I stared out at Harriett’s rose garden, thinking it was such a shame in just a few months, they’d be dead. She’d potter down to her home office one morning, cup of coffee in hand, only to realise the roses she never truly stopped to appreciate are gone.
‘Go on,’ prompted Harriett.
‘Well, it was all going fine until I overheard Louisa, this thin, pointy woman who definitely doesn’t actually eat anything she bakes, making a comment about how lucky it is that Elodie isn’t a mother, and I just got so angry.’
Harriett made a small note in her book. God, El, I really want to see what she writes in that book. I hope it’s not ‘crazy, neurotic bitch’ underlined several times. ‘And why do you think it made you angry?’ she asked.
‘Because Elodie is more than her reproductive organs. She’s witty and smart and well-read. Talented. So talented. She got a book deal just before she went missing. She cares deeply … about everything, even stray cats. You know she took in a stray cat even though it could’ve cost her her lease?’ I thought of Seefer then and how I should look for her. ‘Stray cats, stray people, even those who never deserved it.’ And god, I was boiling all over again. Sitting on Harriett’s sofa, I could feel the acidic burn of fury beneath my skin. I knew getting angry didn’t help but I couldn’t switch off how I felt about that stupid woman’s comment. ‘Elodie is great at running and writing and her skin is clear without having to slap on overpriced, organic moisturiser every morning, noon and night. She’s brave and adventurous. One of the most ambitious people I know. So why does it matter if she has children? Why does her disappearance somehow mean less because she didn’t give birth?’
‘Is that what you think Louisa was saying?’
‘Yes.’ I put the glass down. ‘No. I don’t know. I just …’ Without the glass, I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I picked up one of her tan cushions and started winding the tassels around my finger. ‘I’m not completely irrational. I do understand in these situations children complicate things, but when I asked Louisa to explain herself, she started rambling about how it would be worse if Elodie had children because they’d miss her so much. And I flew off the handle.’ I winced, remembering the look on the faces of those poor Bakewell-pushing, muffin-making middle-aged women. Thin, pointy Louisa was so shocked by my outburst, she looked like she’d accidentally swallowed a carb. ‘I told them Elodie may not be a mother but she’s a sister and a daughter and a cousin and a friend. I yelled that just because there weren’t any sticky-fingered snotty-nosed brats wailing at the door for her, there was still an entire family of people who were falling apart missing her.’ I put my head in my hands, mortified that I’d caused a scene like the ones in Mum’s soap operas. ‘They’re my mother’s friends. I’ve embarrassed her.’
‘Do you think your mother would understand given the circumstances?’
‘No. I don’t. I think as soon as she finds out, she’ll be livid, and it really will be my fault when her blood pressure goes haywire and she blacks out again. She’s always been concerned about how things look; it’s more important to her than how things actually are.’ I’d abandoned the cushion in favour of spinning my wedding band around my finger. ‘Mum and Ethan are the same that way.’
‘Did you tell Ethan about the interaction you had with your mother’s friends?’
I nodded. ‘He agreed with them, said of course it would be far worse if Elodie had children. Children rely on their mother. And I can understand what he’s saying but I don’t agree. If they’re right, if he’s right, it means you can be the perfect daughter or sister or cousin or wife, you can own a beautiful house, a great car, marry a fantastic man, host wonderful parties and buy only eco-friendly, organic, pressed foods which don’t hurt the turtles or beavers or whatever, you can do all that, but if you die or disappear without ever having children, your life doesn’t mean as much as the woman who does have children.’ I ran out of breath. Harriett made more notes. ‘There’s just a lot of pressure.’
She looked up. ‘Pressure?’
‘To decide. To have a baby. It’s not fair our sexual organs come with an expiration date while men can carry on reproducing until they’re in their seventies. And if you’re a woman and you decide you don’t want a baby, you’re selfish or defective, and people sit there and insist you’ll “change your mind”。 Well, what if you don’t change your mind? Are you a bad person?’