‘I want to have a baby.’ The words had danced around Holly’s mouth until she couldn’t keep them in any longer.
Jemma didn’t immediately respond. Holly wondered if she’d heard, but then she lifted her head, smiled, and said, ‘OK.’
They were working at opposite ends of the kitchen table, Jemma editing selfies she’d taken that morning, Holly working on ideas for the menswear department’s till displays.
‘I mean, I want to have a baby now,’ Holly clarified, concerned Jemma didn’t understand her.
‘OK,’ Jemma said again. Her tone was careful: acknowledging that she’d heard, not agreeing to a plan.
‘We’ve always said we want to have a baby one day,’ Holly said.
‘OK.’
‘Please say something other than OK.’
‘OK.’ Jemma said, laughing. ‘OK, let’s have a baby.’
‘Do you want to have a baby?’ Holly asked.
‘Yes. Yes.’ Jemma said. ‘If that’s what you want.’ She sounded distracted, her attention returning to her screen. Then she said, ‘Babies are great for content generation.’
Holly looked at her screen. Photos of men’s underwear stared back at her.
She didn’t know what to say, so she said, ‘OK.’
*
Erin sat on the toilet and wept. She peed with the door open these days, to keep an eye on the twins. The indignity of it made her weep harder.
It was midday. Still hours before Andy got home. The thought of filling that time felt to Erin like trying to swim in a storm. Was she depressed, she wondered? Was this what depression felt like? Or was it the tiredness of a woman who hadn’t slept more than an hour at a stretch in two years? The tiredness of a woman who’d carried two wriggling, complaining, toddlers up three flights of stairs?
Other people’s two-year-olds slept through the night, or so Erin had heard. Other people’s two-year-olds ate balanced meals and listened to stories and played nicely with their toys. Other people’s two-year-olds didn’t become demented with rage if they didn’t get their own way.
The walk had been a bad idea. Archie had picked up a stick, Annie had decided she wanted it, and a scuffle ensued. Both twins were furious and screaming when Erin picked them up and carried them home.
Erin went to the kitchen to start lunch, wondering how she was going to get through the day. And then the questioned answered itself. The wineglass took itself down from the cupboard. The corkscrew took itself out of the cutlery drawer. The wine bottle took itself out of the fridge, and the wine poured itself into the glass. The glass raised itself to Erin’s waiting lips.
*
Angel’s meeting with Dr. Tavish had been surprising. He’d made her a cup of tea: that was the first surprise. He’d listened as she’d told him that her mother had been unwell, that she’d had to travel back and forth from London to care for her, that those absences had affected her work. She’d told him her mother was better now, that she was sure she could make up what she’d missed.
She hadn’t told him the nature of her mother’s illness, which was, she’d come to realise, imaginary. She hadn’t told him how her mother would call, complaining of vague but alarming symptoms, how those symptoms would disappear as soon as Angel got home, only to reappear when it was time for her to return to Edinburgh. She hadn’t told him about the guilt trips, the furious rants, the general shittiness her mother directed her way. She hadn’t told him that, as of a month ago, she was no longer answering her mother’s calls.
She hadn’t needed to. Dr. Tavish had said that, under the circumstances, as long as she completed the rest of the year’s assignments, he didn’t see why her performance in the first semester should affect her final grades.
Now he winked, and said, ‘I shouldn’t do this.’ He turned his laptop so that Angel could see the screen. He changed two of her grades from C to A. That was the second surprise.
‘Thank you, Dr. Tavish,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied. ‘Now, as much as I’m enjoying talking with you, Ms. Ugwu, I’m teaching a class in a few minutes.’ He stood. ‘Let me get the door for you.’ He came round to her side of the desk, and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You are such a bright spark, Angel. I’d hate to see that spark dimmed by circumstances beyond your control.’ With his thumb, he traced the length of her collarbone. His eyes searched hers as he did it. This was the third surprise. Angel felt a shudder of fear in her belly.
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