Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats (6 page)

Grace felt her eyes prick with tears at the wonderful exchange between her dad and her little girl, knowing she would never have been so demonstrative towards him; age and embarrassment held her back. It was lovely to see.

A car horn honked.

‘That’ll be Alice!’ Olive smiled, truly in her element when the whole family was together.

Chloe squirmed free from her grandad’s arms and ran towards the back door, where she pogoed up and down on the spot, waiting excitedly for her aunt. Alice was quite unlike her sister. She had always been shorter, plumper and more vivacious, very unselfish and in Grace’s eyes completely gorgeous. Where Grace would choose quiet sophistication and muted hues, Alice was gregarious; her colours of choice were red and orange. Grace’s boyish figure and dark, short hair were the envy of her sibling and similarly Grace jovially begrudged her sister’s confidence, which she was convinced came from having a more than ample bosom. She remembered trying on her younger sister’s bra as a teenager and marvelling at the empty pouches that mocked her reflection.

The two had a deep love for each other, and open and honest exchanges were commonplace. Olive was grateful for the relationship her girls had and believed it was their differences that allowed them to adore each other. Unlike with many siblings close in age, with Grace and Alice there had never been an element of competition; both had always been extremely happy about the other’s successes and confident that they didn’t have to fight for their parents’ attention. The hierarchy had been established a long time ago: their parents first and foremost adored each other, and the love that was left over was divided equally between their cherished girls.

Alice thundered into the room and leant over the table to hug her sister tightly, too tightly, before planting several kisses on her face; it was her way. Mac continually remarked on the fact that their youngest daughter had been born without the embarrassment gene.

‘Hi, everyone!’ She waved as she dumped several bags behind the door. ‘Gracie, you look hilarious, so grown up!’ Alice pinched the neck of her sister’s V-neck jersey.

Grace stared at her little sister’s jeans, which harboured several pockets of no apparent use, except perhaps to hold the odd paintbrush or tool; the jeans were also at least five sizes too big. Her hair was a tumbling mass of uncontrolled corkscrew twists, some falling over her face, others secured by a turquoise hairband. Her shoulder was bare where the hand-knitted jersey of multi-coloured wool had slipped away and on her feet were floral Doc Martens. All her fingers bar two sported a large Indian silver ring.

‘Yes, Alice, I know, it’s me that looks hilarious.’ She smiled at her sister.

‘I don’t mean it in a bad way – you just don’t look like anyone else I know. You look so professional, so serious and very capable! Like a proper grown-up. I love it!’ She clapped her hands in delight, reminding Grace of Chloe, whose natural exuberance she had inherited from her non-conformist aunt. God forbid she should ever confide the fact to Tom, who would be less than impressed that his daughter contained even a trace element of her whacky aunt and her alternative views.

‘Where’s my girl?’ Alice yelled.

‘Here I am!’ Chloe bounded up with her hand in the air.

Alice lifted her niece into her arms and swung her round, smothering her face with kisses.

‘Grandma got me a Dr Panda!’ Chloe held the toy millimetres from her aunt’s face, forcing her to pull her head back on her shoulders to see it properly.

‘Oh, he’s lovely! What’s he called?’

‘Dr Panda.’

‘Of course he is!’ Alice kissed her again.

‘And he’s coming to the hostipal with me.’ Chloe nodded.

‘Well, that’s a very good idea!’ Alice said. ‘I’m afraid I only bought sweets. Sorry.’

‘I love sweets!’ Chloe shouted.

‘No sweets until after lunch, Chlo.’ Grace smiled at her little girl.

‘Who fancies a walk in the garden?’ Mac’s voice cut through the cacophony.

‘Me! Me!’ Chloe ran towards her grandpa, gripping his hand as she dragged him towards the back door.

Alice sipped from the large glass of plonk that her brother-in-law had presented her with. ‘She seems quite unfazed about tomorrow.’

‘I think it’s because she doesn’t know what to expect,’ Tom said. ‘And it’s not as if she’ll be on her own at any point. We’ll stay with her until they put her under and then we’ll be there the second she wakes up.’

‘I think we’re more worried than she is,’ Grace admitted.

Olive sighed. ‘I remember you going into hospital when you were little, Grace, when you broke your arm. I was beside myself. But you took it in your stride, calmly. Daddy and I were absolute wrecks.’

‘Well, that’s Grace all over – Miss Calm Under Pressure 2015,’ Alice teased.

‘Bit like yourself then, Alice!’ Tom winked.

Olive and Grace both laughed loudly.

‘God, Tom, I wish,’ said Olive. ‘We’ve had two calls this month alone because of end-of-the-world events. One turned out to be a power cut and she’d run out of matches. I had to point out we were over an hour away and it would be far quicker for her to go to the shop! And the other was when she called me to ask if the ham in her fridge was off. I pointed out that yes, I do have a very keen sense of smell, but asking me to detect mouldy ham when I was fifty miles away was a bit of a stretch!’

‘I am here, you know, Mum!’ Alice shouted, delighted by the ribbing.

Grace pulled the lamb from the oven while Tom began to clear the table.

‘I’ll give you a hand, Tom.’ Olive began packing items away into her oversized handbag.

Grace set the meat to rest and reached for the gravy granules. ‘Cheating, I know, but who cares?’ She laughed and looked up at Alice, who was sipping her wine as she rested against the work surface. Grace was aghast to see the big fat tears that rolled down her sister’s face; she was making a sad little whimpering noise. It had to be said that her sister, for all her gorgeous sex appeal, was an ugly crier. Grace felt this was because, unlike most people, who generally disguised their emotional state in some way, either by covering their face, closing their eyes or hiding their distress in a tissue, Alice would simply let herself cry, childlike and unabashed, runny nose, funny noises and all.

‘Oh God, darling! Whatever’s the matter? We were only teasing! You know that. We love that you are dramatic and scatty. You’re our Alice! And we wouldn’t change a single thing about you.’ Grace pulled her sister towards her and gave her a big hug.

Alice pushed her away, shaking her head and swallowing her tears. ‘It’s not that.’ She sniffed.

‘What is it?’ Grace persisted, ripping off a couple of squares of kitchen roll and putting them into her sister’s hand. Placing her arm around her back, she could feel the bony knobs at the top of her spine through her jersey.

‘I’m sorry, Gracie. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, it’s just all so bloody hopeless.’

‘Nothing is that hopeless. Tell me what’s wrong and we will fix it. That’s what big sisters do.’

She kissed the top of Alice’s head, inhaling her scent of coffee, patchouli and something akin to warm cookies. ‘Come on, let’s go to the lounge. Mum? Tom? Can you keep an eye here? We’re just going for a gossip.’

‘Oh, Alice darling!’ Olive saw her younger daughter’s tears. Her tone was resigned, telling Grace that whatever the issue was, their mum was already fully informed.

The two made their way onto the long, comfy sofa.

‘I need you to let go of me, Gracie. If you’re hugging me, I’ll just keep on crying.’

Grace loved her sister’s openness and simple logic: remove the safety blanket and she would toughen up, pronto.

‘Righto. I can hold your hand though, right? That won’t set you off?’ She was only half joking.

‘You can hold my hand, yes, that’s fine.’ Alice sniffed one last time.

Grace took her sister’s little hand and decided not to comment on the huge Indian silver rings that looked like they weighed down her arm, resplendent with skulls and what appeared to be snaking vines. ‘So, come on, spill.’

‘I just can’t get pregnant.’ Alice raised her hands and let them fall into her lap as her tears came again.

‘Oh, honey, you just have to keep trying. You know the score, relax, but keep trying.’

‘How can I relax when every time I’m at my most fertile I’m jumping on Patrick like he’s a bloody stud horse and hoping for the best. I had to call him back from the garden centre the other day and he actually huffed and said, “Just give me a minute, I’m looking for compost,” as if that was preferable!’

Grace bit her lip to stifle an inappropriate giggle.

‘You can laugh.’ Alice smiled. ‘It’s as funny as it is ridiculous. There’s him in the B&Q garden centre, lumping sacks of horse manure to the car as fast as he can because it’s my optimum time, and there’s me at home with a thermometer and my legs up the wall. Where’s the romance? The passion? It’s all become a bit medical. A bit mechanical.’

‘Oh, honey!’ Grace rubbed her sister’s hand.

‘And we’ve tried so many times and it’s so disappointing. Every time is worse than the last. You just keep thinking, maybe this time, maybe it’s our turn, in fact it must be our turn because of all our previous failures, like we’re owed success. But we’re not owed anything and it never is our turn and it never will be. That’s it. As Patrick said, there comes a point when you have to admit defeat.’

‘I don’t want to give you clichés, but you do have a lot, Alice. What you and Patrick have is so rare and so special. Who knows, maybe he’s your compensation for not having children. Maybe you just don’t get everything in life and things have a funny way of levelling out. I do believe that.’

Alice swiped at her eyes. ‘That does sound clichéd, and the only people who say it to me are the ones that go home and get called Mummy.’

Grace felt suitably admonished. ‘I’m sorry, honey. You’re right; I don’t know what it feels like. I’m just trying to make you feel better.’ She squeezed her sister’s hand, feeling all the little bones roll under her fingers.

‘It’s so bloody unfair, Gracie. I don’t want a football team, just one! I just want one little baby of our own. It would have been perfect. I have this image of Patrick holding a small bundle.’

Grace felt her sister’s pain and started to run a mental checklist. What could be done? How would they fix this? She was already rushing headlong into solution mode. ‘I’m so sorry for you, for you both, but let’s think, Alice, there must be other options.’

Alice exhaled as though she needed to clear her head before continuing. ‘There are other options, but I don’t want to think about them, not yet. I feel like I’m in mourning, if that makes any sense, and until I get my head around the fact that I’m never going to have my own baby, I can’t think about anything else.’

‘It does make sense and I can’t begin to imagine how it must be for you.’

‘Patrick and I have been over and over it and even though we can talk it through and agree that we do have a lot to be thankful for, I still have this gaping baby-shaped gap in my life that nothing else can fill. It’s like a bad hunger pain that no amount of food can sort.’

Grace listened intently. It was unusual for Alice to discuss her pain so openly, odd to see her without her smiley mask in place.

‘When I read in the papers or hear on the news about a child that’s been hurt or neglected by its parents, it makes me howl. How can someone do that to something so precious and how is that fair, when I would give anything, anything to be a mum? How can people waste that opportunity, spoil it?’

‘I don’t know, honey.’ It was the best she could offer.

‘I know time is running out for me, Grace, and I need to consider other options—’

‘Like adoption?’ Grace interrupted. ‘I think you’re right, Alice. There are hundreds of kids that need homes; not necessarily babies, but older children maybe? You and Patrick would make excellent parents, that’s never been in doubt. Mum is always saying that since you were a little girl you’ve been a mum-in-waiting.’

‘Gracie, I know it doesn’t make me a very nice person, but I don’t want an older child, I want a little baby and I really want our little baby, one that is half Patrick and half me. Can you imagine how amazing that would be?’

Grace pictured Chloe. Yes, she could imagine exactly how amazing that would be.

Grace wanted what was best for her sister. She decided to change tack. ‘Of course, there are lots of advantages to
not
having a baby. You get to have spontaneity in your life, you can lie in bed at the weekend, make love where and when you want to, you keep your figure, and you’re not permanently exhausted…’

Alice smiled at her sister’s transparency. ‘You’ve always been a crap liar. We both know that you wouldn’t swap Chloe for all the lie-ins in the world.’

Grace thought for a second and exhaled slowly. ‘No, honey. No, I wouldn’t.’ She felt embarrassed at having tried to humour her smart little sister. ‘I guess all you can do, Alice, is not give up. And when the time is right, it’ll happen.’

‘Or not,’ Alice said.

‘Or not,’ Grace conceded. ‘But if that’s the case, we can deal with it then.’ She leant forward and kissed her sister.

‘All okay?’ Tom asked from the doorway.

‘Yep.’ Grace nodded.

‘Lunch is nearly ready.’ He smiled.

It was a lovely family gathering. Grace was a little quieter than usual; tiredness, Alice’s words, and the prospect of taking Chloe into hospital tomorrow were all taking their toll.

‘You look tired, love. Why don’t you go and grab forty winks? Alice and I can take Chloe for a play in the garden,’ Olive suggested.

‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind.’ Grace kissed her little girl and made her way upstairs, noting that Mac had already bagged the best sofa seat for dozing.

‘I’ll wake you up with a cuppa in a bit,’ Tom said as he headed for the sink.

Minutes later, Chloe, Olive and Alice were in front of the kitchen window, bundled up like snowmen in scarves and hats and boots representing every colour of the rainbow – and that was just Alice’s ensemble. Olive lifted Chloe up to the window and the little girl planted a sticky kiss on the pane. Tom reached forward over the sink and met her lips with his own through the cold glass.