The image of you, p.8
The Image of You, page 8
They had not had the conversation.
She hadn’t known how to tackle the matter. Surely dripping Zoe’s existence into his was the safest way forward. The truth was they had a lot to learn about each other. It was the strangest thing; they were so comfortable with one another, she sometimes forgot how new their relationship was. She felt she’d known him for ages and that he knew her well too. He knew she liked to drink her tea black, that she was good at doing accents, that she could do a perfectly executed cartwheel, that she always read the last page of a novel before she began because she liked to know where things were heading, that she liked him to blow on the back of her knees. But there was more to discover.
‘Did I know you had a sister?’ he asked.
‘I think I’ve mentioned her although I may not have. I find it’s hard to talk about.’ Anna refused to catch his eye. ‘She’s—It’s complicated—’ She broke off.
Actually, she really didn’t want to talk about Zoe. She didn’t want to bring her into this warm and cosy room, she would mar their lovely day. Nick was lying next to her, delicious, in nothing more than underwear. She leaned towards him and kissed him gently. He was pretty easy to distract. He kissed her back gently at first and then with firmness and passion. His lips were warm, soft and solid by turn; they fitted. He gently touched her cheek and his fingers trailed down her neck, to her collar bone. She felt anchored, safe. He moved his hands over her, carefully but assuredly. Anna allowed herself to relax a bit. Things were getting better, easier.
For a time, they both forgot about their sisters, his parents, thin walls, kitten pyjamas and impending physio appointments. They forgot about everything other than each other. He swept her up in an unusual, but very welcome, wave of desire. Nick was different from the other men she’d encountered. She was sure of it. He was thoughtful, truthful, wonderful. He wanted to please and pleasure her and she wanted to please and pleasure him. She found the experience to be considerably better than it had ever been with her previous lovers. Importantly, he seemed to like it well enough. He grunted, groaned and moaned at what she assumed to be the appropriate times.
Afterwards, he held her tight. She put her hand on his chest and felt his breath calmly pour in and out, in and out. He seemed to be quickly drifting into a deep slumber. His ability to find easy, contented sleep encouraged her to ask the blackness, ‘Did you enjoy that, Nick?’
‘Of course,’ he murmured, and he squeezed her closer.
‘Was it, erm—Was it good? Good for you?’
He kissed the top of her head, tenderly. Then she felt his mouth on her ear. He whispered, ‘Don’t worry. These things sometimes take time. It was lovely.’
Lovely? These things sometimes take time? Don’t worry? Anna froze. That couldn’t be good. Could it? No, it couldn’t. Don’t worry? Well, of course she was worried. She watched as his eyelids closed heavily and his breathing steadied a fraction more, fell a fraction deeper. How could he sleep? He’d as good as said that sex between them was terrible. A disappointment. That she was terrible, a disappointment! Restless and mortified, Anna stared at the ceiling, sleep eluding her.
‘I’m going to make a phone call to my sister, let her know my plans to stay here another week,’ she whispered.
‘Now?’ he murmured, barely conscious.
‘She lives in the States. This isn’t late for her.’
Anna crept downstairs. She didn’t bother putting a light on because she didn’t want to disturb George or Rachel.
* * *
‘You need to watch your back around that sister of his. She sounds like a bitch,’ snapped Zoe.
Anna immediately wished she had the ability to keep more to herself; Zoe’s take on everything was always so soul sapping. She’d stupidly hoped that Zoe would tell her Rachel was simply tired, that there was nothing to worry about at all.
‘You’re staying there for another week? An unpaid home help?’
‘I’m doing them a favour.’
‘You’re a mug.’
‘I’m just doing what any girlfriend would. Besides, his parents are nice. I like being around them.’ Anna looked around the Hudsons’ front room. Even in the dark she could make out the highly polished furniture, the numerous colourful throws and cushions, and the outline of countless photo frames that housed images of the family.
‘Weird, since you couldn’t wait to put distance between you and our own parents.’
‘Well, that’s different. They’re different.’ Anna went quiet, she didn’t like talking about them, she didn’t even like thinking about them. She couldn’t believe Zoe had brought them up. They hadn’t exactly been friends to her. Normally, she was vitriolic about them. Suddenly, Anna felt tired. She didn’t know why she was wasting her time down here, talking to Zoe, when she could be snuggled up in bed next to Nick. She wished she didn’t feel so compelled to check in with Zoe. She longed for more independence. She no doubt needed it.
‘How’s the sex?’
‘Oh, Zoe.’
It really was as though she had direct access to the deepest recesses of Anna’s mind. The most fearful shame. The most shameful fear. Anna wished she hadn’t. Honestly, some things ought to be allowed to remain private. ‘Fine, thank you,’ she said firmly.
‘Fine?’ Zoe’s voice was full of scorn and pity.
Anna reached for Nick’s word. ‘Lovely.’ It sounded hollow. As hollow as it had sounded when he’d said it to her. ‘It’s lovely,’ she insisted.
‘You just keep telling yourself that, Anna.’
‘Besides, everything isn’t about sex all the time you know, Zoe. Other things matter too.’
Zoe let out a sound that was meant to be somewhere near a laugh and yet, at the same time, was deliberately nowhere near at all. It was a hollow, almost cruel, bark. ‘Yup, just stick to that. One day you might convince yourself.’
Eleven
Nick
Pamela was encouraged to get up and walk about as quickly as possible after the surgery. Initially, she felt quite some discomfort, her legs and feet were swollen. She was given an injection to help prevent blood clots, and antibiotics to help prevent infection. A chirpy physiotherapist taught her some gentle exercises to help strengthen the hip and she was given instructions on how to bend and sit. Once everyone was reassured that Pamela would make a good recovery, albeit a slow one, the trip to his family home had turned from one that was shot through with panic and tragedy into something not unlike a mini-break.
Anna’s presence had undoubtedly been a godsend. The attributes that Nick had already glimpsed now shone. She was cheerful, practical, uplifting. She instinctively knew how to blend in and make herself at home with the Hudsons so that they didn’t feel the burden of entertaining at this tricky time, but simultaneously she saw the invisible boundaries and did not assume over-familiarity. She accompanied Nick to the hospital in the morning, then left him and his dad to go on their own in the evenings, so that they had time to discuss medical cover, the physiotherapy assessment and rehabilitation programme. Anna stayed at home and prepared hearty, delicious meals; shepherd’s pie, lasagne and toad-in-the-hole. Since Pamela was in hospital Anna could take over in the kitchen without stepping on anyone’s toes.
Nick understood that his father was dealing with the shock of a near miss. George was not the sort to make a drama out of a crisis yet the couple had been married almost thirty-nine years and it was impossible to shrug off the incident easily. On the drive home from the hospital on Sunday afternoon, Nick’s last visit before he returned to London, Nick noticed his father was being particularly quiet.
George kept his eyes firmly on the road, monitoring every manoeuvre Nick made, watching for cyclists or foxes that might behave unpredictably and dart in front of their vehicle. He muttered, ‘I can’t help it. I keep thinking of what might have happened. If she’d been just a few rungs further up the ladder.’
‘But she wasn’t,’ replied Nick.
‘I’ve worked out she’d have fallen on the patio, perhaps even through the glass roof of the conservatory.’
‘Dad, don’t think like that. It doesn’t do any good.’
‘It was only because she fell on the lawn that it isn’t worse.’
Nick turned to his father and was shocked to see he had welled up. He’d never seen his father cry. Conscious of as much, George turned to look out of the passenger window. They pulled up at traffic lights. Nick pressed the button to wind down his window; the urban afternoon air drifted into the car, chaotic and hopeful at once. Next week it would be May. Couples, eager for summer to start, sat outside pubs on benches; their laughter and cigarette smoke wafted through the air.
‘I couldn’t do without her, Nicholas. That’s the thing. I couldn’t imagine life without her. Do you know what I mean?’
Nick didn’t know how to answer, so he stayed silent. He wished Anna had been in the car with them. She’d have known what to say to his dad.
Neither man spoke for the rest of the journey, caught up in their own thoughts about the women in their lives.
It was a relief, when they opened the front door, to be greeted by a delicious smell, a beautifully set table and the tunes of Duke Ellington. Anna had discovered that George was very fond of jazz and had once seen Duke Ellington play when he was a young man himself, on the sort of youthful holiday that was unforgettable; Ellington had long since been George’s favourite.
It was just what they needed.
Twelve
Alexia
I remember when I was first told I was having twins as though it was yesterday. It was late January. A miserable time of year. We lived in Manchester then and I did, and always will, love that city. Friendly, buzzy, great shopping, however it doesn’t look its best in late January—nowhere does. I recall killing time before the scan appointment. I dragged my heavy body from shop to shop, unfairly angry with myself for already having a tummy at this early stage of pregnancy. The shops appeared drab and defeated. Tatty, single sale racks were all that was left; the spring season offerings looked unconvincing, silly, overly optimistic. There was little joy to be found at work either. My students were all miserable: broke, moody, aware that sunshine was a long way off and, before then, they had to get through their exams. I’d known I was pregnant about a day after conceiving—at least, that’s the way I remember it. I’d suffered dreadful morning sickness from the get-go. I was looking forward to the first scan because it meant I was closer to the wonderful twelve-week mark, when people promised me I’d start to feel more human again.
Twins. Wasn’t expecting that.
Two little beings, not unlike sea horses, bobbing about inside me. I did not feel excitement. I was frightened. Preoccupied with the thought, how are they going to get out? One baby was scary enough, but two! In my opinion, it’s pretty unfair, the whole baby-making process. It beats me how the most natural and necessary thing in the world is as inconvenient and excruciating. It starts so sexily, simply and beautifully and it ends so messily, painfully. Sore. David was delighted with the idea of twins. Unequivocally. But then he wasn’t the one who was going to have an experience equivalent to crapping a watermelon—twice—was he? Like I said, the whole thing is unfair. I wonder what would happen to the world’s population if there was a rule that we had to take turns in giving birth; first child gestates in the mother, second in the father, and so on. My guess is there would be a lot of only children—and absolutely no families of four.
In the end, as it turned out, the birth wasn’t too traumatic. Because Zoe was breech the obstetrician recommended a Caesarean; I jumped at the chance. Most twins don’t go to full term; mine went to thirty-six and a half weeks. It was fine. Anna was born first, five minutes ahead of her sister, exactly six pounds; Zoe was five pounds seven ounces. They needed a bit of time on the prem unit although nothing too frightening or dramatic. There’s a story people like to hear about that time. At first, they were put into little incubator cots, right next to each other, and as Anna hit a good weight, they quickly sent her back to me; everyone wanted to get on with the breast feeding. But then Zoe suddenly became agitated. They checked the tubes, the drip, her meds. Nothing amiss, yet nothing would settle her. It was as if she sensed her sister’s lack. So, on a whim—gut instinct, if you like—I asked the nurses to take Anna back into the prem ward and lie her next to Zoe again. As soon as they did so, Zoe immediately calmed down, her heart rate went back to normal. After a while, they took Anna away again, in case the timing of Zoe settling had just been a coincidence, but once again Zoe began to struggle and mew distressingly. Again they put Anna back in the cot; silence, calm. The same thing happened a third time. They didn’t try a fourth. No one likes to see a baby suffering.
David was delighted, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He kept saying, ‘Science can’t explain that!’
I was glad someone had been able to comfort Zoe but I wished it had been me. It was then, when they were less that twenty-four hours old, that I saw that my babies would never need me the way other babies need their mothers. A mother should be the most important person in a baby’s life. I was not. I was less important to either of them than they were to each other. They needed each other more. More than anything. I tried not to feel pushed out. Left out. I tried to accept that no one would, or should, ever come between them. But, well, it was difficult.
It’s pretty scary being a mum of twins; scary and exhausting. I can’t find the words to describe the depths of tiredness that I felt those first few months. David did his best. His architecture firm was generous about him taking time off to help. He took two weeks; that was considered lavish paternity leave in those days. They’d have allowed him more, I think. In truth, he wasn’t keen. His excitement about the twins was mostly theoretical. He said I had my mother to help me. David is not a chauvinist, not at all. He’s wonderful around the house; he respects my opinions on everything from movies, to politics, to how to change a tire on a rainy highway; he’s actively delighted if I bring in a bigger pay packet than him. It’s just, he wasn’t very suited to looking after small babies. I wasn’t either, actually, but I wasn’t given a choice. I’m an academic. I like books, reason, debate. I had no interest in small babies. I remember my lovely mother’s face when she saw them! She was full of awe—absolute, unadulterated reverence. She kept calling them ‘angels’, ‘darlings’ and commenting on their utter, utter cuteness; she was literally gasping, giddy with joy. When I looked at them I saw nothing other than overwhelming responsibility. I saw scrawny, needy charges. They made me feel inadequate and guilty.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved them. Passionately but in an animalistic, instinctual way, not with any rationale or reason, and I struggled with that; I’d always depended so heavily on my reasoning. I was a fish out of water. Before and since, I’ve read a lot of books on the subject of mothering twins, a lot, and I understand that it’s not unusual for an overwhelmed new mum to have difficulty bonding, especially when faced with a multiple birth. I mean it’s just a constant round of screaming, feeding, changing, soothing, screaming, feeding, changing, soothing, screaming—. You get the picture. With two of them there’s no time available to just sit and be.
I’ve often thought back to those times and wondered whether I damaged my girls in some way. Whether they felt a lack. A lack neither of them have ever grown out of. It’s a dreadful thing to carry around. Awful. Could I have changed things? Could I? Because if I could, I would. You have to believe that. I’d do anything. Give anything. I’ve talked about this a lot with various therapists over the years and the universal opinion is always, ‘No!’ I did not cause this by failing to bond in those first few weeks. They tell me, ‘Don’t blame yourself. Don’t beat yourself up.’ Yet who else am I to blame? I’d never blame the twins themselves.
Anyway, things change so quickly when they are young, don’t they? You think they’ll never sleep through a single night, that you’ll go mad with sleep deprivation, or that you’ll disappear under an avalanche of dirty nappies, or that you’ll scream out loud if you have to get your boobs out in public just one more time to push your nipple into a hot, insistent little mouth.
Then they do sleep through. The next thing is they’re up and running, out of nappies, eating real food and delighting in it. Zoe’s little face when she tasted banana! Anna’s when she tasted chocolate! In a blink of an eye they are developing their own personalities, becoming little people. That gave me something to work with. My love changed. Thickened. It flowed not just from my gut but from my heart, soul and head.
David adored them too. We were good parents. Or at least we thought we were. We did our best.
It just wasn’t good enough.
Thirteen
Pamela
Every time Pamela clapped eyes on Anna she said to herself, ‘Sweet girl, very sweet.’ Nick hadn’t brought enough girls home for his mother to make an accurate comparison between Anna and his other girlfriends; she had to be assessed on her own merits, no bad thing. When he was younger, Pamela sometimes encountered girls in the hallway, as he was rushing them in or out; some didn’t even make it out of the car, he’d insist they wait in the passenger seat whilst he dashed in to change his shirt, pick up some more cash. None of them lasted long enough to make an impression; they were, on the whole, interchangeable. They were always giggly, smiley, eager to please. She pitied them. She wanted to explain to these hopefuls that the usual rules did not apply, that there was no sense in exerting effort to ingratiate themselves with her, the mother, because he, the son, would do what he liked. Initially, she hadn’t been concerned about the lack of discernment, she’d been sure that someone would come along, cut through, but then he’d turned thirty and had still not nudged towards a show of preference. Pamela had begun to wonder what it was exactly that Nick was looking for. Whether he’d ever find it.
