a plastic duck while they waited for the result and then there they were: those two solid blue lines. She’d wept tears of joy at the news then jumped (somewhat cautiously) around the flat blurting out ‘I’m going to be a mum!’, ‘You’re going to be a dad!’, and ‘We’re going to be parents!’ until she’d made herself dizzy and had to sit down, and still the news hadn’t sunk in.
That was how it was going to be this time. She’d call Ben straightaway; they’d both be bowled over by the news. He’d rush from London so they could celebrate and he’d take the rest of the week off so he could spend it with his family.
Quickly (because she’d learnt it was better that way), Fliss opened her eyes to see the results. Even though she knew that one line meant no and two lines meant yes, she still felt the need to double-check the instructions. One line. Negative.
She flung the test into the sink. ‘I knew I wasn’t.’ She said it accusingly to the stick responsible for delivering the blow. ‘Stupid me for even checking.’
‘Muuummmm, why are you stupid?’
Trust Hollie not to miss a trick. ‘Go downstairs, baby, and I’ll be there in a second. I’ll make you blueberry pancakes if you’re good.’
‘Ace!’
Hollie clattered down the stairs giving Fliss a moment of peace. She spent it clearing away the evidence. Vase emptied, cleaned thoroughly (in the hope she hadn’t ruined any future bouquet’s prospects), she threw the negative test into the bin in her bedroom and checked her expression to make sure the news hadn’t had an effect on her features. She pulled at the skin around her eyes in the hope of stretching some of the wrinkles out. Time was beginning to be cruel to her crow’s feet.
Bravado, that’s what she needed. She pasted a cheery smile on her face and told herself it didn’t matter. Next time it would be different. Surely she could get Ben to be true to his word and take some annual leave for her fertile week.
Downstairs, Hollie waited with her usual neediness. ‘Get a bowl out of the cupboard then, Hols.’
‘You said pancakes.’
Yes, if you were good, Fliss thought, but bit her tongue before starting a showdown. ‘Silly me, how could I forget. Get some cutlery for the table then, sweetheart.’ Her tone attempting to coax her daughter into doing as she was told.
The corners of Hollie’s mouth dipped and Fliss prepared to do battle armed with a bowl and whisk. It seemed impossible that her daughter was able to manipulate her in almost every way. She knew exactly how to press Fliss’s buttons and it was hard to admit that most of the time she gave in, just for an easy life. Ben didn’t help matters. He spoilt her on the weekends when they would all go and do whatever it was that Hollie wanted.
She took her frustrations out on the batter mix instead. It wasn’t fair to make Hollie responsible for the way the test had gone. The mood settling over them this morning was her fault, not her daughter’s.
By the time she’d poured a spoonful of mix into the frying pan, Hollie was busy laying cutlery on the table, taking her time over remembering what side the knife was supposed to go.
‘Delicious,’ Hollie declared when she took her first bite, giving Fliss a blueberry-stained grin.
Fliss’s mood softened at the sight and she tried not to worry about Hollie’s school uniform getting soiled. Ben was right: this was one of the moments she needed to appreciate being with the daughter she had.
***
An hour later and with Hollie packed off to school, Fliss should have been getting on with some work. With no current interior design projects, there was a 1950s cabinet waiting in her studio for its final sanding down before some upcycling touches, but instead she was in front of the computer seeking solace. Mummyto3boys would be online so she logged on to the Baby Making Forum.
‘Another BFN,’ she wrote on the Trying To Conceive board and surprised herself when she laughed at the abbreviation. When she’d first joined up she thought all the shortenings were for scientific names. It was only after spending a while lurking around the boards that she’d discovered they were anything but. BFN = BIG FAT Negative and every time she wrote it, despite what it represented, it still made her giggle.
BirminghamMomma: Aw, hun. Big hugs. I had my AF arrive 2 days ago so know how you’re feeling. Best of luck this cycle.
Fliss smiled again at the speedy response. It had taken her weeks to try and work out what AF meant. She’d gathered it was to do with having a period but what scientific term was AF? It turned out it was Aunt Flo, of course.
Mummyto3boys: That sucks. Felt sure this was the month. I have news for you. Hold on and I’ll PM you.
At some point along the TTC road, Mummyto3boys had become her best virtual friend. Her real name was Ange and she lived up in Manchester, which seemed a million miles away from Kent, which was perhaps why Fliss felt so able to pour her heart out in the knowledge her secrets were safe from all her family and friends. Ange had three boys and was desperate for a girl and was trying every absurd technique under the sun in order to tempt her husband’s X-sperms into fertilising her egg. So far they’d had no luck with any eggs and they were beginning to despair. News could refer to what they’d been hoping for – the BIG FAT Positive. It was worth waiting the extra few minutes to find out. The restoration she was doing was only destined for eBay and she wasn’t booked in with another client for a couple of weeks.
She read the rest of the replies to her post while she waited. It was the outpouring of sympathy that she’d needed. Women all in the same position: trying so desperately to remain relaxed about the activity that had overtaken their lives.
Ange’s message pinged up and Fliss clicked it open.
Found out about this on another forum and it would be perfect for us! A TV company are doing a documentary we both qualify for. If we both signed up to take part we might actually get to meet each other. I don’t think we should pass the opportunity up! A xxx
Fliss breathed a selfish sigh of relief. She would be delighted if Ange was pregnant, but there was something deep within her that wanted them to go through it together. If only it could work out like that. Absentmindedly, Fliss clicked on the link Ange had added to her message to see what she was on about.
Are you struggling to get pregnant second time round?
Have you conceived naturally before and can’t work out why this time nothing seems to be working?
Award-winning Bright Idea Productions will be filming a series looking at the causes of secondary infertility. If you are interested in taking part then please email us with a brief summary of your situation and we will forward an application form.
‘Will think about it,’ Fliss messaged back to Ange, even though she already knew the answer was no.
Outside she worked away at the front door of the cabinet, taking the old varnish off, and wished it was a quicker job. Every time she stopped to wipe the sweat off her forehead a prick of guilt jabbed her in the belly. Why didn’t she want to take part? If it meant she’d meet Ange then maybe it’d be worth it. Really, she knew exactly why she didn’t want to and it wasn’t because it might turn out Ange was some kind of cyber freak. It was the horrid word that appeared in the recruitment advert: infertility. It was a word she didn’t wish to be faced with. Ange and Fliss were on the same journey, yes, but Fliss refused to believe she was having the same problems as Ange and her husband, Mark. Whereas they were at it like rabbits to no avail, Fliss barely saw her husband enough to have sex, let alone conceive. What Fliss and Ben had was a different set of problems entirely.
As she started to work away at the varnish again, unwelcome thoughts began to niggle away at her. After two years of trying, perhaps it was time to stop blaming it on the fact they only saw each other at the weekend.