The coffee machine shudders and steams, and I grab a mug and some cream. If Simon were here he’d make a joke about how I like my coffee just like my man: sweet and rich. What happened to us? Did we get swallowed up by this thing called life, spat out on the heap like all the other marriages that fail? I didn’t marry him for us to become a statistic.
Sitting down on a stool, I grab my iPad, and get to work on clearing up my own mess. First I order an expensive flower arrangement for last night’s hosts, with an appropriately worded card expressing my regret. Then I make a reservation for dinner on Toptable, choosing Simon’s favourite restaurant—a pretty bistro just off Upper Street. Finally I turn to Google, and type in “marriage guidance counsellors”. If I make an effort, then maybe he’ll forgive me.
But he needs to give a little, too. I can’t leave the clinic, they’re my second family. The kids I’ll never have. As much as they drive me crazy, I need that feeling, crave it, even. It’s not as if I’ll ever be able to lavish affection on a child of my own, so I choose to do it on them, instead. They need to feel love and I need to give it. It’s a relationship that works.
Possibly my only one.
I’m on my way to the clinic when Lara calls. I ask her to hold as I walk out of the dark, dank Tube station stairwell and into the crisp morning air. The rain has dried up since last night, leaving a London that positively basks in its absence. Trees are starting to bud, daffodils are starting to bloom and the sun is trying her best to push through. It’s one of those spring days when everything feels a little brighter. People smile a little more, step aside when you are walking toward them. In the gardens across from the clinic, cherry trees wear candy-floss hats, the blossom slowly drifting down in the light breeze.
“Hey.” I lift the phone to my ear. “Everything okay?”
“I was going to ask you the same question. What the heck happened last night? I had all manner of men calling me and asking where you were.” Lara sounds appropriately intrigued.
“Two. You had two men calling you,” I say.
She has this way of making everything sound as if it has more meaning than it has. It may be something to do with her training; perhaps she’s looking for a way to prise out the truth without actually asking me. Or maybe I’m just projecting.
“They were very frantic men. Well, Simon was. I
don’t know that Niall could do frantic if he tried.”
Niall can do frantic, that much I remember. Frantic and hot and desperate. Long fingers digging into hips, lips pressing down until they almost hurt. He may have matured—hopefully we both have—but I don’t believe that fire can be doused completely.
“I’m sorry. Simon calling was totally my fault. I should have let him know where I was.” Niall, on the other hand, was not my fault. He knew exactly where I was. He was sitting outside the station, for goodness sake.
“Do you want to talk about it? I’ve got no clients for the next hour; we could grab a coffee somewhere.”
I have a few calls to make, plus some materials to order before the children arrive, but I think I can fit this in. I love talking with Lara; it’s something we don’t get to do as much anymore. “Yeah, coffee sounds great. I’m just walking up to the clinic now.”
“And I’m walking out.” A moment later, Lara is standing in front of me, her battered brown handbag slung over her shoulder. We both press the buttons to end our call. “Hey.” She reaches out and hugs me tightly.
We head to the cafe around the corner from the clinic. It’s mostly empty, in that lull between the breakfast rush and lunchtime patrons. Grabbing a table, we wait for the waitress to bring us over our coffees. They’ve not long had a proper machine put in. We used to have to put up with tepid instant, barely dissolved granules. Now it’s all lattes and mochaccinos. Even the cafe has been gentrified.
I open a sachet of sugar and stir it into my cappuccino, completely ruining the bean design the waitress created with powdered chocolate. “How’s things?” I ask.
“I was going to ask you the same question.” Lara takes a sip. “And I bet your answer is more interesting.”
It isn’t, not really. It’s boring and tedious and not something I want to talk about. “But I asked first.”
She wrinkles her nose, making her freckles all squeeze into each other. “Not good.”
“Oh no. Why?”
“They’re making redundancies at Alex’s work. He might be out of a job by next month. He reckons he’s on the hit list; his boss really doesn’t like him.” Alex works in the print at Wapping. It’s a pretty well-paid job, and I know they rely on his money.
“That’s awful, poor Alex.” I catch her eye. “Poor you, too, it’s horrible seeing somebody you love go through that.”
“That’s the worst bit—he thinks it’s wonderful. Gives him carte blanche to pursue his dreams of stardom. I’m not sure how he thinks we’re going to pay the rent or put food on the table.” She rolls her eyes. “And he knows I want us to try for a baby. There’s no way we can afford to do that on just one wage.”
I didn’t realise they’d got that far in their planning. I feel a bit of heaviness in my chest at the thought of it. Though I love Lara to the ends of the earth, I can’t help feeling envious at the concept of a baby. It’s something I’ll never have, and I thought I’d come to terms with it, but since I’ve been thinking about the past, it’s made me change my mind. Maybe I just wasn’t ready for a baby until now. Could it be that my biological clock has finally started ticking?
Am I going to feel like this forever?
“Does Alex not want a baby?” I ask.
“I thought he did. But now I think he’s going through a midlife crisis. He says the threat of losing his job has given him a chance to re-evaluate things. He wants to see if he can make a go of music before we try for a family.”
She looks pissed off, and I don’t blame her. Lara is thirty-one and I know she’s been wanting a baby for a while. The problem is, with London rent and rubbish salaries, there’s never going to be a good time for them to try. They can’t really afford a baby, as much as they want one. While Simon and I can afford it, it’s something we’ll never have.