Lies Lies Lies. Adele Parks

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ a couple of hours practice time. She was just six, but was that dedicated. It was astounding. Aspirational. Her existence was wall-to-wall pink tulle. When she started school she’d had meltdowns every day and, at first, Simon and Daisy had been confused and troubled as to why. ‘Do you have friends, Millie?’, ‘Is your teacher kind to you?’, ‘Do you like the lunches?’, ‘Can you find your coat peg?’ they’d asked, wracking their brains to imagine any possible irritation or upset.

      ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes,’ she’d spluttered through distressed tears.

      ‘Then what is the matter?’ Simon had asked, exasperated, tense. He’d taken the morning off work to be with Daisy when they tried to persuade Millie to go into her classroom.

      ‘The uniform is ugly!’ She’d howled. ‘It’s green. I want it pink.’ Her explanation, hiccupped out indignantly, had only made Simon laugh. Daisy ultimately solved the matter by sewing a pink ribbon all around the inside hem of Millie’s school skirt. An act that Simon always thought was a display of pure brilliance and devotion.

      ‘I feel very uncomfortable taking Millie into the consultation room,’ Daisy whispered. ‘She’ll understand enough of what we are talking about to be interested. I don’t want to get her hopes up that there’s a sibling on the way.’ Because Simon had just been thinking about the hand sewn pink ribbon, he was more inclined to indulge Daisy.

      ‘OK, well how about I go in first and hear what he has to say and then you pop in after me.’

      ‘Won’t that take twice as long?’ Daisy looked anxiously about her. There were two other couples in the waiting room. They may or may not have been waiting to see Dr Martell. ‘I’d feel awful if we overran.’

      ‘We’re paying for it, so you don’t have to worry.’

      ‘It’s impolite.’ Daisy had a heightened regard for being polite. Simon sometimes found that charming, other times he found it frustrating.

      ‘Well what do you suggest? Leaving would also be impolite.’

      Daisy nodded. ‘I suppose.’

      At that moment a smartly-dressed nurse appeared, she had a clipboard and clipped tones; she oozed efficiency. ‘Mr and Mrs Barnes?’

      Simon stood up, kissed Daisy on the top of the head. ‘Don’t look so worried. This is the start of a wonderful adventure,’ he told her. ‘Love you.’

3

       Chapter 3, Daisy

      The moment Simon vacates his seat, Millie bounces into it, although she still doesn’t settle. Instead, she holds her legs out in front of her and repeatedly points her toes up to the ceiling, then stretches them out. I love her energy. She’s delicate and yet strong, a winning combination. I was a robust child. Hefty. By the time I was fourteen I hit five foot ten, not a lithe beanpole model-in-the-making five foot ten but large, ungainly, always-in-the-way five foot ten. My arms were as wide as other girls’ waists, my breasts seemed to loll around my tummy like some old woman’s. I hope puberty is kinder to Millie. I worry that she will inherit my height. That wouldn’t be ideal for a ballerina unless she dances in Russia, they like them tall there, but I don’t want her to go to Russia. I do worry that by encouraging her to dance I’m basically pursuing a fast-track path to body dysmorphia. But Millie is quite unlike me. As a girl I had glasses and spots, orange hair, freckled skin and the wrong clothes. Even when I had the right clothes they looked wrong on me. It’s just the way it is for some people. We can’t all be born beautiful.

      The good thing about being forty-five is that all that angst about how I look is behind me. I’ve learnt how to accept myself, make the most of myself, that’s what women like me must do. However, I live in awe of my child. Sweet, yet certain. I look at her and I know I’ve done something right. No matter what.

      Before Millie came along, we endured a decade of longing for a baby. Most young, happily married couples wait a few years before they turn their attention to baby-making, I was faster off the blocks. By the time I met Simon, my sister Rose was already the mother of two adorable boys – twins! I realised to make any impact at all on my parents, in terms of providing grandchildren, I’d have to get cracking and ideally produce a daughter. I’m joking, I wasn’t motivated to procreate by the innate competitiveness that exists between siblings, I simply adore children and I longed to be a mother. As a young girl I played with dolls, nothing else, I wasn’t interested in Play-Doh, colouring books or Lego, for me it was all about pretending to be a mummy. I started babysitting my little cousins when I was twelve and then for various neighbours by the time I was fifteen. I’m a primary school teacher. I like children, the cheeky, boisterous or mischievous types, the shy, arty or cuddly types. I’ll take any of them.

      I threw away my pill packet the morning we got married. It was one of the most exciting things about the day. For the first few months, I didn’t allow myself to be at all concerned when I still got my period. I was busy putting our house together. We’d bought a one-bedroom flat in North London, I was occupied with hanging pictures, picking out furniture, getting a washing machine plumbed in. It was all so new and exhilarating. Back then, every dull chore seemed like such a delicious treat. Adulting was a novelty. I found it thrilling that I was allowed to slob around in pyjamas all day on a wet, wintery Sunday, that I was allowed to say the words ‘my husband’, and I was allowed to go with said husband to Tesco Metro at 9 p.m. to buy a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, if we so desired. We were in charge of our time and finances, we were a couple. Such thrilling freedom. We were just waiting for the next bit to start.

      On our first wedding anniversary, I started to feel qualms of unease. I’d held this secret little fantasy that I’d be announcing our pregnancy that day. I was a month off my thirty-first birthday, Simon was just thirty-two, still young. But, even so. We made an appointment with our local GP. The doctor laughed, told us we had plenty of time ahead of us, told us to relax. When I pushed him, ‘Is there anything I can do?’ he checked I didn’t smoke, suggested I cut back on alcohol, ‘Start preparing your body if you want to. You don’t need to deprive yourself, though. Don’t be silly about it. Just get healthy. Exercise, consider yoga. Everything will be fine. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

      I wanted to do anything and everything I could to chivvy along the process. I took folic acid, I started to meditate, I stopped drinking altogether. Simon picked up the slack. Instead of sharing a bottle over a meal, he started to polish one off on his own. I didn’t mind, he was funny and relaxed when drunk. I’m not saying he was usually uptight, but he is quite a reserved man in some ways. Most comfortable in a one-to-one situation.

      On our second anniversary I suggested he too might like to stop drinking. That maybe we needed to go back to the doctors and get some tests done. He agreed to the tests.

      They examined my fertility first. I don’t know why, maybe because medically women are more often the cause for concern, or maybe it’s just sexist. I wasn’t surprised when the tests came back and said I was to blame for our problems. I had fibroids: non-cancerous, oestrogen-dependent benign tumours, growing in my uterus. These tumours cause pelvic pain and heavy menstrual bleeding. They can also cause infertility. It was recommended that I have a myomectomy to remove them. We did that, another two years passed, we still didn’t get pregnant, so we saw another doctor. She recommended that they run some tests on Simon too. I couldn’t believe it when the results came back. He also had problems. Sluggish and poor-quality sperm. We were both to blame.

СКАЧАТЬ