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Susie stared at him. ‘Gone? Oh, I’m so sorry, Jack, I hadn’t realised things were that bad between you two – but I don’t understand, why didn’t you stay there?’
‘Apparently she’s sublet the bloody flat while I was away. I mean, how mean is that? They’re in there till September – two guys from the university. They did say I could crash on the floor if I wanted to, till I got myself sorted out, but it didn’t seem right. So I came here, I didn’t think you’d mind.’
Susie didn’t move. God, did you never get time off from being a mother? Given the circumstances, how could she tell him that she did mind, that in fact she minded quite a lot? That today, any minute now in fact, Mr Could-do-a-lot-Worse was popping round to change her life forever.
Jack lifted his nose like a hungry whippet and sniffed the air. ‘Something smells good. Nice frock, by the way. Going out somewhere, are you? Oh, and have you got that money, only I think the guy in the taxi’s still got his meter running?’
There was a little pause and then Susie picked up her bag from the hallstand, handed Jack two twenty-pound notes and watched him bound back down the path towards the waiting cab. She distinctly heard him say, ‘You’re all right, keep the change, mate – yeah, no sweat, thanks. Have a good un.’ And then he jogged back towards the door and moseyed on past her into the hallway, shimmying his rucksack off one shoulder as he went and dropping it at the bottom of the stairs where it landed with a damp thud.
‘Cottage looks really great, Mum. I’ll stick my stuff upstairs, shall I?’ He bent down and started to unfasten the straps on his bag.
‘What exactly are you doing?’ asked Susie.
‘Just getting a few bits out. Where do you want the washing? Down here or upstairs? I thought I’d stick a load in straight away – you know.’
The smell from the open rucksack would have blistered paint.
‘Whoa, Jack, can you just hang on a minute? You can’t just barge in here expecting –’ She stopped for a moment as he pulled that hurt, unloved puppy face he’d perfected as a toddler. ‘– expecting to be welcomed with open arms. First of all I haven’t finished doing up the spare room yet, it’s all flat packs, bare plaster and floorboards at the moment, and secondly I’m expecting a friend round for supper any minute now.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Jack cheerfully, scooping out his dirty washing onto the hall floor. ‘I don’t mind camping out, I’m not fussy, I’ve got my sleeping bag – and I’ll watch TV in the kitchen while your friend’s here. Don’t mind me, I’ll keep the noise down. God, I’m famished, is it all right if I whip myself up a sandwich? You’ve got it really nice in here. And I love what you’ve done with the garden.’
Susie stared at him. ‘Actually, Jack, I’m really sorry but at the moment I don’t think staying here is a ver—’ she began, just as Robert stepped in through the front door.
‘Susie,’ Robert said, taken by surprise. If anything he looked even more earnest than normal, not to mention a little balder, paler and very, very tense. For a few moments he didn’t appear to notice Jack squatting down beside the rucksack.
‘How are you?’ he said.
Susie looked up at him, trying to work out whether it was nerves or if he was sickening for something. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he said dismissively. ‘I’ve been thinking over what I want to say to you for some time – the thing is, Susie –’ He paused, nose wrinkling. ‘Good god, what on earth is that terrible smell?’
Jack, who was sitting on the bottom of the stairs, looked up and grinned. ‘Hi there, Robert. How’s it going?’ He was holding a bundle of rancid socks which he dropped casually onto the floor before getting up and holding out a hand.
Susie saw Robert stiffen; Jack wiped his hands on his shorts and tried again. Robert ignored him and turned his attention back to Susie.
‘Look, I’m most terribly sorry but I really can’t stay,’ said Robert.
‘What do you mean, you can’t stay? I’ve cooked supper,’ Susie said, completely wrong-footed. ‘Salmon roule and summer chicken; it’s free-range. And I’ve done a pudding.’
Robert glanced back over his shoulder as if checking that he could still find the way out. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to go to any trouble. You know, not cook or anything.’
Susie stared at him. ‘What do you mean, not go to any trouble, Robert? I always cook when you come over. You know I do, I just thought tonight I’d do us something special …’
For the last three years they’d spent almost every weekend together, taking it in turns to stay at each other’s houses, cooking for one other. What was so different about tonight of all nights?
Robert glanced down at Jack and then said, ‘Look, is there any chance that your mother and I can have this conversation privately?’ He felt around for a name and when none came continued, ‘The thing is, I really need to get going.’ And before either Jack or Susie had time to react, he said, ‘Actually, there is no good time to tell you this; the thing is, I’ve been thinking a lot recently, Susie, and I want you to understand that I’ve not come to this decision lightly.’ The words all tumbled out on one long breath as if there was some chance he might run out of air or resolve.
‘Jack, will you please go?’ snapped Susie. Whatever Robert was going to say, the last thing she wanted was for it to be in front of her twenty-four-year-old son.
Jack pulled a face. ‘What?’
‘Please, Jack. Just go, will you?’
‘Sure,’ he said, looking hard done by. He started to get up. Slowly. Susie quelled a throwback impulse to smack his legs; couldn’t he see that he should make himself scarce? And quickly. Frustration and bewilderment bubbled up inside her. This wasn’t how she had anticipated this evening going at all.
‘And can you take all this with you?’ she said, waving at the heaving mass of washing.
‘I was going to put it in the machine,’ he protested.
‘Now, please, Jack,’ she growled.
Reluctantly and still at a glacial speed, Jack picked the backpack up. As she turned her attention back to Robert, he sloped off towards the kitchen grumbling to himself.
He’d barely closed the kitchen door when Robert said, ‘Look, I’m sorry, Susie, there’s really no easy way to say this. The thing is – I’ve been thinking about this for some time now. What I really want is a family.’
‘What?’ It felt like the floor had fallen away. She reran the words in her head, trying to grasp what they meant, while Robert pressed on.
‘I’ve been mulling the idea over for a long time now, thinking that these feelings, my needs, would go away, but they haven’t. If anything they’ve got more intense. To be honest, I’ve been so depressed over the last few months, Susie. When we’ve been together I keep thinking to myself: Is this all there is, is this all there is to look forward to – is this my life?’ he said glumly, lifting his hands to encompass him, her, her life, her home, her dog. ‘Susie, the truth is that what I really want is to settle down and have a family. I want to have a baby.’
She stared at him, struggling for breath, not sure whether to burst into tears or punch his lights out.
‘What do you mean “have a baby”?’ she said, finding her voice. ‘I’m forty-five, Robert, I’ve got a baby, I’ve got two grown-up babies.’ She waved towards the kitchen door where, by the sound of it, one of them was raiding the larder. ‘I’ve already done that, I’m too –’
And then the penny dropped. ‘You don’t mean with me, do you?’ she whispered. ‘You don’t want us to have a baby, do you?’
‘I have thought about it, but as you say, Susie, you’ve already done it. You don’t want to go back to that place – even if you could. And I mean, it isn’t that likely, is it? Not at your age – not that you’re that old but, you know, babies, all that falling fertility and everything.’
Susie stared at him, wondering if he had any idea what he was saying or how it made her feel.
Robert sighed. ‘I didn’t want it to be like this, Susie, really I didn’t – I thought it would go away.’
‘Robert, you’re nearly forty-seven.’
‘I know, that’s the whole point. I keep thinking that if I don’t have children soon I’m never going to have them. And I’d like more than one, probably two, possibly even three, and I’d really like to start having them before I’m fifty – I mean, after that I think you’re too old, don’t you?’
Please god he was being rhetorical, thought Susie, as she carried on staring, not certain what to say, all the words and thoughts and pain and anger and hurt and indignation and the downright ridiculousness of it all snarled like a motorway pile-up in the back of her throat.
And then, against all the odds, Susie started to laugh. It was a close-run thing as to who was more surprised, she or Robert, but as she laughed some more he stared at her in horror.
‘I don’t see why on earth you’re laughing, Susie. This isn’t funny, this is my future we’re talking about,’ he said indignantly.
She was laughing so hard now that she could barely breathe. ‘You’re right, Robert, this isn’t funny, it’s crazy. It’s madness. For a start you can’t just summon up a family, you need to find the right person,’ she said, struggling with a giggle.
‘I have to take the chance, Susie. This may be my last shot,’ he said, his colour rising rapidly.
Susie shook her head, not picking up on the cheap joke, the laughter not abating. If anything she was laughing harder, tears rolling down her face. ‘Oh, Robert,’ she said, opening the front door for him. ‘Best you go and have a baby then. Take care.’
Robert stood for a second or two, looking bemused. ‘Look, Susie – you have to understand. It’s just that we want different things.’
She stared at him. ‘How was I supposed to know that?’ she said.
As he moved she noticed the last of the sunlight glinting on his bald patch. He looked uncomfortable and pained. ‘I’m sorry, Susie. I didn’t want to hurt you,’ he said, as if that made it all right.
‘Too late,’ Susie said, guiding him back towards the door.
‘I’ll ring, maybe we could talk, maybe I could pop over later in the week?’
‘Please don’t bother on my account,’ she said, closing the door behind him. There was a fragile silence and then the tears that had come with the laughter turned into great, wailing, miserable sobs; sobs that consumed her whole; sobs so huge that she could barely breathe. Bastard. The bastard.
Jesus Christ, how could she have been so totally stupid, so totally blind? Susie sat down on the bottom of the stairs feeling so many things, some of which she hadn’t got a name for – and then, very slowly, the kitchen door opened.
‘Mum? You okay?’ asked Jack, peering round the door.
‘No, not really, but I will be, just give me a minute or two,’ she said, backhanding the tears away.
He sat down beside her and put his arm around her, gently. ‘You want to tell me about it?’ he said, handing her half a dozen squares of kitchen roll.
Susie shook her head, infinitely touched by his gentleness and concern. ‘This isn’t how it works, I’m the grown-up here. I’m supposed to look after you,’ she said, between sobs.
He leant closer. ‘In that case, is it all right if I have some of that casserole, only it smells wonderful? And the veggies are done. The pinger just went – I’ve switched them off. Do you want to come in here and Delia or shall I?’
Chapter 2 (#ulink_a7dfef88-8052-51c1-b293-c0195989de93)
It was a horrible, long, long night. Susie slept fitfully, and when she slept she dreamt she had been jilted by a grumpy bald taxi driver who had driven over from Italy. He left the meter running. Delia was there. She’d brought along a large box of homemade biscuits and a twice-baked lemon soufflé; they ate it over coffee, sitting on the flat-pack boxes in the spare bedroom. The great secret for a successful soufflé, apparently, was to fold the ingredients into the egg whites, never beating them, and to use a spotlessly clean bowl. Susie had to pay the taxi driver with a cheque.
In the post the next morning was a catalogue full of really useful things for the more mature shopper, things to help pick your socks up off the floor with a clawed pincer on the end, an A4 plastic magnifying sheet for reading newspapers and one of those big single faux suede slippers, modelled by a blonde thirty-five-year-old in a bri-nylon floral housecoat. Jack was thumbing through it when Susie came downstairs to the kitchen, feeling like hell.
Outside in the back garden, the trellis, the terrace and most of the bay hedge was festooned with socks, tee shirts and underpants. It looked like the bunting for an orgy.
‘Someone’s been busy,’ said Susie, settling herself into a chair by the kitchen table. She felt tired and frail and headachy, as if she was sickening for something. Her eyes had puffed up like doughnuts from a combination of sleeplessness and crying. She made an effort to corral her thoughts, not letting them stray anywhere near the sore, turbulent wilderness that threatened to engulf her. ‘Had you not thought of using the washing line?’ she asked.
Jack looked up at her; he had a mouth full of breakfast cereal and was currently shovelling more out of a blue and white striped pudding basin. ‘Uh?’
‘The washing line? The rotary thing.’
‘I couldn’t fathom out how to work it.’ He jabbed with his spoon towards the catalogue. ‘You know, there is some really cool stuff in here, there are these things that hold bin bags open for garden rubbish, solar-powered rocks – and then there’s this springy stainless-steel nipper for opening jars, looks like some sort of weapon from Star Wars. Cool.’ He mimed frisbeeing the jar opener across the room with accompanying space noises before turning the page on to the insect-shaped boot scraper and shoe jack selection. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’
‘Probably best not to ask.’ Optimistically, Susie leant over and picked up the teapot from the table. It was cold and empty; across the kitchen Jack’s tea bag lay resplendent on the top of the cooker in a little venal bleed of tannin.
‘And I couldn’t find the pegs either.’
‘Your father would be so proud. Now, would you like to tell me what your plans are?’ she said, pointedly setting the little enamel bucket marked pegs onto the table alongside him.
‘I have to have plans?’ Jack asked, looking at her. ‘The love of my life has given me the old heave-ho, sublet my home and sent all my stuff to Oxfam; I’ve just walked out of a job I loved, I’ve got nowhere to live and I’m supposed to have plans?’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Susie, while refilling the kettle and prising open the biscuit tin. ‘Life’s a bitch, and anyway you told me you’d come home to do a presentation.’
‘Well, I have – walking out of my job was more of a metaphor for the general chaos and hopelessness in my life at the moment. Ellie’s always saying how much pressure it puts on our relationship, what with me travelling, never being there for her, and money is always an issue. Her dad was the same when she was a kid, and she keeps saying she doesn’t want to end up like her mum. I can see her point, although I haven’t got a woman in every port like Simon. I was thinking maybe I ought to jack it in – get a proper job, there’s plenty of work in Cambridge, maybe take up a career in telesales, or maybe I could stay around here for a while?’
Susie stared at him. ‘In which reality would that be?’
‘God, you’re a hard woman,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d understand – you’re my mother, you’re supposed to love me unconditionally, help me out in times of need and not be offended or hurt that I only ring you when I want something.’
Susie shook her head. ‘See, this is why I always tell people, read the small print,’ she said, handing him the biscuit tin. ‘And why on earth didn’t you go to your dad’s last night? He lives a lot closer to the university than coming all the way out here.’
There was a short, weighed pause as Jack sorted through the Rich Tea to find the last chocolate digestive. ‘He’s a hard man,’ said Jack.
‘He’s a complete pussycat; he just won’t take any crap. And he most certainly wouldn’t have paid for your sodding taxi,’ said Susie as she opened the fridge.
‘He’s on holiday,’ said Jack.
Susie lifted an eyebrow.
‘Well, I think he is – he didn’t answer the doorbell.’
There was no milk left – although, thoughtfully, Jack had put the empty carton back in the fridge door.
She glanced up. Jack opened his mouth, still half-full of chocolate digestive, but before he could speak, Susie said, ‘I suggest that if you know what’s good for you, you’ll abandon what remains of your cereal-a-thon, get your butt down to the post office and get me some milk. Or else.’
‘Right you are,’ Jack said, pushing himself to his feet. At the back door he hesitated and patted the pockets of his jeans, then turned to speak. ‘I don’t suppose –’ he began.
Susie growled, ‘Don’t even think about it.’
‘Fair enough. Oh, and by the way,’ said Jack as he stepped outside, ‘Alice rang, she said would you ring her back ASAP if not sooner.’
‘Your sister?’
‘Do you know anyone else called Alice who’s that bossy?’
‘Did she say what she wanted?’
‘What makes you think she wanted anything?’
‘I gave birth to her, why else would she ring?’
‘You’re really not a morning person, are you?’ said Jack, and then, grinning, he ran down the path to avoid the empty milk carton winging its way towards him.
When he was gone Susie sat down at the table and rested her head on her hands. In the silence all she could think about was Robert, even though she tried very hard not to.
Robert. Robert Harrison, Robert David I-want-a-baby Harrison.
The idea of having another baby had played on her mind all night long. Even if it were possible would she want to do it? Would she want to go back to the beginning and start over? And would she really want to do it with Robert? It would be like going back in time, and she had no desire at all to go back there, not to the sleepless nights, the constant tiredness, the worry, the total responsibility. She realised that she had fondly imagined growing old with Robert, but long before senility set in, being carefree, eating out, travelling, going on long holidays, swapping Christmas with the family for Christmas in a beachside cabin in the Caribbean. Having a great time together, not sitting up half the night with a hot, miserable toddler in her arms as she soothed away measles or a sore throat.
It had been fine when she was in her twenties – she’d had years of being sensible and responsible, and the energy to do it – and although Andy hadn’t been the greatest husband in the world he was a natural as a father. But she didn’t want to do it now, not now when there were other fish to fry. On the other hand, the trouble was that not wanting another family, not being broody for Robert’s children, made her feel old. The face in the mirror that looked back at her was full of laughter lines, rich with experience and life and wry knowing smiles – but no, it didn’t matter how much she wanted to be with Robert, she’d had her fill of labour pains, teething and toddlers.
But because of Robert, far from giving her the sense of peace that knowing all this had given her for the last few years, it gave her a sense of time passing. Up until now Susie had been happy getting older if not wiser, had looked forward to more freedom, new adventures, new experiences; but now, thanks to Robert, she was slammed hard up against the fact that whether she liked it or not, realistically pregnancy and motherhood were behind her, that chapter of her life over – and while on one hand that was a wonderful relief there was also a sense of poignancy and loss. As the tears started to fall all over again they were for the children that she and Robert had never had, and now never would have.
God, surely she should be able to handle it better than this? Surely as you get older things ought to hurt less? At seventeen a broken heart feels like it might kill you, a missed phone call the end of the world, but now? Susie sniffed. Surely you should know more, you should be able to rationalise and understand and realise that even though it hurt now it would get better – sometime, eventually. Trouble was the way she felt at the moment the voice of reason wasn’t helping one iota, instead she felt sick.
