The Two Week Wait (16 page)

She signals to the barman and orders herself a lime and soda. She could swear she can feel him checking out her profile as she does so.

‘Cheers then,’ he says. ‘Bit odd this, eh? Like a date, but not.’

‘My mother would love it,’ says Lou. Here they are in a good old-fashioned pub with all the trimmings – brown leather chairs and worn oak tables, deep red carpet, beer on tap,
locals playing darts – a man and a woman enjoying a drink before dinner, just as Irene and Lou’s father occasionally used to. All too easily Lou can imagine her mother convincing
herself that she and Adam are a ‘proper’ couple.

Adam laughs. ‘Oh dear, one of those.’

Lou nods. ‘Exactly. Sofia used to say it’s like she’s still living in the 1950s.’ Lou gulps. The mention of Sofia still hurts – she mustn’t go there.

‘Sofia, oh yes . . . I hope you don’t mind my asking, but before we go any further, I would like to know: where does she stand in all this?’

‘Actually . . . We broke up a few weeks ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry . . . ’ Adam reaches for Lou’s hand. Anna did just the same, thinks Lou, and I don’t even know Adam that well. I must prompt concern. She’s not
entirely comfortable being the object of pity. Or maybe she’s more aware of the gesture because she’s been so missing physical contact.

She may as well be honest – she doesn’t want to start off avoiding the truth. ‘It was partly the issue of kids that led to our break-up.’

‘She wasn’t keen?’

‘Frankly, no.’

‘That’s a shame. You were a great couple.’

‘Mm . . . ’ Again Lou swallows.

‘Sorry, tactless of me. Let’s change the subject. You can fill me in on Sofia another time. Your mum – you were saying she’d love to see this – you and me . . .
?’

‘God, I hate to think what she’d say if she knew the actual reason we’re getting together.’ Oops, that might sound rude. Lou explains, ‘It didn’t seem worth
the aggravation of telling her about the baby thing till I’d worked it out properly for myself.’

‘She’d have a problem with it?’

‘I think so. I only came out to her a year ago. She’s getting there . . . But my having kids: I might be wrong, but I can’t see her approving.’

‘Oh dear.’ Adam takes a sip of beer. ‘It sounds as if you’re having to deal with a lot of opposition.’

‘You could say that.’ His observation makes Lou appreciate just how much she’s had to face over the last few months. ‘Though I guess many gays have a tough time becoming
parents for one reason or another.’

‘Perhaps one thing we gain from being gay is we have to jump through so many hoops to make it happen, we think everything through more carefully.’ Adam takes a large mouthful of
crisps; healthy appetite, she notes. Good. Picky eating riles her; she wouldn’t want it in her children. He continues, ‘I know lots of straight – and gay – people who
disagree, but personally, I think parenting has so much more to do with character traits than orientation.’

‘Me too.’ Lou considers her mother and father: both straight, yet when he was alive, her relationship with her father was much easier. Perhaps he could have helped her broach the
subject with her mum. She says, ‘Sofia was convinced my mum would freak if I have a baby.’

Suddenly Adam thumps the top of the bar so hard the liquid in their glasses sways from side to side. ‘No disrespect to your mum . . . but it drives me nuts when people think they can judge
who should and who should not be parents!’ he exclaims. Lou is surprised – and pleased – by the force of his reaction. ‘God knows how many patients I see – I presume
your work’s even worse – where straight folk don’t give a second thought to major life decisions and go around making every bad choice possible – especially about having
kids. Yet no one makes sweeping statements about how their sexuality affects their parenting skills.’

‘Tell me about it,’ says Lou, leading the way to one of the round oak tables. Even so many weeks after her operation, she’s not comfortable standing for long. ‘You should
see some of the parents of the kids I work with. At school we’ve got this boy whose mother’s had six children by five different men.’

Adam pulls up a stool. ‘Crikey. Are the children all still living with her?’

‘No, four are in care.’

‘Four!’

Lou nods. ‘And Aar—’ – she stops herself revealing his name in the nick of time –‘he’s a lovely lad underneath, but no wonder he’s got anger
issues.’

Adam holds out his crisp bag and Lou delves for a handful. Already she’s finding it a relief to talk to him. Sharing with Karen and Anna has been a great help; given she’s known them
both a relatively short while, it’s remarkable how comfortable she feels with them – probably because of everything they’ve been through. Nevertheless, neither is exactly on her
wavelength when it comes to having kids. Sofia and Howie are even further from her; neither has reached that point in life, maybe they never will. But with Adam, at last she feels able to air some
of her most fervent beliefs. ‘You know, I hope some of what I’ve experienced would actually make me a
better
parent. Because my own mother’s not that tolerant –
she’s rather uptight, generally – I’m aware of how I might do things differently – hopefully better – if I were to become a mum myself.’

Adam picks up the baton. ‘I was bullied at school – it’s that common story; I didn’t quite fit in. I was never part of a group. So I gravitated to the teachers: they
protected me, I suppose, I always seemed to get on better with adults. Then the other kids resented that, decided I was a teacher’s pet. I guess they sensed I was different; you know how
quick some can be to pick up any weakness and home in . . . ’ It’s hard to imagine this now: Adam seems so at ease with himself. ‘But like you, I believe these experiences can
give us a more acute awareness of children’s feelings and the effect these things have on them.’ He tips the remainder of the crisps directly into his mouth from the packet. ‘I
recall you saying something about your own childhood giving you compassion for the kids you work with.’

Lou is flattered he’s remembered their conversation; it was a while back. ‘It’s true, they are linked.’ She assimilates a moment then says, ‘I think you’ve
hit on one of the main reasons I want to have a child.’

‘Oh?’

‘Mm. It’s simple really: I just want to create a happy person.’

Adam smiles. ‘That’s a lovely reason. And a much better explanation than many people might give.’

‘I hope they wouldn’t suffer because of my orientation, though we have become much more accepted, don’t you agree?’

‘I guess so. Anyway, who’d ever want to be
totally
normal? Imagine having no quirks or idiosyncrasies. It’s what makes us us.’

At that moment the door of the pub opens. An old man enters; makes his way, unsteady, slow, to the bar. Lou recognizes him: he lives in the attic flat directly opposite; the street is so narrow
his window is no more than twenty feet from hers. She’s chatted to him occasionally in the newsagent; he’s been a resident of Magdalene Street for decades, but this is the first time
she’s seen him in here. He is fragile and solitary; she’s always assumed he doesn’t get out much, but there’s a touch of the dandy in his dress tonight and his long,
cobwebby hair looks recently combed. He orders a whisky mac, carries it shakily to a nearby table, sits, gets out a broadsheet paper and pen, folds the pages back, and begins the crossword as if
this were his second home. He reminds her of a character from a fairytale, and she feels honoured to add to her picture of his routine. She and Adam pause a moment, watching him transfixed, silent
save for the sound of Adam crunching. Then Adam swallows, and they come back to earth.

There’s a knock on the bay window. Rich gurns at them through the pane. Thank goodness he’s here; Cath is bursting to tell him about Sukey. But Mike beats her to
answering the door.

Rich steps into the living room, the cool of outdoors clings to him. ‘Phew, that was a long one. Bloody planning.’ He throws down his jacket over the back of the vast leather sofa.
‘Got to go back tomorrow first thing. That meeting ran over, which meant I didn’t get to see the designers.’

‘Can I get you a drink?’ says Mike. He’s waiting until Alfie and Dom are in bed before having one himself. Apparently it’s his turn to bath them.

Cath and Sukey each have a gin and tonic. Sukey is sipping delicately. Cath’s nearly finished hers already.

Cath seizes the opportunity. ‘I’ll get you one.’ She’s keen to talk to Rich alone.

But Rich sits down with a heavy sigh. Cath chivvies, ‘Don’t you want to choose what you want?’

‘You do it, love.’ Rich loosens his tie. ‘You know what I like.’

Alone in the kitchen, she locates a cold beer for Rich, then uses the excuse to make herself a fresh G&T. She gloops in a generous measure of spirit and returns to the living room, ice
clinking.

The twins are sprawled on the cream carpet close to the TV screen, playing on their PS3. The volume is low, but Cath can still detect the staccato of gunfire nonetheless.

Sukey’s a mass of contradictions, she thinks, forbidding the boys to talk to their aunt while they do their homework, yet allowing this.

Rich smiles at her. ‘All right, love?’

‘Mm.’ She gulps, and as she does so, bubbles go up her nose. The alcohol appears to be going to her head. She hopes they’re going to eat soon.

‘Went well today though, don’t you think?’ he says.

Oh dear, thinks Cath. She can’t tell him to steer clear of the subject with Mike and Sukey present.

‘How was the rest of the afternoon? The consultant say anything else?’

‘Not really,’ mutters Cath.

‘Everything is OK, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, yes. I’ll tell you later.’ She flashes him a look to warn him he’s on dangerous ground.

Mike stands up. ‘Right, boys. Bed.’

‘Aw . . . ’

‘Nope, that’s it. I warned you five minutes ago. It’s half seven, bath time. I’ve already run it ready.’

‘Can’t we finish this game?’ The gunfire is getting faster; bombs explode in a blaze of yellow and noise. At the bottom of the screen the scores are mounting; they’re
almost neck and neck.

Sukey gets to her feet too. ‘Alfie. Dom. Do as your father says.’ She turns off the television.

Squirming in protest, they traipse upstairs in Mike’s wake.

Perhaps she doesn’t spoil them quite as much as their father does, thinks Cath. Although she’s not averse to spoiling them herself, she’s sure she’d never permit them to
play such violent games if they were her children.

‘I’d have loved a PS3 when I was that age,’ says Rich.

‘You’d love one now,’ says Cath.

‘True.’

‘But we’re not getting one.’

‘Even if we have a little boy?’

‘I’d rather avoid those stereotypes of boys’ and girls’ toys myself.’ Because she can’t express what’s really bugging her, Cath redirects her irritation
towards her husband.

Rich looks deflated. Then he brightens. ‘Well, we’ll have to come here and he can play with his cousins’.’

Cath glances at Sukey. Her face is implacable.

‘You’re rapidly making me want a girl,’ says Cath.

Sukey gives a little cough, then says, ‘Are you going to choose the sex of your child?’

Uh-oh, thinks Cath. But Rich walks straight in. ‘They won’t allow us to, actually.’

‘Really? I thought you could determine just about everything.’ The first mine goes off, but Rich doesn’t notice.

‘You’d be surprised,’ he continues. ‘It’s all very tightly regulated. For instance, we found out today – didn’t we, love? – that you’re only
allowed to implant two embryos at a time. That wasn’t the case a few years ago. But there was concern about the number of women having multiple births as a result of IVF, so they’ve
changed the rules.’

‘But they won’t be your embryos, will they, Cath?’ says Sukey. This time there is no mistaking the hostility.

Cath flinches as if she’s been hit. ‘No, they won’t be mine.’ She can hear her voice quiver.

Rich looks across at her; she can feel her face burning. His lips set in a thin line. She might be more stubborn than her husband, but he has his limits, and if there’s one thing sure to
rile him, it’s an attack on his wife. ‘I think that was a bit uncalled for.’

‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, strictly speaking. But Cath is the one who’ll carry the baby to term.’

‘Still, when you have a baby, it won’t exactly be Alfie and Dom’s cousin, will it?’

This is more than Cath can stomach. At least when her mother questions her actions, she knows there’s a deep vein of love running through it. She fires back, ‘What gives you the
right to be so judgemental?’

Sukey starts in surprise. ‘I’m not being judgemental.’

‘Feels like it to me.’

Sukey gulps.

‘Er . . . It’s purely I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing what you’re doing, if it were me. Carrying another woman’s child.’

‘I don’t think you realize, I don’t have a choice. I – we – really want a baby.’

Sukey frowns, but carries on. ‘You see, when I was pregnant with the twins, it was such a personal thing, that natural bond to my babies . . . ’

‘I’m sure I’ll develop a bond. I’ll be carrying it inside me for nine months.’

‘Do you think it will be the same?’

‘But I don’t have any other way of having children.’

‘It’s just not what I would do, that’s all,’ says Sukey.

‘Are you saying everything people do that’s different to you is wrong?’

‘Oh, I’m not saying it’s wrong . . . for you.’

‘Good. Because if Rich and I want a family, this is one of the very few ways we can do it.’

Sukey picks her tumbler off the glass coffee table, takes a sip. ‘I appreciate that.’ She turns to Rich, as if to woo him to her side. ‘Though actually, if I did have limited
options, I still wouldn’t have IVF.’

I gave her an escape route and she ignored it, thinks Cath. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s not natural,’ says Sukey.

‘Nor’s a PS3,’ says Cath.

‘It’s hardly the same.’ Sukey’s voice rises. ‘You understand what I mean.’