I chuckle through mouthfuls of potato but she can read me like a book. She knows that it made me realise I was in love with someone else. I don’t need to say that out loud so focus on the chips. I should have got a kebab.
‘The things you miss when you travel. No other country in the world does cheesy chips,’ she says.
‘The Americans have chips.’
‘Nope, they have French fries and the melted cheese is moussey and bright yellow. If you ask for mayo with your chips too, they think you’re posh and continental like that’s a bad thing.’
‘I hoped you missed me as much as you missed chips.’
‘I missed you the most,’ she says.
‘Do you say that to everyone?’
‘Of course.’
It is an absolute joy to have her back here in the family fold, to see a new side to her, renewed and accepting of a future without her Tom. The old Grace was always sensible, cautious, guarded even. We never knew how everything would change her. But I see a sister scoffing chips and dangling stringy bits of Cheddar over her mouth and realise the bits I loved about her are still there.
‘You’re stopping here tonight, yeah? Mum bought the mini Kellogg’s selection boxes so you must,’ she says.
‘Of course, I’ll wrestle you for the Coco Pops.’
‘Bring it.’
Maya and Cleo seem to be in a deep slumber so Grace rests her head back on the sofa, resigned to her fate. ‘Excellent, when you’re ready Mum’s made a bed for you upstairs. Can you bring me down some pillows?’
‘Of course. Can I ask you a favour too?’
‘Sure.’
‘There was a letter that Will wrote to me. Dad said Lucy sent it to everyone. Did you have a copy?’
‘I do.’
‘Can I read it?’ I ask.
‘It’s a good letter,’ replies Grace. ‘Good penmanship. I’ll warn you though, he may have also spoken about the kiss.’
‘Oh.’
‘Everyone’s been quiet about it to your face but in a group chat, Mum said next time he was here she was going to piss in his tea.’
‘Like drop her pants in the kitchen and pee in a mug?’
‘I didn’t question the mechanics of how she was going to do it,’ she says, laughing. ‘I’ll forward the screen shot, or do you want me to add you to the group?’
‘There’s a family group chatting about my relationship?’
‘Yeah?’ she says calmly. We once had a group chat because Meg’s kids had nits and gave them all to us one Christmas. We shared scalp pictures and compared horrors.
‘Send me the screenshot. And anything from the group that’s tasty.’
She salutes me in return.
‘What do you think I should do, Gracie?’
She pauses for a moment. She is qualified now to comment about love, life and all its sharp turns and bends. She has lost, she has gained and her heart has experienced much more than mine. I await her words of wisdom.
‘Tea. Make me tea.’
‘Is that the answer to everything?’
‘Yes.’
BONUS TRACK
‘Love’s Theme’ – Barry White’s Love Unlimited Orchestra (1973)
Dear B,
You know me well enough now to know that I don’t write letters. I write postcards and texts and Post-it notes that I leave on the fridge telling you to buy more milk. So I must really need to tell you something or must really bloody love you to put pen to actual paper and tell you what’s been going on in my head.
Firstly, I need to say sorry. I’m so unbelievably sorry. I’ve been a complete arsehole. Pete tells me this every day, so does Kat but in more subtle ways like when she stands over me checking I’ve done the washing-up properly. I’ve run away from the best thing that’s ever happened to me. There’s no other way of saying it and that was an awful thing to do, both on your birthday and just because it was you. My best friend. The mother of our child. I kissed someone else and totally betrayed your trust. The lies, the cover-up that followed were unacceptable and I totally get that. Please believe me when I say I don’t want anyone else. Only you. After your party, I sat on the platform at Richmond and I cried. I cried so hard that they called staff on me because they thought I was going to jump onto the tracks. I wasn’t, but I got a free cup of tea out of it. I told a woman called Caroline in a hi-vis vest that I was just overwhelmed because I had a new baby and she told me this story about how her son had acid reflux and she couldn’t lay him down for the first four months of his life. She hugged me. She told me to hang on in there because babies can sometimes be dicks.
The problem is, I think everything is just hanging on in there by the thinnest of threads.
Joe is amazing. I can’t believe we made that. I could just look at him for days. But it’s more than just the three of us now, coasting through life, winging it. Taking this job with Sam’s studio was all for me. I didn’t want to be some architect in a local office designing identikit boxes on housing developments. I wanted to still feel young and relevant and bring home better money, but it was all a mistake. Sam is a car crash. She rattles with the amount of pills in her and she’s an awful human being. I need to figure out work. I need to think about being closer to where we are. Not getting the promotion floored me. I felt rubbish after that. Like I’d let you down for nothing.
And I’d got to the stage where all the pressures of everything got to me. It was work but it was also Jason, teasing me with how settled and how dull I’d got, it was knowing that every day I needed to come back to you and help and be part of our family. It was exhausting. And then thinking about the mortgage, money, flat. And just being a dad. God, Beth… I’m a dad. Dads are older and they know what to do in every situation. My dad did. He fixed bikes and knew how to fish and change filters. He was present. He was so on it. So I panicked. I took all that panic on myself as well because I didn’t want to burden you with it. I should have just told you. You’d have understood everything because you’re Beth.
And then last week. Last week was awful. I still couldn’t tell you what I wanted to and then we tried to have sex and it all went so wrong. Not because of you – never think that – but because my mind was going over everything. I worry you think I’m less of a man because I’ve done this. And so this was in my head, this was all I could think about. How I’d failed and fucked up and didn’t deserve you and those thoughts obviously travelled down to my balls. I do love you, I fucking adore you. I’d shag you any day of the week and you know that. Upside down and hanging off a wardrobe, hairy pits and everything.
I don’t know what to do now. I want to graft and work through this. Hand on heart, I know I’ve made mistakes and I just want to do better. What we have is a bit messy and all over the place but I want to make us work. I want a future with you, by my side. I’d marry you in a heartbeat. We both know that’s not a proposal, but it is something I have to say, something you need to know. Next time I ask you, I’ll do it properly. I promise.
I’ve put a CD in here. Hopefully, the songs make sense. It was the birthday present I should have made for you. I even included Barry White’s ‘Love’s Theme’ because I’m a soppy bastard really. And it’s OK if you put it back in the wrong case, because that is all you. And I love you.
All my love,
Will xx
Track Twenty-Two
‘Scar Tissue’ – Red Hot Chili Peppers (1999)
I don’t stick around the next morning. It’s still a strange feeling to wake up from an evening out stone-cold sober and ready to take on the day, so I think about what Joe and I might get up to. I might wash my hair during one of Joe’s naps. Oh, the excitement. I think about what food is in the house and I realise I have Super Noodles and so I suddenly fantasise about being in my favourite hoodie and pyjama bottoms, slurping them out of my favourite orange bowl. I can watch re-runs of Grey’s Anatomy (I do this a lot now). I’ll put some laundry on. I’ll mooch. I may also read Will’s letter again. Lu
cy and Dad were right, it was an important read and maybe something I shouldn’t have dismissed so quickly. I read it last night through misty eyes but it deserves to be read and considered again. He just wants to be sure he gets parenthood right. He is sorry. He loves me.
As we get home, I trundle along with Joe in his car seat and hear noises through the front door and I pause, wondering who it might be. It’s either burglars or Will and I’m not sure I’m ready to take on either. I put my keys in the door hesitantly and open it.
Oh.
Of all the people it could be, I see Yasmin asleep on our sofa. She’s covered in one of our posher fleece blankets, her shoes next to the sofa. A head pops out from the kitchen. Will. This is not strange. Not strange at all.
‘Where have you been?’ he whispers.
I could ask him the same question. But I don’t. Instead I put sleeping Joe down next to our coffee table and Will pulls me into the bedroom.
‘What on earth is going on?’ I ask.
‘Why isn’t your phone on?’
‘It ran out of battery.’ This is my default thing. I always carry about twenty-five per cent on a good day and then am surprised when it dies on me. ‘Why is Yasmin King asleep on our sofa?’ I ask. ‘Why are you here?’
There’s also a part of me that wants to tell him I read the letter. I loved the letter.
‘I needed to see you yesterday. It was our nine-year anniversary, did you know that?’ he replies.
I shake my head.
‘Facebook told me. Some picture of that gig came up. And it kinda broke me. So I came round with an Indian at around nine-ish and instead of you being here, there was a model sitting outside our flat.’
‘Yasmin.’
He nods, concerned.
‘I lied and said you were away for the night with your sisters and invited her in. I think she must have thought I was a right pig too. I bought quite a lot of food for just one person. She ate all my tarka dhal.’
‘She would. She’s into lentils.’
I poke my head around the door. She’s lying there in one of Will’s old sweatshirts and leggings, her expression strained even in sleep. I guess I should be worried that my boyfriend was home alone with a model but strangely that doesn’t enter my brain. I plug my phone in to charge in our bedroom and my WhatsApp notifications ping like a fruit machine.
‘And she told me everything,’ he carries on. ‘About that Harry bloke, her pregnancy, how he’s not leaving his wife. How her fella has thrown her out and won’t let her see their dog and yeah…’
I nod. ‘She does this now. She comes round, we hang out. Do you know why she was crying?’
A voice suddenly trails in from the doorway, where Yasmin’s resting a sleepy Joe on her hip. The little man’s eyes light up to see his dad.
‘Harry’s tried to pay me off. He booked an appointment in some fancy clinic for me to get rid of our baby.’
Yasmin hands Joe over to Will and he nestles into his father’s chest, as he hugs him tightly. I watch them for a moment, together. ‘You two should talk,’ says Will. ‘I’ll get Joe changed.’
I nod and lead Yasmin back to the sofa where she was sleeping, urging her to take a seat while I take my shoes off.
‘Yasmin, that’s bloody awful. How?’ I say.
‘He came round with a cheque,’ she says, the tears welling up in her eyes. I lean over to the coffee table and pass her a tissue, shaking my head in disgust.
‘We fought. I threw him out. I was scared so I came here. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’m glad Will was here.’
‘He’s really nice. He’s a bit of a closet feminist, eh?’
‘How so?’
‘He told me it was my body, my choice.’
He’s always been like that, a liberal, an advocate for choice and kinder politics.
‘He was sweet, we spoke for a long time and I drank lots of your tea. I think he talked me off the ledge.’
I realise how very fragile she is. I am glad Will was here and decent enough to catch her.
‘Will can be good like that. I’m glad he was here for you.’
It pains me to say it out loud when he’s not done the same for me but I don’t want to shatter her illusions of men completely. We hear Joe giggling next door.
‘Is he a good dad?’
I pause. ‘He has his moments.’
‘He’s really cute, you know?’
‘Joe or Will?’
She laughs. ‘Joe, of course. How do you make the whole mum thing look so easy?’
As is the way with Yasmin, it’s difficult to know if she’s being sarcastic or not.
‘Are you joking?’ I ask her.
‘No. You have a good thing here. It’s cosy, the three of you together.’
I stare back at her, wondering what it is she sees here. She’s never once mentioned my dodgy carpet or the fact that when she is here hanging out with me, I mainly wear men’s trackies. She sees some other picture, some perfect little family. I don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise.
‘Do you think I could do it?’ she asks me.
‘Motherhood? On your own?’
She nods.
Girl, you’d have to eat something.
‘My sister recently adopted two little girls. She’s planning on raising them on her own. Well, not in a complete bubble. Do you remember Grace?’
‘Vaguely? You Callaghans all merged into one for me. Did she get dumped too?’
I pause. ‘Her husband died of cancer.’
She looks alarmed, dropping the spikiness of her tone. ‘Shit.’
‘Babies… all of this is pretty relentless. I change a lot of nappies. It’s the hardest thing I’ve done in my life for no other reason than it’s not just me anymore. I have a Joe.’ I could barely take care of my own needs most days, it was miracle to ask me to do that for another person. ‘Look, I won’t tell you what to do but if you have this baby then find friends, family… people to support you?’
She looks at me, pensive, like she wants me to fill that role. I’m hesitant. I’m not sure what to tell her. I’m not sure what we have in common. She puts her hand to her belly. We do have that, I guess. Maybe this starts with more tea.
‘I’m making myself a brew. You want one?’ I say, getting up.
She nods and I head to the kitchen. Inside, leftover takeaway boxes litter the worktops. There’s a trail of raita. Will remembered raita – and from the looks of it, my onion bhajis, despite the fact I’d destroy a tray of them and then complain about them repeating on me afterwards.
And Will came back. With an Indian meal. To apologise? Or as some sort of romantic gesture? But he’s now here, with our baby. And yet I don’t know what to think about that.
I want to lie on our bed in the room next door with him. Just that. I don’t want to be naked. I want to tell him Grace is back. I have new nieces with matching bob haircuts. Emma’s life is still complicated. Joe has teeth. But I don’t know how to pretend the last few months didn’t happen.
‘Will, did you want tea?’ I shout.
There’s no reply. I hear the front door shut firmly and pop my head around the door again. Inside the living room, Joe sits next to Yasmin, looking a tad confused.
‘Where did Will go?’
‘He kinda left?’ Yasmin replies.
How has he vanished? Again? I head into the bedroom and look around, sifting through some more drawers and wardrobes to see if he took any more things. His passport is still in the drawer of my dressing table so he didn’t come here on some ruse to feed me takeaway and then flee the country. I suddenly see my phone nestled in the duvet and pick it up. Wasn’t that charging?
Urgh, so hungover. But mega night. I’ll stand by what I said. I’d snog you any day of the week. Love you xxx
Oh God. Oh no. Oh shitballs. I run out of the bedroom.
‘Look after Joe for a minute. Will forgot something,’ I mutter.
I don’t have any shoes
on. Or have keys. But Will needs to know. Crap, it’s freezing fucking cold and icy earth bites at the soles of my feet. I run up and down our communal drive manically, trying to decide which way to go. He could have gone in five different directions. How are they so good at running after people in films?
It was just a kiss. Not even a kiss. Like a peck. It’s Sean. He knows Sean. He’s got drunk with Sean. We mock him because his dad cuts his hair and he supports West Ham. Why am I so worryingly breathless? Why does the ground feel like I’m walking on pins? This was a mistake. It was all a mistake. Why does Will keep doing this? It’s like we’re magnets, the forces which draw us together keep holding us back too. And for a moment, I just stand here. How is this fair?
‘Beth?’ Yasmin suddenly appears with Joe wrapped in a blanket, a pair of slipper boots in her hand.
‘Put these on. Are you OK?’
I can’t seem to answer her. I think Will’s left again.
‘Was he angry when he left?’ I ask. ‘Did he have a bag with him?’
She studies the desperate, panicked expression on my face.
‘He looked sad, maybe. He was crying. Muttered something about being replaced?’
My breathing becomes shallow and I rub at my forehead. He’s not angry. He thinks I’ve just moved on, with Sean. That he has become some sort of disposable father figure.
‘Are you alright?’ she asks me.
‘He’s gone again…’
‘Will? You told me he went to Baku?’
I did. It was such an awful lie. I couldn’t even tell you where Baku is on a map.
‘He’s not been in Baku. He’s been in Battersea, living with his brother. We’re going through something. I can’t quite explain it. He kissed someone, I kissed someone. We’re both getting to grips with life and Joe and we just can’t seem to make our lives slot together.’
The words pour out of me, double time. Is that pity or shock in her eyes? Please, be kind. Say something.
‘I went to Baku on a shoot once. I had to pose with a goat,’ she says.
Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?: An absolutely laugh-out-loud and feel-good page-turner Page 26
