The Two Week Wait (34 page)

Finally he seems to have picked up that something is wrong; a second later he flings himself into the driving seat next to her and starts the ignition.

‘You OK?’

‘Take me to the hospital,’ she barks.

‘Eh . . . ?’ But he’s realized. Instantly his cheeks are ashen.

*  *  *

At least I managed to curtail an inquisition about my pregnancy over lunch, thinks Lou. Or Howard did, rather. Seeing the atmosphere heat up like a volcano – and realizing
what the damage might be – he’d stepped in and said, ‘I think we’d best not do this in front of Elliot and Annabel, if you don’t mind.’ The rest of the meal was
permeated by Georgia’s fury at being circumvented and Irene’s shock, but at least Lou was given dispensation to finish eating.

Next is present-opening. Quite how her mother manages to dampen the joy of such an occasion is no longer the disappointment for Lou it was when she was small. She’s come to expect the
formality of turn-taking, the ‘remember to say thank you, children’, and the lack of any gifts that might suggest someone in her family has an understanding of what she might actually
like. Once all the still-viable wrapping paper is folded and put away ready for re-use next year, Howard suggests he and the children head outside to play with Elliot’s stomp rocket on the
lawn.

Lou is just about to go with them – the rocket was from her, so this seems more than reasonable – when Georgia says, ‘Um, I think Mum and I could do with a hand clearing up,
don’t you?’ and Lou realizes she has no choice but to stay.

She goes to the sink so she can start the washing-up. She has barely turned on the taps and squirted detergent into the bowl before Georgia says, ‘So who’s the father,
then?’

Thankfully Lou has had a couple of hours to work out a top-line approach to her news. She chooses her words carefully. ‘A friend of mine in Brighton. He’s a doctor, in fact, called
Adam.’

‘So not a donor, then?’

‘If you mean someone anonymous, then no.’

‘So you had sex with him?’

‘Bloody hell, Georgia, where do you get off?’

‘Sorry, sorry—’ Georgia holds up both her hands in innocence and steps back, as if she’s amazed to have caused offence.

‘No, and no, I haven’t suddenly gone straight or anything, though I’m sure you’d both love it if I had.’ She turns back round to face her sister and mother.
‘We had IVF, if you must know.’

‘IVF, really?’

‘Yes.’

‘What, on the NHS?’

Lou can’t bear to hear how Georgia thinks the NHS shouldn’t be funding such things. But neither can she face explaining the whole egg-sharing set-up. She’ll admit to that
later, maybe, but certainly not now. Having to deal with both her sister and mother in one hit is already more than she can handle.

‘No,’ she says, then lies. ‘Adam paid for it.’

‘Oh.’ Her sister pulls a face as if to communicate she’s lucky to have landed such a sugar daddy. Never mind that Howard’s been the breadwinner for years, thinks Lou.

‘For your information, the whole idea of turkey basters is pretty erroneous,’ says Lou. ‘Some gay women do inseminate themselves at home, but they use a proper needle-less
syringe, not something from the kitchen utensil drawer.’ The irony of where she is standing does not escape her. ‘But anyway. Adam’s a doctor and he has contacts.’ Now
she’s on a roll she relishes bigging him up, even if it isn’t entirely truthful. There’s undeniably satisfaction to be gleaned from pandering to their snobbery. ‘And they
helped us sort out doing it properly, privately, through a clinic in Harley Street.’

‘Harley Street . . . ’ repeats Irene. She sounds almost impressed.

‘Well, it seems a bit, I don’t know . . . selfish, if you ask me,’ says Georgia.

‘I didn’t ask you.’ Lou feels herself flush again, then says, ‘But how do you mean exactly, selfish?’

‘Bringing a child into this world with two gay parents.’

‘What, and your act of procreating was entirely selfless, then?’

Georgia reddens too. ‘Well, not entirely, I guess, but – well, did you think about all the implications?’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Georgia, of course I did! What do you take me for, an idiot? I’m a counsellor, for fuck’s sake, I’ve thought about little else!’

‘Ah.’

‘And of course I know the kid might have a few problems, but what kid doesn’t? Not a single child on earth goes through life without the odd hiccup. Jesus Christ, both you and Mum
are so effing uptight sometimes. And you live in each other’s pockets, surrounded by nothing but narrow-minded people as conservative as you are. Well, if I was a kid, I know where I’d
rather be brought up.’ The moment she’s said it she half regrets it – normally she manages to hold her tongue. But she’s hormonal, and has no one here to support her, so
she’s also relieved to have let rip.

‘Where?’ says Georgia. ‘In Brighton?’

‘Yes,’ says Lou. ‘Why not?’

‘In your little attic?’

‘Yes, in my
little attic.
If need be, sure.’

‘Well, I don’t know what Mum has to say about that. And you can call me narrow-minded if you like, but I know what I think.’

Suddenly, there is a little cough behind them.

‘I can speak for myself, you know, Georgia,’ says Irene.

‘Oh.’ Georgia is taken aback.

‘Actually, from everything Lou has said it sounds as if she’s thought all this through pretty carefully.’

‘I have,’ says Lou, astonished. ‘And believe you me, it wasn’t that simple.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I didn’t have much time, according to the
doctors, if I wanted to maximize my chances of a straightforward pregnancy.’

‘Really?’ says her sister.

Does Georgia think she is exaggerating? ‘They said after my fibroid operation I ought to get on with it, so I did a lot of soul-searching and asking around and research, and decided it was
something I wanted to do. In fact, I think I might make quite a good mother.’

‘Do you now?’ says Georgia.

‘Georgia! That’s enough.’ Lou can hardly believe her mother has said this. ‘Stop it, both of you, it’s Christmas Day.’

Ah yes, of course, Irene won’t want the occasion ruined. They’re not being polite.

Her mother takes off her pinny and hangs it on the back of the door, checks through the kitchen window that the children are still playing in the garden. And then, instead of resuming clearing
up, she turns to face them both. She has two bright-pink spots on her cheeks.

‘It might surprise you to hear this, but actually, Lou, I do think you’ll make a good mother.’ Irene raises her eyebrows pointedly at Georgia. ‘You know, Georgia, when
your sister told me last year she was a lesbian, I felt like the ground was no longer steady under me. I haven’t really talked to you much about it, or you, Lou, or anyone come to that,
because I thought my reaction was just old-fashioned and, well, selfish, I suppose.’ She pauses, picks up a napkin, starts twisting it round her fingers. ‘But as you are both accusing
each other of selfishness, perhaps I can admit that yes, I did find it hard. I felt humiliated, embarrassed, trailing behind your announcement, Lou, with a huge amount of catching up to do. I mean,
yes, of course I sort of knew you were gay, or suspected, but I’d never been wholly sure . . . And I tried to talk it over, I mentioned it to a couple of friends of mine in the village, but
they just said, “Oh well, as long as she’s happy . . . ”, “Better than living a lie . . . ”, “She’s still your daughter . . . ” Stuff like
that.’ She sighs. ‘So I kept my feelings to myself.’

Lou has a flash of anger, yet she restrains herself. There’s something refreshingly honest about the way Irene is talking.

‘I’m sorry, Lou.’ Irene stops folding and refolding the napkin and glances up at her. ‘I kept a lot of this from you because I thought it would just make you annoyed and
upset. I felt so guilty, but it was a bit like I suffered a bereavement. I don’t mean it was as bad as when I lost your father, but still, it was such a blow. Everything became hard: running
this place, seeing people, being with you, Georgia, because your family seemed so
normal
in comparison – sometimes I used to just cry myself to sleep.’ She gulps, then continues,
‘For months there was nothing in my head but worry. Gradually I recovered, got used to the idea, you introduced me to Sofia – that was nice, you know . . . ’ Blimey, thinks Lou, I
had no idea. ‘Then something would happen to trigger me, and the whole thing would hit me again . . . Like when you split with Sofia, there’s an example, and I just couldn’t get
it out of my head that you’d end up on your own, with no partner, no one to share your life with . . . ’

Not dissimilar to you, then, thinks Lou. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she says, at once feeling tearful herself.

‘But after that I gave myself a talking to, I said life’s too short, Irene, stop all this self-absorption and blame and worry. Lou’s all right, she can look after herself.
She’s a grown woman, she’s got a good job, there’s a lot more to her than just who she goes out with . . . ’

Hurrah, thinks Lou. Too bloody right. ‘Thanks,’ she mutters.

‘ . . . And now you’re telling us this, and yes, I admit, I’m completely shocked.’ Irene shakes her head. ‘I’d kind of thought you might have a child in some
way, with Sofia – yes, Georgia’ – Lou sees her sister is equally astonished by all this – ‘I’m not
that
naive, but then when your relationship ended I
assumed there was just no way.’

Lou is finding it hard to keep up.

‘And you know what?’ Irene puts down the napkin.

‘What?’ says Georgia.

Irene’s brow furrows, just a little, as if she’s checking with herself this is in fact the case. Then she nods, and gives a small smile. ‘I rather like the idea of another
grandchild . . . ’ She frowns more intensely, to reaffirm she’s right about her response. ‘Yes, I am . . . ’ Next she laughs, lightly. ‘In fact . . . I’m rather
pleased.’

Cath and Rich are sitting together, struggling to take stock, when a nurse comes and signals to Rich.

‘Can I have a quick word?’ she says, beckoning him over.

‘Sure,’ Rich nods. ‘Back in a sec,’ he says to Cath and pats her knee.

‘I think perhaps your wife’s not in the best state to take this in,’ says the nurse. ‘So I thought I’d have a chat with you. Is that OK?’

‘Mm,’ says Rich. He’s no idea what sort of a state he’s in himself, but no matter. Cath is his priority.

She checks Cath can’t hear, and steps a few paces further from earshot. Rich follows her. He notices the Airedale Hospital label pinned to her grey-blue jacket.
Sister Maureen
Ehrlich
, it says. How do you pronounce that? he wonders, then realizes it doesn’t matter at all.

‘I suppose there’s no chance she’s not lost the baby?’ he says, grasping at hope.

‘No, I’m afraid not.’ She blows out her cheeks, lets out a rush of air. ‘The doctor says she’s lost too much blood already for that to be the case. Your wife is
miscarrying. I realize this is hard.’ She stops and allows him a moment. Rich nods and she continues. ‘So . . . you’ll need to ensure she has plenty of super-plus sanitary towels
to absorb the bleeding. She shouldn’t use tampons as they might cause an infection.’

Where on earth am I going to get those on Christmas Day? thinks Rich. He’s not even sure what super-plus sanitary towels are.

Sister Maureen seems to realize the problem. ‘I can try and see if I can get some to last you a day or so, if that helps?’

‘Please.’

‘OK, but first let me just run through this with you. We’re on a skeleton staff over the next few days so I wouldn’t want you to have to come back.’

‘No, I understand.’ Anyway, they’re miles from home, this isn’t even their local hospital.

‘And unfortunately, with a miscarriage, there’s not that much anyone can do.’

‘Resting in bed won’t help?’

‘No. I’m sorry. It really is too late for that.’

‘I see,’ says Rich. Although he doesn’t; not at all, not yet.

‘I suggest you just go home, help your wife to rest.’

‘I don’t need to take her to the hospital in Leeds?’

‘Well, you should let your GP know what’s going on, when they’re open, say, in a couple of days.’

‘But Cath seems to have stopped bleeding quite as much now, she says. She was worse on the way here.’

‘I’m afraid although it may feel as though the bleeding is slowing down or stopping, it’s an illusion. In reality, the blood collects at the top of the vagina and then drains
away when your wife walks or goes to the toilet. So if she’s been sitting for a while, that’s probably what’s happened.’

‘I see.’ His last vestiges of hope smash.

‘If your wife wants to go to bed, that’s fine. Just make her as comfortable as you can.’

‘She seems to be in a lot of pain.’

‘I can imagine.’ Sister Maureen winces. ‘By all means give her some paracetamol or ibuprofen – even both, if you are careful and follow the instructions. You could also
give her a hot-water bottle to ease the cramping.’

‘You don’t need to keep her in?’

‘We don’t.’

Rich is unsure if this is because they haven’t the beds, it’s not an emergency or they don’t care. He can’t work it out. He can’t work out anything.

‘You only need to worry if the bleeding becomes so heavy she’s getting through more than a pad in an hour, or if there’s lots of clotting, because then she’s losing too
much blood.’

He rubs his brow, as if it will prompt his brain to function and help him remember if there’s anything else he should ask. ‘How long is the bleeding likely to last?’

‘It’ll probably tail off in a week to ten days. Usually it stops after a couple of weeks. Bleeding after this time can still be normal but it’s likely your doctor will want to
check your wife’s health, to make certain she’s not had an incomplete miscarriage.’

‘Right,’ says Rich. Though it all feels very wrong.

The sister gives his arm a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Otherwise, just be there for her. Now, if you hold on a sec over there, I’ll just get you those pads.’

A few minutes later she returns. ‘Here you go.’ She hands over a paper bag. She’s poised to return to her duties when she stops and says, ‘I’m so sorry this should
happen to you both, today of all days. That really is tough.’