Chapter 12
TEN DAYS LATER
Josie
Incredibly, it’s been agreed that I can visit Cora today. Perhaps she felt sorry for me over the Rupert business.
I have a nervy feeling in the pit of my stomach (ridiculous!
I’m only visiting my daughter!) and a present for Poppy stashed in my bag.
Just a few picture books I picked up, wrapped in cheerful bunny-patterned paper and tied with a bow.
I know Zack said they were ‘a bit overloaded’ with books, but what else can I bring her?
The cuddly lion and collection of plush Winnie the Pooh characters were greeted by Cora with a brief, ‘Ah, nice!’ and have never been seen since.
Theirs is a lively and interesting area – a mix of ramshackle grocers and takeaways with smart new coffee shops always popping up.
Their flat, one of several owned by Zack’s wealthy parents, is in a pleasant Victorian terrace, bordered from the street by freshly painted railings and small, neatly tended gardens.
Trying to quell my unease, I press the bell to their ground-floor flat. It’s Cora who comes to the door, with a pink-cheeked, wide-eyed Poppy cradled in her arms. ‘Hello, love! Hello, Popsy-baby!’ I hug Cora – hug both of them, really – very lightly.
‘Come in, Mum!’ she says brightly, and I follow her into the living room.
When Cora was a baby, my flat was an explosion of nappies and toys and splattered milk and baby food.
Where did I go wrong? The impression here is that Poppy’s arrival has been no more disruptive than buying a new cushion.
The light tan sofa appears to be unmarred.
Apart from her bouncy chair – spotless, parked neatly on the floor beside the coffee table – you’d never know a baby was resident here.
I lift off my shoulder bag and tug off my jacket, wondering where to put them. Placing them on the sofa would feel like tipping out the kitchen bin onto their fluffy cream rug. So I dart out to the hall, pull out Poppy’s present and hang up my bag and jacket on one of the hooks.
I return to find Cora perched neatly on the sofa with Poppy on her knee, and sit beside them, placing my gift on the coffee table next to the Diptyque candle. ‘So, how’s it going?’ I venture.
‘Really well.’ Cora smiles, although I detect a hint of tension in her pale blue eyes.
‘She’s grown so much,’ I say truthfully. It’s been nearly three weeks since I’ve seen her. Three weeks since I was last allowed through Border Control.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she says, seeming to relax a little. ‘It’s been crazy lately. So many visitors, you know? We’ve tried to space them out…’
Is that what it is? I’ve been spaced out? ‘Don’t worry.’ I touch her arm. ‘I do remember what it’s like, you know.’
She nods and smiles. ‘You did it all on your own.’
‘After a fashion.’ I chuckle. ‘So, is Zack around today?’ I ask, in what I hope is a neutral tone.
‘Yep. He’s just on a call.’ My heart sinks a little. I know he works from home as an IT manager a couple of days a week, but I’d hoped that this would be an office day.
I nod – let’s hope it’s a long call – and coo over Poppy’s huge blue eyes and pink milk-plumped cheeks, her impossibly tiny fingers and wisps of soft blonde hair. She is so like Cora, it takes my breath away. ‘Can I hold her?’ I ask.
‘’Course you can, Mum.’
Cora hands her to me, and I’m overcome by a rush of happiness as I hold her close and breathe in her gorgeous scent. Poppy emits a sweet little gurgle and grasps at the cuff of my sleeve. I kiss the top of her head and nuzzle her cheek—
‘Oh, hi, Josie!’ Zack has appeared in the doorway.
‘Hi, Zack.’ I smile brightly as he comes closer.
‘Watch her head!’ he barks.
‘It’s all right.’ I frown up at him. ‘I do know how to—’
‘It’s just… her neck,’ he blusters. ‘You have to support it.’
‘Yep! She’s fine…’ Fucking hell, mate, I have held a baby before. Or does he think Cora was made in a laboratory?
‘Their muscles aren’t fully developed at this stage.’
‘No, I realise that,’ I say, my smile set like cement. I alter my position to demonstrate how expertly her neck is being supported and address her directly. ‘Popsy, darling, I brought you a little present…’
‘Come to Daddy, then.’ With a grimace, Zack bends to scoop her from my arms.
I clear my throat and try to catch Cora’s eye, but she won’t look at me.
Zack is strolling around the bright, airy room now, taking Poppy to the window in order to soothe her, I assume, from the trauma of being cuddled by her granny for a couple of minutes.
‘Look, sweetie,’ he murmurs. ‘The trees! See the branches blowing?’
I remember my own parents coming down to meet Cora for the first time, soon after she was born.
How terrified of London they were: the crowds, the noise, the Underground as baffling to them as a wiring system for a nuclear submarine.
Yet there they were, thrilled to hold their grandchild – even my gruff dad, who’d grafted away among men at the engineering works for fifty years.
Seeing him being so tender with Cora had caused my heart to swell with love.
Trying to dispel the tension, I pass the gift to Cora. ‘Just a little something for Poppy,’ I say.
‘Oh, Mum. That’s kind of you.’ Carefully, she peels off the Sellotape and eases off the bunny paper from the three picture books. ‘These are sweet.’ She smiles.
‘Those two are just from a charity shop,’ I say.
‘Ah. Right.’ Briefly, she examines them and places them on the table. They’re in perfect condition, and I wiped down their covers just to be sure. But Zack grimaces at them as if I’d fished them out of a septic tank.
‘I remember this one!’ Cora exclaims, brightening now.
‘Yes, you loved it,’ I say, my spirits lifting. ‘From when you were a baby right up until you were about four. We read it so many times—’
‘The thing is, with charity shops, you don’t really know where it’s been,’ Zack announces hotly.
Cora and I stare up at him. ‘That one’s actually new.’ Blood rushes to my cheeks. ‘I bought it from—’
‘And I don’t think she’s quite ready for religious indoctrination yet,’ he adds with an infuriating chortle.
For a moment, I can’t form words. ‘It’s… it’s not really religious,’ I murmur.
‘I think you’ll find it is!’
‘Well, yes, I know Noah’s Ark comes from the Bible,’ I say, feeling caught out somehow, as if I’m trying to steal her away to join a sect.
‘But it’s just a sweet story, isn’t it? That’s the focus, really.
Just animals!’ I look to Cora for confirmation – or a smile, even – but she’s got up and is asking, ‘Does anyone want coffee or tea?’
‘I’ll make it,’ I say, eager for an excuse to get out of the room, if only for a couple of minutes. ‘The usual for you, Cor?’
‘Yes, please,’ she says tightly.
‘Zack?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ In the kitchen I make two mugs of tea, aware of low muttering in the living room.
I haven’t told Cora about my forthcoming trip with Shane.
I’d looked forward to a chat – and even if I hadn’t got around to that, I wouldn’t have cared.
I just wanted some time with my daughter.
Time without him, I realise now. Have I turned into one of those awful mothers-in-law who seems to cause an atmosphere just by being there?
I didn’t want it to be like this. I really tried, when they started dating – inviting them over for dinner occasionally, buying him Christmas and birthday presents, all that.
Not to ingratiate myself – just to show that I was happy that…
well, Cora was happy. But is she? I can’t help wondering as I return with our teas.
Immediately, Cora springs towards the coffee table drawer and extracts two coasters.
Poppy has been transferred to her bouncy seat and is watching us all with rapt interest. I place Cora’s tea on one of the coasters and perch beside her, lifting mine to my lips.
‘Careful with hot drinks around Poppy,’ Zack says.
‘Yes, of course.’ I force a smile. Because I was thinking of sloshing hot liquid around like a manic.
‘Zack, it’s fine,’ Cora says, throwing him a look.
‘Right!’ He nods. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Gotta jump on a call.’
I’m relieved, of course, but the atmosphere he leaves in his wake is tense and stilted, and none of my attempts to lighten things, to chat about inconsequential matters, really takes flight.
And even when my tea is finished and I’m no longer in possession of a scalding beverage, I daren’t ask to hold Poppy again.
She is sleeping anyway, and I realise that, for all her groomed appearance – blonde hair gleaming, light make-up immaculate – Cora looks exhausted.
I stand up, and she does too, anticipating me leaving. ‘I’d better get going,’ I say.
‘Okay, Mum.’ She musters a smile and hugs me in the hallway.
I pull back and study her finely boned face. ‘Please let me know if I can come over and help anytime. I’d love to take Poppy out. Or if you two want a night out, or even a day together, I could look after her here…’ You can X-ray my bag on arrival. I’ll fill out the official paperwork.
‘Oh, Mum,’ she says, shooting a hand to her mouth. ‘We haven’t even talked about you losing your job. I’m sorry, my head’s all over the place at the moment.’
‘Honestly, love, don’t worry about that,’ I say firmly.
She frowns as Zack’s work voice – a deeper timbre than his panicky support-the-head! voice – booms from a bedroom.
‘You’re okay, though, aren’t you?’ she asks.
‘What, me?’ The woman who’s about to embark on some crazy road trip with a man she knows nothing about, really? At least, nothing about the adult man he’s become? ‘I’m fine, hon,’ I say, and then, seeing her face relax a little – perhaps because I’m leaving – I step out into the sunny afternoon.
It’s true – I am fine. And Zack is just a nervous dad, I tell myself. Uptight and worried and that’s perfectly natural, with a new baby. Maybe I was the uptight one today, with this trip looming tomorrow?
I really should take a leaf out of my boyfriend’s book, I decide.
Because nothing seems to bother Lloyd: not world events or health or money issues.
He has the occasional ciggie without guilt, smokes weed daily and drinks as much as he likes (possibly less than I do, to be fair) and never seems to have a shortage of work.
He can always make the mortgage on his little two-bed flat.
Somehow, he breezes through life, as I will once this trip is over.
Then I’ll be throwing myself into job hunting; surely someone will employ me?
I’m hard-working and versatile and will do pretty much anything.
I’ll also plan a visit to see Mum and Dad up in Northumberland.
Have a new, decisive haircut and sort my colour out – a total reinvention for this new, thrilling phase as an unemployed person.
I have plenty of friends, scattered all over London, from when Cora was a baby and various jobs and the old school gate gang.
My life is full, I tell myself. I’m a lucky woman and I can handle this.
Next morning I’m up at dawn, lashing my ancient, bagless sleeping bag to my rucksack with an old pair of tights.
It’s a faded peach colour and decidedly musty, as if it’s been trapped for a decade in a cupboard – which it actually has.
What will Shane think of it? I don’t care!
We’re not going to be in a competitive sleeping bag situation, I tell myself as I haul my rucksack onto my back.
It’ll be fine. I have absolutely nothing to be worried or ashamed about. And so, with the tethered sleeping bag flopping about like a giant blancmange, I set off across town to a little musical instrument shop in south London.