but hope is such a bloody awful little emotion, I knew we were both thinking the same thing. It’s not hopeless. We’re not hopeless. We can still do this. And for the first time I allowed myself an extra little thought: Maybe my past doesn’t matter after all.
‘Coffee to celebrate?’ Matt said to me as we left the hospital. We were both so excited we were practically flying. I was too dizzy to hear all the facts and figures, but the consultant felt we had a better chance than most of conceiving – everything was in good working order according to him. We just needed a little help.
‘I shouldn’t be drinking coffee now, should I?’ I said. ‘But I’ll have a juice with you.’
We found our way to a little coffee bar on the High Street and sat back, enjoying the feelings of elation washing over us. We’d had so much disappointment over the last few years, and even though I knew the road ahead was going to be tough, and there were no guarantees, I wanted to enjoy this feeling. It had been a long time since I’d felt this hopeful about anything.
‘To us,’ said Matt, raising his cup of coffee against my orange juice.
‘To us,’ I said, ‘and to Foetus.’
We hardly dared to talk about the possibility of a real baby any more.
Matt leant over, and gently touched my stomach.
‘To Foetus,’ he said. ‘You know, I’ve got a really good feeling about this.’
I arrived at my desk a couple of hours later. I’d booked the morning off, claiming the dentist. I hadn’t told anyone at work about Plan Foetus as we’d taken to calling it. Hell, I hadn’t even told Doris and Sarah, though I’m sure they’d both guessed. They’d seen how broody I was when they were both pregnant. I couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy, particularly when Sarah had had her second baby. Although I knew she’d had problems with sickness and things, she made it look so easy. Sarah seemed to be able to conceive at the drop of a hat, it didn’t seem fair. I couldn’t bear to let Sarah know how jealous I was, so I pretended to be nonchalant about having children. I’d been making out for ages that my career came first.
To be honest, that was true for a while. When I first met Matt, babies didn’t come into the picture. We were just so happy to be together, and I kept pinching myself that after kissing all those toads, I’d finally found my handsome prince. I didn’t want to spoil it with the patter of tiny feet. I assumed, you see, that Matt would be like all the other guys, and run at the first mention of babies. And having finally lost weight after years of dieting, I wasn’t too keen to put it all back on again. There was always the nagging doubt that Matt would only fancy me slim. I should have known better of course: he was the one who brought the subject of babies up, and when I mentioned my weight, he just laughed me to scorn and said he’d love me however fat I got.
Today, for the first time in a long time, I felt the same dizzying intoxication that I’d felt when we’d started to plan our family. A crack of light was shining in the dark – it wasn’t much, but it was something to hold on to.
‘You seem very happy today,’ Mel our receptionist said as I sailed jauntily past her, whistling. I never ever whistle.
‘Well, spring is in the air, and all that jazz,’ I said, which is uncharacteristically chatty of me. Usually I barely say anything to Mel or anyone else at work unless I have to. It’s the only way I can keep a tight lid on the things threatening to explode out of my head.
I breezed to my desk and sat down and started ploughing through my invoice tray. I love my work in credit control. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but I enjoy the balancing act of chasing down debtors and holding off creditors, thereby ensuring that no one ever owes us money, but we invariably owe other people money.
I was so engrossed in my work, I tuned out the sound of my mobile ringing in my handbag for a minute. I don’t often get personal phone calls at work. Matt’s generally the only person to ring me during the day.
I rooted around in my bag and eventually found the phone, which had inevitably wormed its way to the bottom of my bag. As I picked it up, the phone went dead. Typical. I flicked onto missed calls. It wasn’t a number I recognized. I rang it back.
‘Hi,’ I said tentatively, ‘I think you just called me?’
‘Beth?’ I was shocked to hear Caz’s voice. I hadn’t seen her since Doris’s hen weekend, over a fortnight earlier. I didn’t even know she had my number. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I cadged your number off Doris.’
Caz sounded different. Uncertain. Awkward. Most un-Cazlike.
‘Only, I was wondering – if you’d – well, would you mind meeting up for a drink sometime?’
I was stunned. OK, we’d had a nice time when we were away, but still. I hadn’t spent any time alone with Caz for at least five years. Why would she suddenly want to talk to me now?
‘Look, I’ll understand if you say no,’ Caz continued. ‘It’s just that it was so nice meeting you again in Paris. I’d like to catch up properly if you’d like.’
She sounded so tentative and unsure, something crumbled inside me. I had a sudden flashback to the way she was at primary school, just when we’d all started to be friends. Caz was always angry and spoiling for a fight, but we grew to realize that that aggression hid a vulnerability that wasn’t on public display. But now she’d been defensive with us all for so long, I’d forgotten how vulnerable she was underneath.
I took a deep breath.
‘Of course, that would be great,’ I said. ‘When are you free?’
‘This feels…odd,’ Caz said as she faced me over a glass of spritzer in a bar in Soho. Caz always went drinking in Soho, I remembered. I never did. If I drank anywhere it was in a pub round the corner from work in Camden High Street before taking the Northern Line home. I rarely ventured into the West End these days.
‘You’re not drinking?’ Caz said, glancing significantly at my orange juice.
‘I always leave my car at the station,’ I fibbed. There was never anywhere to park at the station, but I was relying on Caz’s ignorance about life in the suburbs for her not to have guessed that. I was hazarding a guess that Caz still lived as close to town as she could. She always was a bright-lights, big-city kind of girl, unlike stay-at-home small-town me. Last I’d heard, she had a flat Islington way, which always seemed glamorous to me.
‘So, how are things?’ Caz said. ‘I mean, I know we chatted that weekend, but it wasn’t like we did much one to one stuff. Tell me about yourself.’
‘Not much to tell,’ I said. ‘I like my job. Matt and I are happy. We live a quiet life. You know me. Never one for a wild time.’
‘Matt well?’
‘He’s great.’ I felt myself relax as I got onto my favourite topic, the general wonderfulness of my gorgeous husband, and my extraordinary luck in catching him. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s kind and he’s witty and he’s caring’ – and he’s never once made me feel bad about not getting pregnant – ‘I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s my best friend and husband and lover all rolled into one.’
