‘Why not?’
‘Because from the time I found out I was pregnant, Emma never felt anything less than real to me. So how could I go through with it? I just couldn’t do it.’
‘Did you . . . did you think about giving her up for adoption when she was born?’
Melanie studied me, her face a mask. ‘You blame me,’ she said quietly.
‘No. No, I don’t. I just . . . I’m trying to wrap my head around all this.’ Trying. And failing.
‘I took one look at Emma and I couldn’t do that either. My aunt did her best to persuade me to give her up but I just couldn’t. My mum had already chucked me out for getting pregnant and my aunt only agreed to let me stay because I said I’d have the baby adopted once it was born.’ Melanie’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. ‘But the first time I looked at Emma, she felt like the only thing I had left in the whole world. If I lost her, I’d have nothing . . .’
‘Your mum kicked you out?’ I didn’t know what to say, how to react to that. How could ten forgettable minutes of not much turn both our lives inside out and upside down like this? ‘Why didn’t you let me know?’
The faintest of smiles. ‘What would you have done, Dante?’
‘I . . . I . . . I have no idea. But to go through all that alone . . .’
‘Dante, you had trouble holding a bag containing a pooey nappy. You held Emma like she was a ticking bomb. So what is it that you think you could’ve done?’
My blank look was answer enough, I guess.
‘Exactly,’ said Melanie. ‘That’s why I didn’t even give your name to the child support people when they asked about the father.’
‘But your aunt let you stay after the baby was born?’
‘Yeah. Only temporarily though,’ said Mel. ‘But I’ve found somewhere else to live now.’
‘Is that why you and the baby are heading north? Because of your aunt?’ I asked.
Melanie nodded. She glanced down at her watch. ‘Dante, could you do me a favour?’
‘What?’
‘Could you look after Emma for a while? I need to pop to the shops and buy more nappies and some other stuff.’
Hell, no! ‘Why can’t you take it with you?’
‘Stop calling her “it”. And Emma doesn’t like to be moved so soon after falling asleep. She’ll wake up and cry and get really miserable.’
How exactly was that my problem?
Except that the baby was supposed to be . . . my . . . my . . . mine. I started to turn to look at it, but I couldn’t. If I didn’t look, didn’t . . . acknowledge it, then it wouldn’t be real. None of this would be real. How I wished there was someone standing in front of me to tell me what to think and how to feel. Because I didn’t have a clue. All I felt was . . . scared. Scratch that – terrified. Heart-thumping, cold-sweating, sick-to-my-stomach, mind-numbingly terrified. What did Melanie want from me?
I started to shake my head.
‘Please, Dante,’ Melanie wheedled. ‘I’ll be back long before Emma wakes up, I promise. She’ll sleep for a good couple of hours now.’
‘Melanie, if she wakes up, I wouldn’t have a clue what to do.’ And God knows, that was the truth.
‘You won’t have to do anything. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or less. OK?’ Melanie was already heading out of the sitting room and towards the front door.
‘You can’t just dump her on me,’ I protested.
‘At least you’re calling Emma “her” now rather than “it”.’
‘Melanie, I’m serious,’ I said. ‘No way are you leaving a baby here.’
‘Oh, get over yourself, Dante. I’m coming back, aren’t I?’
‘You can’t leave your baby here,’ I insisted, my tone broken-glass sharp with panic. ‘I was going out.’
‘Yeah, but not immediately. You said you were waiting for your exam results. I’ll be back soon.’ Melanie was at the now-open front door. ‘And she’s not just “my” baby. She’s yours too. Remember that.’
‘Melanie, hang on. This isn’t right. You can’t just—’
But she was already heading along the pavement. ‘See you in a minute.’
‘Why don’t I shop for the things you need and you can look after your baby?’ I called after her.
Melanie turned round but didn’t come any closer. Her gaze kept skidding away from mine. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she was only a breath away from tears. ‘Dante, what brand of nappies do I buy? What kind of food does Emma like? What do I put on her skin each night after her bath? What cream do I use when she has nappy rash? What book do I read to her every evening before she goes to sleep?’
‘Well, you’re not going to get all that now, are you?’ I pointed out. ‘So just tell me what to buy and I’ll get it.’
‘Dante, what’s wrong with you? Are you worried she’s going to jump up and bite your ankles or something? I’ll be back soon. OK? And then we can have a proper talk.’
No, it wasn’t OK. And I didn’t want to talk or anything else with Melanie. I wanted, needed her to go away with her baby and never come back. If only I could just go back to bed and erase my morning, wake up and start all over again. With increasing frustration, I watched as Melanie carried on walking. With each step she took away from me, the knot inside my stomach grew tighter. I went back indoors. I wanted to slam the front door and keep on slamming it until the thing fell off its hinges, but I couldn’t handle the baby waking up before Melanie returned.
I had a kid. Called Emma. My daughter . . .
Oh God . . .
What was I going to do?
Dad . . .
What was Dad going to say?
And my brother?
And my friends?
Oh God . . .
The doorbell rang.
Melanie. She’d come back. Thank goodness. But that was quick . . . Oh . . . I got it now. She was going to tell me it was all a joke. Probably set up by my mate, Joshua. This was just the kind of stunt he would pull. Josh by name and josh by nature. If this was his idea of a wind-up, then when I got hold of him, it’d be on! I wrenched open the door.
‘Hiya. Package for your dad that needs signing for and some letters,’ said the postman cheerily.
In a daze, I scribbled across the electronic signature box with the inkless pen the postman held out. He handed me an A4-sized padded envelope and an assortment of letters. The top letter was addressed to me. I raised my head to thank the postman but he was already on his way to the next house.
Shutting the front door, I half fell, half leaned against it. I didn’t want to move from the spot. And I certainly didn’t want to go into the sitting room. To tell the truth, I was petrified to go back in there. And if I stayed still, closed my eyes and waited, then maybe, just maybe, none of this would be real.
I placed Dad’s padded envelope and what looked like two utility bills on the telephone table in the hall. On autopilot, I tore open the envelope addressed to me. It was my exam results. Feeling icy-cold and very alone, I looked down at the sheet of paper in my hand.
Four A-stars.
In the sitting room, the baby started to cry.
6
Dante
I sat in the armchair opposite the buggy and watched the baby’s scrunched-up face, tears flowing like rivulets from its eyes and down its cheeks. It watched me just as I watched it. It struck me that at that moment, the baby and I were feeling exactly the same. And I mean exactly the same. The baby cried and cried and then cried some more. It was lucky. God knows I wanted to join in. But I couldn’t. Boys don’t cry – that’s what Dad had always told me and my brother. And besides, what good would it have done?
Two minutes turned into five turned into ten, and if anything it was getting louder. My head was about to explode. I couldn’t stay in the same room any longer, I just couldn’t. Jumping to my feet, I left the room, closing the door firmly behind me. Heading for the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of apple juice and downed it in one,
counting the moments till the doorbell rang. Where the hell was Melanie? Fifteen minutes had come and gone and practically doubled in size. The noise in the sitting room was still going on, but the strident wail had been replaced by something more tired and resentful. I paced the hallway, still trying to wrap my head around how my life was threatening to dissolve about me.
Keep it together, Dante. Panicking won’t help anything.
Melanie would be back soon. She’d take the baby and head north and no one would ever know either of them had been here. No one would be any the wiser. I could get on with my life and she could get on with hers.
Somewhere around my fiftieth circuit of the hall my mobile buzzed in my pocket. The caller was unknown.
‘Hello?’
‘Dante, it’s me. Melanie.’
‘Where the hell are you? You said you’d be fifteen minutes. That was over an hour ago.’
Silence.
Calm down, Dante. I forced myself to take a deep breath. ‘Mel, where are you?’
‘I’m really sorry.’ And Melanie really did sound genuinely upset.
‘Well, as long as you’re on your way back now.’
‘I’m not.’
What the . . . ? ‘Pardon?’
‘I’m not on my way back.’
‘Well, how much longer are you going to be then?’
‘Dante, I’m not coming back.’
‘Huh?’
‘I can’t cope, Dante. I’ve tried and I’ve tried but I can’t. I need some time to get my head together. So I reckon Emma will be better off with you, as you’re her dad.’
Falling from a plane without a parachute. Tumbling over and over, the ground rushing upwards to meet me. I can’t think of any other way to describe that moment. Falling hard and fast and knowing there was no escape . . .
‘Melanie, you can’t do this. You can’t just dump it on me because you’re having a bad day.’
‘A bad day? You think that’s all this is?’
‘Look, just come back and we can talk about it,’ I said, still trying desperately to keep calm.
‘Do you think I want to do this?’ The constant sound of sniffing over Mel’s words told me that if she wasn’t already crying, she was very close to it. ‘I hate leaving Emma, but I don’t have a choice.’
‘What’re you talking about? You do have a choice. It’s your daughter.’
‘She’s your daughter too.’
‘But you’re its mum.’
‘And you’re her dad,’ Melanie shot back. ‘What do I know about bringing up a kid? It’s not like my dad cared enough about me or my sister to stick around and my mum had to work at two jobs just to put food on the table. I brought myself up, Dante. I don’t know how to bring up anyone else and I . . . I love Emma too much to ruin her life.’
‘Melanie, you can’t leave it here.’
‘Dante, I have to. If she stays with me, I’m afraid . . .’
‘Afraid of what?’
Melanie didn’t reply.
‘Answer me. Afraid of what?’ I shouted.
‘Of what might happen . . . of what I might do . . .’ Melanie’s voice was barely above a whisper now.
‘I don’t understand . . .’
‘Dante, I love our daughter. I do. I’d die for her. But I have no life. Emma and I live in one bedroom in my aunt’s cupboard-under-the-stairs-sized flat with no chance of getting anything better. I gave up my life, my friends, my dreams for Emma, and sometimes when it’s just me and her and she won’t stop crying . . . Sometimes the thoughts in my head scare me. The things I do . . . the things I want to do scare me. Emma deserves to be with someone who can look after her properly.’
Oh my God . . . ‘That’s not me,’ I protested, barely taking in what Mel was saying. ‘I don’t know the first thing about babies.’
‘Maybe not, but you’ll learn. You always had more patience than me. And you’ve got your dad and your brother and a big house and your friends.’
She had to be joking. ‘Mel, don’t do this . . .’
‘I’m sorry, Dante. I’m going away now, up north for a while.’
I shook my head frantically. ‘Melanie, please. You can’t. You can’t just leave . . .’
‘I’m so sorry, Dante. Tell Emma . . . tell her I love her.’
‘Melanie . . .’
But she hung up. I immediately tried to re-call her but her number was blocked. I stared down at my phone, unable and unwilling to believe what had just happened. It took a few moments to realize that I was shaking, actually shaking.
Was this some kind of sick joke?
The painful, constant twisting of my stomach told me otherwise.
Dumped. Melanie had dumped her baby on me and was now God only knew where. She was free and clear. And me? I’d been lumbered with a kid that was supposedly mine. Well, hell no. I was off to university in less than a month and there was no way I was going to let Melanie and some baby ruin my plans, not to mention my life. No way.
The baby was getting louder and louder. My world was spiralling round and out of control like water down a plughole. I had to do something about that damned noise. Going over to the buggy, I looked down at the thing which was supposed to be my child . . . my daughter. The word set off an earthquake inside me with a magnitude of ten on the Richter scale. How could I have a kid? Ten minutes of not much with Melanie and now I had this thing screaming up at me? And it was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think.
‘Could you please stop crying – just for five minutes?’ The words were out of my mouth before I realized how ridiculous they were. Like the thing in the buggy could be reasoned with.
Oh God, the noise.
Do something – fast.
I pushed the buggy so it was in front of the window. Maybe if the thing looked outside, it would find something to distract it and would stop crying. I broke out my phone and headed for the kitchen where the baby’s wailing couldn’t be overheard.
‘Collette, d’you remember Melanie? Melanie Dyson,’ I launched in before she’d barely said hello.
‘The girl who disappeared after Christmas a while ago?’
‘Yeah, that’s her.’
‘’Course I remember her. What about her?’
‘You two were friends, weren’t you?’
‘Well, we weren’t enemies but we didn’t swap diaries either if that’s what you mean.’
‘I . . . don’t suppose you’ve got her current mobile number or her aunt’s phone number or address, do you?’
‘No. And why on earth would I have Mel’s aunt’s contact details?’ I could imagine Collette’s frown.
‘Well, Mel went to live with her aunt so I thought you might . . .’
‘How d’you know that?’
‘Mel told me.’
‘When did she tell you that?’
Dammit. ‘Er . . . a while ago.’
‘Hang on, she was your girlfriend back in the day, wasn’t she? Why’re you suddenly so keen to get in touch with her?’
‘No particular reason,’ I replied feebly. ‘I was just wondering about her, that’s all.’
‘Funny time to wonder about her,’ Collette commented.
‘So would you know how I can get in touch with her?’ I asked again, trying to rein in my impatience.
‘Nope. Sorry, Dante. Haven’t a clue.’
‘Oh, OK. D’you know anyone who might know then?’
‘No. As far as I know, Melanie didn’t keep in touch with anyone.’
Damn it. What was I going to do now?
‘Got your exam results?’ asked Collette.
‘Yeah. Four A-stars,’ I dismissed.
‘That’s fantastic. ’Grats. I knew you would walk the exams though, Mr Boffin of Egghead Lane!’
‘Thanks – I think.’
What was I going to do?
‘Well?’ Collette prompted.
‘What?’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me about my exam results then?’ she asked, sound
ing a little peeved.
‘Yeah, of course. I was just about to. Did you get the grades you wanted?’
‘Yep. Three A-stars and an A.’ The warmth in Collette’s voice left me cold. ‘So we’ll be going to the same university. Different faculties but the same uni. I can’t wait.’
‘Neither can I,’ I replied faintly.
Collette and I had applied to the same university more by luck than design. She wanted to study Computer Science with a view to becoming a games designer. Collette was determined to have a career that would make her name and her fortune. Her older sister Veronica was a social worker who, according to Collette, got paid a whole heap of nothing for doing a totally thankless job. It sounded really unappealing.
‘I’m going to learn from my sister’s career mistakes,’ Collette had told me, more than once.
Me? I’d wanted to be a journalist ever since Mum died. Our first choice of university was over two hundred and forty kilometres away, which suited me fine. I longed to leave home and be independent. And more than that, if I’m honest, I longed to only have to worry about Adam long-distance. He was my brother and I cared about him – but God knows he was hard work.
‘It’s going to be so great,’ Collette enthused. ‘You still ready to celebrate tomorrow night? It’ll be fun to see everyone again before we all scatter to the four corners of the earth. I never understood that phrase. The earth is a sphere. So how can it have four corners?’
‘Doorbell,’ I lied. ‘Got to go. Talk later.’ I hung up before Collette could get out another word.
What was I going to do?
I had to do something . . . I glanced down at my watch. Dad and Adam would be back soon. I had an hour or less to try and sort out this mess. Maybe . . . maybe I could hide it until I managed to track down Melanie?
What a stupid idea. How on earth was I going to hide a baby? But I couldn’t arrange my thoughts in any sort of sensible order. I never realized it before but panic was a living, breathing thing and it had taken root inside me and was ruthlessly and relentlessly eating away at my entire body. I opened the kitchen door.
At least the baby had stopped crying now.
Dammit. My mistake. It was obviously just taking a breather to get back its energy and to refill its lungs, because it was now bawling even louder than before. I shut the kitchen door again.
Boys Don't Cry Page 3
