Chapter 5
5
U pstairs in Kay’s bedroom Caro pulled a gauzy lilac curtain aside and, nursing her orange juice, looked out of the window. In the garden below a man had crouched over the metal frame of what was almost recognisable as a motorbike. She watched as he operated a welding machine, fireworks of white-hot sparks dancing around his hands. His face was masked by the thick goggles he wore, still she recognised him. ‘Is that the guy with the funny name?’ she said, watching.
Kay came across to join her. ‘Shook?’
‘Shook, yes. What are they doing?’
‘Building a motorbike.’
‘A what?’ Caro laughed.
‘I told you,’ Kay said. ‘Remember at Helen’s lunch? Alex has been working on it for months. Shook’s helping.’
‘Oh…’ Caro turned back to the window. ‘That’s right, I remember now.’
‘Is he still planning on racing, Kay?’ Helen put her glass down on the bedside table and climbed onto the bed, reaching behind to puff up one of the many pastel cushions scattered there. She hadn’t been upstairs in Kay’s house for a long time, not since the days when Libby and Alex had played together. It hadn’t changed much and, looking around, she was surprised all over again by this soft side Kay kept hidden away. She leaned back against the thick padded headboard, stretched her legs out and crossed her ankles. The patches of flaking pink varnish on her toenails were all that remained of the pedicure she’d had done for Cyprus. Cyprus… Right now, it was as out of reach as a half-remembered dream.
‘Yes.’ Kay answered Helen wearily. ‘He’s adamant. It doesn’t matter what I say, he’s absolutely set on it. I’m just glad Shook’s involved.’
‘Why's that?’ Caro murmured. She was watching the welding.
‘Because,’ said Kay, ‘that man can do anything. He’ll make sure the bike is put together properly. That it’s as safe as—’ She stopped talking, shook her head and turned away from the window. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘let’s get started.’
Caro and Helen exchanged a brief glance. Kay, Helen knew, wouldn’t be pushed. She was obviously more than worried about the motorbike, but the years had taught both her and Caro that Kay never really offered up more than a small taster of the Alex-shaped fears she carried. Maybe, back in the beginning, they had both tried to extract more from her in the hope of offering solutions and reassurance. Now, and this was something Helen was sure Caro felt as well, she knew that because there were no solutions, all Kay needed, and probably all she would ever have, was the reassurance of friendship. Which she had, in spades.
As if, somehow, Helen had communicated all this telepathically, Caro put her glass down and went across to Kay’s wardrobe where she flung the doors open. ‘First of all,’ she barked, ‘what kind of a meeting are we talking about? Formal? Semi-formal? What time of the day, Kay? And who’s going to be there?’ She reached up and pulled out a hanger draped with something navy blue. But whatever it was had slipped to the floor before Caro could look any closer, beaten without even trying. ‘You should organise by colour,’ she said.
Helen glanced at Kay who had come across to join her on the bed, so they were sitting now like schoolchildren, side by side, knees aligned, wine glasses in hand. She wanted to giggle. Despite everything, despite the whole shit show of today, she wanted to giggle.
‘I do,’ Kay muttered. ‘Navy blue or black. Take your pick.’
‘What kind of meeting, Kay?’ Caro turned.
‘Mediation. It’s called a mediation meeting.’
Caro shook her head. ‘Typically vague humanities-speak.’
‘And the boy’s mother?’ Helen asked. ‘She’ll be there?’
‘Amanda Woods. Yes, she’ll be there. And the head and me.’ Kay yanked her blouse open at the neck and fanned air. ‘God, it’s warm in here. Anyone else warm?’
‘Not me,’ Helen smiled. ‘A dose of oestrogen a day, keeps sweaty armpits away.’
Caro laughed. ‘It’s working then?’
‘Very well.’ Helen smiled. A month into HRT and she definitely felt more energetic. And maybe it was the after effects of Cyprus and maybe not, but up until this afternoon she had been riding a wave of renewed enthusiasm that had sustained her through the last few weeks. So it couldn’t be more ironic, could it? Just as she had finally broken through the solid mass of Lawrence’s resistance, she’d come crashing up against something far more formidable. Libby. She picked up one of the cushions, her finger tracing the bumpy silken path of embroidery. Was that how she thought of Libby’s news? Well… yes. Libby’s news felt like a huge brick wall that now had to be scaled.
‘So what about you, Kay?’ Caro said. ‘Perhaps you should try it?’
‘I will.’ Kay scratched her neck and got up off the bed, moving to the window to open it a few inches. The whirr of the welding machine floated through. ‘I was thinking that earlier and I will, as soon as this thing is over. Right.’ She turned to her wardrobe. ‘It’s a mess in there, Caro.’
‘I can see that.’ Caro dangled a shapeless navy t-shirt.
‘That’s quite smart,’ Kay offered.
Helen and Caro looked at each other. The chances of Caro finding anything suitable were going to be less than slim. Kay had always had about as much interest in fashion as Caro had for equations. All through university, she’d worn a uniform of Doc Martens, duffle coat and jeans. Swap out the Doc Martens for Hush Puppies, and the duffle for an M she was leaving her husband. Practicalities? Well, there was no point in waiting for graduation ceremonies or summers to end now. Caro was right again. Nothing had changed.
‘All this money I’ve spent,’ Caro was saying. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m extremely happy. Right now, I think I’m happier than I’ve ever been. But I’m lucky. All those millions of women like me, freezing eggs, having IVF – what about them? And there’s something else I’ve been thinking.’
Slightly dazed, Helen turned to her.
‘What about the men who created this business?’
‘The men?’ Kay said.
‘Yes. Baby-making is a very lucrative business. You know it’s mostly created and run by men?’
‘What are you trying to say, Caro?’ Kay asked.
Warming to her theme, Caro inched forward on her seat. ‘I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. What if all that money and time and energy was pumped into subsidised childcare instead? And we all just accepted that babies are a part of life, and that men and women will both take time away? Couldn’t we all then have our babies when nature intended us to?’ She looked first to Kay. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘I do.’ Kay nodded. ‘I always have done.’
Encouraged, Caro turned to Helen.
But Helen didn’t answer. She felt stunned, caught off guard by Caro’s speech. Was there any upside to the fact that her daughter was going to become a mother at such a young age? Every nerve and sinew strained in denial, and yet there was one thing Caro had said that Helen could not deny the truth of. She wouldn’t, not for anything, have wanted Libby to go through all that Caro had gone through. To find herself at fifty, pregnant with a child to whom she had no genetic connection.
‘Actually—’ Caro stood up, calling back over her shoulder as she went out to the kitchen. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ When she came back she was carrying the brochures she’d come in with.
Kay looked up at her. ‘You said it was urgent?’
‘Well, it kind of pales considering other news.’ Caro shrugged. She sat down, the brochures on her lap. Her cheeks coloured and she looked almost coy. ‘Umm… I wanted to ask, Kay. You sent Alex to Little Bird Nursery which is still going. I consider that a really good sign, if a business has lasted that long.’
Kay frowned. ‘Nursery? Isn’t this a bit early Caro?’
‘Yes. And no. Believe it or not, the waiting list is nearly a year. Plus I’m off to New York next week and then another week in Hong Kong. I wanted to grab the chance to talk to you.’
‘May I?’ Helen leaned across and picked up the top brochure.
‘Those are long plane journeys—’ Kay began.
‘First class.’ Caro smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I’m taking good care of myself.’ And she glanced down at her stomach.
‘Twelve hundred pounds a month!’ Helen’s jaw fell slack with astonishment.
Caro nodded. ‘It’s crazy, isn’t it?’
‘Crazy,’ Helen repeated. She turned back to the brochure. Over a grand a month for day care? Her heart dropped all the way through the fat cushion of Kay’s sofa. Libby wouldn’t be re-taking her finals any time soon, not at these prices. Not until the child was in school, walking to and from by itself, making its own dinner. Her mouth hardened. What on earth were they all going to do?
The thought had her slapping the brochure shut. Libby was going to have to step up. Lawrence was going to have to accept the fact that she was leaving, and she was going to have to get practical. Very practical, if she didn’t want this next half of her life slipping away like the first.
‘So,’ Caro was saying. ‘When is Libby due?’
Helen shook her head. ‘She thinks she’s around seven months. But until she’s had a scan…’
‘Well.’ Caro smiled. She looked from one to the other. ‘I thought that when I get back we could have lunch in town and…’ Her face coloured slightly, almost shy. ‘And I wanted to ask if you’ll come with me.’
‘Where?’ Kay said.
‘Shopping. Well, window shopping really. Helen’s birthday lunch was such fun. I thought that we could do something similar, and after take a little browse for…’
‘For baby stuff?’ Kay finished.
‘Just a browse. It’s far too early.’
‘Of course. Helen?’
‘Of course.’ Helen looked down at the dregs of her wine glass. Browsing for baby stuff? It wasn’t what she’d had in mind this summer of her fiftieth year. Lately it had been rucksacks spinning through her mind. She’d been determined that with Jack leaving in September and Libby… well. Yes, it was rucksacks she’d begun to think about shopping for. That, and a new life.
‘Great. So,’ Caro turned. ‘When is this school meeting, Kay?’
‘Next week,’ Kay said flatly.
Pushing her own thoughts aside, Helen also turned to Kay. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ she said cheerily, because poor Kay really did look washed out.
‘The worst, Helen?’ Kay looked at her. ‘I lose my job.’