Chapter 18
Meeko’s plight lingered in Fiona’s mind as she walked home. She’d wanted to envelop him in a hug but couldn’t risk a repeat of the unrequited sparks that would generate. Sparks that had flared only since he’d split with Lynn. Had her subconscious put up a barrier while Meeko was spoken for, then let that barrier tumble as soon as he was available, even if he’d indicated that he wasn’t looking to meet anyone new? Her new-found attraction to her best friend was just something else that she couldn’t control and which, for the sake of her sanity, had to be pushed to the back of her mind.
Her shoulders sagged with relief at finding the house empty and her private space private again. She could put things back to how she liked them, but first she needed tea to power her through the next part of the day.
“What the . . .” Fiona’s muscles quivered as she reached the threshold of the kitchen. A chimps’ tea party couldn’t have left a worse mess. As a single person who liked to clear and clean immediately, she didn’t possess a dishwasher. A mug left neatly beside the sink was the most she could bear. The state of the kitchen told her that Adele and Joe preferred someone else to clean up after them. Poor Rose must have spent years doing that.
On the table, under a half-full bowl of milk-saturated Weetabix, was a scribbled note:
Adele — please wash up after breakfast. Remember we are guests here!!!! Destroy this note after reading. Dad.
A smiley face inside a wonky heart shape followed the word ‘ Dad ’. The cereal packet was on its side, with one of the white inner packages ripped to allow the crumbly biscuits to escape onto the table. A knife, glazed with marmalade, was planted in the open carton of low-fat spread. A second bowl exhibited artwork in the medium of dried-on porridge, and a glass measuring jug in the middle of the table contained evidence of how the oats and milk had been cooked. The crusty edges from a slice of toast and jam sat on a plate in the bottom of the sink. Fiona followed scarlet splodges to find the unlidded jam jar nestling in the cupboard alongside her tins of tomatoes, kidney beans and coconut milk.
Gritting her teeth, Fiona donned rubber gloves and filled the bowl — she couldn’t settle to anything, not even tea, until everything was clean and back in its place. She put the radio on. Swore under her breath as loud, thumping music with no distinguishable words filled the room. She felt like an interloper into a teenager’s lair or a squatter’s den. Adele was an adult, an almost-mother, she should have more consideration and empathy for the woman whose house she was in. And the porridge stuff meant Joe didn’t get off scot-free either. Fiona saw an image of Rose sprinting down the road with a suitcase and no backward glance. In another world they might have been friends.
Thirty minutes later, with the teapot full and her favourite mug warming, she heard noises above. Fiona’s perceived privacy had been an illusion. Footsteps on the stairs. Had Adele deliberately waited until she’d heard the sink fill and empty again and the kettle boil before she decided to show her face?
The girl did have the grace to look ashamed as she shambled into the kitchen. Her hair was unbrushed and she was wearing leggings and a baggy top that looked like they’d been slept in.
“Adele, I’d really appreciate it if you could clear up after eating.”
“Oh, Fiona! I’m really, really sorry.” Adele spoke with sincerity and sheepishly screwed up the note that Fiona had pointedly left on the table. “I thought I had plenty of time before you’d be back. I must have fallen asleep again.”
Fiona wanted to point out that she wasn’t running a hotel and that she wasn’t an unpaid housekeeper, but she bit her tongue. Adele looked genuinely contrite and pale with tiredness. Fiona needed to cut her some slack. “Don’t worry, it’s done now.”
“I promise I’ll do it next time. You haven’t got children, have you?”
Fiona shook her head. “No.” There was a familiar prickle in her eyes and she had to look away. Adele didn’t know she was being tactless.
“Being pregnant is like having an alien inside of you trying to punch its way out.” She rubbed her extended belly. “It uses up your energy so that all you can do is sleep or flop. Dad doesn’t understand — he still thinks I should function like the old me. But I think the old me might be gone forever.”
Fiona reached out and squeezed Adele’s hand. The girl was spot on with that last sentence. Whatever the outcome of a pregnancy, the mother’s outlook on life was never the same again. “Don’t grieve; you might love the new you better.”
She wanted to tell Adele that she knew exactly what it felt like to be pregnant and how tiring it could be. Fiona had found the first trimester tough. She hadn’t had the option of lounging about while someone else cleared up after her, though. She’d had a house and husband to maintain and a job to hold down. Rob had kept saying that he was more than willing to help, but his offers were of no use because by the time he got home there was only time to eat and go to bed. Fiona, believing he was working late every night, had felt it was her duty to do everything — after all, a marriage is about teamwork, and he was earning more than her. If only she’d known back then that he wasn’t doing overtime to provide a secure home for his wife and child but was in the bookies or playing the slot machines chasing a quick win to keep the bailiffs at bay. If she’d known, maybe she wouldn’t have pushed herself so hard and, just possibly, she might not have lost Amber. Mostly, she tried not to reflect on that period, but when she did, guilt descended. The miscarriage might not have been solely down to the shock of the bailiffs. If she hadn’t insisted on doing more than her share at home as well as working full-time, even though she was suffering from first trimester exhaustion and sickness, there might have been a better outcome. The medical staff had said it was just ‘one of those things’, but Fiona felt they had been trying to stop her from blaming herself. Losing Amber had been the biggest failure of her life — of course she was going to blame herself.
She looked at Adele but voiced none of her thoughts out loud. The girl was wan-faced, with more shadow under her eyes than a girl her age should have.
“Go sit down and put your feet up. Or relax in the bath. Just don’t tell your dad.”
Adele grinned at her. “Thank you.” Then she mimed zipping her lips closed. “If you really don’t mind, I’d love to have a bath.”
Fiona waved her away with a smile and felt a little bud of brightness inside her.
When Joe returned from work the house was pristine. Adele was dressed in maternity jeans and an oversized sky-blue sweatshirt stretched snuggly over her bump. She’d made an effort with some make-up and looked a lot brighter.
“You’re blooming!” Joe held his daughter at arm’s length for a moment and then kissed her on the forehead. “Impending motherhood suits you.” He touched her belly. “But don’t make a habit of it.”
Fiona served homemade fish pie and broccoli. Adele accepted only a little bit of the broccoli onto her plate and bypassed Fiona’s specially prepared tartar sauce, but was liberal with the tomato ketchup. Joe frowned as she squirted from the bottle onto her plate for a third time. Fiona caught his eye and give a little shake of her head. His face relaxed and he let it pass.
“Fiona has offered to host a baby shower for me,” Adele spoke tentatively when they’d all finished eating. “Is that still OK, Fiona?”
“Absolutely.” Damn, she’d forgotten to mention the Father Christmas gig to Meeko. Her organisational skills seemed to be escaping through the cracks as light seeped into the controlled areas of her life.
“I haven’t a clue what a baby shower is,” Joe said immediately, “but I’m behind it all the way.” He was looking eagerly from one woman to the other as though pleased to see them bonding over whatever this unknown female ritual might turn out to be.
“It’s a sort of party,” Adele explained, “to celebrate the forthcoming birth of a baby.”
“And you’re happy to host this party, here in your house?” Joe was looking at Fiona as though this offer was totally out of character for her. He was right. Each time she thought of the impending event, her heart speeded up and anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach. Only the expectation that Meeko would be there on the night, as a supporting act, made her feel that this was something that she could actually get through.
“Yes. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”
Joe squeezed her hand. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” No. Through choice, I’d have nothing to do with pregnant women, baby showers, et cetera, et cetera, but I’m finding that sometimes it feels good to open up those dark compartments. However, when it comes to it, this one might not feel quite so good. “I’m sure Adele will keep everyone under control and it won’t be too wild.”
“What do you think, Adele?”
“I want it to go ahead. Obviously. But . . .” There was a silence and then the words came hesitantly. “It’s just . . . everyone will see . . . it should be Mum . . . not . . .”
Joe looked confused but Fiona understood immediately. “Introducing me as your dad’s girlfriend is embarrassing?”
Adele nodded but had the decency to look ashamed.
“Then tell them I’m a family friend; one of those friends of your parents who get called ‘Aunty’ even though there’s no blood relationship. Will that work?”
Adele nodded again.
Joe looked satisfied with the outcome. “And we’ll both help you with the catering, Fiona. I’ll pay.”
“There’d need to be a big cake. With pink icing.” Adele glanced down at her empty plate, which had held one of Fiona’s homemade sugarless flapjacks. “And with proper sugar in it.”
“Sugar,” Fiona repeated, “is not a problem.” At least not compared to the emotional strain of celebrating someone else’s as yet unborn baby daughter.
Joe had pulled a diary from his briefcase, turned to the back, headed the page ‘Baby Shower’ and was starting a list. “You’re the expert, Adele, what do we need?”
“Let me!” Fiona held her hand out for the diary. She didn’t trust someone else to do the organising. “I’ll make the notes.”
Relief flooded Joe’s face as he handed the diary over, and Fiona’s shoulders relaxed once she was in the driving seat.
“Pink balloons, prosecco, all sorts of nibbles, and there’s a Baby Bingo game I’ve seen online. And, Dad, you do know it’s women only?”
Joe’s face fell and then recomposed itself quickly into an expression of positivity.
“First things first.” Fiona opened the Calendar app on her phone. “What date are we aiming for?”
“What about the seventeenth?” Joe suggested. “It gives us time to prepare but there’s still a week to go before Christmas.”
“Entertainment,” Adele said. “Your Father Christmas friend . . .”
“Meeko? I’m sure he’ll be amenable, for a small fee.” Fiona smiled. This was killing three birds with one stone: she was offering a helping hand to both Adele and Meeko. And she’d have her best friend present if her courage turned turtle and she couldn’t cope. “And I’ll pay his fee — my contribution to the party.”
Joe frowned. “You said I was banished from the actual party because I’m a man. Why is Meeko allowed to be there?”
“As the entertainment, he’s fine to be there,” Adele confirmed.
Fiona went back through her list. “We’ve made a good start.”
Joe leaned over and kissed his daughter on the forehead. “This baby shower will run like a dream. Even if I’m not there to oil the wheels.”
It was the first time since Adele’s arrival on her doorstep that Fiona went to bed feeling there was harmony in the house. And she felt satisfaction and pride that, despite her ongoing sadness over Amber, she was able to offer Adele help. She used these positive emotions to quash the anxiety that was rising and falling within her whenever she thought about the shower and its emphasis on babies and new life.
Joe must have picked up on the household’s good vibes too. That night they made love for the first time since Adele had moved in — albeit as quietly and unenergetically as they could.