‘No! Well, maybe, and if they do, she won’t feel a thing,’ Rosie said soothingly.
‘What do you look like?’ Phil stared at his eldest, taking in her school skirt, which was crumpled into a creased mess, and her matted hair. ‘You look like you’ve been living in a barn!’
‘Leona May Tipcott?’ The doctor stood in the brightly lit, rectangular room and called her name, louder than was strictly necessary, Rosie thought, considering that the only other patients waiting were an elderly man who had cut his head and a young male footballer with a dodgy looking ankle, neither of whom were likely to go by that name.
Naomi answered her dad just as loudly. ‘I haven’t been living in a barn, Dad. I’m all screwed up because I was wearing your pants, but Mum said I couldn’t go out in public like that.’
Rosie smiled at the young medic and wondered what their little family must look like to a stranger: she in her jeans, blue Converse and sweatshirt, stressed and with the fish pie she had made for supper splattered over her front; Phil covered in plastering dust; Naomi with her sparkly purple face, wild hair and screwed-up skirt; and Leona with a pirate patch on her forehead and a bump up each nose.
‘Yep, that’s us!’ She stood up.
Taking Leona by the hand, she smiled at her husband. ‘This is nearly as embarrassing as the time we went to look at that show house and she took a dump in the bidet!’
‘I remember.’ He laughed.
As Rosie bent to pick up her little girl, a wad of loo roll fell out of her bra and landed on the floor, in the middle of which sat her pregnancy test.
‘What’s that?’ Naomi yelled and jumped on it, pulling the plastic from the paper and removing the lid, before placing the soggy tip in her palm. ‘Urgh!’ she shouted, then held up her hand for her dad’s inspection.
Rosie held her husband’s eye, gave a gentle shake of her head and swallowed the desire to cry. I wanted this baby, Phil. I wanted it so very much...
*
‘They’re both asleep.’ She sighed, grateful that it was bedtime. It had been a very long day. She popped her soft bed socks on. The cold wind seemed to rattle down the redundant chimneybreast in their bedroom and straight up under the duvet; socks were her salvation.
‘Only us, Rosie, eh?’ Phil pulled back the duvet and patted the space in the bed next to where he lay.
‘I swear I only turned my back for a single minute to go to the loo and she had them up her nose! Why she would think that was a good idea, God only knows.’ She pulled off her dressing gown and adjusted her bra; her large chest made her too self-conscious to sleep without one. She sank down onto the mattress, embarrassed, as ever, by the way it sagged under her weight.
‘There’s no point in trying to fathom that girl, she is a law unto herself, always has been. In fact they both are.’ Phil smiled, as if this fact delighted him. ‘The doctor said Leo had her own filing cabinet, she’d been there that often. I think he was only half joking.’
She laughed. ‘It’ll be something to put in your wedding speech.’
‘Love, if I was to go through everything those two have been up to, I’d be there all night, we’d have to cancel the disco! And I hate to think what’s to come – they’re not even in double digits yet!’
‘Oh, don’t say that! We’re not cancelling the disco! I think about that day, you know.’
He smiled. ‘Me too. I just hope I’ve paid off the credit card by then, or it won’t only be no disco, it’ll be no dress, no sausage rolls, nothing. I’ll be encouraging them to elope.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m going to win the lottery. That’s my pension plan.’ She snuggled against his warm body.
‘That, my lover, is genius. Why didn’t I think of that?’ He chuckled.
‘I can try and get more shifts at the caravans?’ she said. She was willing to do anything to ease the burden on her husband, whose salary was their main income, but like many jobs where they lived, the work was seasonal.
Outsiders who owned second homes in the area often wanted refurbishments, new decks, extensions and licks of paint before the summer season, but after that things always slowed, and the winter months were the slowest of all. Phil worked with his dad, Keith, his cousin Ross and, on occasion, when he was at home, his younger brother Kevin, affectionately known to his family as ‘Kev, that lazy, hippy, travelling bastard’.
Rosie was always keen to defend Kev. She knew it was said in loving jest, but Kev was far from lazy, just different. The more academic of the two boys, he had gone to university and now travelled the globe working in marine conservation. Phil liked to poke fun at his long hair and laid-back attitude, unable to understand that just because he got to sail the high seas and sit on paradisiacal beaches, he was still working. Besides, if it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have ended up with Phil.
Kevin Tipcott had been her mate and was in her class at school. He kept an eye on her, walked her to the bus and made her roar with laughter at every opportunity; his humour was the best weapon in his arsenal. When she was twelve, Kev had taken her back to his house for tea and introduced her to his mum, Mo, who wanted to look after and spoil the poor motherless girl. And Rosie let her, willingly, pitching up at weekends for toast and honey around the family table and sitting in front of the fire to enjoy a good old gossip.
One weekend a few years later, she was sitting at the Tipcott tea table when Phil came home on R&R and informed the family that he was leaving the army, having decided it wasn’t the job for him after all. Rosie had barely heard his words but had simply stared at the man, weak kneed, as she tried to work out why her heart felt as if it had been turned inside out. A whole three years older, he seemed grown-up, sexy and able, all in one bundle. So, yes, she was keen to defend Kev; he had given her her family.
Phil sighed. Rosie’s job, even if only minimum wage, was at least regular. When the weather took a turn for the worse, surfers and walkers replaced the sunseekers at the holiday park and Rosie was happy enough to clean the caravans before and after their stays. ‘We’re okay, but thanks for offering, love. You’ve got enough on your plate and I don’t think more shifts are going to cut it.’
She nestled in closer. ‘I think about our wedding day a lot, and I know when I see the girls walk up the aisle on your arm, it’ll be like we’ve come full circle. I think they’ll be my proudest days, seeing them with you, starting their own books as we write our final chapters.’
‘Blimey, that’s quite poetic for you! Thankfully, I don’t think you have to worry about that just now. We’ve got a few years yet. They are only five and seven!’
‘I know.’ Rosie clicked off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. ‘I was never that fussed about the actual day for us. I remember my mates being very excited about the frock and the setting and the invites, but I didn’t feel that. I was far more interested in becoming your wife and getting on with the business of setting up our little house, cooking for you, being together. It wasn’t so much about the celebration but more what came after.’
Phil placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him as he kissed the top of her scalp. She laid her head on his chest.
‘I remember, and I loved you for it. I wondered if it was because your mum wasn’t around and you didn’t have her to share it with.’
Rosie lifted her head to try and see his face in the dark. ‘It wasn’t that, not really. They say you don’t miss what you never had but I’m not sure I would agree. I do think that’s why maybe I wanted my own little family and why I treasure you all so much.’ Discussions like this were rare. Her thoughts about family inevitably led to her thinking about the plastic spatula, which had been grabbed from Naomi’s hand and deposited in the nearest bin. Her periods had always been irregular and a mistimed fumble in haste without reaching for precautions meant that for weeks now she had harboured the idea that she might have conceived. And the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced it was the case, with sickness
and sore boobs as further evidence.
‘My test was negative,’ she reminded him.
‘I know. Are you disappointed?’
She nodded her cheek against his skin. ‘A bit,’ she lied, trying to ignore the gnaw of sadness in her gut and the ache in her arms to hold a baby, their baby, one more time. She knew it was selfish, and she had so much to feel thankful for, not least their two beautiful girls, but the ache was there just the same. ‘I just know we’re running out of time. And that makes me feel quite sad. As though the opportunity might pass us by.’
Their sex life was now very low-key; they were always either too tired, too busy or too can’t be bothered. Rosie knew deep down that if she had a better figure, she would be more comfortable initiating things, but until that day came, she would continue to layer up and hope for undisturbed sleep. She heard her husband’s deep sigh, then felt the heave and sag of a body weary of the baby discussion.
‘I know it’s what you want, Rosie, but everything happens for a reason.’
She listened, noting his use of ‘you’ and not ‘we’. She knew what was coming next and lay there silently, having predicted his response with uncanny accuracy.
‘I think it’d be hard to cope with a baby not only financially but space-wise as well. I mean, we’re okay for money right now, but next month, who knows? We just about manage as it is. The girls share a bedroom, the box room is full of crap and we could do with another room downstairs. Imagine if we had to find somewhere for a baby and all its gubbins. It’d be miserable.’
‘Or it might be the spur you need to get on with clearing out the box room. Half of it’s your old army stuff and sports kit, and we could knock downstairs through like we’ve always wanted. And actually, Phil, I think it would be the opposite of miserable,’ she whispered. ‘Remember when we brought each of the girls home? I had that feeling in my stomach like I might burst, like I was too lucky.’
‘It was wonderful, but I think with Naomi it was because we didn’t know what to expect and with Leona we were still shell-shocked after Naomi.’ He laughed. ‘But another baby? I think that ship might have sailed. We’re not getting any younger.’
‘I’m thirty-six! Lots of women have babies way older than me!’ she protested, louder than she intended.
‘They probably do, but I bet they also have spare bedrooms, spare cash and spare minutes in the day. We don’t have any of those things and I don’t want the girls to go without anything—’
‘Neither do I!’ she interrupted, irritated that he might be suggesting otherwise.
Both were quiet, firing silent reasons and justifications out into the darkness. Their bodies were tense, but neither wanted to be the first to move to the other side of the bed and escalate the row.
It was Phil that had the final word before sleep claimed him. ‘We need to give the girls the best we can. If it had happened, then we’d have dealt with it, but it hasn’t and if I’m being honest, Rosie, I’m relieved.’
She accepted his final kiss of the day and wiggled over to her side of the bed, where she buried her face in her pillow. There had been a few precious minutes earlier in the day, as she’d waited for the test results to show, when there had been the very real possibility that she was going to become a mum again, maybe even to the little boy that she longed for. And unlike her snoring husband, what she felt now was far from relief. She pictured the child that lived in her mind and felt nothing but deep sadness.
*
In the morning, Rosie woke bright and early, shoved the washing in the machine and prepped the packed lunches for the day.
‘What’s this?’ Phil stood in his work trousers with the padded knees and his black sweatshirt with the name Tipcott and Sons embroidered on his chest and peered into his Bob the Builder lunchbox.
‘It’s your lunch! What do you think? I always make your lunch.’ She smiled.
‘Yes, love, and I appreciate it, but lunch usually consists of a sandwich, a bag of crisps and a slice of one of your cakes. But this looks like...’ He screwed up his nose, ‘...grass.’
She laughed loudly; he still had the ability to make her laugh. And she was grateful for the jovial atmosphere that morning. The pregnancy test and their subsequent discussion was forgotten about, for now.
‘For God’s sake, Phil, it’s salad, with shredded kale and all sorts of lovely things in a sesame and soy sauce dressing.’
‘Oh no! We’re not on a health kick again, are we?’ He snapped the lid shut. ‘Better ring my mum and tell her to make Dad double!’
‘Don’t you dare! Yes, we are on a health kick. And we shall do it together. My magazine says we are twice as likely to succeed if we do this together.’
‘But I don’t want to succeed. I want to eat my sandwiches at lunchtime and a bit of your cake!’ He scowled.
‘You’ll thank me when the summer comes and you can get into your Superdry trunks that we got for Andy and Mel’s barbeque last year.’ She kissed his cheek.
‘I love you, Rosie, you know that, but the only way to shift weight is to actually do something about it. Reading articles isn’t enough.’ His tone was soft.
‘I know.’ She smiled. ‘But it’s not about how much you love me. It’s about how much I love myself and I don’t all the time, not looking like this.’ She ran the flat of her palm over the roll of stomach that pouched over her jeans. ‘I need to lose it for me and for my health.’ She felt embarrassed, hated having to discuss the subject, especially as she’d been that way since having the girls and could have lost it ten times over if only she’d stuck to her good intentions.
‘Well, I’ll support you, of course, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t stop for a sneaky pasty on the way home.’ He laughed.
‘Well just don’t tell me about it!’ She laughed too. ‘Where you working today, still up at Mortehoe?’
‘Yep.’ He nodded. ‘You should see it, Rosie. My word, it’s something else. The architect is up there every day. Poor bloke’s being run ragged. She keeps changing her mind about the colour of the tiles in one of the bathrooms, the way a wall curves by the pool, could he make the laundry room wider, is it too late to have a real fire in the bedroom? She’s a right pain in the arse and I swear to God it’s like as soon as she’s got something she’s had to argue and fight for, she doesn’t want it any more, has us all running around in circles, just because she’s got all the time in the world. I hate to think how much she’s spent, must be at least three million all in.’
‘God! You are kidding me?’ Rosie gasped. ‘Three million!’
‘Yep, and that’s just on the rebuild and refit, mind, not what it cost to buy the land and the house that sat on it.’
‘Mind you, prime bit of land, that. Right on the clifftop,’ Rosie mused.
‘True. And it’s not her only home; apparently she’s got a place in London and one in Florida. But I bet the others don’t have the view she’s got up at Mortehoe. It’s beautiful.’
‘It would have to be for three million quid. Did you say it has a swimming pool?’ Rosie tried to picture it.
‘It’s got two. One outside – an infinity pool that makes it feel like you’re swimming off the cliff – and another massive one in the basement, where there’s also a gym and a sauna and all sorts of other bells and whistles. It’s like a bloody hotel!’
‘No hotel we’ve ever stayed in.’ Rosie lifted her shoulders excitedly. ‘I’d love to see it.’
‘If she’s not around, I’ll try and get some photos on my phone. I find it quite amazing how one person can have so much, all that space. Mind you, if we weren’t constantly shelling out for kids and what not, we might be able to have a swimming pool.’
‘Where would you put it, exactly? In the front room? The back garden’s just big enough for my washing line!’
‘Good point, think we’ll leave it. I’d only keep falling in every time I went to reach for the remote control.’ He smiled.
‘How’d she get so much mon
ey?’
‘Apparently she and a couple of others started a smallish company that got floated on the stock exchange and she got millions.’
‘What’s she like?’
Phil exhaled. ‘Don’t know how to describe her really. I’ve not spoken to her much. She looks like one of them women who spends a lot of time in the hairdresser’s – you know, bouffy hair and nails all painted, and loads of make-up. The kind of woman you could never snog or you’d end up with a mouth covered in lipstick.’ He puckered his lips theatrically and leaned in towards her. Rosie backed away, holding up her palms, unwilling to kiss him before she had cleaned her teeth.
‘Oi! I should think you wouldn’t want to snog anyone!’ She laughed.
‘I don’t want to snog anyone but you, Rosie, you know that.’ He pecked her cheek despite her protestations. ‘But I’ll say this about her: for all her fake nails and teeth, she gets things done. Got half the contractors in Devon running around like ants at her command, and that takes some doing.’ He gave a nod of approval.
‘What was her company, then, that she put on the stock exchange?’
Phil shrugged. ‘Something to do with computers, I think. I don’t know.’
Rosie laughed. ‘Well, I know you don’t know, you can’t even work the satnav!’
‘I tell you what, love, I’ll have it programmed for the Red Barn quicker than you can say sesame and soy dressing if you keep making me eat this.’ He waved the lunchbox in her direction before placing it in his tool bag. ‘I could murder one of their breakfasts.’
‘Can I come to the Red Barn?’ Naomi waltzed into the little kitchen, in her uniform and ready for school. Thankfully, her face was glitter-free.
‘No. And I’m not really going, I’m only teasing Mummy.’ He winked. ‘But if I went, I would definitely take you with me. Have a good day, my girlies, and I’ll see you all tonight. Hopefully it will be less eventful than last night.’
‘Bye, Daddy!’ Leona sloped down the stairs.
‘Bye, darling. I was just saying, try not to shove anything up your nose today.’
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