‘Didn’t Gracie explain?’ The ‘perfect one’ made a questioning face across the desk as Gracie scrabbled on the floor to pick up the errant papers.
‘Of course I did. I said you had a really bad stomach and were going to sit in Marcy’s until your wind had subsided. Black coffee and no cake does that to you, you know.’
Annalize closed her eyes in mortification.
Rob didn’t look up for fear of catching Gracie’s eye. ‘Right, ladies – to work. Shits or no shits, we’ve got a tender to get out of the door.’
TWO
The light wasn’t working outside her two-bedroom flat in Wandsworth when Gracie returned home from work. She sighed and flashed her mobile phone into her handbag to hunt for her keys.
Inside, she cast off her coat in the hall, flung the keys onto the kitchen worktop and went to the fridge. Pouring herself a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc, she walked across the hall and did something she hadn’t done in days – slowly pushed open the ‘nursery’ door.
The two little Moses baskets stood patiently side by side, their soft white sheets still awaiting the delicious smell of baby. The teddy bears on the border that Gracie and Lewis had taken so long to choose looked back at her sadly. They had decided not to find out the babies’ sex, hence the plain white walls – thought it would add to the excitement. It had also made for many fun nights of choosing names that went together, be it two girls, two boys or a boy and a girl.
Shutting the door behind her quietly, as if not to wake them, she took a large swig of her chilled wine then plonked herself down on the sofa. Tears fell down her cheeks. She sniffed loudly.
As hard as it had been to hear, Annalize was right. It was about time she thought about losing her baby weight. But in a way knowing she would never again have baby weight to lose made her want to hang on to it – remain comforted by it, almost pretend those precious babies of hers were still inside of her. Growing and kicking. Making her a mummy. She would never be a mummy, because losing the twins had resulted in her ultimately losing her womb too.
‘Barren’ was such an awful word. But that was what she was. Barren. Desolate. Empty. Unable to have biological children of her own. Never. Ever.
The worst question (which people asked more often than Gracie could ever have thought possible) was: ‘So, do you have children?’
By thirty-eight, people expected to have kids, but for Gracie Davies even when the time was right, and the man was right, it hadn’t been easy. In fact, it had been bloody hard. Three rounds of IVF hard. But then, when it had happened, when that test came back positive… oh my. It was like the best birthday she had ever had, quadrupled a million times. That feeling of completeness, of belonging. Starting a family. Her dream.
Gracie wiped her eyes and drained her glass. She glanced down at her stomach. Yes, there was a muffin top. A distinct bulge over her smart black work trousers. She felt more comfortable in a baggy cardie than a tight dress. Leggings were her friend rather than jeans.
Looking at her favourite photo next to the TV, she put a hand through her hair. OK, maybe she had changed.
She remembered so clearly when the photo had been taken. There was the lovely Lewis, flashing his beautiful white teeth. Her five-foot-eleven, dark-haired, handsome sales director partner of seven years. She had poked him in the ribs to make him laugh. Her sister, Naomi, had caught this magical moment on a sunny Dorset beach six years ago. The look of happiness. The look of love.
Hearing his key in the door, Gracie flicked on the television. She used to look forward to that sound. The ‘hi, honey, I’m home’ sound. The sound of union. That instant sigh of relief.We’re both in and safe. We can have a lovely dinner together, chat about our day, then snuggle up together. Make love and face the next one – together.
THREE
Lewis didn’t even kiss her hello anymore. Lifting his glasses and rubbing his eyes, he went straight to the fridge. ‘Any beers?’
‘No, all gone, sorry. There’s some wine in there, though.’
Lewis turned, frowning. ‘There’s football on tonight, too.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll see if Connor’s about. He might want to go down the pub and watch it. What’s for dinner, anyway?’
Gracie was now engrossed in the news. ‘I thought we could get a takeaway.’
‘Gracie, you know we’re still paying the bloody IVF off and I thought you were trying to be good this week.’ She sighed as Lewis went on, ‘And I’m sure it would make you feel better losing some of that weight of yours.’
‘Not you as well!’ Gracie couldn’t listen to any more. ‘What is it with everyone today? It’smybody, it’smyproblem. If I don’t want to lose weight, then I won’t.’ Her face reddened. ‘And as for not being made of money, it’s all right for you to piss off down the pub and spend more than a takeaway costs without a worry.’ She was on a roll now. ‘“Gracie, are there beers?” “Gracie, what’s for dinner?” We’re a partnership, Lewis. Or we used to be, at least. So, no, don’t stay in with me and have a nice evening. No, you just go, meet Connor, do what you do with him. Talk shit, watch football. I don’t really know what your problem is anymore.’
‘Problem? The problem –’ Lewis was shouting too, ‘– is that we haven’t had sex for weeks, Gracie. Weeks! And do you want to know why?’
Gracie bit her lip, dreading but already guessing what was coming.
‘I just… I’m struggling to love you as you are.’
Too late, Lewis realised the enormity of what he’d said, and ran to her side to hug her. But the words could never be taken back. That was it, they were out there. Hurtful words swirling around the room, like a wasps’ nest of secrets – one of which had just stung Gracie right in the face.
Like a bull about to go into the Plaza de Toros Las Ventas, Gracie’s nostrils flared. Stifling a sob, she fled to the bedroom, slammed the door and locked it.
Fired by his guilt, Lewis nearly pulled the handle off as he tried to open it. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that when you are feeling this way. But shutting yourself away in there again, well it’s not going to help. We never spend time together. Your head is always stuck in that bloody computer. There are only so many Hyster Sisters you can talk to, surely?’ His voice now shook with emotion. ‘And as for money, I’ve said before, we could always get a lodger. It’s not healthy keeping the spare room as a bloody shrine.’ He paused, sounding more contrite when he spoke again. ‘Life needs to move on, Gracie. There are no babies and there won’t be any babies.’
