22. Good news and bad news – 1983
Ursula reached New Street and looked up to Anton’s building.
Before they’d married, he’d have been waiting on the corner, but not anymore.
Nowadays, he stood in the window until he could see her before he left.
She’d pointed that out to him recently. He’d just laughed and said his time was more important than hers.
Well, it was an Anton laugh so not exactly a laugh, but the closest he was ever going to get to one.
It was a bit annoying though, because Cass was very strict about lunch-hour times, whereas he was a partner in the firm so ten minutes here or there was no big deal for him.
She waved to him. He turned away without acknowledging her which ramped up her annoyance levels even more. Would it kill him to wave back? Or even a nod would do. Anything to suggest he’d actually seen her and was on his way.
It was almost fifteen minutes before he finally rocked up. She was not impressed. ‘You’re late. I’ve only got forty minutes left now.’
‘I had to take a call.’
‘You could have sent someone down to tell me.’
‘Did you bring lunch?’
‘No. I didn’t have time. We’ll have to buy sandwiches.’
A flicker of something flashed across his face.
She’d noticed it before. In fact, it was becoming a regular occurrence lately.
A little pattern that was building up whenever she questioned him or forgot something.
She’d seen it enough times now to put a name to it.
Irritation. But it wouldn’t last long, because the news she had for him was going to change everything.
‘We can get some from the sandwich shop on Temple Street and eat them in the churchyard.’
‘It’s a cathedral, not a church.’
She knew that, of course, but that was what she and Andi called it. And anyway, did it really matter? Whatever it was called, she was in a rush to get him there, so she ignored him.
Because it was a hot, sunny day, there were lots of lunchtime sunbathers in the churchyard. It looked like they’d have to sit on the grass but luckily, a couple were leaving a bench so they grabbed it and spread out their things. Straight away, Anton started eating his sandwiches.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what the doctor said?
’ Ursula was almost bursting. She didn’t know how she’d held it in so long.
From the minute she’d left the doctor’s that morning, all the way into town on the bus, she’d wanted to go straight up to his office and tell him.
But she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.
His irritation would have been off the scale and she didn’t want that.
She wanted her memory of this moment to be a happy one.
‘What did he say?’
‘I’m pregnant.’
Anton put down his sandwich. ‘That is definite?’
She nodded. ‘The test result confirmed it.’
‘So, we are to be parents.’
‘Yes. Are you pleased?’
‘I am shocked. Did you ask him how that was possible when you are on the pill?’
‘He said it can happen sometimes when you take antibiotics like the ones I had for that ear and throat infection. And we did do it while I was on them.’ She’d also forgotten to take her pill when the infection had been at its worst but she didn’t want to mention that.
‘Of course, I remember now.’
So did she. She’d been feeling really rough, which was why she’d said no.
But instead of sympathy, all she’d got was that flicker of irritation, so she’d caved in.
And now she was pregnant. It may not have been in Anton’s annual plan but he only had himself to blame.
Having children hadn’t actually been in her plan either.
Not yet anyway. She was too busy trying to be less self-centred and immature.
According to Anton she had some way to go on that one, but if anything was going to make her grow up, it was becoming a mother.
‘I’m going to invite Mum over on Sunday. You don’t mind, do you?’
Anton patted her knee. ‘Yes, invite her over. Will you ask Andi too?’
‘No. I want Mum to be the first to hear the news. I can’t wait to see her face.
’ She probably would have invited Andi if they’d been as close as they used to be, but things hadn’t been the same since she’d moved in with her mum.
They still got on, still went out together when Anton was on one of his trips away, but Andi had been like family.
Until she’d become part of her mum’s family, and then she became something else.
To Ursula, anyway. And so had her mum. There was some distance between them now, but maybe this baby would change that.
‘What’s going on?’ said her mum.
‘What do you mean?’ Ursula carried on stirring the gravy. She’d made a traditional Sunday lunch. She could have gone fancier but she knew her mum liked it, and a roast dinner with all the trimmings was one of the few things Anton liked about British cooking.
‘Well, you’ve invited me to dinner and Anton’s being pleasant. Something’s up.’
‘He’s always pleasant.’
Her mum raised her eyebrows. ‘The food’s looking good. You’re getting to be an excellent cook. Has Anton been giving you lessons?’
‘God, no. He can’t cook. But he did make me take a cookery course so we can entertain clients at home.’
‘If he was so keen, maybe he should have done the course himself, or taken them to a restaurant.’
‘Shh.’ Ursula pointed upstairs to where Anton had retreated, all too aware how every single noise carried in this house.
‘He’s too busy and we don’t go to a restaurant because the house is a way of showing off his work.
You wouldn’t believe how many contracts we’ve won, thanks to this house and my cooking. ’
Her mum gave her a wry smile. ‘You’re right, my love, I wouldn’t. Sounds like you make quite a team.’
‘That’s what a good marriage is all about. Working together to a common goal.’ Anton had told her that and his parents had been very happily married apparently, so he was more qualified on the subject than she was.
‘I thought it was about loving one another.’
Ursula snorted. ‘What would you know?’
‘Not a lot.’ Her mum turned away. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be nice and relaxed. Not the two of them trading insults while Anton hid upstairs.
She poured the gravy into the jug. ‘We’re ready.’
‘Shall I call Anton?’
‘No need. He’ll hear.’
Anton was downstairs and fussing around her mum before Ursula had finished putting everything on the table.
His brief escape had obviously been enough to revive him.
Her mum was playing along with it. If you didn’t know better, you’d be fooled into thinking they actually liked each other.
He filled her mum’s glass and then his own.
‘So, Gillian, we have an announcement to make.’
Her mum had already noticed Ursula’s glass of water. ‘You’re not… Oh Ursula. Are you really?’ The sight of her eyes filling sent Ursula’s emotions into a tailspin. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time but all she could do was nod.
‘How far on are you?’
‘Twelve weeks.’
‘Oh my love, I’m so happy for you.’ She looked over to Anton. ‘For you both. You must look after yourself properly now, Ursula. Anton, you need to take care of her. We don’t do well with pregnancy in our family.’
The rest of the afternoon was spent talking of babies. When it was time to leave, her mum gave Ursula a big hug. ‘I’m already looking forward to babysitting duties. Remember what I said now, no overdoing it.’
As soon as they closed the door, Anton said: ‘I think Gillian is being a little overprotective. You cannot be wrapped in cotton wool.’
‘It’s because she lost two babies before me, and my nan lost even more. That’s what she meant by not doing well with pregnancy. But I’m all right. I haven’t even had proper morning sickness.’
‘Lost? You mean miscarriages.’
‘Yes. What about your family? Any history?’
‘No. There are no defects there.’
Ursula winced. ‘I don’t appreciate you referring to me and my family as defects, Anton.’
‘What? No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s my English. Sometimes I choose the wrong word.’ He gestured to the dirty dinner things. ‘Come, we must clean up this mess.’
Ursula turned her back on him. In spite of the dodgy start, it had been going so well. But then he had to spoil it. And pretending it was his poor English was absolute tripe. His grasp of the language was better than hers.
He touched her arm. ‘Ursula. Come.’
She moved it away. ‘Fuck off. I’m going to take my mother’s advice for once.’
She’d been asleep on the bed when the opening of the door woke her. Anton came in with a cup of tea that she knew would be horrible. Something she could honestly say he hadn’t mastered during his half a lifetime in this country was a decent cuppa.
He sat down next to her and took her hand. ‘You are calmer now?’
‘You upset me.’
‘It’s your hormones. I read that they fluctuate wildly during pregnancy.’
‘You’ve been reading about pregnancy?’
‘I bought a book. It’s fascinating. Also, I’ve been thinking about what Gillian said. You should leave your job.’
She sat up. ‘Don’t I get a say in it?’
‘Of course. But if you really want this baby to survive we must shorten the odds. Gillian is right. You need to put the baby first.’
‘That’s not what she said.’
‘That is what she meant. Don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Then you will hand in your notice tomorrow?’
‘All right.’
Andi was washing up the tea things in the sink. Ursula caught sight of her as she was on her way up from telling Cass. She stopped in the doorway, wondering if her mum had already divulged the stop press. ‘I have good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?’
Andi turned, her hands dripping suds on the floor. ‘I think I can guess the bad news.’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘Yep. Guessed it.’
‘So if you knew, how come you haven’t said anything to me about it all morning.’
‘I dunno. Probably because I was waiting for you to tell me you were pregnant.’
‘Surely you don’t expect me to tell you before my mum?’
‘No, but maybe before you told Cass. That would have been the kind of thing a best friend would have done.’
Ursula’s cheeks burned. It was the anger. ‘Right. Okay. Got yer. What else would a best friend do? Would they wheedle their way into your home and steal your mum?’
Andi let out a puff of air and shook her head slowly. ‘You are so fucking puerile.’
‘At least I’m not a devious cow.’
‘I’m gonna let that one slide on account of you being with child. Congratulations on that, by the way. I suppose that’s the end of us having our own shop now.’
So that was why she was so upset. Her stupid little pipedream was over. ‘You can stick your congratulations up your fat arse.’ Ursula stormed off back to the sewing room.
‘Fuck off and take your bony little shrivelled up raisin of a derriere with you,’ shouted Andi, loud enough for Ursula to hear, as well as everyone in the shop downstairs.
Ursula swallowed down the muesli that her teeth had been working away at.
Even though it was ground down to a pulp, she still found it hard to stomach.
Anton was insisting she ate more healthily.
All part of his scheme to turn her into a tip-top baby machine, devoid of defects.
He didn’t know she waited until he went to work every morning before sneaking off to the newspaper shop for a Fry’s Turkish Delight.
‘We leave in ten minutes. I will tidy up while you get your things together,’ he said, interrupting her Turkish Delight dreams. It was the only way she could get through the muesli without heaving.
Exactly ten minutes later, they left the house. Anton spent the journey into town emphasising the need for her not to increase her blood pressure. It was like living with a doctor these days. He pulled up at New Street station. ‘You know where you’re meeting Gillian?’
She climbed out of the car. ‘Yes, all sorted. See you tonight.’
Her mum was waiting for her inside. The train to London was on the platform already.
As soon as they sat down, her mum handed her a Turkish Delight.
Ursula looked around guiltily, half-expecting Anton to swoop in and take it from her.
‘Anton would have a fit if he knew. He’s taking looking after me very seriously. ’
‘Well you can have a day off it today. We’ll get the material and then find somewhere nice for lunch.’
The shop they went to was unlike anything Ursula had seen back home.
The materials were displayed in swatch books.
Once one was chosen, a bale of it was brought and rolled out on the table for closer inspection.
Her mum chose a pale-blue silk that was perfect for a grandmother’s christening outfit, and it went so well with her colouring.
‘Can we see fabrics suitable for a christening gown?’ She winked at Ursula.
‘Your father insisted on you wearing one that had been in his family for generations so I couldn’t make one for you.
I always regretted that, so I thought we could make it together, the way we used to.
It’ll give you something to work on while you’re waiting for the baby to arrive. ’
Ursula tutted. ‘You know I don’t have a sewing machine.’
‘Don’t be silly. We can make it at mine.’
That would have been nice, like old times. Except Andi might be there and they hadn’t really spoken since that row.
‘Or I could come over to you,’ said her mum. ‘We’ll work our way round things, just like we’ve always done.’