Hopes and Expectations

Chapter 1: 1 to 3

'Twins!'

Janice West’s exclamation rang out, as she hugged her daughter-in-law. ‘Glory be!'

'Has to be said that wasn't our reaction, Mum,' her son replied, passing a hankie to his wife, as his parents came in to the flat.

'You two certainly goin’ to have your hands full,' Matt’s dad added, wiping his feet on the doormat.

'Sensitive as ever, Desmond,' replied Janice, with a wry smile.

'Perhaps I best go make cups of tea,' her husband responded, withdrawing gracefully to the kitchen.

'Perhaps you best, dear. Don’t forget the sugar,' she added with a shake of her head.

Thirty-five years of marriage had taught Janice West to tolerate her husband's foibles and ways with words. The same was true vice-versa, of course. The former social worker and husband Des, a retired Pentecostal minister, had moved on to the next stage of life (some call it retirement). Both in their early sixties, they’d not long set up a charity for people needing support after bereavement. Set in a former hotel in wooded grounds on the outskirts of Eastwood Minster, The Haven was doing well, both financially and pastorally. Many had gone there during its first few months to receive balm for troubled souls and memories. Death was an aspect of life close to their hearts.

‘You can count on me to be at the hospital,’ announced Des, returning with the sugar.

Jan let out a loud laugh. ‘What, you mean like when you fainted and spent Matt’s arrival on the floor!’

‘I was there all the same. I was there,’ Des struggled to defend himself, laughing as he did so.

‘Tea?’ Jan enquired with questioning eyebrows. Her husband retreated to collect the absent beverages.

Having dried her tears, Sophie West returned the dampened hankie to her husband. The breaking news from the morning’s 12-week scan was still producing headlines.

‘Sorry. It was such a shock,’ the 30 year-old mum-to-be voiced. ‘We’re delighted, obviously, and it’ll be lovely for Tilly to have siblings but…’

‘One to three,’ calculated Matt.

‘I mean, there’ll be all sorts of practicalities. The flat. Feeding. Clothes. And we can deal with all that,’ Sophie observed pragmatically. ‘But…’ she took back the hankie, ‘what’s really upsetting is… my Dad, my Dad will never meet them. You know, like he’s never met Matt or you two or Tilly…’

‘Or we him,’ added Jan.

Nearly three years had passed since Sophie’s dad died. Cared for mainly in his final few months by her older sister, Rosie, he had been ill for some time. Their mum deserted all of them when Sophie was just two and had never been seen or heard of since.

‘It’s all Rosie’s fault,’ Sophie said with a laugh, trying to lighten the conversation.

‘Ah, yes, of course. Twins in the family,’ Jan commented, remembering the children from Matt and Sophie’s wedding day. ‘I’m sure she’ll offer you some good hints and tips, though.’

‘Yeah, she’s good on practicalities. She’s got a boy and a girl so there’ll be some hand-me-downs whichever way it goes.’

‘We’re not dressing them the same, though,’ added Matt with a smile.

‘Could they tell what stage they’re at?’ asked Jan, the former social worker returning to type for a moment.

‘They reckon they’re in two separate placentas,’ replied the community nurse, similarly back in role. ‘May be identical or may not be. We’ll know a bit more at the next scan in a few weeks’ time. It’s just the shock. We walked in. I got on the couch, pulled up my top and the sonographer simply announced, “So it’s twins then” as if she’d discovered an unexpected item in the packing area. Neither of us knew what to say. I just burst in to tears. Whether that was fear, happiness, shock… I have no idea. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been so miserable about it.’

Janice provided a second shake of her head.

‘Do you want to show them the photos?’ Matt prompted.

‘Oh gosh, yes,’ Sophie replied, gradually recovering with the help of the tea (and some sugar). ‘Here you are – look. They’re so clear.’

The grainy black and white images showed two lives had begun, getting to know each other in the warmth and safety of the womb.

‘That one’s got my nose,’ Des observed.

‘Got your stomach more like,’ his wife replied.

They both laughed. They both looked. They were looks of love.

‘Two,’ Des said quietly, his emotions changing. His face happy and serious at the same time. A tear or maybe three left his eyes, finding a home in his greying beard.

‘You set me off now.’ Jan reached for the hankie Matt held out for her.

Jan and Des West had two children. Their son Matt, now nearly 32, was just two when they lost his four-year old brother David due to meningitis. A First at Oxford. A rowing Blue. Successful advertising executive and (semi-successful) author. Charming. Handsome. Funny. Liked by everyone he met. They’d lost something of him too.

It was four years since Matt was seriously injured in a car accident. A life-changing event which also saw the tragic loss of his first wife, Jo. He was now pretty well adapted to using a wheelchair and managed on crutches around the three-bedroom ground floor, housing association flat. He was also growing in confidence in the uneven, outside world of pavements and potholes. Having met Sophie, the community nurse who visited him in the months after he left hospital, they’d not long celebrated their first wedding anniversary. Life had moved on for both of them and also for Tilly, Matt’s five year-old daughter with Jo. And now that same life had thrown a curved ball – or maybe two.

The four of them sat. Fingers curled within and around the handles of tea-filled mugs. Matt peered at his: ‘World’s greatest Mum’ it said. They all looked at Des and laughed. ‘Oh, Dad. What are we going to do with you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re goin’ to do with me, Man, but what are we goin’ to do with you two? Or..,’ suddenly becoming more serious, ‘Or rather, what are we going to do for you two? We will be with you in this – I hope you know that.’ It was a statement not a question.

‘Couldn’t do it without you, Des,’ responded Sophie. ‘Or you, Jan.’

2: The Spud

Alice Nichols was having a quick vape behind the bike sheds.

'Cherry flavour?'

‘Oh, Jack, you made me jump,’ replied the forty-something, poetry-loving, History teacher, nicknamed 'Woodbine' for her liking of the occasional smoke. ‘Promise you won't tell on me,’ she laughed, knowing staff weren’t really meant to do it on site.

‘Maybe. Maybe not,’ replied the former student.

Jack Springer left Eastwood College in the summer. A-levels results were good enough for Uni but he’d already opted to follow in his dad’s footsteps and got a job as a carpenter and joiner.

‘Surprised to see you back here, Jack. Not working today?’ Alice asked the nineteen year-old,

‘Not working at all now.’

‘Oh no, what happened? It seemed so good to be with your Dad’s company.’

‘That’s what I thought. But a new MD has come in. Pretty obnoxious character and the supervisors aren’t any better. Only a couple of people there remember Dad. All the rest have quit.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘I made mistakes with some measurements. Important job it was too – brand new bespoke conservatory for one of the rich blokes on the edge of town. Got there and the doors were too small. My fault, I’d mixed up some numbers and the foreman gave me a right… telling off. The customer wasn’t pleased either and demanded money off the whole job. I got reported to him who will be obeyed.’

‘What, and you were sacked?’

‘Pretty much straight away. You see, I hadn’t told them about the dyslexia and dyscalculia. I didn’t want to in case I didn’t get the job in the first place. He told me he can’t have workers making mistakes and how he believed people used dyslexia as a get out card for getting things wrong. So that was it. Out the door last Friday.’

‘That’s appalling! What’s more, it’s illegal. Equality Act, I think. As you’ve told him about it then he has to at least make the effort to see what could be done to help.’

‘No. No chance with him. Dad always spoke so highly of them as a company and how good they were to work for. What a difference a few years makes, eh?’

‘And a new MD by the sounds of it, Jack. Seems like they’re not very good to work for now, though. Maybe for the best. Any thoughts on what to do next?’

‘No, not really. Am a bit lost, to be honest, what with everything else going on… going off might be a better way of putting it.’

Alice’s face asked a question without speaking.

‘Tracey dumped me last week.’

‘Oh, Jack,’ Alice replied, trying to suppress one of those awkward, inappropriate smiles which shows itself when life’s misfortunes repeat themselves. ‘You don’t have much luck with women, do you. Fancy a drink?’

The Spud was almost empty as the two of them found a corner table in the newly refurbished College café. There’d been a move to rename it The Hot Potato but the Student Union rallied everyone to take direct action. Most of the College’s 243 sixth form students plus a few staff members took part. Holding a ‘sit in’ one day so no-one could buy anything. And a ‘sit out’ the next, so nobody went in. Posters and banners proclaimed ‘Don’t mash with our caff’ and within a week, the management team’s plans were scrapped and the contract caterers gave out free cake in a celebratory ‘Happy Hour’ (from 12 noon to 2.30).

Alice and Jack sat at one of the old Formica covered tables, its surface chipped and showing the wear, tear and graffiti of past students. There were four plastic bucket chairs – one black and three a faded orange colour.

‘Coke?’

‘Please,’ replied Jack. ‘You remembered.’

‘Never forget a drink,’ answered Alice, thinking back to a History field trip which revealed a distant ancestorial family link between the two of them.

The blond-haired, blue-eyed former student had had several girlfriends in his time at the College. A couple only lasted a few weeks but others, such as Tracey Webb, had passed the three-month mark. They’d even made it through the summer holidays – which was a first. For Jack, the comfort of female company helped fill the gap left by the absence of his late dad’s hugs. But he was cautious about entering in to that which represented love because of the pain when it ends. He didn’t want to be abandoned again. A possessive streak meant those who pulled him in also pushed him away. It was hard to love and hard to be loved.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, as Alice returned with drinks and two pieces of cake (plates and serviettes included). ‘It always starts off well. Good times. Good places. But I never want them to go. Never want them to leave me. I always know it’s beginning to fall apart when the opening line is, “I’ve got to be home by ten o’clock…” or whatever. Telling me the ending before we begin. It felt different with Tracey, though. I was really enjoying being with her. We had some good times. And then there were a few excuses for not meeting up and that was it. Told me she needed to get a life and it wasn’t to be with me all the time.

‘The other thing I hadn’t reckoned on was how everyone else has disappeared. They’ve all gone off to uni or left Eastwood or are working. I send messages and get barely anything in return.’ He looked at the chipped Formica and began picking at it. ‘I thought I meant something to them too… wrong again.’

Alice let the silence sit with them for a while. It made a good companion when it was difficult to know what to say next.

‘It’s funny I should come here, really,’ Jack said, as the silence got ready to leave. ‘You know. College. Safe. Familiar. Hoped I might see you, actually. You’ve always been helpful and supportive and…’

‘Tolerant?’ smiled Alice, remembering some of her student’s classroom antics.

‘Yeah. Tolerant.’

The silence hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to sit down again.

‘So, what are you going to do about work and all that, Jack? You still want to go in to building, construction – that type of thing?’

Jack nodded.

‘You got good A-levels. Uni isn’t right for everyone and that’s fine – I really admired the way you went against the tide. But you could still learn a trade – get some training or do an apprenticeship.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, of course. Look, you’ve had a setback – sounds like they wouldn’t have been a good company to work for: even though your dad did. Things change. But you’ve got a lot of potential and you’re a likeable lad – more than that, you’re a good man, Jack Springer.’

‘That’s hard to believe at the moment.’

‘I know it is and life sucks at times but it’s possible to move on too,’ she reassured him. ‘You can still access the College careers advisors, you know – that’s open to you for a year after leaving. Talk to them about apprenticeships and other routes – see what they say.’

‘I’d forgotten that. Thanks. You seem to know a lot about it.’

‘Well, I am a bit older than you, Jack.’ Although there were times when Alice Nichols wished she was younger: she would have fancied him herself at one stage. ‘And as for the friendships – you know, people going their different ways. That’s tough too and I’ve never quite understood it either. Friends come and go, Jack. And that’s not always easy.’

He nodded. He thought she might be right but didn’t want her to be.

‘And you’re still playing football, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah. It’s great. Good group of blokes. We have a good laugh. I’m in the Under 21s now so hopefully be in the first team soon. I do some coaching with young lads too. And there’s a women’s squad now, so you never know,’ he added with a smile.

‘You never know, Jack. Look, you know where I am if ever you want to talk.’

‘Thanks. That’s kind of you.’

They made to go.

‘Jack? How did you know I was behind the bike shed?’

‘College Principal told me.’ A typical Jack Springer cheeky smile lit up his face for the first time that afternoon.

Alice screwed up the paper napkin and threw it at him.

3: Baby pics

As white as a sheet, Sophie emerged from the bathroom for the second time that morning. Her father-in-law sat in the lounge. A welcome visitor.

‘Bad, Sophie?’ Des asked, somewhat unnecessarily, but nonetheless caring. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘Hug would be nice.’ Wide-open arms wrapped around her as they stood. She sobbed.

‘Hey,’ said Des. ‘Let’s wipe those tears.’ Sophie shook her head. ‘Umm, okay. Better out than in or else you’ll be flooded, I guess.’

Sophie laughed amidst the weeping. She felt secure in Des’ arms. ‘I just want my Dad.’

‘We all feel that at times, Sophie. Well, I’ll try and be a good substitute.’

Sophie felt reassured by the warmth, closeness and bulk of the American. At over six foot tall, his was a comfortable frame on which to lean. The same height as Matt, Des was twelve inches taller than her, although weighed a reasonable amount more.

After a few minutes, the door opened as Matt returned from taking Tilly to school.

‘Ah! Caught in the arms of another man!’ Des exclaimed comically, as they unwrapped.

‘Hi.’ Sophie’s tear-stained face pointed itself towards Matt, her long blonde hair tangled.

‘Bad, Sophie?’ her husband asked, somewhat unnecessarily.

‘Hey, that’s my line,’ replied Des. ‘Right, folks, substitute Dad handing over to first team husband. I’ll be off to The Haven now. You’ll be okay, Sophie?’

‘Yeah, thanks, Des. Much appreciated.’ She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Anytime, Sophie. Take care y’all.’

Matt stood up, holding on to the kitchen units for support. ‘Come here.’ He opened his arms and Sophie had her second long hug of the morning.

‘I know it doesn’t seem that way, but it is easing,’ she said. ‘Hopefully through the worst now. It’ll be good to have the scan next week. Nearly halfway through now. We’ll be able to tell Tilly soon.

‘You know,’ she continued, as they moved towards the sofa. ‘Much as the sickness is horrible and I don’t know how we’re going to cope with two, let alone one, it is amazing what the body does, isn’t it? What’s really beautiful, Matt, really beautiful, is having three hearts beating inside me.’

Placing their hands on the emerging bump, Sophie rested her head on Matt’s shoulder.