by J Wells
“Well in that case,” he says, lifting the duvet and beckoning with his free hand, “what do you say to round two?”
“The way my back feels this morning, you’ve got no chance.”
His grin widens.
“What’s so funny? Me being in pain?” I quiz.
“Must be all of those positions you manoeuvred me into.”
“I manoeuvred you into?” I blush, looking down at my feet. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s down to the decorating, not your sexual prowess.”
I did slide back under the quilt, though only because Gabriel promised me breakfast in bed. Bar milk, Jase’s fridge was empty, so this consisted of a slice of mouldy toast, soft cereal, obviously out of date, and a cup of tea, but I guess it’s the thought that counts, so I didn’t have the heart to say anything.
Gabriel had already planned our day. We visited London Zoo, stopped off at The Aviary and then took a taxi drive to Madame Tussauds, where we spent a while since there was so much to see. When we came out, Gabriel was hungry so we had a bite to eat at a French café. It wasn’t on his itinerary, but I insisted on a walk around Buckingham Palace. Our day was rounded off with a relaxing boat trip along the River Thames and a ride on the London Eye.
We stopped off at The Warwick Castle on our way back; we were only supposed to be having a couple of drinks, but by the time we left, night was drawing in. It was somewhat surreal wandering along the towpath towards Tiffany, leaning my head against Gabriel’s side as he rested his arms around my shoulders. I closed my eyes, breathing in the warm summer night air. If it were possible to hear silence, I swear at this moment I could. Light glinted from the narrowboat windows as we passed, leaving their mirrored stamp on the still, dark waters.
Gabriel boiled the kettle and made me a coffee while I nipped into the bedroom and changed into my cotton PJs. Then, like a couple of couch potatoes, we vegged out in front of the TV. Well, I did. Gabriel sat with a couple of charcoal pencils and pad of paper rested on his lap and began to sketch.
He glances up briefly, scratching the side of his head.
“So, where do you see us in, say, five years from now?”
I reach for the remote and lower the volume on the TV. Sitting up, I rest my elbow on a rather large misshapen scatter cushion. I shrug and think for a minute.
“Neither of us intends on getting married, so that’s something we both agree on.”
He nods, though there’s a strange expression on his face. He snaps his pad together, and feeding one of the pencils behind his ear he sits forward.
“If I bought you a ring, it would be nice if you wore it.”
I raise my eyes. “A ring?”
“Yeah, an eternity ring. Don’t get me wrong, nothing flash coz flash costs money, just a small symbol to show we’re for keeps.”
“Guess that’s something for me to know; you’ll just have to wait and see…”
“Is that your attempt at playing hard to get?”
If that’s what he thinks, I’ll let him, at least for now; it saves me giving him an answer.
“I wouldn’t want to live too far away from my folks,” I slip in, changing the subject. “I know Adrianna too well, and she’s going to need a babysitter.”
He smirks. “That’s the best part about being the kid’s aunt and uncle; after a couple of hours we can give the little fucker back.”
“Funny,” I laugh, though he doesn’t seem the slightest bit amused. I swallow back my laughter and my forehead falls into a disapproving frown. “That’s okay, but you can’t be giving your own kids back.”
“Kids?” he blurts out. “Who said I wanted kids?”
“I just sort of presumed that you did.”
“Well you just sort of presumed wrong, because kids and me aren’t happening.”
I lift a teaspoon from the saucer, drag the congealed skin to the side of the cup and begin stirring my cold coffee. Not quite knowing what to say without snapping, I look over towards the TV. I can sense that Gabriel feels the awkwardness between us, as he reopens his sketchpad and begins twiddling his pencil between his fingers.
To say I’m lost for words is an understatement. Having a big family is something I’ve always dreamt of, and a life without children would be unbearable.
“I’m tired,” I mutter under my breath, excusing myself.
It’s a relief to close the bedroom door on the growing animosity between us. Thankfully I’d left my phone on charge next to the bed, as I really need to talk to someone. I check the time; it’s 11.30 p.m., far too late to ring Adrianna in her condition, but I guess a text wouldn’t hurt. I don’t want to worry her unnecessarily, but I do want to make sure when she reads it that she replies: Wish I’d stayed at home! What started off as a great weekend has turned into a certifiable nightmare.
It’s Danielle who texts back, asking What’s up? Apparently, Adrianna has had a bad day and put herself to bed with a hot mug of Horlicks. I fill her in on our day out and how great Gabriel’s company was, and in the bedroom department I had no complaints whatsoever; between the sheets the guy was smoking hot.
BUT, I typed in capitals, I’ve just found out we want totally different things and believe me, that was by pure luck. You know when the time is right how much I want children. Well Gabriel doesn’t; when I mentioned kids to him it was like I’d let out some awful kind of swear word. I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want to end up in another ten-year relationship that’s going nowhere.
I sit staring at the screen of my phone, waiting for her to reply.
Probably best you don’t cause a scene. Do whatever you have to do to keep things amicable, and when you get home tomorrow, kiss him goodbye and then fuck him off. There are plenty of guys out there, and plenty of guys that want kids. So move on, you don’t need to settle.
I throw myself back on the bed and close my eyes on the world. If I didn’t have feelings for Gabriel it would be easy for me to walk away without a thought, but I do, and that makes my decision a lot harder.
I tried to sleep, tossing one way and then the other, but it was no good; it wasn’t happening. I didn’t check the time, but it must have been a couple of hours later that I heard a rather sheepish knock on the door as it creaked open.
“Am I forgiven?” I hear whispered into the darkness.
I don’t look round or utter a word, hoping he’ll assume I’m asleep. I close my eyes, and feel the mattress dip and a heavy arm fall across me.
“I can tell by the way you’re breathing that you’re not asleep,” he mutters into my neck, brushing my hair aside.
“Gabriel, go to sleep, we’ve got an early start in the morning.”
“I was kinda hoping we could carry on where we left off last night…”
I feel the back of his fingers slide their way down my thigh and then very slowly journey back up to my waist; the next moment his lips descend, warm and soft as they nibble at my ear.
“Gabriel, stop it, I can’t do this, not now, not like this.”
“Like what?” he utters, spooning himself against me.
“What you said earlier...”
“I was joking; I don’t mind babysitting Adrianna’s little boy when he arrives. I’m not anti-kids, I actually quite like them.”
“So was it just you being you, your strange kind of humour, you saying you didn’t want one of your own?”
“No, Natasha, on that count, I was being deadly serious, I don’t.”
“Knowing that, you want me to lie here and have sex with you?”
“Wouldn’t mind,” he laughs, pinching my bum.
I roll over to face him.
“I want children … and I intend on having them.”
“For God’s sake, drop it; kids with me won’t be happening.”
“Well, sex with me won’t be happening either,” I snap.
It’s a stalemate; he rolls onto his back and I roll onto mine.
“Didn’t you think to mention this before we got inv
olved? I’ve had enough shit with Josh, I don’t need any more.”
“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe there’s a good reason I don’t want kids? You’re not the only one who’s had shit in your life…”
“Go on then, tell me.”
He doesn’t reply and lies silent, then lets out a throaty cough.
“My dad,” he begins, “he left the house the same time each morning to make his way to the park. He was as blind as a bat, but his navigational skills were second to none; he counted every step, knew every cracked paving stone. He’d stand and listen at the traffic lights waiting for the traffic to stop, then knew it was safe for him to cross the road. He told me it was exactly eight hundred and forty-nine steps for him to reach his destination. The park was his favourite place, it was only a ten-minute walk from our house; thinking about it, it was the furthest he ever went.”
“But what’s that got to do with us, or having children?” I butt in.
“Maybe if you listen, you’ll find out.”
“I am listening,” I tell him, sucking in my lips.
“There was a bench opposite a children’s play area; he’d save up our crusts at the end of the loaf and any stale bread he could find, then sit on that same bench for an hour every morning without fail and feed the birds.”
I still can’t see the point, but slightly intrigued, I lie on my stomach, propping myself up with my elbows. Gabriel lies looking up at the ceiling.
“You really couldn’t have met a kinder bloke, but kids can be cruel. They’d steal his bread, link hands and circle round him, chanting that he was a dirty old man, a paedophile. Then the kids at school turned their attention on me; they knew who I was and nicknamed me the paedophile’s son. They used to wait outside the gate after school, beat me up and then follow me home; they did everything they could do to make my life a misery.”
I hold his hand in mine, and he lifts it to his lips and kisses it. Then he rests my arm on his chest, and with every breath he takes I watch it rise and fall.
“Daniel Vaughn, he was the ringleader; believe me, he was bad news, his whole family were. Thomas, his older brother, had only been home for a couple of days after doing time for drug dealing, among other things. Word went round school that he and his mates were going to teach Dad a lesson. I should have reported what I heard to the school or the police, but the beatings were getting worse. Thomas and his cronies were a lot older than me and I was too scared to speak up, so I said nothing.”
He moves my hand, bringing his knees to his side, and sits up.
“They knew the time I left for school and waited; seven of the bastards smashed down the front door.”
“So that’s why it’s fucked?”
“Yeah, I never had it fixed, didn’t want to use it after. I wasn’t there to see what went on, but when I got home from school that afternoon, Mr Pooch didn’t run to meet me as she usually did, there was no sign of her; I found my old man lying unconscious on the kitchen floor, his face covered in blood and bruises. What those thugs did changed Dad beyond recognition; only the week before he’d been in hospital for his eye operation and had built up so much hope and was so excited at the thought of getting both his sight and his life back, but his eyes rejected the corneas and the transplant failed. Then having the shit beaten out of him, it was all just too much and I don’t think he ever stepped outside again.”
“Gabriel, that’s awful, your poor dad… And what happened to Mr Pooch?”
“They must have scared her and she ran off. A neighbour brought her round that evening, said she’d found her at the side of the road; she was dragging her legs and couldn’t stand, so I assume she’d been hit by a car. When we had her checked out, her back legs were broken; the vet inserted metal pins… Dad kept Mr Pooch as a house cat, terrified what would happen if she went outside.”
I think of Gabriel’s house and the cat’s lead hanging by the door; it all makes sense now.
“At fourteen I gave up school, and instead of studying I became Dad’s full-time carer.”
I sit up behind him, pressing my fingers into his shoulder blades.
“Gabriel…”
“I don’t want your pity, I don’t want anyone’s pity. I knew they had something planned, I should have spoken up, I should have done something, but I did nothing. There was Dad sitting in a chair, having lost all quality of life, yet he was thanking me for everything I’d done. But all I could do in return was feel guilty that I’d let him down. I was a fucking coward… A couple of years later he had the heart attack, and the sad thing is it wasn’t the heart attack that killed him; he died the day those thugs broke in…”
“What do you mean?”
“In spirit, I mean. Fuchs Dystrophy is hereditary, I thought you knew that. If we did decide to have kids,” he continues, “they’d have a bloody good chance of inheriting the condition.”
“That’s only if they do inherit the condition. Look at your brother, he’s fine.”
“At the moment, but there’s still time.”
I shake my head. “I’ve Googled it a couple of times, and with a short operation the symptoms can be cured. Surely this would apply if we had a child; a cornea transplant and he or she would be fine.”
“How can you say that? If it were that simple, don’t you think I’d have had the operation myself by now? Look at my dad; not one but both his eyes rejected the transplants.”
“Going back, you mentioned cataracts, so your dad didn’t just have Fuchs, there were other complications.”
“Say what you want, Natasha, but I’m not prepared to be the dad whose kids are ashamed of him. And I don’t want any kid of mine being bullied because I’m different. Maybe now you’ll have a slight understanding as to why there’s no way I’ll be having children of my own. Don’t think it’s been an easy decision for me, it hasn’t; I always imagined how it’d feel holding my baby for the first time, sitting my little boy on my knee, and when he was a few years older I could take him to the football and county cricket matches.” He grins. “And not forgetting his first booze-up at the pub.” He shrugs. “But he could have been a little girl; now that would have been special. She would have been the apple of my eye; I don’t think I would have put my brushes down, wanting to capture each of her milestones on canvas. But the boy and girl I’m talking about are the children I’ll never be fortunate enough to meet.”
I can’t face him after hearing the break in his voice and so throw my arms over his shoulder, knotting them round his neck and leaning my cheek against his back, trying to take in what he’s just told me. I know he’s upset by the uneven breaths he takes, so I hold onto him tightly until eventually, he turns round to face me. I drop my hands to my side and he cups my face, lifts my hair and lets it fall slowly between his fingers.
The dark shadow of his face dips under my neck. I flinch, feeling his coarse hair brush the side of my face. I lean down into him and as I do, he looks up. It’s as though there’s a secondary pause between the two of us. His lips crash intimately against mine, his tongue forcing its way in. His hands are everywhere, on my neck, my breasts, my waist, my thighs. Throwing my head back into the soft pillow I cry out, blindly reaching up to wrestle with his T-shirt in an attempt to rip it over his head. Pinned down by his kisses and by emotion, I’m breathless. This isn’t making love like last night, this is pure lust. I’m burning with passion, trembling inside from head to toe; my whole body’s overcome. It’s crazy wanting someone this much. I grab the cheeks of his ass, digging the sharp edges of my nails into his skin. Backwards and forwards he thrusts himself into me, and I force him in deeper, in and out until for just that split second the world stands still.
Our breaths slowing, we lie wrapped up in each other’s arms.
“I love you,” are the words that trickle into my ear.
Dragging the quilt with me, I turn away to face the wall. What the hell have I just done? I was supposed to be breaking up with him, not sleeping with him. But I�
�m not given time to think, as he grabs my waist and rolls me back over to face him. I try to push him away, but he’s like a drug and one I’m finding exceedingly hard to resist. My mind’s turning like a merry-go-round. Gabriel’s not going to make me happy. He doesn’t want the same things that I do. We just want different things from life. My heart hurts. I’m being held tightly in his arms, heating up inside as he lavishes me with kisses. I’m so glad he can’t see my tears.
“Gabriel,” I blurt out, “the weekend’s been great.” But I guess he can hear the apprehension in my voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“Us, that’s what’s wrong, we’re wrong for each other.”
“You didn’t say that a few moments ago…”
“But that’s the problem, I can’t say no to you. Short term we’d be great together, but long term we’re going nowhere.”
He pushes himself away from me slightly.
“You’re bringing up kids again.”
I nod into his chest.
“Look, if it means that much to you, there are other avenues we can take.”
“No, it’s no use, I don’t want other avenues, I want a baby of my own, with the man I love.”
“Natasha...”
I place my hand over his lips. “I can’t do this, I can’t do us. I need a break, time to think on my own.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
His hand is back on my shoulder; I tense and pull away, turning to face the wall, but not long after I feel him turn so that his back is to me.
We lie like this for the remainder of the night, not speaking, not touching; it’s like an invisible line has been drawn between us. Unable to sleep, I click on the link Darcy sent me about the jobs; maybe this could be the break I need. I’d be at sea for a year, and far enough away from Gabriel to sort my head out.
He woke me with great news; the condom he wore last night had split. A possible pregnancy was all I needed and the last thing Gabriel wanted, so to make damn sure there’d be no accidents I decided to pick up a morning-after pill.
The journey home was beyond awkward; I think the only conversation between us was an agreement to meet up around a year from now. If we were both single at that time, neither one beholden to the other, we could get on with our lives.
