awful pain in the arse my sister-in-law was.
“Why don’t you tell your mother to have a word?” Beth asked with a smile and the thought of my mother having a word with the daughter she never had made me laugh.
“Forget about it, Aoife. Don’t let the madwoman annoy you. She’s a hundred miles away, what damage can she do?”
****
Elena Kennedy’s house was a thing of beauty and I’m not just saying that because Beth and I have redesigned it about twenty times over. A mixture of neutral and accent colours, bespoke furniture, gorgeous lighting, all tied together with a theme which brought the outdoors in. When you walked into Elena Kennedy’s hall you felt your stress levels fall immediately. It was the jewel in our interior design crown and if I had the money I would buy it off her and live in it myself. It was the house of my dreams and why she wanted to tweak it any further was beyond me.
“Aoife,” she purred as she walked down her marble staircase, “so very lovely to see you and your gorgeous little girl again. Come through the lounge. I have a little present for her.”
I followed her through to the living-room, perhaps my favourite room in the house. The walls were off-white, with natural wood flooring and distressed furniture surrounding a grand marble fireplace. Her chaise-longue had been a rare find – one we had made on a weekend trip to Paris on a booze cruise. We had wandered around some of the markets on the Sunday morning, eyes bleary with our hangovers, and I had spotted the piece in the window of a shop. Yes, it needed a little makeover – some tender loving care – but I could see the potential and it had become my favourite ever find.
I sat down on it, lifting Maggie from her car seat and pointing her away from the rich fabric I had used to recover it and towards the more washable floor.
Elena lifted a small, blue bag from the console table and handed it to us.
“It’s only something small, but hopefully you will like it.”
I opened the gift bag to find a stunning Tiffany rattle and a gift envelope.
“I hope you don’t mind, Aoife,” she said as I opened the card, “but I’ve set up a little trust fund for Maggie. It’s not much but you girls do so much for me, I wanted to do something special for her.”
The something special was to the tune of £2,000. Approximately £1,995 more than Maggie’s own granny had spent on her.
I could barely believe my eyes. “Elena, it’s a gorgeous and generous gesture but it’s much too much. Really, we couldn’t possibly accept this.”
“You don’t have to accept it. It’s for Maggie, not for you.”
Her tone was such that I knew not to argue. Much as I respected Elena and her custom, I knew she was not the kind of person you wanted to get on the wrong side of.
Perhaps then it was the wrong time to mention her asking Tom to keep an eye on me.
“So I hear you had dinner with Tom Austin on Saturday,” she said, lifting Maggie and holding her against her ridiculously expensive Dior shirt. Seems she had no such qualms about raising the topic of her interference in my life.
“We did indeed,” I answered, “and it was lovely.”
“Hope you don’t mind my meddling,” she said with a sly grin.
I shook my head, perhaps unconvincingly. “Not at all. Tom seems like a very nice person. I’m sure we could be great friends.”
Beth snorted – which I thought was rather unprofessional and a little bit disloyal to me.
“Yes, well, we’ll see,” Elena answered, rocking Maggie gently.
It seems this was another discussion in which Elena did not want to be argued with.
Elena Kennedy liked to follow trends. She had heard many reports of Megan Park and her beaded cushions and wraps. This was the new look she wanted for her bedroom in hues of ethnic greens and creams. I tried to explain it wouldn’t tie in with the rest of the house but she wasn’t to be dissuaded. If her bedroom looked well, she would follow this with the guest room and the kitchen.
“If you’re sure,” Beth said, not bothering with measuring up the room as we almost knew the figures by heart.
“Dear hearts, I am always sure about everything I do,” Elena said and signed off yet another cheque to us.
At least if no one else in Richmond or the wider area ever wanted an interior-design firm again, we would be safe with Elena.
&n
bsp; ***
We called into Morelli’s for coffee on the way back to the shop. Beth ordered a latte while I reluctantly stayed with my decaf.
We were just biting into our gorgeous homemade biscotti when the door opened and Tom walked in.
“We really have to stop meeting like this,” he smiled, staring somewhat pointedly at the empty chair beside Beth.
I would have ignored the hint, but Beth smiled and pulled it out. “Have a seat, Tom. I’m sure you’re exhausted from lugging plants around all day.”
“Actually today I was putting together some displays for a wedding. Not quite so macho,” he answered, sitting down and lifting the coffee menu from the table.
I glared at Beth across the table and she smiled back.
“So Aoife tells me you are going to transform our sad little yard into a gorgeous city-centre retreat?”
“Well, I’ll give it a go. There’s so much you can do with it. It’s a great little suntrap – perfect for fragrant plants and flowers. It could be a real treat for you both.”
“Well, it will be more for Aoife really, won’t it?” Beth said. “I mean she’ll be around more than me.”
“Not really,” I interjected. “It will be there to benefit all our businesses.”
Mrs Morelli bustled over with a cappuccino for Tom. “I don’t know why you look at the menu every day, Mr Austin – you always order the same thing,” she smiled.
He glanced in my direction. “I guess I just know what I like.”
***
I wasn’t surprised when I got the phone call. A little disappointed maybe, but not surprised. I had got home from Morelli’s in plenty of time to clean the flat, have a shower and even shave my legs – all the while praying fervently that Maggie would stay sleeping. I lit some scented candles, blow-dried my hair and spritzed on some Chanel No 5. I was just putting in my earrings when the phone burst into life.