by Dawn French
‘Well, no, that’s right,’ Doris agreed slowly. ‘Mind you, there’s some bits we don’t mind forgetting, eh?’ She even managed half a smile.
‘Yes, Mum. True dat, but listen to me now … Dad was Dad. He wasn’t that greedy drug. It stole him from us sometimes, but he was still there, wasn’t he? I refuse to let that bloody gear nick all my good memories of my dad, and you mustn’t either, otherwise it’ll be like that’s all he was. Dad was a poet, and a clown, and a mechanic, and a drummer. His whole life was about different beats, and smack was just one of them. Let’s please remember ALL the drumbeats, yeah? Otherwise it’s not proper music, is it?’
‘No, no, you speak sense,’ Doris admitted, taking comfort from everything her clever daughter was saying, allowing herself the salve of the soothing words.
‘And y’know the best thing of all, Mum? He’s free from it now, and so are you. Free from the grip of it. Like Mark at the rehab place told you: you don’t have to go looking for places to hide from it now. You don’t need to drink to ignore it, because it ain’t there no more …’
‘I know, I know, but it hard, y’know. I still want to. I want to so bad, just to not feel it …’ Doris was feeling the weakness.
‘But, Mum, we need you. Me ’n’ Glory ’n’ Minnie ’n’ Princess. We need you more than ever now, to be our mum, coz we’ve lost our dad … our lovely dad …’ And with this, Hope started to well up.
Now it was time for Doris to mum-up. She took Hope in her arms and cradled her, saying, ‘It’ll be OK. I’m doin’ well. I’m doin’ m’best. I’m here, Hope, I’m your mum. Always your mum … and their nanna … No more of that. C’mon now, hush, dry your eyes. Let’s stop this nonsense. There’s a party!’
Glory came to them with slices of the caterpillar cake, and saw her mum and sister crying together, and she knew that Hope had, once again, been the soother, just as she had been for her all those years before. Hope was the glue that would keep this family tight. Thank God for Hope.
‘Cake!’ said Glory.
‘Yes, come on, Mum, let’s dance, let’s bring some of Dad’s beats to this yard …’ said Hope as she held the clapping, happy Minnie aloft. ‘The beat goes on!’
Anna
The next day, after spending the night in a hotel, Anna went to see her doctor in the afternoon. She wanted to go before she saw Julius again. She didn’t want him to dissuade her.
The receptionist told her there were no appointments but that they could possibly fit her in the next morning. Anna decided to turn up there and resolutely sit in the waiting room until he found a slot to see her. They knew Anna well at the swanky practice in Notting Hill; she’d been a pretty regular attendee during this last difficult year and they all liked her very much. She hadn’t behaved like this before, so Nicola, the head receptionist, knew this was serious.
‘Happy New Year,’ and, ‘Would you like a drink, Mrs Lindon-Clarke?’
‘No, thank you. I’m fine.’ Anna wasn’t fine.
‘We’ve got a lovely new coffee machine. Makes macchiatos ’n’ everything. ’S amazing?’
‘No, thanks. Really fine.’ She wasn’t. A short pause, then …
‘Cortados? Piccolos?’ Nicola was tenacious.
‘Er, no, ta.’
‘Hilly whites?’
‘Lillywhites …?’
‘No, sorry, HILLY WHITES!’ Nicola laughed. ‘It’s a flat white, but with peaked froth?’
‘Try to forgive me, but I seriously don’t recognize any of the words you’re using …’ Anna did her polite best to shut Nicola down before she was forced to gouge her eyes out with a car key. Which she was utterly prepared to do, to make the noise stop. She remembered in the nick of time that Nicola was unaware that she, Anna, had just found out, only a few hours ago, that her husband was indeed the phoney she had long suspected, and a lying cunt, so she took a deep breath instead of killing her, and decided to be merciful. ‘Sorry. Just … umm … don’t need anything, thanks. Other than to see Martin. Soon as. Ta.’
‘Yes. I know. We’re on it, Mrs Lindon-Clarke.’
‘Thank you.’ Anna resumed her calm and pretended to read awful magazines again, all the while making sure her presence was felt. Ten minutes later, after some muffled interaction on the internal phone, an appointment miraculously opened up and Nicola directed her into Martin’s room.
Anna apologized profusely for barging in. He was reassuring, as always, and she might have wept when he sat opposite her and pulled his chair closer to genuinely ask her what he could do to help. It took all of her limited resilience not to collapse into his arms sobbing, but that would simply not have done.
‘Oh God, Martin … I … just … He … God … It’s just—’
‘Slow down, Anna. And inhale. And exhale. Great. Breathing helps. Don’t want you to die. Bad for my ol’ reputation.’ He smiled at her, and she instantly appreciated everything she liked about him.
Understanding face
Big clean hands
Tattersall check shirt
Picture of his two small daughters on his desk
Capable calm green corduroy trousers
Softly spoken
Anna could never work out if she felt such a connection with him because he was a fantastic GP, or perhaps he felt sorry for her, or … maybe he was just a tiny bit in love with her …?
As she drew breath to explain, she had a sudden panoramic flashback of everything this kind man had heard and understood and helped her with in the last awful year.
He had tended to her après-birth wounds, both internal and external. He’d carefully monitored the sleeping problems which plagued her for months afterwards. He’d guided her away from the serious sleeping pills she needed initially, towards more organic, herbal remedies, and eventually to camomile tea, which was all she used right now. He’d praised her and warned her in just the right measures. She trusted him. He helped and listened when she cruelly suffered various unexpected bouts of post-natal depression which knocked her for six. How and why would she have to suffer a serious depression to do with having a baby when she had no baby? As if her devastating sadness at the loss of Florence wasn’t enough to bear, for God’s sake. That in itself was a pain so sharp and deep, she wondered on occasion if she might bleed to death from it. Bleed out sorrow blood ’til she was no more, ’til the grief consumed her.
She had told Martin about this horror, and he was marvellous. He reminded her that she HAD to remain strong and fit and alive for when Florence returned, and that it could be any minute. He had that sort of conviction. He was so sure, and she caught his hope.
She heeded him, and it saved her.
He prescribed her the tiniest doses of anti-depressants to help her cope.
He insisted on seeing her regularly every week to make sure she was managing.
He encouraged her to talk, to say everything she was feeling, and he never once made her feel as if she had to hurry out of his room.
He gently dissuaded her from having the cosmetic surgery procedures she was considering when she misguidedly thought that if she could maintain her young face, her husband might not be as unfaithful as she suspected he was. Anna was at her lowest when her mindset was like this, and Martin knew it would pass, so he guided her well away from making terrible choices at vulnerable moments.
He also took her bloods and did the various HIV/STD tests she repeatedly requested as a result of her intuition about Julius.
(He conducted Julius’s regular tests too, but of course he didn’t speak to her about those.)
Most importantly, in his effort to see her through the shock of what had happened with Florence, he tried to instil in her the importance of imagining her future, and wanting it. He remained optimistic about Florence returning, but he also sensitively introduced the idea of another child when the time was right. He suggested that she prepare her body, while her mind and heart were still bruised, and he knew that would in turn help to heal her mind and heart.
He gave her folic acid and calcium to take.
He told her to quit smoking if she could, and he suggested walking everywhere for exercise and to clear her head and to give her days some structure.
Anna had followed his advice, however wretched she had felt, and consequently felt physically better than she had for years. One of the awful by-products of looking better was that her husband started paying her attention again. She noticed that Julius was, of course, sticking to his exercise regimen. He clearly liked the way his body was shaping up. He was more toned and much leaner than he’d been for a long time … and of course, he was packing in tons more exercise than the formal programme proposed, with all his extra-curricular exertions with the Dane, so he felt tip-top.
Anna had noticed that, along with his galling self-love, Julius’s confidence had increased a hundred fold. He was already arrogant enough, but this new confidence pushed him into new realms of fuckwittery. He obviously felt mighty. He wanted to have plenty of sex. Including with his lucky wife, who was, like him, also looking ‘mighty fine’.
Back in this bright room at the surgery, Anna felt safe with Martin. He knew and understood much and he wouldn’t judge her. Or would he on this occasion? It was going to be so hard to say what she had to.
‘Martin, you know better than almost anyone, this whole year has been awful …’
‘I know. Yes,’ his deep voice reassured her.
‘And I think that it’s changed me. I’m just not in the same place any more in here.’ Anna pointed at her head, and continued, ‘I’ve tried really hard to … get back on track. I think I’m pretty much there physically …’
‘Yes, you’ve achieved so much, Anna.’
‘Yes, thanks, but … so much of all the rest of it, of my life, just means nothing now. Don’t worry, Martin, I’m not going to top myself or anything like that … but something happened yesterday … with Jules … I found him with … well, I’m sure you can guess …’
‘Oh God. Sorry, Anna, that’s awful.’
‘And it was Florence’s first birthday, and all I can think is that I’m glad she didn’t have to have him as a dad. It’s so awful. He doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t deserve any kid …’
‘Steady, Anna. You’re probably still in a bit of shock.’
‘I’m not shocked. Listen, I’ve known for ages what he’s like, I just ignore it, deny it, because when I think about it, I take it so personally. I feel shit, because I’m not enough, and I feel shit because I’m getting older, and I feel shit because I fell asleep and I didn’t keep her safe …’ Anna fell silent as she let the heavy truth of all that sit in her.
Martin kept the silence with her.
She eventually took several big breaths and spoke again: ‘I just know I have to face stuff now, even if I AM a little bit crazy at the moment. It’s almost like I needed to get to this bit to know what to do next. I don’t suddenly know everything that’s right to do, it’s not like a movie moment or anything … I don’t know how we, me and him, could possibly go forward from this. We can’t, really. But I do know that it’s completely wrong to bring anyone else into this equation. I’m not going to give anyone else Jules as a father, and until the day, the moment, the second that I find her, I can’t think about anyone or anything else. I can’t have this baby, Martin, I just can’t.’
‘Anna …’
‘Please don’t persuade me otherwise. You so easily could, I want it very much, but I know, utterly, that it’s wrong. I need to find her, not replace her.’
‘I understand that, Anna. You must be aware of the fact that time is not on your side here. This pregnancy, like the last one, took some doing,’ said Martin.
‘Yes. But I was a different person then. I’m not going to pretend any more. Not after yesterday. I can’t raise a child with Jules. He is a child.’
‘Anna …’ he said softly, and put his hand on hers.
‘Please, Martin, please help me. I’ve decided. I only found out a couple of days ago. It’s hardly started to grow. Please, please. I need to do it before it breaks my heart. Please.’
‘OK, Anna, OK. Don’t worry. We can organize everything. Could you get to a clinic tonight, for the procedure tomorrow if I can arrange it?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, and with that, her already broken heart shattered into a billion painful pieces.
A few weeks later, the Honourable Claire Hartley, senior partner at Hartley Tod family law firm, sat as still as a sitting statue, staring unwaveringly at her opponent. She was neatly put together.
Armani suit – blue
Armani blouse – crisp white
Shoes – Manolo Blahnik, black
Bag – Aspinal’s, black
Jewellery – Hancocks of Burlington Arcade, chunky and old
She barely bothered to hide her disdain as the men faffed about with piles of paper on the shiny conference table.
‘Right, I think that’s about it. We have everything we need for our side, how about you, Claire?’ said Piers the Wife Slayer.
Anna had nicknamed him that after the first official meeting she and Claire had with him and Julius. Claire had warned her about Piers’s savage reputation in the divorce courts, but Anna couldn’t believe he would be so bloodthirsty with her, considering he’d been the best man at their wedding all those years ago. He’d been in their lives for so long; he’d stayed in their home whenever his own relationships broke down, which was often. Anna had come to know him as a friend, albeit Julius’s friend, but still, she’d done the wifely thing many times, and offered her husband’s best mate every kind of support she could muster when he was in most need. Anna had even put him into pyjamas and into bed in their spare room when he was sobbingly, vomitingly, hopelessly drunk. She’d wiped his privileged, posh-Chelsea, good-looking but also very unattractive face with a flannel, and he’d whispered ‘Thank you, Nanny’ as he dropped off. Surely, then, he wouldn’t be going for her throat at this critical moment, as the two lawyers were preparing the case to go to court?
Claire had warned Anna not to underestimate the power of male loyalty, and this particular bromance was long, strong and chock-full of testosterone. No way was Piers going to let his certain knowledge of (a) Julius’s repeated and unregretted adulteries, or (b) Anna’s continued attempts to bring their relationship back in line, or (c) Anna’s ongoing pain about her lost child and her consequent depression, exasperation and increasing reliance on sleeping pills, get in his way. Except the sleeping pills part. He’d already let Claire know in no uncertain terms that if Anna didn’t toe the line by allowing this divorce to be discreet and much in Julius’s favour, protecting his image at all times, then he might be ‘forced’ to reveal information like that about Anna. Claire had advised her client to fight them like rabid dogs to gain the ground she so justly felt Anna ought to occupy, but after lots of reflection and debate, Anna instructed Claire to capitulate, so that she could have a quiet life. Her desire was to sink into the background of his landscape, and to eventually exit it altogether. They would always be linked by the very fact of Florence’s abduction, and the consequent very public and strategic effort to improve security in all maternity wards in her name. Or rather, more accurately, in Julius’s name. In ambitious Julius’s important name.
For years, Anna had watched as Julius’s attempts to run for the BIG job in government were thwarted at every turn, often by his own hubris. His mistaken belief that the more the public got to know him, the more they would like him, had been his ultimate downfall. Much as his party desperately wanted a man of colour to aim for and achieve greatness, it doesn’t matter what colour you are (even if that very fact might be to your advantage in times of growing diversity, especially in a party where there is precious little, where there’s a shocking paucity of different skin), it just doesn’t count for anything if you are essentially a king tosspot. The British might be known for valuing the odd buffoon, but Julius’s narcissism and snobbery had ultimately rendered h
im intolerable, unelectable and rejected. He still had a backbench presence, but his voice was seldom heard in any potent or memorable way.
Anna had spent her entire married life with him trying to gently nudge him away from all the false idols he worshipped. She’d known he had political ambitions from the start, and she had respected that, especially since he claimed he genuinely wanted to effect change for the good. But then … he became swept up in his need for success. He put everything else second, apart from his libido, of course, which he had somehow conveniently worked into his narrative of himself as an alpha male. Anna was tired of it. His mind wasn’t attractive, his body wasn’t attractive and his morals were positively abhorrent.
So desperate was she to divorce him that she told Claire repeatedly to agree to pretty much all of his demands so that she might the sooner be free. She was content to sign any non-disclosure agreements. The way she saw it, those documents meant she agreed not to reveal what a fake he was. By dint of logic, that also meant she didn’t feel obliged, conversely, to declare how ‘real’ or ‘honourable’ he was either. EVER. In fact, her plan was to keep her lips sealed about him. So, Anna caved in and let him have all the trappings, the art, the house, the pension, even the vintage soft-top Mercedes he bought for her but which he really bought for him. None of that mattered. She would rent her own flat.
‘Yes,’ replied Claire now on behalf of Anna, ‘I think you have everything you need, Piers. Literally EVERYTHING and more. I should just like to add something my client has not instructed me to say, but I’d like to, whilst we are all in the comparative safety of this room. You are mighty lucky, Mr Lindon-Clarke, that my client appears not to have a malicious bone in her body, because your clear culpability in the gradual corrosion of this marriage is indisputable. For my money, you are an ocean-going wanker, and everyone knows it. Now, I think that’s our business concluded. Let’s hope the judge looks favourably on this absurd sham of an agreement, and the whole tawdry business can come to a swift conclusion with a decree absolute issued within the next six weeks? Then, perhaps, my client will be able to search for a loving, functional and authentic human, one with an actual beating heart, to spend her valuable time with. Are we done, gentlemen?’ With that, Claire started to pack away her files, ready to leave.