'Truly unnerving' Jane Bailey 'I raced through it in little more than a single session' 5* Reader Review
They said a mother knows best and I believed them. Was I wrong?
It is supposed to be a dream. James and I have been trying for years. But now it is starting to feel like a nightmare.
Doctors don't ask questions, or care about how you're feeling. They just tell you what to do. They never listen.
Mam and James don't understand either. James thinks I'm being anxious and Mam says it'll pass. It always does. That's what she did when Dad died.
I've never felt more alone. Or scared.
Then I joined an online group for mothers. A sisterhood, really. They might be on a screen, but sometimes it feels like they know me better than James. They listen, they care. It's all I could have asked for.
Until the worst happens and I see them for who they are. But if I leave, what if they come for me next?
Readers are loving Baby Teeth
'Propulsive' Chris Bridges 'A compelling read' 5* Reader Review 'Horribly relatable' Lucy Ayrton 'It is dark and intense and such a fabulous read' 5* Reader Review
*Trigger Warning: This book contains discussions and references to pregnancy and infertility. There is also a scene of pregnancy loss*
Release date:
November 8, 2024
Publisher:
Orion
Print pages:
304
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
Claire locked the toilet cubicle and turned her phone into a mirror. She fussed at her top, willing the neckline upwards, and frowned at her reflection. She’d noticed someone from IT – she still didn’t know everyone’s names – staring at her while she used the fancy barista equipment to make a coffee. For the hundredth time that day, Claire wished she could just be alone at home instead of in the office. She held the phone closer. Her breasts definitely looked bigger. They felt heavy and uncomfortable. This change in her body was no longer exciting. She’d allowed hope to overwhelm rational thinking again. It was like her body and mind conspired against her each month, testing her further and further to see what she could endure.
Claire heard a door slam and the clicking sound of heels.
Whispers came from the next cubicle. ‘Did you get it?’ Her manager Holly’s clipped tones were unmistakable even at this volume.
Claire’s arm hair stood on end. What was happening?
‘Yeah, I got the super-quick one. No one saw.’ Ali was rushing her words more than usual.
Claire tried to make her breathing as quiet as possible. She was desperate to hear everything. Holly and Ali must both be in the toilet together. Ali was Holly’s little crony; they regularly coordinated their work wardrobes. That morning, they both turned up in matching Breton-striped t-shirts.
‘I feel so gross right now. Like, what if it’s, you know? Like what do I do then?’ Holly sounded upset. It made Claire focus even harder.
‘I’m here whatever, babe.’ Ali’s voice was gentler than Claire had ever heard it. Ali rarely deigned to speak to Claire.
The trickly sound of nervous urination was just about audible.
Claire’s heart started to race – could this be what she thought it was? She tried to stop her thoughts as they spiralled, but it was impossible. James, her husband, recently suggested she was starting to get obsessed. But was it?
‘Can I just check, are you late?’ Ali asked the question Claire was dying to find out herself.
‘Kind of,’ Holly replied. ‘This app said so, but I keep forgetting to update it, and you know it’s been a weird month. So much has happened, it’s hard to keep track.’
‘Oh God, Holly. You should have said. My heart’s going! Why am I more stressed out than you?’
The reek of fear slithered across the tiles. Claire swallowed down the tickle of a cough and willed her body to remain quiet. She held her hand against her mouth just to be sure. She hoped none of the team had noticed she’d been away from her desk for too long, that the two girls didn’t realise how easily their voices carried. Claire didn’t need to look at the device in her hand to tell the time. She had experienced the agony of this wait so many times she could pace it in her sleep.
Just yesterday Claire had sat in the same spot with a test of her own. She put her phone on her lap, started a three-minute timer and wedged her headphones into her ears – she didn’t want to risk the alarm going off and attracting attention. Even though it was early in her cycle, something had compelled her to check – and she believed in gut instincts. At lunch, she’d walked for twenty minutes to ensure she wasn’t seen by any colleagues before buying the special test that provided early results. The excitement consumed any hunger, so she raced back to Uno Energy headquarters and straight to the toilets.
Every shred of Claire’s attention focused on her screen, the countdown. She didn’t want to look at the result before it had a chance to develop. When the timer went off, she took a deep breath before silencing the irritating, repetitive trill.
Her heart thumping, Claire turned the test over and used the light from her phone to scrutinise its window. There was a thin grey line to the left of a pink one, Claire was sure of it. She took photos from all angles and sent them to the ladies on her favourite trying-to-conceive forum – the TTC Tribe. ‘Can you see this too? The second line?’ she asked. She wanted confirmation that this was really happening.
‘OMG! I think I see it! Exciting! Congratulations!’ one woman replied.
‘Ahh, I’m pretty sure that’s an evaporation line, that brand is famous for it. Could you try again tomorrow? Please let us know how you get on!’ commented another.
Most women seemed to be in the negative camp, but the few affirmations made Claire’s heart swell. She kept running back to the toilet to see if the test had got any darker, bringing her bag with her each time. For once, she didn’t really care what her colleagues thought. She loaded up her phone, refreshed for messages on the group, and looked again at that shadow of a line. Her line.
Claire decided she would show James in person instead of messaging. She pictured his face when he saw that hint of their long-awaited future. Jude, they’d decided for a boy – years ago, right at the start of their relationship, back when true adulthood felt so far away. Jude the dude. Hey Jude, don’t be so sad, they’d sing if he ever felt unhappy. Claire had already played these family scenes out in her head. And for a girl, Emily. A classic name; a beautiful person’s name.
She arrived at their apartment first and wiped down the kitchen counters in need of something to do. The test lay on top of her bag, ready to be celebrated. She jumped when she heard the tell-tale signs of the door being unlocked, beaming at him once he entered the kitchen.
‘Someone’s pleased to see me!’
‘James! Look.’
She handed the test to her husband.
James brought it closer to his face.
‘Another negative?’ he said, his eyebrows in a frown.
‘No, look!’ This wasn’t the response she’d expected. Where was James’s huge smile? The happy tears? Instead, his eyes showed no signs of joy.
‘Claire … I can’t see anything there.’
‘Here, use my phone torch, look!’
‘I don’t think that’s how it works. Shouldn’t there be two lines? I can only see one pink one?’
‘No, James, look here! When you turn it to the light, see?’
James only glanced for a second. ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t see it. Should I …?’ James moved towards the bin.
‘No, no, don’t do that. I want it back.’
‘Oh. Are you OK?’
Claire felt winded with disappointment. ‘Just wait,’ she eventually said, and watched as her husband nodded. He didn’t look convinced.
Claire knew what she’d seen. After they ate dinner in near-silence, she opened the group, re-read the handful of supportive messages and felt crushed anew that her husband had dismissed the test so quickly. She could barely sleep with the thought of what she believed would greet her when she woke up, and what James might be able to finally see. This was it: the turning point so many women on the TTC group mentioned. So many signs were there: the wonderful tenderness of her boobs when she turned in bed, the dry throat that no amount of water would relieve, the little twinges in her pelvis.
But just five hours ago, when Claire finally tried again with her best, most concentrated morning urine, she was confronted by empty space where the second line should be. Her body had misled her, betrayed her again.
James pulled her into his arms when she handed him the new test, sobbing, and kissed the top of her head. He didn’t say anything – he didn’t have to. He rocked with Claire in his arms, as they’d done so many times before, until they both had to leave for work.
Claire hadn’t worn much make-up to the Uno office. Normally, she spent the commute trying to make her face more presentable, but she kept her head down on the journey from Dulwich to Soho, swiping away tears. No one commented on Claire’s raw skin when she sat down at her desk. In fact, the girls didn’t seem to register her presence, and continued babbling about last night’s TV. Claire didn’t say hello. She didn’t trust her voice not to wobble. Instead, she focused on the screen and willed her tear ducts to behave. Somehow, she made it through the first half of the day without incident. The first few hours were always the hardest after another big fat negative.
Holly and Ali, barely a metre away, remained silent.
Three, two, one, Claire counted.
‘Yes!’ Holly squealed, right on time. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
‘Let’s have a look,’ Ali said.
Claire wished she could see too.
‘Oh, that’s great, Hol. Hey, you had me worried there.’
‘Thank God.’ Holly’s relief was palpable. ‘Wow, is that the time? I’ve got so much to do this afternoon.’
The girls slammed their way out of Holly’s lucky escape with the carefree aggression that only the young and the beautiful can get away with. Claire stayed sitting on the closed toilet lid until her breath became even. It took a long time. She felt a uterine squeeze of longing alongside hatred for her colleagues.
All her life, she had wanted to be a mother. The urge had been there for as long as she could remember. She’d loved caring for her younger sister, Lily, and wasn’t put off by the various squalling children she babysat as a teenager. Claire had asked James early on, just to be sure that he wanted kids. Still, she wanted to be sensible about things. Wait until they could definitely provide, until they had the right jobs and the right home. She didn’t want to push the conversation too much, back then. She knew there would be a time James would be ready. Where he’d also coo at the unbelievably small perfection of a newborn. So, like clockwork, every day she took her pill at the exact same time just to make sure it worked. Her body had been cleansed of those artificial hormones for a long time now, but it still wasn’t functioning as it should. Her dreams had been crushed like clockwork for the past fifteen months.
And there was Holly, gleeful to not be carrying a child.
The gulf of the age difference between Claire and the two girls had never felt so pronounced. According to LinkedIn sleuthing, Holly was four years Claire’s junior, and Ali had only graduated from university three years ago. Claire wasn’t sure how Holly had managed to land the senior communications manager position – she had yet to see evidence that Holly had more knowledge or practical experience – but she’d needed a new job to support their move to London so accepted the first role offered and never asked about the team structure. With their affected tones and disregard for anything that truly mattered, the all-female communications department at Uno Energy seemed like a bunch of children masquerading as adults. For a split second, Claire was glad they didn’t seem to accept her as one of their own.
The pod of desks was lively with chatter when she returned. Claire made herself smile at her boss when she sat back down at her desk.
‘What’s up with you? Are you ill or something?’ Holly asked, as she played with a blonde curl.
‘Oh, nothing!’ Claire replied. ‘It’s just so bright outside, isn’t it?’ Claire was glad Holly hadn’t commented on her watery eyes.
Holly’s perfume filled the air. She must have applied it liberally after coming back to the desk. It smelled of leather and wood smoke, like the excitement of an evening after the sun sets. Claire took in a mouthful as she sighed. Some girls are just better at making themselves attractive and presentable. As she batted a clump of dark hair away from her eyes, she was reminded that she would never be the polished, perfect girl of her aspirations. She opened her emails and tried her best to ignore the sense of injustice that threatened to make her scream in the middle of the cavernous Soho office space.
Holly’s reaction to a negative pregnancy test was all Claire could think about as she made her way home. Summer had started to creep in, daylight yawning later and later, stretching out the possibilities of each day. Claire felt alone as she walked past the park full of groups sprawled on picnic blankets. The air carried wafts of barbecues and booze and satisfaction. This communal giddiness felt so out of reach.
Claire could see James was in their apartment from the street level: they lived in the second and third floors of a Dulwich town house. He was standing by the beautiful bay windows. She didn’t wave. She missed the excitement that used to fizzle inside at the prospect of their new city adventure, all sparked by that first visit together years ago. The looks they gave each other when they briefed the estate agent on a child-friendly place to rent. The belly-flutter when the agent launched into descriptions of local primary schools and the squeeze James reciprocated that this was really happening, they were going to move from Gateshead to London, and this place would have a spare room. Over four months had passed since they’d been handed the keys and there were no signs the room might be occupied soon.
‘Do you want to talk about it? What happened this morning?’ James asked, as soon as she unlocked the door and sat down on the sofa. James looked so sincere, so handsome, it made Claire’s heart ache. He must have left work early to comfort her. She hated how he had to do things like this. She thought of the bathroom bin, the graveyard of their failures, and crumpled onto James’s familiar chest. She would have to ask him to empty it again.
‘Something must be wrong,’ Claire whispered, as she turned a patch of James’s t-shirt from royal blue to navy. ‘It should have happened by now. It should be working. Everything should be working. Why isn’t it working?’
‘It’s going to be OK, Bear. It’s going to happen. It will happen soon,’ James whispered. He’d used that nickname liberally for well over a decade, ever since they’d met in the second year of university – he was the only one she let get away with it.
‘I just don’t understand,’ Claire said. ‘We did everything right this time.’ Claire had followed every piece of advice she could glean from the ladies online this cycle. She’d filled his-and-hers containers with new vitamin combinations and encouraged James to eat two Brazil nuts a day. Once they’d passed the narrow window of ovulation, she’d gorged on so much pineapple that her lips went numb. She’d even stopped placing the laptop on her lap, using a cushion to intercept any dangerous rays. And for what?
James opened his mouth. Closed it again and cleared his throat. ‘You know, it could be the stress of the move, uprooting everything, all the change. I’ve been thinking that we don’t have to stay here, Bear. We can always move back home if it’ll make you feel better – or go for a visit? I hate seeing you like this. Do you want to talk about it? Home?’
Claire shook her head. She thought of the life they’d left, its comfort and familiarity. The goodbye party brimming with colleagues and friends. Claire’s sister and mam helping them drive the six hours down and unpack everything over one frenzied weekend that was so full of potential that Claire could hardly sleep.
Claire was so sure she would enjoy it here in Dulwich, where her local high street featured pastel shop fronts and the park minutes from her doorstep was always busy with buggies. But each day made her feel less deserving. The long line of people shaking their heads at the local café after she’d launched into conversation with the barista. The invisibility of the overground as it chuntered into Central London, packed with blank expressions and grim-set mouths. The gut-dropping sensation when she realised none of her new colleagues would ever follow her back on Instagram. Claire tried to stay hopeful things would change and the city and its people would welcome her. Her doubt was increasing with every day.
Claire took her time to reply to her husband, her throat choked by the failure the question implied. They couldn’t – no, wouldn’t – turn back now. Claire had so many more things she wanted to achieve in this phase of their life. They had been married for five years and every month was a reminder that Claire was running out of options, of time. She knew her husband meant well, but his suggestion was painful.
‘No, we can’t do that! We’ve got our flat, our jobs, all your new friends! I just need this evening, then I’ll be better. I just really thought this was it. I just … Well, I thought it was our time.’ Her voice came out more brittle than she’d hoped.
James placed his hands under Claire’s eyes and stroked away the tears dangling from her lower lashes before kissing her. ‘I love you, and it’s going to happen. It’s us, Bear. It’s us, and together we can do anything. Now, are you hungry? Should I order pizza?’
Claire nodded. It didn’t matter that the flat was sticky with dusky, polluted heat, this was now their ritual: a rich indulgence every month.
When the two boxes arrived, Claire resisted the urge to take a photo of her husband mid-bite, his face hidden by dough. She did this sometimes: try to obscure the bad memories with carefully chosen images that showed the small, fleeting happiness. Claire didn’t want to spark another lecture from her husband about her obsession with social media. His comments had ramped up since she’d joined the latest group.
The ladies online kept suggesting professional assistance. They were well over the NHS threshold for investigations. She opened the TTC forum and was pleased by all the new notifications that would keep her occupied that evening. Claire first discovered this online world through a chance google a year ago, almost six months into their journey, and she’d never looked back. As anyone who has ever befriended someone in the club toilets knows, strangers are the best audiences for your darkest fears.
Claire sank deep into the sofa and away into the online chatter while James tuned in to a programme about second homes abroad. A young couple said they wanted a two-bed in Fuerteventura because they were expecting. Claire put down her phone, careful to close the page full of other women’s secrets, and looked up as the camera panned to a rounded belly held by four bronzed hands. Their place was a two-bed, with both bedrooms upstairs, perfect for tending to a child. James changed the channel without a word.
In bed, in the darkness, James told her again that it was going to happen. That they should try and enjoy all the time they had while it was just the two of them. Claire lay still, her head full of the day’s tumult and the latest advice she’d received online. The reassurance, but the realism. She nearly voiced these strangers’ suggestions of looking into assistance, even though the thought of being prodded and poked filled her with almost unbearable anxiety. She almost told him about Holly, and what she’d give to be flippant about testing again, to be able to turn back time and try sooner, with more ovarian reserves. Instead, as James drifted off beside her, she opened her phone and lay awake, her face illuminated by blue light as she scrolled and scrolled, searching for something that might quieten her aching sadness. She would do, try, anything to have a child.
Claire didn’t test again the following morning. She couldn’t bear the disappointment. As James lay beside her, sound asleep, she wanted to shake him awake, join her in mourning the cramps she could feel brewing. It had been a bad night: Claire spent hours tossing and turning in the heat. She dragged herself out of bed and into the too-bright bathroom. Her skin felt bloated with tiredness and no amount of make-up could hide the fresh batch of sleep-deprived spots. She ran a finger over one as she patted down concealer and winced. James always swore he couldn’t see them but they looked like barnacles, thick and with a life of their own. It was easier to complain about her skin than admit the other, less tangible causes of sadness, like the loneliness of her working day.
‘Cheer up, Claire Bear. We’re nearly halfway through the week!’ James said, when he finally woke.
Claire eyed her husband suspiciously before she kissed him and left for work. He always had far too much energy in the mornings.
The heat deadened the usual hum of the office, making the morning stretch longer than Claire thought possible. It was as if time sensed her impatience. She had an appointment at lunchtime with the secretary of Emma Gray, the acupuncturist with over 100 five-star reviews on Google and a growing band of loyal followers on Claire’s favourite fertility forum. It felt like things were aligning – this was the perfect time to get some guidance. She couldn’t face another month of failure.
When midday finally arrived, Claire slumped down in the little park next to the office with her food, a box of vegetable maki rolls and tempura avocado laced with sweet, dried onions, and revisited some of Emma’s recent reviews. The rice stuck to the roof of her mouth and her tongue felt too inflated and lazy to remove it. She let the rice dissolve and release its sickly, sugary taste while she read praise like ‘Emma is a superwoman’ and ‘Thank you for kickstarting my fertile abundance!’
Apparently, Emma Gray could even help with Claire’s anxiety that she might never be a mother. She hadn’t dipped her toes in alternative therapies before – the closest she’d come was picking up a colourful leaflet about reiki healing left out by an instructor after a yoga class. Claire forgot about it until her mam spotted it in her bag and laughed so much that she still, years on, accused Claire of being into ‘new-age nonsense’. She wished she’d investigated further back then and not cared so much about her mam’s comments. Another lady on the group was convinced reiki helped regulate her inconsistent cycles, and Emma seemed like she really could be the answer to all of Claire’s problems. It was just a matter of taking this first step.
In preparation for the getting-to-know-you chat, Claire brought her planner to the park. She flicked through it. The diary once burst with plans and the glorious quandary of being double-booked with work drinks and a meal with Sally, her best friend back in Gateshead. Now it was full of coded updates on her cycle. She could have won Mastermind with her knowledge about things like the luteinising hormone. She noted down everything: her mood, her periods, the days when she should be releasing her dwindling supply of eggs. The back page featured a list of specialist clinics recommended on the forums. Claire hadn’t made any enquiries to these medical centres just yet. The idea of cold offices and their sinister, invasive equipment always stopped her from reaching out directly. Still, the names and the information on their FAQ pages gave her a sense of control.
Her phone buzzed. ‘Hello, is that Emma Gray’s office?’
‘Yes, this is Sophia speaking. And Claire, what a pleasure to speak to you. Before I talk about what Emma can do for you, I need to let you know she has a significant waiting list and does ask me to ensure every future client is aware of the . . .
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