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Aishe was staring at Connie, Michelle observed, like a rabid trade unionist might stare at Queen Elizabeth — with a conflicted mix of revulsion and respect. Connie seemed to represent everything Aishe clearly felt should be eradicated from women’s lives: an antediluvian courtesy, an air of apologetic submission, and the wearing of flesh-coloured pantyhose. But Michelle saw that Aishe also recognised that Connie was unflinching honest in her assessment of herself. She had more courage than the pair of them, Michelle thought. She and Aishe would sooner die than publicly admit that anything they’d done had been unwise or wrong.
Michelle had been surprised to see Aishe. For a while now, Michelle had been pretty certain that Aishe was only turning up because she wanted to be closer to Benedict. Now that Benedict and Izzy seemed to be an item, Michelle had expected Aishe’s visits to stop.
Michelle felt no resentment about this. Aishe didn’t strike her as a calculating user of other people, but as a woman whose instinct drove her to act in the way that was most expedient at the time. Aishe was attracted to Benedict. Benedict was at Michelle’s, so Aishe came to Michelle’s. Simple. No other motive at work.
So, when Aishe had knocked on her door, Michelle hadn’t been able to prevent a small double-take. Fortunately, Aishe hadn’t seemed to notice. Her thumbs had been hooked casually in the belt loops of her jeans but the set of her jaw had told Michelle that Aishe was not relaxed. Michelle wondered if she’d come over to get the lowdown on Benedict and his new girlfriend. Of course, there was nothing Michelle could tell her, as Benedict had refused to discuss it. Connie had insisted he was being a gentleman. Michelle had replied that she’d give him one last chance and then she’d have no choice but to threaten him with a kick in the balls.
‘I have a friend over,’ Michelle had said to Aishe. ‘The one I told you about.’
Aishe’s head had tilted back in surprise. ‘One of the bitch wives?’
‘Connie’s no bitch, but she certainly could do with lessons.’ Michelle had opened the door wide to let Aishe in. ‘Come and join us.’
Connie had tactfully acted as if she had no prior knowledge at all of Aishe or any aspect of her personal life, when in fact, thanks to Michelle, those two subjects had up until that moment been the sole topic of conversation. And while Connie’s courtesy may have been a little disingenuous, thought Michelle, it had also been a wonderfully effective way to elicit information from Aishe. She could probably have got the same result by grilling her, thought Michelle, but it would have been a battle. Whereas in fifteen minutes, through perfectly innocent questions about the tutoring arrangements for Aishe’s son, Connie had managed to find out that a) Aishe had not spoken to Benedict since last week, b) she, too, had no idea if he and Izzy were serious, and c) both those things bothered her intensely.
To be fair, thought Michelle, Aishe did not actually admit the last point out loud. But her staccato answers and tightly folded arms made it obvious. Michelle was desperate to know what had happened. Had Izzy been so gorgeous that Benedict had been smitten on the spot? Or had he finally realised how badly Aishe had been treating him and told her to sling her hook?
However it had happened, Michelle had to acknowledge that the result was exactly what she’d aimed for. Now, seeing Aishe tense and wary but also somehow resigned, like a stray dog finally locked in a cage, Michelle wasn’t sure she had been right. She still believed Aishe had treated Benedict like crap, but maybe it would have been fairer to hear her side of things, give her a chance to explain why?
Oh well. Too late now.
‘Where’s Gulliver?’ Michelle said. ‘Don’t you two usually go out on Tuesday afternoons?’
Aishe didn’t quite meet her eye. ‘He wanted to stay home and practise for the concert.’
‘You must be very proud of him,’ said Connie.
Aishe frowned, as if suspecting mockery. But Connie was clear-eyed and her smile was warm.
‘Do you have kids?’ Aishe said.
Connie’s smile faltered. ‘I’m afraid not. My husband and I — we couldn’t . . .’
‘Couldn’t what?’ said Aishe. ‘Have sex?’
‘Jesus, Aishe!’ said Michelle. ‘What do you think she means?’
‘There are couples who don’t have sex! It’s documented! How am I supposed to know what she means if she won’t say it?’
Michelle was about to escalate, when Connie said, ‘You’re quite right. I shouldn’t shy away from the subject. My husband and I were Rhesus negative,’ she said to Aishe. ‘I had three miscarriages and then decided not to try again.’
‘I’ve never had a miscarriage,’ said Aishe, after a moment. ‘Must be hell.’
‘The last one was the morning before a big charity auction we’d planned to attend,’ said Connie. ‘I’d been so thrilled to receive the invitation; it was a real society event. I had bought a wonderful dress. Had my hair done. We were being picked up in a limousine...’
‘You dodged a bullet,’ said Aishe. ‘People who go to those events are invariably the kind of people you’d aim for on a pedestrian crossing. And then reverse over, just for good luck.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Connie. ‘I went. We both went, Phil and I.’
‘Phil made you go after a miscarriage?’ Michelle was appalled.
Connie offered Aishe a wry smile. ‘Michelle is convinced my husband treats me badly. Phil did not make me,’ she said to Michelle. ‘He insisted that I should stay home and he should look after me. But I was more insistent.’
‘You’re a mad woman,’ said Michelle. ‘The mad woman of Shalott.’
‘It’s the Lady of Shalott,’ said Connie. ‘And the Madwoman of Chaillot.’
She smiled sadly again. ‘That night I felt like both. Cursed and mad. I mingled with all those people and I talked and laughed as if nothing was wrong. I don’t know how I did it. Or why. Maybe I needed to pretend I was human. Because what I really felt was that there was nothing inside me. No organs, no bones, no blood. Nothing. I thought if someone took a knife and slit me from throat to stomach, I would open up like a tailor’s dummy. Poor Phil,’ she added. ‘He did not enjoy himself one bit that evening.’
‘Poor Phil, my arse!’ said Michelle. ‘Poor you! Sounds worse than hell.’
‘You’ve never had a miscarriage, either?’ Aishe asked her.
‘I wanted to get pregnant and have babies.’ said Michelle, ‘so that’s exactly what I did. The possibility it might not happen never even crossed my mind.’
‘I thought about it,’ said Aishe. ‘Thought about terminating, too. For a millisecond.’
‘My friend Darrell’s giving more thought than that to a termination,’ said Michelle. ‘I think she’s insane.’
‘It’s her choice,’ said Connie quietly. ‘No matter how much you may personally disapprove.’
‘I truly believe that is balls!’ said Michelle. ‘There are very few choices we can make in isolation. Losing weight, getting fit, giving up smoking – even that one affects people around us; they can breathe again! But everything else has some knock-on effect for others. Darrell hardly got pregnant through an immaculate conception. So how can you say it’s her choice?’
‘Because ultimately it’s the mother who has to shoulder the responsibility,’ said Aishe. ‘With the exception of Father Time, the male of the species is pretty bloody unreliable.’
Michelle opened her mouth to protest, and had to close it again. After a moment, she said, ‘Darrell’s father is still around. Not the most dynamic of men. But definitely reliable.’
Aishe gave her a look. ‘He was the only one you could think of, wasn’t he?’
‘My father is also still around,’ said Connie. ‘He does his best not to show his disappointment that I didn’t provide him with grandchildren.’
‘Jesus.’ Aishe’s upper lip was curling. ‘Seriously?’
Connie turned her big blue gaze on Aishe. ‘And how would you feel if you knew your line was coming to an end? I’m his only daughter. After me, without a child, there’s no one.’
Aishe blinked, but made no reply.
‘It’s more than a social norm, our desire for family,’ Connie went on. ‘It’s a fundamental instinct. To belong. To be part of the continuum of life, secure in knowing that people came before us and will come after. It’s what makes us human.’
Aishe looked over at Michelle, who shook her head.
‘There are no words,’ said Michelle. ‘Trust me.’
The baby monitor on the kitchen bench crackled and through the static came a small, high-pitched cry. All three woman stopped still and listened intently.
After a minute with no further noises, Michelle sat back in her chair and blew out a breath. ‘Nope. Still asleep, thank God. Probably dreaming about stabbing someone.’
‘When Gulliver was a baby, he had a toy gorilla that made grunting sounds when you pressed its stomach,’ said Aishe. ‘He rolled over on it in the cot one night and I just about had a heart attack. Thought he had whooping cough or something.’
Michelle pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘More coffee? I won’t bother to offer either of you cake.’
‘I’ll have cake,’ said Aishe.
When Michelle glanced at her in surprise, Aishe screwed up her mouth. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘It’s not like anyone gives a shit if I get fat.’
Michelle brought the coffee plunger to the table, and then the cake. She proceeded to cut two huge slices, one of which she offered to Aishe.
‘Why should you give a shit about fatness anyway?’ she said, and took a large bite of the one on her own plate. ‘It didn’t matter when you got married.’
‘Frank transcended fat,’ said Aishe. ‘Seriously. He was so fat you didn’t really think of him as such. I know I didn’t.’
‘You have to admit,’ said Michelle, ‘ghat you and he were an odd couple.’
‘You think so?’
Michelle noted the edge in Aishe’s tone and chose to ignore it. It was then she noticed that Connie had not said a word for quite some time. And that she was sitting upright in her chair with both hands in her lap, one crossed over the other. Her head was bowed.
‘Connie?’ said Michelle. ‘You OK?’
Connie touched one fingertip to her wedding ring. ‘I still feel like that.’
Aishe and Michelle exchanged a glance.
‘Like what?’
‘Like a tailor’s dummy.’
‘Oh, God, Connie,’ said Michelle. ‘You mustn’t.’
Michelle slid from her chair and onto the one next to Connie, and put her arms around her.
‘Jesus, Connie, it’s like hugging a hummingbird! Nothing but tiny little bones and air! I’m afraid to squeeze.’
She squeezed anyway.
‘What can I do?’ Michelle said.
To her surprise, Connie lifted her head and laughed. ‘I do believe you’re convinced you can solve any problem.’
‘Of course I can! I am like the person who tackled the thing that couldn’t be done! But in my case the rhyme wouldn’t end with me not being able to do it. It would end with me kicking the shit out of the thing to get my own back.’ She gave her friend’s shoulders another squeeze. ‘Connie, I know you stand up for Phil, like a good wife. But are you happy with him?’
‘I think I wouldn’t be happy without him.’
‘You think? You don’t know?’
Connie was quiet for a moment. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I don’t know.’
‘I just feel there’s more for you,’ said Michelle. She waved her hand towards the front window. ‘Out there.’
‘Out there is a big place,’ said Connie.
‘That’s my point,’ said Michelle. ‘And it doesn’t mean it’s a bad place. I’ve been out there. Aishe’s certainly been out there. We avoided being tortured, raped and killed. At least—’ She glanced at Aishe.
‘No torture or rape,’ said Aishe. ‘One guy tried to kill me at a concert, but I got away.’
‘There you are, then.’ Michelle gave Connie’s shoulder a last pat.
Connie took a deep breath. ‘I could take Phil with me.’
‘Would he want to go?’ Michelle looked doubtful.
‘I have no idea.’ Connie smiled at her. ‘So I suppose the first thing to do is to ask.’
‘You don’t have to take Phil,’ said Michelle. ‘Really.’
‘Phil is nowhere near as bad as you think. When Chad’s back, you must come to dinner. Just us,’ Connie added. ‘At our place.’
Michelle wasn’t sure which part of that statement was responsible for the sudden lurch in her gut. She assumed it was most likely to be the thought of Chad’s return, on Sunday evening, only five days away.
God, she thought. Five days. That meant he’d been gone over three weeks. In the grand scheme of things, that was a mere blip. But in her life, it had been three weeks where it felt like all the pieces had shifted and she could no longer see what pattern they make.
‘We should go out,’ she heard Aishe say. ‘For a drink.’
‘You keep threatening me with that,’ said Michelle. ‘Last time, you said something about a blues band?’
Aishe pursed her mouth. ‘I’m off that idea. But I’m still keen on the drink part.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘OK then, let’s commit to a date. How about this Friday night?’
‘Fine with me.’ Michelle shrugged. ‘You know my social life’s a desert. Connie?’
Connie gazed at her. ‘You’re inviting me, too?’
‘Of course!’
Connie touched a hand to her chest. ‘I don’t really drink.’
‘Well, then, be the driver,’ said Aishe.
‘Oh, I don’t drive,’ said Connie.
‘What?’ It came from both Aishe and Michelle.
‘How the hell have you been getting to my place?’ Michelle demanded.
‘Why, the bus, of course.’
‘You’re shitting me.’
‘I like the bus,’ said Connie. ‘It gives me time to read. And think.’
Michelle stared at her.
‘Come for a drink with us, Connie,’ she said. ‘You can catch the freaking bus out here and stay the night.’
Connie’s eyes lit up. ‘Can I feed the children in the morning?’
Michelle slowly shook her head. ‘Sometimes, I struggle to believe you’re for real. Yes, of course. And if you want to be a true martyr to the cause, you can bring me toast and coffee, too.’