December EIGHT YEARS BEFORE

December

E IGHT YEARS BEFORE

6.00 P . M .

Madeleine took a deep breath, knowing she had to say it, but not sure how to get the words out.

‘Come on! Don’t keep me in suspense! How far are you?’ Marnie pushed.

‘I’m seven months pregnant, Mum. Twenty-four weeks. Seven months.’ She spoke clearly, bracing herself for the fallout.

Her mother sprayed her laughter into the room, like blowing a raspberry – childish, a reflex almost – and she understood. Because despite having had the test, seen the scan, and heard that powerful boom-boom , boom-boom of a heartbeat, she too found the whole concept to be unimaginable.

‘What d’you mean, seven months?’ Marnie asked when finally able to compose herself.

‘I mean, I woke up feeling sick and horrible. I went to the doctor, who did a test that came back positive. I then had a scan which confirmed that I am seven months pregnant.’

‘You’re not joking?’ The crease at the top of her mum’s nose spoke of her confusion.

‘I’m not joking, no.’

‘But ...’ Marnie seemed to study her.

‘I know, I don’t look it. I had no clue – none. And I certainly don’t feel pregnant, or at least I didn’t until I saw her image on the scan.’

‘Oh!’ Marnie briefly buried her face in her hands. ‘A little girl! You’re having a little girl! That’s wonderful!’

‘Mum.’ This had gone too far. She needed to level with her mother, make her intentions clear. ‘I don’t think I can. I mean, I can’t ... I can’t ...’ She tried to get the words out, the words that stuck like pins in her throat, words that she knew would unleash a whole world of pain and wipe the joy from her mother’s face. Neither of which she relished. Marnie clearly wasn’t listening as the words rushed from her, as if the ideas formed and out of her mouth they popped.

‘I’m going to knit! I’m going to knit her a little matinee jacket just like your Nana Edith did for you, and a matching bonnet and—’

‘Mum.’ She spoke louder now.

‘What, my love? Do you need anything? A cup of tea? Foot rub?’

‘I’m not sure I’m going to keep her.’

This was a lie; she was almost entirely certain she was not going to keep her.

Madeleine had heard the expression of going as white as a sheet but had never seen it until that moment. Marnie’s high colour disappeared from her cheeks and her pallor, in an instant, was almost grey.

‘It’s ... It’s all new and I’m still processing it, but if I had to make the call right now, I’d say that I wouldn’t keep her. I don’t see how I can. And, crucially, I really don’t want to.’

‘But ... surely not! No! Of course you want to keep her! It will all work out, it will. It will all come good in the end. I ...’ Her mum’s mouth moved but no more words came.

They sat quietly for a beat. It felt like they were both trying to figure out the best route forward and were simultaneously exhausted in advance at the prospect.

‘I just don’t know what to say right now, Madeleine. I don’t know what to do!’ Marnie wrung her hands, her anguish visible. ‘This has gone from being one of the best moments of my life to the very worst. I can feel it in my stomach – this terrible, terrible sense of grief at the very idea that you—’

‘This is not about you, Mum.’

It was typical. The way her mother harnessed a situation and steered it in the direction that suited her, as if she knew best – as if she always knew best. It didn’t matter so much when the issue was what to have for supper, the best way to iron a shirt, the quickest bus routes, but this ... Madeleine knew it was nothing so frivolous. She had to find the strength in her weakened and confused state to stand her ground.

‘I know that. I just don’t want you to act in haste. I do know that, I just ...’ Marnie hesitated, wary, it seemed, of saying the wrong thing. Madeleine hated that she had put her in this position. Her mum was remarkable. She knew that not every mother would receive the news of their daughter’s pregnancy out of the blue and welcome it so fully, digesting it quickly.

Madeleine also knew her well enough to understand how she would have let the facts settle and swiftly found the pocketful of sunshine. A baby! A grandchild! This glorious news that would allow Marnie’s mind to leap ahead, forming pictures of a life she would embrace – no doubt imagining the little one’s first Christmas, first steps, first tooth, starting school, nativity plays, crudely drawn pictures stuck to the fridge doors, and the sheer joy of watching her family tree grow deeper roots and higher branches, under which they could all rest in their dotage. But Madeleine knew this was a falsehood, aware that her plans had taken a scythe to that pocketful of sunshine and left it sitting forlornly in a pile somewhere.

‘As I said, I’m still processing everything, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. But I’m also aware that this baby will be here in a couple of months. I’m considering all my options.’

‘What do you mean, your options ? You have no options!’ Marnie raised her voice a little. ‘Motherhood is only a choice before you are seven months bloody pregnant!’ It was obvious she regretted how she’d shouted; her hand flew over her mouth and Madeleine understood how easy it was to lose control when fear guided the words from your throat. When Marnie spoke again, it was with a calmer tone, pleading almost. ‘Talk to me. What is it, love? I can imagine how scared you must be. Of course you are, because it is scary and a shock! But I meant what I said: your dad and I are here for you, always. We’ll help you. We can put things in place, we’ll—’

‘You’re just not listening to me!’ she shouted, standing now, then pacing the small lounge in her socks, her trousers clinging to her slender legs and without even the slightest of bulges, despite her advanced stage, beneath her pale grey sweater. The one with the sleeve that smelled of dried pee.

‘I’m trying to listen, but you’re not saying anything that makes sense to me!’ At last the truth from Marnie’s mouth.

She turned sharply and stared at her mum; her eyes carried a desperate glaze of sorrow and confusion that to Madeleine felt like nothing but pressure.

‘You never understand my choices, Mum. You don’t understand me !’ The crack in her voice was hard to control.

‘What do you mean?’

What did she mean? The times when Marnie had given her a similar look of sorrow and confusion were many. Each one burned in her memory, there for perfect recall that was either motivating or heart-rending depending on Madeleine’s mood. Every suggestion from her mother was designed, it felt, to keep her daughter close, to maintain the boundaries that kept her firmly in her place, ensuring that she lived a life close by, a life just like her mother’s.

‘No, Mum. It does matter that I do my homework. We can go shopping another time. I need to get this done.’

‘No, Mum. That’s not true, people do care about grades. At least, I care about grades ...’

‘No, Mum. It’s very kind of you to have had a word, but I don’t want to enrol at catering college. I want to work in central London ...’

‘No, Mum. I’m not going to stay here and let you help me save up. I want to move into a shared flat, spread my wings ...’

‘No, Mum. I’m not going out with Billy from the block opposite. I never want to end up like Billy’s mum, stuck here on the estate, counting the pennies. I want a different life, a fancy-pants life. I don’t want to end up as a woman like that.’

Her implication, whether intentional or not had been clear: a woman like you ...

‘I mean’ – she drew breath – ‘that sometimes I think you find it hard to see things from my point of view. You only think about what’s right for you and not what’s right for me.’

‘Of course I do! You’re my child, my only child and you were hard won, we never thought—’

‘Oh, I know! I know!’ Madeleine placed her hands in her hair and looked skyward. ‘I know how you longed for a baby! I know what you went through – we all do! I’ve heard it my whole life. I understand that you saw every doctor this side of the Thames, who all told you there was no reason, no medical barrier, and yet ...’ She let her arms fall and took a deep breath. She was exhausted. ‘I know it was when you stopped fretting, stopped panicking, that you fell pregnant with me. I know having me was like walking around with a pocketful of bloody sunshine that could brighten your world on even the dullest, darkest day.’

‘It was. It is.’ Marnie gave a small smile at this truth, a fact that was obviously still so wonderful to her.

Madeleine gave in to the tiredness that pulled at her muscles and slumped once more back into the chair in the corner, next to the window that looked out over the walkway, shrouded by the net curtains that her mum washed monthly with a scoop of bicarb to keep them bright. She clasped her hands over her stomach and pictured the baby girl that lurked within. ‘But I am not you, Mum.’

‘I know that! I’ve never—’

‘You don’t know that!’ She sat forward, her tone impassioned, as pleas, distress and cutting honesty dripped down the walls and pooled on the floor, giving off fumes that were so potent she could breathe little else. ‘You really don’t know, Mum. You never have, and it’s evident in every suggestion you make. I don’t know how to make you understand that I’m not you; I’ve never been you. And instead of a pocketful of sunshine’ – she prodded her stomach – ‘I feel like I’ve got a heavy rock in my gut. One that is weighing me down, dragging me to the floor and tethering me to a life I know I don’t want.’ Tears unexpectedly sheeted her face and Marnie looked conflicted, as if her heart was shredded at the sight of such turmoil, while her brain ran the reality this way and that, trying to make sense of what Madeleine was saying to her. ‘And if further proof were needed, it’s in the fact that before you even asked what my plans were or what I thought I might do, you are planning what to knit! I mean, sweet Jesus!’

‘So what do you want?’

Marnie ran her tongue over her top lip, trying to catch her tears that fell. Madeleine felt split in two, already pulled in one direction by loyalty, devotion and tradition to her mum and dad and the life they wanted for her, and knowing that the life she wanted was within reach – a life of freedom, a life of success. So close she could taste it! She wiped her face and did her best to halt her tears.

‘Not this. Definitely not this.’

She ran her palm over her waistband and did her best to hide the flicker of something close to horror that leaped inside her.

‘So what now, then? What happens next?’

‘Adoption.’ Madeleine held Marnie’s eyeline, the word spoken without any of the emotion or hesitancy she thought might accompany it. She was aware of the weight of it, and that it was surely a knife in Marnie’s heart. But this was her life, not her mother’s. That was the one thing she did know. ‘But, as I say, it’s all new – all so bloody shocking! I need time to think about it, to understand how it all works.’ It was easy to sound confident, even though the prospect felt more than a little overwhelming.

Marnie sat back in her seat, looking as if someone had punched her in the gut so hard she couldn’t get a full breath. She shook her head.

‘The idea that a stranger might get to raise this child, our own flesh and blood! It’s unthinkable. And I know he’s not here, but I know it’s what your dad would say.’

‘God, Mum, it’s such a bloody awful mess.’ Madeleine wiped her face with her hands and shrugged at the understatement.

‘It doesn’t have to be.’ Again Marnie was on her knees in front of her. ‘What about ... What about if your dad and I raised the baby?’ Her face was again animated, some semblance of colour returned to her cheeks.

‘No, no, that sounds ...’ She shook her head. It sounded awful and involved and wasn’t what she wanted at all. The thought of being confronted by the child every time she came home would mean this nightmare lingered for ... for ever! Her wish was that her life might carry on as if this had never happened. Yes, she would inevitably be changed, but ultimately she believed it possible. Also, did she really want to consign a baby girl to repeat her childhood, where the walls felt like they were closing in and everything that sparkled felt just out of reach?

‘Sounds what?’ Marnie’s voice was stretched thin with emotion.

‘Sounds complicated. Too complicated.’

‘Jesus Christ! Every bit of this is complicated! But letting my granddaughter be adopted doesn’t make it less complicated. I can’t even imagine that.’

‘And I can’t imagine coming home for Christmas or the odd weekend and watching you play with my daughter-sister! It’s weird!’

‘We’d make it not weird. We’d make it normal, and it would be for her.’ It was as if ideas formed on her tongue. Marnie spoke rapidly and nervously.

‘And how exactly would we do that, Mum?’

‘By ... by telling her the truth from day one – that I was her nan and Dougie was her pop, and that we’d love her for ever like a mum and dad. Just like we do her mummy.’

Madeleine stared out of the window, looking up towards the glimpse of evening sky visible through the curtains, considering this very thing, trying to imagine the scenario. The thought of the little girl sleeping in her bed, eating her tea with Dougie in the way she had liked to, battling with Marnie, perhaps, just as she had. She didn’t think she could do it – was almost certain it was a non-starter for a million different reasons, but if it was feasible ... would that make it an easier transition? Might it be that to let the child live a life Madeleine knew and understood could be the key to future peace? Would it be the best thing to quieten any fears around the unknown, any doubts over whether the little girl was loved, cared for, happy? Might it also appease the guilt she knew was waiting in the wings, already prodding her conscience?

‘I could send money when I get on my feet, when I get promoted.’ She thought about the images she was going to draw for Rebecca.

Marnie shook her head, her eyes flashed with indignancy. ‘No, love. We wouldn’t need your money.’ She sucked her teeth. ‘We’ve always managed and we always will. Kids don’t need diamonds and steak, none of us do. We need love, attention, a cuddle at the end of a difficult day, someone to talk to and a place to be – a safe haven.’

‘But ...’ Confusion rolled in her mind like thunder. What if she wanted her child to aspire to steak and diamonds?

‘No.’ Marnie stared at her with red-glazed eyes. ‘If we do this, and I’m hoping you change your mind, praying you come to see what a blessing this little one is, hoping you might feel differently when you hold her ...’ This, Madeleine knew, would be her mother’s absolute wish, the same sentiment Trina had expressed, as if both refused to believe she would see it through. ‘If we do this, then I would have three conditions.’

‘What are they?’

‘The first I’ve said: that we are honest with this child from the start. Any lack of transparency would only lead to heartache further down the line. A secret like that would be like living above a trap door, and I couldn’t exist knowing that at any second it could give way.’ Madeleine wondered what it might feel like, having to face her daughter, who would know the circumstances of her birth and how she had effectively given her up. ‘Second: you don’t pay us or contribute. We’ve raised you just fine and I’d never want the little one to think there was any financial gain for us. I wouldn’t want that either, even the smallest suggestion that we were being paid to have her, instead of doing it for love.’ Marnie visibly shuddered. ‘That wouldn’t feel right to me.’

‘What’s the third one?’ Her hands fidgeted in her lap.

‘That you tell the father.’

Madeleine shook her head. ‘No. No way. Why would I? It’s nothing to do with him! How would that chat go? Oh, hi, mate, I know I haven’t seen you for six months, but guess what? I’m about to have a baby and it’s yours!’

‘But it is something to do with him, whether you like it or not.’

‘Not!’ she fired back, suddenly remembering that she’d told Trina who the father was, and now unsure if she could trust her with a secret like that. Her gut bunched with nervous sickness. She instinctively placed her hand on her stomach, as if to calm the little girl who now lived there.

‘That’s the thing about life, my love – no matter how much you want everything to be neatly boxed and labelled, it isn’t. It can’t be. Because much of it is dealing with humans, and we are complicated and unpredictable and spontaneous and all the other things that make us wonderful!’

Not for the first time, she felt the enormity of the news swamp her. She stood, as Marnie walked over and wrapped her in a tight hug.

‘I love you,’ her mum whispered into her hair. ‘I love you so much. Always have, always will. I don’t have to understand you and you don’t have to understand me. But you are, and always will be, my pocketful of sunshine.’

‘I love you too, Mum.’

‘There’s one more thing. If you let us have her, I’d need to know that I’d be free to raise her in the only way I know. I need to be relaxed and not worrying that you might tell me off or want things done differently. I can only parent her how I parented you, otherwise it wouldn’t be natural, and that would be stressful and horrible for us all, her included.’

She pulled away and looked at Marnie, their faces inches apart. Her mother sounded so confident it gave her faith that this might actually be an option. And if it delighted Marnie in the way she suspected it would, might that mean that they could build a bridge over this one life-changing event and carry on? She hated to think of what might happen between her and her parents if the child went to strangers. The thought of losing her mum and dad altogether was more painful than she could stand.

‘That’s four things. Do you think there might be more? Is this a list that’s going to keep growing?’

Marnie kissed her button, freckled nose. ‘Without doubt, my darling. Without doubt.’

It was as they stood holding each other that they heard the front door open and close, and her dad call from the hallway.

‘Hello? Anyone home?’

He poked his head around the sitting room door and beamed. Madeleine’s heart jumped, knowing what came next.

‘Hello, little sausage! I wasn’t expecting to see you. What a lovely surprise!’

Both she and Marnie turned to look at him, their faces betraying the tears that had fallen.

‘Crying? Now, now, we can’t have that! What have I missed?’

Marnie let go of her and turned to Dougie. ‘You’d better sit down, my love ...’