Not What They Were Expecting (30 page)

Part 3

Chapter 38

‘There’s no problem if you need to stay for a few days, mate, but the au pair thing isn’t going to fly.’

James had been expecting this call from Kam for a few days now, since he’d figured a way to properly pitch the idea that he could be their ‘manny’. It was beginning to sound a bit crazy, even to him. Perhaps it’d been the joke about doing the ironing topless when his wife had friends around that’d killed it completely. Or maybe suggesting he could stay with them for a time too when he started the job, just until things with him and Becs settled.

‘You spoke to Kate,’ he said to his pal.

‘I’ve mentioned it a couple of times, and she did think about it. Once she stopped laughing.’

‘It’s a serious offer you know.’

‘I know, and so does she. But I think your lack of experience with minding kids might be playing against you.’

‘Right, like these nineteen-year-olds from Germany are seasoned professionals.’

‘You’d be surprised, you’d be surprised. And a lot of them have at least, y’know, changed a shitty nappy once in their lives. Plus there’s the whole being a woman thing.’

‘Well that’s just sexist.’

‘I hear you, brother. But hey, how’s it going anyway?’

James looked around his old childhood bedroom. The posters and wallpaper were exactly the same as they’d been when he left ten years ago. At least, he assumed they were all the same – rather than preserve the room as a shrine Ben and Maggie had started using it as extra storage, and he couldn’t see the walls for stacks of art supplies and second-hand books. The duvet on the bed was still the same though (and probably hadn’t been washed since either), which was a clue.

‘Oh it’s OK. Every unemployed and separated man in his thirties should spend some time living with their recently bereaved mother. It’s character building.’

‘Any word from Rebecca?’

‘I’m calling and texting every day, but I’m not hearing anything back.’

‘Keep saying sorry, bud, but don’t get too depressed and needy with it. It’ll work itself out in time.’

‘I dunno. You should see the way she’s just cut off her parents completely. Once she digs in…’

‘Look, why not come around later? I’m working at home today ’cos the kids have a vomiting bug.’

‘Sounds lovely.’

‘It’s all right, puking stopped but they’re still considered unclean.’

‘I thought you had an au pair for this sort of thing?’

‘Day off. Something to do with international human rights.’

‘I’ll be round later.’

‘Cool. Maybe we’ll get you some baby training in.’

James hung up the call and checked his messages again. Still nothing from Rebecca. He fired off another text. Nothing too downbeat; like he’d discussed with Kam, just the regular contact he needed, hopefully not coming across as too desperate in the wrong kind of way. ‘Hope all goes well at check-up today. Can be there, just say the word. Still sorry. Jx.’

He hoped the ‘still sorry’ wouldn’t sound sarcastic, but he needed to say it.

When there wasn’t an immediate reply he headed downstairs to get a coffee, passing his mother in her studio.

‘Good morning, James.’

‘Maggie.’

He stopped to look at what she was doing. Amid all the clay models and sketches on every surface and pinned to every inch of wall, there was a large canvas, an abstract thing of some sort. From a small square of photographic paper stuck to the edge of the frame, James could see it was based on the first scan of Bomp.

‘Focusing on new life at the moment. For reasons you wouldn’t need therapy to work out,’ said Maggie.

‘It looks great,’ said James, and he meant it. Although the surge of regret and loneliness that it generated was excruciating. He so wanted to be with his wife, and his Bomp, right now.

‘There’s the light and dark of life in these pictures,’ she continued, ‘and a lack of certainty around form things take. A blurriness that seems apt for life.’

‘Hang on. Have you taped the picture up upside down?’

‘Just proves my point.’

James compared the small snapshot to the much bigger canvas, with its swirls and blobs. He could see what she meant.

‘Families these days come in many different forms,’ Maggie continued. ‘Two independent parents can be as effective as one single unit. In some ways perhaps more so. I respect Rebecca’s courage of her convictions. I like to think her quiet determination reminds me of me.’

James shuddered. The warm and fuzzy moment of bonding had passed, with a comparison that pissed him off, and a sentiment that pissed him off even more.

‘I get it, that diversity’s a good thing, and you don’t have to have a typical nuclear family and an ordinary life to be happy. But you know it’s OK if you do, right? I just want my wife back and to be a dad, why does it have to become a political football?’

‘You can never believe I’m ever saying or doing anything for your benefit. Things might not work out how you want for you and Rebecca, and I’m trying to help you recognise that. Your feelings can’t dominate all the time.’

‘That’s rich,’ said James as he kneaded a ball of modelling clay intensely with his thumb, and a memory came back to him.

‘You know, I remember you used to do pictures of me all the time, sketches and paintings and all that rubbish. But the second I hit adolescence and wasn’t a controllable malleable lump of clay who would sit how you wanted, that all stopped. An ugly spotty teenager who wouldn’t take your crap suddenly not such an aesthetically pleasing subject.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Right. Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ve blanked from my mind all those later times you made me sit without fidgeting that I’d loved so much.’

‘I recognise our recollection might be different.’

‘Fuck’s sake. I’m going out.’

‘Where?’

‘Just out. Jesus.’

He grabbed his coat from the bannister and slammed the door. He made it to the front gate before he stopped dead. It was too hot for a coat. And he was so fed up of storming out of rooms. Leaving things whether he wanted to or not. He was storming around, going nowhere, and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t tell who he was or who he wanted to be any more. He needed Rebecca, and he needed to be part of this new family they were supposed to be creating. He’d been trying to protect it. The anger and frustration caused his hands to ball into fists at head height, shaking with pent up emotion. By the gate the glass recycling box was sitting empty, with just one of Ben’s old homebrew bottles lying beside it, dropped before the pick-up. He swung at it with his foot, connecting with the body and sending it arcing across the tree-lined street, over the grass verge and into the low wall of the opposite house. It shattered into hundreds of pieces.

‘Gaargh!’ James shouted, punching his fists into his thighs. The pain in his toe throbbed up his leg as he looked across the road for a minute. Then he turned around to head back into the house to get the dustpan and brush to clear up the breakage. A lot of little kids run up and down that side of the street.

Chapter 39

Rebecca had stopped permanently crying, which she was taking as a good sign. The first few days after she’d thrown James out she’d barely been able to move from the couch, and her nose was red raw from blowing it on the kitchen roll that was permanently on hand as she blubbed.

She was on the bus, her way to a check-up at the neo-natal clinic. She had the car, but was getting too nervous to drive. She felt huge behind the wheel, with Bomp stuffed in there too. She couldn’t move around to see much, and having room for her belly while still being able to comfortably reach the pedals felt awkward. She couldn’t stop thinking about a potential accident either. Bomp somehow felt too vulnerable in the car, the steering wheel too much of a threat. So the bus it was. And she liked getting out in the sunshine, even if she did risk melting if the temperature went above twenty degrees.

The midwife appointments were much more regular now, with the big day looming into view. She thought back to the first time she met the midwife and she’d raced through those questions on her marital status and that stuff. The answers might be a bit different now.

This was only her third time leaving the house to do more than buy milk in the days since he’d gone. She’d managed to get as far as the GP on her worst day, worried about the stress she was putting on Bomp and convinced her blood pressure would be through the roof. It was up a bit, not too much, but the doc had signed her off sick with mental exhaustion meaning her maternity leave effectively started now.

But the guilt and worry of leaving all the half-finished files she’d opened, and the fear that her bosses would see how far behind on everything she really was, prompted her to pop in one last time to get everything she might need, and she’d worked from home for a couple of days. She’d worked all hours, and almost enjoyed it. It had taken her mind off things anyway. It also helped her feel that she could cope on her own.

That had been a worry that came to the fore as the nesting really kicked in. So many elements of the preparations, like assembling the buggy, or working out the car seat arrangements, seemed like a two-person job. But with a bit of practice she felt sure she could fold and unfold the multi-purpose buggy by herself. Blindfolded if necessary, like one of those thriller movie assassins. The last bits of flat-pack furniture were actually pretty easy to put together too, if you did them slowly and went through the instructions before you started rather than after something went wrong. She smiled for a second, remembering the sound of James’s swearing coming down through the floorboards as he insulted the chest of drawers, the instructions, IKEA, and the entire nation of Sweden when he’d spent an afternoon putting things together.

She couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t even tried to come back to the house since she’d thrown him out. Maybe she shouldn’t have done it. But maybe he shouldn’t have kept such big secrets throughout their marriage. If he hadn’t got made redundant, would she ever have known? How could she believe him on needing some alone time when he ended up with that slut from work having a drink? Maybe he’d stay away permanently, she’d heard of it happening. You can never know you’ve married a bastard until he starts acting like one. Men can do that, just drop everything, start again.

Hard to believe maybe, but then it was hard to believe that the two men in her life were so capable of double lives. What were the odds? Dad’s trial was coming up in a couple of weeks. She wondered if he was still going through with it, considering his star witness wasn’t going to show. She’d not spoken to her parents either, despite the calls. Her phone had never been busier with people she didn’t want to talk to. It was her mother trying to get hold of her. In a strange way she was angrier with her than she was with her dad. She must know. She must. And she was letting herself be duped. But she wasn’t going to be the person to tell her if she was still in denial. Let her dad come out his own way, with a criminal conviction.

The bus stop was busier than she anticipated. It was coming up nine and should have been after the rush hour commuters and before the pensioners with their bus passes, but it was crammed. Listening to the mumbled complaining she gathered the Tube was out of action, and a lot of aggravated passengers were jostling for position as the bus pulled up. Despite the melee she was able to tap her Oyster and shuffle along the single decker, surrounded by tuts and sighs.

Struggling to keep her balance she was overcome with panic. She was all alone. She was going to have to go through this alone: without her mother, without close friends to go to who’d understand, and with a husband that had disappeared. She didn’t know about babies. She didn’t like pain. She’d not make it through childbirth. If she did she’d have to have it adopted. It was the only way.

The bus was intolerably hot, and she shuffled on the spot awkwardly as it wound its way around the suburban streets. Whether it was the temperature or the panic, she didn’t know but Rebecca was convinced she was on the verge of passing out. She was going to have to do something she’d never wanted to have to do.

‘Excuse me, young man,’ she said to a guy in an electrical retailer-issued shirt and tie uniform, ‘would you mind if I took your seat?’

Seeing Rebecca speak to him he unplugged his headphones and asked her to repeat. She asked him again, without using the words ‘young man’ which she was already internally criticising for making her sound like a Victorian spinster.

‘Of course, of course,’ he said, jumping to his feet.

‘Sorry, I would have offered but didn’t want to offend you in case you weren’t,’ he continued with the hint of a cocky smile.

If he hadn’t looked a bit too knowing and clever with his excuses, Rebecca would have left it.

‘Really? You thought this bump here was me carrying a few extra pounds? Sticking out like Mr Greedy? I’m
clearly
either heavily pregnant or have some form of bizarre tumour. And either way I’d deserve a seat.’

Rebecca was pleased to see his face go a shade of red that had become familiar to her recently every time she had to walk up stairs.

‘And the book I’ve been holding –
Your First Pregnancy
– that might have been a clue too,’ she added for good measure as he put his headphones back in looking suitably chastened.

Rebecca spotted the middle-aged woman sitting next to her nodding her head supportively, and before she knew it, she was talking again.

‘And I don’t know what you’re smiling about. Awake now? Or were you just pretending to be asleep a minute ago to avoid eye contact and guilt?’

The woman stammered and spluttered under the unexpected attack, and Rebecca realised that everyone in the crowded section of the bus was looking at her. Fair enough, she thought.

She was on a roll now. ‘Watch out for this bloke I was standing in front of here,’ she said to no one in particular, ‘thinks he’s got kung fu balance and doesn’t even need to hold onto the handrail, but every time we turned a corner I was getting rammed in the back.’