I’d wake up from this strange dream where I’d been landed with a baby who was a terrifying stranger.
19
Dante
I woke up to the sound of plaintive mewing, like next door’s cat was upset or something. Eyes closed, I mentally swatted away the noise. Then I remembered. When I managed to will my eyes open, Emma was standing up, holding onto the sides of her cot, watching me. Throwing back my duvet, I stumbled out of bed. The closer I got to her, the more the smell hit me. And the smell was appalling. I mean, really, really bad in a throat-catching, nose-blistering way. I didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know I was about to be hip-deep in baby poo.
Damn it, I didn’t sign up for this.
There had to be some way out. I wasn’t going to get saddled with a kid who might not even be mine. Kids were truly minging, smelly and relentlessly demanding. I didn’t need that. My life was full already. There was no room for Emma. I wasn’t going to play this game, putting my life on hold for the next eighteen years. No way. But for now, I’d do what I had to do. Just for now.
Ten minutes later and the assault on most of my senses was over. But Emma was still grizzling.
‘What’s wrong now?’ I asked, irritation more than evident in my voice. I’d changed her nappy, cleaned her, and she wasn’t tired as she’d only just woken up – so what was the problem?
She must be hungry, I realized. Reluctantly picking her up, I headed downstairs. Dad was already dressed in his suit and tie and was sitting at the kitchen table with Adam.
‘Hiya, Emma,’ grinned Adam.
‘Morning, angel,’ said Dad. And he sure as hell wasn’t talking to me!
And good morning to you guys too!
‘I’ve made some porridge,’ Dad told me. ‘Yours is in the microwave. Emma’s baby porridge is on the hob, cooling.’
I sat Emma in her highchair. ‘I’m not hungry. Could you do it, please? I’m going back to my room,’ I said to Dad.
‘Not without your daughter you’re not,’ said Dad.
‘What?’
‘Where you go, she goes,’ said Dad stonily. ‘You don’t get to palm her off whenever you feel like it.’
Dad and I exchanged a look of mutual antagonism. But I could read his expression like one of Emma’s picture books. If I went back to my room, he’d make sure Emma joined me about five seconds later. With a sigh, I poured her porridge into one of the bowls Dad had bought her and got out the matching spoon. I tried a spoonful to check the temperature, but then really wished I hadn’t. It was bland to the point of being totally tasteless.
‘What’s up with this?’ I asked Dad.
‘It’s probably salt-free. Children Emma’s age can’t handle a lot of salt,’ Dad told me.
My bowl of porridge sat in the microwave, beckoning me. I was ready to douse it in maple syrup and devour it. I was starving. Putting Emma’s porridge on her highchair, I handed her the plastic spoon and headed towards the microwave to get my breakfast.
‘Watch out!’ Dad yelled.
I turned and immediately made an intercepting dive that a Premiership goalie would’ve been proud of. Didn’t work, though. Emma’s porridge hit the floor, followed a nanosecond later by her bowl. Her spoon was then dropped on my head.
A moment’s silence. Then the room erupted. Dad and Adam cracked up laughing. Emma burst out crying. My head was beginning to hurt – and not just from being walloped on the back of it by the spoon.
‘Dante, that’s what happens when you take your eye off the ball,’ Dad told me when he managed to control himself.
Grabbing some kitchen towel, I started to clean up the mess on the floor. Dad got up and poured another helping of baby porridge and milk into the saucepan on the hob. Adam took Emma out of her highchair and started rocking her.
And all I could think was, suppose I had to do this by myself? Suppose I had to clean up the mess and make more breakfast and pacify Emma with no help and by myself? Is that what Melanie had had to cope with all alone, day in, day out?
‘It’s OK, sweetie. It’s OK,’ Adam soothed.
‘D’you want to give her to me?’ asked Dad, opening his arms.
‘No, it’s OK. I’ve got her,’ said Adam.
Dad’s hands dropped reluctantly to his sides. There it was again, that burning flame in the pit of my stomach as I took in all of them in the kitchen. I straightened up slowly. Half the porridge mess was still on the floor but I didn’t care. What did Dad and Adam think they were doing? Eating breakfast, chatting, carrying on like nothing was different. I’d fallen down a rabbit hole.
‘Why’re you both acting like this?’ I asked.
‘Like what?’
‘Like she’s normal.’ I pointed to Emma. ‘Like having her here is the most normal thing in the world.’
‘Dante . . .’ Dad glared at me.
‘What?’ I didn’t even begin to hide my bitterness. ‘What is this? I’ve had a baby dumped on me, my life is being flushed down the loo and you guys are carrying on like it’s no big deal. Thanks a lot.’
‘Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed,’ sniffed Adam.
I took a step towards him.
Dad stepped between us. ‘Dante, calm down,’ he warned.
‘Dad, this is bull-crap. You’re both behaving like nothing is wrong.’
‘How would you like us to behave, Dante?’ Dad asked evenly. ‘Should we yell? Break things? Kick in all the doors? What?’
‘She doesn’t belong here!’ I shouted.
‘Dante, she belongs with you,’ said Dad quietly.
He wasn’t listening to me, but then he never did. Emma was still crying. Her bottom lip was quivering and she was looking at me with trepidation, like she was scared of me or something. It was that look that got to me. Dad and I might not get on, we might have our disagreements, but I had never looked at him the way she was looking at me now. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
When I could trust myself to speak, I opened my eyes and said, ‘Don’t worry, Emma. I’ll clean up this mess and your grandad will make you some more porridge. OK?’
She visibly relaxed at the changed note in my voice.
‘Grandad . . . that’s going to take some getting used to,’ said Dad. ‘Nothing like kids to make you feel decrepit.’
The anger inside was dying down. Now it just whispered around me like an acid breeze, choking and corrosive. I had to hang in there. A few more days at most and then I’d have my life back. I could hang on for a few more days.
Whilst cleaning up the rest of the mess on the floor, I kept a surreptitious eye on Dad to see what he was doing. Making porridge for myself meant pouring some out, adding some milk and nuking it, then drowning it in syrup. The baby version seemed more involved.
‘Why have you bought goat’s milk?’ I asked as I noticed the carton in Dad’s hand. ‘No one in this house drinks that stuff.’
‘Babies find it easier to digest than cow’s milk,’ Adam informed me before Dad could open his mouth. At my stunned look, he said, ‘What? I looked it up last night.’
‘Why?’ I said.
‘Just in case a tree falls on you and I have to take over for a while,’ Adam replied. ‘You know how I always consider worst-case scenarios. I like to be prepared.’
I shook my head. ‘Damn, Adam, but you’re weird.’ The worst-case scenarios he came out with weren’t just off the scale, they were off the planet.
Take two.
This time Emma’s breakfast was more successful. After testing the temperature myself, I fed her spoonful after bland spoonful. She seemed to be enjoying it at any rate. With each spoonful she took, the day ahead began to weigh on me.
‘Dad, when will you be home?’
Dad shrugged. ‘It’s Louise’s leaving-do tonight so we’re all due to go to the pub to give her a proper send-off, so maybe around ten o’clock?’
‘I see.’
‘Why?’
‘Nothing,’ I replied.
But it wasn’t nothing. It was a big something. I was going to be alone with Emma and I was clueless about what to do with her all day. Plus I was due to go out for a drink with my mates later. How was that going to work? For the life of me, I couldn’t see how to fit the baby around all the other things I wanted to do with my day. My year. My life.
‘I’m hitting the shopping centre with Ramona later,’ said Adam.
‘Oh dear God,’ Dad sighed. ‘What’re you going to buy this time?’
‘Just school stuff, Dad,’ Adam replied like butter wouldn’t melt.
‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ Dad huffed. ‘Adam, don’t go spending money I haven’t got.’
‘As if.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Dad wasn’t the least bit convinced.
So even Adam was going out.
I regarded Emma, running my hands over my head.
What was I going to do?
Dad sighed. ‘I can help you with Emma this weekend, Dante, but I really need to get back to work.’
‘I know, Dad,’ I replied.
Dad was studying me. He stood up and pulled off his tie with a sigh. ‘OK, Dante, I’ll phone in sick or something but this is the very last day I’m taking off.’
‘Really? Really?’ I glanced at Adam, before turning back to Dad. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Dad with ill grace. But I didn’t care. He wasn’t going to leave me alone.
‘But I’m still going to Louise’s leaving-do tonight. I’m not missing that,’ Dad warned. ‘You should be OK because Emma will be asleep for the night by the time I leave and I’ll only be gone an hour or two. OK?’
‘OK. No problem. Thanks, Dad.’ At the moment, I’d settle for whatever help he could give.
The rest of the day wasn’t anything spectacular. I had to change Emma’s clothes ’cause she’d washed her current baby-gro in porridge. Then Dad helped me to set up a routine for both myself and the baby. Nappy change, breakfast, play time, nap, nappy change, lunch, play time, nappy change, dinner, play time, bath, nappy, bed.
‘It’s the only way we managed with you and your brother,’ Dad told me. ‘I set up a schedule so we’d know what we should be doing at any hour of the day.’
It sounded a bit regimented to me, but whatever worked. And at least I’d know where I was with a timetable. Josh and a number of my other friends phoned throughout the day to ask about my exam results and to chat about the forthcoming party. Much as I wanted to chat back, I couldn’t. I had to tend to Emma. But I promised each one that phoned that I’d see them later. The party was my oasis, the sliver of normality that I so desperately needed.
In the afternoon, Dad suggested I take Emma out in her buggy, but I wasn’t ready for that. The only good thing was that Emma was already getting used to my face, because she didn’t wear that look of unease any more when I picked her up. So I’d woken up and opened my eyes that morning, and a blink later it was early evening and Dad was heading out the door to go to his friend’s leaving-do.
‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ he asked.
I nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. Enjoy yourself. Say hello to Louise for me.’ I’d met her twice and she was OK.
‘Well, Emma’s bathed and ready for bed, so all you have to do is read to her until she’s sleepy, then put her in her cot. I’ll be back soon, an hour or two at most. If you need me, phone me – OK?’
‘Dad, I’ll be fine,’ I insisted.
I waited a few seconds after the front door closed before heading back into the sitting room. Adam was rolling Emma’s ball to her, much to her delight.
‘Adam, can you watch Emma for me? I need to get changed.’
‘For what?’ Adam frowned.
‘The end-of-school party at the Bar Belle,’ I reminded him. ‘It starts in less than an hour.’
‘Text Josh and the others and tell them you can’t make it.’
‘Are you nuts?’ I said, aghast. ‘This’ll be my last chance to see half of them. And it’s going to be a great night. I’m not missing this for anyone or anything.’
I glanced at an oblivious Emma, who was sitting on the carpet now playing with the assorted toy farm animals my dad had bought her.
‘What about Emma?’
‘What about her?’
‘You’re going to leave her here alone?’ Adam was scandalized.
‘Of course not. You’re here. Can’t you baby-sit for me?’
‘Me? Sorry, but I’m meeting my friends at the BB in . . .’Adam glanced down at his watch, exclaiming, ‘Forty minutes! I need to go and get ready.’ He jumped to his feet.
‘Hang on.’ I had to pull him back as he was practically out of the room already. ‘All right then, I’ll pay you.’
Adam shook his head. ‘I’m going out. I’m not the one with a kid and no life.’
I only just managed to stop myself from telling him where to go and what to do when he got there.
‘Adam, she’s your niece,’ I said. I didn’t want him to know how much his words stung.
‘She’s your daughter,’ Adam pointed out. ‘I think that comes first.’
‘Oh, come on. You can meet your friends any time.’ I wasn’t ready to give up. ‘But mine is an end-of-an-era, once-in-a-lifetime thing.’
‘Dante, I’m not changing my plans.’
‘Not even for your niece?’
Adam smiled down at Emma. ‘Nice try. See you when I get back. Bye, Emma. Look after your daddy.’
And he was out the door.
But if he or Dad or anyone else thought I was going to stay home, then they were dead wrong. No way I was staying in tonight.
Emma would just have to come with me.
20
Dante
Second and third thoughts darted around my head as I stood outside Bar Belle. We’d eaten at this wine bar a number of times before and it had a great, lively atmosphere, but now that I thought about it, I’d never seen any really young kids or babies in there. Emma was asleep in her baby carrier, her face turned sideways against my chest, but I couldn’t guarantee she’d stay that way once I went inside. It was only seven-thirty, but looking through the windows, I saw the place was already more than half full. I couldn’t see Adam though, which was maybe just as well. Hopefully he wouldn’t spot me either. A quick hello to my friends, maybe one drink and then I’d leave . . .
Checking that Emma was still asleep, I stepped inside. The smell of sour beer, sweet wine, faint perfume and sweaty armpits – both washed and otherwise – hit me first, quickly followed by chatter, laughter and some kind of old-style jazz music. Glasses clinking, a door slamming somewhere in the distance – every sound jarred. The trouble was, getting to the restaurant area meant walking through the noisy bar. I glanced down at Emma anxiously. It was past her bedtime and she was sound asleep, but how long would that last?
‘Dante! We’re over here.’ Collette’s voice rang out over the general noise.
Turning, I saw her standing up and beckoning to me. Josh, Logan and at least seven or eight others were already taking over one corner of the restaurant. They sat at a long table which was already covered in drinks and snacks. Collette was looking good as always. She wore a blood-red T-shirt and black jeans. Her large, brown, almond-shaped eyes shone as she smiled at me. Her braids were tied back in a ponytail and long, thin, golden tear-drop earrings glinted against her skin. My mate Josh was sitting next to her. As usual, Josh’s light brown hair had been gelled to within a millimetre of its life. He was holding his bottle of lager like it was a long-lost friend and from the glazed, happy look in his dark blue eyes, it wasn’t his first.
I glanced down at Emma again. How was I going to explain her? My decision to bring her with me was beginning to whiff like one of her used nappies. This could turn out to be . . . complicated. I headed over towards Collette and the others.
‘Hiya, mate.’ Josh grinned as I approached.
‘Hey.’ I smiled.
‘What t
he . . . ?’ Josh wasn’t the only one to exclaim, stare or do a double take when they realized what I was carrying.
‘So, how is everyone?’ I asked, like there wasn’t a thing wrong.
Josh shuffled over so I could sit between him and Collette.
‘Hiya, Collette.’ I smiled, leaning forward.
She tried to meet me at the other end of the offered kiss, but the baby got in the way.
‘What’s that?’ Josh pointed to the contents of the baby carrier strapped around my upper body.
‘What does it look like? A potato?’
‘You brought a baby along?’ asked Logan.
Logan was thin and wiry. He ran at least ten kilometres every day before or after school and was super-fit – and hell, did he make sure everyone knew it.
‘Are you supposed to be baby-sitting?’
‘Did you get lumbered?’
‘You brought a kid here?’
Questions flew around my head like flies around a carcass.
‘Is it a boy or a girl?’
‘Is it asleep?’
‘He’s not going to poo or puke or anything nasty at the dinner table, is he?’
‘I think Josh has better table manners than that!’ I replied to Amy’s horrified question.
‘Oi!’ Josh exclaimed.
‘Whose kid is it?’
That was the question I’d been dreading. And my girl Collette was the one asking it.
‘It . . . er, she . . . she’s a relative. That is, she’s . . . well . . . a relative really. And yeah, I was supposed to be baby-sitting but I didn’t want to miss this.’ I was babbling.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Why on earth did you bring her?’
‘Isn’t she cute!’
‘How old is she?’
‘Her name is Emma.’ I picked the easiest question to answer.
‘Hi, Dante.’ Adam’s voice rang out from behind me. My heart plummeted. ‘Oh my God! You brought Emma?’
‘Yeah. So?’ I turned in my seat, challenging him to make a thing of it.
‘How come Dante got stuck with looking after his relative and you didn’t?’ asked Collette.
I glared at him – my eyes narrowing with threat and meaning. Somehow the message must’ve got across because, even though he looked distinctly unimpressed, he didn’t say anything. It’s not that I was trying to hide the truth exactly. I just wanted to tell my friends about Emma in my own time, in my own way.
Boys Don't Cry Page 8
