Sometimes I Lie

Paul was desperate for children too, everyone knew that, but I wouldn’t come off the Pill until Claire had her family. I couldn’t do that to her. My sister is younger than me but has always been one step ahead: first to get a boyfriend, first to get married, first to get pregnant, always winning an unspoken race. It’s just who we are, who we’ve always been.

The third round of IVF worked for them. Claire was pregnant and I came off the Pill, thinking it was safe for us to try without upsetting anyone. It never occurred to me that we’d have problems conceiving too. We’ve had tests, lots of tests, but they can’t find anything wrong with either of us. One of the doctors thought it might be genetic, but I know it isn’t that. Something inside me is broken, I’m quite sure of it – my punishment for something that happened a long time ago.

We carried on trying, month after month. Sex became a scheduled chore. Paul wanted the baby he’d waited for, the child I had promised, but it was clear he no longer wanted me. We weren’t making love any more. We weren’t making anything. I lost interest in it and Paul lost interest in me. He stuck to the script, said that so long as we had each other, that was all we needed. But we didn’t have each other any more, that was the problem. He thought I should have come off the Pill sooner, that we’d left it too late. He’s never said it, but I know he blames me. He wanted a family more than any man I’ve ever met and I’ve had a ringside seat to watch his grief turn into something dark and resentment shaped.

My mother never knew any of this. She thought I was putting off having a family because I was too focused on my career. I remember her staring at me that night, waiting for an answer I didn’t know how to give, busy filling in the blanks in the meantime.

‘I’m fine, I’m happy for her,’ I said eventually. For such carefully chosen words, they sounded all wrong. Empty and false. I suppose it was because I’d been caught off guard. When it comes to difficult conversations, I like to be prepared. I like to play them out in my head beforehand, consider all the possible lines that might be spoken and rehearse the answers I will give, until they are polished and learned by heart. Practice doesn’t make me perfect, but people are more likely to believe me when I have.

We talked about Claire for a while. Mum went on about how well she was coping and what a wonderful mother she was going to be. Every compliment for Claire was also intended as an insult to me, but I didn’t disagree, I knew Claire was made for motherhood, she’s always been insanely protective of those she loves. With each sip of wine, the conversation that poured out of Mum’s mouth seemed a little more dangerous. There is always a moment before an accident when you know you are going to get hurt but there is nothing you can do to protect yourself. You can raise your arms in front of your face, you can close your eyes, you can scream, but you know it won’t change what’s coming. I knew what was coming that night but at no point did I even attempt to hit the brakes. If anything, I pushed down on the accelerator.

‘Do you ever wonder why I don’t have children?’ I asked. The words were out there. They had been born into the world because my sister wasn’t there to hear them.

‘Not everyone is cut out to be a mother,’ she replied, too quickly.

Mum took another sip of wine and I took a deep breath, but she spoke before I could put my own words in the right order.

‘The thing is, to be a good mother, you have to put your children first. You’ve always been very selfish, Amber, even as a child. I’m not sure motherhood would have suited you, so maybe it’s true what they say.’

I felt wounded, the air knocked out of me for a moment to make room for all the thoughts fighting for space inside. I should have retreated, protected myself from further damage, but instead I invited her to strike me again. ‘What do they say?’

‘That everything happens for a reason.’ She emptied her glass and poured herself another. I remember my heart beating so loudly in my chest that I thought the whole restaurant must be able to hear it. I looked out at the lake and concentrated very hard on not crying, as her words went round and round in my head. The silence that followed was too uncomfortable, so my mother decided to fill it with some more words that might have been better left unspoken.

‘The thing is, I think we are more alike than you realise, you and I. I never wanted children either.’ She was mistaken. From that moment on, I wanted a baby almost as much as Paul, just to prove her wrong.

‘You didn’t want me?’ I asked. Thinking that she would surely explain that that wasn’t what she had meant.

‘No. I never felt maternal at all. The truth is, you were an accident. Your father and I got carried away one night and then I was pregnant, simple as that. I didn’t want to be pregnant and I certainly didn’t want a baby.’

‘But you loved me when I was born?’ I asked.

She laughed. ‘No, I despised you! It felt like life was over and as though you had ruined everything and all because we’d had too much to drink and not been careful! My mother looked after you for the first few weeks, I didn’t even want to look at you and everyone was worried that I would . . . not that I would have ever hurt you I’m sure.’ She had hurt me so often without even knowing she was doing it. ‘But things got easier as you got older. You grew up so quickly, always older than your years, even then. You started walking and talking before other children your age and you being there, well, it just became normal, as though you always had been.’

‘What about Claire?’

‘Well, it was different with Claire, obviously.’

Obviously.

I hear Claire’s voice, right on cue and I am back in the present, in my hospital bed, going nowhere. The irony is not lost on me; once again I’m sitting with my mother and waiting for Claire to fix us, to teach us how to be with each other and stop us from falling apart.

‘Here you are,’ says Claire. I picture them embracing, my mother’s face lighting up at the sight of her favourite child, gliding into the room with her long blonde hair and pretty clothes, no doubt. Claire sits down and takes one of my hands in hers.