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‘Oh, Gretchen. What a lovely picture,’ Liz breathed. It was almost exactly the picture she had always imagined in her mind when she had visualised having a child, if she had been in Gretchen’s place. The same moment of joy, caught unawares. The same togetherness that Liz had always yearned for.
She felt a lump in her throat and looked away as her throat tightened. ‘I’m sorry. That’s… It’s just such a lovely picture,’ she said, unable to explain what it reminded her of. That same, glittering, lit-up imaginary picture of herself and her child that she’d thought of, like a prize to be won in the fertility game show she’d tried so hard to keep up with.
‘I still can’t look at these without crying either.’ Gretchen touched Stella’s little face in the picture with so much tenderness that Liz thought she might bawl. ‘I still miss her. I always will. But it’s funny, how I miss her most from when she was this age. And, even when she was alive, she hadn’t been six for a long time.’
‘She was so beautiful.’ Liz looked at the little girl in the photograph.
‘Yes, she was.’ Gretchen smiled sadly. ‘She was so sweet. When they’re little, they’re so innocent. It’s hard to describe. But such a blessing to have experienced.’
‘I can imagine,’ Liz said, quietly. ‘Can I take a picture of this one, too? I’d love to use them both, if that was all right with you.’
‘Yes. That’s all right.’ Gretchen blew her nose and let Liz take the shot on her phone. ‘It was a very happy time. And I don’t think Stella would mind.’
‘Thank you, Gretchen.’ Liz closed the album and gave her friend a gentle hug. ‘It really means a lot that you’re willing to share her memory with us.’
‘You know, since I had a child, that doesn’t technically mean I am an Old Maid.’ Gretchen wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Have you thought about that?’
‘I know. But you never married, and you’re a shining example of an independent woman who lived by her own rules,’ Liz said. ‘So, from that point of view, you fit. Is that okay with you?’
‘Of course it’s okay. I’m absolutely honoured, as I said.’ Gretchen nodded. ‘Come on. I think this calls for a celebratory chocolate.’ She reached down to the other side of her bed slowly, and brought up a large box of chocolates that were still unopened. ‘Here. Get these open. I rather fancy something naughty.’
‘Alun again?’ Liz grinned as she tore the cellophane off the box. ‘And are you supposed to be eating chocolates?’
‘A few won’t kill me, dear.’ Gretchen winked. ‘And, no. Not Alun. These were from Mike.’
‘Mike? Who isMike?’ Liz laughed.
‘He’s new.’ Gretchen smiled back, and took a coffee cream. ‘Oh, lovely. My favourite.’
THIRTY-SIX
Liz had been to more than her share of conferences in her life, but she was dreading going to the National Beverages Conference this year.
For one thing, it was still a little awkward with Ben. Liz knew that he’d been struggling with the ramifications of Evelyn’s story, and she understood why. In a way, it was good that he was uncomfortable with it. If he wasn’t, Liz thought that she’d worry more. Ben’s horror at what his ancestor had done to Evelyn was a normal reaction. He’d also agreed that they should add in Gretchen as the fourth Old Maid, which Liz had been scrambling to put into effect before the conference.
Liz was glad that Ben hadn’t asked her to take Evelyn out of the Old Maids range; she hadn’t presented him with that option, but of course he would have been perfectly within his rights to do so. Ben was the CEO: ultimately, he was in charge of everything.
But Ben hadn’t said that, and by keeping Evelyn in the Old Maids range Liz felt that it was a way for the distillery to make reparations to Evelyn – or, to her memory at least.
Still, there was a certain uncomfortable-ness about the fact that Liz and Ben now both knew that John Douglas had forced himself upon Evelyn. Liz had also wondered whether Evelyn had been the only one – she hadn’t mentioned it to Ben, but she thought it had probably occurred to him too. John Douglas was clearly not a good man, and neither was Ben’s father, Jim. Liz wondered what it must have been like to grow up in their shadows.
Even before Liz had found out about the whole Evelyn story, she had been finding it increasingly awkward around Ben. Even though she’d told herself a thousand times that Ben’s personal life was none of her business, and neither was his past, she couldn’t help thinking about it. It was so personal to her: that was the problem. What Ben had done to Alice was like a worse version of what had happened between her and Paul.
Arriving at the hotel the night before, Liz had steeled herself for two solid days of nonstop networking. Networking wasn’t something she usually disliked: with a career in sales behind her, she was used to making nice with people she wouldn’t necessarily have chosen to socialise with in her private life. That was a necessary evil, and quite often it turned out to be a perk of the job. Sometimes, she did meet interesting people, and sometimes, they even turned into friends.
Usually, she looked forward to the conference. It was a place to catch up with everyone, gossip and see what was happening with the industry at large. Plus, there was always a nice formal dinner on the second night, and many a year, Liz had found herself dancing on the tables in the bar into the early hours afterwards.
This year, though, she wouldn’t be dancing on the tables. She was delivering one of the main presentations, for one thing, thanks to the organiser and her old friend Nigel agreeing to her proposal to do a soft launch of the Old Maids range as part of it. So, she wasn’t going to drink, or stay up late. She’d be practising her delivery in her hotel room with a healthy dinner and a bottle of mineral water. Secondly, she really didn’t feel up to her usual level of jolly sociability, and it wasn’t just because of Ben Douglas and the Evelyn McCallister situation.
Last year, even though she’d been part way through a fertility cycle, she had pushed herself to be the sparkling, lovely Liz everyone expected to see at the conference. Despite the fact she was feeling awful with morning sickness, despite the fact that she had recently conceived as part of the fertility cycle and should have been taking it easy, she had gone to the dinner, stayed up late and made sure she spoke to everyone she wanted to. She had made new relationships, established new leads and made everyone believe she was at the top of her game.
Liz had been at the top of her game. But it came with a heavy cost. The night after she had got back from the conference, she had miscarried.
Paul had held her as she’d sobbed her heart out, that night. And she knew, in her heart, that was the night that Paul had decided to walk away from their relationship.
He hadn’t done it then, of course. He had done everything he could to reassure Liz that what had happened hadn’t been her fault. That the miscarriage was outside of anyone’s control. But she knew it had been her fault. It was her defective body that hadn’t been able to carry the baby. Her messed up insides. Her lack of ability to mother, to nurture, somehow.
Liz judged herself for staying up late that last time at the conference. She should have gone to bed earlier. She shouldn’t have attended all the presentations, or stood on her feet for so long, making new leads and establishing new sales relationships. She should have stayed home. Maybe she should have given up her job altogether, just like Paul suggested.
