Love Nest (27 page)

Gemma smiled serenely. She held on to the smile all the way through the ceremony and then the reception, where their table was full of couples discussing primary school admissions, how having one child was easy and it wasn’t until two that ‘life really began’.

‘No children yourself, I take it?’ one of the mums asked, in a gap when the mum on the other side of her had gone to the loo (‘Bladder not what it was! Should have done those pelvic floors’). ‘God, lucky you. Christ, do you remember, Diane,’ she called across the flower arrangement. ‘The childless days? Being able to read a book?’

‘Not having to fish poos out of the bathwater.’

They both cackled with laughter. Gemma felt Alex’s foot nuzzle hers under the table.

‘Where are yours this weekend?’ Mum One asked Mum Two.

‘Staying with Granny. I have to say, I had mixed feelings. I mean, it’s lovely to get a break from the little devils but I still think it’s so thoughtless. I mean, if a wedding isn’t a family affair then what is? What do you do if you can’t get the childcare?’

‘Oh, I agree. They’ll understand when they have their own.’

‘Champagne?’ the teenage waitress asked Gemma.

‘No, thank you.’ Desperate as she was, there was no way she was going to pollute her body on the eve of this momentous event.

Mum One raised an eyebrow.

‘Got something to tell us? How long is it you’ve been married now?’

‘I’m on antibiotics,’ Gemma explained.

‘Antibiotics, eh?’ She winked. ‘Congratulations,’ she said under her breath. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I thought you had that glow about you.’

‘Thank you,’ Gemma said smoothly.

Despite herself, she still had some fun. Determined to get all the demons out of her system, once Dave the DJ had set up, she and Alex danced manically to the ‘Vida Loca’ and smooched to ‘I’m Not in Love’. No further reference was made to the flat sale. They fell into bed exhausted around two and made it down to breakfast just before ten.

‘Make the most of this,’ Alex said, as his full English was placed in front of him. ‘When Chudney comes along there’ll be no more leisurely meals.’

‘There’ll be a screaming demon in a highchair to contend with,’ Gemma agreed, popping a slice of kiwi into her mouth. ‘You’ll be shoving mush in its face.’

‘You’ll be changing its dirty nappy in the ladies.’ Alex cleared his throat. ‘You know, as soon as we’ve checked out we need to head straight back.’ ‘Then I can start work after lunch.’

‘Not even a walk before we leave?’

‘Not if you want me being a sperm donor on Wednesday morning. There’s a mountain of paper to plough through.’

‘God, you’re a barrel of laughs,’ Gemma sighed, but smiling, as her phone started ringing in her pocket.

‘What’s this? I suppose I’d better answer it.’ She pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. An ugly foreboding dawned. ‘It’s Bridget. Hello?’

‘Hiya!’ Bridget sounded as chirpy as ever. ‘How was it? Did you have fun?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ Gemma said. Something was up. Gemma knew it.

‘Good. Listen, sorry to tell you but… I’m just not sure I can do Wednesday.’

She said it as if she’d realized she couldn’t make the cinema because it clashed with her meditation class. Gemma felt as if something had been smashed inside her chest, that there were splinters at the base of her throat. Her ears roared.

‘Why not?’ she heard herself say, as evenly as she could.

‘What is it?’ Alex asked. She waved a hand to silence him.

‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Massy and I have been talking. And we think it’s just a bad idea. Because you know, we want children of our own one day. Soon. And if I give you these eggs and then I find I can’t have any – how am
I
going to feel? Plus, like, getting the eggs out is a really major operation. My friend Arianne who’s a homoeopath was saying that having a general anaesthetic’s really bad for you and I might die and Massy got really upset and said he doesn’t want me to die and…’

Gemma stood up. She made her way to the door and out into the lobby. ‘But we went through this,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘You said you didn’t mind.’

‘Yes, but that was before I met Massy.’

Gemma knew it. She’d always known that was the key. Known that asking her sister how she felt about future children just days before she met the love of her life was asking for trouble. She also knew that it was completely unreasonable to try to stop her. Bridget was allowed to have doubts, permitted to back out.

‘How much?’ she said.

‘Sorry?’

‘You heard me. How much do you want to change your mind?’

There was silence down the line.

‘This isn’t about money.’ Bridget sounded wounded. ‘It’s about what we discussed with the counsellor. You know. How if I gave you my egg and then I couldn’t have a baby of my own I’d regret it all my life… No, Massy, let me finish… I just don’t think…’

‘How much?’ Gemma repeated steelily.

‘Massy, we’ll talk in a minute, I’ve told you. Gemma, I’m really sorry but this is it.’

‘We have to talk about this.’

‘We are talking, babes. I’ve made up my mind.’

‘Do you think you could have given me a bit more notice?’

‘I told you as soon as I made a decision.’

‘Text me your address. I’m coming to see you. Don’t you dare go out.’

Gemma hung up. Then she sat down heavily on a chintz-upholstered armchair. She buried her face in her lap. She felt as if something inside her chest had started bleeding.

31

Gemma and Alex drove back to London not speaking, the car tuned to Magic FM. Alex was already immersed in his next case. Gemma was thinking about how she’d like to hang, draw and quarter her sister. The bloody flake. She’d always been about as reliable as paper shoes in the rain. Why had Gemma allowed herself to think differently?

‘What was Bridget calling about?’ Alex asked.

‘Oh. You know. She was reading some horoscopes online and she wanted to tell me what Chudney’s character might be.’

‘And…?’

If it takes after its biological mother, then fucking untrustworthy. Lazy. Feckless.
‘Oh, I can’t remember. All nonsense. Listen, I think I’ll go shopping this afternoon. Leave you to work in peace.’

‘Don’t spend too much money.’ Alex clearly wouldn’t have registered if Gemma had said Chudney was destined to be a transexual undertaker and she was off now to buy some toy coffins for it to practise on.

‘I won’t. Hey, isn’t this song by the Vertical Blinds?’

They listened to the jangly guitar, the snarling yet oddly heart-tugging vocals.

‘Fuckers. They’re on the radio all the time and then they claim poverty. I’m going to download all their music illegally and make bootleg CDs of it and sell them down the market.’

‘That would do wonders for your standing as a representative of the legal profession.’

‘You do it, then.’

‘If you show me how.’ For the first time since the call, Gemma smiled. Weakly, admittedly. But the corners of her mouth definitely turned up.

Bridget and Massy’s flat was on the top floor of a shabby 1930s pebble-dashed house situated right beside a dual carriageway in west London, the kind of house – if Gemma was honest – she had driven past often on her way to minibreaks in leafy West Country villages and wondered who on earth was unfortunate enough to actually live there. She shivered as she rang the bell. It had been mild when she’d set out, a day that promised cherry blossom and tulips unfurling. But during the journey, threatening clouds had gathered. Now a low wind sent crisp packets bouncing along the ground and nipped at her legs, making her wish she’d worn tights.

She rang the bell again. Perhaps it didn’t work. More likely Bridget was pinned against the wall, as if she were avoiding a sharpshooter. She was just pulling her phone out of her pocket, to start berating her, when Massy’s sleepy face appeared through the glass pane.

‘Bridge has gone out,’ he said, as he opened the door.

‘I can wait.’

‘She doesn’t want to see you. Says she’s too embarrassed. Says you’ll say you knew this would happen, that she’s always been a flake.’

It took a violent effort of will to keep her mouth shut, but Gemma succeeded.

‘She knows you’re upset but really, Gemma, you are asking a lot of her. Having her body invaded like this – giving away one of her future children. I’m a Catholic, you see, so this shit is, like, major for me.’

Gemma ignored this. ‘Can I just come in? Have a cup of tea. I was hoping… I was hoping we might be able to do some kind of deal here.’

Behind Massy’s deep-set eyes, a light seemed to flicker.

‘Go on, then.’

She followed him into the flat. Greying net curtains concealed the view of cars, but the traffic roar was constant. There was a shabby grey sofa bed in the living room/bedroom, a tiny bathroom with a peeling lino floor and a kitchenette, the sink overflowing with dirty dishes. The room reeked of dope and there were ashtrays everywhere, overflowing with roaches. Gemma looked around, forcing a bright smile as she wondered what marijuana might be doing to Bridget’s ovaries.

‘This is nice!’

Massimo laughed. ‘Really?’

‘All it needs is some pictures on the wall. Maybe some new curtains. It could be really cosy.’

‘Yeah, right,’ he snorted.

Gemma sat down.

‘Like I said,’ she said, glancing up at the ceiling, where a huge patch of damp spread. ‘I’m quite happy to give Bridget something in return for her help… Have you got any central heating here?’

Massy shrugged. ‘No, but it’s fine. We’re coming into summer.’

‘Or a bath?’

‘No. Just a shower.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s a bit leaky. But that’s fine. As Bridge says, in India you often go days without showering.’

Through the ceiling, a woman’s voice reverberated. ‘
All things bright and bee-yoo-tiful.
’

‘Gloria from upstairs,’ Massy shrugged. ‘Choir practice.’

Gemma tried to hide her discomfort. No one should live like this. How could Bridget even be thinking of bringing her own baby into such a world? Babies shouldn’t grow up in holes like this. Babies would be so much better off in Coverley Drive, in the room she’d designated the nursery, overlooking the sunny garden.

‘You know, I could help you get out of here,’ she said.

‘How much?’ replied Massy, quick as a flash.

‘Enough to help the pair of you put a deposit on a flat.’ Gemma performed some frantic mental arithmetic. Since property had crashed, you could get an OK flat for less than two hundred grand, if her memory of programmes starring Phil and Kirstie served her well. So ten per cent would be…

‘Forty grand.’

‘Twenty,’ she replied.

‘Thirty-five.’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Thirty.’ You could see he was trying not to laugh. And there was something comical about it in a warped sort of way.

‘I’ll give you twenty-seven thousand five hundred pounds. And that is my final offer.’ She stood up.

‘Done,’ Massy said. He held out a hand. They shook. His skin was much rougher than Alex’s.

‘Of course I’d rather have had this conversation with Bridget,’ Gemma said. ‘Will you get her to call me when she comes in?’

‘Of course,’ Massy said.

‘
My song is lo-o-ove unknown.
’

Already Gemma was beginning to regret her impulsiveness. She was sure Bridget would have settled for a much lower figure. Perhaps she should have held on. But she knew what Bridget was like. She’d stay out for several days if she thought Gemma was waiting for her. When her parents had been furious because she’d stolen Mum’s credit card to buy a ticket to Ibiza she’d just gone and stayed on friends’ sofas until the storm subsided. It was like Alex said, she could never tough anything out, never stick at anything long enough to make a go of it, because at the first hint of trouble she went running for cover.

‘I’ll expect to see her on Wednesday,’ Gemma said.

‘Well, yeah. So long as we have the money.’

‘You’ll have the money. I’ll get it to you tomorrow.’ She opened the door. ‘You think she’ll be OK with this?’ she added, unable to contain her anxiety.

‘I’ll make sure of it,’ Massy said firmly.

Gloria cranked it up a notch.
‘A-ha-may-zing grace, how sweet the sound.’

‘’Bye, Massy.’

‘’Bye, Gemma.’

*

She got back around three. Alex jumped up from the sofa.

‘Poochie. Hey! Guess what.’ He gestured to a huge hamper on the breakfast bar. ‘Another gift from Frankie. Totally unethical, of course. Clients aren’t meant to send their counsel gifts – well, they can but they must be relatively modest, according to the Bar Council. Still, I reckon a bottle of vintage Krug counts as relatively modest. As does a whole Stilton, a ham, a load of different relishes.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’m taking on more hardened criminals, I tell you. How are you, anyway?’

‘I’m fine.’ She kissed him on the forehead, then walked past him towards the kitchen and turned the kettle on.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Shopping, I told you.’

‘Where are the bags?’

‘I didn’t buy anything. Tea?’

She jumped as her phone bleeped in her pocket. Rapidly, she pulled it out and scanned the message.

Have talked to Massy. Changed my mind. Sorry to mess u about. See u Weds xxxxx.

As if she was apologizing for showing up late for a gig, Gemma thought. She tried not to allow her expression to change as she pressed ‘delete’.

‘Who was that?’ Alex asked.

‘Just Lalage thanking us for coming to the wedding. Are there any fancy teas in this hamper? Or biscuits?’

‘Oh, I found your bracelet,’ he said.

‘Bracelet?’

‘Under the table.’ He held up three rows of pearls held together by a diamond clasp.

‘That’s not mine. God, Alex, it’s been… what, four years and you haven’t noticed I don’t own anything as bling as that.’

She held out her hand and studied the glinting diamonds, then clipped the bracelet round her wrist and tipped it this way and that, admiring the way light bounced off the huge, creamy pearls, like quail’s eggs.

‘That’s got to be Lucinda’s. She’s the only person I know who wears that kind of jewellery. I’ll call her in the morning and let her know she must have dropped it. As well as give her an answer on Nick Crex’s new offer.’

They eyed each other warily.

‘All right,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. We can do it, much as it pains me, but we won’t be able to make any pension contributions next year.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ Gemma cried, throwing her arms around him. Pensions schmensions. Who cared about their old age? Far more pressing was how to find £27,500 in twenty-four hours.