A Part of Me

‘Stability, James. That’s what they want to hear, not that we’re planning to up sticks and disrupt our home—’

James held a hand aloft to cut me off. ‘Amy, forget it. We’re not doing this again. We’ve jumped through every sodding hoop imaginable over the last year just to get to this point. We’ve just met ten people in there we don’t know from Adam, yet they know every last sodding thing there is to know about us.’ He was already pointing an accusing finger down the corridor towards the room where the panel were still discussing and dissecting our lives. ‘They’ve been through our income, our childhoods … our sodding body mass indexes, for Christ’s sake! If it’s all going to come tumbling down now because you said you’d like a bigger garden one day then they can shove it up their pedantic arses.’

‘Shh! Someone might hear you!’ I sputtered, nervously eyeing both ends of the corridor. James stood. I watched as he moved away from me over to the tired lead window opposite. This journey hadn’t been an easy one, but on some level I knew that James had found it harder than I had, and ultimately would find it easier to walk away from, if it was about to come to that.

We’re nearly there, I wanted to say to him, but everything about him looked so uneasy. He’d never wear that jumper again. I’d bought it from M&S because walking in wearing his favoured Ralph Lauren might’ve been read as ‘part-time yacht-enthusiast’, when what we were aiming for was ‘full-time crayon-enthusiast’. I blew out a cheekful of air. Subliminal messages through the medium of casual knitwear – how was that for cruising close to certifiable nuttiness?

James shook his head as he looked out onto the dismal March morning. We’d asked for the earliest slot available, I knew I’d be a wreck otherwise. James began jostling the keys in his trouser pocket before turning cool blue eyes on me.

‘Anna wouldn’t have put us forward to panel if she didn’t think we were ready, you know that. Just … try to relax, okay?’ I nodded, reluctantly leaving my earring alone before I pinged it onto the floor again. I decided to chew at my lower lip instead. There was less chance of that ending up on the floor and, unlike diamonds, skin was self-regenerating. Beyond the corner of the corridor, softly striding footsteps were making their way towards us. James’s chest rose with a deep intake of breath as he turned back to the window.

The Chair of the panel, a forty-something chap with thinning hair and a name I’d been too flustered to catch, rounded the corner towards us. Awkwardly, I got to my feet and straightened my clothes. I’d gone for a pale blue blouse and pretty cardigan in lavender. Depending on how the next few minutes went, I probably wouldn’t wear them again either.

‘Miss Alwood, Mr Coffrey. Would you like to come back in?’

I gave a small, unassuming smile and convinced myself he had smiled back. I looked to James for affirmation, but he was steely eyed.

I watched Mr Chair’s elbow patches all the way back into the musty room where Anna sat at one of three chairs set in front of the panel. We’d got lucky when Anna was assigned to us. Not everyone liked their social worker but, thankfully, we did. I waited for her to look at us, but only the back of her short blonde ponytail faced our way. My stomach churned. Beyond Anna, the panel of four men and six women looked as though they were sitting at the top table of a wedding reception, with a very small congregation of three with which to share their joy.

I crossed my fingers at my side. Please, let them be about to share joy.

‘Hey, take a seat,’ Anna whispered, gesturing at the chairs we’d sweated out our interrogation on just half an hour ago. I was sure I saw one of the panel members, the adoptee, smile too, but it was so much warmer in here the temperature change was making me feel fuzzy at the edges.

The Chair settled himself into his seat again and fumbled at his papers the way officials with official business like to do. ‘Mr Coffrey, Miss Alwood.’ A new thudding was taking up residence in my chest. ‘We know this can be a rather fraught experience, so we don’t wish to subject you to any further unnecessary tension.’ James reached over and took my hand assertively in his. We’ll be okay. Whatever happens, we’ll work through it.

‘Therefore, we would like to offer you both our congratulations. It is this panel’s recommendation that you be approved as joint adoptive parents to a child under the age of four years.’

Thud, thud, thud …

The pulsing inside my chest was the only thing telling me I hadn’t keeled over and died on the spot, but even that was beginning to wane. The trembling inside me was being swallowed up by something else, something shocky and numb – a sensation sweeping through my insides chased by a warmer, welcome feeling …

Joy.

Could this really be happening? Finally, were we nearly there? I glanced vacantly through each of the warm expressions of the panel members. Had I correctly understood what had just been said?

I looked at Anna. Her face was rosy with controlled delight, which made something loosen in me, some invisible hawser rope that had kept me steady all these past months, suddenly letting me go enough that I might keel over yet. James nuzzled a kiss against my cheek, his thumb chasing the first wet track as it coursed down my face. He said something to Anna as a broken message began organising itself in my mind.

We’re going to have a child. Somewhere out there, our little boy or girl is waiting for us to bring them home.

Skirting along the periphery of my thoughts, I was aware that Anna was saying something in reply to James. She patted my back reassuringly, just a small gesture of comfort but enough to trigger the domino effect. I hadn’t meant to dissolve so whole-heartedly in the middle of that room, to be so completely disabled by my own happiness and rendered such a useless blubbering mess, but after twenty-one months of being cool under fire I couldn’t keep it inside another second.

There was room for only one thought, one thread of coherence in my mind, and each time it lapped around my brain, so began a new wave of uncontrollable sobs, muffled only by James’s M&S jumper. The jewel-like embellishments on the toes of Anna’s shoes shone and danced like a kaleidoscope refracted through my rather impressive deluge of tears, and then James leant back in to my hair and said the words. Said them out loud so that we could hear the truth in them.

‘We’re going to be parents.’

CHAPTER 2 (#u2e217b98-1320-534d-90b7-9528a39aae2a)

‘WELL, YOU KNOW what they say.’ Phil grinned, chocolate eyes peeping from under her blunt designer fringe. All around us, the city’s populace of on-trend urbanites basked in the funky basement atmosphere of Rufus’s Cocktail Lounge. It had always been our favourite place.

‘Go on, Phil, what do they say?’ I asked, indulging her.

‘If your sex-life is crap and you argue all the time, you might as well have kids.’ Phil finished her words of encouragement with a blood-red smile and a playful shrug of her shoulders.

‘I think you mean get married, Phil. If your sex-life is crap and you argue all the time, you might as well get married, isn’t it?’

Phil hooked a long glossy fingernail around a hair that had affixed itself to her newly reapplied lippy and swept it back in with the others. ‘Whatever. They’re both bad ideas.’ She winked.

‘Well, I know which one I’m interested in,’ I said, over the mellow beats of Rufus’s in-house DJ. ‘And it doesn’t involve a big white dress.’ I smoothed out the creases of my silk pewter vest while Phil let her eyes follow a group of men towards the bar. In the dimness of the club’s ambience, her dark brown bob looked closer to black, giving her an air reminiscent of a Japanese doll. Whatever had caught her attention at the bar wasn’t enough to hold it there.

‘We’ll see,’ she cooed. ‘Once junior arrives, you’ll be all loved up and Viv will be banging on about nuclear families, and you’ll buckle. I’ll put money on it. You’ll be Mrs Coffrey before the end of next year.’

Phil knew my family too well. Mum had already tried every angle she could to talk me into the virtues of marriage, despite my father having put an abrupt end to theirs after falling for mine and my brother’s babysitter. It wasn’t that I was against marriage exactly, and in fairness to my father after eighteen years it seemed to be working for him and Petra, but as far as commitment went, I just couldn’t see that there was anything more binding than raising a child together.

‘Mum just wants the whole wedding faff, Phil. She missed out when my brother married Lauren because Lauren’s mum did it all. That’s why she’s going nuts with this bloody party she’s talked us into having. Did I tell you that she’s made me order a massive cake for it?’

Phil broke into a husky giggle. ‘If she’s content with throwing you a mock-wedding reception, Ame, cake and all, take the deal and run.’

‘It’s not a mock-wedding reception.’ I shuddered. At least not outside my mum’s head it wasn’t. ‘It’s just a small gathering to celebrate our new status as …’ What were we now, exactly? ‘… parents-in-waiting.’

‘It’s your last chance at a big mash-up before you go all boring on me is what it is. I suppose we’ve had a good run, though.’ Phil sighed. ‘You’ve been pretty good fun, for someone who’s already been stuck with the same ball and chain, for-ever.’

James wasn’t the ball and chain. Ball and chains didn’t keep a mental itinerary of all the things we wouldn’t be able to do over the next few years. Like skiing holidays, and city-breaks. If anyone was shackling anyone else, Phil probably had it back to front. ‘Eight years is hardly forever, Phil.’ I smiled.

‘Sex with the same man for eight years and you’re not even thirty yet. It’s heartbreaking,’ she said absently.

I shook my head, spearing a slice of lemon with my straw. ‘You never know, Philippa. You might settle down yourself, one day.’

Phil grimaced at the horror of such a thought. ‘And wake up to the same guy for the rest of my days? No. There isn’t a man who could swing that deal. I mean, how utterly depressing. No wonder women turn to chips and chocolate once they settle down. You’d better buy yourself some loose joggers now, Hon, you’ve done well to last this long. In fact, I’d been wondering what gift I should bring you guys to your “kissing-our-lives-goodbye” party. I’ll get you his and hers jogging bottoms … with pockets, for your chocolate wrappers.’

Phil smiled while a couple of our remaining cohorts, still lucid enough to follow the conversation, joined in.

‘I can’t imagine Amy in jogging bottoms,’ chirped Hannah, Cyan Architecture & Design’s newest office junior. Hannah’s wispy blonde hair had become steadily more wispy as we’d worked our way through the cocktails list. ‘You’re always so … polished,’ she continued.

Sat beside Hannah, Sadie Espley – niece of Adrian Espley, Cyan’s founding architect – looked as though she might actually contribute something for the first time all night. Then her phone flashed again, reeling her face back down behind a curtain of honey-blonde tresses.

‘You do know that Amy isn’t your boss, right, Hannah?’ Phil enquired, drily. ‘You haven’t got to kiss her arse. And before you say it, yes, even though it is indeed a perfectly honed and perky size ten.’

‘Twelve now,’ I corrected. James had mentioned Christmas excess twice since my birthday.

Tom and Alice, Cyan’s computer-generated-imagery techie and marketing primo respectively, flopped down onto the right side of the booth, squashing the rest of us four bodies closer to Phil.

‘Did I hear something about a perfect arse?’ Tom asked, a glaze of dance-induced sweat sticking loose fawny curls to his forehead. ‘You talking about my booty again, Philippa?’ He never changed out of his hipster jeans and casual shirts, not even for Friday-night cocktails.

‘Not this time, hot stuff,’ Phil replied. ‘Amy’s arse, not yours. Hannah’s grown fond of kissing it.’

‘Cool it, Phil. Hannah’s just being nice. Remember what that feels like? Being nice?’ I stuck my tongue out playfully and was rewarded with another danger-red grin.

‘If you think Phil’s got a big mouth, Hannah, wait till you go on a night out with Dana and Marcy,’ Alice said glibly. ‘You’ll think Phil’s a pussycat.’ Phil blew Alice a kiss. Over the last few years Cyan Architecture & Design had grown enough that the women in the office now loosely formed two groups. Us and Them. Dana and Marcy were definitely thems. Phil said Sadie belonged with them too, and wasn’t impressed that I’d asked her out with us tonight. Sadie’s relentless preoccupation with her phone wasn’t exactly winning her any points. Sadie lifted her head and briefly looked big blue eyes out from trendy rectangular glasses. ‘Dana and Marcy are all right, Alice,’ she declared.