23. Her imperfect lineage – 1983
Ursula’s mum was at the door. Last weekend, she’d brought her spare sewing machine and installed it in the room that was going to be the baby’s so that they could make the christening gown together.
Now that Ursula was twenty weeks, they were able to stop worrying and start making plans.
In fact, aside from being a bit tired today, she’d practically sailed through her pregnancy so far.
Naturally, Anton was taking the credit for that.
It was true, he had been looking after her, but Ursula suspected the real reason was down to her father.
She was tall like him, so maybe she’d inherited his sturdier body.
It was probably the only time she was ever going to be grateful to him.
Anton gave her mum his customary greeting: ‘Gillian.’
Her mum gave him hers: ‘Anton.’
‘I must go out this morning.’
‘Oh dear, that’s a shame.’
Ursula noticed that all too frequent flicker of irritation flash across his face. Her mum must have done too, judging by her triumphant expression. ‘You shouldn’t tease him like that. He doesn’t understand your sense of humour,’ she said, after he’d left.
Her mum gave her a wicked little grin. ‘That’s because he doesn’t have one. God help that poor child. Where’s he off to, anyway?’
‘He’s gone to pick up a new car. Apparently, a Volvo estate is the perfect family car.’
‘Is that so? Planning ahead for an army of little Antons is he? Did you manage to finish the pleating and lace detail on the bodice?’
‘Yep. I’ve attached the collar as well. Come and have a look.’
They went up to the nursery, its walls now painted in fresh lemon.
Anton’s one concession for the baby, although it had taken some persuading to make him deviate from plain white.
On the table was the little ivory silk bodice.
She’d stitched down three horizontal pleats that ran the full width of it and added a line of Venice lace above them to finish it off.
She’d been so absorbed in it yesterday that she would have forgotten to eat if Anton hadn’t called and reminded her.
It was so good to be doing the thing she loved again.
Since leaving Talulah, she’d felt so lost. But that wasn’t just because she needed to be making something.
A lot of it was down to the way things ended between her and Andi.
It had been horrible after the row. They didn’t speak to each other for the whole time she’d had to work her notice.
It still upset Ursula to think about it.
She missed Andi. Even the Andi who stole her mum.
Even the Andi who told her to fuck off and take her skinny arse with her.
And if Andi had said just one thing to her since the row, she’d have forgiven her.
But she was too bloody stubborn, and Ursula was too proud to back down.
But there was no point dwelling on it. As Anton had said, she’d have no time for friends when the baby was born.
Her mum examined the stitching of each pleat. ‘This is excellent work, love. It looks lovely. I think we’ll get it finished today.’
‘I thought I’d make a bonnet with the leftover silk, if you don’t mind me borrowing your sewing machine for a bit longer.’
‘Keep it for as long as you like. Do you want to stitch the gown together, or shall I?’
‘Will you do it? I like to watch you work.’
Her mum kissed the top of her head. ‘Are you okay? You look tired.’
‘Yeah. Never seem to be able to get enough sleep.’
‘I was the same. You have a rest. I’ll soon get this done.’
Ursula sat in a chair that Anton had brought up from downstairs.
Her back was aching and she would have preferred a nice soft, squishy one like the sort her mum had at home but this being Anton’s choice meant it was a design classic.
Needless to say, it was entirely uncomfortable.
She took her mind off the discomfort by watching her mum’s hands swiftly and skilfully feeding the delicate material though the machine.
Her thoughts began to wander and she saw herself as a child watching her mum and Cass, leaning over a table in a sewing room twice as big as the one in the flat, her mum suggesting this tweak and that.
Cass nodding in agreement. The delight they shared over their creation.
It must have been so hard to walk away from that. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Go on then.’
‘Do you ever wish you were still doing this for a living.’
Her mum finished attaching a sleeve to the bodice and cut the thread. ‘Sometimes. But where would I have found a job that paid enough to keep us both? And to be truthful, I couldn’t face it for a while after what happened.’
‘With my father?’
‘Yes. But it was what happened afterwards with Cassandra that ruined it for me. She was the only one in that family that stood up for me. Until they bought her off with that bloody shop. She was so desperate for it, she turned her back on us. I just thought, if that’s what this business turns you into, I want none of it. ’
‘She took me on though. Maybe she regretted it.’
‘Maybe she did. Guilt’s a hard thing to live with.’
‘Whenever I think of you and Cass when I was little, I always think of the two of you laughing. You were so close.’
‘We were. That’s why it felt like such a betrayal. Andi’s not like Cassandra you know. She won’t desert you. Things are bad between you now, but she’ll be there when you need her. Just remember to do the same for her.’
Ursula yawned. She was so tired and the hypnotic rattle of the machine was making her eyelids heavy. She let them close with her mum’s words still on her mind. She couldn’t ever imagine a time when Andi would need her. In fact, she couldn’t imagine Andi ever needing anyone. She was too invincible.
‘All done.’
Ursula had to force her eyes open. Her mum was holding up the finished gown. She took in every tiny detail, the intricately pleated bodice, the darling little Peter Pan collar, the lace trimmed sleeves and tiny silk covered buttons at the back. ‘Oh Mum, it’s absolutely beautiful.’
‘I’ve sewn something into the seam.’
She looked inside, beneath the lining. Attached to its seam was an embroidered label that read: ‘Ursula Moller, 1983.’
‘You should have put your name in there.’
Her mum shook her head. ‘No, my love. This is about you, not me. You can start your own christening tradition now. Bugger the Frys. Come on, we’ll leave this here for now. Why don’t you have a proper lie down? I’ll make a cuppa and come and sit with you.’
Ursula lay down on her bed and stretched out. She was so desperate for rest and her back was really beginning to niggle her now. Perhaps if she had a good sleep she’d wake up feeling better.
Anton stood over the bed. ‘I must go to work. I can’t let the client down.’
Ursula propped herself up against the pillows. ‘I wasn’t asking you to stay.’
‘We should have asked Gillian to come over.’
‘It’s too late now, she’ll have gone to work. Just go.’
He sighed. ‘Okay. You have the phone there, if necessary.’
She picked up the extension and put it to her ear. ‘I have and it’s working. I’ll see you this afternoon.’
He left in the Volvo that he’d picked up two days ago, the same day Ursula’s back pain had started.
Yesterday, he’d called the private hospital she was booked in with and they’d said it was probably nothing, but she should go in for a precautionary check-up today.
In the meantime, she’d been told to rest, which meant she’d been in stuck in bed, under Anton’s supervision.
Which also meant she was going out of her mind with boredom.
He must have been worried about her because he’d bought magazines that would not normally pass his strict rules of acceptance.
She laughed at herself. Honestly, if anyone was party to her innermost thoughts, they’d think he was a complete nightmare.
He hadn’t really banned them. He just banged on non-stop about them being utter trash and beneath her.
So to save herself the earache, she stopped buying them.
The magazines kept her busy for an hour but not much more, and she really needed the loo. Apart from a pressure down below when she got out of bed too quickly, she was feeling fine. The bedrest must have put things right.
The pressure must have been caused by her full bladder because it seemed to take forever to empty.
She filled the waiting time thinking about the christening gown and trying to imagine a baby in it.
Not just this baby, but all the others that would come after it.
Future generations of Mollers. Ursula Moller was about to start a whole new dynasty.
The idea of it filled her with excitement.
If she didn’t have another look at that gown she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest.
She went into the nursery where her mum had left it out on a little hanger.
It was so sweet and beautiful, she almost cried.
A lullaby that she remembered from childhood came into her head and she sang it as she laid the end of the gown across her arm and rocked it.
This is what it would be like when she had a real baby in her arms.
It was the dampness between her legs that brought her to a stop.
What, was she incontinent now? Is that what pregnancy did to you?
Her mum had forgotten to mention that little detail.
But suddenly it felt like more than dampness.
Her pants were wet. Ursula pulled up her nightie and saw blood trickling down her legs.
The ache in her back was there again, but this time it was growing and moving across the whole of her.
The life was being squeezed out of her and she could hardly stand or breathe.
She dropped the gown and grabbed her belly.
The pain eased long enough for her to get back to the bedroom but then it came again, even more brutal than before.
Anton’s number rang and rang. She tried it again in case she’d misdialled.
Still no answer. There was blood on her feet.
It was thick and dark, like jelly. Something terrible was happening and she was going to have to deal with it all on her own.
She clicked off and called the only place she could think of where someone would pick up straight away.
‘Talulah.’
‘Auntie Cass. Help me.’
Lights were flashing above Ursula and there was talking, lots of talking.
Someone she didn’t know was using her name but she couldn’t understand what they were saying.
It was the pain and the fear making her stupid and deaf.
The trolley stopped and she realised the lights weren’t flashing, it was just that they’d been moving so fast along a corridor.
She didn’t know where she was but it wasn’t the private hospital.
Anton would be annoyed about that. She’d have to explain it wasn’t her fault.
If only he’d answered the phone. Cass had called the ambulance.
Ursula could have done that herself, but she wasn’t thinking straight.
It was the blood. Another surge of pain took control of her and she screamed.
The baby was gone. Nothing could stop her losing it now.
And nothing could stop her screaming and howling and crying.
And then Cass was there, holding her hand. ‘It’s okay, I’m here with you, my darling.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘They’re taking you into theatre. Your mum and Anton are on the way.’
‘The baby’s dead.’
Cass didn’t answer. Ursula was moving again.
The trolley turned around and she was going feet first through some double doors.
She looked around for Cass but instead she saw Andi running towards her.
And then the doors closed behind her and the flashing lights were back as they rushed along the corridor towards the theatre.
After her body had forced out the last remains of the baby, they cleaned her up and took her to a room of her own, away from the main ward.
Anton was in there, waiting for her. He kissed her hand and stroked her cheek but said nothing.
It occurred to her this was the most tender he’d been since before they were married.
‘I tried to call you. You didn’t answer.
’ She knew it wouldn’t have made any difference if he had answered but she needed someone to be angry at.
‘The client wanted to meet me at the site. If I had known you were that unwell, I would have stayed at home.’ And there it was, that look that made everything her fault. He was blaming her for not knowing she was about to lose the baby. Her and her imperfect lineage.
‘I wasn’t unwell. The baby was. He was, what did you call it? Defective. Your son was a defect.’
‘My son?’
‘You didn’t ask them. I thought you might at least have asked them. It was a boy.’ She thought of her mum jokingly referring to him planning an army of little Antons and tears began to leak out of her. ‘We were going to have a son.’
‘You’re distraught. It’s understandable.’ He sounded so clinical, so devoid of emotion.
‘Yes, I am. And what about you, Anton? Are you distraught? Or are you as cold and unfeeling as you seem?’
He let go of her hand and sat back in his seat. ‘Naturally, I am distressed. But we will get over it.’
No, she didn’t think she would but he’d never understand that. He just didn’t have it in him. ‘Where’s Mum? I want to see her.’
‘Gillian is outside. I’ll get her.’
‘What about Andi and Cass?’
‘Only Gillian was here when I arrived.’