Janet and I had a wonderful connection and while the girls were at school, she was my best friend. Janet was a character. I loved her because she was brutally honest and had a simple approach to life and a straightforward way of talking. If she didn’t like you she would tell you straight. She, in turn, loved that I treated her the same as I would anyone else. I have always had that ability; I don’t care if you’re the Queen or a tramp – everyone is equal in my eyes.
Some days, things that reminded me of Hope just seemed to haunt me. I’d find a toy that she had loved, and before I knew it I was in tears. When I felt really low thinking about Hope I would talk about her for hours to Janet, who would look me straight in the eye and say, ‘Don’t be stupid, Mia. Your stupid Hope is okay and you’re with me now. Put the bloody kettle on.’
Then Janet would look at my puffy, tear-stained face and say, ‘Mia, you look like crap. Hope is safe in heaven, you don’t need to worry.’
I would laugh, immediately snap out of it, put the music on and we’d start dancing.
Normally, I love spending time outside the home, because I am a bit of a free spirit, but in the months after Hope died, I just wanted to stay in all the time, partly because I had so much to do in the house, what with all the painting, the waiting around for deliveries and catering for the workmen’s never-ending tea breaks, and partly because I was still grieving and wanted to keep that private.
Grief is such a personal experience, one we all deal with in our own way. My way was to lock myself in my house with lovely, uncomplicated Janet, who possessed the ability not to judge me.
I felt judged by those close to me. Whether or not they really were being judgemental I don’t know – no one ever said ‘I told you so’ or ‘How irresponsible’ to my face – but I knew everyone thought Hope would be too much for me to cope with, and after she died, I felt they were all thinking, ‘Well, what did she think the outcome was going to be?’ because, deep down, that’s how I felt. In quiet moments, when I was being honest with myself, I wondered exactly that. What had I been thinking when I agreed to care for such a sick little girl? If I had driven a car at a hundred miles an hour and crashed, people would have said, ‘Well, what did you expect?’ So how was this any different?
This time, being the eternal optimist who thinks they can fix everything didn’t work. My character is to jump first and think afterwards. Mostly I come up smelling of roses, although with a few scratches, but this time was different. I had been well and truly ripped to shreds and I was spending a lot of time thinking about Hope.
Janet was new to my world, uncomplicated by prejudice, and I felt safe telling her how I felt because she wasn’t going to judge me or give me advice. She did the most important thing and that was to listen.
‘Sorry for crying,’ I remember saying so often to her.
‘That’s okay, Mia,’ she would say before changing the subject.
For Janet, this was the first time anyone had really needed her. We all like to be needed and Janet was no exception, but because of her disability people felt uncomfortable confiding in her. Now she felt she had a friendship on an equal footing, and she dealt with it on her terms, not mine.
The house was honestly a mess, with its peeling wallpaper, years and years of paintwork that needed sanding and that interminably dripping roof. Martin and I were both working so hard we were truly exhausted, and one afternoon the tiredness just seemed to creep into every bone in my body. There was nothing for it; I just lay down on my bed for a nap. Next thing I knew, Lizzy was banging on my door, shouting, ‘Mia, Mia. Are you there?’
Waking up with a start, I realised I’d missed the school run. It was so unlike me – normally I was one of the first mums in the playground.
‘Are the girls all right?’ I said as I raced out the door.
‘They’re fine, they’re in the Head’s office,’ I could just hear Lizzy say as I raced to the school at what felt like a hundred miles an hour.
I got to the Head’s office and looked at their long faces, which were as dejected as a pair of lost puppies’. I felt terrible and made up for it by cuddling them all the way home and buying them a huge ice cream.
This was so out of character for me; not just forgetting to pick up Francesca and Ruby, but falling asleep in the middle of the day. I did have umpteen jobs, I reasoned, and had just moved and was still grieving, so maybe that was it. Then, suddenly, the realisation that I could be pregnant slapped me hard in the face. I said nothing, though, and kept it to myself for the time being.
It was perfectly possible, as I wasn’t using any contraception. Martin and I worked out the times in the month when I was likely to get pregnant and didn’t have sex then, and that method had worked well so far. But we were so busy that keeping track of the day was hard enough, never mind when I was ovulating. Secretly, I wanted more children, and I had never really let on to Martin how big I wanted my family to be. One thing I knew was that I just loved being a mum, because there is no feeling quite like it, and no one can prepare you for how much you are going to love your children. When I was flying around the world with my job it would never have occurred to me to give it up, but now I was a mum it never occurred to me to go back. Whatever would be, as far as family was concerned, would be. I embraced and enjoyed every minute.
The following morning, Lizzy dropped Janet off with me before the college coach arrived as she had a hospital appointment, and anyway Janet did not want to go to college because she was feeling ill. She was well enough to come on the school run with me, and after we dropped the girls off I walked round to the chemist to get a pregnancy test.
Back home, I ran straight into the bathroom, did the test and held my breath. Those two positive blue lines appeared immediately. I was so excited and so was Janet, and we danced around the living room, singing, ‘I’m going to have a baby, I’m going to have a baby.’
Janet celebrated by pushing a cushion up her jumper and asking, ‘If it’s a boy, can you call him Luke Skywalker?’
It was winter at the time and freezing cold outside, so I made a flask of soup, buttered a roll, wrapped the pregnancy test in foil and put it inside the roll, with the ends sticking out so you could just about see it, then I drove to the cab stand where I knew Martin would be taking his break. He looked cold and tired, so the soup was a godsend. He also looked confused.
‘Everything all right?’ he said.
‘Yes, fine. Just thought you might need something warming,’ I said, trying hard not to smile and give myself away.
I hadn’t had much time for him recently, so he wondered what on earth I was doing there. I didn’t wait; I kissed him on the cheek and left.
Until I did the test, I’d had absolutely no clue that I was pregnant. In fact, I couldn’t even remember having sex! However hard I racked my brain, I just could not remember. One thing was for sure, it was not the Immaculate Conception, and I made a note to take contraception more seriously.
When Martin came through the door that night he had the biggest smile on his face. He walked straight over and gave me a huge hug. Later that evening we told the girls, who were absolutely delighted, and in that moment I knew that whatever road we travelled together, we would be all right. Life could not have been better, I thought, but then I had thought that before.
Once the excitement had died down, all I could think was how on earth we were going to get the house ready in time. My second thought was that I hoped it was a girl,