by Ruth Heald
* * *
But in the meantime, I need to find work that I can start as soon as possible. I begin my search with the coffee shop across the road. I don’t hold out much hope. Whenever I’ve been in it’s always been the same wizened old lady serving the coffees, working morning until evening. I think she’s the owner, and she never seems to take a day off. I can’t imagine the shop makes enough money to afford a second member of staff. It hardly has any customers. But it’s still worth a try. I’d only have to cross the road to get to work, and I could pop back and see the twins in my break.
I hover at the counter and wait for the owner to finish serving two builders sitting at the corner table. When she comes back to the till, she looks me up and down, taking in my ironed smock and heels.
‘How can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for a job,’ I say. ‘I’ve worked in coffee shops as a barista for the last ten years. I’d love to work here.’
‘A barista?’ she says, her eyebrows raised. I realise ‘waitress’ might have been a better word to use here. ‘Why do you want to work here in particular?’ she asks.
‘I’ve moved into the house opposite. I have twin girls and, to be honest, working here would be very convenient.’
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Oh, yes. I think I recognise you. You’ve got the double buggy.’
I smile. ‘Yes, that’ll be me. And I’ve been in here before. When I was pregnant.’
‘Well, I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone living on this road asking for a job here.’ She laughs. ‘It’s minimum wage, you know.’
‘That would be fine,’ I say, sensing an opportunity. ‘I just want to be close to home.’
She peers at me again, studying my face. ‘Are you the woman who moved into the house directly across?’
I nod and smile. ‘Yes.’
‘A strange choice for someone with young children.’
‘Yes, well, we’ve done it up now.’
‘It looks a lot better. But then again, it couldn’t have looked much worse. I’m a bit superstitious about houses.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think that they can hold onto things. The emotions of the previous occupants can get under the skin of the house somehow, seep into the cracks between the bricks, become part of the fabric.’
‘Oh,’ I say. I remember the creepy feeling I had when I first moved in, the feeling of being watched.
She stares across the road. ‘I’ve worked in this coffee shop since I was a teenager. My parents owned it before they died. And I don’t think anyone was ever happy in that house. Not the adults. Not the children. No one.’
‘Right,’ I say, shifting my weight uncomfortably from foot to foot on my unfamiliar heels. ‘Do you think you’ll have any shifts for me?’
‘Well, I’m the only employee here. But I do occasionally need a few hours off for hospital appointments and the like. But you’d need to get on with our regular customers.’
‘I can do that,’ I say, smiling.
‘They tend to like to linger. And we don’t move them along here. We’re a friendly place. We let them stay as long as they like. We used to have a woman who came in every day, for hours. I would have said she was our best customer, but she only ever bought one drink when she was here. She used to like to sit by the window, staring out at the street.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘I was going to ask you that. That’s another reason I recognise you. I’ve seen you with her. Out on the street and in here too, once. A while ago. Before she stopped coming back in.’
I search my brain for who she might be talking about. ‘You mean Paula?’ I ask.
‘Paula?’ The woman takes a step back and stares at me intently. I feel uncomfortable and the sleeve of my dress rubs against the scar on my arm, making it itch. ‘Come to think of it, I’m not sure I ever knew her name. We exchanged pleasantries, but never introduced ourselves…’ She trails off.
‘Paula’s my doula. She’s moved in with me.’
‘A doula?’
‘Kind of like a nanny, or a nurse. To help with childcare.’
‘Oh, right. That explains it, then.’ For a moment she looks like she’s about to say more, but she stops herself. ‘Send her my regards,’ she says. ‘And leave your phone number with me. I can call you when I need temporary cover for the shop.’ She pauses. ‘I’ll give you mine too. I’m only across the road. That way you can call me if you need anything.’
She hands me a business card with the phone number of the café on and I scribble my name and number on the back of one of the flyers displayed by the till. ‘I’ll pass on your regards to Paula,’ I say, hoping she’ll say more, tell me whatever it is she was about to say a moment ago.
But she doesn’t. Instead she just smiles.
As I’m heading out the door, she says something so quietly that I can’t be sure I’ve heard it right.
‘Take care in that house,’ she whispers.
Twenty-Six
Frances screams and Paula goes to pick her up.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get her,’ I say quickly, but Paula has already scooped her into her arms and is rocking her. When Alice whimpers she picks her up too, and stands opposite me, one twin in each arm like a doting relative.
‘Let me comfort them,’ I say.
‘No need. Isn’t Melissa coming round soon? You should get ready.’
I frown. ‘I am ready,’ I say. Well, at least I’m showered and dressed. I wish Paula would lay off a bit. Since Ian’s left, I feel like she’s taken over. But I don’t want to get on the wrong side of her. I need her. And I remember how angry she was when Ian and I asked her to leave.
‘Are you going to tell Melissa that Ian’s left you?’ she asks.
I blink rapidly. I’m not sure I can face telling her. It will just be another thing I’ve failed at. ‘Probably not. Not yet.’
I quickly dash around the house, checking there’s no evidence that Ian’s left. I notice that now the invasive aroma of fresh paint has faded, the house is starting to smell again, as if it’s rotting from within.
I realise that Ian’s hardly taken anything with him. His toothbrush is still in the bathroom, his deodorant by the bed. But it shocks me how small a footprint he’s left in the house. He hasn’t come back round to pick up his stuff because he didn’t have much stuff here in the first place. I was too busy with the twins to notice, but he’d never got round to moving all his things in before he went to Thailand. I wonder where his real life is, where his things are, where he is now. He could be staying in a hotel or at one of his own properties. Or the home he was living in before he moved here. Not that he ever invited me there.
I come back into the living room. ‘Can I give them a cuddle?’ I ask Paula, and then get irritated with myself for feeling the need to ask. They’re my twins.
Paula hands them over. ‘I’m going out,’ she says. ‘Remember their routine. Nap in half an hour, milk in another three hours.’
‘Sure,’ I say. But while Paula’s out I want to relax a bit more. I’m not going to put them down for their nap as soon as Melissa gets here. She’ll want to see them.
* * *
When Melissa rings the doorbell, I’m excited to see her. Lately when I look at my baby girls I remember how close Melissa and I were as children. I want that back. I answer the door with one twin under each arm, both screaming their heads off. Their nap is ten minutes overdue, and I wonder if Paula was right about routine or if this is just bad luck.
My sister takes Frances from me and she immediately calms. I smile at her. ‘She’s really taken to you,’ I say.
‘Thanks.’
I put Alice down to make Melissa a drink and we go to sit in the living room.
I watch Melissa smiling and laughing with Frances. Frances is so much lighter than her sister, so much more docile. I wonder if it’s just a personality thing, if she’s just more laid back, or if it’s more than that. Is the
fact that she eats so little making her tired? But I don’t know what more I can do. Frances never seems interested in feeding.
Both the twins were small when they were born, because they’re twins and they were early, but whereas Alice is rapidly catching up with other babies her age, Frances still lags behind, her weight staying stubbornly beneath the line of the graph that the health visitor maps it against.
‘Do you think Frances seems unwell?’ I ask. ‘She still doesn’t eat. And Mum said she was worried.’ Although I dismissed Mum’s concerns at the time, they’ve been niggling away at me. Despite the health visitor saying that Frances is fine, I can’t help worrying that I’m doing something wrong, neglecting her in some way. And I still can’t forget what Paula said about me not being a capable mother.
‘I wouldn’t listen to Mum,’ Melissa says. ‘You’re doing all you can to care for them.’
‘Thanks. It’s bloody hard sometimes, though.’ I immediately take it back. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I know I’m lucky to have them.’
‘It does look hard, though,’ my sister replies, and laughs.
‘I’m sure it will happen for you and Graham eventually,’ I say, but my words sound empty. We both know the statistics. After five rounds of IVF and aged over forty, it’s highly unlikely.
She sighs deeply. ‘I’m not sure we can afford any more cycles. And we’ve been trying for ten years now. We’re saving for one more round, but I think Graham… Well, I think he might have had enough. He wants me to accept that we won’t have any children, plan our future together without them.’
‘And what do you think?’
She looks at her feet. ‘I’m not sure I can accept it, really. I had my whole life planned out. And when I pictured my life with Graham, I always pictured us with two kids. I’ve always imagined that was where we were heading. It’s always been part of the plan.’
We both look down at the twins. It seems so unfair.
‘You’ve always had a plan,’ I say to her. ‘I wish I was like you.’
‘It doesn’t get you anywhere,’ she replies sadly. ‘Isn’t it ironic, that you’re the one with the long-term partner and two kids?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I suppose it is.’
‘Where is Ian, anyway?’
‘He’s out,’ I answer quickly.
‘Mum thinks he’s avoiding us. Whenever we come round he’s never here.’
‘He’s—’ I didn’t want to tell Melissa what’s happened, but suddenly I feel tired of it all, tired of Ian’s lies, tired of pretending everything’s OK. ‘He’s left me,’ I say.
‘Oh.’ Melissa’s mouth drops open. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She reaches her arm around me. ‘How could he do that to you, when the twins are so tiny?’
‘I asked him to leave.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s in lots of debt. He hasn’t been paying the bills. I just found out – he was hiding it all from me.’
‘Oh my gosh.’
Maybe Melissa can help me. She is a lawyer, after all. And she’s always been far more level-headed than me. ‘What should I do? Should I leave?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘Don’t go. You need to stay put. You’re the mother of his children. The twins live here. You have rights.’
‘That’s what Paula said.’
‘Well, she’s right about that.’
‘I’ve found some work in a local café. To pay the bills. He’s not been paying the mortgage either.’
‘Well, don’t pay his mortgage for him. He owns the house. It would be like giving him money.’
‘OK…’ I say, feeling daunted.
My sister gives me a half-smile. ‘Neither of us are having an easy time of it lately, are we? Why don’t we go out for lunch? My treat.’
* * *
We each clutch a glass of lemonade at a small Italian restaurant round the corner. I’ve come here before with Ian and I know the food’s good. I dig into my steak while Melissa picks at her salad. The babies sleep peacefully in the buggy beside us.
‘I can’t believe he’s done this to you,’ Melissa says.
‘I know.’
I run Melissa through my tentative plans for financial independence. Statutory maternity pay. Child benefit. Maintenance from Ian if I can get him to pay it. Shifts at local coffee shops. Piano teaching. To my surprise, she’s supportive.
‘I’m glad you’re going to teach music,’ she says. ‘Mum would be really pleased for you.’
‘Because it’s better than working in a coffee shop?’
‘No, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that being a barista never seemed to be what you really wanted.’
‘True, I fell into it to pay the bills.’
‘You were always so talented at the piano. Mum really hoped you’d follow in her footsteps. She really wanted to keep it up herself, but she couldn’t after she injured her hand. Even with physio, it was never the same.’
‘I kept going with my music until I got pregnant,’ I say. ‘Gigs in pubs and things like that. I still write songs. But I was never going to earn enough to cover my rent.’
It’s got to the point where I hardly talk about my music anymore. My pub gigs started to feel embarrassing compared to the success of some of my friends from college, and to the high hopes my mother had for me.
‘So the piano teaching’s something positive that’s come from all this then, isn’t it?’ my sister says.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘And if you teach at weekends, I can always come and look after the twins for you. Or Mum could.’
‘I’d love that,’ I say, and then hesitate. I’m not sure what Paula would think of the idea. ‘But Paula’s very keen on keeping them in their routine.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘Paula’s still there? Surely you can’t afford her now?’
‘She’s looking after the twins in exchange for a place to live. That way I can start earning again.’
‘Doesn’t she already have her own place?’
‘I suppose she must,’ I say, although I haven’t really thought about it. She’d said she was local. How could she just leave her previous home so quickly? Surely she’d need to pay bills there.
‘Well, it sounds like a very good deal to me,’ my sister says, tipping back her lemonade. ‘Free childcare. It does seem like you always land on your feet somehow.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to move out of the house eventually,’ I say.
‘Yes, but not until you’ve come to some kind of financial agreement with Ian. He needs to support his daughters.’
I nod. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure of it. I won’t leave until I know I’m secure.’
‘I admire you, you know. I didn’t realise you’d kept going with the gigs at pubs. You’ve never given up.’
‘You’re the one who’s the high-flying lawyer. You’re a thousand times more successful than me.’
‘Thanks,’ she says. She fiddles with the napkin, uncharacteristically nervous. ‘I’m not sure it was ever what I wanted, though. I was just competitive. I wanted the best-paid job with the highest status. But I’m not sure I ever really liked it. To be honest, I’m not sure I ever really liked Graham. He just fitted in with the plan. Handsome and successful, a good potential father.’
I smile sympathetically, but I’m surprised at her words. I had no idea. This is the first time we’ve talked properly in years, and I’m glad she’s confiding in me.
‘You don’t have to stick to the plan, you know. Not if it doesn’t make you happy anymore.’
‘I think it would have been OK if we’d had kids. But I can’t picture a life with Graham without them. When I imagine that it makes me feel scared. Without us trying for kids together, I’m not sure what there’s left between us – if there’s anything at all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not sure I love him, Katie.’
I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to stay with him.
You could cut loose, start again.’
‘We’re saving for another round of IVF,’ Melissa says miserably. ‘It’s our final shot.’
‘And if it doesn’t work?’
‘Then I don’t know what I’ll do.’
‘You could get divorced.’
She laughs. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? I feel that should be an option, but I’m not sure it is for me. I’d be letting everyone down.’
‘Letting who down? It’s only you and Graham.’
‘Letting myself down, I suppose. Letting Mum down. I’ve always had to do everything exactly right, get things perfect. And it’s kind of expected of me now. Getting divorced just doesn’t fit into that.’
I stare at her, surprised. I never realised she felt under so much pressure. ‘You don’t have to fit into what everyone else wants.’
She laughs. ‘I think you’re describing yourself. You’ve never had to fit anyone else’s expectations. You’ve always been such a free spirit.’
‘Maybe we both need to make some changes,’ I say.
By the time we’ve finished our meal, we’re both in better moods. I have a plan for how to tackle Ian, and Melissa is going to take action and talk to Graham about their marriage.
‘We should do this more often,’ I say.
‘We really should,’ my sister replies.
‘It’s nice, just the two of us. Sometimes Mum can be a bit much.’ I laugh, but my sister frowns.
‘She tries her best,’ she says, and I suddenly feel guilty.
‘Please don’t tell Mum that Ian’s left. I don’t want her to think any less of me.’
‘Katie, I’ll have to tell her. She’ll only want to help.’
‘But that’s exactly what I don’t want.’
She sighs. ‘We’re all adults now. I just wish we could be a bit more honest with each other. No more secrets.’
‘What secrets?’ I ask. ‘Is it about her headaches? Is she alright?’
She looks up suddenly, startled, as she realises what she’s just said. ’Oh no, it’s not that. She’s fine. They don’t think the headaches are anything serious.’