The Girl I Used to Be(9)

Joe looked startled. “Of course! He’d love it. I’d love it!” He reached out to pull me to him. “I thought you didn’t want to. You shouted at your mum when she mentioned it, remember?”

I winced as I remembered my mum’s shocked expression on Christmas Day when she’d given me her advice and I’d given it back to her with both barrels. She’d instantly looked down at the glass in my hand and I knew she thought I was drinking too much. That had made me even angrier. I couldn’t think now why I’d reacted like that. I’d felt so much pressure at work, and the idea of getting pregnant on top of that had seemed just too much.

But now, in the candlelight, with Rory asleep in his bed and my work for the evening all done, I couldn’t seem to recapture that feeling of anger and frustration.

“What’s changed your mind?” he asked.

I shook my head. “The women at work, I think. Sophie . . . she agreed with my mum. She said he’d have a friend for life and she’s right. Look at you and Caitlin. Mind you, look at you and Brendan.”

Joe laughed. He was probably his elder brother Brendan’s greatest fan; he was never happier than when the two were together. “Oh, I wouldn’t want one like him. That would be a nightmare.”

Despite the haze of wine and sentimentality, I couldn’t help but think how hard I’d have to work to bring in the money needed for a bigger family. Perhaps I could expand the business? But how could I do that when houses weren’t moving? My heart sank. I was exhausted as it was, without bringing more pressure on myself.

And then I thought back to when I was pregnant with Rory. It was the first time I’d felt relaxed in my body since . . . well, I could hardly remember. The feeling of a baby inside me, those first tentative movements I’d felt so early on, like a butterfly’s kisses. I’d loved him from that moment. Before then, even. He’d been part of me then; he’d always be part of me. And the thought of another, of going through that again, was exhilarating.

“Do you think we could love another child as much?” I asked.

“Of course we could.” His hands were in my hair and I closed my eyes as he kissed me. “Especially if we have a redhead.” He ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me again. “A redhead with green eyes, just like you.”

“Maybe we could think about it later in the year,” I said.

“That would be amazing.”

“And maybe I could look at changing my hours so that I can spend more time at home.”

I got caught up in his embrace then, but later when we were lying in bed and he was sleeping soundly beside me, I lay awake, trying to think of ways I could work fewer hours. Joe had kissed me then and I was distracted; it was only later that I realized he hadn’t agreed with me.





FIVE


Friday, June 23

I CAUGHT THE afternoon train from Chester to London the following Friday and it was packed. As I hurried past the relatively empty first-class compartment, I saw a couple of women relaxing in the large, comfortable seats, glasses of gin and tonic already in their hands, and wished I’d spent the extra money and upgraded my ticket. I couldn’t justify it, though; the business wasn’t doing well enough for me to throw money away like that.

My heart sank at Euston when I saw hordes of people queuing for the escalator to the Underground. There was a notice saying one of the tube lines was out of service, and I knew there’d be bedlam. The station was crammed and stifling with the summer heat, and I felt so hot by the time I reached the escalator for the tube that I decided to walk instead.

I stepped outside onto Euston Square. It was early evening by then and I walked down Tottenham Court Road toward my hotel in Covent Garden. Crowds of office workers mingled with tourists, and I thought of the days I’d worked here when I was in my early twenties. I missed those days. I was working for an estate agent’s in North London and it was fast and furious then, before the downturn. Flats and houses would sell quickly for more than the asking price, and the agency could afford to be generous with bonuses and drinks after work.

I’d known it wouldn’t be like that when I moved to Chester. And by the time I met Joe I was ready to move on. I was twenty-six then, with five years’ experience under my belt, and I was up for the challenge.

We had a great time in those early days. I met Joe when I was in Ireland for Brendan’s wedding; Caitlin had invited me and we’d gone to her family’s local pub the night we arrived. I’d been over to Ireland to stay with her in the long summer vacations a couple of times before then, but Joe had been off backpacking those summers and I hadn’t met him. That night she and I walked into the pub and she stopped in the doorway to talk to an old friend. I went to the bar to get us drinks and watched as a band played, badly, on a makeshift stage. Joe was standing watching them, too. We hadn’t yet been introduced, but I knew instantly he was related to Caitlin; they had the same tousled blond hair, the same blue eyes, and besides, his mother had shown me enough photos of the family to recognize him. He winced at every bum note and then he saw me looking over at him and laughed.

I said, “That bad, eh?”

“It’s my friend’s youngest brother,” he said. “I don’t think he’s quite ready for stardom yet.”

I looked at the guitarist, who’d dropped his head down so nobody could see his face. I could tell he was aware how badly he was playing.