“You make calling him sound so simple, let alone telling him,” Natalie complained miserably. “Like I can ring his number out of the blue and say, ‘Hi, Jack, remember me? No? Oh well, the thing is I’ve recently had your baby!’”
“It is simple,” Alice told her. “It might be hard to do, but it is simple. He is Freddie’s father. He has a right to know, just as Freddie has the right to know his father. You haven’t even been able to tell him up to now—he vanished after that weekend, and the way he left things was sort of up in the air—but now you actually have his numbers.”
“I have someone’s numbers.” Natalie was insistent. “We don’t conclusively know if is the same half-Venetian Jack Newhouse.”
“Natalie, don’t stick your head in the sand!” Alice exclaimed. “It has to be the same Jack. And you have to call him. Think of this as a sign from above if you like, I know you like those.”
“If it is him, then it’s not a sign,” Natalie said. “It’s proof. Proof that I got myself impregnated by a sleazy liar.”
“Nobody’s disputing that he behaved badly—but don’t you think that it’s time to do the grown-up thing?” Alice sighed. “You know, the kind of thing a parent does?”
Natalie thought about the last time she had seen Jack. He had been sitting in the back of a water taxi where he’d dropped her off at Marco Polo airport. White collarless shirt unbuttoned at the throat revealing his warm, lightly tanned and, if Natalie remembered rightly, slightly salty-tasting skin.
“I’ll call you,” he had said. Usually Natalie prided herself on knowing when a man meant what he said. At the time she was sure he really did mean to call her; she’d been so idiotically happy at the thought of seeing him again and perhaps even—who knew? This might be the one romance that didn’t drift apart and might actually turn into something. When he disappeared without a trace she felt like a fool, but worse than that, it hurt her. It hurt her in the place where her heart was. She supposed she’d had this ridiculously romantic idea all along that the man she finally trusted, the man she finally fell for would be worthy of that honor, or at the very least want it.
She had been totally wrong. She had to deal with that and move on.
So as soon as Natalie knew she was pregnant and that the baby had to be his because nobody she’d met since had seemed worth the effort of being with, she never once thought about trying to contact him. She put the prospect of having any kind of real relationship with him in the past, gone and irretrievable even if his baby was slap bang in the very middle of the present, and would be for every single moment of every day for pretty much the rest of her life. What Alice didn’t seem to understand was that almost the only way Natalie could deal with Jack Newhouse and all the associated issues he had left her with was if he were far, far away, both in reality and metaphorically. If he was here it would be much, much harder to pretend that she didn’t still want him, or at least want that version of him that had taken her to Venice.
But Alice was right, Natalie thought, as she stroked the cheek of her son, which sloped down at exactly the same angle as his father’s—she was a parent now. Parents didn’t put themselves first. Parents didn’t do what was easy. They did what was best. And it wasn’t best to deliberately keep a child from his father without a really good reason, and Natalie didn’t think that heartbreak, jealousy, and general bitterness counted.
“You’re right,” she told Alice at last. “I know you’re right.”
“I knew you’d see sense,” Alice said, her voice warming again. “So, are you going to call him?”
Natalie sighed. “I will,” she said. “I suppose I have to.” She took a pen and pad out of her bedside drawer and wrote down the two phone numbers that Alice gave her.
“Anything going on in the office that I should know about?” Natalie asked, hoping that some complicated distraction might mean that Alice needed her help.
“Not really,” Alice said. “Selfridges have reordered. The new Web manager is brilliant. That warehouse and supply company she found are doing really well. I’ll be messengering samples of the winter line for you to okay later on today. Everything is fine with the business, Natalie. All you need to worry about is yourself and Freddie.”
“If only,” Natalie said to herself as she hung up the phone, “that was true.”
After putting Freddie in his cot she made her way down to the kitchen, hoping to find some more cake. Instead, she found Tiffany in Anthony’s arms, crying her heart out. She didn’t even notice Natalie come in.
Natalie looked inquiringly at Gary, who was pouring boiling water into a teapot that she had forgotten she even had. He pressed his lips together for a thoughtful moment before nodding in the direction of the garden. Natalie followed him outside.
“Sorry,” he said, spreading his hands out, palms up. “She turned up all upset and I didn’t think you’d mind if she had five minutes with Anthony. Apparently she’s had an awful morning.”
Natalie was surprised by his apology.
“I don’t mind,” she assured him. “Not at all—but what’s wrong?”
It was terrible to admit it, but she felt immensely relieved that some other drama had bowled its way into her day, making it at least temporarily impossible for her to call either of the numbers that Alice had given her.
“Well, from what I can gather, her mom and dad came round to the flat this morning, she was just on her way out to meet you, she said.” Gary raised an eyebrow slightly as if he still couldn’t work out what a thirty-six-year-old woman was doing hanging around with a sixteen-year-old kid, which was fair enough, Natalie thought, as she hardly knew herself. “Well, she let them in, of course; she misses them, especially her mom. After all, she’s only a child herself really, for all the front she puts on. They said they wanted to talk about the baby. Tiff hoped they’d come round to make peace. She built her hopes up. But it turns out they just wanted to get a look at Jordan. Apparently her dad said”—Gary paused, a look of disgust on his face—“that if she was light-skinned enough to pass for white, Tiffany could come back and they’d say no more about it.”
“Oh God, that’s awful!” Natalie exclaimed, hugging her arms around her as a sudden chill swept up the lawn. “Poor Tiffany.”
“The poor kid had to throw them out herself, and her dad’s a big bloke, determined, too. In the end a neighbor gave her a hand. She came straight round here with the baby.” Gary took a step closer to her, lowering his voice even though they were in the garden. “You don’t mind, do you? I expect it’s the last thing you need at the moment.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Natalie said. She glanced through the French doors to where she could see Anthony hugging his girlfriend, gently kissing her hair and whispering some consolation. “She’s very strong to stand up for herself and Anthony against that. Very strong. I mean, I complain about my mom, God knows, but next to Tiffany’s parents she’d be up for Mother of the Year. I don’t know if I would be able to be as strong as Tiffany.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Gary said. “You seem pretty strong to me, managing here all on your own.”
Natalie glanced at his face, taken aback by the first unbusiness-like thing he had ever said to her. Her scrutiny made Gary look uncomfortable again.
“I don’t do badly for a little woman, do I?” she said with a touch of irony.
“I’m just saying, when my daughter was born there were two of us, more than two really, we had grandparents, aunts, uncles. But still me and Haley struggled. For about six months we felt like we were walking zombies, I don’t know how we did it. So the fact that you are doing it all on your own more or less, your husband away and not really any family about—well, I think that is quite impressive.”
For a moment Natalie was stunned into silence by the compliment. She hadn’t expected Gary Fisher to be actively thinking about her and what kind of person she was. And people were often irritated, intimidated, annoyed, or exasperated by her, but very rarely impressed.
It made a nice change, and she was so pleasantly surprised that she had to remind herself not to be disappointed that her fake husband was already married, because this Gary was real Gary, not fantasy Gary. They were two entirely different men, especially considering one of them was pretend.
Natalie stopped that train of thought before she drove herself completely insane.
“So it got better at six months, did it?” she asked him cheerfully, because he looked embarrassed that he had said anything at all. “What about the terrible twos and threes? You’ll have to sit down and go through every year with me up until—how old is your little girl now?”
“Eight,” Gary said, breaking eye contact with her.
“Eight! You’re an expert,” Natalie said warmly. “Will you throw in some parenting lessons with the work you’re doing for me?”
“I’m not an expert,” Gary said, his smile closing down. “I don’t see her now.” His head dropped and Natalie wondered if she should give him a hug or something as he looked so sad, but somehow she thought he wasn’t the kind of man to appreciate an unsolicited hug from customers.
“Anyway, I’d better get on,” he said. He looked back into the kitchen where Tiffany was now sitting at the table, wiping one eye and then the other with the sleeves of her top pulled down over her knuckles.
“Thanks,” he said to Natalie, who was not quite sure what he was thanking her for, and then he headed back inside. She stayed outside for a moment longer, watching him exchange a few words with Anthony. His apprentice placed one hand momentarily on Tiffany’s shoulder before he followed Gary upstairs.
The real Gary wasn’t as normal and as average as she had first thought, Natalie realized as she headed back inside to see Tiffany. She couldn’t really figure him out, which made him suddenly quite interesting to her. She had assumed that he was more or less two-dimensional, the kind of person you can read in an instant, but there was something else there, too. Hidden depths, as her mother would say, but hiding what?
“Okay?” she said to Tiffany as she walked in. She shivered in reaction to the heat of the kitchen after the chill of outdoors. “Fancy some tea? Gary’s made a pot. I think he must have time-traveled here from 1948. Who makes pots of tea anymore?”
“My mom does,” Tiffany said, propping her chin on the heels of her hands. “She makes a pot of tea and she sticks this hideous tea cozy on it and does up a tray with biscuits. Not nice ones, but those horrible pink ones that taste like cardboard. My mom loves those. She thinks she’s so”—Tiffany searched for the right word—“decent, but how can she be when she and Dad won’t have anything to do with me or Jordan because Anthony’s black?” She looked up at Natalie and shrugged. “I don’t get it,” she added weakly.
Natalie sat down and poured out two mugs of dark brown tea; the pungent scent hovered in the steam for a moment.
“We’re not supposed to ‘get’ our parents,” she said eventually. “I have a theory that it’s to aid the evolution of man. Because if we got our parents and wanted to live the same way as they have lived and think and feel the way they do, then the world would never change or move on. It’s a good thing you don’t get your mom and dad, trust me. By not getting them, you’ve given yourself and Jordan a head start at growing up.”
Tiffany’s mouth curled into a small smile.
“Are you saying I’m not grown up?” she challenged Natalie lightly.
Natalie looked unapologetic. “Tiff, I’m not grown up and I’m thirty years old…”
Tiffany raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, thirty-six years old,” Natalie went on. “I have a son, an actual human life depending on me alone to exist, but I still feel the same inside as I did when I was your age. I have another theory…”
“Another one, seriously?” Tiff teased. “You don’t look like the theory type.”
“Oh, and what type do I look like then?” Natalie asked her, briefly diverted.
“The crazy type,” Tiff said, with another twist of a smile.
“Well, I am that type,” Natalie was forced to concede. “But I do have a philosophical side, too. And this theory is a good one. I think we all keep growing up until we die. I don’t think there’s ever a time when suddenly you feel totally confident and in charge and know exactly what to do in all situations. I think we will always be frightened and stressed and unsure and confused pretty much forever.”
“Oh God,” Tiff said flatly, dropping her forehead onto the tabletop with a light bump. “Thanks for that.”
Natalie smiled.
“It’s a shame you missed Baby Music,” she said after a while.
“It was hysterical. It’s amazing what normal, sane adults will do because it’s allegedly good for their kids.”
“Yeah, well,” Tiffany said. “I don’t know about the baby group anymore. I mean, it’s not really me, is it?”
“What?” Natalie exclaimed. “What do you mean, it’s not you? If it’s me it’s you, let me tell you, because none of that stuff is really me—especially not Baby Music.”
“No, it’s different,” Tiffany said. “I’m a kid living in a one-bedroom public housing flat. Look at your home—look at Meg’s! What about when it’s my turn to have the baby group? We haven’t even got a sofa. We sit on a beanbag. We have to take turns.”
“No one cares about that stuff,” Natalie tried to reassure her.
“I do, I care,” Tiffany told her. “It’s embarrassing. You’re all proper grown-ups with proper lives, husbands, and mortgages and all that shi—stuff.”
“Yes, well, that might be true, but we are all moms with babies—that’s all we need to have in common,” Natalie persisted. “And anyway, without your mom around, you need the company of old women. It will remind you that being older isn’t always wiser.”
“Maybe,” Tiffany replied with a small smile.
The pair sat in companionable silence as Natalie poured out two more cups of tea from her seldom-seen teapot.
“What about your mom, where’s she?” Tiffany asked her suddenly. “I thought most grannies except Jordan’s couldn’t wait to come and fuss round their grandchild. Or your husband’s parents—don’t they ever come over?”
Natalie nipped sharply at her bottom lip for a moment before saying, “Oh well, you know—in-laws. I was never going to be good enough for their little boy.” She took a large slurp of her tea and glanced around the kitchen. “Fancy a sandwich?”
“What about your mom, then?” Tiff asked, shaking her head to decline the offer of a snack.
“Oh, my mom,” Natalie said, rolling her eyes and preparing to rant. “My mom is…” And then she stopped herself. She had been about to tell Tiffany that her mom was an absolutely terrible mother, not to mention a really bad human being generally, which was what she normally told people. But then she realized that next to Tiffany’s parents, her mom, with her pathological sunbathing obsession, together with her drinking sangria in the morning compulsion, smoking while eating habit, and insistence on conducting affairs with highly unsuitable men who only wanted her for her nonexistent money, wasn’t quite as bad. Even with the resentment that Natalie held steadfastly against her for constantly moving her from town to town during her childhood and for never being the kind of sensible, sexless mother that the other kids had, she still didn’t come off as badly as a woman who was racist toward her own grandchild.
“My mom lives in Spain and I haven’t seen her in about two years or spoken to her for months and she doesn’t even know I was pregnant, let alone that I’ve had a baby.” The truth just slipped out of Natalie’s mouth unbidden and flopped onto the table like a caught fish gasping for air.
“What!” Tiffany exclaimed. “You haven’t told her you were pregnant? But why not? I know you think no one ever grows up, but you’re not a sixteen-year-old kid, Natalie—you’re married! Why wouldn’t you tell your mom about Freddie?”
Natalie considered the prospect of telling the truth about her marital status and fo
r a second time decided against it; the truth in general always seemed to cause such a fuss.
“She never liked Gary…” she began.
“Gary?” Tiffany interrupted her. “Your husband is named Gary too?”
“Yeah,” Natalie said quickly. “Common name, isn’t it?” Tiffany said nothing but Natalie thought she saw an indefinable look cross her face.
“And she made it very difficult for us to get together. She didn’t come to the wedding or anything and so…well, we drifted apart,” Natalie said, feeling a sudden compulsion to eat a large amount of cake and heading to the bread bin where she had stored her latest bar of ginger cake intended for the next baby group meeting. She cut a large slice and didn’t bother to put it on a plate. She sat back down and took two big bites, cupping her free hand under her chin as she munched.
“You should tell your mom,” Tiffany said simply. “You should give her a chance to do the right thing.”
Natalie looked into Tiffany’s pale blue eyes regarding her so seriously and thoughtfully, and felt one hundred percent stupid.
How could it be that this slip of a girl behaved with more intelligence and integrity than she did? Why did she persist in telling half-truths and spinning fantasies to the people who were becoming the first real friends she had ever made since somehow getting Alice to like her? It was as if she had an instinctive impulse to complicate her life unnecessarily, and to store up trouble in case things got too easy and relaxing.
Tiffany was right; her theory that nobody ever grows up was a rubbish one. If Natalie was absolutely honest she was the only person she knew, excepting some babies, who hadn’t achieved emotional adulthood yet.
Mommy By Mistake Page 8
