Chapter 21: Twenty-One - The Idea of You

With Camille’s latest scan picture framed and resting on the chest of drawers, Lucy covered the whole thing with a greying dust sheet before dipping the roller into the pale blue paint and climbing the stepladder to better reach the ceiling.

‘This is looking great!’ Camille clapped her hands. ‘I love it!’

‘Wait until I add the clouds; it’s going to look awesome.’ She smiled, enjoying being part of the transformation of the room from a dusty office to the baby’s very own space, trying to keep at bay the thought that this room and this design had always been destined for her baby. The plan was for Camille and the baby to stay with them until she had a clearer view of what came next. She and Jonah had decided that while it was tempting to scoop Camille and her baby up and keep them close, it wouldn’t be the best thing to help Camille grow into the woman she needed to become. They would instead parent Cam from a safe distance, ready to catch her if ever she fell.

‘What do you think of Nelson as a name?’ Camille asked, as she dipped the narrow brush into the white gloss and continued to tackle the woodwork.

Lucy spat her laughter.

‘Okay, we’ll take that as a no. What about Hudson?’ Camille suggested.

‘As in the river?’ Lucy asked.

‘Oh yes, good point.’ Camille was quiet for a second or two. ‘How about Chester?’

‘Are you determined to name this child after a monument or a river or a place? Why can’t you go for an ordinary but gorgeous name?’ she suggested.

‘Like what?’ Camille stared at her.

‘I don’t know, Cam. How about Jonah?’

‘Oh God, no!’ The girl pulled a face of disapproval.

‘How about Jonah what?’ Her husband poked his head in from the landing. And this time they both laughed.

‘We’re just thinking of names, darling.’ Lucy smiled sweetly at him.

‘Oh, I rather like Hector,’ he suggested.

‘Hector?’ they both shrieked.

‘Yes! That was my grandfather’s name and he was a fine man.’ Jonah defended his choice.

‘Think I prefer Nelson,’ Lucy whispered.

‘What was that?’ Jonah cupped his hand over his ear.

‘Nothing, darling!’ She and Camille laughed once again.

‘Well, I can see I am being ganged up on. I shall leave you two to it.’ He smiled at his wife with a look of sheer delight and left the room.

‘I think because he now understands how crappy things were for you when you were pregnant, that’s why he’s being so great with me. I know he loves me and I don’t think he wants me to go through anything similar.’ Camille spoke to the wall as she painted.

‘He does love you, very much,’ she confirmed. ‘Have you thought any more about telling Dex?’ She broached the subject, which was still a little thorny.

Camille sighed. ‘I think about it all the time. I don’t know what to do. I want him to know because I think he has a right to, but I don’t want to ruin his time in New York, this one chance he’s got to do something that he has always wanted to do. In fact, I’ve stopped texting and emailing him. It felt too odd – asking about the weather and what he’s had for lunch when I am sitting here like this.’ She pointed at her stomach. ‘I think it’s probably easier if I just let him drift away. And then tell him in the future, maybe, when things are calmer.’

‘But what about what Dex wants? What about if he wants you and you are not giving him that chance? Have you thought about that?’ she urged.

Camille gave a small, resigned smile that was heartbreaking to see. ‘Plus . . .’

‘Plus what?’ Lucy stopped painting and looked at her stepdaughter.

‘Plus, I don’t want him to be with me because he feels he should be, out of duty or because he feels guilty. I want him to be with me because he loves me, and once he knows about the baby I won’t be able to tell which it is. And there is always the chance that he will just ignore me and tell me to get on with it. What did Bella’s dad do when you told him?’

Lucy pictured Scott and briefly closed her eyes. ‘I . . . I never told him.’

Camille whipped around. ‘What, never? Are you saying he doesn’t know?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t know.’

‘Wow! I hadn’t thought about not telling Dex at all – I was trying to work out how and when – but if you think that’s best—’

‘No, Camille. No, I don’t think that it’s best at all.’ She shook her head and climbed down the stepladder to sit close to the girl. ‘I can tell you hand on heart that it was a mistake. He did have a right to know; I should have told him. Not because I wanted anything from him, not even a relationship. We were just kids who found comfort in each other – whatever we shared had truly run its course. But I can see now that not telling him was disingenuous.’ She bit her lip as she acknowledged this truth.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Camille promised, as she resumed her painting.

* * *

A fortnight later the grand celebration for the new nursery and combined baby shower was in full swing. Music filled the house as the playlist shuffled between her favourite eighties pop and Jonah’s preferred soft rock.

‘This poor baby is going to have no taste in music,’ Camille moaned, as she cradled her bump.

‘Don’t worry about that, darling,’ Jan reassured her. ‘My husband played nothing but Carly Simon during both my pregnancies and neither of my girls has ever favoured the music.’

‘Who’s he?’ Fay wrinkled her nose.

‘See what I mean?’ Jan tutted and rolled her eyes.

Lucy could see and feel the seismic shift between her and her mum. Gone were the staccato conversations, the nervous suggestions, the feeling that they were walking on eggshells and the self-conscious awkward embraces that had plagued every arrival and departure for as long as she could remember. Jan now looked at her in the way she did Fay, with ease. It was a blessed relief.

The family were crowded into the kitchen. As the sandwiches were passed around, a fancy cake from Pru Plum’s was topped with a sugar-paste baby lying on a blue-and-white blanket. It was beautiful and simple. The tea flowed from the pot and everyone fussed over Camille and her burgeoning bump. Lucy smiled to negate the flame of jealousy that threatened to ignite. How she would have loved this day for herself.

Her stepdaughter delighted in every gift, laying tiny denim dungarees over her rounded stomach and confessing that she was struggling to imagine a little person bringing them to life in a little over three months. Fay had, as ever, put a lot of thought into her gift and presented Camille with a white basket filled with creams, potions and lotions to help moisturise skin, cure cracked nipples and provide bubbles to soak in when weary muscles might need a spot of rejuvenation. The whole thing was wrapped in cellophane and finished off with an enormous blue bow.

‘Thank you, Fay!’ Camille grinned.

‘You’re welcome, and it’s the least I can do for my niece and Rory’s favourite cousin.’

She saw Camille beam; being part of this family was good for her.

Geneviève and Jean-Luc had sent a card, which sat in pride of place on the mantelpiece, and a packet of muslin squares.

‘They’re an essential!’ Fay nodded at the gift.

Camille had started a dialogue with her mum, and with Lucy’s encouragement had even managed a FaceTime chat. She noticed an easing of her stepdaughter’s stress after this interaction and understood this only too well.

She gave Jonah the nod and he made his way to the shed, coming back into the kitchen with a pushchair and baby seat travel system in a gorgeous lime-green design on a pale grey background with chunky tractor-like wheels. Camille would never know how Lucy had stood in the shed in the dark of night with her hands gripping the handles, sobbing, as she stared at the empty pram, feeling a pulse of longing at what was not to be.

‘Oh God!’ Camille placed her hand over her mouth. ‘It’s so cool!’ she cried. ‘It’s brilliant. Thank you!’ She looked at Lucy and Jonah. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you both.’

‘Well, luckily you’ll never have to find out.’ Lucy smiled, guessing by the way Camille rubbed her tum and blotted her tears that her thoughts were with Dex. She silently resolved to try once again to encourage her to make contact with him and tell him what was going on.

Later, the party headed up the stairs to admire the nursery, which looked spacious now all the clutter had been removed and the cot stood in one corner with the changing station opposite. The ceiling was peppered with clouds. It was beautiful and peaceful. Folded neatly in the top drawer of the chest of drawers were Lucy’s hand-knitted baby clothes. Handing over her crop of baby clothes had felt to Lucy like an admission that she was never going to need them, and just the thought of this brought tears to her eyes and a sting of loss to her heart.

But the jolt of joy she felt to think that a baby would finally grace them – even if it wasn’t to be her own – almost outweighed the feeling of despair.

Fay and Adam stood on the landing, peering in at Lucy and Camille’s handiwork.

‘I love what you have done in here!’ Jan clucked approvingly.

Camille beamed. ‘We wanted something that was a bit quirky and cool, something neutral, but not cold – like a linen or a light khaki.’

‘Did Fay tell you to say that?’ Lucy screeched.

‘Yes!’ Camille laughed. ‘I have no idea what it means.’

‘It means my little sister likes to have the last word and thinks she’s so cool!’ Lucy thumped her on the arm, playfully.

‘You were lucky, Cam. When she knew you were coming, Lucy toyed with the idea of giving you a pink feature wall! You should be thanking me. I saved you from that horror.’ She poked out her tongue in disgust.

‘I love my bedroom. I love every bit of it. I couldn’t believe that she had done that all for me!’

Lucy beamed. This was good to know.

They all made their way down the stairs, apart from Jan, who hovered next to Lucy as she ran her hand over the cot where her hand-knitted blanket lay on top of the little mattress.

‘I have always been proud of what you have achieved, darling – your amazing jobs, your beautiful apartment. It all came to you because you are smart and work so hard, but the truth is’ – Jan composed herself – ‘all I ever really wanted was for you to find the courage to be truly happy.’

‘I am happy, Mum.’ She spoke with a thick throat. ‘I think I’m learning that maybe you don’t get everything in life, but you can be happy with the gifts you have.’

‘I think that’s true, but doing all this for Camille’ – she waved her arm in an arc around the room – ‘it can’t be easy for you.’

‘It’s not, but it still feels good to do the right thing for her, to support her. After all, she’s having my grandchild.’ She smiled.

‘I am so proud of the woman you became.’ Jan spoke with misted eyes. Lucy stepped forward and fell against her mum for a hug. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her mum, holding on and savouring the contact that she had craved.

‘Also . . .’ Lucy began.

‘What, darling?’ Jan released her daughter and gripped the side of the cot, as if bracing herself for bad news.

‘I thought about what you said and I have written to an agency to see if Bella has registered an interest to get in contact. I wrote her a long letter, poured my heart out really, and I don’t know if she will ever get it, but I am glad I’ve done it.’

‘Oh, Lucy!’ Jan reached up and took her baby girl back into her arms. ‘I shall keep everything, everything crossed!’ she cried, as she crushed her to her.

* * *

Christmas had come and gone and had been a relatively quiet affair. She and Jonah had agreed that they would have been perfectly happy to skip the season this year and jump straight into the new year when the baby’s arrival would be getting closer. The whole family had congregated for a stunning festive lunch at Fay’s house, where Lucy was barred from the kitchen, all had worn flimsy paper hats and sung carols, and Camille had played endless board games with Rory.

In Lucy’s view, the best evenings of the holiday period had seen the three of them sat in front of the fire at home, making plans for the new arrival. It was only in the early hours, when drowsy from sleep her hand snaked to her stomach in dreamlike confusion, thinking it was her baby they had been planning for, that her sadness struck.

It was one wintry day in that twilight time between Christmas and new year that she and Jonah bustled in from the cold. The coffee and cake they had eaten at Gail’s had fuelled them all the way home. Camille was in her room, napping no doubt. Lucy stooped to gather the post from the floor where it had been pushed against the wall, while her husband went ahead and flicked on the lamps. She leafed casually through the uninspiring envelopes, until the last envelope in the stack caught her eye. She placed the bundle on the sideboard, but kept this envelope in her hands.

‘Jonah,’ she called softly, as she made her way into the sitting room. He was crouched on the floor, setting the fire with kindling and piling up the logs to ensure a cosy temperature. ‘Jonah,’ she repeated, as her finger slid along the gummed edge and flipped it open.

Lucy gasped and sank down on to the rug, collapsing in a heap, as her tears made reading impossible. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Help me! Jonah, help me!’ she cried, handing him the page she had extracted with trembling fingers.

Jonah stood and took the sheet from her. He smoothed it in his palm and read aloud. His words danced in the air and settled on her like sparkling fairy dust.

* * *

Dear Lucy,

Hope it’s okay to call you Lucy. ‘Mrs Carpenter’ sounds too formal and ‘Mum’ a little weird.

Jonah paused to control the catch in his voice and sob in his throat. For Lucy it was as if time stood still. She held her breath, scared to move in case she woke up and found that this glorious moment was merely a dream.

Jonah coughed and continued:

It was an extraordinary thing to receive your letter – wonderful and alarming at the same time. In answer to one of your questions, my name is Bella. My parents kept my name and I have always liked it.

My mum and dad, Ivy and Graham, have told me as much about you as they could remember and any other bits of information that they picked up. Like the fact that you had long dark hair and you had one sister. My mum told me that your mum, my nan, I guess, seemed lovely. These details have remained vivid in my memory, and so I guess, with these snippets in mind, I was not wholly surprised to receive your letter. I think it’s important to tell you that I had a wonderful childhood and I have a good life. I am happy. My mum also said that she always had the feeling that giving me up for adoption was not an easy decision for you and that she thought you would always carry me with you. Throughout my life, this idea has given me a really nice feeling . . .

Lucy’s sobbing was loud and invasive. Jonah stopped reading and dropped to his knees to hold her. ‘Don’t cry, darling. Please don’t cry. This is such a wonderful thing, a letter from Bella!’ He smiled as he kissed her.

Lucy shook her head and braced her arms against his for support, it was some while before she could speak. ‘No, Jonah, you don’t’ – she gulped – ‘you don’t understand.’ Her face crumpled again until she managed to compose herself a little and continue. ‘The baby I mourn, the newborn I picture, she’s gone. This is a letter from a grown woman and it’s made me see that I have lost her. I lost her, Jonah! My baby, my little girl – she doesn’t exist any more, does she?’ She slumped forward into her husband’s arms.

‘No, my Lucy, she doesn’t exist. She is all grown-up, but she has grown up happy!’ He pulled his arm free and again unfurled the sheet of paper. ‘“I had a wonderful childhood and I have a good life. I am happy”,’ he read aloud. ‘That’s what it says, right here, and that is the most you can ever ask for where your children are concerned.’

She looked up at him, her tears slowed and her heart stopped racing. ‘She is happy,’ she repeated.

‘Yes!’ he pressed. ‘She is happy and she has a lovely life and that means you made the right decision. You did the right thing. You gave her security. You gave her happiness.’

‘I did. I gave her happiness. My beautiful Bella.’

Lucy sat back on the rug and stared at her husband, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘You are right. All these years I have spent worrying that she might be cold or hungry or scared. I have pictured every horrible scenario you can imagine, and the feeling that I couldn’t get to her, couldn’t make it better, has haunted me. But she was happy.’

‘Yes! She was happy, “a wonderful childhood”,’ he read again.

Lucy felt the beginnings of a smile twitch on her lips. She looked up at the window as a shard of winter sunlight pierced through the trees and fell in front of her, bringing light into a dark place.

‘There’s more, darling.’ He read on, and Lucy sat with fists clenched, listening to every word. The second half of Bella’s letter, however, cut Lucy to the core, dashing her hopes and sending her spiralling into a dark place of self-recrimination and regret. She learned that Bella was a statistician who worked for a bank and was engaged to a quiet man, Tom. But it wasn’t these facts that bothered her. Those were not the words to be analysed and pored over in the dead of night. It was another seven or so lines that caused her heart to sink into her boots.

I do not think there would be any value in us meeting or indeed exchanging further correspondence. I am of course grateful for the life you gave me and for the brave decision you made to give me up for adoption. I have a wonderful family and I fear any further involvement with you might unsettle the people I love the most and might unsettle me too. Thank you, Lucy, for getting in touch. I shall treasure your letter and like to think that you might do the same with mine.

With very best wishes,

Bella

Lucy read the words again and again, until she knew them by heart, and the more she recited them, analysed them and considered them, the more something unexpected happened. The words blunted and became easier to digest, until Lucy finally reached a point of acceptance. Bella had a good life. A good life! And if that wasn’t the goal for her daughter, then she wasn’t sure what was. It was as if with this realisation the cloak of guilt, worry and shame that had weighed her down for all these years was lifted. It felt good.

* * *

The next three months passed by in a blur of excitement and anticipation of the baby’s arrival. By the time the end of March and Camille’s due date drew near, every blanket they could possibly need was folded and ready, and nutritious breastfeeding snacks filled the cupboards and freezer, leaving Lucy free to focus on keeping Camille’s stress levels to a minimum.

In the early hours one morning, Lucy was sleeping soundly with Jonah’s arm cast over her shoulder when she became aware of a light rapping on the door.

‘Hello?’ She sat up, reaching for the bedside lamp and rubbing her eyes.

Camille crept into the room and held on to the end of their bed. ‘Lucy?’

‘Yes, darling? Are you okay?’ Her adrenaline began to pump and she reached a state of full alertness very quickly.

Camille shook her head. ‘I need you to call Dex.’ After speaking his name, she whimpered, and her tears fell. ‘I need you to tell Dex that I need him and that I love him and that I am having our baby. Can you do that for me?’

‘Oh, sweetie, don’t cry! Please don’t cry. Yes, I can do that for you if you really want me to, but I think it would be better coming from you, and you don’t need to worry about it right now. Your sleep is too important,’ she soothed.

‘Lucy is right, Cam. You and Dex should have that conversation,’ Jonah added from the pillow where he now lay awake. ‘But she can sit right by your side if that helps?’

‘No.’ Camille shook her head again and bent forward a little. ‘I can’t call him. It’s too late because I am having our baby now. Right now.’ She leant heavily on the bed.

‘Oh shit!’ Jonah jumped out of bed and gathered his jeans from the floor. Lucy swung her legs in an arc from the mattress, leapt out of bed and placed her arms on Camille’s shoulders. She remembered the ice-cold knot of fear that had gripped her when in the first throes of labour; she had only been able to think of what lay ahead and the horror stories she had heard.

‘Sit down, Cam.’ The girl did as she was told. ‘Now, you are going to keep calm and everyone is going to look after you and this is going to be fine, okay?’

‘Okay.’ Camille nodded at her, her face pale with fear.

‘Your bag is already packed, so we just need a minute to get dressed and grab the car keys. Okay?’ she asked again, trying to keep her own nerves at bay.

Camille nodded.

‘Are you having contractions?’ Lucy asked, as Jonah rushed to the bathroom with his shoes in one hand.

‘Yes. And they’re getting stronger.’ She closed her eyes.

‘Good, that’s great!’ She smiled to mask her own turbulent flurry of pain, envy and regret. ‘We will stay with you, Cam, and you have nothing to think about or worry about other than keeping calm and delivering this baby.’ She kissed her forehead, which was a little clammy.

‘Please, Lucy, please’ – she winced a little as a sharper pain bit – ‘please tell Dex!’

‘I will. I promise.’ She felt her stomach drop at the prospect, as they made their way to the car in the dark of night.

* * *

As Jonah held Camille’s hand and the nurse pushed her wheelchair from the lift up to the delivery suite, Lucy hovered in the reception and used Camille’s phone to call Dex.

‘Cam! I was wondering if you would call me. It’s been a while. Thought you were ignoring me.’ He sounded excited to hear from Camille after her imposed radio silence, and Lucy considered this a good sign. It had been a delicate battle, trying to encourage Camille to confide in the boy, while being wary of imposing anything on her. Lucy knew above all else how important it was that her stepdaughter felt like she was in control during this tumultuous time.

‘Dex, it’s Lucy here, actually, Cam’s stepmum?’

‘Oh, hi, Lucy. How are you? Is everything okay?’ He was smart enough to know that if his on-off girlfriend’s stepmother was calling him from the other side of the world at ten o’clock at night, his time, the chances were that something was not okay, and in this assumption, he was correct. ‘You’ll have to speak up. I’m in a busy street and there’s cars and people – it’s a bit crazy!’ he informed her.

Lucy pictured him on a New York street, living a life that she was about to alter. She held the receiver to her mouth and spoke slowly and clearly, knowing that for Dex things were about to get a whole lot crazier.

‘This is going to come as a bit of a surprise, but the thing is, Dex . . .’ she began.

* * *

Standing alone in the lift that took her up to the delivery floor was a strange experience. Each time she had entered this hospital in various stages of pregnancy, this had always been the goal: to enter this lift, with her ID sticker firmly in place and the beat of an intensifying labour in her groin. And yet here she was, alone, coming to assist as another woman gave birth. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the task in hand: being there for Camille at this time.

Wandering out of the lift was like stepping from a time machine. It could have been a winter’s night in 1994. There were smiling nurses and busy midwives, nervous, pacing dads, some beaming into phones as they shouted the facts they considered to be of the most interest down the line: ‘A girl! Six pounds seven ounces . . . she’s beautiful! Yes, yes, doing well, both of them . . .’ To listen in, albeit accidentally, felt like an intrusion on their precious moment.

Lucy pictured the person at the other end of that line, gasping and crying and giving thanks for this new little life that had come into their family, before going off to tell another in a similar call, in a glorious game of Chinese whispers.

The sound of newborns mewling in side rooms was sweet and evocative; she felt her heart beat in her throat.

‘Don’t cry, my baby . . . It’ll all be okay . . . I’ve got you . . . These are our moments together, this is our time, and I promise you that I won’t forget a single second of it.’ And true to her word, she hadn’t.

‘There you are!’ Jonah called to her as he strolled up the ward. ‘How did it go?’ He rubbed his palms together, as he did when he was a little anxious.

‘I got hold of him okay. He was very quiet and it was a little hard to hear. There was a lot of background noise. But he did say to give her his love.’

‘Was that it?’ He screwed his face up.

‘Yes. That was it. What did you expect?’ She was curious.

Jonah shrugged. ‘I don’t know, something more, I guess, but I don’t know what.’

‘I think it’s right that he knows, but it’s important we remember that he is just a boy himself really, only eighteen and on the other side of the pond on his big life adventure. He is probably in shock. But we shouldn’t judge him, Jonah. Only the future will reveal his character.’

He nodded. ‘I guess so. Anyway, right now it’s all about Cam and she is asking for you.’

‘For me?’ she questioned, quite overwhelmed by the prospect of being there at the birth of her grandson, but also at the beautiful connection she now felt with Camille.

Jonah nodded.

‘Okay, then.’ She smiled at him. ‘Let’s do this!’

He gripped her shoulders. ‘Are you sure about this? Because if it’s too much—’

‘I’m sure, Jonah,’ she interrupted him. ‘I can do it.’

He kissed her lightly on the mouth before she turned and walked towards Camille’s room.

‘See you on the other side!’ She turned towards him and gave him a smile of reassurance that hid the quaking in her limbs.

* * *

‘Lucy!’ Camille called out with obvious relief as she walked into the room.

‘Here I am.’ She took a seat next to the bed and smiled, trying to look calm and confident, when inside she felt anything but.

She remembered a kindly nurse looking in on her. ‘Are you nervous, sweetie?’ she had asked.

‘Did you speak to Dex?’ Camille’s tone was urgent. She lay back on the pillows in the loosely tied hospital gown, rubbing her stomach and breathing deeply, trying to counter the waves of discomfort that Lucy knew she would be feeling. Her womb pulsed in sympathy at the memory.

‘I did.’

‘What did he say?’ Camille lifted her head, and her heart rate monitor suddenly pushed out mountains on to the screen.

‘He said to give you all of his love.’

‘Did he say anything else? Was he angry or happy? What did you think?’ she asked desperately.

Lucy took her hand. ‘He sounded shocked and surprised, as you would expect, but definitely not angry.’

‘Okay.’ Camille lay back against the pillows. ‘Good. That’s good. My contractions are getting stronger’ – she held her breath – ‘and it hurts, Lucy!’ A lone tear trickled from her eye and over her face, on to the pillow.

‘It hurts!’

Lucy remembered how she had screamed out and the nurse had leant over her and lied – with the best of intentions, she liked to think: ‘This is as bad as it gets, love, and it’ll be over before you know it. Take deep breaths, that’s a good girl . . .’

Lucy gripped her hand and spoke the words she knew would have made a difference to her. ‘This is the time to be strong, Camille; you need to be strong for this baby. You need to be the best mum you can possibly be, and it starts now. And I give you my word that you will not be facing this alone. Not now and not in the future. You are loved and we are going to be right by your side. Come what may.’

‘Thank you.’ Camille grimaced through her tears and leant forward with her chin on her chest and her knees raised, as another contraction built. ‘Thank you, Lucy.’

Lucy patted the back of her hand, overcome by the impact a few heartfelt maternal words could have. ‘Now, take a deep breath, Cam, that’s it. Keep breathing!’

* * *

Lucy was exhausted. She cleaned her teeth, and with eyes half-closed she climbed between the sheets that she had leapt out of twenty-four hours before.

Jonah was already horizontal. ‘I called Geneviève,’ he told her. ‘Spoke to Jean-Luc, who sounded relieved more than anything that all was well. And they said they would come over when Camille comes home and is settled.’

‘That’s good. I’ll sort out the futon for the nursery. They can sleep in there.’

‘You want them to stay here?’ He sounded surprised.

‘It’ll be fine.’ Lucy snaked her hand across the mattress and patted her husband. ‘I didn’t like leaving Cam in the hospital on her own.’

‘Me either, but she’s not on her own; she’s with her boy. Plus she’s tired, even though she’s on cloud nine. She’ll sleep,’ he reminded her.

Lucy knew he was smiling; she could tell by his voice.

She sighed. ‘What a day. How beautiful is that baby?’

‘I can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem possible that my little girl is a mummy!’ He twisted his arm until his fingers found hers and they knitted hands, fingers entwined, palm against palm.

She swallowed a gulp of sadness at the fact that her dad never got to say these words.

‘Did you see how competent she was, holding him confidently, feeding him, and so composed, a natural.’ She spoke in awe, ignoring the tears that slipped over her temples and on to the pillow. It hurt so badly that, for the second time in her life, she had left the delivery suite without a child of her own.

‘Yes, she really is.’ Jonah squeezed her hand. ‘And how are you doing, my brilliant girl? I don’t know what Cam would have done without you there today.’

She beamed at his compliment, knowing that in it lay a kernel of truth. She had been there for Camille in her time of need, like any good mum. ‘I’m tired, but happy. This is Cam’s time, Cam’s baby.’ She opened her eyes and looked at the wicker basket on top of the wardrobe.

‘I love you.’ He squeezed her hand.

‘I love you too.’

‘I wonder what he’ll be when he grows up . . .’ Jonah murmured before sleep pulled him under. ‘He’s got big hands – maybe a boxer?’

‘Happy. That’s what I want him to be: happy.’ She too yawned, as she drifted off to sleep at the end of an extraordinary day, listening as her husband broke into a gentle snore.

* * *

She and Jonah arrived back at the hospital bright and early to find Camille sitting up in bed, looking serene, happy, and holding her son in her arms. He was wearing a little bobble hat that Lucy had knitted and he looked really cute.

‘Oh, now the fun starts,’ Camille whispered to him. ‘Here come your grandparents.’

It was something Lucy hadn’t properly considered – how the arrival of this little man would bind them together. It had been hinted at, but this new level of unity overwhelmed her. She felt the punch of love in her gut when she looked at the little man, newly arrived on the planet. It was as overpowering as it was unexpected.

She and Jonah had decided around Christmastime to stop trying to conceive, both agreeing that they should focus on each other and the amazing life they had rather than become consumed by a different kind of life they did not. Lucy knew there would always be that visceral punch of sadness at what she had lost, but their decision meant she was able to look forward with clarity and optimism, rather than waiting each month on tenterhooks, preparing for the next bout of heartache or disappointment. Just making this decision gave them strength, the feeling that they were back in control. In a strange way, it was as if a pressure had been lifted from her shoulders.

She and Jonah hadn’t managed to become parents but, for this little guy, they would always be granny and grandpa together. It felt lovely, a small reward in a sea of regret.

Jonah chuckled and, after kissing his daughter, peered into the wrapped bundle that lay in her arms. ‘Here, you hold him, Dad.’ Camille lifted the baby gently as Jonah dipped down and took him from her, holding him awkwardly, as if he were slippery china.

‘I think I’d better sit down,’ he murmured.

Lucy guided him backwards into the armchair by the side of the bed. He stared at her, his eyes brimming, and she knew that he, like her, was imagining what it might be like to hold one of their babies who had left them too soon.

‘How did you sleep, Cam?’ she asked, trying to keep the atmosphere bright.

Camille bit her lip and stared at her son, as if still shocked that he belonged to her. ‘Not great. He was awake a lot of the night, but I remembered what you said and I am going to be the best mum that I can possibly be. Anyway, it wasn’t exactly a hardship, getting to chat to him in the middle of the night. It was really nice.’

I bet, you lucky thing . . .

‘Well, I was awake in the middle of the night worrying about you – were you sleeping, were you comfortable? I should have come over . . .’ Lucy suddenly trailed off, looking at her stepdaughter, and a smile spread over her face. She laughed, a warm glow of joy thawing her icy sadness and filling her up. It was a simple notion, but one that had nonetheless not occurred to her until now: she didn’t need to have given birth to a child to experience motherhood.

‘I got on the phone at the crack of dawn this morning,’ Lucy began again, laughing. ‘I’ve spoken to Mum and Fay, and last night your dad spoke to Jean-Luc. Everyone is over the moon and sends you all their love, and they all want to book in for cuddles. I don’t think you are going to be short of a babysitter or two.’ She smiled.

Despite trying to battle her fatigue, Camille slipped into a doze, while she and Jonah took turns to hold their grandson. Lucy inhaled the scent of him, kissing his crown and running her finger over the side of his cheek. Her tears fell freely, as her nipples tightened with the desire to feed him and her whole being ached with longing. But he was not hers. She would be content to have any part to play in his life no matter how small. She would treat it as the privilege that it was.

The baby started to get a little restless, batting the air with his tiny, scrunched-up fist and wriggling slightly, seeking food with his dainty mouth, and Camille sat up straight, as if programmed to stir at the sound of his cry.

‘Oh my, is it that time again already?’ She placed her hand over her nose and mouth as her tears fell.

Lucy stared at Camille, wondering if this was a case of baby blues. ‘Hey, hey, it’s okay, darling, he just needs a little feed. That’s all. You are probably feeling a little overwhelmed, but everything is okay,’ she cooed, as she handed the little boy to Camille, knowing that when emotions ran high and milk was coming in, these mini-meltdowns were to be expected.

Camille shook her head. Her sobs made speech impossible. ‘I just miss Dex. I think it’s a shame he’s not here to see this.’

‘I know, darling,’ she soothed, watching as Camille pulled her head back every few seconds to stare at the face of her baby son.

‘I don’t know if I can do this on my own,’ Camille stuttered. ‘I . . . I love my baby so much. I want everything to be perfect for him and I feel as if I have already let him down.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Lucy boomed. ‘You only need one person in life who has got your back, and this little fella has at least half a dozen. He is one lucky boy.’

Lucy watched as Camille kissed her son gently while giving him the nourishment he sought.

Jonah stood from his chair. ‘Well, the only reason I feel sorry for the little fella is because he hasn’t got a name yet.’

Camille laughed through her tears. ‘Do you still want to call him Hector, after your grandfather?’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Yes. Hector is a Trojan champion and that takes strength and guts. I like the name.’ He again nodded his approval.

* * *

Lucy and Jonah smiled at each other as they waited for the lift.

‘She’s doing fine. It’s only natural that she should be a little tearful. Her body has been through a lot and her hormones are going haywire,’ Lucy pointed out.

‘Yes. I’m glad she seems to be warming to the name Hector.’ Jonah rocked on his heels.

‘Hector Carpenter-Babineaux sounds like a right mouthful, that is, if he takes Cam’s surname. If they add Dex’s in too he’d be Hector Carpenter-Babineaux-Williams. It’s a bit much – poor child would need two lines on the school register.’

‘What poppycock! It sounds great.’ He laughed.

Lucy slipped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder.

They drove home from the hospital in an amiable bubble of silence, and Lucy made plans to spring-clean Camille’s room, buy fresh flowers to put in her window and move the cot to the side of her bed where they could have time and space to get settled as a family.

Jonah put the key in the door and stepped back, ushering her inside on this cold, bright March day. ‘Come on, Grandma. A nice cup of tea awaits.’ He patted her bottom as she walked past him into the hallway.

Jonah lit the fire and the two of them sat on the floor listening to the logs crackle and basking in the orangey glow of the flames. It was a while before Lucy broke the silence that bound them.

‘I need to think about my girl’s future. We need to help her in any way we can.’ She sidled closer to her man.

There was a second of silence before Jonah offered his response.

‘You can of course write back, if you want to, see if Bella might reply, but I don’t want you to be disappointed, darling. She sounded quite resolute in her letter, and—’

‘Sorry, no, Jonah,’ she interrupted him. ‘You misunderstood me.’ She looked up at her man, lit by the glow of the blaze. ‘I was talking about Camille.’