The Secret of Happy Ever After

  With no one to talk to any more, Anna’s sadness flooded her. The slightest emotional nudge and tears spilled out of her like an overfilled glass, sending her into the back room of the shop whenever someone brought in a baby or discussed Michael Morpurgo animal stories. It was bad enough coping with Becca, but with every empty day that passed, she was forced to face the horrible truth that her marriage seemed to be over, too. Phil, cold and distant, seemed oblivious to her misery, and they passed each other like strangers in the house, while Chloe sang louder and Lily begged for more stories to fill up the growing silence.

  Anna phoned Becca most nights that she wasn’t round at the McQueens, ‘just to check she was OK’.

  ‘Where’s Owen?’ she asked, one Friday night in early December, tucking the phone under her ear while she scooped out Pongo’s kibble with one hand and switched on the kettle with the other.

  ‘He’s gone to London for a meeting.’ Becca sounded more relaxed out of the house than she’d ever done in it. ‘He’s trying to get some work going so he can move to Cambridge with me after the baby’s born – tell Dad he’s really trying hard, OK?’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come round?’

  ‘No! I’m looking forward to putting my feet up, actually. I’ve got a bar of chocolate and my book. Don’t ask what though. It’s pure trash fiction. This baby wants romance and Dairy Milk.’

  Anna smiled sadly. ‘As long as you’re reading. Give me a shout if you need anything.’

  ‘I will.’ Becca’s voice changed. ‘Why don’t you go out? Take Dad to the movies or something?’

  Anna blinked hard to stop her voice changing too. ‘I can’t. He’s out tonight with some guys from work. Leaving do, I think. He didn’t say, just that he’d be back late.’

  ‘And he didn’t take you? Charming. I’ll tell him to make it up to you this weekend!’

  ‘There’s no need.’ Anna didn’t want Becca to know how bad things were between her and Phil. Not even bad. Just . . . nothing. Two people who worked together in a parenting office, but with less chance of an office romance.

  She shook herself. ‘Listen, you enjoy your night in and I’ll see you tomorrow. Chloe’s making some kind of baby shower parcel for your mum and she wants your help. By which she means, your twenty quid.’

  ‘As long as she’s not recording a song for the baby. Can you imagine her lullaby album? Night, Anna.’

  While Anna had been talking, Lily had appeared, snaking her hand round Anna’s arm. She looked up at her now, already changed into her pyjamas even though it was just gone six. ‘Are you ready for a story? I chose a new book at the shop. I thought it might be good for Chloe.’

  ‘I was humouring you,’ came a voice from the sofa. ‘But if Anna’s making cocoa I might come up and listen for a bit. Until something good’s on telly.’

  It was moments like this, thought Anna, which kept her in the house, in this family. Only just, though. They were tiny clothes pegs that stopped her blowing away altogether.

  Anna lay awake, listening to Phil snoring, and decided that from now on, she was going to start each night in Becca’s old bed, instead of creeping in there at 2 a.m. each morning. Who was she fooling, anyway? It wasn’t as though either of them were missing anything.

  Phil had rolled in at half one, after his leaving do, reeking of beer. He never used to drink beer, priding himself on his preference for wine. It was just in the last few months he’d suddenly overcome his aversion to it.

  She swung her feet out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown grumpily. If she was going to be kept awake, then she might as well be reading in peace.

  Anna padded quietly down the stairs to make herself a milky drink, and was passing the hall phone when it rang.

  She grabbed it almost absent-mindedly, trying to work out what time it was in America. Had Sarah forgotten the time difference?

  ‘Anna!’ It was Becca and her voice sounded ragged. ‘Anna, I’ve been trying your mobiles for ages.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Her brain sprang into wakefulness. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I feel terrible. I’ve been puking all night and I’ve hurt my ankle. Owen’s in London, and I can’t get up. I’m really worried about the baby.’ Becca dissolved into tears.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m coming,’ said Anna, turning to run back up the stairs. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  She dashed upstairs two at a time, trying not to wake Lily or Chloe.

  ‘Phil.’ She shut the bedroom door behind her. She shook his shoulder till he woke. ‘Phil.’

  ‘What?’ He rolled over, bleary-eyed and annoyed.

  ‘Becca’s sick. I’ve got to go over there.’

  He sat up at once. ‘Shit. Where’s Owen?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘What the hell’s he doing in London? He should be looking after her.’ He tried to get up but lost his balance and fell back heavily onto the bed.

  ‘Stay here with Lily and Chloe,’ said Anna. ‘I’ll go. I’ll call you.’

  Phil looked at her resentfully. ‘I’m her dad. I should go.’

  ‘What difference does that make? And you can’t drive in that state. How much did you put away tonight?’

  ‘Don’t start.’

  He glared at her. He didn’t look like the man she’d married, thought Anna, with a stab of misery. He looked like some random middle-aged man who didn’t even like her. And if she stayed for Lily, until she left, she had another nine years of this.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ she said.

  Anna drove like a mad thing to the high street and let herself in with the spare key.

  ‘Becca?’ she yelled, running up the stairs. ‘Becca?’

  ‘Bathroom.’

  Anna pushed open the door to the bathroom and found her wedged between the bath and the loo. The air smelled of vomit and Becca’s face was grey, with tiny flakes of loo roll stuck to her lip. ‘Poor darling!’

  ‘I was throwing up, then I slipped and hurt my ankle and now I’m stuck.’ She started to cry.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ Anna asked, lifting her up gently.

  ‘Since eleven. I texted everyone but my reception kept fading and I don’t think they all went through. Then my phone died and I couldn’t move . . .’ Becca’s hand went to her stomach. ‘If I’ve done something to the bean, I’ll never forgive myself,’ she hiccupped. ‘It’s my fault.’

  ‘That’s motherhood for you,’ said Anna, stroking her hair and wiping her face. ‘It’s always your fault. Now I’m taking you to the hospital, no arguments.’

  Phil joined them in A&E, having left Lily with Chloe under strict instructions to return to bed and not put on her Glee DVD – itself tantamount to an invitation and a bribe at the same time.

  He looked grey with worry, and when the nurse was showing Becca to the loo, he grabbed Anna’s hand.

  ‘Is she OK?’ he asked. ‘What happened?’

  Anna filled him in on the details she’d gathered – a prawn curry Becca thought couldn’t hurt, the vomiting, the sprained ankle, the all-clear with the baby – and relief swept his face.

  ‘That’s it, she’s coming home,’ he said. ‘There’s no way I can leave her in that flat on her own.’ Phil had his paterfamilias expression on – a bit late, Anna thought – and had obviously been rehearsing on the way over. ‘I won’t be happy unless I know she’s safe. She’s moving back in.’

  ‘You realise Owen’s going to want to be with her too?’ Anna pointed out.

  ‘Fine!’ Phil raised his hands. ‘The more the merrier! We’ve got room.’

  ‘Not really.’ Anna’s head swam at the thought of all the cooking and cleaning required for Becca and Owen, Lily, Chloe, the various Apricotz who always seemed to need feeding, Pongo, and her and Phil. The house wasn’t small but when they’d bought it, they hadn’t had a family that big in mind.

  ‘It’s family. That’s what life’s like with a big family.’ He didn’t add, ‘Isn’t that
what you always wanted?’ but the implication was there.

  Anna stared at him, and he glared back. Around them, hugely pregnant women were wheeled past by their beaming, dazed husbands; others were carrying pink new babies in their arms.

  Anna thought of Becca’s baby, only a few months away now. That made seven – seven, and definitely no chance of eight – and she wondered just how much more she was expected to bear.

  On 5 December, Sarah had a little boy called Henry Graham Boston Rogers, 8lb 3oz.

  Henry after Jeff’s father; Graham after hers. No one wanted to think too hard about the Boston part.

  Since Sarah left a webcam in the baby’s room, Chloe, Becca and Lily were on Skype constantly, staring at their new half-brother as if he and they were on some sort of television programme. Anna developed an immunity to the sound of transatlantic baby crying, but inside it felt as if someone was peeling the skin off her heart. Henry’s surprised face and wispy duckling hair were everywhere: on the fridge, on cards, in emails. The house felt crowded. Becca’s bump was getting bigger by the day, and there never seemed to be a room that didn’t contain a pregnancy magazine or something Sarah had sent from America to help with stretch marks or morning sickness.

  Phil said nothing. Now he barely even looked at her, and she spent most evenings on the sofa, or upstairs in Lily’s room, reading What Katy Did and The Little Prince, and flinching at all the messages about love that seemed so clear.

  It was while she was packing the girls’ bags for their Christmas visit to their mother that Anna made up her mind: while they were away, she would move into the flat above the shop. Just for a few days until she worked out what she wanted to do.

  She had Becca’s keys already. She knew she should call Michelle, but decided it wasn’t worth trying to have a personal conversation with someone in the grip of a new relationship. Michelle and Rory were at the bantering, dewy-eyed stage of first dates, and it added a new edge to Anna’s isolation.

  Michelle was the only person she could have confided in: it was a dilemma she didn’t dare reveal to a parent. How could she leave the stepchildren who needed her, who she’d signed up for from the start, for the sake of a child who didn’t even exist? Anna thought about ringing the Samaritans, but she felt ashamed to ask even them.

  She knew it was selfish, but she also knew, deep down, that being a second-string mother wasn’t enough for her. Especially when their father didn’t seem to care. Leaving Phil was easy; leaving his children was the hardest part.

  There was no room in the car to the airport for Anna, since Owen was going to Sarah’s for Christmas too, so she said her goodbyes in the house, with the usual tears all round. Anna couldn’t make hers stop.

  ‘No books this year,’ she said, hugging Lily as she handed her the bags she’d packed with presents. ‘Don’t worry, it’s wishlist stuff only.’

  ‘But I wanted books,’ said Lily. ‘Didn’t you see my wishlist?’

  Anna wiped her nose. ‘Well, there’s always the sales.’

  ‘Bye, Anna,’ said Chloe. ‘Or should I say, so long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good-byeeeeee?’ She added a theatrical flourish and narrowly missed backhanding Becca in the face. Her new ambition for the year was to audition for a West End musical.

  ‘It’s going to be very quiet without you,’ Anna gulped. ‘Bye, Becca.’

  ‘Have a lovely time without us.’ Becca hugged her hard and Anna felt the firm pressure of her baby bump against her stomach, and had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut.

  ‘Everyone ready?’ Phil jangled his keys and avoided her eye.

  When the door closed behind them, Pongo went sadly to his bed in the kitchen, his tail between his long legs, and Anna went upstairs to pack.

  32

  ‘The Children of Green Knowe is a story about a lonely boy who goes to live with his great-grandmother in a mediaeval house in the Fens. It is still one of the most magical, atmospheric and moving books I have ever read.’

  Kate Parkin

  Michelle was looking forward to Christmas for the first time in years, but she didn’t have time to do half of her usual decorating. Normally she set aside two weekends to wind the garlands around the banister, fix pine cones along the mantle-pieces and make her Christmas cards, as well as trimming the tree and pinning stars and baubles into place. It took hours and hours, and felt more Christmassy than the lonely day itself, despite what she’d pretended to Anna in the past.

  This year, Michelle had only time to get a tree, and that was it. Even the tree was a last-minute panic; things were so busy in both shops she hadn’t had time to order her usual majestic pine from the specialist, and her evenings were taken up with Rory and Tavish. In the end, they’d grabbed the last wonky fir in the garden centre on their way back from a country walk and pub lunch, stuffing it unceremoniously into the back of her car, much to Tavish’s disgust at the needles in his car crate.

  Michelle looked at the lopsided tree, relatively plain with just gold baubles and a big gold star, and decided that she liked it. Minimalist. Like the minimal decor in the house this year. An under-decorated home, she decided, was a busy, happy one.

  Her mother had started the guilt trip about where she’d be spending Christmas early in December, but Michelle had got her story straight, thanks to a surprise present from Rory.

  ‘Would you like to go to Paris for Christmas?’ he asked, coming into Home Sweet Home one lunchtime. ‘It’s just that I’ve always wanted to go to Notre Dame on Christmas Day and if I go on my own, I’ll look like a sad man from an E. M. Forster novel.’

  ‘And if you go with me?’

  ‘I’ll look like the romantic hero in a Richard Curtis film.’

  ‘Are you saying that because you think I can only do films?’ said Michelle, ignoring Gillian’s ‘wedding hat’ face behind Rory. ‘I’ve actually read The Da Vinci Code, you know. I know about Paris.’

  Rory winked at her, but underneath the teasing, she knew he was thinking about what she’d told him about Harvey, and about her nightmare family Christmases. He’d been horrified by them too, and had obviously been thinking about how he could rescue her.

  ‘I’m going to see Zachary the weekend before,’ he added, before she could ask. ‘Let’s get the family duty done first, then we can enjoy the holiday.’

  ‘Ho ho ho,’ said Michelle, and smiled.

  The following weekend, she took the bull by the horns, packed her car full of presents and drove down to her parents’ to surprise them.

  Her mother wasn’t that thrilled to be surprised. She was, she explained, right in the middle of making a complicated trifle, with two kinds of custard and fruit layers, for some dinner party the following night. Michelle looked at the apparatus, arranged on the kitchen counters like a set of operating instruments, and for once she didn’t feel like a domestic failure. It just looked like a lot of washing-up. For a trifle.

  ‘Michelle!’ Charles looked pleased to see her. He was restricted to a corner of the kitchen, thanks to the freshly mopped floor, but he stood up and opened his arms and mimed a hug.

  ‘Shoes off, please,’ snapped Carole as Michelle went to hug him. ‘Well, this is an honour. We weren’t expecting to see you without at least four phone calls first. Is there something wrong?’

  ‘No. It’s just that I won’t be here for Christmas Day,’ she said, ‘so I’ve brought everyone’s presents now.’

  ‘Oh, not again? I thought after last year you might make the effort – to help me, if nothing else.’ Her mother looked cross, apparently forgetting that Ben and Jonathan regularly begged to be allowed to have Christmas on their own. ‘And please don’t tell me you’re helping out in an old people’s home. At least be honest and say you’re spending the day in bed watching films.’

  ‘No, I’m going to Paris,’ said Michelle happily. ‘Minibreak.’

  ‘Paris?’ The crossness turned to sympathy. ‘You can’t go to Paris on your own, not for Christmas. Is it one of those singles
’ events? Because you could be here with—’

  ‘I won’t be on my own, Mum,’ said Michelle. ‘I’m going with a friend.’

  ‘Really? I thought your friend had that complicated family situation? Won’t she be with them?’

  ‘No, Carole.’ Michelle’s father stepped in before Michelle could reply. ‘It’ll be a bloke. Paris at Christmas – how romantic, Michelle.’

  ‘We’re staying in the Marais. I’ve never been. Apparently the shops are gorgeous. Although,’ she added, ‘I’ve been told I’m not allowed to do much shopping. Even if anything’s open.’

  ‘That sounds marvellous,’ said Charles. ‘Good for you. Any room for a little one?’

  ‘Don’t even joke, Charles. I need all hands on deck. Ooh. Is that the phone?’ said Carole, tipping her head to one side.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Charles. ‘Would you like your hearing aid turned up?’

  ‘I don’t have one. As you well know. I think it was the phone. Will you excuse me?’

  Michelle knew from the artificial way her mother was pantomiming concern for the phantom missed phone call that she was up to something; it didn’t take much to work out what.

  ‘Dad . . .’ she said casually, when Carole had scurried out – if her mother was putting in a call to Harvey, she didn’t have much time before he appeared at the front door, all smiles and tactics – ‘this is a bit awkward, but a friend of mine bought a car from the Kingston dealership, and she had a bit of a problem with the money side of things. She was charged for something she didn’t get, or there was some issue with the finance agreement? Anyway, she was worried that something didn’t seem quite right about it all, so I said I’d mention it, find out what was going on.’