Chanelle Hayes - Baring My Heart (17 page)

W
hile Matt and I had not been in contact through most of the pregnancy, there was a surprising and dramatic twist to the tale when one day I got a blunt text from him, saying, ‘How are things with the pregnancy? I’d like to be there at the birth and for the baby’s surname to be Bates. Please can you contact me about this?’

It was so bizarre because, until that point, I’d always let him know the time and dates of my scans and appointments but he had never turned up. It didn’t seem like he was interested in the various pictures I’d sent him either. So when this message pinged in, I was knocked for six. I was with Rachel, who was also pregnant, and we sat looking at each other in amazement.

‘I don’t believe this,’ I said to her. ‘I feel like I’m going crazy. One minute he wants nothing to do with the baby and now he’s saying he wants to be involved.’ It’s almost like he had a dual personality because, from that moment, he became very civil and took a big interest in what was going on. I felt though that his
request to be at the birth was inappropriate, especially as I’d already decided that Mum was going to be my birthing partner.

I told him, ‘You’re more than welcome to come to the hospital after I’ve given birth but I don’t want you there during it.’

He wasn’t happy about this but I said, ‘That’s my decision but I’m very happy for you to establish a relationship with your son if that’s what you want.’

Trying to read what was going on inside his head, I can only assume that he suddenly thought, ‘What can I do? She really is having this baby.’ Whatever switch had flipped in his brain meant he was now also keen for our child to take his surname, which inevitably jarred with me.

‘I don’t want it to have the name Bates because you haven’t been around for most of the pregnancy,’ I said, which was surely a fair point.

But he wouldn’t let it go, saying it was only correct and proper that the baby takes the father’s name. I suppose I was so relieved that he was getting involved at long last that I relented a bit.

‘OK, listen,’ I said. ‘If you agree to having weekly, regular contact with the baby and to playing a proper part in his life, we’ll give him a double-barrelled surname. It can be Hayes-Bates.’

‘No way,’ he said. ‘I just want Bates.’

It was so exasperating. You could tell he got paid a lot of money and was used to getting his own way.

‘I’m trying to meet you in the middle here,’ I said. ‘It’s either going to be double-barrelled or it’s just going to be Hayes.’

‘OK then,’ he huffed. ‘Double-barrelled. What’s his first name going to be?’

This was a good question. Over the past few months, I’d spent at least £200 on baby-name books and had them scattered all over my living-room floor, like it was some massively important science experiment. I’d always really liked old English names but I knew I
wanted one that was unusual. I definitely didn’t want a
run-of-the-mill
name, partly because I’d always loved being the only Chanelle in my peer group. At school there had been about 10 girls called Sarah in my year and everyone was forever mixing them up.

One name I’d stumbled on was ‘Blakely’. I really liked it because it was unique but sounded very traditional and English. Other contenders I had up my sleeve were ‘Caesar’ and ‘Fabian’ – which, looking back, would have been absolutely horrendous choices! I even considered calling him ‘Winter’ but Zoe wisely stepped in at that point and said, ‘Over my dead body, Chanelle. You are not calling your child Winter Hayes!’

Blakely seemed a good option because it definitely didn’t sound chavvy and I thought he could also shorten it to Blake when he’s grown up. But when I told Matt this was my preferred choice, he said, ‘It sounds stupid.’

Like he really had a say in this. ‘I don’t care what you think,’ I said angrily. ‘I’ve bought all the baby’s stuff – his pram, the cot, a changing table, toys, murals and everything, while you’ve not contributed at all. You’ve made my pregnancy awful. And now you want to sit there and dictate what he’s going to be called? I don’t think so, Matt. I like the name Blakely and that’s final.’

As I approached my due date that August, I was filled with anxiety about childbirth and was fairly certain that I’d die during it. So imagine how relieved I was when it was all done and dusted in two and a half hours! It all began in the early hours of 20 July 2010, when I woke up and was so uncomfortable I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. My TV was still on, so I plumped up my pillows a bit and started watching an episode of
South Park
.

Then, as I wriggled around a bit, I suddenly felt that the sheets were all soggy underneath me.

‘Oh my God, I’ve wet the bed!’ I said out loud, even though I
was completely alone in the house. Jack hadn’t been to see me for ages because he knew Matt was back in touch and he hated to even hear a mention of his name. We were very much going through one of our ‘off’ phases – he seemed more concerned with having a good time with his mates and getting lashed every night. Whatever – I had far more important things to think about.

Losing control of my bladder was the final straw with the pregnancy. What a nightmare. I manoeuvred myself out of bed to go to the bathroom but, when I stood up, all this liquid came flooding out.

‘That’s not wee,’ I thought instinctively. I assumed my waters must have broken but I wasn’t sure if that meant I should be getting my stuff and heading to hospital just yet. I sat Googling it for half an hour and then called Mum and Dad.

I figured they wouldn’t be best pleased if this was a false alarm, since they’d taken me to hospital only the day before. I hadn’t felt the baby move for 24 hours, so was panicking that something was badly wrong. The doctors had me hooked up to a monitor for hours but, thankfully, everything had been OK.

When I called Mum and Dad this time, it took them ages to answer the phone – but then it was about 4am, so that was understandable. Mum eventually answered and I said, ‘Sorry, I know you only took me to hospital yesterday but I need to go again. Right now.’

‘Listen, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I think you need to stop worrying. The baby is fine. You don’t need to go back.’

‘No, listen to me. My waters have broken, Mum.’

‘What? OK, why didn’t you say? Right. Wait there. We’ll be round in five minutes!’

Unhelpfully, there was a terrible storm raging that night and Dad didn’t want to take the motorway to hospital, even though that was the quickest route.

‘Shall we go the long way round?’ he said once they’d picked me up.

‘No way!’ I yelled from the back seat of the car. ‘Who do you think we are? Mary and Joseph riding on a donkey? Just hurry up and get me there!’

So we piled on to the motorway and Dad crawled along at about 20mph as the rain and gale-force winds lashed down at us. The journey usually takes 20 minutes but, because of the bad weather, it took double that. While poor Dad struggled to see out of the windscreen with the wipers on full pelt, I was having contractions in the back and writhing in agony and Mum was holding my hand, saying, ‘Calm down, dear.’ It was like
Carry on Camping
with a bit of childbirth thrown in.

When we arrived, we charged into the maternity unit and the staff said, ‘Oh, Chanelle, you’re back.’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ I said. ‘But this time I think I’m in labour!’

A nurse checked me over and said, ‘Yes, you’re four-centimetres dilated. That’s probably what yesterday was all about. The baby was probably having a big rest before he came out.’

Despite that, she said I was still hours away from giving birth, so I sent Dad home to get me some clothes and make-up. Because the baby technically hadn’t been due for three more weeks, I hadn’t had a bag packed ready, so I was sitting there barefaced and in my pyjamas. I’d not yet had my roots or bikini line done either, so I couldn’t have looked worse if I’d tried!

About an hour after we got to the hospital, my contractions started getting much stronger and much more painful. Surely this wasn’t supposed to happen if I was still ages away from the birth? The nurses had even assured me that nothing would happen until the next shift of staff clocked on a few hours later.

Although the pain was like nothing I’d ever experienced before, I managed to stay really calm while all of this was going
on. Mum even said, ‘I wish I’d videoed this – nobody will ever believe it!’

She was the most fantastic birthing partner I could ever have wished for, handing me cold flannels, giving me little sips of water and rubbing my back. It was all new to her too – she’d never given birth herself, so God knows how it came so naturally to her. If she hadn’t been there, I really don’t know what I’d have done. It proved to me more than ever what an amazing woman she is.

As the contractions intensified, the nurses gave me gas and air but that made me feel sick. So then they gave me an injection for the pain but it was too late because, literally a few minutes afterwards, the baby came! The drugs didn’t actually kick in until after the birth, so that was a bit pointless and I felt stoned all morning.

Baby Blakely was born at 6.04am, weighing 6lbs 9oz. He was so small but the doctors told me that, if I had gone to full-term, he might have been 11lbs. I’d have never been able to walk again! When they placed this tiny bundle in my arms, I turned to Mum and said, ‘He looks like a cooked chicken!’

Of course, I was filled with instant love and fascination for Blakely but I didn’t immediately think, ‘How gorgeous is he?’ I wanted to cuddle him because he was mine but, if I’m totally honest, I don’t think new-born babies are that cute. They have a hard time getting out into the world – it’s like running a marathon, so they’re not going to look their best!

My other thought when he’d been born was how much he looked like his dad. He was like this tiny version of Matt staring up at me, which was more than a little disconcerting.

Soon after, Dad arrived back with all my clothes and make-up. He was walking along the corridor in the maternity unit and heard these ear-splitting screams and thought to himself, ‘That’s Chanelle, showing herself up again.’ But it was actually the
woman in the next room he could hear. I was sitting there all serene and spaced out with Blakely in my arms!

When he walked in, he dropped my bag, took one look at us both and said, ‘It’s a real baby!’ Then he just dissolved into tears. It was so sweet, especially because he rarely shows any emotion. He and Mum had adopted me when I was a few months old and then David when he was nearly two, so they’d never really been around new-born babies. I was over the moon that he was so happy because, when I first told him I was pregnant, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly delirious with joy. He thought that Matt and I should have been married if we were going to have a child together. But life doesn’t always work out like that, does it?

Mum and Dad were besotted with their grandson from the word go and would endlessly squabble over who got to hold him, feed him or wash him. It was hilarious. Even now they spoil Blakely rotten and it gets on my nerves because, when he comes home to me, he really acts up. I’m constantly saying, ‘No!’ whereas he always gets his own way with his grandma and granddad. They tell me off for being a mini-Hitler at home but I don’t ever want him to turn into a little brat like I was.

Although I was gutted that I’d not had time to change my clothes or do my hair and make-up in time for his grand entrance into the world, it was a very special and unique time to be in that little room with Mum, Dad and Blakely. The only thing missing was his father Matt.

Half an hour after the birth, I’d texted Matt, who was away with his club in Germany. ‘I’ve had the baby,’ I wrote. ‘The labour was only a couple of hours, so you wouldn’t have made it back. But we’re both fine.’

I didn’t expect it but he jumped on a flight back almost immediately and was still in his football kit when he turned up at the hospital. He genuinely seemed to be very excited, which
hurts me even more now I know how things turned out.

Holding Blakely in his arms, it was as if we were normal parents embarking on a miraculous journey as a new family. He didn’t want to put Blakely down and gazed at him with big puppy-dog eyes. In those first couple of days, he seemed full of love for his son and would insist on bathing and changing him. I had to stay in hospital for five days because Blakely had arrived three weeks early and Matt came to visit every day, bringing me snacks and supplies for the baby and generally acting the way any new dad would. He’d even give me cuddles and say to Blakely, ‘Isn’t she a good mummy?’

When I was finally allowed to leave hospital, we took Blakely back to my place together. That was obviously quite emotional because it’s a really big deal for new parents to take their baby home for the first time. I found it all very confusing, simply because he had wanted nothing to do with either of us for so long.

Matt took what seemed like hundreds of photos of Blakely and made me an album of his first week, with his tiny footprint in it. He really seemed keen to be part of his life at last and I was so pleased. Not because I wanted to be with Matt myself but because I truly didn’t want our son to have a dysfunctional family life.

As he was spending so much time with us both, Matt asked if he could move back in for a few weeks, which I agreed to – though we stayed in separate bedrooms. There was no question of anything happening between us; I was just a new mum in need of all the help I could get and full of relief that he’d come back into the fold.

We blindly navigated our way through those early days of parenthood and, despite our cluelessness and the inevitable sleepless nights, Matt loved doing the night feeds and went out of his way to do his bit around the house too.

We’d surely weathered the worst storm possible: what could go wrong now?

M
att and I were getting on fine in the beginning. It was good to have him in the house sharing baby duties and, bit by bit, we were learning the ropes of being parents. Admittedly, it was awkward when his mum Lesley came to visit because I hadn’t seen her since that horrible day when we’d screamed at each other until we were blue in the face.

She’d barely walked in the front door before she said, ‘This is a big house for just you, isn’t it?’

I’d run out of patience with her biting remarks. ‘Well, I’ve paid for it all if that’s what you’re thinking,’ I snapped.

‘Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just saying.’

She sat on one side of the sofa and my parents were on the other. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Then she said, ‘I hope Blakely grows up to look like Matt – although I can tell he already looks like you.’

I just smiled and gritted my teeth. I didn’t want a scene this time. But in spite of my intentions to stay on good terms with
her, she was at the heart of a bitter row which blew up between Matt and I about a month after Blakely was born.

Things had been working OK. We didn’t talk about the future, mainly because nursing a baby during those first few weeks is
all-consuming
and exhausting. Matt was also commuting to Middlesbrough at the same time, so we were both constantly shattered. It wasn’t any great surprise then when we started bickering again. One day, we were arguing about something really trivial – like whose turn it was to tidy up – and I lost my temper with him for no real reason.

‘I’m sorry but you buggered off for nine months and didn’t want to know and now you’ve jumped in like you’re bloody “Superdad”.’

‘You’re such a moody cow,’ he said. ‘And you’re not even trying to lose your baby weight.’

This was a truly low blow. ‘I’m sorry but Blakely is only a few weeks old! If I want to sit here and eat a Big Mac, I’ll eat ten of them, thanks very much. Who are you to criticise me? We’re not even together, are we?’ He looked at me blankly. ‘Or are you telling me you do want to be together?’ I asked. ‘You just don’t make it clear.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘It’s always got to be about you, hasn’t it?’

I’d had enough then. ‘Right, Matt, I think it’s time for you to move out. You’re not staying here any more. If you want to see Blakely, you can drive down every day. Normally, people wouldn’t be this accommodating after what you did.’

This really upset him. ‘But I won’t see Blakely as much. You can’t do that. It’s not fair.’ I couldn’t believe it but he was almost crying.

‘People who break up don’t just live together again because they’ve had a baby. That’s not how the world works,’ I said. ‘We need a schedule and we need to stick to it.’

He stood up then and left and we didn’t speak for a couple of days. After he’d cooled off, he called me and said, ‘If you won’t let me stay at yours, I’ll buy an apartment down there. Then I can have Blakely for half of the week.’

He had to be joking, right? Trying to contain myself, I said, ‘That’s a really nice gesture, Matt, but you can’t have him for half the week. That was never the plan.’

‘But that’s my right as his dad,’ he argued.

Getting angry now, I said, ‘But you were not even around during the pregnancy. You can’t have joint custody. That’s not on. Besides, what will happen to him when you have to go off training every day?’

‘My mum will look after him,’ he said.

‘Your mother? No way. She was so mean to me if you remember. She’s not bringing him up four mornings a week when I, his own mum, am available to do it. Do you really think I’d sit at home twiddling my thumbs while Blakely goes to your mum’s? I don’t think so. I want to spend every second with him.’

‘Well, so do I,’ he said.

We went round and round in circles but, eventually, he dropped the whole issue and decided not to buy a place near me after all. Peace was restored. Over the next few months, he carried on visiting Blakely several days a week – usually in the evenings, as he liked bathing him and putting him to bed. We settled into this routine and it was strange because he seemed to like spending time with me too. Even after Blakely was asleep, he’d sit on the sofa with me and watch TV for an hour or two. It was weirdly comfortable.

By the time Christmas 2010 came around and Blakely was a bit older, the three of us often went on little days out together. We’d go shopping and Matt would buy me a new outfit or book me in for a massage while he looked after Blakely. We even took him to
see Santa, which was such a family thing to do. Matt really did seem to adore his son and spoiled him rotten for his first Christmas, showering him with expensive presents. I’d spent a small fortune on him too, so my whole living room was filled with gifts, which, of course, he didn’t really need at six months old!

I know I’ve painted a harmonious picture but it was difficult to carry on as we were, because Jack was still vaguely on the scene too. I say vaguely, because, although he’d been up to see me and Blakely a few times, he was still going out partying down in Essex. He smoked a lot of weed with his mates too, which I always found revolting, and I wanted nothing to do with his ‘other’ life. He could morph into a different person when he got drunk and it led to us having some vicious fights on Twitter. One time, he even posted up a photo of a girl’s boobs and then of some nasty tart giving me the finger. I found it so disgusting that a girl would go along with it that I had a massive go at her. She tweeted me back, ‘Fuck off, you fat c**t, you’re not even together.’ Jack even publicly taunted me about my weight or called me ugly once or twice.

Still, he’d always be full of remorse after such occasions and, like I’ve said before, I was definitely no angel either. My temper could be appalling. Despite how it might seem, Jack didn’t behave like this often; it was quite rare, in reality. And I couldn’t very well accuse him of cheating on me because we were far more ‘off’ than ‘on’. Sometimes we had no contact for weeks on end and, of course, Matt was often at my place. It would have been massively hypocritical of me to be too unforgiving of Jack when I was spending time with this other man in my own home, wouldn’t it?

In addition to all of that aggro, I can’t deny that I still had affection for Matt. He was the father of my child and a part of me was desperately clinging to that.

I remember Mum saying to me, ‘What’s going on with you two then?’

‘I honestly don’t know,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I think that he wants to get back with me. He loves doing stuff as a family.’

‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’ Mum reasoned. ‘Perhaps you should just make a go of it.’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

Around this time, I left Blakely with Mum while I went into hospital for a boob job. I wanted to get back to modelling for
Nuts
magazine and, since giving birth, my boobs had become really saggy. The op took me to a 32G cup – but having said that, my chest size fluctuates more than anyone else’s I know! I have bras in every size from a D to a G and they all fit me at different times. Some days I have to wear a sports bra instead because nothing fits at all!

While I went in for the surgery, I had a cheeky bit of lipo on my arms and bum at the same time – but I didn’t tell Matt about any of it because I thought he’d have a go at me.

After the op, he came over one evening and, as we were watching TV, he said, ‘You look like you’ve lost weight.’

I guessed it was time to ’fess up. ‘Ah, well, yeah. I had some lipo the other day and I had my boobs done too.’

‘You look really good,’ he said. ‘So, can I have a look?’

‘What?’ I said and laughed. ‘No! That’s just plain weird!’

There was no way he was going anywhere near my boobs – for a start, they had ugly scars on them and he’d probably have been sick!

‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘We’re just friends, aren’t we?’

He nodded. ‘Couldn’t we be friends and have a little kiss every now and again?’

I didn’t know what to say but, swept up by the moment, we did kiss. It was so weird after all that time. But it didn’t go any further and he left soon afterwards.

I was feeling more confused than ever about the future, partly because I didn’t know what was going on in Matt’s own love life. Then one night after Christmas, he was at mine and had just put Blakely to bed. As he was in the kitchen making us a cup of tea, his phone bleeped and I saw some girl’s name next to a
love-heart
. I couldn’t resist the urge to read back through their messages and I saw that he’d texted her earlier, ‘I can’t get away right now but I’ll get there as soon as I can.’

She’d replied, ‘Can’t wait, last night was amazing.’

When I saw that, I felt sick. I’d been a total idiot. I’d obviously been reading his signals all wrong.

‘Who’s this girl?’ I said, holding up his phone when he came back into the room.

‘She’s nobody. I don’t like her – she’s desperate.’

‘It’s OK, Matt. Don’t feel you have to lie to me. I don’t care what you do. We’re not together and you’re here to see Blakely, not me.’

‘No, honestly. She’s just a cling-on who wants to be with a footballer. We only had a drink anyway.’

I couldn’t even stand to have this conversation yet again. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘But this is all messing with my brain. Maybe you should leave now and only come round in future when Blakely is up and awake.’

‘What do you mean? Why are you getting so upset?’ he said, looking puzzled.

‘I can’t do this, Matt. We’re not a couple and what you get up to is your own business.’

His body language changed completely then. He looked agitated and he jumped up to get his keys and jacket.

‘Before you go, you owe me £500,’ I said. ‘Have you got it on you?’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No, you borrowed £500 from me, remember. I need it back.’

‘Are you serious? I’ve bought loads of nappies and milk and you want £500 now?’

‘I didn’t lend you that money in exchange for nappies,’ I protested. ‘It wasn’t my fault you didn’t have your cash card. I was just helping you out.’

From out of nowhere, the malicious Matt of old reared his head again. ‘Oh, here we go. I wondered how long it would be before you brought up money or your monthly maintenance.’

I felt my hackles rise. ‘Great – if you’ve brought up the subject of maintenance, that’s brilliant,’ I said. ‘I was waiting for you to be the one to mention it.’

He’d recently agreed to pay me a monthly income but, as a super-rich footballer, it wasn’t as much as I thought he owed as Blakely’s father.

‘What’s the big deal?’ he said. ‘You’ve got a house and you don’t need a car any more.’

‘The big deal, Matt, is that you are now captain of your team and I’m guessing you’re earning a bloody fortune. So I think I’m entitled to more money for your son when I’m not working at the moment. Funnily enough, you can’t do glamour modelling when you’ve got a belly the size of South Korea.’

Cagily, he said, ‘I’m just going to pay for everything now, am I?’

‘Well, until I’ve lost weight and can get a new modelling contract then, yes, I think you should cover as much as you possibly can. How will I keep my head above water if I have to dip into all my savings and start paying for things on credit cards?’

I couldn’t get my head around the fact we were having this argument.

Then things got really nasty. ‘You’ve got more equity in your house than me so, technically, you’re richer than I am.’

‘I’m not talking about our assets, I’m talking about our liquid
capital, Matt. I haven’t got many savings left because I’ve not worked since having the baby. I’m making a massive financial loss.’

‘That’s not my problem. I told you I didn’t want a baby.’

Of all the hateful things Matt had ever said, this was right up there with the very worst. ‘What? You’ve been spending all this time with your son and now you say that?’

‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ he backtracked. ‘I was just saying that this could have been avoided.’

This was ridiculous. We were getting absolutely nowhere.

‘OK, fine,’ I said. ‘Whatever. I don’t want to argue about this. I’ll just have to try and manage. All my savings will be gone soon, so we’re going to have to reassess in a few months anyway.’

I was sitting on the stairs as he prepared to leave and what came out of his mouth next was like being hit head on by a bus.

‘Believe me, things will get a whole lot more difficult if you ever try to get more money out of me. You’ll lose everything – probably Blakely too. So just you dare trying to take me to court.’

I jumped up and slapped him around the face, really hard. ‘Get out of my house right now! Get out of my life and, when you’re ready to be a nice human being and see your son, call me.’

He stormed out, leaving me attempting to piece together what had just happened and how things had once again become so ugly.