NELL
Hello Mum,
I hope you like these snowdrops. Rosie picked them out of our garden for me when I got back from the hospital at lunchtime. The daffodils will be out soon but there’s not much else growing yet. Still, you always loved the snowdrops, didn’t you? First sign that Spring is on its way, you used to tell me when I was little, shows that Mother Nature is beginning her new year.
Well, our new start isn’t in sight yet, Mum. I hoped the new baby would give us something to look forward to, to distract us from conversations about bills, overdrafts and business loans. It’s all we seem to talk about these days. Business is dreadful. But it wasn’t the only reason. I longed for Rosie to have the brother or sister that you could never give me. I wanted her to have someone to turn to when she grew up, someone to rely on for unconditional love and support when times were rough, even just someone whose house she could call at for coffee when she fancied a chat. But it wasn’t meant to be.
Please look after my fledgling angel. Teach him to fly and to love and tell him that I wanted him so much. Let me feel that he’s not too far away and is smiling down on me like I feel you sometimes, Mum.
I needed to get out by myself this afternoon, to talk to you and to get my head straight. As if things hadn’t been bad enough with the miscarriage and being in hospital, I’m worried about Ric. Well, not so much worried about him but worried about what he’s been up to. When I couldn’t contact him in the hospital, I felt so alone and so scared. I missed you more than ever and knew that you’d have been there for me right away. But not Ric. I just can’t rely on him any more, Mum. He managed to convince me that he’d been at the suppliers’ and had no signal which satisfied my suspicions and I did manage a few hours’ sleep after that.
Then this morning, when I woke all I could think about was seeing my Rosie, my one constant in this ever changing life. She’s so beautiful, Mum. I wish you could have met her. She has Ric’s dark hair and skin but when she looks at me, it’s your deep blue eyes I can see. Laughing eyes, people used to say. But he didn’t bring her to the hospital.
“Where is she?” I demanded out as soon as I saw Ric walk into the ward.
“Hello to you too, Nelly,” he smoothed and kissed my head.
“Where’s Rosie?” I asked him again.
“Ah, I left her playing at home with Jeanette. They were were playing with, how you say? Play Doh.”
My heart bounced in my chest and a chill cascaded from my skull to my feet. Jeanette’s his waitress, Mum, and she’s never been to our house before. I’d had a fleeting suspicion about them the night before when she’d answered his mobile but then I’d convinced myself that I was just being stupid after a long, tiring day.
“Jeanette?” I spat out, “What’s she doing at our house?”
“Just a spot of babysitting. What’s the use of staff if you don’t employ them, huh? Anyway, more importantly, how are you my sweet love? Have they been looking after you?”
And that was it, brushed over. He’d managed yet again to avoid the conversation I wanted to have and make me feel stupid for pursuing it any further. That’s the way he’s been about the miscarriage too. Every time I broach the subject, he changes it and makes some flippant remark. I swear he’s pleased it didn’t work out. And now I know why; he’s been sleeping with that little whore.
I got my last piece of proof when I got home. As soon as I walked in the door, Jeanette passed Rosie to me and rambled something about having to dash off. I swear she couldn’t look me in the eye and I just knew something wasn’t right. Ric went to make a cup of tea and I held my daughter more tightly than ever. Knowing someone has wronged you is one thing but accusing them is another. I was teetering on the verge of losing everything. I took a deep breath and went to sit down in the lounge to plan my next step.
And there, staring me in the face was all the evidence I needed. On the windowsill, the three scented candles I bought only a few days ago, but haven’t had a chance to use, were burned half way down their wick. Ric has never lit a candle in our house during the entirety of our relationship. He jokes about not having paid the electricity bill every time I light them. I couldn’t imagine why Jeanette would have burned the candles on a Sunday morning when she was babysitting a three year old. She must have stayed over and she must have lit them last night. Even my house is telling me that my husband is having an affair.
Filled with the rage of a ferrel animal, I no longer felt like I needed a game plan. It was over and I needed some answers. But then Rosie broke my red mist.
“Mummy,” she said, “Did you bring a baby home from the hospital?”
And my anger was gone, washed away by an increasingly familiar wave of grief.
“No, Rosie, no I didn’t. What made you think that?” I asked. I was sure I’d kept her protected her from all that had gone on recently.
“Callum’s mummy got one there and Laura’s going to hospital to get one for Emily soon,” she told me.
Indeed she was right. And, Mum, that’s when I knew I couldn’t do it. Call me weak or call me selfish but I couldn’t explode our little family. We’ve come this far and I so desperately long for another child. If I end our marriage now, then my dreams are over too. At that moment I realised that I must ignore the glaringly obvious truth and carry on as normal. I need to have that baby and I will. Some stupid little girl, who’s caught my husband’s eye, isn’t going to spoil that for me. She’s not going to win. I deserve better.
So I drank my tea and told Ric all about the events of the previous day, and night. If anything, I felt myself laughing and flirting with him, like in the old days, telling him about the bell ringer opposite and the snorer next door. I needed him to notice me, to desire me and, when the time is right, to give me what I want.
Mum, please don’t think badly of me. I don’t know what you would have done. I realise now that after Dad left, you kept any relationships you might have had hidden away from me, like a dirty secret, for fear of upsetting me I presume. So I never learned how to work at a marriage or when it was time to quit. But what you did teach me is how to be a good mother and so I’m putting Rosie, and any other children we may be blessed with, first. Who knows what the future may hold but that’s what’s right for now.
SHANNON
“It’s proper amazin’ Sian, livin’ with your boyfriend. Dead romantic. No parents to bang on about music or bedtime or nothin’. We’re like a proper couple.” Well, I don’t want to sound like I’m braggin’ or nothin’ but she did ask me.
“Sounds well good. Did you
do
it then?”
“Yeah, course we did. All night.”
“Tell us then, what’s ’e like? Was it good?”
Well I’m not about to go into all the gory details ’ere in the shoppin’ centre, especially outside
Poundland
, ’cos there’s loads of people from school hangin’ around ’ere and I wouldn’t want to sound like a slapper or anythin’.
“Well good,” that’s all she’s gettin’ for now. An’ anyway, what am I supposed to say? A bit crap really? Not like they do it on telly? All messy and fiddly when we had to put the condom on? Done and dusted in about two minutes ’cos that was Rhys’ first time too? “I’ll message you about it when I get me laptop back.”
“Where is it like?”
“At me mam an’ dad’s.”
“Can’t you just go an’ get it?”
If only. I’ve told Sian how mental they are an’ how they virtually chucked me out but I can’t tell ’er that if I went round I think I’d start to cry and just want to hug me mam forever and never let go or leave the ’ouse again. An’ I wouldn’t let Rob see that.
“Nah, not really. I’ll get Rhys to go round for it soon.”
“Where’s Rhys today then?”
“ ’E didn’t want to some down the precinct so he just stayed at home and went back in the house to watch telly and get a shower and stuff.” Hope Sian doesn’t realise that we don’t have a shower in the caravan. She’ll think I’m proper mingin’ if she knows I haven’t ’ad a wash since I left my ’ouse yesterday mornin’. Rhys was proper mingin’ this morning after workin’ in the garage all day yesterday and not gettin’ washed. I ’ope I don’t smell like ’im. Might ‘ave to go to
Superdrug
an’ ’ave a squirt of a bit of body spray in a bit.
“You ’ad lunch yet Shannon?” I thought she’d never ask. I’m starvin’. When Rhys went for the chips las’ night, he only ’ad one pound thirty so we ’ad to share a bag an’ I’ve ’ad nothin’ else since. Bet ’e’s ’avin’ somethin’ nice in the ’ouse now though.
“No but I got no money left.”
“I’ve got some. Let’s go an' get some sausage rolls.” Sian is the bestest friend ever.
As we walk down the street, I can’t ’elp starin’ at all the kids out with their mams, especially the little girls. We used to be like that once, me and my mam. It was just ’er an’ me against the world. I mean, she was always a bit shouty an’ that an’ told me off for stuff but we used to do things together an’ nothin’ or no-one else mattered back then. Now I’m not even sure if she loves me. Rob has changed all that. She’s been so desperate to keep ’im the las’ few years that he’s come first, second and third place. It’s not like ’e’s even good lookin’ or nothin’. When she ’ad Jack, I thought it might change a bit but it jus’ made ’er more tired and stressy ’cos Rob never lifts a finger.
This sausage roll is well nice. I was so hungry . That’s what super models must feel like when they’re trying to stay size zero and mega skinny. Although I don’t think they eat many sausage rolls.
“I’m so jealous of you Shannon, livin’ with Rhys. You’re so grown up,” Sian confesses to me. “My mam and dad drive me bonkers ’alf the time. I’d love to live by myself. Can I come round sometime to see the caravan?”
I’ve jus‘ nearly spat out a bit o' my sausage roll, “Maybe,” I lie. If Sian saw the shitty state of our tin ’ouse an’ felt ’ow cold it is at night an’ smelt my stinkin' boyfriend in the mornin' an’ ’ad no money an’ was starvin’ ’alf to death, she’d soon change ’er mind, jus’ like I did this mornin’.
“I mean, you’re so lucky that Ryhs’s mam gave you the caravan jus’ to live in for free,” Sian continues, oblivious that she is talkin’ crap.
“S’pose so,”
“’Cos you remember that Chantelle girl in the year above us? The one who ’ad to leave school early before ’er GCSEs? When ’er mam chucked ’er out to live with ’er Gran ’cos she was shopliftin’ from
Boots
she ’ad to get up the duff,”
“Oh, yeah, I remember her: ginger, big boobs,” I’d forgotten about her. “What d’you mean she
’ad
to get up the duff?”
“Well, to get an ’ouse to live in. She didn’t want to live with ’er Gran ’cos she was well harsh so now she lives other side of town now with her little ’un. Matty and ’er split up an’ ’e went back ’ome but she got the flat for keeps.”
“How come?”
“Dunno really. Think the government ’ave to give you somewhere to live if you’re preggers an’ have no where to go. My brother’s been round hers for a party but ’e says she never gets out much an’ has no money or nothin’ so all I’m sayin’ is you’re well lucky that you got the place for free an’ don’t ’ave to be stuck with a baby or anythin’.”
I can ’ear Sian dronin’ on about that Chantelle girl but my mind is stuck on what she said about the government givin’ you an ’ouse if you’re pregnant.
Bingo! Sian might think ’avin’ a baby’s like the worst thing in the entire universe but I’ve ’ad one for the past two years. I’ve done everythin’ for Jack: feedin’, changin’, bathin’ an’ I loved every minute of it. The only thing I didn’t do for ’im was push ’im out me fanny. An’ that can’t be as horrible as they make out on telly. I mean, my mam’s pathetic when she gets a paper cut so she wouldn’t ’ave done it twice if it was really bad, would she?
If I can look after Jack, I can ’ave my own kid, no probs. Then me an’ Ryhs could ’ave a warm place to live, with our own shower an’ our own fridge. No more stinkin’ caravan an’ no more mam an’ dad. We’ll be well sorted.
SARAH
“So you’re going to up to Birmingham University in September?” I’m trying desperately to remember the nuggets of ‘normal’ information Ellie gave me on Friday, as I pour us some tea. What is it about this little bag of leaves which is so suitable for every circumstance in life? Its comforting properties are equally appropriate for a funeral or a birthday celebration. Nature’s embrace, I always think, a hug in a mug. We take our cups and go into the lounge. “Which subject are you reading?”
“Environmental Studies ... if I ever get there,” she looks down to the carpet.
This is not going to go well, I can tell. How on Earth can we talk about anything other than the agendas we’ve both brought to the table today? It is taking me all the self restraint I possess not to smother her with kisses and tell her how she’s made my every dream come true by just being here. I want to sniff her, to see if she still has that heavenly scent I tried so desperately to remember all those years: that addictive smell of your newborn child. I kept it for a while on the little white hat that fell from her precious head when they took her away. But, of course, it faded, just like everything else.
Ellie, doesn’t want to hear any of this though. She’s not here to find her mother, or to tell me about everything I’ve missed over the last eighteen years, she’s just here to find a bunch of cells to make her better. I understand that.
“So how are you feeling, Ellie? I mean, I know you’re unwell and all, but generally, how’s it making you feel?” Really stupid question, I know but I can’t bear the alternative silence.
“Oh, top of the world,” Ellie isn’t giving me anything today. She was much more open on Friday but I can’t unlock her at all today. How can she have belonged to me once upon a time? I carried her in my womb for nine long months and my arms were the first to hold her when she entered the world but now it seems we have absolutely no link left at all, no thread that I always imagined connected us however far she was away from me. She doesn’t seem to want to know anything about me - other than my reproductive plans - or why I had to give her away.
Those almond eyes look at me in the eye for the first time today, “I’ll cut to the chase, Sarah.”
Calling me by my Christian name is the final twist of the knife. I don’t know what I expected; she’s had another mother for eighteen years and she’s hardly about to call anyone else by that name now, is she? But somehow it matters. In my dreams of us being reunited, she falls into my arms and calls me Mummy immediately, claiming that she always knew her parents weren’t really the ones she was meant to be with.
But life’s no dream and here we are with the awful reality.
“I need to know if I ever stand a real chance of having a sibling. I know you were really young when you gave birth to me and so, with all due respect, you must still be of an age where it’s something you’d consider. And I got the impression you’d had fertility issues the other day but you didn’t say it was impossible, did you? Medical technology is amazing these days and there all sorts of things they can do for people like you. But if there’s no chance you’d try some fertility treatment and you definitely don’t want to have any children, then I won’t bother you any more and I’ll go back to my own life.”
Don’t want any more children?
If only she knew what she was saying! If only she knew how hard we’d tried over the last few years and how disappointed we’d been at every negative pregnancy test, then she’d understand. Maybe I’d wanted to replace my first daughter, I don’t know, but I’d wanted another baby with Tim, every bit as I’d wanted to keep Ellie in the first place. I know I’d convinced myself, and Tim, that our life is going to be fine without children but we both know deep down that we’re just protecting ourselves from any more pain. Sometimes you just have to numb the skin to stop the itch.
“It’s just not that simple, Ellie, I’m afraid,” I explain but try not to patronise, trying to recognise that she is coping with an illness adults twice her age find difficult to deal with. “Up until recently, very recently in fact, my husband Tim and I have actually been desperately trying but it’s just not happening for us. I do know that there’s a drug I can have to encourage regular ovulation but the doctor I saw said I’d have to lose a bit more weight first. And that’s been difficult too.” I feel ashamed to say that last bit, in light of what this poor young girl has had to deal with. “All of that was putting so much pressure on our relationship that we decided to stop trying and enjoy life before it passes us by.” Why did I say that? I’m so tactless sometimes. I feel dreadful.
“Well lucky you. Some of us don’t have the luxury of watching life pass us by.” I can forgive her outright rudeness. In fact, I could forgive anything she said or did. “Why haven’t you tried IVF though?”
Here comes the tricky bit. “Well, Ellie, I’m Catholic. I know it may sound stupid to you when all you know about me is that I had a teenage pregnancy, out of wedlock, which certainly isn’t very Catholic at all.” I don’t think my loss of Catholic values, when I wanted to have an abortion, will enhance the story or her opinion of me.
“But I grew up within the Catholic Church and, despite my sins, I found God again later in my life.”
“I don’t follow; surely your God would want you to have a baby and be happy. Doesn’t he tell you to go forth and multiply or something,” Ellie looks confused.
“Yes, that’s true,” I tell her, “But only in the sanctity of the marital bed, if you know what I mean.” For all my years of discussing baby-making processes with my ladies at work, I’m less comfortable than ever, talking about the whole ordeal with Ellie.
“And an IVF child is conceived in a laboratory.” She’s bright.
“Not only that but the Catholic Church believes that when the sperm fertilises the ovum and an embryo is created, life begins. In IVF, the doctors have to create several more embryos than they need to use and so, to put it brutally, mini-lives are thrown away.” I hope that does it justice.
“Couldn’t you just ask them to fertilise one and hope that that embryo implants?”
She’s right, you know. I’d never thought about that before. Sometimes you get so wrapped up in what is forbidden that you can’t see what is possible.
“I’m sorry to put you through explaining all of this but it seems clear to me that you want a baby as much as I want you to have one. Theoretically, where would your Church stand on bone marrow donation, if theoretically, you had another child which was, theoretically, compatible with me?”
“I’m not sure, Ellie, I’ve never really had to think about it before. I suppose if no-one is harmed in the process,” I’m bumbling my way through this conversation now because she’s got my head spinning, “but as you pointed out there’s a lot of theorising there, love. You’ve got to realise that there are no guarantees with IVF and no guarantees with marrow matching.”
“But it’s got to be worth a shot. I’m not trying to persuade you do something that would ruin your life. You obviously want a baby really badly but just haven’t found the solution yet. We’d both gain from this, can’t you see?” Ellie’s passion sweeps me along like a leaf in the wind and I can do nothing more than nod my head. This young girl is sitting in front of me fighting for her life, like I should have fought for her all those years ago. How can I deny her this chance? God and Church aside, I have an opportunity, no an obligation, to put things right and that’s what I must do.