The No-Kids Club

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Talli Roland

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477822920

  ISBN-10: 1477822925

  Cover design by Mecob

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013922869

  To S, for making the past year wonderfully challenging and full of joy.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘I bet you were a really cute kid.’

  Clare Donoghue met her boyfriend’s warm brown eyes, her features contorting into a grimace as she rolled into the crook of his arm. ‘Yeah, right. You should have seen me: a skinny little thing with bones jutting out everywhere! Mum used to say I’d scare a skeleton.’

  Edward raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, you’ve certainly filled out in all the right places.’ He ran a hand down her body, and even though they’d made love not even a minute ago, Clare felt desire rising. She was about to reel him in for another kiss when his next words stopped her cold.

  ‘You know, I wouldn’t mind a miniature skeleton of my own someday.’ He brushed back her hair with a cheeky grin. ‘Reckon a bony baby’s better than a blobby one.’

  His tone was joking, but Clare’s heart dropped. In the few months they’d been together, the subject of children had never come up. She’d figured her Perfect Match profile made it obvious kids weren’t part of her life plan, but evidently not. Perhaps she should have clarified the topic sooner, but it was hard enough to find a decent single man in London after age thirty, let alone one who wasn’t seeking the perfect wife plus 2.5 kids.

  Clare bit her lip, a heaviness filtering in. She’d love to smile and say she couldn’t wait to be a mum, like millions of other women. Truthfully, though, the very thought of tending to a child 24/7 filled her with horror. Life was perfect now, and the sheer weight of responsibility as a mother didn’t appeal. In fact, it repelled.

  But how would Edward react when she said being a parent wasn’t on her agenda? It didn’t matter, she told herself. Whatever his response, having children was non-negotiable. And maybe, just maybe, he loved her enough to reconsider the baby skeleton?

  She took a deep breath. ‘Um, actually, I don’t want kids.’

  ‘Don’t want kids?’ Edward’s mouth dropped open. ‘Ever?’

  Oh, God. ‘No. Never.’ No point pussy-footing around the issue. If she didn’t feel the urge at thirty-nine, it was doubtful she ever would. And the longer she waited, the harder it would be to relinquish the freedom to do what she wanted, when she wanted. Her heart beat fast awaiting Edward’s response, and Clare pulled the duvet over her bare arms, as if it could protect her from a coming blow.

  ‘Wow.’ Edward looked at her like she’d just proclaimed an urge to streak naked across Trafalgar Square. ‘You know, if I’d met you ten years ago, you’d have been everything I wanted. Clever, confident, and no ticking biological clock. But now . . . ’ He shook his head. ‘I’m looking for a woman who wants the same things I do. And that means children.’

  Clare held his gaze, shifting away from the warmth of his body as a chasm opened between them. She forced herself to nod, eyes filling with tears as she realised there was nowhere to go from this conversation except their separate ways. ‘So . . . ’ She let her voice trail off, unwilling to put her thought into words.

  ‘So.’ Edward smiled sadly as he raised himself up on one elbow, reaching out to push a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I guess this is it, then.’

  ‘I guess so.’ Clare’s voice was flat as she struggled to take in what was happening. Just five minutes earlier, they’d been making love.

  A tear streaked down her cheek as he drew close for a final kiss, and Clare wished with every fibre of her being that she could be one of those women who’d always longed to be a mother, that wanting to have children felt as natural as rolling out of bed in the morning. But she wasn’t, and it didn’t, and as much as she wanted a future with Edward, that would never happen.

  He pulled on a fitted T-shirt and jeans, and she tore her eyes away from his trim physique, tracing the stitching on the duvet cover and trying to block out the hurt streaming through her.

  Edward paused, glancing down. ‘I hate to go.’

  Silence filled the flat as they both struggled for something to say, anything that would bring them together again. But what words could bridge the gap between wanting a child and wanting to remain child-free?

  Finally, Edward sighed. ‘Well, let me know if anything changes, okay?’

  Clare nodded, even though her stance on motherhood was about as likely to change as Rod Stewart’s hairstyle. ‘Okay.’

  She watched as Edward slid a watch on his wrist, gathered up his wallet and coat, then left the bedroom. A few seconds later, the flat door clicked closed. Lowering her head onto the pillow, she breathed in his citrusy scent that still lingered as her heart throbbed painfully.

  Better to find out now they wanted different things, Clare told herself, gulping in air to cleanse her heart of the past few minutes. Somehow, she’d find someone on the same wavelength—a wavelength that didn’t include dirty nappies or screaming children.

  She just needed to accept it wouldn’t be Edward.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘You can’t fault the man for wanting children, Clare. It’s a biological urge.’

  Clare smiled at her best friend and stifled a sigh. Of course she hadn’t expected Ellie—now seven-and-a-half months pregnant—to understand the reason behind last night’s break-up with Edward, but she had hoped for sympathy.

  ‘I don’t fault him for wanting kids,’ Clare said, shredding her croissant into flaky bits. ‘I just thought we were on the same page when it came to the future. Guess I was wrong.’ She shook her head, still trying to come to terms with their break-up. Women were meant to be broody, not men!


  Ellie shifted her belly on the banquette, and Clare felt a pang of guilt for dragging her heavily pregnant friend down to Carluccio’s café to share her woes.

  ‘Another one bites the dust. He lasted longer than anyone in recent history, anyway.’ Ellie shovelled a huge bite of carrot cake into her mouth, then licked a dollop of cream-cheese frosting from her fingers. ‘God, I can’t get enough of this.’

  ‘If you can’t indulge when you’re pregnant, when can you?’ Clare had always thought the best thing about pregnancy would be satisfying each and every craving guilt-free. That didn’t come close to balancing out what happened after pregnancy, though: a lifetime commitment. Even the notion made her shudder.

  ‘I’m going to miss Edward.’ The words left her mouth before Clare could stop them, and she tried to block out his sorrowful expression as he’d stood at the bedroom door, staring down at her. She wouldn’t have thought it so difficult to meet someone with a similar mindset, but in the past year, all she’d managed to unearth were blokes who wanted a quick shag, men lumbered with stepkids, or just plain losers. Where were the normal guys who, like her, didn’t want children? How ironic that Edward was the one man she’d considered a future with, and their idea of what the future held was worlds apart.

  ‘Well, you still have me!’ Ellie took a sip of her decaffeinated coffee and made a face. ‘Ugh. Can’t wait until I’m back on the real thing.’

  Clare nodded, hoping her expression didn’t convey the thought that since her friend had fallen pregnant, she’d seen her less than ever. The daily grind of Ellie’s busy job at a high-end estate agency combined with doctor’s appointments, antenatal classes, and ‘getting ready for Baby’ (the amount of preparation Ellie was putting in, you’d think it was a mission to Mars) meant Clare was lucky if she saw her every few weeks. And when Ellie had the baby, she’d probably disappear into the same black hole that had swallowed up all Clare’s other acquaintances once they became parents. Clare would be alone then: the one childless woman in a sea of reproductively busy females.

  As if on cue, Ellie glanced at her watch. ‘Yikes, is that the time? I’d better get going. I’ve a “Mum to Bee” sewing class over in Sloane Square.’

  ‘Sewing class?’ Clare lifted an eyebrow incredulously. Last she’d known, her friend could barely stitch on a button.

  ‘I know, I know, but they teach you to design these dear little teddy bears . . . At least I haven’t joined the Bumptastic Gymnastics club! You wouldn’t believe what they make you do on a trapeze. I swear, once you get knocked up, there’s a club for everything.’

  ‘Wish there was a club for people without kids,’ Clare grumbled, thinking she’d enrol in a heartbeat. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with having children,’ she added. She knew Ellie didn’t judge her life choices, but you didn’t want to rile up a pregnant woman.

  Ellie rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t need to throw in that statement for me, my friend. I’m very familiar with your stance on the subject.’ Ellie was the one person who hadn’t tried to change Clare’s mind with accusations of being selfish or, as one woman had so kindly put it, ‘a waste of reproductive space’.

  ‘Maybe there is a club for people like you,’ she continued. ‘There certainly seems to be one for everything else out there. I was reading in Metro the other day about a newly formed organisation for people with a clown fetish. They dress up each month and meet in a pub.’ She grunted as she struggled to her feet. ‘If there’s a club for that, there must be one for those who don’t want children.’

  ‘Bet there’s not,’ Clare said, sipping her espresso. ‘From what I’ve seen, people who don’t want kids aren’t usually loud and proud about it. Dealing with others’ reactions is more trouble than it’s worth.’ She sighed, remembering the psychologist keen to analyse her, sure there must be something wrong if she didn’t feel the urge to procreate.

  ‘Start one, then. Aren’t you always saying you hate when people complain about something but never do anything about it?’ Ellie gazed down at her, and Clare nodded. She was always saying that. Damn. Sometimes, having a best mate who knew you inside out wasn’t an advantage. After more than twenty years of friendship—from when they’d first bonded over soggy chips in the secondary school cafeteria to their busy professional lives now—they’d become like sisters.

  ‘I’ll have a look and see what I can find,’ Clare responded, thinking it wasn’t such a bad idea. With Edward gone, a lack of energy to hit the dating scene again, and her friend about to give birth, she could do with meeting some new people. Some like-minded people, whose conversations weren’t constantly derailed by baby talk.

  ‘Good.’ Ellie leaned down as far as her tummy allowed and kissed Clare on the cheek. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Bye.’ Clare watched her friend join the crowds on Fulham Road, then gulped her espresso and darted across the street to the hospital where she worked as a doctor in the Accident & Emergency department. Joining a club might be just what she needed, she mused . . . if such a thing really existed. She’d check it out when she got home. First, though, she had an overnight shift to contend with.

  Twelve hours later, Clare heaved a sigh as she unlocked the front door of her flat. Every muscle ached and her head throbbed with fatigue. More than a decade in A&E and she had yet to get used to working through the night. Still, she wouldn’t trade her job for the world. She loved the adrenaline rush when the cases appeared in front of her, and the sense of pride and accomplishment when she caught something others had missed. Patients moved past her like a conveyor belt—they were in, they were out, and there wasn’t time for messy attachments or clinging relatives, a definite advantage.

  Even though she was dead tired, her brain buzzed. She peeled off her work clothes and tugged on her comfiest moth-eaten pair of jogging bottoms, along with an old T-shirt that had belonged to her father. Pulling it over her head, she could almost smell the soothing scent of home: cinnamon from her stepmum’s cooking mixed with the spicy cologne her father slathered on each morning.

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she pictured the two of them, perusing the Saturday morning papers as Tikki the cat tried to curl up on them—usually the Sports section, for some reason—while light streamed into the conservatory and birds chirped in the back garden. The cosy home in leafy Berkhamsted outside London had given her an idyllic childhood. Well, apart from Mum leaving.

  No point dwelling on that, Clare told herself for the millionth time. If her mum had wanted to disappear, then she was better off going. Clare had a wonderful mother in her stepmum Tam, who’d stepped in to fill the gap and more.

  Flopping on the queen-sized bed, Clare drew the laptop towards her and booted it up. Nothing like a little mindless Facebook surfing to dull the senses. As she scanned baby photo after baby photo, Ellie’s words about joining a club for people who didn’t want children filtered into her mind. Imagine, a place where she wouldn’t be forced to lay eyes on yet another picture of so-and-so’s little darling, where the talk wouldn’t revolve around baby-led weaning (whatever that was) or cracked nipples from breastfeeding (way too much information!). Ellie had been definitely on to something.

  Clare opened up a new tab and entered “no kids club” into the search box, her heart sinking when the very opposite of what she wanted—listing after listing of kids’ clubs—filled the screen. All right, how about “club for people without children”? Search results uncovered a plethora of articles on couples without kids and whether their lives were happier because of it (an obvious answer, Clare thought), but nothing even the slightest to do with social organisations for those lacking offspring. Exactly what she’d predicted.

  Start one, then. Ellie’s voice drifted into her mind as Clare climbed under the duvet and sank into the downy pillows. Well, perhaps she would. If people could band together to indulge a clown fetish, surely she could find others who wanted to
socialise past 8:00 p.m. Righteous indignation coursed through her. Quite frankly, there should be a group for people without children!

  Was she the right person to spearhead it, though? Her personality was about as far from rah-rah as you could get. And with her busy schedule, some weeks she was lucky if she made it to the off-license for bread and milk. But now that Edward was gone . . .

  Maybe she’d consider starting the club when she had a spare moment, Clare thought as her eyes closed. Right now, all she wanted to do was sleep, sleep, sleep—and thank her lucky stars she wouldn’t be awakened by baby or man.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘Oh, God,’ Clare groaned as she crawled from under the duvet late Monday morning. Her head throbbed with lack of sleep, and her stomach shifted uncomfortably. Normally after a night shift, she’d doze until well after lunch, but today was different. Clare groaned even louder at the thought of what was ahead: Ellie’s baby shower, organised by one of her American colleagues who refused to let the occasion pass without celebrating the US custom. Ellie hadn’t objected—who could turn down free gifts, she’d joked—but she’d begged Clare to come along, too. Never one to desert a friend in need, Clare had agreed.

  But now she was dreading it. The only thing worse than facing a dozen women braying about children was facing a dozen braying women with four hours’ sleep! She lurched to the loo and downed two Nurofen, then went back to the bedroom and crawled onto the bed. Across the room on the bureau, Ellie’s carefully chosen present met her eyes: a gorgeous Jo Malone candle along with moisturiser, perfume, and bubble bath. She’d already given Ellie a set of sleepsuits and a fluffy lamb doubling as a white noise machine, and Clare wanted to treat her friend to something nice, too. God knows Ellie deserved it after hauling that baby around inside her for nine months.

  At five to one, Clare hurried up King’s Road towards Ellie’s office, clad in her best jeans and sky-blue cashmere jumper. The invitation—slathered with storks, baby socks, and rattles—had said to wear clothing the colour you thought the baby’s sex was, since Ellie didn’t yet know. Clare could never understand people who wanted to wait. The technology existed, and it wasn’t like you weren’t going to discover the gender at some point.