“It’s like people think you’re shallow and selfish if you don’t want children,” she often said. “Or somehow deficient as a person. I say, if only more women really faced their doubts about being a mother, we wouldn’t have so many badly treated kids in the world, destined to become needy adults. Motherhood’s a club. If you’re not a member, you’re looked down on. What’s wrong with only having life goals of doing well at work and having fun? And why should I constantly have to justify my choices?”
Rosie didn’t have to justify herself to me, of course. In my view, she contributed enough to the world by simply being her. But maybe because of my friend’s strong opinions about motherhood, I’d examined my own more than I might have done otherwise. Why did I have this compelling need to be a mother? Why wasn’t the life I currently led enough for me the way Rosie’s was for her? I loved my job and felt I was good at it. Moreover, it was work that had value, both for animals and for people. I had a great home, lots of friends, and the freedom to travel should I want to. Why this insistent need for a small being to care for, to wake me up at night, to be totally dependent on me?
Sometimes I wondered if my deep craving for a family was connected to having lost my parents so young. Maybe, without knowing it, I’d been deeply lonely—was still deeply lonely—despite being on the receiving end of Richard and Sylvia’s love. If that was the case, how could I be sure that bringing a child into my life—by whatever means I managed it—would be the answer? What if I still felt lonely when I had a child who needed me?
Whenever I thought about these things, my mind went round and round in circles, just the way Rosie’s did. But just like Rosie, I always came back to my original starting point—the one connected to my gut. For whatever reason, I wanted children so much it hurt. And if I hadn’t been so hopelessly in love with Mark for most of my life, I’d probably have them by now. You couldn’t will yourself to love people, just as—apparently—you couldn’t will yourself to stop loving them.
“Is anything anybody says going to stop you catching that plane?” I asked Rosie.
“Not a chance.”
“Well, then, go. Have a fabulous time. And if you start to doubt you did the right thing, think about the strain of living up to Grace’s perfect Christmas.”
“God, yes. And her sister’s baby! Thanks, pal. See you when I get back.”
“I’ll have the tissues handy.”
“I’ll need them.”
I was still thinking about Rosie’s dilemma as I left the flat and walked up to the supermarket. She and Giorgio had been an on-off item for more than three years now. They’d both tried dating other people, but their hearts hadn’t been in it, and I could see why not. Apart from the baby issue, they were just so perfect for each other. It was sad.
“Beth?”
A voice plucked me from my thoughts. I focussed and saw it was Jake.
“Oh, hi,” I said, registering how good it was to see him. “How are you? I’m just heading up to Tesco. I’m on duty over Christmas—well, if we get any emergencies, that is. I’m hoping they’ll have some tempting microwave dinners to get me through the festive period.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “In case you get a call out? Or in case you can’t be bothered to cook?”
“Either-or.”
He laughed. Then we stood there smiling at each other for a while before he asked, “Any movement on the adoption application?”
I pulled a face. “Well, I phoned my ex, and he agreed to speak to the social worker, so it’s just a question of waiting to see if he decides to stuff things up for me or not.”
“Surely he won’t. Not unless he’s a total bastard.”
Thinking of the scathing tone of Jaimie’s voice made me feel depressed all over again. “Well, let’s just say he wasn’t very friendly when I rang.”
We were in the way where we were standing—shoppers were having to make a detour around us like a peloton splitting at a roundabout in the Tour de France. It was cold too—a wicked wind was diligently seeking out every minuscule crevice between my coat collar and my scarf.
“Well, listen,” said Jake. “I’m around over Christmas if you fancy meeting up sometime? My kids are going away with my ex-wife and her husband.”
For just a moment my thoughts stuck with Jaimie, as I realised this was Harriet’s year to have the girls. Then I forgot about him and focussed on the way Jake was looking me straight in the eye. I remembered the spark of attraction I’d felt for him when we first met, the ease with which we’d chatted together at the light festival.
“That would be nice,” I said. “Though it might be difficult for me to plan anything very much in advance. It depends what animals I’m looking after, if any.”
“That’s okay. I haven’t made any plans, so I can be flexible. And I’m happy to come round to yours if that’s easier. Just give me a call.”
He was looking at my mouth now. God, he was looking at my mouth. The flicker of desire I’d felt before was back again, only now it felt more like a flame. For some reason I started thinking about his tattoos. I’d never dated a guy with tattoos before, but on Jake they seemed right. Did he have any more elsewhere on his body? On his chest, maybe, or his back? What would it be like to run my hands over them, to explore them? There was no rule against having red-hot sex on Christmas Day if you were single and planning to adopt, was there? Presumably, Clare hadn’t sneakily installed CCTV cameras around my flat.
Jake and I were still smiling at each other like a pair of lovesick teenagers. He could probably read my mind. It was definitely time to go.
“Well,” I said, “I’d better get to Tesco.”
“Before they run out of lasagnes?”
“Exactly. Because everyone knows zappable lasagnes are a popular Christmas dinner choice.”
He smiled. “Bye, Beth. I’ll wait to hear from you. I hope no puppies or kittens get sick in the next few days.”
Right up until Christmas Eve, it actually appeared as if I wouldn’t have any pets to look after. But then a tabby cat called Tiger was run over by a taxicab, and Clive had to perform an emergency splenectomy and leg amputation.
“Sorry, Beth,” he said. “He’s a young cat, so he should be fine to go home tomorrow afternoon, but I think we ought to keep him in overnight. I’ll come in myself to check on him later this evening and first thing tomorrow morning, but if you could pop in at lunchtime tomorrow for the family to collect him if he seems okay? Run through what they need to do for him?”
“Of course.”
“Call me if you have any doubts at all. I’ll stay off the wine until I hear all’s well.”
“Okay. No problem.”
I was actually quite glad to have an animal to take care of over Christmas, since I hadn’t made any plans. Though of course I wouldn’t have wished an accident on poor Tiger. The taxi driver had been really apologetic when he’d brought him into the surgery, even though he hadn’t been at fault—Tiger had run straight out in front of his cab.