Authors: Rosie fiore
Now he said it, she could see he was related to Diana – he had the same amazing sea-green eyes and curly hair, although his was sandy-coloured and too long. He was very tall.
‘I’m Gemma, and that’s Millie.’
‘Looks like Millie’s almost on the move,’ Seamus said, and she turned to look. Millie had got herself up on all fours and was rocking back and forth determinedly.
‘Oh, she’s been doing that for a while, but she never goes anywhere,’ Gemma said.
‘She’s likely to go backwards before she goes forwards,’ Seamus said wisely. It seemed an unlikely thing for a young guy of – what was he? Twenty? Twenty-one? – to know.
‘Have you got a baby of your own?’ Gemma asked.
‘No, I’m studying early-childhood development as part of my degree. I’m going to be a junior-school teacher.’ Then he laughed and said, ‘Go on. Have a biscuit. I took them out of the packet myself! It took great skill and ingenuity.’
He was really goofy-looking, not ugly, but definitely not handsome like Ben or James. He did have a nice smile though, and lovely straight teeth. Gemma found herself taking a biscuit.
Baking is easy, Rachel told anyone who complimented her on her feather-light cakes, delicately flaky pastry or melt-in-the-mouth macaroons. It simply requires the best ingredients, consistency in method and absolute accuracy. To this end, she had a state-of-the-art oven, highly calibrated scales for measuring her ingredients and a stainless-steel, digital, to-the-second kitchen timer. It was this last instrument she needed today.
She programmed it for three minutes and set it on the counter, ready to go. Then she unwrapped the plastic probe and put it in the beaker of liquid. She set the timer going and it began to count down.
She looked out of the window into the garden. The swing set was plonked in the middle of her immaculate lawn. It spoiled the sweeping lines of her carefully designed garden, but she didn’t mind: the way Peter chortled when
she pushed him on the swing made it totally worthwhile. He was standing unsteadily now and loved to waddle along holding on to her fingers. He’d be walking any day soon. She loved having him with her on the days when Louise was at work. He filled her days and kept her busy. Still, it took a lot of energy, and she’d been feeling rather tired this past week or so.
She turned to look at her kitchen. It was usually spotless, but she noticed that there were some grubby fingerprints on the lower cupboards and the bottom of the fridge door. That wasn’t just Peter, though. They’d had a first-birthday party for him the week before, and Louise’s friend Toni had come with her husband and their little Harry, an insatiably curious little blond chap who was already walking, or rather running, everywhere. Louise had also invited David and Samantha Hamilton’s daughter and her little girl who had the same birthday as Peter.
Louise had told Rachel that Gemma had made a play for Toni’s husband at Christmas time, and Rachel was frankly amazed Toni would be in the same room as the teenager. But, to her surprise, Toni was very kind and jokey with Gemma, and seemed to go out of her way to put Gemma at her ease. To be fair, Toni and her husband did look happy together. They held hands a lot, and at one point when Rachel was carrying plates into the kitchen she caught them kissing while their little boy played
around their feet. She cleared her throat and they leapt apart, but she just smiled. She’d come in to get another pot of coffee. She had to hold her breath carrying it back out into the garden, though, the smell was so strong and it made her feel a bit nauseous.
Gemma had brought her new boyfriend, a tall, shambling boy with curly hair who was at teacher-training college. He was nice enough, not exactly glamorous, but he seemed really serious about Gemma, and very committed to her and Millie. Gemma was about to start her training at the hospital. So it seemed quite possible Gemma would end up as a midwife married to a teacher. Probably not quite what David and Samantha had imagined for their daughter with all that expensive private schooling. Still, as long as she was happy.
Rachel smoothed her T-shirt. It was a new one, a bright floral print. Now that she looked after Peter so often, she wore a lot less white. She still liked to look smart, but there were only so many times a day you could change when you got smeared with jam, or someone got a bit enthusiastic with the finger paints. Peter had certainly taught her to relax. Come to think of it, maybe the T-shirt hadn’t been such a good buy. She’d only washed it once, but it seemed to have shrunk. It was definitely tight across her breasts.
The timer finished with a discreet electronic ‘ping’. Was that three minutes gone already? Time seemed to have gone faster these past six months, ever since Louise had made her astonishing offer to be Rachel’s egg donor. They’d gone through a battery of tests, then counselling, then Louise had had a series of injections to stimulate her egg production. Time had just zipped by, especially since the eggs had been harvested and mixed with Richard’s sperm and Rachel had had the implantation. And here she was, in her kitchen, with a beaker of wee, a timer and a pregnancy test. She hadn’t told anyone that she was doing this today. She wanted to find out alone, before she shared the news with Richard, or Louise, or anybody. And now it was time. Rachel took a deep breath, picked up the pregnancy test, and looked.
This is the bit where I step out from behind the puppet theatre, sweating and smiling awkwardly, and show you my own rather disappointing face.
I wish I were able to dash off an Oscar-accepting-style comprehensive and witty list of thanks and acknowledgments, but to be honest I’m the working mother of a toddler and a teenager, I’ve got a shepherd’s pie in the oven and a deadline to meet, and this is as good as it gets. If you should be on this page and you’re not, I’m so sorry. You only have me to blame.
Great heaps of gratitude and squishy hugs to the many people who had a hand in
Babies in Waiting
. You wouldn’t be holding it in your hands if it weren’t for:
Caroline Hardman at Christopher Little, my splendid agent. Thanks for your long investment in me, for your patience and endless faith, and your tenacious hard work and attention to detail.
Charlotte van Wijk and all at Quercus for quite simply making my life’s ambition a reality.
Dr Annabelle Clerk, who read the manuscript to make sure I hadn’t made any massive medical errors. If there are any mistakes they are all mine and entirely due to my reliance on those snake-oil merchants, Dr Google and Professor Hearsay.
My friends – Corrinne and Ali for the title, and all my Facebook mates for their many, many suggestions, both serious and ridiculous. Also the early readers: Denise, Heather and Marian, who were all so encouraging and supportive. Many friends off- and online whose experiences, anecdotes and scare stories inspired so many bits of the book.
And finally, and of course, my thanks and my heart are always with my boys, Tom, Matt and Ted – for tea – and everything, really.