One Step Closer to You (13 page)

‘I was good at drinking,’ says Alex, our chair. I like Alex because he says exactly what he thinks and after years of drinking he got his life back on track. He’s in his mid forties and has always worked in the building trade but now runs his own company. His first marriage collapsed but since putting the pieces of his life back together he has married again, his angel, as he calls her, and they have one daughter aged three. ‘By the age of thirty I was a pro,’ he continues. ‘If drinking were a job I’d have been a higher-rate taxpayer. I really liked the man I saw in the mirror, the guy who could still drink anyone under the table.’ He lifts up his shirt collar for effect, making a few of us laugh. ‘Check me out.’ He clicks his fingers, winks at a woman in the first row. ‘I could talk the talk and walk the walk. I was the geezer who was the first on the dance floor and the last to leave the party, and always ready to do a quick deal on the side. If I saw anyone on a Sunday washing their car at midday I thought they were flipping mental. The pubs
are open! What I didn’t understand was the progression of my drinking, right, how dangerous it was becoming. If I had a bad day at work, you know, like something crucial was being delivered on site and it was the wrong bloody thing and time was critical, I’d tell myself all would be fine, I’d feel calmer once I’d had a couple of pints down the local.’ He takes in a deep breath. ‘I got married at twenty-eight. Bad decision. I loved her, I hurt her, but looking back I was a mess, in no fit state to take on any responsibility or take on a mother-in-law. If she threatened to come over …’

There are lots of smiles in the room, Harry nudging me gently. Neve, sitting on my other side, gets that one.

‘A right old dragon I have to add …’

Denise looks up from her knitting muttering, ‘Cheeky sod.’

‘I’d have a couple of pints before she visited and sneak off to the bathroom or bedroom when she was chatting to my wife. Mother-in-law always wanted to know when we were going to have kids. I couldn’t do anything without a glass or bottle in my hand but I didn’t see it then. All I knew was drink was becoming my friend, my parent – I needed it around me, to function. Ironically it was tearing me apart and it’s only when I realised that moment, that rock bottom moment that we all have, that I could suddenly look in the mirror and see a very different person. Someone pretty pathetic, actually,’ he says, his tone more
sombre now. ‘Someone lost, frightened and powerless over alcohol.’

I find myself nodding in recognition as he says, ‘Someone who needed to change.’

It’s September and I’m just over six months pregnant when Mum calls, telling me she’s driving to London in a fortnight to go to the theatre and will combine it with a visit to see me. There’s no question about it; she wants to meet Matthew and if we won’t go there, she’ll come to us.

Slowly, I put down the telephone. ‘Who was it?’ demands Matthew, entering the kitchen. He looks rough; he hasn’t shaved properly for days. He’s been in a disgusting mood in the last few weeks because things aren’t going his way. He bought the property in June and three months down the line, the elderly neighbours in Wandsworth are objecting to his plans. ‘Fucking old fossils. It’s called progress!’ he’d ranted last night, pacing up and down the kitchen. When I told him everything would work out fine …

‘You don’t understand. There’s no guarantee, Polly, that
planning permission will go through. By now it should have happened!’

He’s not sleeping, doesn’t like my body changing, I can’t remember the last time we had sex, and he seems completely uninterested in our baby.

‘It’s not your mum again, is it?’ Matt opens the fridge. ‘Where’s the sodding beer?’

‘It’s there. You’re not looking properly.’

‘Where?’ he shouts, as if I’m deliberately hiding it from him.

‘Bottom shelf.’

Finally he produces a can. Opens it. ‘I’m not going to Norfolk to play happy families.’

I tell him he doesn’t have to. She’s coming here instead.

‘Oh that’s just great.’

Something seethes inside me. ‘We’re having a baby so you’re going to
have
to man up and meet my parents …’ I stop when I see that flash of anger in his eyes, something I’ve seen before when I demand anything of him.

‘I don’t have to do anything,’ he says before hurling his can of beer towards the sink and kicking the kitchen chair over.

‘Matt!’ I gasp. ‘What’s got into you?’

‘What’s got into me?’ He shakes me by the shoulders. His closeness makes me feel intimidated and when I try to move he won’t let me go. His grip hurts.

‘I don’t have to do anything,’ he says slowly, staring right
into my eyes. ‘Don’t tell me to man up and don’t ever tell me what I have to do or …’

‘But Matt …’

He strikes me so hard across the face that I can barely breathe. ‘When I say don’t, Polly, I mean don’t. Understand?’

Terrified, I nod, my cheek burning.

‘Good.’ He shoves me away, before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

*

The day my mother is due to have supper with Matt and me, I’m at school, dreading the evening ahead. It’s going to be a disaster.

Just before class begins I head outside for some peace and quiet. I need space to think. Hugo isn’t coming tonight. I miss him. We’ve patched things up, but only really papered over the cracks. My relationship with Matt is a little better since our argument a week ago. He has said sorry repeatedly for lashing out at me, swearing it was a one-off. He blamed his work and stress levels on the way he’d behaved. I picture him cupping my face in both hands. ‘You know I love you. Of course I’ll meet your mum. Just give me plenty of warning before the old witch arrives on her broomstick,’ he’d said, hoping that would get a smile out of me. I noticed how I’d pulled away when he’d kissed me. Something has changed. I feel as if I am in deep water; I’m out of my depth, but I’ve come too far now to turn back.

Later that afternoon, after a lightning trip to the supermarket to buy the supper ingredients, along with a bunch of lilies, I drag the Hoover out from the cupboard and give it one hell of a workout after a long sabbatical. I polish the furniture until there isn’t a speck of dust. I make our bed and scrub the kitchen surfaces until they are gleaming. Once I start, I can’t stop. As I clean the smoke-stained mirror hanging over our fireplace I catch a reflection of myself. My eyes are bloodshot, my skin blotchy in patches. I look tired. I’m not eating my five a day. Things are going to change. I’m going to take better care of myself and when I have our baby and once Matt’s job is back on track, we’ll be back on course. We were happy to begin with, weren’t we?

*

The table is laid, candles lit, lilies are in their vase, a homemade quiche is warming in the oven. I’m wearing a navy wraparound dress that shows off my neat bump, and my soft leather ballerina pump shoes. I’ve pinned my hair into a tortoiseshell clip, applied some blusher and mascara and put on some pearl studs. Matt calls, saying he’s on his way. He asks what my mother likes to drink; he’ll pick up a bottle on the way home. I tell him my mother doesn’t drink.

‘You sound in a good mood.’ I ask hopefully.

‘I’ll tell you about it later. And, Polly, baby?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m sorry I’ve been on lousy form.’

When I hang up, relieved, I fidget with the cutlery, straightening each knife and fork. I can’t drink tonight, not in front of Mum. It’s fine. I don’t need a drink. When the buzzer rings I take a deep breath. This is going to work.

Mum enters the flat dressed in tailored beige trousers, a cream silk shirt and raspberry pink cashmere cardigan. She’s staying the night with an old school friend in Notting Hill, close to the Portobello Market. We hug, Mum always the first to pull away, before she hands me a square slab of beeswax honey that she professes is delicious on toast and over natural yoghurt. ‘The flat’s looking lovely,’ she says, as I lead her down the hallway, past the spic-and-span sitting room and back into the kitchen with a small wooden table laid for three, the vase of lilies in the middle. She tells me I’m looking well. The miracle of make-up, I think to myself.

‘What a tidy bump,’ she exclaims. ‘I was much larger than you when I was pregnant with Hugo. People used to say to me, “Any moment now, dear!”’

I ask her how Dad is.

‘Set in his ways. I did ask if he wanted to come, but you know what he’s like now. Likes to hold the fort.’

Typical Dad, I think to myself irritably before offering her a drink. Elderflower? Lime? She goes for elderflower.

‘I haven’t seen you for months, darling. I’d forgotten what your face looks like.’

‘Oh Mum, it’s just been really busy, a lot going on at school.’

‘You do look a little tired,’ she admits now. ‘You’re not overdoing it, are you?’

‘No no, I’m fine.’ I glance at my watch. ‘Matt should be home any second now.’ I show her the ultrasound scan taken at twenty weeks, on the fridge door.

Mum sighs. ‘I would have come down to be with you.’

‘It’s a long way, Mum.’

‘I could have stayed the night,’ she says as she looks more closely at the scan. ‘I’m glad you didn’t find out the sex.’

‘Matt didn’t want to.’

‘Hugo hasn’t told me much about Matthew or why he left the flat? It doesn’t sound as if they hit it off?’

I hear that familiar criticism in her tone. ‘Oh no, Mum, they get on fine.’

I turn away to check on the vegetables. ‘But I don’t think it’s ever much fun being gooseberry.’ I see us arguing in the kitchen, Hugo handing me the leaflets on addiction, me throwing them in his face. God, I miss him, I miss him, but … ‘Anyway, he wanted to move in with his girlfriend.’

‘Rosie’s charming,’ she says. ‘They came to stay last weekend.’

Thankfully we hear a key in the lock and Matt sweeps into the kitchen with some flowers, striding straight over to my mother and kissing her on both cheeks. ‘How lovely to meet you, Mrs Stephens,’ he says, clutching her hand. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. The traffic was appalling.’ Matt has clearly showered and shaved at the gym and is wearing a
smart pair of trousers with a freshly ironed white shirt. I can smell his aftershave. He’s scrubbed up almost as well as this flat. I always fancy him when he wears white shirts.

‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ he says to Mum. ‘And I’m sorry we haven’t been able to visit you in Norfolk.’ What an act! I’ll give him that. ‘I don’t know if Polly mentioned this to you, but I’ve been embroiled in planning disputes, which …’ he turns to me, ‘are all sorted! Permission finally came through today, Polly. All systems go!’

‘Oh, what a relief!’ I say before he sweeps me into his arms and kisses me.

‘How’s my gorgeous bambino or bambina?’ He touches my bump. ‘Isn’t your daughter looking blooming marvellous, Mrs Stephens?’

I realise Mum has barely said a word since Matthew arrived and began his Oscar-winning performance. She’s looking at him as if he’s
nothing
like what she’d expected.

‘Yes,’ she says at last. ‘Do call me Gina.’

*

Over supper Mum asks Matt how long he’s been in property development. ‘Not long, about five years. I started off small with my first flat, ex-council. From little acorns do big oak trees grow. It’s all about buying the right house at the right price. It’s not a game for the faint-hearted, but if you do your homework right, Mrs Stephens …’

Mum sniffs. ‘Please call me Gina.’

‘There are a lot of cowboys out there,’ he continues as
I’m pushing my broccoli around the plate, ‘but I’ve always been able to spot a good deal.’

‘What did you do before all this?’ Mum asks.

‘Good question. I was an estate agent, for my sins. I learned a lot about the market, but I didn’t like being a small fish in the big tank. I’m living the dream being my own boss now.’

How many more clichés can Mum take?

As Matt fills her in on how he’s going to extend and modernise the Wandsworth house with a high-spec kitchen, underfloor heating and a basement conversion with a cinema room, Mum begins to look sceptical. ‘I’m sorry, Matthew, I don’t mean to interrupt,’ she says, ‘but my husband and I were watching the news about Northern Rock collapsing and we’re a bit worried about the economy. Do you think this is a safe investment?’

‘Oh it’s fine, Mrs Stephens, that was an isolated incident.’

I excuse myself, saying I need the loo, before rushing into my bedroom, opening the wardrobe and lifting the lid off one of my old shoeboxes. I take a bottle out. I’ll just have one sip, that’s all I need. Lots of women drink the odd glass of wine when they’re pregnant. Trust Mum to put a dampener on Matt’s good news. I’m not sure she likes him. She really liked George, the doctor, who accused me of being an alcoholic. What a nerve! I swig down another mouthful before reluctantly putting the bottle back. I sneak into the bathroom, pull the chain and gurgle some mouthwash.

When I head back into the kitchen I ask if either of them would like seconds.

‘It’s delicious,’ Mum replies, though declines, saying she’s full. Matt tucks into a second helping of quiche, claiming he’s famished.

‘So, how are the baby arrangements?’ she asks, before adding, ‘Polly, don’t bite your nails.’

I take my finger away from my mouth.

‘I thought, Polly, while I was here, we could go shopping for a few bits and bobs, after you’ve finished work.’

‘That’s a great idea,’ says Matt.

‘I’d love to buy you something you really need. Maybe a cot or pram, Polly?’

‘That’s incredibly kind,’ chips in Matt again.

I nod. ‘We haven’t bought a cot yet.’ We haven’t bought anything, but I can’t tell Mum that.

‘I was wondering,’ she begins tentatively as I clear the plates, ‘what you’re planning for the future? Will you be buying a place of your own, Matthew?’

‘Well, I reckon this Wandsworth project will take six to nine months, Mrs Stephens, so after the baby’s born and I’ve sold the house, we’ll take a view, won’t we, honey?’

‘Absolutely,’ I say, not listening to a word, thinking only about my shoebox. I touch Matt’s shoulder. ‘Lots to think about. Very exciting.’

‘It’s important to make plans,’ Mum advises. ‘Once the
baby is born, it’s exhausting so it would be nice to be settled, wouldn’t it?’

‘Agreed,’ he says.

‘And will you go back to teaching?’ Mum asks me.

‘Of course,’ Matt says. ‘I’ve got enough to cover us and then when I sell the place in Wandsworth … It’s all under control, Mrs Stephens.’

‘I want to be a full-time mother,’ I say, touching my bump. ‘At least to begin with, but I love my job, Mum.’ I think affectionately of my class, of Lottie calling me Miss Polly. ‘I’d really miss it if I gave up.’

Mum plays with the edge of her napkin. ‘Your father and I were wondering about wedding plans, too? Do you think you might … ?’

‘Oh, Mum!’ I burst out.

‘That’s further down the line,’ says Matt. ‘Not so sure she can wear the white gown now.’

Mum looks stony-faced.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, slipping out of the room, blaming my weak bladder.

I sit on the edge of my bed and take another deep breath. I wish Mum would go. I knew she’d bring up wedding plans. Having a baby before marriage goes against everything she and my father stand for. Quietly I lift the lid off the shoebox.

‘Polly?’ Mum stands in the doorway, staring at the bottle in my hand.

I stand up, trapped. ‘I was just … er …’

‘You’re drinking?’

‘I’ve had a sip, that’s all.’ It’s that nervous laugh again. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’

‘Why are you hiding in here then?’

‘I’m not.’

‘Polly, what’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’ I smile. ‘Matthew’s great, isn’t he?’

‘Polly, you’re pregnant.’

‘I’ve had a couple of sips,’ I insist again.

‘Hugo mentioned …’

‘Oh, here we go again. You always believe what Hugo says.’

‘He’s worried. Be honest with me. Are you drinking a lot?’

‘Can we not do this now? Matt will be wondering where we are.’

‘He’s not right for you.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘He’s full of hot air.’

Angry, I say, ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.’

Mum grabs my arm, stops me from leaving the room. ‘Polly, listen to me, you’ve got to listen.’

‘Oh, what do you care, Mum! You’ve never really cared about me, so why the hell should I listen to you now?’

Mum stands back. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘You can’t waltz in here and pick my life apart.’

‘But I don’t trust this man …’

‘Well, you’re wrong.’

‘You need help.’

‘Help? What’s Hugo been saying … ?’