Of all the literary characters, it’s not ideal to find yourself identifying with Miss Havisham. But watching Gillian Anderson portray Dickens’ jilted spinster over Christmas, I suddenly had a startling realisation.
The untouched decaying wedding cake she lives with, you see, is a little bit like my cellar, which looks like an explosion in a Jo Jo Maman Bebe giant storage bag factory. We’ve got them all; the spaceship one, the paisley one, the dotty one. They’re full of baby clothes. There’s also a pram, a high chair, three buggies, a cot and toys. I’ve given a lot away but it still fills an entire room.
The trouble is, there is an emotionally-charged question mark as to whether they will be needed again.
Our Darling Little Boy arrived exactly one week after our first wedding anniversary. We weren’t naive enough to think that because it was so easy the first time, we wouldn’t encounter problems trying for a second child. But we’re now one ectopic pregnancy down the line, a fallopian tube lighter with a failed IVF attempt under our belts.
I know what I should do. I have a friend who was told there was a 1 per cent chance of having another child. She gave her baby stuff away and the next month she was pregnant.
But I’m not there yet. And I know Miss H’s behaviour is not an example of a positive mental attitude, but likewise, trying to trick your mind into thinking it’s given up so that fate can come along and surprise you is a bit loopy too.
So, for the time being at least, I will leave the storage bags where they are. I am happy to wait and see what happens.
I just need to make sure I change my clothes regularly, keep warm and don’t start muttering in a high-pitched voice al la Havisham.
Brrrr. Is it me or is it cold?