The No-Kids Club Page 12

  ‘And you yourself have decided not to have children?’ Debs’s eyes lasered onto Clare, and Clare shifted on the sofa.

  ‘Er, yes, that’s right. I’m child-free.’ And please God, may she not have to deal with any unexpected turn of events to stay that way. ‘But back to the club, we’re—’

  ‘Mary, you’ve been working in the childcare field for many years,’ Dennis interrupted, turning to the older woman. ‘What do you think about this new dynamic: young women who are choosing not to have children?’

  Mary smiled playfully. ‘I haven’t been working in the field for that long, Dennis. You’ve made me sound ancient!’

  Dennis touched her arm with a murmured apology, and Clare almost rolled her eyes. Were they actually flirting?

  ‘But anyway, I’d like to point out this isn’t a new dynamic. There has always been a certain segment of women who decide to focus on themselves and not fulfil their given role as mothers.’

  Clare blinked. Wow, fulfil their given role as mothers? What were they, back in the eighteen-hundreds?

  ‘And why do you think that is?’ Debs asked. ‘Speaking as a mother myself, I can’t imagine a greater joy nor a more satisfying job than raising my daughter.’

  Yeah, right, Clare wanted to interrupt. That’s exactly why you hired a maternity nurse to take the load off. And hadn’t she heard something about Debs going back to work after only two weeks?

  Mary shook her head. ‘Well, I suspect these women are too embroiled in their present lives to consider making a change for children. And I can tell you that the women I’ve spoken to—those who make a conscious choice not to have kids—always regret the decision when they’re older. Of course, by that time, it’s too late to experience the joys of motherhood.’

  Clare couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘I’m sorry,’ she cut in, ‘but I don’t think having a child on the off chance you might regret it when you’re older is a good reason. And by the way, the club is open to both women and men who don’t have children, all for a variety of reasons.’ Hopefully that would send the conversation in a different direction than the same old ‘selfish woman who doesn’t want kids’ refrain.

  Mary turned to her. ‘Yes, of course, everyone has their own reason not to have children.’ She tilted her head. ‘You say you choose not to. Why?’

  Clare fidgeted on the sofa. Was it just her, or were those lights becoming brighter? ‘Um, well . . . ’ Her mind flipped through what to say without getting too personal. ‘It’s not in my life plan,’ she responded finally, giving the pat answer as usual.

  ‘And why is that?’ Debs asked as all three leaned in towards her.

  Clare met their gaze, her brain whirling with responses. She could say her career—that had always been her default response if people probed more—but she didn’t want to play into the stereotype they’d created. And anyway, when it came right down to it, she wasn’t even sure it was work. In today’s career-driven society, pregnancy did put women in a very precarious position, like Ellie was unfortunately experiencing. Babies could impact career prospects, no one would argue with that. But there were ways around that—like Debs and her maternity nurse—and Clare knew that if she wanted a baby badly enough, she’d find a way to make it work.

  So what was the reason? Now that she really thought about it, Clare couldn’t remember actually making the decision not to have kids. It just wasn’t her thing; never had been, and that was that. And anyway, why did she need to justify her choice to the nation?

  ‘Just because you can get pregnant doesn’t mean you should have a child,’ she said finally, steering the conversation away from her own decision. Clare thought of her mother and how she’d abandoned the family to pursue a separate life. No one could argue that every woman was fit to be a mother, that was for sure.

  ‘That’s true,’ Mary said. ‘And I’ve seen some shocking examples of bad parenting in my time. But mothering is a learned skill. Society today would have us believe if women don’t feel the maternal instinct or urge, they shouldn’t have children. Bonding comes from care, from the hours and days spent with your newborn.’

  ‘And that’s great for people who want to,’ Clare countered. ‘But not wanting to—or not being able to—doesn’t automatically make you a bad person.’

  Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘I never said anything about being a bad person, my dear.’

  Clare’s cheeks flushed as she realised the older woman had scored a point against her. But before she could respond, Dennis grinned broadly into the camera.

  ‘Ladies, as much as I’d love to continue this debate—clearly an emotional issue—we’re running out of time.’ He turned to face Clare. ‘Before we go, can you quickly tell us about the club in case any of our listeners would like to join?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, forcing her voice to remain steady and calm. ‘We meet every Wednesday night at seven at All Bar One, just off Oxford Circus. Once our numbers are big enough, we’ll move to a more permanent venue. If you’d like to get in touch, search for the No-Kids Club on Facebook and you’ll find our page.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Debs said, although her tone suggested the opposite. ‘Thank you for joining us, ladies.’ She smiled into the camera. ‘As always, please feel free to text or email any comments to us. We’ll be back after this short break.’

  ‘And we’re out!’ the floor manager called.

  ‘Well done, well done,’ Dennis said, shaking Clare’s hand then leaning over to pat Mary’s dimpled knee. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t have more time. Normally we’d give this kind of topic a few more minutes, but since we were filling a shorter segment I’m afraid that’s all we could squeeze in.’

  ‘Don’t you worry for a second,’ Mary said. ‘You know I’m always happy to come along and see you and Debs.’ The way the two of them were beaming up at the older woman, Clare almost expected to see her pat them on the head and throw them a biscuit.

  ‘Fantastic job, ladies, just excellent!’ A smiling Nicholas swooped down on them, and Clare shook her head. It might have made great television, but she hadn’t done much to advance the cause of child-free living. ‘And you should see the Twitter feed!’ he said, touching her lightly on the back. ‘You’ve sparked off a very lively debate.’

  Clare gritted her teeth. She could only imagine.

  ‘Let me take you both to the green room.’ He turned to Mary. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Mary responded as they walked through the dark wings and the maze of corridors once again, then into the welcome calm of the green room. For a second, the space swam in front of Clare’s eyes and her legs felt like they might give way.

  ‘Are you all right? Here, have a seat.’ Nicholas manoeuvred her towards a nearby sofa and Clare collapsed onto it gratefully. The heat and lights of the set had really taken it out of her.

  ‘Drink this.’ He put a cup of cold water into her hand, and she shakily brought it to her mouth, sipping the liquid as the room stopped spinning.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, dizziness draining away as exhaustion swept through her.

  ‘Rest and take it easy for a few minutes. I’ll finish up here, and then we can head for lunch.’ He turned to face Mary, who was smoothing down her bob in the mirror. ‘You all right to find your way back to reception? Let them know when you’re ready to leave and they’ll get a car to take you home.’

  ‘Perfect.’ She gave her hair a final pat then smiled at Nicholas. ‘Thank you, my dear.’

  Nicholas nodded, then hurried out the door. Silence fell, and Clare shifted uneasily on the sofa.

  ‘Well.’ Mary sank onto the sofa across from her. ‘I’m knackered. The older I get, the harder these things become.’

  Clare nodded, unsure what to say. The woman was sharp as a tack and Clare doubted she felt anywhere near as tired as she’d said.

  ‘I hope you didn�
��t find it too tough in there.’

  Clare’s head snapped up. ‘What?’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ve been through much worse than that.’

  Mary sipped her tea, then delicately set the cup on the saucer. ‘I just want to say, I know people are quick to judge. And childlessness isn’t a choice for everyone, like you said. It certainly wasn’t for me.’

  ‘But . . . ’ Clare met the woman’s gaze, noticing for the first time that despite the upbeat demeanour, sadness lurked in her eyes. ‘I thought Dennis said you’re a mother?’

  Mary smiled gently. ‘I was. My son died of a rare kidney defect shortly after birth.’

  Clare winced. Despite not wanting children herself, she couldn’t even imagine the pain of losing one. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Thank you. It was a very long time ago, of course, but the pain never leaves you.’ Mary paused, patting her lips with a napkin. ‘My husband and I tried very hard to have another, but it wasn’t to be. Maybe that’s why I became a nanny. Although I was a mother, I never had the chance to raise a child. And that’s why I urge young women to seriously consider their decision not to become a mother, too. It’s a gift, if you’re lucky enough to receive it.’

  Clare couldn’t help but think of her own situation. Supposing if—on the very very very off chance she was pregnant—could she ever consider it a gift? Not bloody likely. She’d very swiftly return the gift to sender, if that was biologically possible. She felt for Mary, she really did—and for Poppy, and for all those women who wanted kids but couldn’t. But that didn’t mean she was anywhere near ready. She didn’t even have a serious boyfriend!

  She’d go home, take that silly test, and put these thoughts back on the shelf where they belonged.

  ‘Clare?’ Nicholas’s voice broke into her reverie. For a second, she’d almost forgotten he was returning. ‘Oh, Mary, you’re still here. Is there a problem with the car?’

  ‘No, no.’ Mary smiled, slowly standing. ‘I was just having a chat with Clare. Lovely to speak to you, dear. I’d better go now before I fall asleep on my feet.’

  She was almost to the door when she turned to face Clare. ‘Have a think about what I’ve said. Before it’s too late.’

  ‘I will,’ Clare responded, although her stance on the subject was engraved in concrete. And what did Mary mean, ‘before it’s too late’? For goodness’ sake, Clare was only thirty-nine. Okay, so that might be pushing it a little when it came to fertility, but she wasn’t exactly menopausal just yet.

  The two of them watched as Mary glided out the door.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Nicholas asked, eyes twinkling. ‘Trying to bring you around to babies?’

  Clare laughed. ‘She’s trying! I’m afraid she’s got a long way to go.’ The grief in the older woman’s eyes flashed through her mind, and Clare shook her head. She couldn’t blame Mary for wanting to stop others from experiencing her pain of childlessness. But as Clare had said earlier, not every woman—or man—should have a child.

  Enough of all this, she told herself. Time to focus on something else. Christ, she’d never thought so much about pregnancy or kids until starting this club.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe all the tweets, texts, and emails streaming in since the segment aired!’ Nicholas poured himself a glass of water. ‘There are loads of people interested in joining the club.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Clare said, thankful she hadn’t put off potential members. ‘You ready for lunch?’ Her stomach rumbled with an odd combination of hunger and protestation.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid something’s just come up.’ Nicholas sighed. ‘I’ll have to take a rain check from the rain check.’

  Clare laughed, despite her dismay. Their dinner in Camden seemed ages ago, and she’d been looking forward to spending more time with him. ‘No problem,’ she said. ‘I’ll get changed and I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Thanks for being such a good sport about all of this.’ Nicholas waved a hand at her attire. ‘You look great, but I know it’s not your usual style.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Clare leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘I’ll call you next week to arrange something,’ Nicholas said. ‘Thanks again for today.’

  Clare lifted a hand as she walked out the door, wondering if he actually would ring. For a second, she missed the easygoing security and warmth of Edward. He was always there, solid and dependable, whenever she’d wanted.

  Flexibility was critical for two busy people, Clare told herself. They’d find a way to cash in that rain check sooner or later. She hurried to Wardrobe, anxious now to get home. With all this talk of children, the urge to banish the uncertainty from her mind was unbearable. Then, she’d have a huge glass of wine regardless of what her stomach told her, and finally, she’d be able to relax.

  Any other alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

  Anna turned down the television, draining the last of her coffee. Well, that had been a shocker! She’d only just snapped on Wake Up London when Clare’s voice boomed from the telly. Setting the sputtering iron down on the board, Anna’s eyebrows had risen even further at Clare’s outfit: far from her normal casual get-up, her clothes were practically painted on her and her face was slathered with make-up.

  Anna plopped onto the sofa, leaving a huge pile of shirts to be done. A sour-faced presenter was reading out tweets and texts from viewers who’d watched Clare’s segment. ‘Kids have brought so much joy to my life,’ one text said. ‘I can’t imagine life without them,’ another read. ‘What do those people do with all their time?’

  Anna shook her head. Iron their husband’s shirts? Ever since Michael’s weekend away, life had felt emptier than ever. She’d hoped her husband might return from his trip happier and full of energy. Instead, he’d come through the door and kissed her quickly, then flopped on the sofa, drifting off to sleep while Anna made dinner. After spending the weekend alone, Anna had been dying for a chat and cuddle, but she hadn’t even been able to rouse him to come to the table. And ever since, it had been more of the same. The vague feeling of dissatisfaction was growing every day.

  Her brow furrowed as a thought crossed her mind: would their lives be any different if they did have kids? Not likely—in fact, there’d probably be even more monotony and early nights. No, children weren’t the answer, of that she was sure.

  Sighing, she got to her feet and picked up the iron. Her words to Poppy about marriage being a partnership came to mind again. Lately, it felt less of a partnership and more of a one-woman show. Michael loved her, of that she had no doubt. But what she really needed was an affirmation he cared about their relationship; something small to see he could still make an effort. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? True, she usually jumped on things before he even moved, but maybe she needed to give him a chance.

  She swished the iron down a sleeve, nodding as an idea hit. Their anniversary was a week from tomorrow, and although she’d a list of possible shows and concerts, along with the number to a great new restaurant in the Shard, she’d yet to book anything. This year, she’d sit back and let Michael plan the annual celebration of their matrimony.

  A smile crossed her face as she attacked a particularly troublesome collar. She couldn’t wait to see what he came up with.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Clare sank back against the leather seat of the car as it jostled through daytime traffic from the studio towards Chelsea. It was only eleven, but every inch of her throbbed with fatigue and her brain felt full of static. The closer she got to home, the larger her fear grew, as if just by taking the test she was acknowledging the possibility she could indeed be pregnant.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Clare chided herself as the car lurched down busy Piccadilly. The test was a way to ease her fears and put an end to the wondering—nothing else. She envisioned her future self laughing and sh
aking her head at the negative result, pouring a glass of wine, then luxuriously napping with the knowledge that life would go on unchanged. But then a competing image filtered into her mind: crouching on the cold toilet seat, staring in horror as the stick slowly displayed the sign she was pregnant.

  Clare tried to push it away, but the vision was now implanted in her brain. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to face the scenario head-on. Okay, so what if she was pregnant? What next? She was thirty-nine, single, with an extremely busy and demanding job—and apart from that, she was not mother material, no matter what Mary said about bonding through care. The solution was obvious.

  ‘Can you let me out here?’ she asked the cabbie as they turned onto the street where the chemist was located, just a few doors down from her flat. She quickly paid the driver, then tumbled into the cool morning mist.

  Pushing open the door to the chemist, she blinked against the harsh neon light. Where on earth did they keep the pregnancy tests? She’d been here a million times and never once noticed. She’d never imagined there’d be a need!

  ‘Good morning.’ Mr Rabinovich, the owner of the shop, greeted her with his customary smile, and her heart sank. Oh, Lord. Why hadn’t she thought to go to some anonymous place in Soho? For a brief instant, she considered heading down to King’s Road to see what she could find there, but exhaustion and impatience got the better of her. Mr Rabinovich must have seen everything by now; surely he was more professional than to comment.

  But when she finally located the dusty tests in a dim corner and brought one to the counter, he proved her wrong.

  ‘Well, well.’ His thick eyebrows rose above his specs as she handed him the test. ‘So you might be expecting! How exciting, my dear.’ He ran his eyes over her face. ‘About time, I’d say. You don’t want to leave it too long! Mrs R was pregnant with our first at seventeen.’ He nodded approvingly.

  There was so much wrong with what he’d just said, Clare didn’t even know where to begin. She forced the corners of her mouth up, hoping it looked more like a smile than grimace. Nosy old man!