It was a quarter to twelve when I got Helen into a cab. Since Helen and Billy lived in opposite directions, I gave Billy enough cash to get her and Cora home in another one.
A few minutes after pulling away, Helen remembered that she hadn’t got her keys. I assumed that Rose would let us in, but Helen insisted we go back and I get her bag from the VIP bar. It made no sense to me, but Helen was in too fragile a state to argue with, so I asked the taxi driver to turn around and go back. If we hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen Billy sitting at the bus stop, with Cora, curled like an oversized cat, already asleep on her lap. Billy didn’t see us pass, and for that I was grateful.
I managed to find the handbag fairly easily, but I only just missed bumping into Neil by ducking onto the dance floor. There were Ben and Sasha doing pretty good dirty dancing for a couple of oldies. I stood stock-still among the moving mass of bodies and watched them gyrate, swing, smooch, laugh and laugh and laugh. For a brief moment Sasha looked straight at me, then Ben swung her upside-down again. She didn’t look back. I had to get out of there.
By the time I’d wrestled my way back through the throng we’d ratcheted up another fiver on the clock and Billy and Cora had boarded their night bus and gone. I pulled Helen into my arms and held on to her tightly as we drove through the busy streets of London in the full swing of Saturday night. In her lap lay the dormant breast pump. She ran the empty plastic tube through her fingers like the beads on a rosary.
Having deposited Helen, fully clothed, in bed, I decided to go and check on the twins. As I reached the top floor Rose stepped out of the shadows onto the landing and gave me such a fright, I nearly fell back down the stairwell. She eyed me suspiciously, which I thought was fair enough, given I was creeping around the house in the middle of the night, in the dark.
“Bloody hell, Rose, you gave me a fright. It’s me, Tessa. I just brought Helen home,” I whispered.
“What happened?”
“I think she had a bit to drink, but she’s obviously not used to it. She’s in a real state.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. She’s denying it.”
She nodded her head, which felt to me as if she were looking me up and down. I realized it was the middle of the night, and she’d probably been woken by the twins already, but she wasn’t being very sympathetic. What I’d seen in that loo was a very distressed woman. Maybe Helen had got nervous, had too much to drink and then felt guilty about the twins and didn’t want Neil to know, but then, maybe it was more serious than that.
“Are the twins all right? Are they hungry?” I asked.
“They’re asleep. She shouldn’t disturb them.”
“I agree. We should let her sleep as long as possible. You’ll have to give the boys some formula if they wake up. Have you got any formula?”
Was it my imagination, or was Rose frowning at me? Was she a breast-is-best guru as well? Since when had formula become so vilified? Rose turned away from me and retreated into her room. I wasn’t sure which room the boys slept in, since Helen always preferred to feed up there alone. It was also at the top of the house, and I had never felt sufficiently inclined to endorse the grotesquely expensive handmade cots in the perfectly decorated themed nursery from Dragons of Walton Street to brave the five storeys. Anyway, since the babies were always produced, powdered and clean in matching Moses baskets, it didn’t seem necessary. Helen said running up and down to the nursery kept her fit. It tired me out just looking at them. Caspar spent the first six months of his life sleeping on a changing mat in the bath because Nick and Fran lived in a one-roomed flat. Cora was in hospital but when she moved into her room, I knew it like the back of my hand. I knew where everything was kept. The booties. The wipes. The muslins. I turned back down the stairs feeling conscious that of the four doors in front of me, I did not know behind which my godsons slept, or if they even slept together.
I went over to Neil’s drinks cabinet and poured a whisky into a cut-glass crystal tumbler that was too big to get my hand around. I raised the lid on the ice bucket expecting to find nothing, but was greeted by fresh ice. So that was what having full-time, live-in staff meant—fresh ice and, if Marguerite was right, only a passing knowledge of your children. I plopped a couple of pieces into the whisky and threw myself into one of their three huge cream sofas. Just you wait till crayon time, I thought, and melting ice-lollies, and Marmite soldiers, and Play-doh…but I dismissed the thought. All those images were from a happy home and something about this house didn’t feel very happy. I curled my feet up under me. Had I really been so involved with what was going on at work not to pay Helen any attention, or was it something else? Something less palatable, though I was beginning to be able to taste its unappetizing flavor. I was jealous. That’s why I hadn’t listened to Helen’s complaints of piles, of breathlessness, of stretch marks and rancid indigestion. In the absence of a decent role model, Helen worried about being a good mother. I dismissed those fears with a wave of my hand. When Neil looked at her and told her she was huge, I laughed because it wasn’t true. She looked amazing right up to her delivery date. But it must have felt true to Helen. I had put up an invisible force field between Helen and myself. I had repelled her advances. Why? Because she had deserted me. My fellow fun-loving, girl-about-town, devil-may-care, throw-caution-to-the-wind playmate had deserted me. And I had made her suffer for it. It was worse than pure jealousy, because I was jealous of something that I didn’t even want for myself.
I couldn’t stand Neil. I knew that Helen had been subjected to a loveless childhood and that the money she inherited from her father would never make amends. I knew that she was insecure, unconfident, caged by her own looks, and could be inflicted with deep wounds by people who should have had no impact on her whatsoever. So beneath the jealousy lurked anger. I thought I was angry at her for selling herself so short, but really I was angry at myself because somewhere inside me the thought of selling myself short appealed. Trouble was, I couldn’t even seem to manage that. I put the empty glass down on the side table and peeled myself off the sofa. It was two in the morning. I groped my way upstairs and found a spare bedroom, stripped off, fell into the luxurious, squishy bed and fell asleep immediately.
I didn’t know if I’d been woken by the smell of smoke, or the persistent thudding resonating through the floor into my ribcage. I reluctantly opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. Dawn outlined the thick curtains. I sat up, turned on the side light and squinted at my watch. I wrapped the waffle dressing gown I found hanging on the back of the en-suite bathroom around me and stepped into the hall. I heard a noise above me. Rose was leaning over the banister, glaring down the stairwell. When she saw me, she shook her head and moved back.
I started my descent. There were two girls sitting on the bottom step in deep conversation, waving cigarettes around.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping between them. They barely paused. “You might want to get an ashtray,” I said, pointing at the long arc of ash that hung precariously off the cigarette. I may as well have asked them for a kidney. I followed the sound of the bass into the drawing room where I had wistfully sipped whisky a few hours earlier. Five people were huddled around the glass-topped coffee table. There were all sorts of bottles open on the table, every ashtray spilled over with fag butts, some still burning. They must have been in residence for a good couple of hours. Neil stood by the state-of-the-art stereo, controls in hand, dancing furiously on the spot, shaking his head from side to side, facing the wall.
“Do you mind turning that down?” I said to Neil. “You’re going to wake the babies.”
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” exclaimed Neil turning around. “Oh God, I thought you were the nanny. Join us, have a drink, sit down. Did you enjoy the party?”
I was standing there in a robe, but Neil didn’t seem to register that.
“Could you please turn the music down? Helen is knackered and I really don’t want her to wake up.”
“Since when did you become such a bore, Sasha?” said Neil. He looked like a cow chewing cud. His jaw never stopped moving.
“Tessa,” I corrected him.
“Fuck, sorry, I always get you two mixed up. You’re weirdly similar, don’t you think? Have you ever thought that?” Neil didn’t know what he was saying. He had verbal diarrhea. Talking shit. “Come and have a little livener. You’ve always been more adventurous than Helen. Always liked that spirit about you. At first I thought you were just a bit of a loser, but I admire you. You’re so independent, wish my wife was more like you.” I just wanted him to shut up. I peeled his heavy, sweaty arm off me.
“She really needs some proper sleep. It’s six in the morning. Isn’t it time everyone went home?”
I looked over at the people around the coffee table. They were a grim-looking bunch. Cocaine is not good for the complexion. They stared back at me through vast, dilated pupils.
“We’ve only just got here,” said Neil.
The girls from the stairs came in. “Any more coke?” asked one.
Neil pulled a wrap from his pocket and threw it on to the table. Two men pounced. I knew I was fighting a losing battle; no one was going to listen to me, so I surreptitiously turned the volume down on the stereo and retreated, closing the doors behind me. I wondered, as I climbed the stairs back to my room, whether this was a one-off or not. I knew that Neil often went AWOL; I didn’t realize that he’d started bringing the party home. I got back into bed. Half an hour or so later, I heard the music again. It thumped in and out of my consciousness until eight. Eventually I got up, had a bath, got dressed into my party dress and, after silently opening Helen’s door just enough to check that she was still sleeping, I went upstairs to find the nursery.
Thankfully it was the first door I tried. The nursery was just as I had expected: a shrine to privileged parenting. It had everything. Hand-painted cots with rather girly canopies. Beatrix Potter character-shaped rugs on the floor. Machines that played Mozart. Machines that projected lights on the ceiling. Machines that read the temperature and humidity of the room. There was a matching feeding chair and stool in blue gingham, and two of everything else. Baby bouncers. Changing-tables. Play-nests. Potties. There were more Beatrix Potter characters stenciled above the skirting board, complete with the words of Miss Tiggywinkle. A struggling artist had painted a blue sky with fluffy white clouds on the ceiling, some of which hosted round-bottomed putti smiling down from on high. I wasn’t sure the Renaissance and the Potter combination worked, but hey, these weren’t my offspring to confuse.
There were two built-in wardrobes. Behind one was a collection of designer labels to make a grown woman weep, except not even the thinnest of them could have squeezed into these minute ensembles. Behind the other I found a kitchenette with a microwave, a kettle, a fridge/freezer and every accessory I’d ever seen in the baby section of John Lewis, and others that I hadn’t. Helen wasn’t taking any chances. I opened the freezer and was confronted by row upon row of miniature colostomy bags—a stationary army of expressed milk, ready for the off. That was when I remembered the double-headed monster gnawing away at Helen’s once remarkable cleavage last night. I looked around the light, airy room, amazed by the equipment that could be amassed if you had the money and the inclination, and recalled once again baby Caspar’s nursery. A changing-mat in the bath. Cora’s was the life-support unit at St. Mary’s Hospital. In either case, I’d never seen their mothers as distressed, disorientated and disheveled as Helen was last night. I pulled the door behind me. The nursery boasted everything an expectant mother’s heart desired. Except one thing. Where were the babies?
Behind another door I found a spare room that had once been occupied by the maternity nurse. Which left one more after the nautically themed bathroom. I knocked and heard Rose’s voice. She came to the door and, rather suspiciously, I thought, opened it a crack. She looked me up and down and sneered with blatant disapproval. At first I was insulted but then I remembered the coke whores downstairs; I was still in my party dress and Rose had seen Helen and me after some of our own long nights. But that was all in the past. I hoped I looked better that morning than they did.
“I haven’t been downstairs with Neil. I’ve been trying to sleep,” I said to appease her. I didn’t get the thawing I was expecting. She stonewalled me.
“Are you all right?”
“What do you think?”
I was cross too, but I didn’t understand Rose’s hostility. She was a mild-mannered woman who had loved Helen unconditionally. Perhaps that was changing. Perhaps Helen’s choice of husband had been one condition she couldn’t work with.
“Do you have the twins?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
“Where are they, then?”
“With their father,” she said furiously.
“Their father!”
“He wanted to play with them.”
“Neil has them?”
“As I said, he wanted to play with them.”
“But he’s…” Coked off his face. “Been up all night.”
“He is their father. I am just an ugly Filipino who is paid to do as she’s told.”
I immediately knew the source of that gut-wrenching sentence.
“Oh, Rose, I’m sorry.” I wasn’t going to make excuses for Neil, because there weren’t any. I could have stood there all day and sympathized with Rose. I could have happily spent hours discussing how horrific Neil was, how racist, how puerile, how sexist, how stupid, but I was more concerned about my godsons. So I left her. I didn’t operate within the same boundaries that Rose did and had no qualms about telling Neil exactly how disgusting he was.
I hope never again to see what I saw that morning. Neil was holding one of the babies above his head, dancing. The other was lying on the sofa between two girls who took turns to coo, and then take long drags on their cigarettes, while discussing their own desire to procreate. I saw one stub out a fag and then, with the same hand, stroke the baby’s face. The room was thick with smoke, so what did it really matter?—the boys were already a packet down—but the proximity of her nicotine-stained fingers to that precious baby’s mouth filled me with hatred. I went for him first.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing!” I shouted as I hauled the baby off the sofa. I turned on Neil. “These fucking morons clearly don’t know better, but you are their father. It stinks in here. There is coke on the table. Are you insane?”
“I did say they shouldn’t be in here,” said some hunched bloke from an armchair. I ignored him. I took the baby I was holding out into the corridor and placed him on the carpet. When I returned, Neil was slagging me off. I heard him say “cobweb cunt,” which could not have bothered me less, since I was no longer interested in him. I just wanted to get my godson off him. I went to the heavy curtains and pulled them back, and watched with some satisfaction as everyone winced like oysters in lemon juice at the bright sunlight that poured into the room. The thick grey smoke lingered around us like wisps of Dartmoor fog. I unbolted the window and threw it wide open. Then I returned for the other baby. Luckily Neil was too pissed to successfully resist, though he did try.
“You don’t deserve them, and you don’t deserve Helen.”
“Fuck off.” He took an unsure step towards me. “Give me back Tommy, you stupid cow.”
“If you touch me I will call the police. I swear to God, Neil, I will call the police.”
“Leave it, man,” said the bloke from the armchair. “She’s right. They shouldn’t be in here. Come on, mate, have a drink.”
I left the room, picked up the baby I now knew to be Bobby, and in my heels, started back up the stairs. By the first landing I was out of breath. These boys weighed a bit and didn’t offer much help in the way of supporting themselves. My arm muscles soon started to burn. I kicked off my shoes and made it up the next four flights. I could smell the smoke on their matching baby gowns and hated their father deeper and more fervently than I ever would have thought possible. Four round conker-colored eyes stared back at me. I couldn’t stop apologizing to them. I kissed them both repeatedly on their round, warm foreheads as the word “sorry” poured out of me. Finally I got them up to the immaculate nursery and closed the door behind me.
“It’s all right, boys, we’re going to get you out of these stinky clothes and into the fresh air. Godmummy T is in charge.”
I placed Bobby on Peter Rabbit and Tommy on Jemima Puddleduck and went back to Rose’s room. I knocked again. This time she answered in her overcoat.
“I need your help,” I said immediately.
She shook her head.
“You don’t understand, Helen is exhausted and Neil is with these awful people and I don’t have—”
“I’m sorry.”
“But please, I don’t know how to—”
“It is my day off.”
“Again?”
Rose frowned.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I know you work nonstop. But please can you stay? I’m sure Helen will pay you, I’ll pay you whatever you want.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Money,” she said in disgust.
“I didn’t mean to insult you.” In my panic I was messing things up. “I desperately want Helen to sleep, that’s all.”
“I came back because of the boys. But I cannot stay any longer.” She picked up a suitcase that I had not noticed before and opened the door wider.
“Where are you going?”
Rose didn’t answer me.
“Please don’t go, not now. Helen needs help.”
“Yes, she does. But not from me.”
“But she’s desperate,” I pleaded.
“I know. I cannot help her while she continues in this way.”
“It’s not her fault. It’s Neil!”
“Tessa, make all the excuses in the world, but I will not stay here and watch Helen do this to herself.”
I knew what she meant. I hated watching it too. I hated what Neil did to her, but this wasn’t going to help her. Rose saw the boys lying on their respective rugs through the open nursery door. I thought for a second that she started to lower her suitcase, but then she shook her head again and straightened up. When she looked back at me I thought I saw tears. I watched her descend the staircase and a few moments later heard the heavy front door close with a firm thud. I returned to the nursery, stripped the boys, peered into their nappies to check there was no poo, and, relieved, picked out new outfits that didn’t match. Tommy was in something with a train motif. Bobby got the bear suit. T for Train. T for Tommy. B for Bear. B for Bobby. At least I could call them by their names now.
I had to get out of my ridiculous dress, so I crept into Helen’s room and found a tracksuit and trainers that looked like my size, but were, of course, too small. I didn’t dare go back in, so I squeezed into the pink velour and hoped that I didn’t bump into anyone I knew. You have to be very beautiful to wear pink velour well. I carried the boys back downstairs—no mean feat—to the basement, where I knew the pram was parked. I had made three more journeys to the nursery when I remembered I should take supplies. I fetched the frozen milk but forgot the bottles. Then I needed something warm for them to wear. Then Bobby was sick, so I had to carry him back up for a whole new outfit. Luckily, there was two of everything, so another bear suit was easy to find. At least I remembered the nappies on that trip. By the time I left the house I was exhausted and Tommy had been waiting in the pram for forty minutes. He was clearly pissed off. I couldn’t face another ascent, so I found something for him to amuse himself with. The jam-jar lid went straight in his mouth and he promptly fell asleep. One bonus to all of this was that Neil had vanished along with everyone else.
I left a note for Helen, telling her to call me when she woke up and that I had the twins and everything was fine. Then I set off down the street with my charges to find some fuel for me. I glanced at my watch. Was ten-thirty too early for a stiff drink? Caffeine would have to suffice. Notting Hill Gate was full of lovely little cafés to sit in and idle away a morning, but there was no way I could get the pram through the doors, let alone navigate the tables. The pram may have been state-of-the-art, but it was still preposterously large and, frankly, a little too showy to gain much sympathy. I noted that as I stood outside one café emitting enticing warm, doughy smells, and wondered whether there was any chance of getting in, those on the other side of the glass glared at me with open hostility. With little sleep and terrible clothes, I looked perfect in my role of frazzled new mother.
I walked away and headed for the one place I knew I could hang my hat and dump my load. I avoided Starbucks like the plague usually. There was nothing that made me feel the pinch of my ovaries more than a visit to Starbucks. You were usually confronted by a mammary gland, or several if a Lamaze class was “getting together,” before you reached the incomprehensible barista, and by the time it took the twenty minutes for your cup of warm milk to arrive, you’d heard several women discuss drying their nether regions with a hairdryer and could list nipple creams off by heart. But there were double doors, and women with babies to help hold them open. No one sneered at me. Instead, I got a look of pity from some and a knowing look from others that said “IVF was it, dear?” I ordered a triple-shot dry cappuccino and sat down on the scurf-covered brown velvet chair with relief. Someone had left a paper and for a few glorious moments I read it, drank coffee and thought, Hey, this isn’t so bad.
Bobby woke up first and started crying. Fine, I thought. Milk. No problem. I got a large cup of hot water and plonked a bag of frozen milk in it. That was probably my first mistake. I should have got two. The milk seemed to take for ever to defrost, meanwhile Bobby got increasingly restless and soon got tired of crinkling brown sugar packets in his chubby little fingers. Personally, I thought the twins could probably do with skipping a meal or two, but clearly they didn’t. Tommy woke up and went straight from sucking the jam-jar lid to full scream. I returned to the counter and asked for more hot water. One sweet girl offered to heat the milk in the microwave for me. I could have kissed her.
“I have twins,” she said, which surprised me, since she only looked about twelve. She took the bags and the bottles from me and a few minutes later, which felt like hours, she returned with an apologetic look on her face. I knew immediately something was wrong.
“I am so sorry,” she said, above the increasing din of Tommy’s hunger. “It seems to have curdled. There wasn’t a date on the bag. How old is it?”
I shrugged. “They’re not mine. I’m looking after them for a friend.”
She looked concerned. I felt terrified.
“What shall I do?”
“Go to Boots and buy a carton of ready-prepared baby milk.”
“But they only have breast milk.”
“Or find their mother.”
I swore silently under my breath.
“You sure I can’t give them that?” I looked at the bottles for the first time. She was right, the milk had curdled.
“It doesn’t smell right,” said the woman. “You go, I’ll watch the babies.”
I could have kissed her again. There is such goodness in the world, I thought, my spirits rocketing back up from around my ankles as I ran out of Starbucks.
There were several brands, for several stages. I didn’t have time to read the tiny writing and anyway, I didn’t know what the boys weighed, so I bought two of each, which set me back a bit. Then I ran back to Starbucks. The waitress was rocking the pram backwards and forwards and singing something in Spanish.
“Thank you so much. This is probably the last thing you want to do; you probably come to work to get away from the kids.”
She shook her head. “They are at home in Chile with my mother.”
“Wow,” I said. “That must be hard.”
“They are well fed,” she said smiling bravely. “So how old are these boys?”
“Five months.”
“Big boys. My colleague cleaned the bottles, you can start again now.”
I wanted her to stay but a party of eight came in and she had to go back to work. I ripped open the carton with my teeth and noticed a woman looking at me disapprovingly. I smiled at her then poured the contents into the bottles, tightened the lids, and without remembering to warm them, offered them to the two hungry mouths. They started sucking furiously as soon as the plastic teats touched their lips, and despite some excessive dribbling, they seemed completely unfazed by this dramatic change in their young lives. As they stared up at me from inside their pram I thought about the slight girl behind the counter and her babies miles away and thought how very lucky we all were and how easy it was to forget. My confidence was soaring as the boys drained every last drop. I picked up Tommy to wind him and was rewarded with an enormous belch. I picked up Bobby and was coated in a thick slick of milky slime while he simultaneously filled his nappy. The rapturous noise was competing with the steam machine but still won. People turned to look. I smiled apologetically.
“Gee, thanks, kiddo,” I said to Bobby, and placed him back in the pram alongside his brother so we could all pay a visit to the loo. There was no way the pram would get through the door, so I returned to my seat, lifted Bobby out again and asked the woman on the next-door table to keep an eye on Tommy. He was happily sucking the jam-jar lid again, so I didn’t think he’d be any trouble.
“I’ll only be a minute,” I said, feeling pretty competent at this point, and picked up my bag of tricks. It was a disaster. As soon as I removed the odorous nappy, Bobby pooed again. Thick, squitty, sweet yellow poo. It was disgusting. I tried to wipe it up with loo paper but it ran down his legs and, more choicely than that, up his rather hairy back. The skid mark quickly soaked through two layers of clothes. I ferreted around in the bag, knowing full well that I hadn’t factored in a change of clothes. The recycled loo paper came apart in my hands and only managed to smear the excrement further afield. Was this putrid-smelling stuff normal? Maybe I had poisoned him with the baby milk?
In the end, I used up a whole precious nappy wiping him up, hoping that Tommy had a firmer constitution than his brother. I finally got the last of the clean nappies under his bum, when from out of his willy shot a perfect arc of pee. Luckily, I had turned away at that moment so most of it went in my ear and trickled down my neck, rather than in my eye. By the time I had grabbed more loo paper, he and I were soaking. There was a knock on the door.
“It’s occupied,” I shouted rudely.
“Your child is screaming.”
“Oh, sorry, can you…” No, she couldn’t. I didn’t know who this woman was. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago.”
Fifteen minutes! Lying toad. I glanced at my watch. Shit. She was being generous. It was more like twenty. I unlocked the door and heard the bawling.
“I’m so sorry. Had a bit of a nightmare.”
The woman glanced over my pee-soaked shoulder. A pile of poo-covered paper and nappies were piled high around a wet, poo-stained baby who lay in a messy state of undress. He was smiling, though. Bless him.
“I can see,” she said.
“Would you mind just—”
“I’m terribly sorry, but I have to go.”
I was in a jam. I didn’t dare leave Bobby unattended on the changing-table, since I hadn’t bothered harnessing him in, but I couldn’t leave Tommy screaming the place down.
“Look, I’ll push the pram over here.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, filled with gratitude. “Really, thank you. Thank you.” Shut up you, mad woman. “Thank you,” I said again. In the space of one hour and forty-nine minutes, the twins had turned me into a gibbering wreck.
An hour later I was back at Helen’s house. I’d been sitting outside her house for half of that time before she finally called, though naturally I didn’t tell her that. I think she was a little surprised to discover that Bobby was naked under his snowsuit, but she hid it well. I threw the damaged goods into the laundry room and closed the door on the sorry mess. Helen returned with a freshly dressed Bobby. I sat while Tommy happily played under another play-nest in the “family room.”
“Was Tommy sick?” she asked.
“No, but Bobby was.”
“Bobby?” Helen looked down at the play-nest.
Something was wrong. The baby lying on the play-nest had a train on his tummy.
“Isn’t that Tommy?”
“No. Hard as it is to believe, I do know the difference between them.”
You might, I thought. But your husband doesn’t.
“So sorry. How do you tell them apart?”
“Tommy has darker eyes.”
“What do you do when they are asleep?”
“Hope no one has swapped them around.”
I smiled, thinking Helen was joking.
“Once they wake up again, I soon know. Tommy is sick all the time. Bobby isn’t. It’s weird.”
“What if they both take turns in being sick, and you just think it’s always Tommy.”
“Tessa, please don’t do my head in more than it is already.”
As I said, I thought this conversation was quite jovial. Breaking the ice from the night before. Washing over it with humor. But then Helen burst into tears.
I couldn’t calm her down. I couldn’t make the tears stop. I couldn’t. I didn’t know a human being could have so much liquid inside them. Babies are strange. The twins got agitated and distressed by the noise. I knew how they felt. It was horrible seeing someone you loved in that much pain, and not being able to stop it. I was frightened they would start crying too, so I extracted myself from her and took them to another part of the room. I found their baby bouncers and put them in front of Baby Bach. The hypnosis was instant. Eventually, I thrust a glass of brandy in Helen’s hand (and poured one for myself) and told her to drink it. She looked at me with such sorrow in her eyes that I couldn’t bear to hold her gaze. I knew it was far too early in the day, but sod the babies and their pure boob juice, I couldn’t think of anything else.
“Drink it,” I insisted. She obediently knocked it back in one. Then she stared at the glass so I took it away.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Helen, it’s one fucking drink.” I knelt at her feet and took her hands. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”
She shook her head.
“I can’t help you until you tell me. You are clearly depressed, that much I can see for myself. You need help.”
“I’ve got tons of fucking help, all I have is help, help, help. I can’t cope. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.”
“I don’t blame you. I had them for two hours and they reduced me to tears.”
I wanted her to smile, but she didn’t. So I tried to think of a serious solution.
“There must be a book, something to help you know what to do…”
“Books. Books. There are millions of books all telling you different things; there are books about how many books there are, which promise to make it simple, but they don’t. They don’t. None of them can tell me why I feel like this!” She sighed heavily. “Trust me, I don’t need books.”
OK, not books then.
“Neil says I’m pathetic. Says it isn’t right, a woman of my age having a nanny, and he’s right.”
“He is not! You’ve got to stop believing your husband.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t. Not any more.”
Was the reason for these tears Neil, and not the babies, as I had thought? “I meant about when he puts you down.”
“I know that’s what you meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“The world is full of trickery, Tessa. You know what I mean, everyone fucking knows what I mean. Even that nice man you met at the party knows what I mean, and I’ve never met him before. I don’t even care any more. He hurts me, but not because of that.”
“What do you mean hurts you?”
I saw the tears spill over again.
“Helen?”
“He’s done this, he’s made me into this. I wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for him.”
“What does he do? Helen, what does he do? Does he hit you?”
“He shagged someone in a corridor of the Soho House when the boys were six weeks old.” She shook her head. “I confronted him. You know what he said? He said, ‘What do you expect when I’m getting so little attention at home?’”
It was not a pleasant feeling having your worst fears confirmed. Gossiping about scandal, and that scandal reducing your friend to pulp, were not the same thing.
“You’ve got to leave.”
“No. He is not running me out of my own home.”
“Fuck the home, you’ll get another home—”
“My mother, I could take it from my mother. It hurts more from Neil.”
“Your mother?”
“You see, she never said she loved me. Do you understand? Neil said he loved me and then turns me into this. I know where I stand with Marguerite. I didn’t see it coming from Neil.”
“I want to get you out of here before he comes back. Who knows what sort of state he’ll be in.”
“Rose will be back soon.”
“No, Helen, she’s gone.”
“She’ll come back. She’d never leave me. She just does it occasionally to show me who’s boss.”
“What?”
“But she always comes back.”
“You need to see someone, Helen, a doctor, a psychiatrist, someone who can help you. I’m sure there is something he can prescribe to help you. Postnatal depression, it’s very common and that’s without your pig of a husband.”
She laughed. “Pills. Pills don’t make it go away. I’ve got to save the twins. None of this is their fault. They didn’t ask to be born. I should have known. I should have known I’d be like her.” Suddenly she looked at me. “They’ll take them away from me.”
“Now you’re being crazy.”
“You should take them. You’re their guardian.”
“Stop this, Helen.”
“You don’t want them.”
“No one is going to take your children away. You just need to sort yourself out.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let my mother get her hands on my boys.”
“Stop it.”
“Promise,” said Helen.
“This is a stupid conversation.”
“Promise me, Tessa.”
I thought I was dealing with a woman on the verge of a breakdown. I would have promised her anything.
“You’ve thought it yourself, though, haven’t you? Helen is doing a shit job of this, I could do better than that. Don’t lie to me and tell me you haven’t.” I felt shame creep up into my cheeks. In my most evil thoughts, while gripped by the terrible green-eyed monster, I had indeed had that thought.
“That was before I knew how very hard it is. Honestly, Helen, I had no idea. I saw the perfect Pampers baby on telly and thought it was all smiles and bubble bath, and yes, I have to admit, I thought it looked pretty easy. I didn’t know babies could do this.” I looked at her.
“It’s not their fault. It’s mine.”
“You’ve got no support. I’ve been crap. Your mother hardly wins the ‘good granny’ award, and where the hell is Neil’s family? I’ve never seen them at any of your parties.”
“Neil doesn’t like them.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s an arsehole.”
Frankly, hearing Helen talk like this was progress.
“In fact, if you’re ever in Norwich, you should look them up. Neil is embarrassed by them, but it’s them who should be embarrassed by him. If you’re ever in Norwich, you should look them up.”
She’d said that already. But I was still not likely to go to Norwich.
“They live off the cathedral green. It’s easy to find because there is a weeping willow in the garden. It goes down to water. It’s the only one with a weeping willow.”
“We need to work out what you’re going to do.”
“They are lovely people. A real happy home.”
“Right. Norwich. Cathedral. Weeping willow. Got it.”
“Happy home. That’s good.”
Helen’s eyes were beginning to close.
“Wake up.”
“I’m so tired.” Her head nodded forward. “So tired.” She literally fell asleep sitting up. All I knew about depression was that it wiped you out so I eased Helen back on to the sofa. I looked at my watch. I would have liked to go home, get some sleep, tidy the flat, but Helen needed the sleep more and with Rose gone, someone had to look after the babies. Neil couldn’t, even if he did come home. Which I actually hoped he wouldn’t.
That Sunday afternoon, while Helen lay catatonic on the sofa, I played Mummy with the twins. I loved it, for an hour or so. They gurgled at my animal impressions and I enjoyed holding their attention. Their eyes followed me everywhere. Only when I left them to make a cup of tea and some toast did they start to grizz—which led me to the premature conclusion that looking after kids was a piece of cake, as long as you had nothing else to do. And that included going for a pee. I made three cups of tea over the period of that afternoon and drank none of them. I had the twins asleep in my arms when Helen finally stirred. She made some coffee, took it upstairs to have a shower, and came back down twenty minutes later. She seemed much better. Amazing what caffeine and make-up can do.
“Thank you for letting me get that off my chest.”
“With all due respect,” I said quietly, “I think it’s going to take a little more than a chat with me to sort out your problems.”
“You’re right. Neil has to be dealt with and I am going to deal with him. This shouldn’t have gone on as long as it has.”
“I know a very good divorce lawyer,” I said.
“I can’t afford to get divorced,” she replied. Then she laughed. “Only joking. Don’t worry, you remember my solicitor, he makes a pretty good ally. He’s good at dealing with Marguerite, too.”
“And what about seeing a doctor?”
Helen met my gaze. “I have a very understanding doctor,” she said.
“Good. Talk to him, then.”
I couldn’t bear it, she looked so sad. “I will,” she said.
“I think you should give up breastfeeding, too. It’s wiping you out, you’ve lost far too much weight.”
No wonder Neil wanted Helen to feed, I thought. It kept her locked up behind her pearly gates while he went out and sampled the pleasures of early stardom.
“We’ll get you back on your feet, Helen, don’t you worry. You’re a child of the universe, remember?”
Helen looked at me then. “I’ve lost a bit of the magic dust, haven’t I?” she said quietly.
To the point that you are barely recognizable. “It’s natural. I don’t know much about marriage and kids, but I guess it’s hard.”
Helen nodded. “I thought it would be easier than this. I thought I’d feel bigger as two. I didn’t realize I’d feel smaller.”
I hugged her because I had no idea how to respond. Neil had been a panic buy, but she was well over the twenty-eight-day returns policy.
“Thank you, Tessa. You have always been a great friend to me and I know I’m not that easy.”
“Who is? The older I get the more I realize everyone’s a bit nuts.”
“You’re not.”
“Don’t be fooled.”
“I don’t care what you say, I couldn’t have got this far without you.”
I felt a pang of guilt. I’d been so mean, so unsupportive. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize what a tough time you were having. I think I was jealous.”
“Jealous of Neil and me?”
“OK, well maybe not the Neil bit.”
“I’ve really fucked up,” she said. I presumed she was talking about Neil.
“Nothing you can’t change.”
“It’s going to get really tough. He’ll come after me, he’ll try and get the twins, he’ll ask for ludicrous amounts of money, I know it.”
“He has a problem with drugs, and a problem with booze. What court in the land would give a parent like that the twins?”
“None.”
“There you are, then. What have you got to worry about?” I took Helen’s hand and squeezed it. She smiled at me.
“You’re right,” she said. “I want them to have a happy home, Tessa. I didn’t and look what it’s done to me. I don’t want that for the twins. I’ll do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“OK. I’ll help you with the twins too. Francesca has had three kids, she’ll have all the answers. I bet every new mother feels like this, in way over their heads, knackered, depressed, I bet it’s all normal. We just need to get Neil out of the way.” I was trying to be helpful.
“You think?”
“Yes. I know the girl from China Beach is in there somewhere, we’ve just got to find her again.”
“I’m pathetic,” said Helen.
“You’re not. You’ve taken a beating but you’ll be OK.”
Helen suddenly stood. “You’re right. Thank you. You must be desperate to go home, I’m so sorry for keeping you here and spoiling your evening.”
“I’m OK. I’ve got no plans.”
“Actually, I think it would be better if you went. I could do with spending some time on my own with the boys, and if Neil comes home, we should be alone. You’ve been here all day, you must want to get home.”
“Of course, right. Well, OK then. If you’re sure.”
“I need to do this by myself. But thank you for everything.”
“I’ll go and change,” I said.
“It’s OK. Give the stuff back to me another time,” said Helen. “Here’s a bag for your dress and shoes.”
Did I get the feeling I was being hurried out of the house? Absolutely. But I had no idea why.
I took the number 52 to Victoria and walked along the Embankment to the flat. I think I passed every love-struck couple in London. It was the decent weather. It brought them all out of their love nests. I trounced back in my pink velour to the sanctity of my flat, forgetting that I’d left it in a tip. Clothes crises do that to small studio apartments. My mail winked at me from the breakfast bar. I had unread emails in my in-box and a DVD to return. To hell with it, I thought, changing out of Helen’s clothes. I looked up the cinema times on the Internet, put on my old flying jacket and a thick hat, took the roof off the car and drove up the King’s Road in shades. I could. So I would.
I spent the next few hours smiling through blissful sobs to some ridiculous rom-com where, of course, the girl got the guy even though she was a bog-cleaner and he was a king—well, not quite that bad, but nearly. Then I sat outside in the sinking sunlight, watching the world go by, flicking through the Sunday papers and somehow, while going through the motions of enjoying my own company, I started enjoying my own company. Suicide watch for single Sunday-nighters had been temporarily axed due to a new inappropriate man in Samira’s life, which was fine by me. I had enough on my plate with my old friends right now, I didn’t have time for any new ones.