Chapter Five
Ana
When the morning sun broke through the curtains at her bedroom window, Ana pulled herself together, gave her fanny a quick rinse, ran a hairdryer through her long brown hair, and pulled on her skinny jeans. It was Tuesday – a blue day – so with her beloved baby blue sweatshirt and her electric blue Stan Smith trainers, she felt armoured for the day ahead. Tuesdays were tricky – she was never sure how well blue went with her South American skin tone. She grabbed her bashed-up old canvas bag (blue, obvs) and dashed out of the door, being careful not to scrape against the gorgeous new orange and yellow retro wallpaper she had just put in the hallway. The flat may be tiny, but it was theirs, and she was thrilled with all the little improvements they were making. They were building something. Her favourite bit was their little terrace that overlooked the park opposite – it gave her the illusion of space, and she loved to sit there alone and people-watch for hours.
Ana bundled herself onto the overcrowded bus, nipped past some people arguing over a payment issue and stole the last seat on the top deck. London was still magical to her. Every morning for fifteen years she’d done this commute, watching the hustle and bustle below, drinking in the energy of it all whilst sipping the coffee she picked up from the local barista who always greeted her with a smile and her order, the same every day: Skinny Mocha Latte, half the milk, add a sweetener. The routine was comforting and even though she had worked in the West End forever, it still gave her a happy buzz. Even amongst the swirling chaos she could keep a stable centre. The bus jerked to a stop, jolting her out of her reverie and, barging through everyone, apologising as she went, she leaped off. She grinned to herself thinking she wouldn’t be able to do that when she was pregnant!
Ana entered the stark, minimalist surgery and looked around at all the women waiting patiently for their turn, hoping their dreams would come true, and she felt her heart sink. It was such a strange place, very modern with no personality and just a few copies of Country Life magazine lying around to distract them from the horror of the news they might receive. She twirled her turquoise pendant for reassurance. No one made eye contact, any conversation was hushed and the air was heavy with expectation. Everyone was here because they wanted a baby. It felt quite similar to going to an STD clinic where people either buried their faces in their phones or wore sunglasses trying not to be spotted. It smelled the same: stale air and disinfectant. Every woman had her own story. Ana had certainly had her fair share, though as a (mostly) serial monogamist, she’d had less call for their services than Dixie, who probably had a weekly appointment somewhere exclusive.
She looked around and felt sorry for them. She was different. She wasn’t desperate for a baby like these women were, she was just trying it as a punt. It wasn’t a make or break scenario for her, it was more like an experiment. She didn’t want to miss out, if she could help it. Everyone (mostly Stella, to be fair) told Ana how hard it was having a baby anyway, how exhausting it was, the sleepless nights, the loss of identity. Maybe they were right, thought Ana. Then on the flip side, maybe not having a baby was even harder. When you are one of the people without a child, you are judged, unintentionally left out, and scrutinised. As your friends move on with their lives and their children, you are left trying to forge a new life for yourself, not one ruled by mealtimes and kids’ clubs, but one simply ruled by shaping your own future. Of course the freedom of this is so liberating, but it doesn’t necessarily make it easy. But then no one is ever really content. Stella, with two children and a husband with a large income, was obviously miserable. So what does actually make people happy? she wondered, and then she felt herself start to panic with fear that she might never find the happy ever after. A cold sweat started to form on her brow as her pulse quickened.
Then she heard her name being called. She stood up, swallowed hard and strode into the doctor’s office. There was no turning back. She was dreading the questions.
An hour or so later Ana finally arrived at the office. She looked up with a smile at the big old Georgian building that had become like a second home to her. The auction house had been there for over a hundred years. The beautiful dark walls, high ceilings and intricate woodwork – the whole place was steeped in history and Ana couldn’t imagine ever leaving it. She found it utterly captivating, and she never tired of the art that surrounded her day after day. As Exhibition Manager, she was responsible for the optimal arrangement and co-ordination of all the London exhibits. It was basically interior design using works of art. Talk about a dream job.
As she walked into the foyer, she saw Jan at her old oak desk, gave her a smile, a coffee and a doughnut. She had decided to try to avoid telling anyone at work what she was up to. It would just be an added pressure that she didn’t need right now. She knew how tricky she could be and how annoyed she would get with people’s sympathetic stares and questions; she was a very private person, and she really didn’t like people knowing her business. The only person she did confide in was Jan, who missed nothing and was a fount of insights. They would sit and gossip about the hot art dealers, their sexy young secretaries, and who might be the highest bidder at each auction. What no one knew was that Jan’s knowledge of art after being at the auction house for over twenty-five years probably far exceeded some of the experts’. She knew every work of art that came in and out of the doors, and she could spot a fake a mile off.
‘Hello, beautiful Ana,’ said Jan without looking up, her bi-focals perched gently on her nose. ‘Got some good gossip for me?’
‘How did you know it was me?’ replied Ana, smiling.
‘Oh, I would recognise the squeak of those trainers a mile off. What’s up with you, honey?’ she asked as she looked up and gave her fond smile.
‘That’s what I love about you, Jan, you are practically a spy in your own right!’
‘So what brings you in so late today? Anything interesting?’
‘I wish!’ said Ana. ‘Although if I sit here long enough I am sure someone interesting will come through those revolving doors. You have the best seat in the house.’
‘That’s why I won’t let them promote me – I know more secrets about this place than anyone. They’ll have to prise me out one day… What’s up? I can see it in your face. Come on, I’m all ears. You’re not the kind of girl to buy me a doughnut and my favourite coffee without a damn good reason.’
‘I’m trying to have a baby,’ blurted Ana, mortified by the admission, and recalling that Jan was childless and that she’d never asked why.
‘Oh, Ana, that’s wonderful news,’ said Jan, her eyes slightly welling up. ‘What a relief! I thought those ovaries would dry up and you would miss your chance!’
‘Um, thanks, Jan. I think. Anyway, long story short, it’s not working. I thought we would have lots of great sex, I would just get pregnant, it would all work naturally, and I would be pushing a Bugaboo about within months. Now that’s not happening, I am starting to question everything. The gynaecologist was… confusing. I don’t know if this is how things are supposed to go. Is it me? Is Rex the right man? Do we deserve a baby?’
‘Do you love Rex, honey?’ asked Jan, staring at her over the top of her glasses.