The Puzzle of You

by Leah Mercer

  ‘Oh, yes. Fine.’ She raises a hand to her head. ‘Just hurting, that’s all.’ It feels odd keeping something from him, but it won’t be for long.

  ‘I can imagine.’ David winces. ‘Thank goodness it’s nothing more than a flesh wound.’

  Charlotte tries her best to smile reassuringly, but her lips tremble, sticking to her teeth. ‘Can I have some water, please?’

  ‘Sure.’ David jumps off the chair. ‘There aren’t any cups here. I’ll grab some from the cooler down the hallway. Be right back.’

  He returns as the nurse is finishing up the last few stitches in Charlotte’s forehead.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he says, out of breath. ‘There weren’t any cups there either, so I had to—

  Oh, God.’ Colour drains from his face as the nurse manoeuvres the thread through Charlotte’s skin. ‘Almost as bad as childbirth! Remember how I just about fainted? And I didn’t even see the worst of it. Thank goodness for that partition.’

  Childbirth, ugh. Charlotte shudders, thinking that at least she managed to have a Caesarean and keep her nether regions intact. She’s always thought it the best option, anyway: you can plan around it. The idea of simply waiting for your body to surprise you with the indignities of labour never really appealed. Horrified, more like.

  ‘Sorry, honey,’ the nurse says, perhaps thinking that Charlotte is responding to the pain. ‘Right, all done. You should be fine, but if you start to feel dizzy or if you’re sick, you may have a concussion.’ She hands Charlotte an information pamphlet. ‘Have a read through this. Any symptoms, come back straight away. All right?’

  ‘All right,’ Charlotte croaks. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t remember: she has a concussion? Would that block out the past few years’ memory, though?

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on her,’ David says, taking Charlotte’s arm and helping her off the bed. She catches sight of her feet, clad in Converse trainers, the kind she always shunned. In fact, she can’t remember the last time she wore flat shoes. At only five foot three, heels are compulsory. The trainers are bloody comfortable, though, she has to admit.

  But trainers and jeggings? Why isn’t she at work? It’s a weekday, clearly: David is wearing his usual suit and tie. Whatever happened to his plan to stay at home . . . ? Or maybe their daughter is old enough for nursery or school now? But why is she dressed in this get-up?

  Alarm rises within her, and she bats it away. There must be a reason. Perhaps her office has implemented casual days? Vivek always said he’d rather retire than watch his team turn up in ripped jeans and stained T-shirts, but even he kowtows to HR policies.

  What had Vivek made of Charlotte’s pregnancy announcement? He wouldn’t have been pleased, that much she knows for sure. He was always whingeing about having to fill maternity leaves, as if the women were doing him a personal disservice. But as the top contract winner, she was sure that he – and she – wouldn’t have let it interfere with her career path. Vivek understood economics, if not compassion.

  She leans against David as they make their way along the labyrinth of hospital corridors and out through the door. His body is warm and solid against hers – even more solid than she remembers; he must have put on a few extra pounds. But then again, so has she. The first thing she’s going to do when she’s better is get back out and run. Goodbye, Mum Tum. She shudders. God! Mum tum!

  ‘David?’ She glances up at him, waiting for his trademark grin and squeeze that were guaranteed to make her feel better. Instead he glances down at her, his face set and body stiff like he’s protecting himself from invasion. Finally he pats her elbow, but the gesture feels foreign and strange.

  ‘Yes? Everything okay?’

  Charlotte nods mutely, uncertainty zinging through her at his stone-like façade. Why is he being so odd? He’ll be fine once we get home, she tells herself. Everything will be fine. More than fine, actually. Maybe she’ll love her life even more now than before! A wonderful husband, an amazing daughter, a job she loves . . . she’ll be one of those women who has it all.

  The cold air hits her flushed cheeks and she blinks in surprise at the winter-bare trees, the warmth of the Italian sun still lodged in her mind. David unlocks the door of the trusty Volkswagen he’s had since uni, and Charlotte raises her eyebrows. He still has this thing? He always claimed it could run on fumes alone, a distinct advantage when the sky-high fuel prices threatened to bankrupt him as a poor student. She smiles, remembering the time they’d decided on a whim to drive to Oxford, only to break down on the A40. Lorries and cars had whizzed past them for hours as they’d awaited the recovery truck, but they’d never got bored. The eventual silence that had fallen between them was a comfortable blanket, wrapping them in its warm folds. Sitting in the car as rain hammered the roof, she’d never felt so contented. Despite the fond memories, though, she’d always assumed that when they became ‘proper grown-ups’ (i.e., parents), they’d ditch this clunker and get a family car. Why didn’t they? Was she driving the grown-up car?

  Charlotte leans against the battered bonnet, trying to recall the last time she actually drove. She’s a dedicated Tube and bus girl, shunning London’s traffic at all costs. But all that changes when you have a child, she guesses. God, imagine hauling a buggy up and down the Tube station stairs, or on to a packed bus. She’s always pitied the poor mothers who had to do that, stopping to help whenever she could spare a second.

  David unlocks her door and Charlotte climbs inside, grimacing as she takes in the grubby interior. David has always been on the more ‘relaxed’ side of cleanliness – his habit of leaving items strewn across the flat like a snake shedding its skin is the only thing they argue about. But the state of this car has surpassed relaxed and gone straight to filthy. Rubbish litters the footwells, a black banana skin peeps out of the seat pocket, toys are crammed in the back window. And the car seat – well, the less said about the state of that, the better.

  Wow. If one child can wreak such havoc in a confined space, what does their flat look like?

  She leans back on the headrest as David starts the engine, praying this car isn’t a reflection of their home. Their place may be small, but thanks to her constant nagging of David and the efforts of their cleaner, it’s immaculate: she hadn’t spent hours poring over magazines to choose the right furnishings only for it to be permanently fit for a pig. God, she can’t wait to flop down on the comfy goose-down duvet; to pull the thick turquoise curtains over the large sash window and let sleep wash over her.

  Charlotte sucks in air as a thought hits. They do still live in the same flat, right? Would their small space fit a toddler, along with two adults? Her eyes drift closed and she tries her best to place a child in the midst of their home.

  What does their daughter look like? Does she have David’s wavy dark locks or her mother’s straight-as-a-pin hair? Are her eyes dark blue like Charlotte’s or brown like David’s? Is she strong willed, like they’d always joked she would be? Does her gentle easy-going father struggle to control her? Charlotte strains to fit together the pieces but they refuse to slot into place, one tumbling away as soon as her consciousness grips another. It’s hard to believe that this isn’t some post-coital imagining and that this little person actually exists. That she belongs to them . . . to their life.

  That she’s at their home now, awaiting their arrival.

  Waiting for her mother.

  Every muscle in Charlotte’s body stiffens – stiffens even more, because her muscles already feel like they’ve been lashed so tightly to her bones that she can barely even twitch. As the car travels through the London streets, she wants to scream at her husband to stop . . . to freeze this moment in time, just the two of them together, before a child plunges into their lives. She wants to throw her arms around David and pull him close, to breathe in the comfort of his body against hers and to let the shock, the pain and the strangeness of the day wash away. She’s not ready to face a new reality – a reality she doesn’t even remember choosing – and
she needs him now more than ever.

  She turns towards him, conjuring up the right way to tell him she has no memory of their daughter. But one glance at his tired face – the crows’ feet by his eyes underlining the passage of time – and those words fade away. Unlike that day in their broken-down car, the silence between them now feels like a barrier, the missing years creating a huge space she can’t even fathom how to cross.

  It will be fine, she tells herself. It has to be, because she is a mother, whether she remembers it or not. And she did choose this, after all – she and David. This is the life they’ve forged together, as a family. She will remember, and when she does, it will all make sense again.

  Charlotte takes a deep breath to quell the growing fear, and braces for impact.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  24 March

  I told him tonight. I told David I’m pregnant – or, rather, we’re pregnant. I know, I know. Saying ‘we’ heightens the cheese factor of this whole thing, and I’m regretting how I used to roll my eyes every time a couple uttered those words. But the truth is, that’s how I feel. It’s how I need to feel, and thankfully David agrees: we’re both in this. I won’t be alone, and even though it’s my body that will nurture this child – my milk that will sustain it for the first bit of its life – we’ll do this together. Thank goodness, because whenever doubts start to seep in, telling me I’m not exactly mother material – I’ve never cooed over babies, and I can barely keep a plant alive, let alone a human being – I remind myself I’ll have David by my side . . . and he has cooed over babies. He’ll be an amazing father, filling any gaps my own lack of abilities may leave. We’ll be the perfect team to build a world for our child. This baby will add to us and make us stronger, not divide us, like I’ve seen happen to so many of my friends.

  The last few days have passed in a daze. I’ve made my way from home to work to home again, running miles in the evening, still knocked sideways by the news that I’m knocked up. It felt so strange, keeping something from David . . . something so important and something I knew would make him so happy. But I needed time to understand what was happening; time to let it sink in. And after a few days, my head at least had absorbed the state of my body, even if my heart didn’t quite feel ready. But it would, I was sure. It would, once I told my husband. Once I made it real.

  I got home from work before David for once, and was tapping away on my laptop when he returned ashen-faced from the litany of human horrors that parades before him at the insurance office. I’ll never understand how someone as empathetic as David can bear to work there, but I guess coming face to face with such woes makes you realise that even though the worst can happen, you’re still doing okay. In typical David fashion, he manages to calmly and efficiently find the best possible outcome for these poor people, working against the corporate machine to make sure they get the compensation they need. It’s not a job he loves, though, and I suspect that’s part of the reason he always jokes about being the stay-at-home dad.

  I guessed I’d soon find out how serious he actually was.

  As soon as his key turned in the lock, my pulse picked up pace. He gave me his usual hug and kiss, then went into the bedroom to slough off his suit . . . and the day. The first thing he does when he comes home is get changed; not that I blame him. If I had to wear stiffly creased suits and silk ties like nooses around my neck, I’d change as soon as I got home, too.

  Thank God I love my job. I’m practically glued to my work email – by choice. It’s not just an extension of my life. It is my life . . . besides David, that is. And now, besides this baby. Because although I may not feel it now, I’m sure there’s room in my heart for someone else – someone I’ll love so instinctively it’s not even questionable.

  ‘How was your day?’ I asked, my voice shaky and tense. This was a big moment, the moment you see in adverts on telly: an excited, happy wife about to tell her husband the best news of their lives. So why did I feel so empty inside? Ironic, really, given I was harbouring another human being.

  ‘Oh, you know. The same,’ he called from the bedroom. He hates to talk about work, unlike me, who can babble on for hours. I plucked a loose thread on the sofa as I waited for him to come back to the lounge. My heart pounded and I gulped in air, wondering why I was so nervous. This was my husband, the man I’d shared my life with for the past five years. But I knew that once I told him, there was no backing out. We’d be on a new track to a new life; a life I couldn’t yet see. I longed to tighten my arms around him and savour us, for the very last time.

  He sat down beside me and grabbed my legs, swinging them over his lap. He looked for the bottle of wine I usually had on the side table, then turned towards me. ‘What’s going on? Don’t tell me we’ve run out of wine?’

  He couldn’t have given me a better intro if he’d tried.

  ‘Actually . . .’ My pulse whooshed in my ears. This was it.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  There. It was done. I could feel the past falling away behind me and something new opening up ahead.

  Parenthood. Motherhood.

  A family.

  David’s eyebrows flew up and he couldn’t get his arms around me fast enough – a little difficult when someone’s legs are in your lap, so we ended up a tangled jumble of limbs. Finally, he managed to kiss me, and when he pulled back, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so joyous, so delighted.

  ‘But how?’ he asked, looking like I’d handed him the world. ‘I thought you were on the pill?’

  ‘I am,’ I said. ‘But I guess it didn’t work.’ I shook my head, still unable to believe I’d been so unlucky. No, lucky. I had to get my head around that. ‘And I’m sure. I must have done about ten tests.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ He drew me even closer, his hand cradling my stomach. ‘I can’t believe we’re having a baby.’ He leaned back. ‘Are you okay? I mean, are you feeling sick or anything? Do you think you should maybe stop running? Until we know it’s safe, anyway?’

  My stomach clenched – I hadn’t even questioned whether or not it was safe to run. I hadn’t even thought that I’d need to stop. I mean, thinking about it now, of course I won’t be lumbering through parks at seven or eight months’ pregnant.

  But now? When our baby is barely bigger than a grain of rice (or something like that; I’ve yet to start reading baby books)? There can’t be any reason to stop so soon in my pregnancy, can there? I need to run to work off my restless energy and the adrenaline of the day. Far from pumping me up, it calms me down enough to sleep.

  ‘I’ll check with the doctor, but I’m sure it’s fine,’ I said. Something twisted inside me at his words, seeping away before I could identify it. I’ve always been the strong one in our relationship, both mentally and physically. It was weird to see him being protective of me.

  ‘Look, I know this wasn’t expected,’ David said, pulling me close again. ‘But honestly, I don’t think it could have happened better if we’d planned it. We’re stable financially, and, well . . . it’s time, isn’t it?’

  I nodded and forced a smile. Looking into my husband’s glowing face, I couldn’t tell him that even though I’d got my head (mostly) around this pregnancy, I still wasn’t sure there ever would be a right time . . . for me, anyway. I couldn’t tell him that, actually, if I was being honest, I wanted to be a VP more than I wanted to be a mother.

  ‘And Charlotte, I want to be there for our child,’ David said. ‘I need to be there for our child, in a way my dad never was for me.’ His lips tightened and anger flashed across his face, and I remembered him telling me how dreadful it was when his dad abandoned the family on David’s seventh birthday, leaving Miriam with three children and a cake on the table that no one could touch until he came home again. It sat there until it rotted. ‘I really would love to stay at home with the baby, for the first year, at least . . . if you’re okay with that. It’s so important to me to be a part of its daily life; to be
there to change nappies, do naptimes and whatever else . . . hell, if I could breastfeed, I’d do that, too.’

  I couldn’t help smiling at the image, and relief buoyed me up. I was hoping he’d say that; hoping he’d be all in, like my father was. This baby would be our ultimate project, and we’d work as well together raising it as we always had in our marriage. And while I’m still struggling to imagine a child in our world, with David at home maybe a child will be a ‘disruption’ after all, not the disaster I feared. I can be VP and a mother; they don’t have to be mutually exclusive. And there are such things as babysitters, so David and I can have our fun nights out, too.

  We will love this baby with all our hearts, but it won’t engulf us. It won’t change who we are, or what’s important.

  Everything will be just fine.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Charlotte heaves a sigh of relief when their car turns on to a familiar side street just off the King’s Road. Thank God, thank God, thank God – they haven’t given up their flat. She turns to smile at David, gulping back the shock that hits each time she spots the extra few years on his face. No matter what else may have changed, she should have known they’d hold on to the place where they had built their life together . . . not to mention its brilliant location in stylish Chelsea. They have so many wonderful memories there, and she can’t picture them anywhere else.

  Warmth rushes over her, and she reaches out to touch David’s hand on the gearstick. Living in a one-bedroom flat with a toddler can’t be easy, but if anyone can work it out and still manage to have a love life, they can. She smiles, remembering the first time they made love. They’d both been slightly tipsy from the gin and tonic shooters at an experimental cocktail bar and they’d rolled right off the bed, landing on the hard floor with a thump. They’d lain there and laughed, but then the sex . . . It was as if that thump had knocked any ‘getting to know you’ nerves out of them both, because they’d instantly gelled, and it had only got better from there. Sex connects them in a way that words can’t, and they rarely go a day or two without making love. Parenthood wouldn’t have changed that, she’s sure. Maybe they’ve partitioned the lounge area to create a small bedroom? Whatever they’ve done, she has every confidence it looks fantastic. She wouldn’t settle for anything less, and David always gives her free rein over any decorating decisions, claiming that whatever makes her happy makes him happy, too.