Another Love (5 page)

‘I know! Darling, I know you’re not stupid.’ He ran his thumb up the outside of her arm. ‘But I don’t think it’s a good idea to drink. It might be bad for the baby.’

Romilly stared at him. ‘You think I would do anything, anything at all that might be bad for this baby?’ Her voice was distorted, her vocal chords pulled taut with shame and anxiety.

‘Not intentionally, of course not!’ He sat up.

‘Christ, David! I checked it out and the guidelines say no more than two units twice a week. And so the odd glass of champagne is absolutely fine!’

Leaning across the bed, David lifted her thick hair from her shoulder and kissed the pale bare skin of her décolletage, where her nightie fell away. ‘I love you, Rom, and you are going to be the best mum in the whole wide world, I know it.’

She felt her shoulders relax and she gave him a small smile as she watched his lips moving once more. He wasn’t done.

‘But…’

‘But what?’ she whispered, feeling like the girl in the stairwell who couldn’t believe that he was talking to her.

‘I know you drank most of that bottle of Chablis that was in the fridge.’

‘What? Are you checking up on me now? Did you put a marker on the bottle?’ she snapped, feeling the throb of embarrassment at his confrontation, mortified that he had unmasked her dishonesty, her greed.

‘I’m not checking up on you, no. Of course not. I just know it was nearly full and then it wasn’t. I only mention it because I want what’s best for our baby and what’s best for you.’ He kissed her again.

‘Oh, David!’ Her tears sprang from her as her breath stuttered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I just got so flustered about your mum coming over and I was nervous and I just thought I’d have a sip and then I swigged it, without really thinking. It’s more out of habit than anything else. A bottle is just a couple of our big glasses each and I’m so used to that. I haven’t had any for days, so I figured a couple in one day was the same difference.’

‘It’s okay, Rom. It’s okay. Please don’t cry!’ He held her against his chest.

‘I love you, David, and you love me, don’t you?’ She sniffed.

‘I do. Proper love, Bug Girl. You know that.’

‘Yes.’ She nodded against his skin. ‘Proper love. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry, it’s all fine. We just need to make sure you don’t get stressed and that I support you as much as I can. It’s going to be great.’

‘I love you, please don’t leave me.’ She gripped his arms and pushed against him as he stroked her hair.

‘I’ll never leave you.’ He kissed her gently on the head. ‘You silly thing.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘I am, David. I’m sorry. I love our baby and I’m sorry.’ Romilly lay against him until her tears abated and sleep overcame her.

*

‘You warm enough, darling?’ Pat shut the window in the conservatory, where the family sat together on the creaking three-piece wicker suite.

‘Yes, I’m fine, Mum!’ Romilly nodded and smiled. It felt lovely to be so looked after by everyone.

‘I cannot believe you are up the duff.’ Carrie shook her head. ‘I’m going to be an aunty! That’s just awesome. And way better than being a mum.’

‘How do you figure that?’ Romilly asked.

‘Trust me, since I’ve started nursing I’ve see plenty of saggy boobs and jelly bellies. Not that babies aren’t cute, they are, but is it worth that? I don’t think so.’ She twirled her blonde hair between her fingers. ‘This way, I get to keep my figure, go mad at Baby Gap, take the little weenie out for trips and then give it back. It couldn’t be any more perfect!’

Their mum joined in. ‘Goodness, Carrie, you don’t know the half of it! Imagine what my boobs and tum were like after having you twins.’

‘I’d rather not, thanks.’ Carrie mimed retching.

‘My stomach was never the same again. For years I needed a good corset to take up the slack. Your poor dad was in shock the first time I got undressed, and boing!, everything went south.’

‘Mum! I think we get the picture!’ Romilly raised her eyebrows at David, who looked decidedly pale.

‘And don’t get me started on my pelvic floor!’

‘La la la la!’ David sang with his fingers in his ears.

They were all howling with laughter as Romilly’s dad, Lionel, came in from the garage with a bottle of Prosecco. ‘Here we go!’

‘Ooh, just in time, Dad! Mum was telling us about her post-pregnancy pelvic floor.’ Romilly grimaced.

‘Lovely.’ Lionel smiled, as though he didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about. He popped the cork and poured the fizz into the waiting glasses. ‘Are you having one, Rom?’ he asked.

David shot her a look.

‘It’s okay, David. There’s no need to look at me like that! I know I’m not allowed any!’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Pat offered amiably. ‘I think a little bit of what you fancy does you good. People go nuts with the whole pregnancy thing nowadays. Blimey, I used to give you lot a dab of whisky on your dummies to settle you.’

‘Yes, Mum, that’s a great idea!’ Carrie rolled her eyes. ‘And what if you fancy a little bit of crack cocaine or a little bit of cyanide, is that good too?’

‘I don’t think it’s quite in the same league as a sip of Prosecco.’ Romilly sighed.

Lionel coughed. ‘Here’s to the wonderful news that soon we will be welcoming the next generation. A grandad! What a marvellous title that is!’

‘And I’ll be a very proud grandma,’ Pat added.

Romilly felt a flush of joy at how happy her parents were at their news.

‘Wish Holly was here.’ Her dad sighed.

‘I shall Skype her later, fill her in.’ Romilly smiled.

‘So do you think it might be twins?’ Carrie asked eagerly.

‘No, ’fraid not. It’s just one baby! I’ve had that confirmed.’ She patted her tum with its minuscule baby bump.

‘It usually skips a generation,’ their mum pointed out.

‘That’s such a shame. Just the one, how boring,’ Carrie said.

Romilly stared at the remains of the chilled Prosecco and found herself wishing that she could have a glass.

I have lots of good memories of my mum; good days, lots. It wasn’t as if every day of my childhood was blighted, not at all. There were some days with Mum that were my best ever days, literally the best ever. That’s the thing, when she was on it, she was the greatest mum in the world! It was almost as if she was making up for the other times. She was funny, interesting, patient and carefree.

One day in the summer holidays, I was about four or five, she took me to Canford Park, not far from where we lived, where there was this big rectangular pond surrounded by a beautiful rose garden. I was wearing my little blue sandals and we practically skipped there, hand in hand. She put a tartan blanket on the paving by the pond and as we sat staring at the water, she told me even more about the mayfly. She told me they were precious because they were only on earth for such a short space of time and she told me she thought they were the most beautiful creatures ever created. ‘Apart from you,’ she said, and she touched my nose. Then she bent close to me and whispered, ‘Imagine if they were aliens, taking on the form of mayflies, not wanting to hang around too long in case they are discovered. They arrive on this beautiful planet, learn as much as they can and then shake off their bodies to go back and report what they have seen!’

She made it sound so real, so possible, and I was fascinated.

We ate cheese sandwiches that had got a little hot and melty in their plastic box and then we lay flat on our tummies and stared at the murky green water, dipping sticks into the gloopy weeds and flicking water droplets at each other. Mum threw her head back and laughed and then, as if on cue, there they were: four mayflies, as if she had magicked them just for me! They hovered right in front of us, like toffee-coloured jewels above the water. Their little wings caught the light, beautifully iridescent and beating so fast just to stay in one place that it looked exhausting.

Mum was transfixed. ‘Look they’re watching us!’ Her face lit up and she said, ‘It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen them a thousand times before; every time is like the first time. I find them so beautiful. I wish I didn’t know the fate that awaits them, but I do, and I can’t un-know it.’ If only, standing there then, I had known the fate that awaited my Mum. Maybe I could have done something to stop it.

David walked up the driveway with a confident stride, his shoulders square, one arm behind his back and a grin splitting his face. Romilly leapt up from her perch on the front step and ran to meet him. Clamping one arm around his waist, she tried to reach behind his back with the other, stretching and twisting to find his hand, which he then raised above his head, beyond her grasp. The little steel bundle glinted in the sunshine as it jangled. She jumped up with her arm extended, trying to grab his clenched fist.

‘Give them to me!’ she screeched, her fat plait thumping against her shoulder with each bound.

‘You want them?’ he teased. ‘Come and get them!’ And, keys in hand, he twirled off the driveway and onto the patch of grass in front of the house that had officially been theirs for the last hour or so.

Romilly’s new, well-paid job and David’s promotion meant they could just about afford this beautiful, modern, mock-Tudor detached house in Stoke Bishop. One of Bristol’s grander suburbs, it was within easy reach of green space as well as the motorway. Romilly knew it must be a desirable postcode from the way everyone boasted about it, regardless of whether they lived in one of its cul-de-sacs or on a grotty rat run.

When the details had landed on the doormat of their Redland flat, she had oohed and aahed, wondering if it really was within their price range. Realisation that it was, just, had sent her pulse racing. Their first visit, with the toddling Celeste in tow, had more than lived up to expectations. Despite the pressure of David’s grip on her forearm reminding her to keep cool, not to appear overly keen and not to get her hopes up, she had rushed from room to room, taking in the large, well-lit spaces, the abundance of storage, the neat double garage and the flourishing back garden with its patio and outdoor table and chairs nestling under a huge green umbrella. It was perfect.

Ignoring her husband’s advice, she’d beamed at the charming Mr Brooks, telling him of her plans for the garden and that she could definitely live with the kitchen until they had more money to remodel. There and then she bought the dream as well as the bricks and mortar. She imagined hosting her family for Christmas, envisaged her dad nodding at the lavishly appointed table as her mum beamed with pride. She wanted to see Sylvia’s face as she ushered her for the first time into the twenty-six-foot kitchen where they would eat brunch and American pancakes. And as they turned to leave, she pictured Celeste descending the wide stairs, pausing on the half-landing in her wedding dress while she and David stood in the hallway below, blotting tears and gasping at her beauty.

She chose not to share this last image, thinking it might appear a tad over-zealous to be planning that far ahead for their little girl, who had only just mastered the art of going nappy-free. Learning to live without a padded back-up had proved quite a trial for Celeste. After numerous accidents, she seemed to have come to the conclusion that, when she felt the need, she should whip off all her clothes – shoes and socks included – and run to the potty, as though she could only perform this ritual when in the altogether, or ‘nudey-dudey’, as they called it. Romilly and David hoped Celeste would get the hang of it before too long, unable to imagine her receiving the call of nature as an adult and shedding her kit in the middle of Sainsbury’s.

The purchase of their new home had been smooth and problem-free and the charming Richard Brooks from Savills had called only an hour ago to say the keys were ready for collection. Sylvia had agreed to pick up Celeste from nursery and to then take her for a stroll and lunch, giving them time to get the move underway without their inquisitive little girl under their feet.

Laughing, David lowered his weary arm and gave in to his excited wife, who grabbed the keys in both hands and leapt around the grass with her prize clutched tightly to her chest. She ran up the path, then reached back with her hand outstretched.

‘Come on. Together.’

Walking forward, David took her hand and both of them smiled as she placed the new key in the unfamiliar lock and turned. It really was some house, and it was theirs!

The front door eased open and the two found themselves in the bare, echoing hallway, a vast space compared to the rather cramped flat they had lived in ever since they’d graduated.

Romilly placed her hand over her mouth. ‘I can’t believe it’s ours!’ She let the tears of joy brim.

David pulled her towards him and kissed her, gently at first but with a force that built into a passionate, hard snog. ‘Let’s christen it,’ he whispered into her ear.

‘We can’t! We’ve got the removal van arriving any minute and we’ve…’ She struggled to remain composed as his hands roved under her jumper and lingered on her curves. ‘We’ve got no curtains…’ she managed, between kisses. ‘People will see!’

‘I’ve got a solution.’ Gripping her hand, David opened the cupboard under the stairs and stood back, sweeping his arm forward, like a doorman at a flash hotel.

‘You want me to get in the cupboard?’ She giggled.

‘It’s perfect!’ He smiled. ‘Cosy and hidden, and there are some carpet off-cuts on the floor so it’s comfy too. Come on!’ he urged, pulling his jumper and T-shirt over his head and letting them fall in a heap by the door before unbuttoning the fly of his jeans and letting them drop too.

Laughing, Romilly dragged her jersey over her head and reached behind her back to unhitch her bra, which pinged off and landed on her husband’s discarded garments. She smiled at her man, giddy at the daring of the deed and in the half-light of the hallway, managed to lose some of the self-consciousness that had dogged her since she’d given birth.

She had given up drinking. By the time she’d finished breast-feeding, she was so used to not drinking that it was a lot easier than she thought. Her head was clearer, her sleep sounder and her energy levels higher now she wasn’t battling the inevitable hangover. There was, however, a downside, in that the odd glass of wine and a couple of lime-laden gins had made her feel sexy, had chased away the last of her inhibitions and encouraged her to relax, especially between the sheets. Sober sex meant she was acutely aware of her lumps and bumps, her slightly saggy tum and her nervous touch.