‘You were married before.’
‘Yes, and we, hand on heart, never once talked about having children. That should probably have been the first clue that we weren’t going to last. My initial panic notwithstanding, do you really want a baby?’
‘I don’t know. I think so. But do women like me get to have babies?’
‘Women like you?’
‘Women who’ve been to prison.’
‘I bet there are loads of prisoners with children. You must have met dozens of them inside.’
‘Yes, but they had children before they went inside. They had life experience. I’ve kissed two men my entire life – and you’re number two. Do women like me come out and then find a man who loves them and then go on to have children? I don’t know. I’ve never seen it. Do women like that exist?’
‘I’m sure they do.’
‘And are they fucking up their children while they’re doing it?’
‘You won’t fuck up our child.’ Alain stopped moving and an awestruck expression rapidly took over his face. ‘That sounded pretty amazing. Our child. Wow.’
He stood up suddenly, took my hands in his and pulled me to my feet. ‘Do you want to have a baby with me, Poppy?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘It was just a thought.’
‘Do you want to have a baby with me, Poppy?’ he asked again.
‘Maybe,’ I replied.
‘All right, I’m really hoping third time will be the charm . . . Do you want to have a baby with me, Poppy?’
I held my breath. Did I? With all the things that plagued this thought, all the worries that nibbled away at my peace of mind, did I really want to risk it all by doing this? I felt the house shift; it seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to find out what was going to happen next, too.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Yes, yes I do.’
Alain grinned, the house relaxed and I waited and waited for a flurry of panic to rise up and overtake me; I waited and waited and waited, but it didn’t come.
Now
Mum opens the door and ‘Betina!’ she exclaims when she sees her granddaughter. The creases that give away my mother’s years, the hardships and sorrows she’s endured, always melt away when she sees my child. She seems to glow in her presence and I sometimes wonder if she ceases to exist when Betina isn’t around because of how animated she becomes when we arrive.
I’m ninety-nine per cent certain that the only reason they put up with me is because of her. That extra one per cent is me clinging onto the idea that my parents do actually like me being around. I mean, it’s because of me that Logan and Bella moved back to Brighton so they regularly see them, so I like to think the other one per cent is the credit they’ve given me for that.
‘GRANDMA!’ Betina shouts and throws herself at my mother, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing. The love and unrestrained admiration is mutual. Betina has no boundaries when it comes to sharing love with her family, she is open and giving all the time. After squeezing my mother to pieces, my daughter releases her and goes tearing into the house looking for Bella, Logan and my dad.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I say quietly. I can already feel the disapproval as it ripples itself onto her face like the tide as it washes over the pebbles at the very edge of the beach.
‘Hello, Poppy.’ Twenty-five minutes, Poppy. Twenty-five minutes you’ve held us up for. Have you no respect for anyone but yourself? That’s what she’s actually thinking while she says those two words.
‘Mrs Carlisle,’ begins Alain, Mr Charm himself. ‘I must apologise. I was held up at my rugby game and I’ve made these two late. I’m so sorry, it’s incredibly rude of me. I will endeavour to be on time next time.’
‘Oh, A-Lun, what have I told you? It’s been ten years now, you must call me “Ethnie” or “Mum”. Either is fine. None of that “Mrs Carlisle” business any more, do you hear?’
‘Yes, of course, sorry. And apologies, again, for my tardiness.’
‘It really is no issue,’ Mum tells him. ‘We’re starting a bit later today, anyway. This has given us the chance to have a little a-pair-of-teeth.’
Aperitif, Mum means, of course.
‘Oh, good. But I am sorry.’
After Mum has led the way into the house, Alain leans in and whispers against my ear, ‘See, that wasn’t so bad.’
‘OK,’ I say, because I despair. Honestly, for how observant our daughter is, he is spectacularly clueless. ‘You didn’t see that look she gave me, did you? And you didn’t notice how she emphasised aperitif because they never have them. She’s majorly pissed off, but I’m the one who’ll get the snark, not you. So, no, I suppose for you, it’s not that bad,’ I reply and follow my mum down the corridor.
July, 2012
Couldn’t quite believe it. Not really. It must have happened right away. Literally right away. I held out the stick and Alain’s pale, nimble fingers took it from me, his eyes fixed on my face. One of us was shaking, but I wasn’t sure who. We’d bought the test as a bit of a joke since we’d only just officially started trying. We both knew it wouldn’t happen straight away. Not given my age and my body only just getting itself back to normal after so many years of poor nutrition and minimal exercise. I’d thought about taking folic acid, but didn’t want to tempt fate. Since it would take ages and everything.
And look.
LOOK.
Alain looked at the test and frowned as though the result was changing right before his eyes.
‘I guess that’s it, then,’ he said.
‘Have you changed your mind? Cos it’s totally fine if you have,’ I told him in a voice that was clearly saying it was not fine, even though I had changed my mind. I wasn’t sure whose idea this was, but it was obviously a stupid one. Me, a mother?
And what was I going to tell my parents? How were they going to feel about this? I was essentially a thirty-something teenager in their eyes. This would be confirmation of everything they thought about me. Yes, we’d sorted some stuff out and our relationship was better, but this would not be the good news it would have been if I was married and settled and respectable.
Alain dropped the test and immediately took me in his arms. ‘Why would I have changed my mind? I want nothing more than this.’
I relaxed, relief bubbling through me. ‘OK,’ I said.
‘Why? Have you changed your mind?’ he asked, obviously unsettled by my less than emphatic response to his reply.
I shook my head. Of course I’d changed my mind. I didn’t need to tell him that, though. It only needed one of us to still want to do this for it to work. Yes, it would have been better if it was me who was all in and certain, and who wanted this, but for now, while I worked out what it was going to do to my life, Alain had to be the happy, certain one about going through with this pregnancy.
Now
Alain walks us to the car after we take our leave. Every Sunday I’m reminded how bad my mother’s cooking is, and every Sunday I swear I’m going to get there early so I can help. My sister, Bella, was there and she did what she could to make the roasties edible, but Mum, tears in her eyes, had only put the chicken back in the oven to properly cook after Dad had intervened and said that no, chicken wasn’t like beef and lamb, and that if it was difficult to carve and still had red bits, then it wasn’t cooked and it would most likely poison us all. After that we were all cool with the gravy being lumpy and the Yorkshire puddings still being frozen. All of us collude in this, in allowing Mum to serve us terrible food and not saying a word unless absolutely forced to. Even Betina eats what she’s given without complaint.