The second wives club, p.18
The Second Wives Club, page 18
But she had to admit that, as life stood, she didn’t have it too bad.
Wiggling her toes in the rapidly cooling water, she sat up and leaned forward to add a little extra hot. She jumped suddenly as the phone rang. Knowing that her mother would likely ring for her weekly chat, as she did every Monday night, she had placed the phone on the side of the bath. Fiona shook her hands dry and picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Mrs. Bartholomew?” It was a male voice she didn’t recognize.
“Yeeees.” She was hesitant, fully expecting him to start selling her an insurance policy.
“I’m calling from the casualty department at St. George’s Hospital in Tooting.” Fiona sat bolt upright, her chest tight with fear. Something must have happened to David. “But don’t worry,” he continued, “your son is okay.”
“My son?” She could hear papers being rustled.
“Yes, Jake Bartholomew. He’s your son, isn’t he?”
“Stepson actually. What’s happened to him?”
“I don’t really want to go into detail over the phone, I think it’s best if you come down and I’ll talk you through it. Suffice to say he’s had his stomach pumped. So, while he’s out of danger, he’s not feeling too great.”
“I see.” Fiona’s mind was racing. Stomach pumped. Surely that meant drugs or alcohol? She cleared her throat. “Um, I think I’d better call his mother or father. They need to know.”
“Well, entirely up to you. But when we asked him who we should call, he insisted that he thought of you as his mother and became highly agitated when we suggested calling his father too.”
“Okay, thanks. Leave it with me and someone will be there within the hour.” She pressed the end button and lifted herself out of the bath. So much for her relaxing, uninterrupted soak. Her brain was now in overdrive, mulling over every option and wondering which was the best one to take.
Jake had known David was out at the match, so he had given the hospital this number safe in the knowledge that only Fiona would answer. Also, he had made it very clear that she was the one he’d wanted them to call. No one else.
But why? Presumably because he was utterly terrified of either of his parents finding out and Fiona had been the only other option. After all, they hadn’t exactly been close these past few months.
Her dilemma was, should she go against Jake’s wishes and call David to tell him what had happened?
Her initial thought was that, yes, she should. Punching in David’s mobile number, she waited a few seconds, then heard it go straight to message. “Hi, it’s me. I just wanted to run something by you. Speak later.”
Ending the call, she pondered what she’d said. She hadn’t wanted to panic him by telling him the truth, and besides, why curtail his night when she could easily deal with the situation herself and keep Jake happy at the same time? Maybe this could be a turning point for them. Maybe if she showed him that he could rely on her and come to her in a time of crisis, he wouldn’t feel like he needed to cop the attitude of an adversary all the time.
But by at least trying to contact David, she felt she’d covered her backside enough to go to the hospital with impunity. She’d find out the full facts behind Jake’s admittance, then make the decision afterward about what to tell his father.
Hello, you.” She pushed Lily’s buggy alongside the bed and took a look at her stepson, who was now awake and sitting up. Luckily, her little girl was a deep sleeper.
“Hey.” Jake attempted a smile, but he was ghostly pale, his usually spiky blond hair matted onto his head with sweat. He looked about twelve, a small, shivering bundle of vulnerability, and Fiona was surprised at the feelings the sight of him stirred in her. With all their recent spats and his aggressive, awkward persona, she felt protective of him just the same.
“What happened, kiddo?” She perched on the side of the bed and tousled his damp fringe away from his eyes.
He cast his eyes downward, picking at an already frayed patch of bedding. “I’m too embarrassed and ashamed to tell you,” he muttered.
Fiona smiled. “Well, either you can tell me in your own words, or I can go get all the gory medical details from the nurses and doctors who dealt with you.”
He swallowed hard and scratched the back of his neck, where the ties of his hospital gown were dangling down. “You haven’t told Dad I’m here, have you?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I gathered you didn’t want him called, so I decided to come and hear your side of the story first, then decide what to do.”
“If I tell you what happened, promise me you won’t tell Dad?” He looked at her beseechingly.
“No can do, I’m afraid. No promises. As I said, I’ll assess the situation when I have the full facts.” She folded her arms expectantly.
Jake shuffled uncomfortably, propping himself up more comfortably in his temporary bed. She noted that his clothes were folded in a pile on the chair, and they looked relatively unscathed, so clearly he hadn’t been in an accident.
“I took Ecstasy.” The words came tumbling out in a rush, as if he were desperate to get rid of them, anxious that if he paused he might never say it.
Fiona recoiled in horror. “Jake, no! You didn’t!”
He nodded mutely to reconfirm what he’d said.
“Why? Where?” She had so many questions that she didn’t know where to start.
“At a friend’s house. He’s been trying to get me to take it for ages, but I always resisted. But this time I’d had quite a bit to drink and my defenses were down.” He shrugged apologetically. “I figured that one wouldn’t do any harm.”
“No harm? It sounds like you’re lucky to have survived.” Unsure of how to respond to the bombshell, Fiona took a deep breath, her mind racing over what she should do or say next. “How did you end up here?”
“About half an hour after I’d taken it, I started to feel icy cold,” he said, visibly shivering at the memory. “Then I started to shake really badly, and that’s pretty much all I remember. Apparently, I was brought in foaming at the mouth.” He had the decency to look wholly ashamed.
Fiona felt herself getting angry now. Not so much at Jake, who had just been damned stupid, but furious at whoever had persuaded him to take the drug. “Who’s this friend?” she demanded.
“Why?”
“Why? Because they should be reported to the police for peddling drugs, that’s why. God knows what might happen to the next poor kid he gives them to.”
Jake looked terrified. “I can’t tell you, Fiona. They’d make my life hell if I did. Seriously.”
She let the matter drop for the moment, determined to return to it later. “Was it them who brought you in?”
Jake stared at the blankets miserably. “I don’t really know. The hospital says someone called for an ambulance and directed them to an alleyway at the back of the cinema, where they found me lying in a pool of my own vomit.”
Tears pricked at Fiona’s eyes. “Oh, Jake, that’s terrible. You poor thing.” She felt a rush of maternal affection, picking up his hand and holding it tight. “Thank God you came through it.”
“Yes.” He smiled uncertainly. “Although I’m not sure I’ll survive Dad’s wrath when he finds out.”
Fiona took a sharp intake of breath and looked at her watch. “Shit, I must call him. The game’s over, so he’ll be in a restaurant somewhere, but hopefully he’ll have his mobile on.” She started to rummage in her handbag, looking for her phone.
“Fiona?” He looked apprehensive.
“Yes?” Gut instinct told her she already knew what was coming.
“Would you consider not telling Dad about this?”
She flopped back down on the bed with a pained expression. “Jake, that’s unfair. You can’t ask me to do that.”
He didn’t respond, simply staring past her as if his life had come to an end.
“Is that why you asked them to call me?” She ducked her head to try to make eye contact with him.
He nodded. “Yes. I was hoping you might cut me some slack.”
Fiona frowned and pursed her lips. “If you’d forgotten to do your homework or lost your door keys, then perhaps I could cut you some slack and not tell Dad. But having your stomach pumped after taking Ecstasy? Hardly on the same level, is it?”
His face crumpled with fear and he began to cry, slowly at first, then degenerating into huge, gulping sobs that were so loud that the woman in the next booth peered round her curtain to see what the noise was.
“Fiona, please, I’m begging you,” he wailed, grabbing a tight hold on her arm. “If you do this for me, I promise faithfully that I will never cause you any problems again.”
He was so distraught that she could barely make out what he was saying, but she got the gist.
“You don’t have to make promises like that, sweetie…” She prized his hand from her arm and held it instead, stroking the back of it with her thumb. “You’re a teenage boy, and they make mistakes.” She let out a deep sigh. “But this is one hell of a mistake, and I’m not sure I should help you cover it up from your parents.”
“Pleeeease, Fiona. It won’t be forever. I promise that as soon as the time is right, I’ll tell them both. I just want to come to terms with it myself first.”
They sat wordlessly, just staring at each other. Fiona was pondering what he’d said, mulling over the options in her mind. Maybe this was the short, sharp shock that would steer Jake back onto the straight and narrow. She also knew that her next move might forever change her relationship with him.
“Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll drive you back home to your mom’s, and if she asks where you’ve been, you can just say you’ve been at a friend’s house.” Fiona was speaking slowly, working it out as she went along. “I won’t say anything to Dad tonight, but I’m going to sleep on it and see how I feel about it in the morning. But I’m not making any promises, okay?”
Jake had stopped crying and was wiping his nose on a well-used tissue. “Thanks, Fiona.” He sniffed. “I just couldn’t face telling them tonight. I feel terrible, really weak and shaky. I just want to go home and crash in my bed.”
“Not to mention starving, eh? There’s nothing left in your stomach. We’ll pick up some food on the way.”
He was standing now, and had moved behind the hospital-room partition to pull on his jeans, T-shirt, and sweater. After getting dressed, he turned and grabbed her awkwardly around the waist, hugging tight. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain,” he mumbled.
She laughed and hugged him back. “Forget it. Let’s wipe the slate clean and start from here, shall we?”
He nodded gratefully. “They said I have to wait for a doctor to look me over before I can be discharged. I’ll just walk down to the nurses’ office and see how long that’s likely to be. Probably do me good to move around.”
Fiona smiled, her eyes following him as he slowly sauntered out of the door. She knew it was psychological, but he seemed more like the Jake of old, younger, more vulnerable and eager to please.
She could only hope that it would last.
sperm warfare
“So what seems to be the problem? I’d like to hear it from you before I read your referral letter.” The doctor peered across his desk at her. He was in his midfifties with thinning gray hair and bifocals.
“Um, I want to have a baby and I think I might need some help,” stammered Alison. After going so long not voicing her deepest fears to anyone except Fiona, it felt odd to be telling a complete stranger.
“How long have you been trying?”
“Actively and consciously?…um, only since I got married about three months ago. But I haven’t used contraception for the past two years, ever since I met my husband.”
“I see. So you’re married.” He scribbled something down.
“Yes.” She found it disconcerting that he wasn’t looking at her. She’d been told he was one of the best fertility experts there was, which was probably why she’d had to wait two months to get an appointment, but his bedside manner left something to be desired.
“And you’ve been having sex regularly?”
She flushed, then laughed nervously. “Yes, we’re still newlyweds.”
He didn’t even break a small smile. “I have to ask. You’d be surprised how many couples I get in here who are surprised they haven’t conceived but then confess they only have sex about once a month…and probably not during the fertile period.”
“No, that’s not us.”
“So where’s your husband?” he asked brusquely. “After all, whatever the problem turns out to be, you’re not going to get pregnant without him, are you?”
“No, that’s true. But he’s very busy at work, so I thought I could come along to the preliminary meeting without him.”
He was looking at her now in a rather judgmental way. She decided she preferred it when he was making notes.
“We’re all busy, Mrs….,” he looked down at the file in front of him, “…Rossi, there are certain things in life we have to find time for, particularly if they’re important to us.”
“Yes, sir, I understand.” Alison felt like she was sitting opposite her old headmaster, getting a scolding for being late with her homework.
He started to read the referral letter. “It says here that you have polycystic ovaries?”
She nodded. “Yes. I only know that because I had some tests when I was about eighteen…because my periods were so irregular.”
“Hmmmm.” He sucked the end of his pen. “Well, you can get pregnant if you have them, but as you’re experiencing problems, there’s a strong chance they’re the cause.”
“So is there a solution?” She was desperate to know.
“First things first, Mrs. Rossi,” he chided. “There are lots of factors we need to determine before I can answer that question.”
“Such as?” Alison was beginning to wish she’d opted for a woman specialist, someone who might understand in some small way the emotional strain she was feeling, the sheer ache of wanting to conceive and failing month after month.
“I’ll need to take some blood and run a couple of other tests.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. I’ll also need a sample of your husband’s sperm for analysis. He can do it at home if he likes, and we’ll send a messenger to collect it.”
Alison suddenly felt sick. “Why does he need to do that? My husband has two children from a previous marriage…there’s nothing wrong with his sperm.”
“Things change,” the doctor said distractedly, making notes again. “How old are his children?”
“Six and four.”
He stopped writing and looked up at her, scrutinizing her over the top of his glasses. “I see. Second wife, are you?”
She nodded mutely, unsure what relevance it had.
“I got married for a second time too.” He finally smiled. “I have two children in their twenties from my first marriage and one thirteen-year-old from my second marriage. She was IVF,” he added with meaning.
“That’s nice.”
“Yes.” He paused and looked at her searchingly. “Second marriages can be tricky though sometimes, can’t they?”
She nodded and smiled gratefully. “Yes. Yes, they can.”
Suddenly, she felt they had an understanding. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
God, he sounds like a nightmare.” Fiona stirred her cappuccino and scooped a spoonful of froth into her mouth. “It makes you wonder why someone that brusque is inexplicably drawn toward a career that requires him to deal with human beings on a day-to-day basis.”
Alison smiled. “Yes, particularly ones who are going through such a vulnerable and sensitive time.” She sighed. “But to be honest, if he helps me to get pregnant, I couldn’t care less about his personality.” She stared wistfully out of the window as a young mother walked past the café with her toddler.
“I suppose you’re right.” But Fiona still looked dubious.
“We bonded a bit at the end because he’s got a second wife too, and she had to have IVF.”
“So do you reckon you’ll have to have IVF too?” Fiona looked concerned.
Alison shrugged. “Not sure yet. He’s taken some of my blood to test my hormone levels, and I also had some sort of X-ray to check out my uterus and fallopian tubes. We’ll go over the results at my next visit.”
She paused and took a sip of her mint tea, wincing slightly as the hot water burned the tip of her tongue. “That’s the easy part. The hard part will be convincing Luca to give a sperm sample.”
Fiona giggled. “Why, is he a bit squeamish about stuff like that?”
“No, it’s not that.” She looked uncomfortable, almost embarrassed. “He’s just got a thing about it.”
“A thing? What do you mean, a thing?”
Alison cleared her throat. “He…um…seems to think that babies should be conceived naturally, without any interference from doctors.” She kept her voice low. “That’s why he didn’t go with me, because I didn’t tell him I was going.”
“I see.” Fiona looked at a loss for words. “So you’ve had a proper conversation about it then?”
“Not as such, no. I had sensed for a while that he had a very macho view about these things, so I tested the water by bringing it up in a general sense after reading a newspaper article at the breakfast table.”
“And?”
“And he was very critical about intervention, quite scathing actually. He thinks children are a gift and that if they don’t happen naturally, then it’s for a reason.” She looked disconsolate.
“Yes, a reason like endometriosis or a low sperm count,” retorted Fiona. “And both can be got round with a little bit of help.”
“I know, I know. It’s not likely to be low sperm count, though, is it? Paolo and Giorgio are testament to that.” Alison added another spoonful of sugar to her tea, seeking an energy kick. “I suspect the problem will turn out to be all mine,” she added miserably.
