Beneath the Surface (6 page)

‘Can we ask you something, Mum?’ Hannah said tentatively. ‘Run something by you?’

‘Can
you
ask, you mean,’ Lauren muttered.

Hannah gave her sister a sideways glance before looking back at her mother and continuing. ‘
We
,’ she paused, adding emphasis to the word, ‘we were wondering if we could go away this summer, just Lauren and me. Maybe?’

Kathryn carefully rested her knife and fork on the table and looked at Hannah, who in turn briefly dropped her gaze to the table before puffing herself up and attempting to smile. Suddenly Kathryn had lost her appetite.

‘What do you mean, like a trip?’ she asked.

‘I know you won’t want to go anywhere,’ Hannah went on, ‘I mean, what with Grandma being ill and all, but—’ She paused and Kathryn waited for her to continue, to see if she had thought through what she wanted to ask. Already she could feel the butterflies gnawing away inside her gut.

‘So maybe just Lauren and I could go somewhere. Out of the Bay,’ the words came tumbling out. ‘Not abroad or anything, and not for long, just to go somewhere else for a bit. Maybe. Mum?’

Kathryn opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t form the words she wanted. What she would have liked was to calmly tell her daughter that the world was too big a place for children of their age. Hadn’t she told them enough times the Bay was all they needed? But she feared her voice wouldn’t sound calm and rather thought she would instead scream the words, which might push them still further away from her.

Fear was bubbling inside her. How she wanted to grab hold and never let them go. Didn’t they understand how much she loved them? How much it broke her heart to think of them somewhere she couldn’t see them and know what they were doing? Still, she knew how insane that would sound if she were to try to explain to anyone how she felt: her overwhelming need to keep them close and prevent them from getting into trouble. She had spent years building them a safe life in Mull Bay and now they wanted to break free. Kathryn closed her eyes and silently begged her mother to tell her what to do but no words came back from her.

‘Mum?’ Lauren’s voice broke her thoughts. Her daughter sounded worried. Kathryn snapped her eyes open and took in the two of them watching her, their faces blank, gaze unmoving. Maybe she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t talk about this right now. I have too many other things to think about. And we have Grandma’s birthday this weekend and—’ Her voice drifted off.

‘We’re sixteen,’ Hannah muttered. ‘We’re going to be seventeen this December. We’re old enough to be trusted.’

Don’t say that
, Kathryn thought.
Don’t tell me you’re nearly seventeen. You’re still babies, children who need me. And don’t question what I say.
She could so clearly remember Morrie once saying to her that she needn’t worry about her children when they were tucked up safely in the bedroom next to hers. ‘Wait till they’re older and you don’t know where they are, or what time they’ll be home,’ he had joked. But he hadn’t understood the enormity of those words. What she feared most was the girls growing up and not being able to have any control over them anymore.

‘Leave it,’ Kathryn said as calmly as she could. ‘Please just leave it.’ Standing up, she started clearing away the dishes, signalling the end of the conversation. ‘I hope you have both remembered Grandma’s birthday present,’ she added as she left the room and went into the kitchen.

The air was thinning and she needed to grab onto the counter to steady herself as she moved to the sink. She couldn’t go through it all again as she had all those years ago: she didn’t have the strength. Scrubbing hard at a pan, Kathryn tried to shake off the thought that she was losing another piece of control, only this time she had no clue as to what to do about it.

Dear Adam,

There were things that happened, Adam. There were secrets in our family so tightly compressed into concealed packages that sometimes I forgot what the truth was. They taught me to lie, but I never wanted to do so with you. I never intended to, but still I did.

For three years and ten months we were blissfully happy and I thought nothing was going to ruin that. We had married in a registry office in Scotland, a quiet ceremony with only your parents there. It was the happiest day of my life. I was so grateful you easily accepted that I didn’t want a big wedding even though I had a feeling you would have liked one. We spent lazy holidays in Greece and Italy, reading books and dozing in hammocks. Our weekends were taken up with long brunches, afternoons wandering around museums or seeing your friends. Life was pretty close to being perfect.

But then one Saturday morning I woke to see you grinning at me like an excited little boy.

‘Let’s do it,’ you said. ‘Let’s try for a baby.’

My heart stopped.

‘What?’ I sat up, pushing the pillows behind my back and stared at you. ‘What do you mean? We’ve never spoken about babies before.’

‘No, I know.’ You were still grinning. ‘But it’s obviously something I’ve always wanted. And I think, why not now? Everything’s going so well for us. Things couldn’t be better.’

Yes, I wanted to say. Everything was going so well for us so why spoil it by talking about having babies? And was it that obvious you’d always wanted them? It certainly wasn’t to me.

Your face was so full of hope and excitement. I knew if I told you I didn’t want children it would shatter you and I couldn’t do that. I had promised you I would do anything to make you happy, because that was all you had ever done for me. But this was not on my radar. The thought of trying for a baby left me cold. I kissed you on the forehead and told you I was going for a shower. ‘OK,’ you said as I got out of bed and walked to the door. ‘I love you, Abi. I’m so happy right now. I can’t believe we haven’t done anything about this before.’ I let the cold water wash over my body as I fought with the dilemma of staying true to myself or giving the man I loved what he wanted.

*****

One year later you were getting ready to go back to work after the Christmas break. It was January 7th, 2013, the day after your thirtieth birthday. You looked tired and I noticed for the first time lines appearing around your eyes. They weren’t sparkling with life as they usually were. ‘Didn’t you sleep well?’ I asked.

‘Not really.’ You shook your head. ‘I’ve been thinking we should go and see someone, a fertility doctor. A girl at work was talking about this guy, Dr Richards. She said he’s really good.’

‘Oh?’ I really didn’t want us to go down that route and so I tried to play down the idea.

‘You don’t sound keen,’ you said.

‘I think we should give it another couple of months,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if I like the thought of seeing a doctor yet.’

You smiled in return and said, ‘OK,’ but I could tell you were getting impatient.

Then three days later you came home from work and told me you had booked us an appointment. ‘I know you said not yet, but he’s the best guy around,’ you beamed. ‘We’re lucky to get in so quickly. He has a cancellation for next week and I said we’ll take it. I don’t see the point of waiting any longer, do you, Abs?’ Suddenly life had returned to your eyes.

‘I don’t understand how it’s so soon,’ I said. ‘Isn’t there a waiting list or something?’

‘What’s the point in not going private if you can afford it?’ you replied. You rarely used money as a solution but I hated it whenever you did.

I felt my body tense with annoyance. ‘There’s plenty of other things we should be spending the money on,’ I said. ‘The car needs a service and we could do with a new dishwasher. That one barely gets the dishes clean anymore. I’m forever taking dirty bowls out, still caked in porridge.’

You grinned and grabbed my arms, ‘Abi, I will buy you a new dishwasher if that’s what your heart desires. But we can afford this, too.’ You kissed me on the forehead, still grinning at me foolishly.

I should have said no to you there and then but I couldn’t. Your face was lit up like it was Christmas morning. You thought Dr Richards would be the answer to our problems. So I went along with your plan until the morning of our appointment, when I tried to cancel it. I was at work and hadn’t concentrated on anything for two hours. Lucy asked me if I was ill but I couldn’t tell her I was sick to the stomach with nerves. She would want to know why, and no one knew that.

Instead I called Dr Richards’ office and spoke to the receptionist – I was going to tell you they had cancelled us. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do anything without speaking to Adam Lewis,’ she told me. ‘He’s the one who’s booked and paid for the appointment,’ she added. ‘Plus he said it was urgent when he called last week and I’ve done everything I can to squeeze you in. If you really need to cancel I won’t be able to refund your money.’

I hung up. You’d told me they had a cancellation. You’d lied to me but I couldn’t say anything because then you’d wonder how I knew the truth. I had no option but to show up as planned.

I didn’t eat anything all day and felt empty and nauseous in the waiting room. I saw you glance at me when I refused a cappuccino out of their posh machine, but you didn’t say anything. When Dr Richards appeared at the door of his room and called our names I froze. ‘Don’t be nervous,’ he smiled, flashing his bright white teeth at me. He was older than I expected. The flecks of grey in his hair and the creases on his face were oddly comforting.

He stood aside and gestured us into his office, where a real oak desk and cream leather sofas dominated the room. Oil paintings hung on the French-grey walls and a fireplace was stacked with logs on the far side. It all spoke money and I flashed you a look to let you know I wasn’t happy.

‘So, what’s brought you here?’ he asked, looking at me. I wanted to say, what do you think has brought us here? I would have thought that was obvious, us being in a fertility clinic. But I didn’t say anything; I couldn’t articulate myself. And when the silence was too much you jumped in.

‘We wanted to talk to you about the fact we’ve been trying for a baby, but it hasn’t happened for us,’ you explained clearly. ‘We’re worried that something’s wrong and if it is, we want to know what that might be so we can do something about it.’

Dr Richards nodded and continued to smile but he kept looking at me, like he assumed I was the one who wanted this appointment. He leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his thumbs. ‘And how long have you been trying?’ he asked me. When still I didn’t answer I watched him slowly move his gaze to you.

‘Just over a year,’ you told him.

He nodded again and asked more questions, about our general health, pressures at work, and whether either of us considered ourselves to be stressed, even how often we had sex. I swam in and out of the conversation. He asked more and more questions and each one you answered succinctly. Occasionally he glanced at me, probably to check I was still alive. I still hadn’t spoken and it crossed my mind to get up and walk out of the room – leave the adults to discuss why we hadn’t yet managed to conceive a child.

At one point everything became blurred and I thought I might faint. I’ve never fainted in my life and don’t know why I thought I might have done so then, but the room was spinning and I was suddenly unbearably hot and dizzy. That’s when I noticed you both looking at me. I was busy fanning myself with a leaflet I had taken from his desk and hadn’t heard what had last been said, but you were obviously waiting for me to answer.

‘I was just asking how you feel about all this?’ Dr Richards prompted, still smiling. ‘We haven’t heard from you yet.’ His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at me seriously. ‘Can I get you a glass of water?’

I shook my head and still you waited.

‘I don’t know,’ was all I could think of saying. ‘How I feel about it, I mean.’

If you were annoyed with me you didn’t show it.

His bright, wide smile was slowly fading.
We have a strange one here
, he must have thought. He’d probably seen nothing like it before: a woman who had no idea what she thought about not getting pregnant.

I knew he wanted more and I wanted to say something that would satisfy you both so the attention would be taken off me. I could feel the heat of you sitting next to me. You were shuffling in your chair and I didn’t want to let you down any more than I already was. ‘I guess I feel the same as Adam,’ I spluttered, hoping this would suffice, but of course it didn’t.

Dr Richards’ smile had disappeared by then. You grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze in a show of solidarity. Did you think this is just Abi being Abi? Whenever you took me to your office Christmas dinners I would stand in front of the latest person to be introduced to me, trying to figure out something amusing or intelligent to say. By the time I had thought of it the topic had moved on. You would then sling an arm over my shoulder and say, ‘Did you know Abi works for an ad agency? Joan, isn’t that the same as your husband?’ And then Joan or whoever was left to make conversation with me would turn and ask me something I could happily answer. You always had a knack for filling my silences.

Dr Richards had seen more than nerves, though. At the end of our allotted time he said, ‘Abi, I’d like you to come and visit me on your own, if you would be happy to?’ The smile had sprung back. ‘Maybe next week?’

‘Is that necessary?’ you asked, shuffling forward so you were a barrier between him and me. You knew it would be the last thing I’d want to do.

‘Not if Abi doesn’t want to, but I’d like to have the chance to chat with her on her own,’ he said. ‘If that’s OK, Abi?’

I nodded because more than anything I couldn’t find the right way to say no.

*****