March #5
I’d followed Noah’s advice, but that wasn’t the only reason Griz and I got on.
I was interested in her role as a civil servant and admired her ability to balance her home life and her career thanks to music lessons, after-school clubs, and summer camps.
She was one of those rare women who made the idea of having it all look less like a myth, though of course keeping her children busy so that she could work cost money.
‘Thanks for having us again,’ I added, taking off my coat. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sure it was our turn.’
‘Oh, you know how Daniel loves to cook.’
Noah laughed.
It was around half-past eight when we sat down at the table and, much to Lizzie’s relief, dinner was served.
About an hour earlier, when everyone apart from Daniel had been sitting and chatting (and waiting) in the living room, Noah had gone to get a fresh wine glass and covertly snuck a bag of crisps out from the kitchen under his shirt.
When, like a magician, he’d pulled it out, Allie had squealed, and Nick, a little heavy-handedly, had covered her mouth.
Lizzie, who had been playing the piano at Griz’s suggestion, had ended the argument that ensued by threatening to eat the entire bag herself.
Daniel stood at the head of the table, which was made from the same dark wood as the old-fashioned dresser pushed up against the wall.
He was the spitting image of Noah, just younger and, that evening, in a black-and-white striped apron that fell to the knee.
He had the same thick dark hair, his as yet unsalted, and matching eyebrows, eyes the same shape and shade of brown.
But beyond his looks, even his mannerisms were familiar.
The way he gestured for us to go ahead and help ourselves to some herby couscous while he served the chicken with artichokes and lemons. He, too, talked with his hands.
‘So, Cathy, Noah says you’re working on something new?’ he asked.
‘I am,’ I replied, holding the bowl as Allie scooped a generous portion of couscous onto her plate, and a small portion onto the table. ‘A seventeenth-century Dutch seascape.’
‘The artist?’
Daniel had taken a module in art history while studying for his history degree, and when we first met, he’d delighted in deftly navigating the subject, showing Noah that we most likely had more in common than he and I did.
That, of course, and our ages. We both graduated the same year, a decade later than Noah.
‘Hendrick van Anthonissen.’
‘Of course.’
I looked up from my plate to see if he was smiling – Hendrick was hardly a household name – but he was slicing a piece of chicken straight-faced.
Before returning my gaze to my own food, it collided with Noah, who, on the other hand, was wobbling his head in mock surprise.
Lizzie must have noticed because she started to laugh.
After completing his degree, Daniel had gone on to become an actuary.
‘It’s exciting, actually,’ I said, trying to avert any more mockery, ‘I’ve just finished removing the varnish, and I’ve found something.’
‘Something?’
‘A figure and beside it a sort of triangle.’
‘Oh, that is exciting.’
‘It could be,’ I said, smiling and shrugging my shoulders, not wanting to get ahead of myself. ‘I mean, these tonal paintings are usually quite predictable. But it is strange.’
‘What do you think it is?’
‘I don’t know … I mean, I thought it might be a fin, but the others are sceptical, to say the least. I’m waiting for the results from the scientific department, but if it’s not contemporary with the painting, I might be able to do some careful digging.’
‘Which is when a steady hand is of the essence,’ said Daniel, looking at Allie.
I started rattling my cutlery, which made her giggle.
We ate and chatted, about everything from our weeks to the sudden death of a famous DJ.
Mealtimes with Daniel and Griz often descended into heated discussions about whatever item was currently top of the news.
Daniel liked to challenge the children to think about things critically, to consider other perspectives, something Noah said his father had always done with them.
‘It’s hard to feel sorry for someone so rich and famous,’ Daniel commented, glancing around the table to see who would take the bait.
He would often throw in provocative comments, and Lizzie and Nick thrived off the debates that followed.
That night Nick constructed a compelling counterargument, and satisfied with his son, Daniel reached across the table and gave him a high-five.
Accustomed to tuning out at times like these, Allie hummed happily to herself as she picked at the bone of her drumstick.
When dessert was served – honey cake with plums – talk turned to a lighter subject. Griz’s youngest sister, Sandra, had just given birth to her first baby.
‘She went into labour in the back of an Uber!’ Griz said it laughingly, though the look in her eyes suggested she was less amused than giddy with relief.
‘Here.’ She passed around her phone so we could all see the photos, including one of the driver, a pale-faced twenty-something.
‘Daniel tells me Anna and Caleb are expecting another?’ she said, as I flicked through images of a squashy baby, bald as a lightbulb.
‘Yes,’ I replied, glancing at Noah and wondering when that had come up in conversation between him and his brother. ‘Their second.’ There was a moment’s pause, and I felt the need to fill it. I smiled as I added, ‘It’s wonderful.’
Griz tilted her head to one side and smiled back. Then she asked, in a way that suggested I’d just let something slip, ‘Are you two still set against it? We haven’t spoken about it in a while, so maybe …’
‘What’s that?’ asked Noah, mid-mouthful.
‘Starting a family!’
He laughed and I wish I had, too. But when I opened my mouth, there wasn’t any sound. Instead, I tried to keep hold of my smile as I silently rolled the words around on my tongue : starting a family. As if we weren’t one already.
I passed the phone to Nick, who passed it straight to Lizzie, and clasped my hands together on my knee, trying to figure out why these kinds of comments were coming up again, and why my reactions weren’t chiming with Noah’s.
We’d both laughed them off in the past – they came up a lot when we got married, when I turned thirty, when friends’ bellies swelled.
We’d found it funny at best, boring at worst. When female friends cooed over how good Noah was with kids, which he was, he’d whisper in my ear that maybe he should mix things up a bit – let them sample his wine, teach them to swear, stay up late with them watching unsuitable films. In time, the people we chose to surround ourselves with seemed to have accepted that procreation wasn’t the plan for us. And now?
‘But Uncle Noah and Auntie Cathy already have a family.’
Allie. I felt my eyes sting.
‘Yes, sweetie, they’re absolutely a part of our family,’ said Griz. ‘I just wonder if they might be getting a little bit tempted to have a family of their own.’ As she said it, she looked at me, eyebrows raised a smidge, conspiratorially.
I locked eyes with Noah, who was finishing his piece of cake, unfazed. He gave me a relaxed smile that said, I’ve got this, and told her no, we still didn’t intend to have kids. ‘We’ve talked about this,’ he reminded her, coolly. ‘It’s not for us.’
I watched Griz turn back to me, ready to laugh and roll her eyes – men – then quickly press her lips together. She looked at Daniel, who opened his palms as if to say, Well, obviously.
Noah smiled at me from across the table, looking for some back-up maybe, a bit of give.
I forced another smile in return, though I felt my lips tremble. ‘That’s right,’ I said, pushing on, hoping the trembling wasn’t visible. ‘We really are happy just us.’ As soon as I’d said it, I wished I’d left out the ‘just us’ and wondered what it meant, the fact that I hadn’t.
‘Oh, of course,’ said Griz, nodding and smiling, a tad too hard, trying to make up for what she now realised had been a blunder. ‘As you should be – happy, I mean.’
Polite smiles ensued.
Allie’s own lip wobbled as she asked if we still liked her and Nick and Lizzie.
Noah reached for her hand and explained that, of course, we loved them. ‘In fact,’ he said, sincerely, ‘we love you three so much that it’s almost like having children of our own.’
I could have sworn I felt my heart crack.
‘But—’
Before she had a chance to reply, I pushed my chair back and away from the table, its legs scraping against the wooden floor and making everyone turn to look. ‘Sorry,’ I laughed, or at least I tried to laugh, ‘don’t mind me.’
The downstairs loo was the smallest room in the house, tucked away beneath the stairs.
My heart was thumping hard against my chest – not cracked after all – as I struggled with the latch.
I sat down and stared at the framed photos of the children on the walls, in school uniform and sports kit and home clothes, lined up with their friends – other people’s children.
There were pictures that had been taken every year of all the cousins, lined up in a row from oldest to youngest. Griz was one of five, which partly explained her preoccupation with producing offspring.
I could hear muffled voices leaching through the walls from the dining room but not the topic of conversation.
Was it still the apparently gaping hole in my life with Noah, or had the talk moved on to plans for the weekend?
I bit my lip and tried to get a hold of myself.
But it was too late – I could feel tears of frustration prickling in my eyes and knew I would be better off letting them fall than trying to contain them and having a spillage back at the table.
Frustration both at the situation and at my reaction to it, the fact I could no longer seem to simply laugh along.
I looked up at the photo directly ahead of me : Lizzie and Nick sitting on an old peach-coloured sofa, their feet hovering inches above the carpet, with baby Allie plonked between them, small with staring eyes, blue and still.
We were here that day, and moments after the photo was taken, Griz had given me Allie to hold.
Another photo showed Allie snuggled against my front, koala-like, and Noah with his arm around me.
I remember the subject line of the email Griz sent me the next morning, with the photo attached : Family portrait!
Before I’d even opened the email, I’d showed it to Noah, and the two of us had shared a private smile – the kind we shared whenever new parents encouraged us to procreate.
Sitting there on the loo, I tried to smile that same smile. No luck.
Noah must have noticed my puffy eyes when I reappeared.
He didn’t say anything while we were all sitting around the table, and neither did anyone else, though Griz clearly felt she’d put her foot in it.
She kept stealing glances at me and, whenever I caught her eye, smiling apologetically. I smiled back, quietly grateful.
As soon as we’d slid onto the back seat of our Uber, Noah put his arm around me and asked me to talk to him. When I didn’t respond, he started singing : ‘Talk to me, baby.’
I laughed and told him I was just tired, which was partly true. Work had been full-on and, apart from a couple of days in Norfolk over Christmas, we hadn’t been away since the autumn.
‘Well, that we can fix,’ he said, squeezing my shoulder and kissing the top of my head.
I reached my own arm across his front and clung on to his waist, a second seatbelt.