Chapter 11
11
‘S o,’ Helen said through a mouth stuffed with pizza, ‘that's more than enough of my problems. We need to know about the meeting, Kay. What happened?’
‘Amanda Woods?’ Kay pushed her plate aside and picked up her coffee. Helen was more than tipsy and less than drunk. And her slurred-at-the-edges bank story was astonishing and outrageous and inconvenient. Kay’s allegiance was, once again, split. Across the table Caro had almost frozen with impatience. She already knew the bank story and they shouldn't be here now, watching Helen eat herself sober. The day had been hijacked. And it wasn’t just Helen, because, with the motorcycle built, Alex had taken it for a test drive early that morning and crashed it. Not badly. Just the tiniest of scrapes, and Shook had been driving behind to sort him out. But it was enough for Kay’s blood pressure to hit the roof and for her to need to see her son safely back home before she dared leave the house, which had resulted in her missing the riverside lunch. Not that she minded. If she were about to lose her job, expensive lunches would be the first thing to go. And even though that wasn’t a hardship, even though she’d always preferred pizza to pretentious pasta, Thursday’s school meeting reverberated loud as an electric drill in her head. She’d been shaken. So much so that she’d called her ex-husband, Martin. Divorce had separated them only as man and wife. As friends, Kay knew, they would never be estranged, and talking to him she’d felt a sad and questioning nostalgia resurface, as it sometimes did. What would have happened to their marriage, if Alex hadn’t been how he was? (The idea was destined to remain embryonic. Alex was Alex, and her love for him simply couldn't comprehend any variation.) Martin had been cheery, brushing off the training session as a box-ticking exercise that she shouldn’t be in the slightest bit worried about. But she was worried. More than she wanted to admit. What she had been accused of was no less than racism. And because she was pragmatic to the bone, and notwithstanding the improvement in the relationship with Zac, Amanda Woods’ words had re-started her own internal enquiry. Was she? Had she been biased? Past episodes of Zac's behaviour replayed again and again. Followed by her response. Followed by a relentless self-interrogation. Had she behaved as she would have with any other pupil? It was an exhausting process that she hadn’t been able to switch off. So now, the last thing in the world she felt like doing, the very last thing, was traipsing around looking at prams and cots.
Caro turned to her. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘Oh… you know.’ Kay shrugged. She swallowed a mouthful of coffee and put the cup down. ‘The mother has asked for a paper to be re-marked, and then… I think it will be OK.’
‘How do you feel about that?’ Caro asked.
How did she feel? Humiliated. Furious. Embarrassed.
‘What a cow,’ Helen whispered, mopping her mouth with her napkin. ‘Why are people such bastards to each other?’ And she stood up, her chair scraping loudly. ‘I'm going to get another coffee. Anyone else?’
Kay shook her head. Watching Helen’s unsteady gait as she walked across to the counter, she turned to Caro. ‘Why don't we get started?’ she said. ‘Helen can join us when she's finished.’ She nodded at the slice of pizza left on Helen’s plate. Caro might explode if she was forced to wait any longer, Helen needed more starch to sober up and, until she was more sure of herself, until she’d finished her self-imposed investigation, she wasn’t ready to share what was really on her mind.
‘Good idea,’ Caro answered briskly.
They were out of the restaurant and in the baby department with minutes.
‘So?’ Stopping at the side of a large, expensively dressed and exquisitely detailed cot, Caro trailed her fingers along the polished rail. ‘What was she like? This Amanda Woods? I’m curious.’
Kay frowned. ‘Oh, you know,’ she sighed. ‘Well groomed. Slim. Exactly as we guessed.’
‘And did the scarf work?’
‘I think so,’ Kay smiled. Nothing had worked. She reached across the cot and flipped the price tag over. ‘Bloody hell, Caro!’ she gasped. 'I didn’t pay that for my bed!’
Caro slipped her glasses on, leaned across to read the tag and without comment let it slip and walked around to the headboard. ‘What happened?’ she said, tapping the rail with her fingertips. ‘I mean what really happened, Kay?’
‘I said?—'
‘Kay,’ Caro interrupted. ‘Helen’s the one in shock. Not me. I’m sober, remember? And I’ve known you long enough to know?—’
‘I have to go to unconscious bias training.’
From over the top of her glasses, Caro looked at her.
‘You're not surprised?’ And now that it was out, now that she’d said those words out loud, she understood what had been holding her back. Shame. The shame of the accusation. The shame of the possibility of it being true. She felt very cold and very sad and very vulnerable.
Caro was shaking her head. ‘It’s a thing nowadays, Kay. Everyone does it. Whatever you do, don’t take it personally.’ She paused. ‘You’re not, are you?’
‘I don't think so.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, who am I kidding!’ she cried. ‘I’m taking it very personally, Caro. How can I not? What if it’s true?’
And to her surprise, Caro laughed.
‘Caro!’ All around Kay’s tired eyes, fine lines of worry rose and settled like shifting lines of sand. ‘If there's a part of me that’s been holding that boy back because…’ She shook her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Because of the colour of his skin… It’s devastating. I would be devastated.’
And again, Caro laughed. ‘Kay, you married a man who’s a quarter Nigerian.’
‘Please,’ Kay said softly. ‘Whatever you do, don’t laugh.’
And instantly, Caro stopped. ‘Don’t you see?’ she said. ‘You’re the only person I know who would do this. Only you would be prepared to string yourself up like this.’
‘Is that what I’m doing?’ Kay said, knowing of course that was exactly what she was doing.
‘Kay, I can’t seriously entertain the idea that you haven’t done your absolute best for any of the kids you teach.’ Caro smiled. 'And I think that you think the same.’
Kay didn’t answer.
‘When is it? The training?
‘I'm not sure. Maybe not until next term.
‘Right.’ Caro smiled again. ‘So, for now, put it to the back of your mind. Please? Cyprus did you a lot of good. You got a lot sorted, didn’t you, with Alex and your mum?’
She nodded.
‘So don’t slip backwards. Don’t lose all of that, Kay, based upon something that someone else might or might not believe of you.’
‘I—’
Caro reached across the cot and grabbed her hand. ‘Kay,’ she said urgently. ‘Do you think I’d be standing here now, if I’d given any weight to what everyone else was saying about me?’
Kay’s smile was weak. She turned to look along the row of cots. It was still quite unbelievable that Caro was expecting a baby. That she had in fact carved herself a solid future from thin air. And even though, like Helen, she was unable to decide what she thought about it (and perhaps never would), the commitment Caro possessed, in living her life, on her terms, was undeniable and admirable. It took a degree of self-belief, Kay knew, she should cherish a little better herself. Because she was a good teacher. An excellent teacher. The training would show up what it showed up and she would not be cowed. ‘I’m sure,’ she murmured, fingertips trailing the deliciously smooth wood, ‘that I have Alex’s old cot in the attic somewhere.’
‘Do you think, after, she’ll be satisfied?’ Caro had her palm flat on the headboard, as if she were divining its quality. ‘The mother?’
‘I hope so.’ Kay shrugged. ‘Then again I thought she’d be satisfied by asking for her son to be moved to a different class, even though it will probably make him miserable and embarrassed.’
With a sudden movement, Caro broke free of her cot-spell. Turning to Kay, she said, ‘And can’t she see that?’
‘No.’ Kay frowned. ‘I really don’t think she can, Caro. Some parents don’t,’ she added. ‘Some parents just aren't capable of understanding that their kids are separate entities, that…’ And she trailed off because Caro, she could see, had stopped listening and was now staring at a point halfway across the cot, her face busy with emotion. ‘Caro?’
‘Do you think I’ll be like that?’ It wasn’t more than a whisper.
A whisper that it took Kay long moments to respond to. ‘No,’ she began. ‘No, Caro I?—’
‘But you’d tell me? Wouldn’t you?’ Caro pressed. ‘If I started behaving like… If I was making his… or her… if I was making my child unhappy?’
Kay looked at her. Was it just Thursday that she was sat in Nick’s office, comparing Amanda Woods to Caro? Right now, they couldn’t be further away from each other. She reached across and put her hand on top of Caro’s. ‘Of course I would. You’re going to be a wonderful mum.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes. You are.’ Again, she frowned. Her thoughts were too slow, spinning in the tailwind of this unexpected moment. ‘Yes,’ she said again and because she simply couldn’t manage anything more, she squeezed Caro’s hand. She didn’t know if Caro was going to make a good, bad or indifferent parent. Who did? The journey, for everyone, was almost impossible to predict. What she did know was that in all the years of their friendship, she’d never heard Caro express such sincere doubt.
With trembling hands, Caro picked up the quilt from inside the cot. Her forefinger following a line of delicate embroidery, she whispered, ‘I just don’t want to get it wrong.’
Mesmerised, Kay watched Caro’s shaky hands as they carefully placed the quilt back in the cot. ‘Caro,’ she said with quiet command. Because the plinth of self-belief upon which her friend had built her life was cracking apart in front of Kay’s eyes. Caro, it was clear, needed a safety net – her tall, broad-shouldered, expensively clad friend needed something to fall back upon. Who else but a friend? ‘You’re about to enter a foreign world,’ she began.
‘I know?—’
‘No.’ Kay smiled. She shook her head, leaning her elbows forward on the cot rail. ‘This is something you don’t k now. And no matter how well you prepare, or think you’ve prepared, you will sometimes get it wrong. There’s nothing you can do to avoid that.’ She let her head drop to one side. ’Do you remember that story Helen used to tell? About driving Jack to nursery?’
Caro frowned.
‘You should do. We’ve both heard it loads of times.’
‘I do remember.’
‘Good, so what do you remember?’
‘About what happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘That Jack wouldn’t get dressed? That in the end she put him in the car half naked and told him that’s how he’d go to school?’
‘Nothing else?’
Caro shook her head.
‘Nothing at all?’
Again, Caro shook her head. Her eyes went glassy. ‘What am I missing?’ she said. 'I’m missing something, aren’t I?’
Kay looked at her. Every time Helen had told them this story it had squeezed Kay’s heart and left it limp as an old dishrag. Not the story itself, Helen’s reaction. This was what Caro was missing.
‘Tell me, Kay. Please. ’ Caro’s whisper had an echo of panic to it.
And smiling back at her friend, Kay wasn’t at all surprised by Caro’s bewilderment. To her, the point of Helen’s story had always been clear as the nose on her face, but that was because hearing it had always reminded her of her own ghosts, her own past failures in the never-ending and never-complete role that was motherhood. It was different for Caro, she hadn’t yet made any ghosts to come back and haunt her. With a rueful smile, she took Caro’s hand again. ‘What I remember,’ she said, ‘is the part where Helen cries. She starts to cry, her heart breaks when she tries to describe how Jack was crying. Always .’
Caro closed her eyes.
‘You’re going to get it wrong, Caro. We all do. And when you do it will haunt you, like that story haunts Helen. There are no guarantees but… that’s life. You’ll be fine and you’ll be a wonderful mother.’
‘Will I?’
‘I wouldn’t have asked you to be Alex’s godmother if I had any doubts.’
‘That’s not?—’
‘It is the same,’ Kay finished.
Caro took a tissue out of her bag, blew her nose and dabbed at the flakes of mascara under her eyes. ‘I’m scared,’ she whispered unfolding the tissue and folding it again. ‘I think I’m actually scared.’
‘I know,’ Kay whispered back. Poor Caro. She had everything, and nothing. And the kind of support she was going to need was the kind that money can’t buy. She leaned her weight further forward, across the side rail of the cot. ‘I’ll be here,’ she said. ‘When you need me, I’ll be—’ And the rail dropped, shooting Kay face first onto the little embroidered quilt. ‘Bloody hell,’ she muffled through a wadding of cotton.
Caro stared, put a belated hand out to help and then seeing Kay straighten up, threw her head back and laughed. ‘Ouch!’ Her hand went to the small of her back.
‘You OK?’ Kay said, straightening out the quilt.
‘Muscle twinge. From laughing.’ Caro pulled the rail back up again, her head bent as she tried and failed to fix it into place.
‘And that,’ Kay laughed, ‘is something else you’re going to get wrong. Again and again.’
‘It should just slot in I think. Here.’ She tried again.
‘Car seats, stair gates, cupboard locks, prams, rain covers… Shall I continue?’ Kay was still laughing.
‘No.’ Caro smoothed her blouse down. ‘But thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I mean it.’
Kay shrugged. ‘You will be fine, Caro. I’m going to be here and so is Helen.’
Nodding, Caro stared across the shop floor. ‘She had two G she was, she felt, still sinking.
‘Are you OK? You look odd.’
‘Do I?’ Helen shook her head. ‘I just need to sit down.’ And without thinking she dumped her handbag on the nearest tiny table and sat down on the nearest tiny stool. Chin in hands, elbows on knees, she nodded at the nearest perfect kitchen. ‘Libby had one of those,’ she said sadly.
‘I remember.’
‘Not that it did her any good. She couldn’t find her way around a life-sized kitchen now even if her life depended upon it. God knows how she’s going to cope, Kay.’
‘You’ve had a shit day, Goldilocks.’
‘I have, Mummy Bear.’ Helen laughed. ‘How did her story end? Death by housework?’
‘Get up,’ Kay scolded, but she was still smiling. ‘You’ll break it.’
Helen shuffled her bottom across the stool. ‘It’s pretty sturdy,’ she said. ‘Here.’ And she reached out and pulled a chair for Kay. ‘Sit down.’
‘No. I’ll definitely break it.’
‘You definitely won’t! Actually, I think you’ve lost weight.’ Helen put her head to one side. Kay did look slimmer. The holiday had done her so much good. ‘Are you dieting?’
‘Stress,’ Kay said, and inched her way onto the stool. ‘Best diet in the world.’
‘Now, that is true.’ Helen picked up a child-sized fork and turned it over. ‘Did you get all this for Alex?’
‘Not me.’ Kay picked up the matching spoon. ‘Martin’s parents did though. They bought a Peter Rabbit set. I’ve still got it somewhere. Never used.’
‘No?’
‘No. Alex point blank refused. He had to have this old fish fork I’d had forever. I’m sure Martin’s parents thought it was my doing.’
‘Oh, Kay.’ There were a million different ways in which Kay’s experience of motherhood differed from her own. A myriad more difficult and sadder episodes, and if they had another fifty years she guessed she’d never hear all of them. That was Kay. She kept it to herself, let it slip now and then (like now) and got on with it. Helen’s eyes smarted. What did she do when shit hit her fan? Get drunk and spill it out to any passing stranger. She felt Kay’s hand on hers. ‘Is the school thing really going to be alright? You’d say, wouldn’t you?’
‘I'll say,’ Kay smiled. ‘If and when the time comes, but right now, you have enough going on.’
Helen shook her head. And although she suspected that Kay wasn’t telling her the whole story, she didn't have the storage space to process any more information. Lawrence’s deception sat like a grand piano in her head, plonking out base notes that boomed and echoed and…
‘How is Libby?’ Kay said gently. ‘I wanted to ask earlier, but… you know, with everything else.’
‘All my other news you mean? Libby’s fine. Blooming as they say.’ And this too was true. In the ten days since Libby had been home, she had blossomed. Fed and watered, back in her own bed, looked after and mothered, the soon-to-be-mother had grown beautiful and more pregnant, it seemed to Helen, by the minute. As if, once the dread of letting the news out had passed, her baby had stretched itself out and relaxed. September, Libby had said. But beginning of August, the obstetrician had confirmed. So a couple of weeks then. A couple of weeks before she became a grandmother. ‘Lawrence,’ she said bluntly, ‘has suggested I give up my job.’
‘What?’
‘Last night. Libby was talking about taking a masters’.’
‘What did you say?’ Kay turned, her eyes wide.
‘I said no, Kay.’ Helen turned her hands over and looked at them. ‘Do you think that’s selfish?’
For a moment Kay was silent. Then slowly she looked up, and across at Caro. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But I think it’s very hard to put yourself first.’
‘Sometimes,’ Helen whispered, and she too was now looking across at Caro. ‘And I’m ashamed to say this, Kay, but sometimes I used to think Caro was the most selfish person I knew. She always put herself first and I couldn’t understand how she did it. Until now. Now, I get it.’
‘Caro has lived and worked in a man’s world for a long time,’ Kay said, her voice flat. ‘They’re much better at it.’
‘Why is that? It’s true, but why?’
‘Oh, Helen.’ Kay sighed. ‘You know why. It’s biology. Someone always has to take care of the baby. That’s just the way it is. And after that I think it becomes a habit.’
‘Except this time, it’s not my baby.’
‘Another truth, Helen. This time it’s not your baby.’
And together they sat, two middle-aged Goldilocks looking across to the rows of rocking chairs and gliders, where Caro sat, one hand on her stomach, chin tipped back to the ceiling.
‘So… What are you going to do?’
‘I’m not going to give up work, that much I know.’ As Helen stretched her legs out her knees popped.
‘Ouch!’ Kay winced.
‘Oh, that’s nothing.’ Helen smoothed her hands over her jeans. ‘Since HRT I can actually walk across the floor in the mornings without sounding like a shipwreck. I really think you should go to the doctor, Kay.’
‘I will, when everything has settled down, I will.’
‘Good.’ Helen took her handbag. ‘A hundred bloody grand,’ she muttered. ‘I still can’t believe it.’ She stared down at her legs. Sitting on her tiny chair, Helen felt tiny herself and everything that she was facing that would have to be faced felt huge. How was Lawrence going to be able to buy her out now? And if she had to stay, how was she going to do that? And Libby? Where on earth were Libby and the baby going to live? And should she just stay, to keep everyone happy? To keep it simple? She ran her palms along her shins and let out an enormous sigh. Far bigger than the sighs her mother used to make. ‘I don’t even know where to start,’ she said, hopelessly.
In response, Kay lifted her hand to Helen’s back and rubbed it in a small circle. ‘You’ll find somewhere.’
‘Will I?’
‘Yes, because you have to.’ She nodded to Caro. ‘We should go over.’
Her knees creaked and her back felt stiff but eventually Helen got to her feet. ‘Hangovers start earlier these days, don’t they?’
Kay laughed. ‘I wish I knew.’
Helen hitched her handbag up her shoulder, went to follow and then stopped. ‘Just give me a minute,’ she said, half turning. ‘I’m not going to let Caro down. I’m coming, but I just need a moment.’ And she hurried back around the corner and out of sight, back to the department entrance and the stand of white-as-snow, perfectly formed baby-grows she’d passed on the way in. Riffling through, she found what she was looking for. Baby-grows with a lemon trim. A neutral colour. Holding the hanger at arm’s length, Helen stood looking at the tiny empty baby shape a long moment. Then she took another one, exactly the same, folded them both over her arm and sneaked across to the nearest till to pay. One for Caro and one for Libby, because Kay was right. She had to start somewhere.