Five Winters(71)

“Well, I will, won’t I? God, I can’t wait to see him. But in a few days, the heartache will start all over again. God, listen to me. Prebooking heartache.”

I gazed at a strip of photos of me and Rosie displayed on the shelves Richard had made me. They’d been taken in a photo booth on a day trip to the coast years ago. Both of us were smiling like idiots, neither of us with a care in the world. “Oh, Rosie, I don’t know what to say.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re too nice to say what his family probably thinks—what he probably thinks himself—that I’m unnatural because I don’t want kids.”

We’d had this discussion so many times before, Rosie and I. As much as we adored each other, we were wired up totally differently when it came to having children. For me, it was a fundamental need—I couldn’t imagine living my life without having a family. For Rosie, it was the exact opposite.

“It’s like people think you’re shallow and selfish if you don’t want children,” she often said. “Or somehow deficient as a person. I say, if only more women really faced their doubts about being a mother, we wouldn’t have so many badly treated kids in the world, destined to become needy adults. Motherhood’s a club. If you’re not a member, you’re looked down on. What’s wrong with only having life goals of doing well at work and having fun? And why should I constantly have to justify my choices?”

Rosie didn’t have to justify herself to me, of course. In my view, she contributed enough to the world by simply being her. But maybe because of my friend’s strong opinions about motherhood, I’d examined my own more than I might have done otherwise. Why did I have this compelling need to be a mother? Why wasn’t the life I currently led enough for me the way Rosie’s was for her? I loved my job and felt I was good at it. Moreover, it was work that had value, both for animals and for people. I had a great home, lots of friends, and the freedom to travel should I want to. Why this insistent need for a small being to care for, to wake me up at night, to be totally dependent on me?

Sometimes I wondered if my deep craving for a family was connected to having lost my parents so young. Maybe, without knowing it, I’d been deeply lonely—was still deeply lonely—despite being on the receiving end of Richard and Sylvia’s love. If that was the case, how could I be sure that bringing a child into my life—by whatever means I managed it—would be the answer? What if I still felt lonely when I had a child who needed me?

Whenever I thought about these things, my mind went round and round in circles, just the way Rosie’s did. But just like Rosie, I always came back to my original starting point—the one connected to my gut. For whatever reason, I wanted children so much it hurt. And if I hadn’t been so hopelessly in love with Mark for most of my life, I’d probably have them by now. You couldn’t will yourself to love people, just as—apparently—you couldn’t will yourself to stop loving them.

“Is anything anybody says going to stop you catching that plane?” I asked Rosie.

“Not a chance.”

“Well, then, go. Have a fabulous time. And if you start to doubt you did the right thing, think about the strain of living up to Grace’s perfect Christmas.”

“God, yes. And her sister’s baby! Thanks, pal. See you when I get back.”

“I’ll have the tissues handy.”

“I’ll need them.”

I was still thinking about Rosie’s dilemma as I left the flat and walked up to the supermarket. She and Giorgio had been an on-off item for more than three years now. They’d both tried dating other people, but their hearts hadn’t been in it, and I could see why not. Apart from the baby issue, they were just so perfect for each other. It was sad.

“Beth?”

A voice plucked me from my thoughts. I focussed and saw it was Jake.

“Oh, hi,” I said, registering how good it was to see him. “How are you? I’m just heading up to Tesco. I’m on duty over Christmas—well, if we get any emergencies, that is. I’m hoping they’ll have some tempting microwave dinners to get me through the festive period.”

He raised one dark eyebrow. “In case you get a call out? Or in case you can’t be bothered to cook?”

“Either-or.”

He laughed. Then we stood there smiling at each other for a while before he asked, “Any movement on the adoption application?”

I pulled a face. “Well, I phoned my ex, and he agreed to speak to the social worker, so it’s just a question of waiting to see if he decides to stuff things up for me or not.”

“Surely he won’t. Not unless he’s a total bastard.”

Thinking of the scathing tone of Jaimie’s voice made me feel depressed all over again. “Well, let’s just say he wasn’t very friendly when I rang.”

We were in the way where we were standing—shoppers were having to make a detour around us like a peloton splitting at a roundabout in the Tour de France. It was cold too—a wicked wind was diligently seeking out every minuscule crevice between my coat collar and my scarf.

“Well, listen,” said Jake. “I’m around over Christmas if you fancy meeting up sometime? My kids are going away with my ex-wife and her husband.”

For just a moment my thoughts stuck with Jaimie, as I realised this was Harriet’s year to have the girls. Then I forgot about him and focussed on the way Jake was looking me straight in the eye. I remembered the spark of attraction I’d felt for him when we first met, the ease with which we’d chatted together at the light festival.