Lexi was in a strange mood. A low, hollow feeling of uncertainty trailed her. It was a bit like how she felt a few hours into a hangover, when the physical symptoms had eased, but all those toxins had left a little dent or depression in her mood.
Pregnancy hormones, she decided, taking a sip of sparkling water.
There was a wave of delight from the others as the waitress returned with the food: small white dishes filled with tzatziki, stuffed peppers, Greek salad with a block of feta resting on top, grilled fish drizzled with lemon oil and herbs, glossy dolmades, a bowl of taramasalata sprinkled with dill.
Disappointingly, all Lexi craved right now was beige, bland foods. She tore off a hunk of bread and nibbled the crust.
Beside her, Ana speared a ring of calamari, telling Robyn, ‘When Luca was a baby, I remember singing to him, jigging him, pleading with him, making bargains with the universe: Please! I’ll do anything! Just make this baby sleep! And then, my God, when he did – his little eyelids starting to droop, the tiny fingers going slack in mine – then comes that heart-in-throat reversing manoeuvre, backing away from their cot, carefully, carefully, avoiding the creaky floorboard that twangs—’
‘—All without breathing,’ Robyn said, her face flushed from the day’s sun.
‘Yes! The risk of an exhale! Then an hour later, where are you?’
‘Standing by the baby’s cot,’ Robyn answered, ‘watching him sleep, hoping he wakes again so you can give him a cuddle.’
Ana laughed. ‘Exactly!’
The Mothers’ Club. Strictly members only, Lexi thought. Her hand trailed to her stomach: Admittance coming soon.
She wondered what sort of mother she’d be. When she pictured this baby, she saw herself outdoors, walking, the baby strapped to her chest in a sling. They would take long strolls in all weathers, pointing out the small things they passed – ducks gliding along the river, a squirrel in a high-up branch. She realised how much she’d enjoy the company, someone to share her day with.
She tried to picture their home in London, with its huge sash windows and sparkling granite surfaces, filled with baby paraphernalia. She added Ed into the scene, placed him kneeling on a rug, smiling over their baby, who’d be cooing on a play mat. The image felt faint, too distant to reach. She tried to zoom in, see Ed’s expression. But she couldn’t make it out. Was he happy? Bored? Impatient?
The first prickling sensation of panic travelled across her skin. She knew this feeling. Had known it all her adult life: a sensation of the walls closing in, stealing the light, the air, her breath. Trapping her.
Her previous relationships had never lasted more than a few months – because as soon as the other person became emotionally invested, wanted her to commit, this feeling of suffocation closed in. She’d begin thinking about all the things that irritated her – building a case file against the poor, unsuspecting man. It was all there, waiting. The negative energy building and building, until she just had to release it by breaking up with them. It didn’t matter what they said, how much they cried; she needed to shift them. Afterwards she’d feel the huge emotional relief that it didn’t take up her headspace anymore. Then came the partying, the huge blowouts. Over and over, a little cycle of love affairs gone wrong.
She’d hoped that with Ed it would be different. It had been. It was. Until she’d taken that pregnancy test. Standing on the plush carpet of their bedroom, she’d felt the slam of fear as the blue cross emerged. A relationship could be ended. A marriage could be unravelled legally. But having a child with someone was a forever-tie.
There. That must be the precise root of her anxiety, she thought. That’s what she’d struggled to verbalise to Robyn and Bella. The pregnancy heightened everything, sealed her decisions. Knowing she could walk away was her emergency button: she wasn’t planning on pressing it, but it was reassuring to know it was there.
She already had a mental file of Ed-irritations standing by. She didn’t like the way he showered twice a day – it seemed particular. He couldn’t laugh at himself easily. He could be surly with restaurant staff. The problem was, Lexi couldn’t tell if these doubts were real and worth listening to – or if they were merely her old patterns getting to work on sabotaging her happiness.
She didn’t need to see a therapist to know where her fear of commitment stemmed from. When Lexi was thirteen, a woman had come to the door one spring evening, when the wisteria was in full bloom. It was one of her mother’s tracksuit days and Lexi had wished it weren’t. She watched from the stairs as her mother spoke to this petite, red-headed woman, her lips full and bowed like a heart. Her mother’s voice was thin and taut, and she kept touching her hairline, where her hair hung lank and unwashed.
The woman on the doorstep claimed that Lexi’s father hadn’t paid maintenance for the past year. ‘Sadie’s eleven now. She’s starting secondary school. There are things she needs.’
She expected her mother to say there’d been some mistake, but instead she’d said icily, ‘You’ll have to discuss this with Eric. He’s racing in Argentina right now.’ Then she’d closed the door.
‘Who was that?’ Lexi asked from the top of the stairs.
Her mother swung around, startled, face bloodless. ‘No one.’
‘Dad has … another daughter?’
Her mother stood pin-straight, her chin lifted, mouth tight. Lexi scanned her expression, searching for an emotion she could recognise. After a long silence, her mother simply said, ‘Yes, he does.’
Lexi felt an explosion in her head. Another daughter! My half-sister! Sadie … Sadie … ‘Does he see her?’
‘No.’
‘So what, he had an … affair?’ The word felt strange, dramatic. Something she heard on television shows, not in her life.
‘Not an affair, Lexi. Many.’ She’d smiled, a cold, awful smile that chilled Lexi to the bone. Then her mother retreated upstairs and Lexi didn’t see her again until the following day.
When her father returned from Argentina, Lexi wouldn’t look at him, speak to him, be in the same room as him. She left the present he’d bought unopened in the lounge. She stayed in her bedroom, refusing to come downstairs at mealtimes. Eventually, he knocked at her door, insisted she let him in. That’s when she’d finally spoken. Sadie, Sadie, Sadie. You have a daughter!
‘She’s not my daughter in the way that you are,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t know her. I don’t care about her.’
He’d actually thought that was the right thing to say. He thought Lexi was worried about not being the favourite, not being loved enough – when her questions were really about him – what sort of a man he was. And in that response, he’d answered.
Lexi’s parents finally divorced when she was eighteen, but she’d already spent a lifetime witnessing her mother crumbling within the walls of their marriage, trying to fit herself into the image of who her husband wanted her to be.
Lexi didn’t want that life.
She stood abruptly, knee bashing the table.
Robyn looked up. ‘You okay?’
‘Fine. Back in a minute,’ she said, feeling for her mobile.
She needed to talk to Ed.