one she didn’t want to have to cope with it alone. If he’d just lay off the booze for a while, it might help. Laura had been gone almost five months now, and his way of grieving, which involved nothing more than bemoaning his life and the world in general through the bottom of a bottle, was never going to work. Oblivion, yes, but bringing her back, no. And as for even the slightest movement towards acceptance or recovery, definitely not.
Natalie had liked Laura. Loved her, even. She and Ollie had lived together for almost two years and they’d all thought of her as family. Natalie had been thrilled at the prospect of the little niece or nephew they’d announced was on the way, and Mum had been so excited she’d got an old pair of knitting needles out, not that anyone had ever actually seen her use them. In the end, she didn’t get the chance.
The miscarriage had been devastating, for Laura, for Mum, for all of them, but on the face of it, Ollie had seemed to cope remarkably well. He’d done all the right things, assuring Laura they could try again, that it was just one of those things, and that everything would be fine next time. But, as things turned out, it wasn’t. And Natalie knew it was hard for him, being the man, trying to be the rock that Laura needed, when it was so obvious that all he wanted, every time, was to curl up in a ball and just sob his heart out.
Laura left after they lost the third. Just after Easter. Said she couldn’t take any more, that Ollie deserved someone better, someone whole, someone who could do this one simple thing that her body was refusing to do, and no amount of pleading would change her mind.
Natalie had always expected Laura to come back. Ollie probably had too. At the start, anyway. Her giant Easter egg was still sitting on the dining table, unopened, unmoved, untouched, since the day she went, its huge yellow ribbon like one of those ‘Come home’ messages tied around a tree that you hear about in songs. But she didn’t come back. She just went off, not even leaving an address behind, asking them all to respect her decision and not come after her, and poor Ollie still hadn’t got over it. Losing her, or the babies.
There were three tiny crosses on the wall over the bed at his flat, each one carefully carved out of wood. He’d put his heart and soul into making those crosses. Not bad for a man who said he didn’t believe in God, and who spent far too much time with a glass of whisky in his hand, even more so in recent weeks, when there had been no work to think about. Natalie used to envy him those long school holidays, with nothing but a bit of lesson planning to think about, but now she was grateful that September had come around and he’d finally had to go back. He wouldn’t risk his career, would he?
Ah, but it was Wednesday, she realised, with a sudden sigh of relief. Ollie’s chess club night. He’d be out for most of the evening, and with other people, so she wouldn’t have to do her Good Samaritan act after all. He’d probably be drinking, between games at least, but there was little she could do about that. She wasn’t his keeper. None of them were, even though Mum seemed to think it was their mission to help him. To save him, even. But then, Mum knew, better than any of them, how it felt, struggling to have babies, and losing them. No matter how many survived, it was still the ones lost along the way that left their special mark.
She poured some baked beans into a pan and toasted a couple of slices of bread. She’d have a quiet evening in, with an easy meal and a good book, and make the most of this rare time by herself. It might give her the chance to think clearly about the wedding arrangements too, without the constant input of the world and his wife telling her what to do, who to invite, what was expected, how much they all wanted to play their part.
Why was it so wrong to want to keep things small? Phil wouldn’t care one way or the other. He was happy to leave the decisions to her. Whatever made her feel most comfortable. All the fuss of parading up the aisle, with everyone watching, and bridesmaids and ushers … none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things, did it? It wasn’t as if she could link her arm through Dad’s and walk beside him. She’d have enough trouble managing her dress and making sure her hem didn’t get caught in her wheels. That was the bridesmaids’ job, really, if she relented and decided to have any, but short of crouching down next to her or edging along on their knees, she couldn’t picture how it could be made to work. In fact, beautiful though that dress was earlier, the impracticalities of wearing something like that, something meant to flow and sway and skim along the floor, probably made it a no-go. Dresses like that just weren’t meant for the likes of her.
After a lifetime of trying to be as unobtrusive and normal as she could, so people wouldn’t stare at her or ask all those embarrassingly awkward questions, it wasn’t easy to find herself thrust forward, forced to take centre stage. Wasn’t it possible to just be the bride, to slip into the church and marry the love of her life without having to lead an attention-grabbing cavalcade of followers up the aisle? And in a dress bunched up around her lap too? It was a shame, but wedding dresses – proper wedding dresses – were expensive. It was a lot of money to spend, money they were going to be quite short of once they’d paid for the honeymoon and all the adaptations Phil’s small house needed just so she could get comfortably through the front door and up the stairs. No, it would have to be something simpler, shorter, cheaper …
When the phone rang it made her jump. She’d been staring ahead at the wall, imagining the worst, as usual. The beans had gone cold on the plate and she was surprised to find she had tears in her eyes.
‘Hey, Nat. How are you, sweetheart? I miss you.’
Phil. Wonderful, kind and caring Phil. Not for the first time, she couldn’t help wondering what on earth he saw in her, Natalie Campbell, a girl who couldn’t walk or run or even give him a playful kick when he deserved one. Why her, when he could have had anyone? She didn’t know the answer, never had, but she did know she was so very, very lucky to have him.
Kate, 1977
Dan was so bloody annoying sometimes. He knew I couldn’t get away from the bank much before five – I hadn’t worked there long enough to feel I could ask for favours – and he’d booked us onto a six o’clock train. How was I meant to get home, changed, packed, back out again and onto a train in less than an hour? I hadn’t even decided what to wear yet. What sort of thing was expected in the wilds of rural Somerset in mid-September, at a farm I had never seen but had always imagined as a mixture of elegant low-beamed interiors and squelching knee-deep mud imbued with the smell of cows the moment you stepped outside? And what did he expect us to do about food? I was sure it wouldn’t be the sort of train that served meals, not on our limited budget, and I’d only had a cheese sandwich and the edible half of a windfall apple at lunch.
I hadn’t met his family before and wasn’t totally sure I was ready to now, but there were only so many excuses I could come up with and, after almost a year of going out together, I’d pretty much exhausted the list. No, this was it. The packed Friday-evening train, the awkward introductions when they came to pick us up at the station, assorted aunts and uncles and cousins all coming to get a look at me at the party on Saturday evening, and the spare bedroom that had once been his sister Jane’s set aside especially for me, no doubt with a vase of freshly picked flowers awaiting me beside the bed. It was all arranged, set in stone and there was no getting out of it now.
Of course they would all be lovely. Well, they were Dan’s family, and Dan was lovely, so they were bound to be. But I was nervous, if not actually downright scared, and had no idea how to admit it. It felt so important that they liked me, and accepted me, because Dan was without doubt the best thing ever to happen to me, and I badly wanted these people, their home, their way of life, to accept me, wrap themselves around me and let me in. But what if they didn’t? What if I wasn’t what they had in mind for Dan at all? After all, what did I know about farming or about living in the country? I was strictly a town girl and always had been. I had never even owned a pair of wellies!
‘My mum will love you,’ Dan had assured me when I’d tried to voice my concerns the night before. ‘Almost as much as I do. And Dad … well, you’ll probably hardly see him. But right now, Rich