The Almost Wife: An absolutely gripping and emotional summer read Page 19
‘I hope you can forgive me. I just wasn’t thinking straight and you caught me off guard. I am sorry though, the last thing I wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘I had a feeling you’d change your mind about joining me for dinner so think no more of it.’ Roger’s not joining the dots, not registering that Helen was never coming to accept a date, just to apologise. ‘Business certainly looked to be booming anyway. How do you manage it all on your own?’
‘Because I have no choice, I suppose. It’s only me, so I have to make it work. But I like it that way, to be honest. I enjoy running a business, it’s given me a whole new challenge since losing my husband. I went from being a housewife to a boutique owner very quickly, but I’m proud to say it’s working. I love negotiating with the designers and spending time with all those bright young women every day.’
‘Who advises you? Do you have someone very clever helping with the business plan?’
Helen knows Roger is well meaning – he’s making conversation, showing an interest – but the question is so inherently sexist, she is struggling to form a response that won’t sound confrontational.
‘As I say, it’s all me.’ She takes a large mouthful of wine, allowing it to slide down her throat, washing away some of the irritation she’s feeling.
‘Well, I’ve cut a few business deals in my time so if ever you want to run anything past me, feel free. Mind you, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be on the subject matter – the frivolities of fashion are much more a woman’s territory, I’m sure!’
It’s at this point that Helen begins to switch off from what is coming out of Roger’s mouth. They need to order and she’s looking at a younger couple at the table next to them, perhaps having a weekend away without the kids. They’ve chosen to sit next to each other at the table, rather than opposite, practically stuck to each other’s side. Helen leans over and asks what they’re eating, it looks so delicious. Soon, the three of them are chatting away, Helen advising on a couple of other places to visit while they’re in the area. Roger isn’t joining in and if Helen isn’t mistaken he’s a little put out because he wants – expects even – her undivided attention.
He spends the rest of their date trying to assist her with everything: getting up, sitting down, ordering and to physically shield her when the pub gets busy and people are jostling the back of her chair, spilling beer on the floor. It’s all too much for Helen. She’s used to coping now, looking after herself, she’s not some precious but incapable toddler that needs protecting. Roger playing the part of the Milk Tray Man all because the lady loves being looked after is turning her stomach a little. She finds herself doing things that are out of character just to try to shock him out of his preconceptions. When he grandly excuses himself to go to the gents’, she goes to the bar to buy another round of drinks, even though neither of them has finished what’s on the table. It’s her way of demonstrating that just because he’s buying dinner, he doesn’t get to dictate the running order of the evening. If she wants to buy a drink, she will, no outdated code of conduct he still lives by is going to stop her. She pauses at the bar a little longer than she needs to, sharing a joke with the barman, dusting off some mildly flirtatious skills she’s forgotten she has – just long enough for Roger to return and see she’s a capable woman. Not his woman.
Maybe it’s the wine or the company she’s in that’s bringing out the devil-may-care streak buried deep within her, but knowing there is never going to be anything romantic between her and Roger loosens Helen up wonderfully. She finds her sense of humour, starts to feel like an attractive, engaging woman with something more to offer the world than a gorgeous wedding dress.
By the time the date is reaching its natural conclusion – Roger telling Helen loudly across the table, ‘I won’t hear of you paying a penny, goodness me, I couldn’t live with myself!’ – Helen is feeling fully patronised. Perhaps Betsy’s financial independence can only be a good thing after all? If this is the trade-off for being financially tied to a man today, then she wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
Helen knows Roger will insist on walking her home and fine, she’ll let him, it’s the last time he’ll be doing it. In a final act of misplaced chivalry (at least that’s what he’d call it), Roger deliberately places her on the inside of him so she isn’t the one closest to the road. It’s a Cotswolds village, the chances of an HGV steaming through unseen at 10.30 p.m. and dragging her under its giant wheels at the last moment are remote, but that’s not why Roger is making the unnecessary fuss.
Helen doesn’t care, she’s learned an important lesson this evening. Perhaps it was a little mean to practice on Roger and in one sense she should be thanking him for getting her out. But she can see now that all her worrying about tonight was a waste of her energy. She did it! And she didn’t just get through the evening, batting off the assumptive behaviour of a man who doesn’t know her at all, she took control, she turned it around and she made it fun for herself, despite him. Tonight was easier than she imagined and she can’t help but smile about that as she gives Roger the briefest kiss on his cheek, thanks him for dinner and sends him on his way. So what if his mouth is hanging open slightly, about to ask for an invitation in for a nightcap presumably? Helen is already turning the key in the lock and her back on Roger’s crestfallen face, surprisingly happy tonight to be going home alone.
19
Dolly
Dolly is staring at her baby. The start of it anyway. Turns out it’s bigger than she thought. The GP guessed twelve weeks, the sonographer confirmed it. And now Dolly and Tilly are curled up on her sofa together looking at the scan picture to prove it. There’s a new significant date in Dolly’s life stamped down the side: her EDD or Estimated Date of Delivery is December 30th – if she chooses to keep it that way.
‘Tilly, what am I going to do?’ Dolly can feel the weight of her sleep-starved face dragging her features downwards into a sad, defeated frown. Her eyes are puffy and sore from hours of muffled sobbing into the pillow, praying Josh wouldn’t hear because she hasn’t yet found the courage to say those two simple words – I’m pregnant – words that have been so easy to share with Tilly this morning.
‘Well, what we’re not going to do is panic.’ Dolly so badly wants to absorb Tilly’s confidence, let it flush through her body and straighten out everything that’s got so twisted and confused these past few weeks. ‘You’re not the only woman to have ever found herself in this position, right?’
‘I suppose not.’ She can see Tilly isn’t going to let her wallow in it for a second, which is a shame because a morning blubbing all over her is exactly what she feels like doing.
‘So, Josh doesn’t know?’
‘No.’
‘And why is that?’ God she’s methodical, picking this problem apart like some client’s PR disaster that needs strategising. Is she going to start plugging Dolly’s answers into a PowerPoint presentation?
‘Why d’you think?’ Once again Dolly is irritated at having to admit to Josh’s shortcomings. It’s not like she’s shattering any misconception of him being future husband of the year material but still, it’s embarrassing and can only reflect badly on her – she’s the sap who lets him get away with behaving the way he does. ‘He’s not going to be bloody pleased, is he? Look what happened last time – and I was just nearly pregnant then.’
‘And what, you are pleased? Is that the problem here, you want this baby and you don’t think he will?’
Two minutes after striding through Dolly’s front door with an armful of M&S mini rocky roads and chocolate cornflake cakes and Tilly has shot straight to the heart of the problem. Because all those hours spent staring at the bedroom ceiling night after night have been put to good use, trying to work this problem through in her own mind. The idea of holding this baby – their baby – in her arms is a happy one. She’s indulged the fantasy for long enough on those lonely nights – pictured the Moses basket draped in soft white linen, the nursery
shelves lined with cute lop-eared bunnies and balls of fluff that pass for baby sheep. Walls strung with fairy lights, and a porcelain owl-shaped nightlight that throws stars and moons on to the ceiling as a gentle lullaby teases the baby off to sleep. A mini wardrobe filled with rompers and playsuits in white cashmere, organic cotton sleep pods, swaddling blankets and tiny newborn onesies with detachable mittens. More than that, she’s daydreamed about her and Josh having something solid, defining, a real achievement they can love together, something credible that will mean something. But Dolly can’t kid herself that Josh is part of this fantasy. She suspects he wants to keep their lives exactly as they are – indefinitely. And how long can she be satisfied with that? There’s no suits-all solution to this one – not even a compromise to be cobbled together. The baby’s either coming – or it’s not. There is a future for her and Josh, or there’s not.
‘Dolly? Is that what you want?’ Tilly snaps her back into the room.
‘I think I do want this baby, yes.’ It might be whispered but there, she said it. The first time the words have passed Dolly’s lips and it feels so confessional, revelatory and a bit silly actually. Like that day Josh slid the solitaire engagement ring down her finger and she heard herself saying the word fiancé out loud, like they were just playing at something so much bigger, more grown up than they are – trying to make the mental leap between what she just said and what it actually means. But that gap feels huge to Dolly right now, maybe too huge. Christ, it’s one thing saying she wants the baby, another actually having it. Is she really going to let her belly swell and fill with this new little human being? Does she even have the first clue what being a mum really involves – the sacrifices she’ll have to make, the total life adjustment, putting someone else’s needs before anything she may want – maybe she’s already had a fair bit of practice at that? There are no answers to any of this in the well-thumbed Marie-Chantal and Bonpoint catalogues hidden under her bedside table.
‘The fact is, the baby is already here,’ Dolly’s holding the scan picture up so she and Tilly can see the tiny nub of the baby’s nose and delicate little fingers that are waving out at them. Looking at this grainy image she can’t deny the black and white creature, only five centimetres long, about the size of a plump lime. The fragile little life that’s come along to totally upturn hers. She’s seen on screen how it can already open and close its mouth, curl its toes, and clench its eye muscles. She has listened to the rapid heartbeat, now undeniably knitted to hers and felt the wave of relief wash over her entire body as she lay there in the hospital maternity unit, belly exposed and covered in cold jelly, hearing how the baby is growing well.
‘He or she is already here and I’m not sure I’m capable of…’ Dolly lets her words trail off.
There is a pause while both of them accept what she’s saying, Tilly sucking in a lungful of air and turning now to face Dolly on the sofa.
‘I did.’ Her eyes are unexpectedly full of emotion.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I had an abortion. About three years ago.’ Tilly’s tone is matter-of-fact, but not even she can hide the pain that is suddenly resurfacing on her face.
‘But… I had no idea, you never said anything.’ Fear and confusion are being elbowed to one side now as a sense of neglectful guilt is grabbing Dolly. Tilly is one of her closest friends and she didn’t even know. She’s no better than Josh. How could she possibly have missed this?
She imagines herself then, wrapped in a green hospital gown, wincing through the induced stomach cramps, legs forced apart by stirrups while the cold, hard metal of the doctor’s surgical forceps breaks through her, flushing her free of motherhood with the same procedure he might perform a dozen times that day. Could she really look the other way while the products of conception left the room in a bowl, feeling no pain, forcing herself not to think about whether the tiny life that was still beating twelve minutes ago felt anything either. Dolly has done her research, she knows exactly what Josh might ask of her – what she might be forced to consider, in the weeks to come.
‘Are you OK Dolly, you’ve gone very pale?’ So typical of Tilly to only be thinking of her, even while she’s sharing what must have been such an anguished time for her. ‘Listen, I panicked. I was walking back out of the clinic before I even realised what I’d done. It was one stupid night with a client that never should have happened, totally reckless, and I just felt I had to deal with it quickly. I didn’t think it through at all and I really don’t want you to make that same mistake.’
‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to support you.’ Dolly can’t hold her own tears back any longer and reaches out to Tilly, clinging to her like she wishes she had done three years ago when it might have made a difference.
‘Listen,’ Tilly pulls the two of them apart and regains her focus, taking both of Dolly’s hands in hers. ‘The procedure was quick enough. It was all very early on and I’m fine, honestly. I know I did the right thing for me at that time. But I want you to know that I’ve thought about what I did every single day since; it’s never going to leave me.’
‘Oh, Tilly.’ Dolly can’t bear that she’s gone through this alone when she was busy doing… what? Obsessing about her sit-up count that week?
‘I’m not saying don’t have an abortion, Dolly, the situation you’re in is so different to mine, and only you can decide. But I just want you to know that it will stay with you. It’s not something you can package up afterwards and stick in a file marked done, it’s not a tick on the to-do list. You know, my life feels like one long bloody business meeting sometimes. The thrill of landing a new client is paper thin compared to what you now have a chance to experience. And isn’t there always the possibility that you’re wrong about Josh? It’s a while since that scare, he really might not be as horrified as you think.’
Listening to Tilly talk is exactly what Dolly needs today. It’s helping her get everything into perspective, thoughts are starting to shift, take their place and form a natural order in her mind.
‘Tilly, I’m not sure your situation really is that different to mine,’ Dolly’s getting on top of this now, finding her voice, allowing her opinions to be heard.
‘You didn’t have any support; you would have had that baby alone, right? That feels pretty similar to what could happen to me. But my problem is so much bigger than this baby, isn’t it? I naively thought marrying Josh would elevate us somehow, make our relationship more worthwhile. But he’s still the same man, he’s just going to be wearing a smart suit for the day, that’s all.’ It’s like every doubt that Dolly has ever pushed to the back of her mind about Josh is finally breaking free, there are so many they won’t be contained any longer. ‘Sometimes we go days without him asking me anything about me, how I am, how I’m feeling, if everything is OK. We talk a lot but somehow it’s always about him, his work, his plans, how he wants things to be.’
‘Well, I can’t say I didn’t notice, but how has it got so bad?’ Tilly’s honesty is refreshingly helpful and, by turning the spotlight on Dolly, is forcing her to be truthful with herself too.
‘I’ve gone along with it because his life is so much more exciting than mine, so we just talked about his more. But there shouldn’t be a his life and a my life should there? It should be ours. That’s been lost on both of us. The gap between us is so wide now.’ Dolly’s head dips downwards, knowing she’s not painting a picture of two ideal parents here. ‘Maybe he’s just too selfish to be a good dad. Maybe I’m too selfish too. And if that’s true, why am I even considering having this baby? It’s wrong, I know it is. God, I found myself asking his permission last night to put my feet up on the sofa next to him, how warped is that? We’re miles apart from each other. We don’t even touch each other any more, Tilly. Not in that innocent, naturally close way that most couples do, you know?’
‘Yep. I know.’ The dip at the corners of Tilly’s mouth suggests Dolly’s not the only one missing the warm blanket of relaxed intimacy.
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‘He used to make me feel incredible. Now I just feel like he doesn’t know me, not really. What I don’t know is whether he would even want to fix us. Will he want to postpone the wedding, take some time to get close again, have this baby and come together like a proper family? Will he actually want to do all of that – or is it going to be too much like hard work?’ She’s putting the questions to Tilly like she expects her to have the answers. Dolly is beyond tears now; this is mentally a better place to be. All the uncertainly and pretence is falling away and she can see she needs to confront Josh with everything she knows to be true.
‘Why don’t you just see how he reacts to the news of the baby? You’re going to have to tell him, so maybe that’s a good place to start? And whatever you decide, I am here for you. Whatever it takes Dolly, you won’t be on your own.’ Tilly’s smile tells her she means every word of it.
‘Thank you. And yes, you’re right. He’ll be home tonight. I’m going to do it then.’ Dolly just prays the confidence that Tilly has filled her with can last that long, and not get eaten up by the sadness of how this conversation could go. There will be no presenting him with a blueberry in a gift box, because that’s how big their baby is right now, like some women get to do. Or a plate with the words you’re going to be a daddy inscribed on it for the big reveal at the end of his dinner. No photo frame with I Heart My Daddy across the top and the words picture coming soon where their beautiful newborn is destined to go.
Tilly starts to gather her things together, sneaking one last cornflake cake before she’s off.
‘Actually, before you go, there is one other thing.’ Dolly hesitates now, knowing this next issue isn’t going to get the same sympathetic hearing.