Forty-eight
Pat and Don were great. They sat and listened, whilst Beth told them where she and James stood (up to their knees in a pile of crap). More importantly, they agreed to use some of their savings to bail them out. Although he wasn’t keen, Beth made James go with her. She figured if he had to sit there and look like a pillock in front of her parents, maybe it would stop him from ever getting them in that kind of mess again.
It was horrible. Beth cried, James had the look of a man who would rather be absolutely anywhere rather than begging his in-laws for money, and Beth’s parents couldn’t hide their disappointment.
The cheque Don wrote was duly paid into the bank, and all the bills and the mortgage were fortunately paid on time. James also drew out a fair bit in cash, and assured Beth he’d paid the dodgy bookies and loan sharks everything that was owed. She was just relieved to hear it was all over.
‘You’re not going to leave him, are you?’
‘I can’t. Not now.’
‘Beth, this fuckery must end.’
‘Look …’
‘You’re going to stay with that lying bastard because your name has been pulled out of some imaginary hat?’
Beth wished her sister could understand. She needed her to see why it would be wrong to give up on her marriage. ‘Suppose I left him. Suppose I said I could never forgive him for lying to me. What then?’
‘Freedom!’
‘I’m so close. If we start treatment next month, like the letter says, I could be a mum next year. It’s the closest I’ve been.’
‘Yes, I get it … but … it would be James’s baby too. That would tie you to him forever.’
‘He’s learnt his lesson. He won’t ‒’
‘HE WILL!’
‘If I leave him, I’ll have to start all over again. I’ll have to find someone to be in a long-term relationship with. I’ll have to divorce James. I’ll have to wait the appropriate amount of time to even begin talking about children. It could be years. I can’t …’
‘So, instead you plan to stay with him. To have a baby with a man who lied to you for a long time. A man who cost you your friendship with Michelle. A man who I want to punch in the face right now.’
‘YES! I’m too close. I can’t give up now.’
Lisa tutted. ‘Fine. Get yourself deeper in to this shit.’
‘I need you to understand.’
‘I do.’
‘You’ll support me? You’ll stand by me?’
‘I don’t exactly have a choice, remember?’
Beth and James lay in bed a couple of nights later.
He was trying to make the peace. ‘I couldn’t see a way out.’ He moved over to her side of the bed. ‘I should’ve come to you sooner.’
‘Yes.’ She shoved him away. ‘Several years sooner.’
‘Sweetheart,’ he tried once more to get close to her, ‘if I had had even the faintest idea back then that you were going to be so understanding about my addiction …’ He stopped and regained his composure, before continuing, ‘I wish I hadn’t kept it from you. Honestly, I do. But you know what you’re like. I thought it was best, that’s all.’
Beth experienced a jolt of betrayal. She was planning to tell him he was forgiven. But she had her reasons. Would she have been this understanding? Would she have given him this second chance? Not without that IVF letter!
The telephone rang, disturbing their discussion. It surprised them both.
‘Eleven o’clock at night, nobody rings this late.’ James reached for the phone by the bed, and Beth heard him mumble, ‘Hello?’
The person on the other end of the phone conveyed their concise message. A second later, James replied, ‘When’s the funeral?’
Beth’s head snapped round. Fear clutched at her heart and she began mouthing, ‘Who? Who?’
Lisa’s voice immediately appeared in her head. ‘It’s OK. It won’t be Nanna or Mum or Dad.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ Lisa sounded confident. ‘Look at his face. It’s not one of ours.’
James spoke for a few more minutes, then he hung up the phone, and said, without emotion. ‘My mum’s died. The funeral is probably next week.’
Desperate to provide comfort, Beth threw her arms around him. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Apparently she had liver cancer.’
‘But she never …’
‘She didn’t want me to know she was ill. She wouldn’t let them tell me.’
‘But … that’s unfair. They should’ve warned you. So you could …’ Beth couldn’t imagine not knowing something that important.
‘I just said ‒ she wouldn’t let them tell me!’
‘But …?’
‘She must’ve had her reasons.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Again, she offered her arms for an embrace.
As far as she was concerned, James’s family had never forgiven him for not inviting them to the wedding. Regardless of the fact they had all the charm of a swarm of angry bees and the social grace of Tarzan, his brothers would still have preferred an invite. And Shirley might well have been excruciatingly inept in almost all situations, but at the end of the day she was a mother, and she ought to have been at her own son’s wedding.
About a month after they were married, James had written to his mum to tell her their news. Within a week they’d received a card from Shirley. It contained a ten-pound note and the words ‘To Jim and his wife. Love from Mum’. It was the saddest card Beth had ever seen, and she instantly regretted allowing him to persuade her to exclude his family. They’d only been up to see her twice since the wedding, and both visits had been equally as uncomfortable as the first. And now she was dead!
They travelled up for the funeral the following week. It was a small do. Most of the organising had been done by Shirley’s sister. They sat in the front row of the crematorium with Craig and Dean, who were both wearing ill-fitting suits. The lads appeared genuinely remorseful, although they remained dry-eyed.
Every single person at the funeral referred to Beth’s husband as Jim. For that day, he was no longer her James. His accent changed, as he mixed with his extended family. Even his facial expressions were different. It was frightening to watch the speed at which he morphed back into what was obviously his old self. Ridiculously, Beth couldn’t wait to get him in the car and drive him back down south, away from these people who seemed to seamlessly cause this change in him.
At the wake, all three brothers got progressively drunk. Dean, being the youngest, seemed the worst at holding his drink. There were arguments and physical scuffles. Beth overheard at least two references to their wedding taking place in secret. Accusations flew back and forth. It was not a funeral to be proud of. Beth spent much of the time sitting with James’s cousin, Angela, who seemed nice, and reasonably normal. Beth quite liked her, up to the point when she began asking when Beth and James planned to have children, and bragging about the fact that her Tony only had to look at her and she was ‘up the flamin’ duff again’. At this point, Beth headed to the Ladies for a good old weep. She figured if anyone heard her bawling in the cubicle, they would assume she was crying for Shirley. Ironic, because, as far as she could tell, not one person actually did.
Exactly a month after laying Shirley to rest, it was time to begin their free IVF cycle.
Lisa tried several times to persuade Beth to rethink her plan, but Beth was adamant there was no turning back. As much as James was driven mad by demons telling him to have just one more bet, she too was being driven mad, she too was addicted. Her drug was the need to be a mum.
She knew it wasn’t the right time to attempt to bring a baby into their family. Of course she did. But she’d wanted it for so long. She’d waited patiently whilst everyone had their first and, in many cases, their second. She could no more have walked away from the opportunity the NHS had finally handed her, than she could have flown to Mars and planted a flag. For better or for worse, she was determined to have her one go at IVF treatment.
Beth began preparing her body for egg collection. James’s contribution was to give her daily injections in the bum. A task he approached with incredible precision. Beth couldn’t help thinking that, apart from plunging them into debt, and keeping his addiction secret for years, he was quite a nice husband. He was still handsome for starters, and whilst good looks aren’t the be all and end all, they certainly help. But more than that, he was still very caring towards her. Many times, during their treatment, he would come home to find her a useless wreck, sobbing on the sofa. He would gather her into his arms, rocking her tenderly. He knew how frightened she was that the treatment might fail. He was scared too. But adding in the fact she was being affected by raging hormones, he always put her first.
Every single time, he would ask her, ‘What’s up, love?’
And she, in return, would ask, ‘What if it doesn’t work? What if we don’t get a baby to keep?’
He remained stoic. Even though he clearly wanted to shout back, ‘I just can’t speculate any more about whether this treatment is going to work,’ he never did. Choosing instead to remind her of the odds of success (his favourite thing).
On many occasions, he would crack a joke or try to lighten the mood by telling her something stupid he’d heard at work. Beth knew she ought to ask him how he was. Was he OK about his mum? How was he coping with her death? But the treatment was all consuming, and she was only just managing to stay the right side of sane as it was. So, rather selfishly, she kept away from the subject of Shirley’s death.
The time came for the doctor to collect Beth’s eggs, and James was shown to a private room to make his donation. Eggs and sperm were mixed together in some top-secret location in the hospital. Finally, they were sent home to wait.
It was all she could think of. Surely even James’s lackadaisical sperm would be able to find their way to an egg if they were in the confines of a petri dish together? She stared at the phone, willing it to ring with news.
‘They won’t call tonight, love.’
‘I was just thinking maybe … you know.’
‘They need time now. They’ll call us as soon as they have some embryos.’
‘But … what if they …’
‘THEY WILL CALL US.’ James tried to be firm.
‘This is doing my head in.’
‘Do you want to do something to take your mind off the wait? Watch TV? Go out?’
‘No. I can’t concentrate.’
‘What about … Michelle?’
‘What about her?’
‘You could call her. Tell her our news. Tell her where we’re up to. She’d love to hear from you.’
‘James, have you spoken to her?’
‘Well …’
‘I told you. I said I wanted neither of us to have anything to do with her.’
‘She calls me. She’s upset. You can’t blame her for wanting to make up. You know she’s had the baby, don’t you? It was a ‒’
Beth had heard enough. Her stress levels were through the roof as it was. This conversation was not helping. Rising from the sofa, she cut him off, ‘I don’t want to know. I’m going to bed.’
‘But it’s …’ James checked his watch, ‘not even eight o’clock.’
‘I don’t care. I can’t think straight. My head’s going to explode.’
‘I’m sorry. Shall I get you some paracetamol?’
‘No! Just shut up about Michelle.’
She lay awake for hours. Eyes wide open. Staring at the ceiling. She imagined James’s sperm. Of course, in her mind, they looked more like tadpoles. Then she pictured her eggs, equally out of proportion. They lay together in a dish and then they met. They lay together in a dish and then they met. Over and over, the same scene played out in her mind. They lay together in a dish and then they met. This has to work.
Three days later they received the call. There were two lovely, healthy embryos ready to be transferred. Beth knew them already, she’d pictured them many times.