Dear Thing (19 page)

Posie put both her feet on the rope and Romily sat on the bench, sighing in relief. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blond man in a dull green jacket.

‘Watch this!’ called Posie again and Romily said, ‘Okay,’ but she didn’t stop watching Jarvis, who stood outside the barrier watching his daughter. He had one hand on the gate but he didn’t open it. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, whether he was going to step inside or turn away.

‘Look, no hands! Whoops!’

Instinctively Romily was off the bench again, but Posie managed to catch herself. Romily felt rather than saw Jarvis sit on the bench beside her.

‘How do you handle the terror?’ he asked her in a low voice.

‘Badly.’

On the climbing-frame, Posie was pushing her feet one way on the rope and her hands the other way on the central pole, making the cone spin on its axis. Her entire attention was on going as fast as possible. Her hair tumbled around her face and her jacket was half-open.

‘She’s bigger than in the picture,’ said Jarvis.

‘That happens.’

‘When was her birthday?’

‘February the seventh.’

He grunted. They both watched Posie, who, deciding that the frame was spinning as fast as it would go, scrambled down and jumped off. She landed with a happy whoosh, sure on both feet, and ran to the swings.

‘She’s brave,’ said Jarvis.

‘That’s quite new. She started walking early, but she was physically timid up until she started school. She’s mostly a reader. She has an amazing imagination.’

‘Bright girl.’

‘Frighteningly so, sometimes.’

‘What have you told her all these years?’

‘That I didn’t know where her father was.’

‘Nothing else about me?’

‘Not much.’

‘Kind of you.’ There was a frown between his eyebrows.

‘I didn’t want her to be expecting you to turn up. I didn’t want her to be disappointed if you didn’t.’

‘That’s rich.’

‘We’re doing fine on our own.’

‘I have a life, you know, Romily. I wasn’t expecting to be hit over the head with this. If I haven’t been around for eight years, that’s your fault. Not mine.’

She set her jaw. He crossed his arms.

‘What did you tell her about today?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. I wasn’t sure you’d come, to be honest.’

He shot her a look at this. ‘You haven’t a very high opinion of me, have you?’

‘I have no opinion at all. You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to be. The less I think about it, the less I worry I’ve made a horrible mistake.’

‘What’s your horrible mistake, in your opinion? Telling me now, or not telling me before?’

‘Take your pick.’

‘Oh, believe me, I know which one was the horrible mistake.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Okay, here’s the deal. Someone said to me that it was important that a child should know they are wanted. If you plan to be part of her life, then you can tell her who you are. If you don’t, then don’t. Either way is fine. Today, you’ve got a free go. But if you want to see her
again after this, we’ll have to tell her who you are and she’ll need to know she matters to you. I’m not going to have my daughter mucked around.’

‘I’m her father.’

‘You produced the sperm, yes. Whether you’re going to do anything else is up to you.’

‘No,’ said Jarvis. ‘Up till two weeks ago, it was up to
you
.’

‘Like it or not, those are the rules.’

‘I don’t think you have much right to be setting rules. Not after you robbed me of the chance to make up my own mind.’

‘Romily!’ Posie came running up from the swings, panting. ‘Do you have my bottle of water?’

Romily produced it. Posie took a long drink, oblivious of the man sitting beside her mother. She handed the bottle and the cap back to Romily separately. ‘Come and push me,’ she said, and ran back to the swings.

Romily and Jarvis considered each other for a long moment. Then Jarvis got up and went to the swings.

Romily pulled her legs up on the bench, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on one of her knees.
My
daughter, she thought.
Mine
.

But she stayed where she was.

Not far off nine years ago, when she’d recently started her PhD and Ben and Claire had started planning their wedding, she had met Jarvis on a blind date set up by some of her Museum of Natural History buddies. They’d met at the Queen’s Arms in South Kensington; Romily got to the pub very early and had been sitting there for two and a half hours, drinking pints of London Pride and rereading
The Man Who
Mistook His Wife For a Hat
. He’d turned up carrying a large parcel which he put down on the table.

‘You’ve started without me,’ he said. He was wearing a T-shirt and combat trousers. He was thinner than Ben, untidier than Ben, fairer than Ben. When he ran his hand through his hair, slightly damp from sweat, his T-shirt rode up enough so she could see a hint of skin.

You’ll do
, she thought.

‘You’re late,’ she said. ‘What’s in the parcel?’

‘It’s my cousin’s birthday gift. I missed the Post Office.’

‘I’m on London Pride.’

‘Excellent.’

He’d returned with a pint for each of them and a shot of Jack Daniel’s for himself. ‘I need to catch up,’ he said.

Four hours later, they were in his bed in his studio flat in Hackney. The walls were papered with his photographs of woodpeckers. He’d won an award.

‘I’m not looking for love,’ she told him, her head on his hard shoulder, running her hand up and down his chest to see how it felt.

‘Now that’s a relief,’ he said. ‘I’m off round the world anyway. Someday.’

‘So am I.’

He bent his head to kiss her and pull her closer so they could make love again.

As Romily recalled, most of their dates went like that.

On the swings, he pushed Posie higher and longer than Romily would have pushed her, and then he spun her on the roundabout so fast that she couldn’t stop laughing. When the ice-cream van passed the park, Posie got her usual hopeful look and Jarvis loped over to the van, his hand in his pocket.

Romily opened her mouth to protest but then she shut it. He had not bought her an ice cream in seven years. Typical that Posie didn’t ask her permission, though. And she noticed that Jarvis bought two cornets, ignoring Romily.

The two of them sat side by side on the swings to eat their ice creams and Romily watched them from her bench. They were talking about something but she couldn’t hear what. She itched to go over and join them. She would go over if Posie seemed at all uncomfortable, or Jarvis seemed at all angry. But they just chatted.

Jarvis didn’t stop her from wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

Posie jumped up and ran to the climbing-frame again. ‘Watch!’ Romily heard her call. Jarvis watched for a little while, then he picked up her discarded ice-cream wrapper and brought it over to the bin near Romily’s bench.

‘I don’t think that went too badly,’ he said.

‘She gets on with most grown-ups. It comes with being an only child. What did you talk about?’

‘I didn’t tell her I was her father, if that’s what you’re asking.’

It was, but Romily shrugged. ‘We’re fine,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t got a big hole in her life or anything like that.’

‘I like her.’ His voice caught.

Romily hugged her knees and concentrated on watching Posie, who climbed on, oblivious.

Jarvis cleared his throat. ‘I want to see her again.’

‘That means you’re going to tell her.’

‘It’s my right.’

‘I’m not thinking of what’s best for you, Jarvis.’

‘I’m staying at my brother-in-law’s flat in London. He’ll let me stay as long as I like.’

‘And when do you go off again?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.’

She stood up. ‘You can’t muck her around, Jarvis. I warned you.’

‘Because you have always, one hundred per cent, made decisions for her that were the right ones. Correct?’

‘You don’t know what it’s like to be a parent.’

‘Funny, that,’ he said, and his voice was dangerously low.

‘Romily! Jarvis! Watch!’

Posie hung upside down from the climbing-frame. She waved at them, clambered upright, and hung upside down again from another rung.

‘Good work, Pose,’ called Romily.

‘I’m off now, Posie,’ called Jarvis. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He turned to Romily. ‘I’ll ring you next week.’

Romily watched him go. She wondered whether they were doing the right thing.

‘
YOU’VE BOOKED US
into pregnancy yoga,’ said Romily. Her voice sounded less than enthusiastic.

‘I think it’ll be fun,’ Claire said, tucking her gym membership card back into her purse. ‘It’ll be good for the three of us to do something together for the baby. Also, studies have shown that it can reduce morning sickness.’

‘Well, that would be worth getting a babysitter for.’

‘Yoga helps you live in the moment,’ Claire added. ‘Which is something I could do with.’

‘And I get to see the women in their tight leggings,’ said Ben. ‘So it’s win-win all round.’ He was grinning. It was so easy to make him happy, Claire thought, and when he was happy it was catching. And things seemed easier between her and Romily this time. As if their argument in Starbucks had cleared the air.

Ben opened the yoga studio door for Claire and Romily, but Romily paused on the threshold, taking in the mirrors and the wooden floors, the New Age music playing, the serene-looking women sitting on blue mats, their hands folded over their swollen bellies. For a moment,
Claire expected her to turn around and leave.

‘Why isn’t there pregnancy football, is what I’d like to know,’ Romily muttered, and went in. She was wearing loose drawstring jogging bottoms and a mismatched T-shirt. At seventeen weeks, in clothes that weren’t too big for her, she was definitely beginning to show; there was a roundness to her stomach and it looked as if she’d gone up a bra size or two. Ben, still grinning, fetched mats for all of them and they settled in a row on the floor with him in the middle. Claire automatically assumed the lotus position, closed her eyes and breathed in and out, seeking to empty her mind of the thought that yet again she was in a room full of other women who were going to have babies.

She was going to have a baby too. It was all right. Everything would be all right. As soon as this baby was in her arms, it wouldn’t matter whose womb it had grown in.

‘Welcome,’ said a musical voice, and Claire opened her eyes. The instructor squatted in front of them. It wasn’t one Claire had seen before; there must be a different one for the antenatal and fertility groups. She was wearing purple leggings and top, and smiling directly at Ben. ‘How lovely to see a father here as well.’

He was the only man in the room – possibly, from the way the instructor was looking at him, the only man in the world. ‘It’s a pleasure to be here,’ said Ben.

‘It’s so important for the father to be involved every step of the way,’ said the instructor. ‘Yoga can help you find an inner calm that bonds the parents together. Of course, the baby can feel that togetherness in the womb.’

‘Of course.’

‘Some fathers even experience pregnancy symptoms along with their partners. Are you?’

Claire heard Romily’s soft snort of amusement. Ben smiled wider. ‘I have had a strong craving for pickled onions,’ he said.

Claire nudged him, and for the first time the instructor turned her attention to her. ‘And you’re Mummy?’

‘I …’ she began, as beside her Ben gestured to Romily. Claire flushed, conscious of her lack of pregnancy, even more obvious in her workout clothes.

‘We’re both Mummy,’ said Romily.

‘Oh,’ said the instructor. ‘You’re sisters? Or friends?’

‘We’re both Mummy,’ repeated Romily. ‘And Ben is Daddy.’

‘To … for both of you?’ The woman’s gaze travelled between Claire, Romily and Ben.

Claire opened her mouth to explain the surrogacy situation, but before she could do so, Romily said, ‘Yes. We’re both having Ben’s baby.’ She smiled brightly at the instructor.

‘Oh. Oh well, that is very … interesting.’

‘We’re extremely excited about it.’

‘Whilst at the same time having a deep inner calm,’ added Ben.

‘And togetherness,’ said Romily. ‘Lots and lots of togetherness.’ She caught Claire’s eye and winked.

The entire room was watching them now. Ben was revelling in it, his chest practically puffed out at having been revealed as a super-stud.

Claire bit her lip to stop from smiling.

‘We’re quite keen to work on our flexibility,’ she said, and heard Romily stifle another laugh.

‘Right. Well, that’s …’ The instructor stood. ‘Are there any injuries I should know about? Any problems?’

‘I’m throwing up regularly,’ said Romily.

‘I’m having a little trouble being in the now,’ said Claire.

‘I don’t have any problems at all,’ said Ben.

The instructor glanced between the three of them again, but Claire kept her face straight, through long practice of being in front of a classroom with a poker face. Ben and Romily smiled innocently.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Okay. I think we’ll start with a Sun Salutation, everyone …’

‘Thanks to the two of you, I now need to switch gyms.’ They’d come back to Claire and Ben’s house still in their workout gear, not having fancied the scrutiny of fellow pregnancy yoga practitioners in the changing room, and were now having tea in the kitchen. Claire put slices of banana cake on plates. ‘If I go back there again they’ll probably give my name to
The Jeremy Kyle Show
.’

‘It’s not so bad,’ said Ben. ‘I quite enjoyed it, actually.’

‘Of course
you
did.’

‘We only told them the truth. We
are
all having a baby together. If she wanted to have a dirty mind, that was her own fault.’

‘You might have helped her along a little.’

‘All that Mummy and Daddy stuff,’ said Romily. ‘It’s sickly. Just because you’re having a baby, it doesn’t mean that your identity is erased. And just because you’re not the actual pregnant one, it doesn’t mean that you don’t exist.’