‘We should go to that hotel again some day,’ I said whimsically, thinking about how we had held hands along the windswept beach, and how there had been writing in the sand marking the year 2010, as though marking Noah’s beginnings.
It had been on our first weekend away without Rosie, who had been four years old and on a sleepover with Granny Helen. We had walked for miles along the cliffs, soaked in a steam bath, eaten a five-course supper, ripped each other’s clothes off drunkenly on the four-poster bed and then fallen asleep too tired to have sex. It had been the next morning that we had made a new baby out of the healthy eggs I had not known were there.
‘As for Number Three, he was practically free,’ he laughed, placing his hand on my growing belly. The vision of a drained bottle of red and empty containers of curry sprang into my mind. We had not planned on a third. I was not ready for a third.
I crossed Peter’s two fingers over. ‘Let’s hope this one’s an easy baby,’ I said.
‘He?’
‘Did I say he?’
‘I think so.’
‘Wishful thinking.’
‘Don’t you want a baby girl?’ he asked, surprised.
‘Boys are easier.’
‘I know Rosie’s hard work, honestly, I really understand, but we’d never change her.’
‘Of course not,’ I replied. A chill ran up my spine. ‘But being her mum is so hard sometimes, Peter.’
‘I know, I know,’ he soothed. Finally the jokes had run out.
‘Sorry,’ I said, pulling myself away from him. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going to check on her.’
I crept into Rosie’s bedroom. My heart seized up. The sight of her curled up at the bottom of her bed – dysfunctional even in sleep – was captivating; the frowsy smell of her bedclothes reminding me of how grown-up she was becoming. I feared the speed of her growing limbs as I brought the duvet back over her body, wanting to protect her from the chill of the night forever, wanting to protect her from all of life’s dangers, knowing this was impossible.
I was taken back to her tenth birthday a few months before. We had given her a pair of clumpy black boots that she had wanted, even though it was the height of summer. She had tried them on with her nightie, squealing with delight. Her long, skinny legs had stuck out of them and I thought she looked like a fashion model. Briefly, time had flashed forward to give me a glimpse of what she would look like as a teenager, and how beautiful she would be.
To celebrate, we had given her the choice of either having tea and cake with a few of her school friends, like Beth, or going out as a family to a pizza restaurant. She had chosen the pizza restaurant with us, which had delighted Peter and me.
Sitting opposite her in the restaurant as she sipped at her fizzy drink and talked about the book she had been reading would go down as one of the happiest times of my life. Strange, that such a small, prosaic ten minutes in a nondescript chain restaurant could have provided such intense joy. The ten years of nurture and love – and drudgery – seemed to culminate in this beautifully simple moment. I was sharing a relatively grown-up chat with my daughter – whom I might never have been able to conceive – about books. Pride had throbbed through me like a heartbeat, and I had wondered whether my feelings had the power to push light out from my skin.
* * *
When the alarm went, it was still dark. I woke up with a sinking feeling, remembering the conversation Peter and I had had the night before. I hadn’t been able to explain how I really felt, as though there was a mountain of the unsaid between us.
I couldn’t face getting out of bed to make the early train for my meeting.
One of the aphorisms that I had written on a neon pink Post-it and stuck to my computer at work read:
Failure will never overtake me if my determination to succeed is strong enough!
When it came to Rosie, failure was overtaking me, flooding me. With all the determination in the world, I was not succeeding.
To divert my thoughts, to relocate the idea that I was quite capable of standing on my own two feet, I tried to decide which suit I would wear today. The blue or the grey? It was ten to five, which gave me five minutes before I had to get out of bed.
Then the door to the bedroom opened. I expected to see Peter and I was surprised to see Rosie, instead.
‘Darling, you’re awake. Is everything okay? It’s too early to get up.’
‘I wanted a cuddle before you go to work.’
‘Oh poppet, come here,’ I said, raising the duvet so that she could climb in.
She snuggled into my arm and I kissed her hair.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘You sure? You didn’t have a bad dream or anything?’
‘Nope.’ She looked up at me, her blue eyes blinking.
‘Beautiful girl,’ I said, kissing her nose.
Her smile warmed me like sun on skin after a long winter. I drank in her affection, never wanted it to end. I remembered that Rosie had only been a few hours old, swaddled in my arms on the hospital bed, when I first realised quite how hard the cover-up would become. Jacs had cooed that Rosie’s ‘thick dark hair’ was just like mine. I had nodded and agreed, but inside I had been angry with her for her naivety; envied her for sharing her genes with her conventional baby.
‘Don’t let daddy forget to put your gym kit in your bag. Your T-shirt is drying in the laundry room.’
‘Okay.’
‘And I’ve laid out your pinafore on your chair.’
‘But I want to wear my skirt today.’
‘But the pinafore’s smarter.’
Every morning I would tug and tuck and smooth and preen Rosie until she looked box-fresh perfect. It was hard for me to turn off that setting, to let Peter take charge.
‘Okay.’
‘And remember to take your water bottle. The blue one, okay? The red one leaks.’
‘Yes, yes. We can, like literally, remember stuff even when you’re not here you know, Mum.’
‘I can like literally not believe that,’ I teased.
‘Daddy lets us have chocolate spread for breakfast when you’re not here.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t ever joke about that.’
‘It’s okay. I like muesli better anyway. It’s Noah who likes the chocolate spread.’
‘You’re such a good girl,’ I said, winking at her, playing into her good-girl routine, although it did make me proud to know she now liked the organic muesli I had insisted she ate every morning.
She blinked wildly at me. ‘I want to be able to wink. Charlotte can wink and she’s been trying to teach me but it’s totally impossible. I even tried Sellotape on one eye. Can you teach me?’
My heart leapt into my mouth. I remembered Kaarina’s jaunty profile description. She, too, had been unable to wink. At the time, it had been an irrelevant and jokey detail, adding charm to her profile. Now – in my sensitive, paranoid state – it became a large neon sign that encapsulated the genetic mystery of Rosie.
‘Grandma Helen always told me that real ladies don’t wink or whistle. Don’t learn bad habits from me,’ I replied, a little too sharply.
‘Sorry.’
To salvage the moment, I said, ‘How was Beth yesterday? Did you have fun?’
‘She was fine,’ she mumbled, and then she suddenly wriggled out of my arms.
‘Where are you going?’
She yawned. ‘I’m going back to bed. I’m tired.’
‘Oh, okay. You sure it was okay with Beth yesterday?’
She walked out as though she was deaf and I heard her bedroom door click closed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
TOP SECRET
* * *
Dear Mummy,
* * *
MY HEAD FEELS LIKE A BIG HOT AIR BALLOON FILLED WITH FIRE.
If you talk to Vics about Beth, I’m DEAD.
* * *
Which lie shall I tell?
a) That I was stolen by aliens for an hour?
b) That I was kidnapped by a man in a white van?
c) That I snuck down to the sweet shop instead of going to Beth’s?
INVISIBLE INK ALERT: d) Definitely not that I went to Mrs E’s for cake.
* * *
I think c) is my best.
* * *