Upstairs, the skylight blinds and curtains had been closed. Two fans raged in opposite corners. “Cushions, patch of carpet,” Fiona ordered. “Now, let’s get on our knees and vocalize!”
Coralie and Lydia swapped glances. It was the part they hated the most.
“I know it’s not comfortable,” Fiona said. “To take up space and make a noise. But when you’re giving birth, making noises freely openseverythingup, the lips up the topandthe lips down below!Brrrr!” She blew a dry raspberry, and the circle copied her. “Buh, buh, buh!” While everyone was still saying “Buh, buh, buh,” Fiona cried: “Let’s moo!”
“Moo!” everyone lowed. “Moo!”
“Good,” Fiona said. “There’s nothing embarrassing aboutanynoise you make in labor. Who’s pooed their pants before, as an adult?”
Sam raised his hand. “Food poisoning in Morocco.”
“Mortifying!” Fiona said. “Fantastic! You know you can survive! Now we’re standing, we’re rolling our ankles, loosening them up. If you lose your balance, steady yourself and start again. We’ll go round the circle: Say how many weeks you are, and let’s talk about our mothers. If you didn’t grow up with your mother, make it your main carer instead. Lydia!”
“Thirty-six weeks,” Lydia said. “I can only have this baby because of my mother. She showed me a single mum can provide everything a child needs. And she’s coming down for the first month to help. Um, Fiona, I hope that’s what you meant.”
“Wonderful,” Fiona said. “Coralie?”
Coralie had just taken a gulp of water from her flask. She choked and coughed. Red in the face, she waved an apology. Fiona nodded. “We’ll come back! Charlotte?”
“Thirty-three weeks, not enjoying this heat, ha-ha! To put it simply, my mother’s my best friend.” Charlotte had that beauty-queen delivery Coralie found triggering in other women. She paused afterevery sentence as if waiting for applause. “We can share anything.” (Triumphant pause.) “I just know she’d do anything for me.” (Triumphant pause.) “She can’twaitto be a granny!” (Thrilled smile, wave at crowd.)
“Thank you, Charlotte.”
With her instinct for a leader’s feelings, Coralie knew this shallow analysis of the maternal bond had not gone down well with Fiona.
“Coralie,” Fiona said. “Are you ready?”
“Um, I’m thirty-four weeks.” Normally she experienced thoughts and feelings as a flowing stream, and even when put on the spot in public, she could dip in her cup and get something out. The stream appeared to have dried up. “My mum picked me up when she said she’d pick me up. My clean school uniforms were always hanging in the cupboard. Um…” She trailed off. The cup was empty. So was her mind.
“And does she take an active role with your daughter now, or is she in Australia?”
“Sorry, Fiona. I should have mentioned,” Coralie said. “She’s dead.”
“Oh!” Charlotte gasped, as if Coralie had shothermother.
Fiona ignored Charlotte. “I’m sad to hear that,” she said sincerely. “We’re getting on the floor, we’re drawing one leg up and rolling around. When we give birth and have a vulnerable infant in our care, we can access quite primitive states and memories that have been closed off to us for years,” Fiona said. “It can be disturbing to go back in time and feel as you did back then. Greet the feelings when you see them, pause, and take a note. What’s happening now, and what’s a ghost from the past? Important distinction, keep it in mind. Mothering—parenting (sorry, Sam)—it takes it right out of you. It can leave you empty, running on fumes. Not enough care togo round. Someone has to be there to hold you in their mind as you are holding the baby. It doesn’t have to be your mother. It doesn’t have to be a partner. But someone. You need to be looked after too.”
•••
That night,Coralie had a strange dream. She was hiking in a jungle. She was alone and it was hard going. Up ahead there was a cupboard. When she opened it, her mother toppled toward her, straight and stiff as an ironing board. Coralie caught her, alarmed, and tried to angle her back in, but it was difficult, because she was mixed up with a mop, a broom, and a vacuum cleaner. At her touch, her mother began to unfreeze (that was why she was stiff: She was frozen). Life came back into her eyes, which searched Coralie’s face, and her mother’s mouth moved as if she was about to say something.I’m sorry? I love you?Why had everything always been so empty between them? Even the fact Coralie was paying attention meant she was too conscious to dream. Reality rushed in. Her mother faded away. She was alone, awake, and crying.
17
On May 4, 2015, David Cameron had tweeted:Britain faces a simple and inescapable choice—stability and strong Government with me, or chaos with Ed Miliband.Coralie looked back fondly on that election, her first in the UK, and (she hadn’t realized this at the time) the last that could credibly be called normal. Those were the days! By the end of summer 2019, she was thirty-nine weeks pregnant and living in a failed state.
Somehow it was no longer enough for the UK to exit the European Union. Every former tie and mutual obligation had to be expunged. No deal was better than a bad deal, Tories repeated on every news round. In a little over two months, the country looked likely to crash out of the EU, without arrangements in place for not just medicines and food but transport, national security, toilet roll, or the chemicals needed for clean water. But did Boris want No Deal—or did he want a better deal from Europe that only the threat of No Deal could deliver?
Coralie couldn’t help thinking of Adam trying to get the girls to circus school on the weekend. Only at the last minute—when every water bottle, shoe, and raincoat was lost, when missing the bus was all but assured, when Zora had stormed out, Flo was crying, andCoralie was bathed in anxiety sweat—could Adam finally rouse himself to leave the house. All he required was chaos. He had that in common with Boris.
On the last Sunday in August, theObserverrevealed that the prime minister was considering proroguing Parliament. Everyone suddenly learned what proroguing meant—it meant a total shutdown. All politicians would be sent home at the end of the week. Westminster would stand empty. There would be no political debate or scrutiny of the government’s plans before the final summit in Europe. The stage for No Deal would be set.
While Coralie had hoped for some help with Florence’s dinners and baths, Anne and Sally rushed straight from Barbie’s flat to 10 Downing Street. There they joined thousands of others chanting, “Stop the coup! Stop the coup!” Adam, for his part, cycled into Westminster at eight in the morning and didn’t return until Coralie was in bed. In the first week of September, the baby was due, Florence was starting Montessori, and Zora would have her first day at secondary. There could not have been a worse time for the entire political system to explode.
On the plus side, Lydia’s very overdue baby, Nancy, was born in the birth center at Homerton Hospital in the dying minutes of August 31. Had she delayed her arrival any further, her school start date would have been pushed back an entire year, leaving Lydia on the hook for up to an impossible £20,000 worth of extra childcare costs.She’s a very, very good girl, Lydia WhatsApped the birth class group. The first photo showed a pink frog sprawled on her back in a minuscule newborn nappy. The second was a close-up of the baby’s shoulder, which had a sprinkling of fine blonde hairs. Coralie felt something weird inside her bra. Pulling her top down to inspect her nipple, she found tiny, shimmering golden bubbles: milk.
What was the birth like?Sam wrote. (His had gone fine. His son looked exactly like him.)
BESTIAL, Lydia replied.
