Jo and Chris are in their pushchair—stroller—side by side, enclosed in a transparent plastic cover. The footpath is barely wide enough in places; Chloe's skill at curbs and corners is impressive. She has stopped being defensive and is showing Ann the ropes—how to use the washing machine and dryer, how things in the kitchen work, and now, where the local shops are. Once a month they get an order of heavy and bulky supplies online from Tesco's and have it delivered. Ann knows where the list is kept.
Local shopping is all on the flat, with a small supermarket and a local branch of the public library on the way, more or less, to the park. Most of the housing is terraced, a lot of it newer than Chloe and Josh's. Chloe is chatting, explaining how they would like to buy their place off her parents, but the mortgage would stretch them even if she got back to work. “Hah!” she says, and falls silent.
A few minutes later she asks, “Can I tell you my nightmare?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Another set of twins. Four children under three.”
“Uhuh. I can see that would be a nightmare.”
“There would probably be some help from social services, and I probably wouldn't be very good at taking it. Oops, hold on.” Chloe puts her hand on her stomach for a minute, then takes a deep breath and resumes walking. Ann has seen her do that in the house; presumably she has a wave of nausea and it passes. Not always.
“You'd think getting pregnant by accident was practically impossible these days, wouldn't you?”
Ann has no answer, so remains silent.
“I guess it's my own fault, I don't like the pill, and what with breast-feeding for eighteen months I haven't been as careful as I should. We thought one more in a year or so, then one of us would get cut, you know— she made a scissors movements with her fingers. “I could probably get an abortion, but I won't, that doesn't seem right when it was our own carelessness.” Ann is pleased to hear Joshua being allocated some responsibility for the pregnancy.
They stop off at the library, where Ann gets some novels for the re-reading plan she hatched overnight. She has some Austen and Byatt’s Possession and at the last minute adds Great Soups. Chloe offers full use of her library card, and hands it over when their books have been issued. The liveliness of the library appeals to Ann and the variety of people who use it, quite a number she assumes to be Somali, given the special section of Somali books and videos. The adult women are mostly with other Somali women, along with small children, or on their own, wearing jackets or coats over their long clothes, always with a headscarf.
“People come here because it’s warm,” says Chloe. “Though they do seem to be getting books, especially the children.”
Successfully negotiating the stroller through the parked cars to cross the street, she announces “Next stop, the park.” as several large drops of rain plop onto the stroller cover. “Damn! Make that ‘next stop our place’.” And she does an on-the-spot-turn. Jo and Chris laugh and want her to do it again, so she does.
Ann insists on manoeuvring and heaving the pushchair up the seven front steps. She’ll make chicken lasagne and baked potatoes for supper, with an unseasoned portion of lasagne cooked separately for the twins.
Over the next days the weather is utterly miserable, the cold bitter, there’s no chance of getting the twins to the park. They have periods of running in the house, all around the ground floor rooms, kept from the stairs by a latched gate they will soon be able to climb, or rather haul themselves up and fall over. They remain very focused on their mother, so Ann concentrates on dealing with the washing, in all its stages, and supper. Chloe has strategically-placed buckets for when nausea overcomes her. Jo and Chris both from time to time lean over a bucket and say, “Jo—or Chris—being sick,” making movements as though their stomachs were heaving. “Mummy’s being sick,” said cheerfully by either Chloe or Ann or occasionally Joshua, becomes part of their days.
Another of Chloe's friends comes to visit, with yet another young child. They all live locally, and walk to each others’ places. Most of their conversation is about the children, their houses, their husbands. Apart from saying hello Ann doesn’t try to take part.
She goes to the Tate to see the Turners that had wowed her on an earlier visit, and to the British Museum, where she wanders aimlessly, unable to settle her interest on any era or display, and finds herself thinking about what she will cook that night. There are no new art events. The city is beautiful in its own way.
Chloe rests as much as she can and isn't going to her doctor until ten weeks, she believes in letting nature alone for those first, crucial weeks. Ann gets the habit of going to her attic room after she and Joshua have cleaned up from supper, and keeping up with her emailing home, then reading. She doesn't feel any need to go out in the evenings. Email and facebook contact with her friends at home is enough to counter any loneliness for lesbians, for now anyway.
One night as they are loading the dishwasher Joshua suggests a cuzzie beer.
“You and Chloe could go,” she counters. “You never go out together.”
“Nothing like kids to ruin your social life. I'll ask her.” He comes back a moment later. “She says thanks but no thanks, she's half asleep in front of television.”
They find a quiet table away from the bar.
“When will you find out if it's twins.?”
“I can't remember, I think the scan is at about 12 weeks. Or 10. Chloe knows all that stuff. To be honest, I don't want to know. Or I'm scared to know. It's possible, there's twins on both sides. It's scary. I mean, four under three, that's got to be a handful, even for Chloe.”
“How about not counting your chickens, uh, children, uh, bad metaphor.” I would want to know, Ann thinks. One way or the other.
“You know.” Is Josh looking bashful? “There's this woman at work, Juanita, she's younger, she seems to like me, she keeps, well anyway, I've been putting her off and I got a woman colleague to tell her I wasn't interested, but, hell, she'd be fun, there's not much fun in ….”
“Stop it!” Ann cannot believe how angry she is. “You’re a grown up man, Josh, not a ten-year-old kid lusting after a toy. Be your age! Chloe didn't get pregnant all on her own. What the hell were the two of you playing at, being so, so, so careless.” Then she’s laughing at the look on his face. “Sorry, what do I know, I'm in no position to lecture. But really, you wouldn't, would you?”
“Juanita? No, I guess not.” He sighs. “I probably want to feel sorry for myself and have you feel sorry for me too. Being a grownup sucks sometimes.” They are both quiet for a few minutes, then he says, “Chloe is fun, when she gets half a chance. She wants to study and become an accountant you know, she was going to start next year, but now, well she'll put it off, but I can't see being at home suiting her for long. She's so good with the kids I tend to leave it to her. I suppose I shouldn't …”
“No, you shouldn't.” Wow, she could be her own mother.
Joshua sighs again. “It all gets a bit of a drag, sometimes, life and work and babies and all. Weight of the world.” He sinks his shoulders in an exaggerated gesture.
“Yes, of course. And you have a job and a house and everyone's healthy and half the world or more is in some kind of desperate straits and why don't you just buck up and enjoy what you have!”
“Ouch! I didn't know I was bucked down.”
“Sorry. Projection. My own middle-class guilt.”
“You're right, though. Kind of.” They are both silent again until Joshua says, “Come on then, I'll beat you at darts.” And he does, but only just.
The house is quiet when they get back. Ann wakes up her laptop and sees an email from Ex. “Answer this, please!” it says in the subject line. This time, she opens it.
Dear Ann,
Julie was a mistake. It's over. It's horrible being in the house without you. Bella misses you too. Want some company for Christmas?
love,
Paula
So no-one has told Ex she’s away. That cheers her.
Ann hits reply and types:
Dear Paula,
Maybe Julie wasn't such a mistake. Sell the house if you don't like being in it. I've got company for Christmas—my cousin, his wife and their two-year-old twins. In London.
Ann
She clicks on "send," then puts the computer to sleep.