Chapter 11: Eleven - The Idea of You

The car journey out to leafy West Malling was pleasant. Camille sat on the luxurious back seat of the off-road Porsche. It was one of the perks of Jonah’s business, being able to rustle up a fabulous car when the need arose. With her headphones plugged into the sound system, her stepdaughter alternated between snacking on sweets and singing out loud. Every time her tuneless caterwauling filled the small space, Jonah laughed and Lucy joined in. She felt like they were any other family out on a jaunt, creating memories that would inevitably help build their shared history, and that could only be a good thing. Lucy tried to ignore the stir of concern that Camille might be rude or offhand in front of her family, not quite knowing how she would handle that.

‘This is so pretty!’ Camille sat forward and looked out the window. Lucy was glad that the traditional English high street – with its ivy-covered buildings, timber-beamed pubs, Georgian terraces, double-bay-windowed shopfronts and cobbled area where the war memorial lived – was making the right impression. Jonah again caught her eye with a smile that boasted success.

The peace of the historic market town where her sister and family lived was shattered the second Fay opened the front door to their extended cottage. The original part of the house was over three hundred years old, with exposed aged brickwork and an inglenook fireplace. It was peppered with history: blackened hooks in the ceiling where meat had once hung to dry and the remnants of an ancient bread oven, now used as a rather natty bookshelf. There was a modern extension at the back, added in the seventies, where the big square kitchen opened out on to the garden, letting the light into what would have been a rather dark space.

The sounds of Maisie crying, Rory shouting, Adam calling from upstairs, nursery rhymes playing and Duster the large mongrel barking filled the air.

‘It’s like a portal to the underworld! Please don’t make me go inside!’ Jonah pulled a face at Lucy, and she placed her hand on his arm in a small gesture of reassurance.

‘Fear not – I’ll protect you. I know their ways.’ She laughed.

Camille showed none of the reticence that Lucy had envisaged. Instead, she climbed down from the back of the car, in her high-waisted jeans that stopped just above her ankle and a pretty sleeveless floral shirt, and trod the path to the house confidently.

‘Hey, Camille! Welcome!’ Fay stepped forward, wiping her hands – which were nearly always covered in paint, glue, flour or something equally as messy – on her jeans, and reached up. Lucy watched in surprise as the two wrapped their arms around each other in a warm, easy hug, as if they had been doing so forever, both parting with a smile. She found it hard not to recall the awkward introduction that had been made in their kitchen only a few weeks before, remembering what it felt like to have to lower her arms and retain her grin while her face flamed.

‘It’s so lovely to finally meet you! I have heard so much about you,’ Fay enthused. ‘Welcome to the madhouse!’ She stood back, gesturing with her arm for Camille to go on in, which she did.

‘How are you?’ Fay kissed her sister on the cheek.

‘Good, you?’ Lucy replied.

‘Great!’ She smiled.

With the formalities out of the way, Lucy and Jonah followed Fay inside, handing over the bunch of flowers, box of chocolates and bottles of wine they had retrieved from the car, along with two brand-new children’s books whose illustrations had called to her when she had popped her head into Queen’s Park Books. She had thoroughly enjoyed choosing them.

‘You shouldn’t have!’ The gifts filled Fay’s raised arms. ‘But I’m very glad you did. Thank you for our goodies.’ She beamed as she deposited the booty on the dresser, to be dealt with later. Lucy felt her shoulders tense, worrying that the summer bouquet of pink stocks, sunflowers and orange antirrhinum wouldn’t get into water in time. They were already looking a little wilted after being incarcerated in the back of the car for an hour or so.

They trooped in, and, without instruction, Camille turned left into the cosy sitting room and immediately sat on the rug where Rory, still in his Superman pyjamas, had laid out a rather elaborate car track that filled most of the floor space. He was busy running cars and rescue vehicles along it with sound effects as he shouted instructions. ‘You can be a lorry driver.’ He put the little green lorry into her palm. Camille immediately lay on her front, kicking her long legs up behind her. With the track at eye level, she whizzed the lorry around making an impressive engine noise, until it came bumper to bumper with Rory’s tractor.

‘Beep beep!’ she called out. ‘Hey! Move that tractor, Superman. I have important deliveries to make, you know!’

Rory’s face split into a wide grin, clearly delighted with his new friend who was not only pretty but also great at playing cars.

Fay pulled a downward mouth and nodded approvingly to Lucy, as if to acknowledge how well the girl had dropped into the house and become Rory’s playmate. It was almost as if she was challenging the picture Lucy had painted.

‘Hi, all. Sorry, got in a muddle with the days. I was convinced you were coming next week for some reason!’ With Maisie in tow, Adam looked as if he had only just jumped out of the shower, as was apparent from the wet hair that curled against his neck. This was not a shock. Adam lived his life at a permanent jog, undertaking every task with his arms set at right angles by his ribs, as if this half-running stance might help him claw back some of the time that he inevitably lost as the day unfolded. He was on constant catch-up. Lucy would have found his lack of punctuality and his forgetfulness hard to live with, and even as an occasional visitor she was tempted to shake him by the shoulders and suggest he set his alarm a little earlier and write stuff down. She and Jonah had privately wondered how he managed to deliver five sixty-minute lessons a day, picturing him as a haphazard tutor whose marking was sloppy and organisation poor. Lucy loved him regardless; he made her sister happy and was a great dad to her niece and nephew, and that made everything else seem a little irrelevant.

‘Maisie is teething.’ Fay pointed at the plump baby girl with red cheeks who now hovered on her dad’s hip, her dribbly fist shoved in her mouth as she hiccupped tears.

‘Poor little thing.’ Lucy touched her finger to Maisie’s cheek and smiled at the little beauty.

‘Poor little us,’ Adam corrected. ‘She’s been up half the night.’

‘Do you want me to take her?’ Jonah stepped forward at Adam’s grateful nod and scooped Maisie into his arms, jiggling her up and down as she sat on his forearm. Her crying stopped, suggesting she was either glad of the change or a little shocked. Either way, no one minded the quiet that crept over the kitchen. Even Duster the dog seemed to sigh, as he lay with his greying muzzle on the cool floor by the back door.

Lucy smiled at her husband. There was something quite wonderful and bittersweet about seeing her man holding this baby girl, and she wondered if he would ever get to hold their own.

‘Adam, as you are now hands-free, could you fire up the barbecue?’ Fay smiled at her husband, sweetly.

‘This is what she does.’ Adam shook his head in Fay’s direction, speaking about her with fondness, as if she were absent. ‘If she thinks I have a second in the day that isn’t allocated, she fills it up with a pressing chore.’

‘No, you are right, honey. Don’t bother,’ Fay mocked. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you. Why don’t you go and put your feet up and I’ll give everyone a raw hamburger and a bit of salad. It’ll be fine. Or a frozen chicken Kiev, à la Lucy!’

Lucy pulled a face at her sister.

‘Okay, okay, I’m going!’ Adam loped out to the kitchen, winking at the wife he adored, admitting defeat. Jonah and Maisie followed him outside.

‘So, how’s you?’ Fay asked, as if she might get a more honest response now they were alone.

‘Fine.’ She nodded, giving a small shrug.

‘Whoa there with all that information!’ Fay briefly placed her hands over her ears.

‘Well, what do you want to know?’ She leant against the worktop and pushed the sleeves of her cotton jersey over her elbows before folding her arms and watching as Fay popped on the kettle to make tea.

‘I don’t know . . . How’s your fancy job? What’s it like having Camille to stay? Why do you look so skinny? And why does your smile only go as far as your nose?’ She turned to her sister with her hand over her eyes. ‘It’s like everything below my hand is smiling, but when I do this’ – she removed her palm – ‘your eyes look a bit sad.’

‘You do realise I am not one of your eight-year-old pupils, right? You can talk to me like a grown-up,’ she snapped, irritated not only by the question but by her sister’s insight.

‘Okay, you want grown-up talk? I’m worried about you. You don’t seem yourself and it’s not only me – Mum called me and said the same, and we want to know if there’s anything we can do to help. Happier to have it phrased like that?’

‘A bit.’ She was thinking of how to explain how she felt, the pressure she was under and her desire for a child, as well as how difficult it was trying to bond with Camille, when the girl herself appeared in the kitchen.

‘Hey, Camille!’ Fay alerted her sister of her presence, in case she hadn’t noticed. ‘When you’ve had enough of playing with cars, feel free to escape. Rory would be more than happy to keep you captive there all day if he had his way.’

‘No, it’s okay. I like playing with him. He’s so sweet. And he said I could be Supergirl, which is like the biggest compliment ever!’ She laughed, reaching up to pull her hair into a ponytail, anchoring it with the thin red band that lived on her wrist and revealing her taut, flat tummy as she did so.

‘God, it is,’ Fay agreed. ‘I’ve been playing cars endlessly for years and I’ve only ever made it to Superman’s assistant. You should consider it the highest honour.’

‘Oh, I do.’ Camille chuckled.

‘And Lucy told me you have a job in a shop in Queen’s Park?’

‘Yes!’ Her eyes lit up. ‘It’s part-time, just while I’m here, but I really like it.’ She hunched her shoulders, looking simultaneously happy and coy.

‘What does the shop sell?’ Fay asked, as she filled the teapot with hot water to warm it.

‘Amazing vintage clothes and retro pieces, like belts and funky rings, all sorts, and nearly every piece is a one-off,’ Camille explained. ‘They get a lot of stuff imported from all over the world. It’s exciting. I love the clothes!’

‘I’m not surprised – it sounds great!’ Fay enthused. ‘Bit different from life in France I bet?’

‘It is, and I work there with my boyfriend, Dex, who is a DJ and at college too, so pretty busy.’ Camille kicked the toe of her navy canvas Toms against the red tiled floor.

‘Oh, wow! I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.’ Fay smiled. ‘Fast worker!’

Lucy knew she looked startled, and she concentrated on finding a more neutral expression. The ease with which Camille divulged the information to Fay, a complete stranger, took her by surprise, coupled with the fact that she had been kept in the dark about this development, the kind of thing she hoped a girl might share with her stepmum.

‘Yeah, I guess, but when it feels right.’ Camille shrugged, seeming way older than her sixteen years.

‘So what’s he like; is he nice?’ Fay was enjoying the teenage topic.

‘He really is. He’s smart and good-looking and he’s had to kind of look out for himself. His mum was . . .’ Camille turned and looked at Lucy, as if she had been waiting for a chance to use the new and improved phrase. ‘Let’s just say she was not such a great mum.’

Lucy couldn’t decide whether the girl’s pointed choice of phrase was an olive branch to appease her or a verbal stick with which to prod her, reminding her of their row.

‘Oh, how sad,’ Fay commented.

‘It is, really.’ Camille smiled at Fay’s sympathy. ‘But he’s happy now and I guess that’s what matters.’

‘Who’s happy now?’ Jonah asked, as he came through the back door with a very happy Maisie still bouncing on his arm.

‘Camille’s boyfriend,’ Lucy fired, happy to see the look of confusion on his face, making her feel like she wasn’t alone in being kept at arm’s length.

‘Boyfriend? Goodness me! Who is this young man and why has he not asked for my permission?’ Jonah joked, and Fay and Camille laughed.

Lucy looked from one to the other; was it only her that felt a little put out by the revelation?

‘Hel-loo!’ Her mum’s voice filled the hallway, drawing their attention as she called through the letterbox. All looked towards the door. Lucy felt a second of awkwardness wash over her, hoping Camille didn’t embarrass her or showcase her poor stepmothering skills in front of Jan.

She watched as the girl stepped forward and took the teapot from Fay’s hands. ‘You go and open the door. I can make the tea.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Where are your cups?’

‘In the cupboard above the sink. And thank you, Camille. That’s so kind.’ Fay gave Lucy a double thumbs up, clearly very impressed with her stepdaughter.

It was quite incredible. She looked from the girl to Jonah, who beamed with pride at Camille’s impeccable manners and confident air. Lucy, however, was intrigued as to how Camille could have lived with them for all this time without so much as putting a cup in the dishwasher or making her bed, and yet here, in a house where she had only just set foot, she was a model visitor and obviously feeling very at home.

Lucy’s mother swept into the room, dotting kisses on everyone’s cheek as she made her entrance, adding to the party atmosphere.

‘Camille! How lovely for me to have a teenage granddaughter.’

Lucy felt the blood drain from her face and her legs wobble. She gripped the nearest chair. How easily her mum spouted the words.

‘Please call me Gran or Granny, whichever you prefer. And look at you; you are very beautiful!’ her mum offered with typical gusto, appraising the girl who smiled in front of her.

No sooner had Jan put her basket on the table than she and Camille stood swapping small talk about her journey from Surrey. The front doorbell rang again.

‘I’ll go,’ Lucy called out, but since Fay stood with her hands in the sink, the men and babies had gravitated towards the barbecue and Jan and Camille were laughing like old friends, she wasn’t entirely sure that anyone had heard.

She opened the front door and stared, feeling her legs sway beneath her.

‘Lucy!’ Richard looked equally as taken aback to see her on the other side of the front door. He instinctively placed his hand on the tiny down-covered scalp that peeped from inside the baby sling he wore so comfortably on his chest. ‘I didn’t expect to see you.’ He looked a little flustered.

It was odd for her too, to come face to face with the man for whom she had shed so many tears and feel nothing more than a flicker of attraction and a whole heap of awkwardness.

‘I promised to drop the keys off for Joyce’s caravan, think Fay and Adam might be going for a long weekend.’ He rushed, as if hoping that by speaking quickly he could get the whole interaction over with as soon as possible and at the same time wanting to show he had a legitimate reason for turning up at her sister’s house. ‘H-how are you?’ he stuttered.

She watched the nervous bulge of his Adam’s apple rise and fall.

‘I’m good.’ She looked again at the purple sling from which dangled the two tiny spaghetti legs of a newborn.

‘I believe congratulations are in order; you got married!’ He rocked on his heels as if this alone was a miracle.

‘Yes, I did. And congratulations, yourself; you’ve had a baby.’ She pointed, awkwardly, feeling the usual hot swarm of tears at the back of her throat, a reflex when in close proximity to a new baby. It felt so unfair.

‘Yes!’ He smiled and pulled his head back on his shoulders to get a better look at the infant. Turning, he pulled the sling aside to reveal a sleeping bundle swaddled in a white blanket. Its little nose was squashed and the tiny fingers rested on its rounded cheek.

‘This is Dominic Drake, who arrived eight weeks ago, weighing seven pounds three ounces.’ His voice echoed with pride and a little shock, as if he still couldn’t quite believe that this incredible miracle was his. This she understood.

Lucy looked from the baby to his dad, who placed his hands protectively on the sling. He looked tired, but utterly, utterly besotted, as if he held in his hands everything he had ever wanted, and not a Breitling in sight.

Her mind flitted to the conversation they had shared during their relationship. Lying on his sitting room rug in the early hours with tongues lubricated by Prosecco, she had felt emboldened.

‘I want a baby, Rich!’

‘No, you don’t. They are noisy, smelly, inconvenient and expensive. Get a cat.’

‘I don’t want a cat! I want a baby. I think it would be wonderful.’ She nuzzled his neck. ‘Let’s just go for it.’

‘No! You have a great career; do you know how many people would kill for a position like yours? You can’t give it all up to have a baby.’

‘I can have both.’

He had sat up then, placing his wine glass on the coffee table; it was a second or two before he spoke. ‘Even if that is true, I think we might be on different pages, Lucy. I mean, I love you, of course, and I think we make a great couple, but babies?’ He shook his head. ‘They are not in my plan, not at all.’

It occurred to her then, as she studied the man on the doorstep, that when he had said he didn’t want a baby, he had actually meant he didn’t want a baby with her. And now, as she looked back down the hall in time to see Camille opening the drawer to locate a teaspoon and lining up the cups on the worktop, so relaxed in this house, it made her wonder if maybe her miscarriages were nature’s way of telling her she couldn’t do it. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a mum – maybe Richard saw that and maybe Camille sensed it too.

‘He’s lovely,’ she managed, smiling at the infant, feeling a bolt of loss fire through her gut.

‘We think so.’ He beamed, establishing himself in a couple, as if she needed any reminder. It irritated her that he might think she harboured any feelings for him other than indifference. ‘Anyway, I shan’t come in, but can you take these?’ He dangled the keys at arm’s length. Lucy took them and nodded.

‘You look well, Lucy,’ he added before turning around. She watched as her ex-fiancé made his way back down the path and off to a life with cousin Davina.

Lucy walked into the kitchen, listening to Fay quiz Camille about what she might like as a gift for her upcoming birthday. She placed the keys on the dresser and tried to remember a time when Richard had looked that happy, and couldn’t.

‘Penny for them?’ Jonah whispered in her ear, standing close to her.

She painted on a bright smile. ‘I was thinking we should invite Camille’s boyfriend over for supper on her birthday; what do you think?’ she lied.

‘I think that sounds like a splendid idea.’ He smiled and bent down to kiss her cheek.

* * *

Except for Richard’s visit with his beautiful son, the day had been a great success. Everyone had laughed and eaten too much, and Camille, Fay and Rory had even had a dance in the garden. Lucy was well aware that it was only her that seemed to feel a little on edge, as if waiting for something to be said or done that might reveal the cracks in her relationship with her stepdaughter.

As Jonah drove them out of the countryside and back towards town, he twisted his head and asked the question over his shoulder: ‘So, a boyfriend, eh? That seems a bit sudden.’

Lucy was glad that he had broached the subject.

Camille beamed. ‘I like him.’ As if this phrase might be all it took by way of explanation.

‘You can’t have spent that much time with him; you’ve only been at Bill’s for a couple of weeks,’ Lucy pointed out, keeping her tone as gentle as she could muster, aware that anything more accusatory might inflame the situation. The last thing she wanted was to spoil what had been such a lovely day.

‘It feels like a lot longer,’ Camille whispered. ‘We talk all the time. I’ve never got on so well with anyone in my whole life, ever.’ She addressed the darkening shadows outside the car window. One quick glance told Lucy that the girl was in an almost dreamlike state. ‘I just know.’

Jonah leant across and placed his hand on top of Lucy’s. ‘I know that feeling, and we can hardly comment, can we? I practically proposed within minutes of meeting you.’

She smiled at the memory, but knew that it was not comparable. Camille was a child of sixteen who needed steering in the right direction. It bothered her that Jonah wasn’t seeing that.

‘I do think you should take things slowly, Cam.’ It was the best way she could think of to hint that she probably knew very little about this seventeen-year-old boy. Camille nodded, but Lucy doubted she was giving her words a second of consideration.

* * *

When they arrived home, Camille retreated to her room, no doubt to FaceTime Alice or speak to the enigmatic Dex.

Jonah filled the kettle.

‘Are you worried at all about the whole boyfriend thing?’ she asked tentatively, as she yawned.

‘No, not really.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I figure they’re just kids having a bit of fun, and it might be just the distraction she needs. It was certainly lovely to see her so relaxed and amiable at Fay’s today. I think she was quite a hit. Especially with Rory.’

Lucy nodded. ‘Oh absolutely.’ That she was. Jonah’s summary, however, did little to reassure her, but one thing Lucy did know was that she didn’t have the energy for another altercation over what was best for Camille. It was one more example of how she felt unable to fully express her concern, relegated in the parenting stakes.

* * *

She kicked off her sandals and showered, letting the warm spray wash away the dust of a strange day. After changing into her pyjamas she pulled the little wicker hamper down from the top of the wardrobe, smiling as the lid creaked open to reveal the stunning, ever-growing collection of baby clothes. It gave her comfort and caused her heart to ache as she ran her fingers over the tiny cardigans, little jerseys and mini socks that she had made. Some she plucked from the tissue and ran over her cheek, loving the feel of the soft wool against her skin. She pictured Richard, recalling his expression of pure joy as he laid his palms on the baby that slept against his chest.

‘I hope I can do it, baby. I hope I can find you and I hope I can keep you. I want it more than anything,’ she whispered into the still night air, as the familiar sob built in her chest.

Her telephone buzzed on the bedside table.

‘Hey, you got back okay then?’ Her sister was drinking, no doubt topping up on her tea fix, as was her habit.

‘Yes. By the way, before I forget, Richard dropped off the keys for Auntie Joyce’s caravan. I shoved them on the dresser.’

‘No way! You saw him?’

‘Yes, it was no big deal,’ she lied. ‘He showed me his little boy; he was beautiful.’ She swallowed.

‘Who, Richard or the baby?’ Fay quipped.

Lucy tutted, ignoring her jibe. ‘Thank you for a great day.’ She meant it; both Fay and Adam had gone to a lot of trouble.

‘Oh, we loved it. We were just saying that Camille is so lovely.’

‘Yes.’ She decided not to elaborate.

‘Rory was very taken with her,’ Fay enthused. ‘He asked if she could come and play again soon.’

Lucy nodded. ‘It’s funny, Fay. I saw a different side to her today. Usually she’s not so . . .’ She tried to find the right word.

‘Not so what?’ Fay prompted.

‘I don’t know, not so appeasing. She’s a little cool with me.’ Once again she pictured her and Fay’s comfortable hug, a small thing, but a big thing to her.

‘Well, firstly you don’t know what her mum has said about you, and kids are very easily influenced, don’t forget. I once mentioned in front of Rory that my department head had been unreasonable, and when we bumped into her in the street, he practically snarled at her! I was so embarrassed, but it’s that protective gene; it’s strong.’

‘Good point.’ It was the first time Lucy had considered this – that it might be a straightforward case of Camille taking sides and of course she was going to pick her mum’s side in whatever imaginary war Geneviève had discussed.

‘Secondly I’m not sleeping with her dad.’

‘I should certainly hope not!’ She giggled.

Fay tutted, choosing to ignore her. ‘And therefore I am far preferable to you on that score; it might make her feel a little uncomfortable and that might be reflected in some of her behaviour.’

‘Okay, another good point. Anything else?’ She was grateful for her sister’s wisdom.

‘It might be a bit of old-fashioned jealousy.’ The sound of Fay taking a gulp of her drink filled her ear.

‘Really? I don’t know what she would feel jealous about. I have tried really hard to make her feel special. I went to so much trouble with her room and she never really said if she liked it. In fact, she just pointed out that there was nowhere for her to hang her clothes!’ Lucy eyed the bedroom door, making sure it was closed, as she kept her voice down.

There was a second or two of quiet before Fay spoke again. ‘Of course, there is another explanation.’

‘What?’ Lucy sank back against the pillows.

‘It might not be Camille that’s the problem or Camille who is jealous. It might be you.’

Lucy could only stare at the phone in her hand. ‘That’s ridiculous! What a thing to say to me.’ She felt an intense frustration that Fay had suggested such a thing. To her it smacked of disloyalty. She wondered how quickly she could end the call.

* * *

I sometimes think about my future and realise that not being a mother isn’t a temporary sadness, something that will pass. Without you, I never get to see my child graduate, never get to sit at the front of a church when you marry, never have the chance to lay my arm across your back whilst trying to figure out how to fix your broken heart, and I never get to hold my grandchild.

In later life, probably as the pain has subsided a little and I have patched the holes in my life that you would have filled, with work, with Jonah, with holidays and all manner of happy distractions, I will then have to go through it all again. Not only have I had to watch my friends and family holding their babies, but I will then want to slope off to a dark place while they press pictures of grandchildren into my palms and regale me with the achievements of the cleverest, cutest kids ever born, beaming with a pride that I can only dream of.

It’s as if the punishment for me will go on and on until my dying day. The little ripples of not having you here with me will get bigger and bigger, as the years pass, until I can no longer see the point at which it began, but will live in the middle, trapped by the rolling rings of consequence from that one thing: losing you. You will always remain the one thing that I crave. The one thing I want. And that thought, this realisation, makes me sadder than I can ever say.