Now Is Our Time (19 page)

“That would be good,” said Martha.

Phew, Jonah could breathe again.

“She makes you happy and that makes me happy. Plus she’s a much better cook than you are.”

“Excuse me, young lady,” Jonah pretended to be offended. “What about my smoothies? And don’t forget, I am King of the barbecue.”

“Sure,” grinned Martha, disbelieving. “Whatever.”

“I love you kiddo,” said Jonah, placing an arm around her shoulder and kissing the top of her head. “And I’m very proud of you for accepting Claire and Miriam into our lives. Thank you.”

Martha nestled into Jonah’s chest, crushing her nose into his stomach.

“I love you too,” she said, before pulling away so she could breathe properly. “And also -

“Yes?”

“Can we play tennis this afternoon?”

“Of course we can,” smiled Jonah.

                                     -------------------

Martha was a
bloody
good player, as Claire would say. She was built like an athlete and her talent had been spotted at a very young age, when her agility combined with excellent hand to eye coordination already made her a force to be reckoned with whenever a racket was in her grip. She already had a wide arsenal of shots, with a mean hook forehand and a two-handed backhand with wicked topspin. She whacked the ball back and forth like a mini Sharapova. In fact, she
looked
a bit like Maria Sharapova as she targeted her shots long and deep to the left, then long and deep to the right, alternating with great precision as their rally continued. Jonah had no doubt that, if she wanted it enough, she could have a chance on the professional circuit. That wasn’t what
he
wanted for her though. Too many sacrifices have to be made to get to the top of your game and experience told him that came at a price. Yes, his life was getting back on track now but had the hiccups along the way really been worth it? If he could do it again, would he do it differently? It was far better to look forward not backward and to live without regret.

Jonah couldn’t think of one tennis champ whose child had followed in their footsteps, and that couldn’t just be coincidental. Doctors often bred doctors. Lawyers frequently bred lawyers. Children liked to emulate their parents. Not in tennis though. Perhaps those children could see that the pain just wasn’t worth the gain. The chances of being the absolute best were too slim. Nonetheless, Martha had been ‘spotted’ and was coached in the US regional squad and regularly competed in tournaments within her age group. However, Jonah noticed that she liked to play less now than previously. Usually, when he had her with him over the summer, she wanted to play with him every day for at least an hour, sometimes more. This holiday, however, she’d only gone on court a handful of times at the beginning and ever since had chosen instead to play with Miriam
off
the court.  This pleased Jonah. Not just because he wanted the two girls to get along, but because this meant his daughter was actively choosing a normal childhood over training for four hours a day.

“Go get it tiger,” Jonah fed her another smash volley.

Martha ran backwards, her eye on the ball, racket raised. Thwack. The sound the strings made as they met the ball told Jonah that she’d made perfect contact on the racket’s sweet spot. He turned to watch where the ball landed. It grazed the baseline.

“Brilliant,” he praised.

He picked a ball out of the basket, about to feed her another shot.

“No,” she held up her hand, panting as she ran into the net. “Enough. I’ve had enough. I’m going to cool off in the pool.”

At this point Miriam appeared, with sneakers on her feet and a racket in her hand.

“You said you’d help me play better before I left,” she said to Jonah shyly. “Would you mind or have you had enough now?”

“I’d love to teach you,” smiled Jonah, delighted she’d asked. “Martha, won’t you stay and watch?” he asked as she headed off to the pool.

“Nah,” she said. “I’ll go hang out with Claire instead.”

Again, this made Jonah sing on the inside, the fact the girls were each happy to be with the other’s parent.  

“Right,” he said, “Let’s start at the beginning. Show me how you hold your racket.”

She had one of Martha’s cast-off Wilson’s. He checked her hand position on the grip. It was too tight and in the wrong place. He swivelled it round a touch.

“There, that’s perfect. See the way your thumb lines up with that W? Right, don’t move your hand from that position.”

Jonah demonstrated how she should swing back her racket on the forehand and then follow through, making her practice the movement a few times, finishing with the racket in front of her nose. Satisfied that she’d got it, Jonah stepped back round to his side of the net, taking the full glare of the sun in his eyes.

“Ok Miriam, we’re going to play half-court only for now, so move back to the middle of that first line.”

Miriam got into position and waited. Jonah gently fed her a shot, which she missed. And then another, which she hit into the net. 

“Relax Miriam. And remember that you need to hit upwards with the racket and not down.”

He fed her another ball. Bingo. She got it back, a good, clean shot which landed about half-way down the court. “Excellent,” he encouraged. “Give me another one of those.” She did, and another and another. She was getting into the rhythm of it and starting to move her feet nicely to get to the ball when it happened again. Jonah felt the hairs on his arms stand on end and the goose bumps returned. He was definitely being watched. He swivelled to face the bushes adjacent to the court. The leaves rustled and moved and yet the atmosphere was as still as could be, not even the gentlest of breezes was blowing.

“Hang on a sec, Miriam. Martha hit a ball out earlier and I think I’ve just seen it,” he said, moving slowly to the court’s entrance gate. If there was someone there, he didn’t want to give them a chance to escape. He gripped tightly onto his racket. It would have to double up as a weapon. Once at the bushes he moved along the hedge, hitting out at the leaves hard, this way and that. He went behind the bushes and walked up and down the narrow gap between the vegetation and the perimeter fence of the complex, thwacking at the foliage. He stopped and stilled, listening carefully. There was nothing but silence. What was the matter with him? Was he imagining things?  

“Jonah, are you ok?” called Miriam.

“Sorry, honey,” he reassured. “I’m coming.”

Back on court, he started feeding Miriam balls again. “Nice,” he praised, “good swinging action. Now maybe take a couple of steps back and we’ll try hitting a little farther.”

She did as he asked and assumed ready position, racket in front of her nose and knees slightly bent. Jonah picked a ball out of the basket. His arm had already started swinging forward to meet it when, a nanosecond before impact, Jonah heard what he swore was coughing coming from the bushes. What the heck. He wasn’t imagining it. Something, someone, was definitely there. Instead of his arm stopping, however, as his brain knew that it should, for some reason it carried on swinging like an automaton, hitting the ball robotically, firing it in Miriam’s direction. Fast, too fast. She couldn’t possibly get her racket to it, nor could she move out of the way in time. Jonah was still looking at the bushes and didn’t even realise what he’d done until it was too late.

“Ouch,” squealed Miriam as the ball whacked her arm hard, very hard. She immediately comforted the pained area with her other hand, rubbing it up and down. Jonah jumped over the net and ran to her.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he said, taking over the rubbing and inspecting the red imprint the ball had made on her flesh. “I’m an idiot. I wasn’t concentrating.”

He didn’t dare tell her that he thought they were being watched and that’s why he’d been distracted. Again he heard rustling from the bushes and a weird sound, a bit like a muffled sneeze. Miriam was bearing up. She was being brave and, thankfully, wasn’t crying. He wanted more than anything to go back to those damn bushes to investigate but the responsible adult in him knew that it would be better to tend that wound first.

“Come on,” he led her away from the court, “let’s get some ice and Arnica onto you before it’s too late.”

CLAIRE

Claire wasn’t an ‘eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’ kind of person. She was more an ‘I can’t possibly even kill a mosquito’ type of woman who adhered to Zen and Buddhist principles that harming should be avoided in all but the most extreme of circumstances. And despite her fear of wasps, the couple of times she’d been stung by one, her instinct had been to set it free, as opposed to the more natural reflex action of thwacking it into a gooey mush with a rolled up magazine. She didn’t believe in retribution, so it was quite bizarre that she experienced a sense of satisfaction watching Anthony’s unease at being in Jonah’s villa. He hadn’t wanted to enter, but Jonah insisted, making it hard for him to refuse. Anthony was shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, surveying the property in a peculiar manner, eyes circling and darting from left to right, as if he were committing an inventory of the place to memory. Either that or he was on drugs.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” Jonah asked.

“No.”

Anthony’s tone was clipped and, quite frankly, rude. A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t have gone amiss and the lack of it seemed to echo round the room, a perfect example of how, sometimes, silence speaks louder than words. The silence didn’t last long though. The girls ran down the stairs, filling the space with peels of giggles. Their sudden appearance seemed to make Anthony appear even more awkward.  He looked from one to the other, shaking his head, as if he was trying to erase the vision of them. Where was the composed man that Claire had once known? Nothing normally fazed Anthony and he prided himself on being able to fit into any milieu. Something was clearly unsettling him.  Perhaps he didn’t like getting a taste of his own medicine, Claire wondered. Or perhaps it was just jet lag making him act queerly. 

As soon as the girls reached the bottom step and caught the stern look on Anthony’s face, their laughter stopped. Miriam ran up to Claire, hugging her so close it was as if she was trying to wriggle back into the womb. Perhaps Anthony couldn’t accept that Claire was moving on. Well, it was tough. He’d been the first to move on and now it was his turn to face up to the situation. And he didn’t know the rest of it! This was no longer just about Jonah. If Miriam hadn’t been squishing her mother’s stomach with her nose, Claire would have placed a protective hand over it, a gesture that would have guarded the lives growing inside of her from the evil glare of her ex-husband.   

“This is Martha,” Claire introduced. “Martha this is Anthony, Miriam’s dad.”

Anthony barely acknowledged the introduction. He made the weirdest of noises, as if gutturally clearing his throat. 

“Hello, Sir,” Martha stepped forward, offering her hand.

Claire and Jonah made eye contact, clearly both on the same wave-length and both proud of Martha for taking the initiative and for being the bigger person of the two.  Anthony was now forced into dialogue.

“Hi,” he said, reluctantly taking her hand and shaking it. It’s hard being rude to a polite child. It could almost be deemed abusive. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He didn’t suggest she call him Anthony. The deferential ‘sir’ was probably pleasing to him. In court it was always ‘My Lord’ this or ‘My lady’ that or ‘Pardon Your Honour’. So ‘Sir’ was speaking his language.

“Sir,” Martha began shyly. “It’s my birthday in two weekends’ time and I’m having a party. It would be so cool if Miriam could come.”

Martha looked towards Miriam, seeking corroboration that her new best friend would like to come but Miriam stayed still, breathing deeply into Claire’s stomach, her hot breath making her mother’s skin feel sticky underneath her t-shirt. Claire hadn’t seen her daughter act like this in front of her father before. She was normally so excited to see him. What was going on? She shouldn’t have let Anthony come here. Anthony had insisted on it for some reason and in the end she caved in.

“It’s time to go,” said Anthony, completely ignoring Martha’s question and instead walking towards a small silver suitcase which was waiting by the front door. “The others are in the car outside.”

“I don’t want to go,” Miriam whispered into Claire’s flesh.

Goddamn it, Claire didn’t want her to go either. She’d been dreading this moment and trying not to think of it these last few days but now she was actually starting to empathise with Anthony. If the roles were reversed and Miriam hadn’t wanted to return to
her
, how awful would that feel? Claire crouched down and nuzzled her lips into Miriam’s right ear.

“Come on darling,” she whispered, “your Daddy loves you so much. I’m sure you’re going to have a wonderful time. Mummy loves you very much too and we’ll be together again soon.”

Anthony held out his hand. Claire nudged her daughter away from her body, a manoeuvre which defied all of her maternal instincts. Miriam reluctantly unpeeled herself from her mother but she didn’t go to her father. Instead she went to Martha, offering her a hooked little finger.

“Friends for life,” she said as Martha hooked her finger with hers. Both of them looked deadly serious, as if this was some sort of ceremonial sealing of the deal. 

“Friends for ever,” said Martha.

Then Miriam looked at Jonah. He crouched down and held up his hand for a high five, but she ignored his hand, instead wrapping her arms around his waist, making him wobble a little. He chuckled as he lost balance and then placed his hands on Miriam’s upper arms. She winced as he touched the sore bit where the ball had hit her yesterday.

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” he apologised, taking his hands away and leaning forward to give her a quick peck on the forehead. “Bye kiddo,” he nodded at her reassuringly as she finally stepped towards her father. “See you real soon.”

“Enjoy the rest of your summer,” said Anthony, the faintest of smiles finally creasing his lips. And then, as a subdued quiet descended upon the grand entrance hall of Lily Beach, Anthony opened the front door, took the suitcase in one hand and Miriam’s palm in his other and they trailed slowly down the garden path.

                                        -----------

Half an hour later Jonah left to take Martha back to her mother. “I won’t be long,” he promised before going. The silence which descended in their absence was eerie. Claire hadn’t been alone in Lily Beach for a second since their arrival and it felt alien. First she stood in the hallway, still as a statue, staring at the closed front door for perhaps five, ten minutes, barely moving a muscle, her mind slowly filling with thoughts. She was pregnant. With twins.
Oh My God
. Part of her was exalted by this wonderful secret. Would they be boys, girls or one of each? Would they breed tennis players or nutritionists? Would they have red hair or blond, blue eyes or brown, a dimple on their cheek? Would their accent be English or American? She smiled as she thought of this and moved to the kitchen, fidgeting with appliances, moving the scales to the right, the kettle to the left, the never-used-bread-maker to the corner. She couldn’t settle. She opened the fridge. The smell from inside caused her to gag and she quickly shut it. She needed fresh air. She opened the patio doors, sliding them apart just enough so that she could squeeze through the gap and planted herself in the hammock.

Perhaps it was best not to think of the babies. Perhaps instead she should prepare for her imminent screen test with ABC. They’d asked her to come up with ideas. Apparently they were recording a pilot and if the network liked what they saw, they might broadcast it. This was the biggest career break she would ever have in her life. There must be hundreds, nay thousands, of struggling actors and wannabe TV presenters who would be chomping at the bit for this break and Jonah kept insisting that they wouldn’t be wasting their time on her if they weren’t interested.

What would happen if she actually got the job? Would the fact that she was pregnant affect the situation? Would they still want her? This thought sobered her. Just seeing Anthony reminded her of the practicalities. Much as she knew she would love the babies, they complicated everything. Where would they live? Claire didn’t want a peripatetic lifestyle and that had been part of the problem years ago when she and Jonah had been together. Jonah was always moving around whilst Claire preferred to stay in one place. How would Miriam feel about moving to America? How would Anthony feel? If Jonah came to London, when would he see Martha?
Would
Jonah agree to come to London? What about her new career on
Morning Cuppa
? They were expecting her back in the UK in a month. Was she ready to lose all that she’d just gained career-wise? There was so much to think about.

All this and more whirred uncontrollably through Claire’s head so that, by the time Jonah came back and found her in the hammock, greeting her with a casual “hi babe”, she’d worked herself up into such a state that she burst out crying.

                                     ----------------

“Shush,” he calmed, wrapping his arms tightly around her as he knelt by her side. “Let it out,” he reassured. “It’s just the hormones.”

“Is it?” she sniffled, uncertain.

“That depends on what you’re crying about.”

“I’m crying about the babies.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I know you better than you think. Sometimes I wonder if I know you better than I know myself.”

“So why am I crying about the babies then?”

Jonah hooked a finger under Claire’s chin and turned her face so that she was looking at him.

“Because you’re worried about how it’s all going to work out – am I right?”

Claire smiled through her tears, nodding and then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“And like I’ve told you, there’s nothing that we can’t work out together, absolutely nothing. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she nodded again.

“Right then,” he said, lifting her to sitting. “All this can and will be discussed later but, right now, we need to pull ourselves together because we’re going out.”

“Out? Out where?”

“Out to celebrate.”