A Most Desirable Marriage Read online

  ‘God, I don’t know. Wouldn’t put it past her. “Oh, Nicky, I can’t possibly have the baby, I wouldn’t do it to you. It’d put sooo much strain on you and your precious career!”’ Cassie’s childish tone was a cruelly accurate imitation of her brother’s girlfriend.

  ‘Now, now, that’s a bit unfair,’ Jo admonished. ‘Maybe she’s just being realistic. She knows she can’t cope.’

  Her daughter harrumphed.

  ‘After all, she didn’t need to get pregnant to keep Nicky, did she? He’s besotted,’ Jo added. ‘And if she did do it on purpose, then why is she saying she doesn’t want it? Doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I just think she’s a bit mental.’

  ‘Nicky wants me and Dad to talk to her.’

  ‘Yeah . . . well, that’ll do a lot of good. Like she really respects you both.’

  ‘My point exactly. But Dad seems to think we need to make the effort anyway. For Nicky’s sake.’

  ‘So what is your position, Mum? Do you think they should keep it?’

  Jo sighed. ‘I hate the thought of losing our grandchild . . . but equally I do wonder how those two will manage. Nicky earns so sporadically, and Amber . . .’

  She heard Cassie laugh. ‘You wait. They’ll be asking to move in with you. And you won’t be able to say no.’

  ‘Don’t want to think about that possibility, thank you.’ Jo paused. ‘We can’t influence them. It’d be wrong. They’re both adults, they have to make their own decision on this one.’

  ‘Ha! Neat, Mum.’

  Jo laughed. ‘I’m not trying to avoid responsibility, honest.’

  ‘No, of course not. Anyway, I agree.’

  ‘How’s Matt?’ Jo’s question was tentative. Cassie had said little in the last month about how it was going down on the farm. Whenever Jo asked, she always deflected the query, as if her husband was in the room with her.

  Cassie didn’t reply for a minute.

  ‘Yeah . . . OK . . .’ her voice had sunk to a whisper. ‘I think – fingers crossed – that we’re getting a fridge.’

  ‘That’s brilliant news, darling.’

  ‘It’s a recycled one, of course. And I’ll barely be allowed to open it – did you know that door openings account for seven per cent of fridge energy? But I don’t care.’

  ‘It means he’s listening, no?’

  ‘I think. Too complicated to tell you now, Mum.’ She was still whispering.

  ‘OK,’ Jo found herself whispering back. ‘Call me when he’s out sometime, if you can.’

  ‘Will do. Love you. Bye.’

  *

  Amber looked even paler and thinner than usual, if that were possible. She perched tentatively on the sofa in the sitting room, Nicky pressed to her side, hands firmly entwined. Her cornflower-blue eyes were dewy with incipient tears. Jo thought her son looked tired and strained and imagined sleepless nights when the couple went round and round the same unanswerable questions.

  ‘I’ll get the tea,’ Jo said. ‘Will you give me a hand, Nicky?’

  Her son cast an anxious glance at his girlfriend, as if, Jo thought, irritably, Amber might be abducted by aliens if he let go of her hand for a few minutes.

  Once they were in the kitchen, Jo laying out the flapjacks she’d bought from the local café and warming the pot for the tea, she spoke to her son, her voice low.

  ‘It’s good to see you.’

  Nicky’s big frame shifted from foot to foot, his eyes constantly flitting back to the sitting room as he fiddled with the pile of teaspoons on the worktop.

  ‘Yeah, and you.’

  Jo stopped what she was doing. ‘I wish you’d called me.’

  Her son gave a long sigh, still wouldn’t look at her. ‘I . . . sorry, Mum. It’s been a difficult time . . . and . . .’ he stopped.

  ‘It was horrible, not being in touch with you.’

  Now he looked at her, his expression contrite. ‘Sorry. I can’t . . . all the stuff with Amber . . . I’m so sorry, Mum.’ There were tears in his eyes and Jo went at once and put her arms round him. He hugged her back, a fierce, tight embrace, but it was only a second before he let her go, as if he were doing something he shouldn’t. Jo wondered what went on between him and Amber behind closed doors. Was the girl deliberately separating Nicky from his family?

  ‘If you take the tray, I’ll bring the teapot,’ she told him.

  When Amber refused the tea she held out to her, Jo replied, ‘Sorry . . . I didn’t think. Would you prefer herbal?’ Her tone was deliberately softened, although she was thoroughly annoyed with the girl’s blatant refusal to engage, to be normal – it was only a cup of tea, for God’s sake! Lawrence had arrived early, to discuss strategy, but neither of them could come up with a plan. Play it by ear, had been the final consensus.

  Amber shook her head.

  ‘So,’ Lawrence said, his tone business-like. ‘You two are probably sick of the subject, but perhaps you’d like to fill us in on what your thoughts are . . .’

  Amber glanced at Nicky. Nicky smiled encouragingly back.

  ‘Amber doesn’t feel it’s the right time to have a baby . . . what with her being so young, and my career not established, no money . . . lots of reasons.’

  ‘And you want the baby?’ Lawrence asked.

  Nicky nodded. ‘But it’s not my body. I don’t have to go through pregnancy and childbirth, look after it, and so on.’

  Jo turned to Amber. ‘You genuinely don’t want to keep it?’

  The girl looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights at Jo’s question.

  ‘I . . . don’t see how we can,’ she stammered.

  ‘But if you could see a way . . . would you want to?’

  She shrugged her delicate shoulders. ‘I don’t see how . . .’

  ‘I know it wouldn’t be easy, but people far worse off than us have children all the time,’ Nicky said, as much to her as to his parents. It was clearly not a new argument, because Amber just nodded tiredly.

  Lawrence, who was famously impatient with indecision, seemed to be restraining himself when he asked, rather brusquely, Jo thought, ‘So let me get this straight. You don’t want the baby under any circumstances, Amber? Or you might want it . . . you just can’t see a way to make it work?’

  Amber stared at him. She was picking at the sleeve of her white T-shirt, driving a hole through the thin fabric near the seam with her thumbnail. Jo wanted to tell her to stop, to point out what she was doing, but she said nothing. And as she studied the girl, tears that had been glistening around her eyes gathered momentum, and Jo watched as big droplets coursed silently down her pale cheek.

  ‘I . . . don’t know.’

  Lawrence just nodded very slowly. Up and down, up and down went his head, his implied frustration obvious.

  ‘Dad, she’s scared, OK? She knows all the arguments. We’ve been over it hundreds of times.’

  There was silence as everyone looked somewhere else. The lamp light fell on the sofa and Jo noticed that the navy linen on the front edge of the arms was beginning to fray, the dull brown of the original cover peeking through. We must have had that sofa for over twenty years, she thought. Nicky was still only a child.

  ‘It’s just that a decision has to be made one way or the other, quite soon.’ Jo’s tone was gentle. ‘If you’re already ten weeks—’

  ‘We know that,’ Nicky said.

  ‘Have you thought about talking it through with a pregnancy counsellor?’ Jo suggested.

  Amber shook her head. ‘I don’t see how anyone can help. We know all the pros and cons.’

  Lawrence got up. ‘Shall I make more tea? Or something stronger?’

  Jo frowned at him, tugged the back of his sweater. ‘I think we ought to concentrate.’

  Her husband twisted his mouth and sat down again.

  ‘What do you think, Mum?’ Nicky asked, his eyes boring into her as if he thought her opinion might be the defining one, the solution to all their problems. Jo was to
uched by his faith in her wisdom, but she had no idea what she should say.

  ‘I think . . . that it must be very frightening to be suddenly pregnant at your age. I think it’s a huge responsibility for you both. I think you haven’t known each other for very long. And obviously the financial side is going to be difficult.’ She paused. ‘However. A baby is a baby. Your child, ours too. What should you do? I don’t know, and I wouldn’t want to influence your decision even if I did. Which isn’t very helpful, obviously.’

  Nicky sighed, deflated. They both looked so helpless, so exhausted by it all. Jo wanted to hug them, to somehow make it all right.

  ‘I think you should seriously think about booking the abortion . . . if you really don’t want the baby. Or it’ll be too late.’ Lawrence’s voice was toneless, neutral.

  Jo gave a small gasp. Amber’s cornflower eyes widened until they threatened to take over her entire face. Nicky looked stunned.

  ‘Dad!’

  Lawrence’s eyebrows went up. ‘I know, horrible word, “abortion”, but if that’s what we’re talking about, you really don’t have much time.’

  Nicky got up, pulling his girlfriend to her feet.

  ‘Thanks, Dad. Thanks a fucking bunch.’

  They almost ran towards the front door, grabbing their coats, neither looking back. Within seconds they were gone.

  Lawrence looked at Jo and grinned at her expression.

  ‘Shock tactics.’

  She continued to stare at him.

  ‘I just wasn’t sure either of them – particularly Amber – had completely faced the fact that if you don’t want a pregnancy, then the only way out is abortion. The baby isn’t just going to magically disappear.’

  Jo nodded. ‘Seemed a bit brutal.’

  ‘I think it worked, though. Did you see their faces when I said it? Nicky was obviously upset – as he would be – but so was Amber. She looked absolutely horrified. I mean she seems quite naïve, but surely she’s heard the word before?’

  ‘You’re one sneaky bastard,’ she said, almost in awe.

  ‘Well, we’ll see if it helps to change her mind.’ He took a deep breath. ‘God, that was knackering. Fancy a drink?’

  Jo laughed. ‘I’d bloody kill for one. I think there’s a bottle of Donna’s vodka in the freezer.’

  Jo poured a slug of Grey Goose into two Duralex tumblers, adding grapefruit juice in the absence of tonic water, and ice. She handed one to her husband, who chinked her glass as he toasted, ‘Perhaps to our grandchild?’

  They each took an appreciative sip.

  ‘Mmm . . . needed that,’ Jo said. They sat down at the kitchen table. ‘But you do realize that this is going to be a whole other drama, if you’re right and they keep the baby.’

  ‘Hasn’t she got family who’ll help out?’

  ‘No idea. I hardly know anything about her. Cassie is convinced they’ll want to move in here.’

  Jo spoke without thinking, realizing too late the implications for Lawrence regarding the house. She saw him frown and steeled herself for what would inevitably follow.

  But he didn’t respond, just went silent and brooding.

  ‘How are things with you?’ she asked.

  He looked up. ‘Fine. Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, but she’d known him too long and didn’t believe a word. Something was up.

  ‘Jo . . .’

  She held her hand up. ‘Don’t say it.’

  ‘What? Don’t say what?’

  ‘The house?’ she said. ‘Weren’t you going to start on again about selling the house?’

  He took a long breath. ‘Umm . . . no, actually.’

  She waited while he stared at his glass, swirling it around as the ice jangled in the remains of the vodka – the only sound in the kitchen. He drank that quickly, she thought.

  Finally he raised his eyes to hers. ‘Arky wants me to move in.’

  ‘OK . . . that’s good.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Because?’ Jo had spent so many months not mentioning the man’s name, trying her best to blank him from her mind, but now she found she was intrigued as to what was going on between them.

  Lawrence sighed. ‘I’m just not sure.’

  ‘Well, tell him then.’

  ‘Yeah, I have.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he doesn’t understand why not.’ Again he fell silent. ‘He’s a bit upset about it to be honest.’

  She was having trouble imagining them having this domestic, and the incomprehensibility of their relationship hit Jo anew.

  ‘What’s the reason you don’t want to?’

  He gave a tired shrug. ‘I just can’t see myself . . . living with him . . . sharing it all . . . like a couple.’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘I just can’t see it, Jo.’

  No, well, she couldn’t either, so she understood where he was coming from. But she said, ‘Perhaps you need more time?’

  ‘No, I don’t. This isn’t something I can see myself getting used to. I never envisaged moving in with Arky.’

  ‘Really? So you’d be happy to go on living in different places for ever?’

  ‘For ever?’ Lawrence echoed, as if the concept had never occurred to him.

  ‘Well, yes. I mean, people do and it seems to work. Remember Dom and Sarah. They always had separate places and they were devoted to each other.’

  He frowned at her. ‘They died.’

  She couldn’t help smiling, even though their friends’ deaths – Dominic from heart disease, Sarah from an embolism after surgery – had been far from amusing at the time.

  ‘Yes, but not as a result of living apart.’

  ‘He says it’s a deal-breaker,’ Lawrence’s voice was heavy with gloom. ‘He says if I don’t move in, then it must mean I’m not committed to him.’

  ‘Sounds a bit childish.’

  She watched her husband’s face brighten. ‘You think?’

  ‘Well, yes. I mean, if you were both twenty, then perhaps he’d have a point. But at your age . . . do you need to prove anything to him?’

  ‘Arky doesn’t see it like that. He’s accusing me of having cold feet . . . about being with a man.’

  ‘Right.’

  This is too weird, Jo thought. Me giving relationship counselling to my own husband about his boyfriend.

  ‘Top up?’

  He nodded enthusiastically.

  When the glasses were refilled, she took some crisps out of the cupboard and poured them into a bowl. Lawrence fell on them, munching absentmindedly, his thoughts clearly with the Russian history professor’s tantrums.

  ‘But otherwise your relationship is good?’

  ‘There is no “otherwise”. He’s become obsessed.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ He gave her a wan smile. ‘Sorry to dump on you like this, Jo. You’re the last person who wants to hear. Just all this stuff with Nicky, Arky badgering me, Cassie’s marriage teetering by a thread, money . . . it’s all very worrying.’

  Jo was so familiar with that phrase. Lawrence was a Class A worrier. Things would get inside his head, even quite trivial things, like minor set-tos with colleagues or students, and make him fret for days and weeks, out of all proportion to the initial cause.

  ‘Matt’s allowing her to buy a fridge.’

  ‘Really? So things are improving?’

  ‘We haven’t had a chance to talk properly, without him in the background. But even that fact says something. In the past she seemed to be on her own most of the time. It’s a good sign I think.’

  Her husband relaxed back in his chair. ‘That’s one thing off the list then.’

  ‘And Nicky and Amber will sort something out. They’re grown-ups, even if we don’t see them as such.’

  He gave her a wry smile. ‘So that only leaves Arky.’

  ‘Yup.’ She sipped her drink, the edges of the day worn quickly away by the alcohol. ‘But you still love him?’


  It took Lawrence a moment to reply. ‘Love him? I . . . yes . . . yes, I suppose I do.’

  And Jo found she didn’t want to hear that.

  *

  The pet shop that Donna had dragged Jo into as they walked along Notting Hill was empty of customers, the girl behind the counter texting on her mobile. Maxy immediately began snuffling around the various carefully placed toys on the floor – rope bones and chewable rabbits and rattling balls – like a kid in a sweet shop.

  ‘Look at all these things . . . it’s ridiculous,’ Jo whispered to her friend, casting her eye along the shelves and displays.

  ‘Yeah, I know. But I need to get Max a new winter coat. That one he’s got has lost its strap. It’s stopped being waterproof.’

  ‘He’s a Border Terrier, Donna. That means he comes from the Scottish Borders. He doesn’t need a coat in West Eleven.’

  ‘Yes, but he’s getting older. And that shed is like a tomb at this time of year.’ Donna was examining a quilted Barbour coat. ‘Isn’t this the cutest thing?’ She held it up for Jo to approve.

  Jo grinned. ‘And check this out. A dog jumper.’ She waved a tiny red cable-knit garment with tiny sleeves. ‘Angora . . . blimey. And this tweed Sherlock Holmes hat. Oh my God, he’s got to have that.’

  The girl glanced up at them. ‘The tweed’s very popular.’

  Donna smiled politely. Jo knew there was no way Max would ever be allowed to wear a deer-stalker.

  ‘No! Look. A rawhide cupcake.’ Jo bent to stroke the dog, waving the cellophane packet in his face. ‘Things don’t get much better than this, Maxy.’ She turned to Donna. ‘I’m definitely getting it for him.’ Jo suggested they stop for a coffee on their way back home. It was freezing that December morning, the wind-chill making the air biting and painful. All the people on the pavement were scurrying along, heads bent, hats and scarves pulled close, suffering expressions on their faces.

  ‘Christ.’ Donna shivered as they closed the door on the blissfully steamy café. Max was allowed to come in as long as he was kept on his lead, and they settled by the window.

  ‘Maybe he was suggesting coming home,’ Donna said, once their lattes were in front of them.

  ‘He most certainly wasn’t. He said he still loved the bloody man.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have asked.’