From the Outside

by Clare Johnston

  But fate had other ideas.

  One night in mid-December I’d stayed behind late at the centre to help clear up after a Christmas party we’d thrown for staff and volunteers. Sarah had gone on ahead because she had a lot of work she had to get on with. After we were finished I waved Dave, who at that point had only recently joined the centre, and Tony off and I was just locking up when I heard footsteps behind. I didn’t need to turn around because I already sensed who it was.

  ‘Hiya Harry,’ he laughed, mockingly it seemed to me. ‘How you doing pal? Have ye had a wee party here then and didnae invite me?’

  ‘What do you want, Luke?’ I turned to see him staggering in front of me, clearly boozed-up or drugged-up or both.

  ‘You’re a mess, Luke. Get out of my face.’ I tried to shove past him then, but he lost his balance and stumbled.

  There was a scuffle, I had him backed into a doorway and felt like I was getting the better of him before I felt a blow just beneath my ribs. I stumbled backwards and remember only watching him turn and run.

  Turns out he’d stabbed me in the stomach. Fortunately, someone had seen me panic stricken and covered in blood and called an ambulance. The police said it was a young man who sounded fraught and wouldn’t leave his name. I lost a lot of blood, so his phone call was timely – I could have bled to death otherwise.

  The police pressed me for a name, but I couldn’t bring myself to give Luke up so I told them I didn’t know my attacker. I just told them that a youth had approached me and demanded cash and when I refused to hand any over he stabbed me. With no weapon and no witness I’d supposed there probably wouldn’t have been enough evidence to charge Luke anyway. Either way, I didn’t want to get involved in a trial. Once it became known that one of the young people I’d tried to help had turned on me like that, I felt sure it would have reflected badly on the centre – and, yes, me too. Negative press was not something I wanted to entertain, not after I’d worked so hard to build an untarnished reputation as Scotland’s ultimate philanthropist.

  I learned pretty quickly after he stabbed me that he’d left Muirhouse and had moved away from the city. That suited me fine. I didn’t have to fear facing him again, and I didn’t have to feel guilty about him either.

  The only person I decided to confide in about Luke was Ben, figuring that being an artist himself, he would appreciate my decision not to turn the teenager over to the police. But Ben felt precisely the opposite. In fact, he spent over two hours in the pub with me one evening trying to talk me into reporting him. He was horrified that Luke was free to walk the streets after sticking a knife into me.

  ‘Firstly, he could do this to someone else who might not be as lucky as you were to escape with your life,’ he’d argued. ‘Secondly, if he is a drug addict he might even be better off in prison where they could help him kick his habit.’

  But nothing Ben said would change my mind. My conscience wouldn’t cope with Luke in prison, so I stayed quiet and liked myself better for it.

  To Ben’s relief, Emily made the easiest of dinner partners. Away from her work she was relaxed, warm, open and interested.

  She had suggested the little bistro on the shore Ben had walked past many times but never actually eaten in. Inside, the atmosphere was intimate and cosy but the restaurant was busy enough to allow diners to forget themselves among the crowd. Sitting at a table in the furthest corner of the dining room, Ben felt surprisingly at home with his companion. Their initial conversation about favourite places to eat had seemed effortless and, after ordering their food, Ben even felt comfortable enough to ask Emily about her private life.

  His opportunity came just after she finished telling him a story about eating out during a holiday in South Africa in which she made several references to ‘we’.

  ‘Did you go with your partner?’ he tried to ask nonchalantly.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied and Ben worked hard to disguise the disappointment he feared must have been obvious, before Emily added. ‘But we separated at the beginning of the year.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ he offered half-heartedly, pleased to hear she was single.

  After a moment’s pause, Emily asked: ‘Are you in a relationship?’

  ‘No. I’ve never been very good at them,’ he smiled. ‘But I remain hopeful.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ she laughed.

  The waitress arrived with their starters of goat’s cheese salad for Ben and calamari for Emily, and they stopped talking as they watched her serve the dishes and top up their wine. Alone again, Ben was just about to ask Emily whether she had any holidays planned for this year, when she abruptly cut in.

  ‘Why did you stop?’ Although Emily’s question had come completely out of context, Ben didn’t need to ask what she meant.

  He thought for a moment, taking time to construct what would be an honest, yet hugely simplified answer. ‘I lost my heart for it when my dad stopped me from going to art school. I was very angry. I think I’ve probably been punishing myself about it for some time. But I felt if I couldn’t be a professional artist, I didn’t want to be a professional anything.’

  She offered him a consolatory smile.

  ‘And, if I’m really honest,’ continued Ben. ‘I’m still pissed off with my dad for always branding Harry the talented one and me the one who struggled, when at one stage, I really felt I had a gift.’

  Emily paused for a moment, gauging how far to go with her response.

  ‘For what it’s worth, Ben. I think your talent easily equals Harry’s achievements – and I think he probably realised how good you were... are. Being an opportunist – in the most positive sense of the word – that’s why he tried to pass your drawings off as his.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Ben replied, but inwardly reminded himself that it was our father who had seemed most threatened by his talent – and he who had put his foot down over art school.

  Why Ben had not had the guts to go ahead anyway he still couldn’t figure out. It just seemed at the time as though you had to have your parents’ permission to do anything. The thought of pushing on against Dad’s will had just never occurred to Ben. After years of bitterness, he was also starting to wonder whether it really mattered that much anymore; because for the first time in his life, he was actually beginning to feel like someone – not just a weird outsider with nothing much to offer society. He smiled warmly at Emily and wondered what she would have made of him if she’d met him a year earlier.

  ‘When I said that I would paint again, I meant it. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while – I’ve even bought a sketch pad and brushes. I’ve been dying to paint Newhaven Harbour again for years so this week I’m going to do it.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Emily gushed, looking genuinely pleased. Ben noticed her cheeks had flushed with the wine and she seemed almost a completely different person to the emotional brick wall sitting behind the desk at the gallery.

  ‘I want to see it as soon as you’ve finished,’ she added, with mock severity.

  The evening sped past as Ben made Emily talk him through her rise from art student to prominent figure on the Scottish cultural scene. In turn, Ben recalled for her the countless dead-end jobs he had attempted to hold down – and the numerous comedic tales that explained his early exit from each one.

  It was only when the waitress kept asking: ‘Will there be anything else?’, that they became aware of the time and asked for the bill.

  Outside the restaurant, Ben helped Emily flag down a cab.

  ‘You sure I can’t drop you off on the way?’ she asked, concerned that he insisted on walking home so late.

  ‘No thanks. I always walk.’

  An uncomfortable silence followed while they each tried to work out how to end the evening.

  ‘I had a wonderful time,’ Ben said before kissing Emily on the cheek.

  ‘Me too,’ Emily replied.

  ‘Well, let’s do it again soon.’

  ‘Love to.’

  Ben
waved as the cab pulled away from the pavement. And watching the vehicle head further down the street he wondered where he and Emily were destined to go from here.

  My brother walked with an extra spring in his step as he headed out the next morning into the warm sunshine. He felt like a teenager again, bemused and embarrassed by the flurry of butterflies in his stomach every time he thought about Emily. He found it hard to believe she could feel the same way, but he was sure he would have been able to read the signs if she wasn’t interested. As it was Saturday, he decided to wait until Monday before he called to ask her out again, calculating that a two-day gap would seem keen but not desperate. Today, he had agreed to go with Sarah to buy a cot and ‘travel system’ – it seemed pram was too simple a description these days – for the baby. He also thought it would be a good opportunity to spend a bit more time with Sarah as she had appeared pretty agitated over the last week, something Ben had attributed to the pressure of helping organise Jason’s launch evening. He had agreed to call for her at 10am, but rounding the corner into her street he glanced at his watch and realised he was ten minutes early. Still, he thought, he could just make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen if she wasn’t ready.

  Standing on Sarah’s doorstep, Ben was just about to ring the bell when he heard raised voices from inside her hallway.

  ‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ he heard Sarah say sternly. ‘This is my child and I don’t need you to be involved. Get on with your life and forget about this.’

  ‘Forget this?’ a man, whose voice Ben didn’t recognise, replied incredulously. ‘How can I forget my own child?’ Ben’s mind began to race as he tried to work out what was happening. It then struck him that the sperm donor must have changed his mind and wanted parental rights. Surely that’s illegal, Ben thought as he rang the doorbell several times in quick succession so as to sharply interrupt the conversation. Sarah answered, but instead of looking grateful, Ben thought she seemed stunned and more than a little put out to see him standing there.

  ‘Ben,’ she began, sounding panicked. ‘Can you just wait there a moment? I’m just with someone at the minute.’

  But that ‘someone’ was behind her now, and Ben was immediately struck by his aggressive posture. He looked to be in his late thirties, but was already balding at the front. He was tanned and appeared physically very fit, Ben noted, not relishing the idea of a struggle of any sort with this angry stranger.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ the man demanded.

  ‘I was just going to ask you the same.’ Ben said, trying to appear unshaken.

  ‘Paul Davis. A former colleague of Sarah’s and father of this baby.’ He pointed to her stomach. ‘You?’

  Ben felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. ‘I’m Ben Melville, Harry’s brother,’ he replied, his voice already deflated and confused.

  Paul climbed down a little when he realised who Ben was and took a more conciliatory tone. ‘Let’s all go into the living room and talk this through shall we? I don’t think this is a conversation we should be having on the doorstep.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to him,’ Sarah hissed in Paul’s direction, but Ben was already heading inside towards the front room.

  With Paul pacing around still clearly agitated, Ben tried to calm the situation.

  ‘Sit down, Paul,’ he said, gesturing towards an armchair. While Paul took a seat, Sarah hovered in the doorway looking fiercely uncomfortable. Unsure now of whether to sit or stand, Ben opted to perch on an arm of the sofa, turning to address Paul.

  ‘I’m not sure how you got involved as a donor, but in your profession you must be aware that there are legally binding terms in these arrangements that I don’t think you’re in a position to challenge. You can’t just turn up on Sarah’s doorstep demanding a parental role?’

  Paul stared back blankly at him for a moment, before replying: ‘What do you mean ‘donor’? I didn’t offer to be a donor.’

  Ben looked at Sarah for back-up but she was standing with her head down and, apparently, refusing to join in the discussion.

  ‘What are you then?’ Ben asked with a creeping awareness that he was about to receive another blow.

  ‘Her lover, Ben,’ Paul sneered.

  ‘You’re not,’ Sarah bit back.

  ‘I didn’t pay a visit to the sperm bank,’ he continued undeterred, ‘Sarah and I had sex, 24 weeks ago to be precise. About the same number of weeks that she’s pregnant, get it?’

  Ben closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out everything he was seeing and hearing, but when he opened them, the stranger was still there and Sarah hadn’t corrected a word he said.

  ‘Is this man the father of your baby?’ Ben asked Sarah quietly, the numbness of his spirit reflected in his voice.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said shaking her head, still unable or unwilling to look up.

  ‘So, there was no donor?’

  ‘No, Ben,’ she whispered, putting her hand up to her face as if to conceal herself from the situation; a mixture of frustration, guilt and fear, leaving her exposed and desperate. ‘You just assumed I meant a donor because Harry had said we’d been having fertility treatment.’

  ‘But you didn’t correct me,’ Ben stood up, rage taking hold and causing his hands to violently shake as he pointed his finger menacingly at her.

  ‘No,’ Sarah sobbed, before abruptly leaving the room and running upstairs.

  Ben turned to look at Paul who by now was also on his feet.

  ‘It’s my baby,’ he said, his face now only inches from Ben’s. ‘She’d already told me your brother was infertile.’

  ‘Get out,’ Ben shouted, his fury exploding at the man in front of him who had managed to tear up their lives in just a few words.

  That he’d had the gall to even mention my name was enough to make Ben want to punch him, but to mock my infertility was despicable to my twin, still loyal in spite of everything.

  ‘You’ll be hearing from me,’ Paul said, leaning menacingly into Ben’s face before making for the front door.

  Ben could hear Sarah’s loud and wretched sobs as he headed up the stairs, eventually finding her lying face down on her bed. But although he dug deep to find some sympathy for her, it was blocked by pure anger for what he saw as a spoilt woman crying not because of what she’d done, but because her betrayal had been exposed.

  Sarah looked up at Ben pitifully, her cheeks streaked with mascara, then moved slowly to bring herself to a sitting position on the bed.

  ‘Please, Ben,’ she pleaded. ‘I didn’t mean to lie. But once you’d jumped to the wrong conclusion I didn’t have the heart to correct you. And I didn’t see what good it would do anyway.’

  ‘It might just have given me the opportunity to have a think about whether I wanted to be misled into agreeing to jointly parent a child I now seem to have no familial connection to whatsoever,’ Ben seethed. ‘And, let’s face it, that’s exactly the reason you chose not to tell me; because it didn’t fit with your little plan. But what I really want to know is what the hell would you have told Harry had he not conveniently died before discovering his partner of over 10 years was knocked up with another man’s baby?’ His angry stare tore into Sarah, demanding a response she knew he would never be satisfied with.

  ‘I would have told him the truth,’ she gasped, trying to stifle her sobs.

  ‘Course you would have,’ Ben sneered. ‘Well, now that there’s another daddy on scene, I’ll just head off.’ He turned to leave but Sarah jumped off the bed in pursuit.

  ‘Ben,’ she shouted, grabbing for his arm. ‘I need you.’ She paused, her eyes desperately imploring him in the hope of finding a crack in his armour. ‘I can’t do this on my own.’

  ‘Well, you’re just going to have to,’ he replied, shaking off her grip.

  Ben’s mobile rang as he reached the end of Sarah’s street, but when he saw it was his sister-in-law he quickly rejected the call. Two minutes later, still on his angry march home, his phone ran
g again. This time it was Emily’s mobile number that flashed up on the display screen. Ben stopped momentarily as he contemplated answering, but decided he couldn’t speak to anyone right now. His pain and rage completely consumed him, and when he passed the off licence he could control his urge no longer. He went inside and plucked a bottle of Scotch off the shelf before handing over the money to the disinterested young cashier who continued her call on her mobile phone as she rang Ben’s sale through. Setting off again on his walk home, his pace quickened even further as he rounded the final corner towards his flat. Bounding up the stairs, he felt a distinct sense of déjà vu as he thought back to a few weeks earlier when he had nursed the same intentions, only to be inadvertently thwarted by Jason’s presence. This time there was no one to throw him off course and once inside the shelter of his own kitchen, he sank his first glass rapidly and waited for the warmth to hit his stomach before radiating through him, melting his rage and torment. He poured another, sat down on a chair by his kitchen window and stared blankly into the street outside. But no amount of liquid could wash this pain away. Sarah had stolen what was to be his living link to his twin. He had known that by using a donor the child wouldn’t have genetically been mine, but it would have been the child that I wanted and had supported Sarah in creating. Now, some stranger was going to walk in and take that from him – probably his last chance to be a parent.

  The tears started to roll now as he thought of how Sarah had cheated on me – and they were quickly followed by an endless stream of questions. How many times, he wondered? Had I known? Had I carried a crushing sadness to the grave knowing that, because of my infertility, my wife had decided to put it about with random work colleague? Ben decided Sarah was not the person he thought she was; the person he had been growing closer to and steadily more and more protective of. She had betrayed us, and there was no going back.