by Hayley Oakes
I missed her being next to me, and I missed her laughing at my stupid jokes. I missed holding her when I was sad or hungover or just horny. I tried to tell myself that one day I’d heal, that I’d get over it and that every day wouldn’t start with me remembering she was gone.
I was still waiting.
The door had remained closed the whole time, the only room in the house that I hadn’t trampled with my shit. The room she had spent hours in, the one we argued profusely over her decorating.
“It’s too soon,” I yelled at her as she came home with paint and artwork that I refused to go to buy with her. I’d give anything to go on those shopping trips now.
“I want to be prepared for this baby!” she’d shouted back in her feisty, Scottish accent, “it’ll be here before you know it.”
“What if she changes her mind?” I yelled, placing my hands on her shoulders, “you’ll be crushed, we need to take this one step at a time.”
She shrugged me off her shoulders, instead she poked me in the chest with a long, manicured nail. “I am doing Matt, the first step was conception and the second was the twelve week scan and the third was twenty weeks and we only have twenty left!” she raged. “Not that you would know, you’ve been to no appointments and showed zero interest and I’m doing everything!” she screamed.
“I told you, Jem,” I added defeated, “I’m doing this for you but it’s a wild arse idea and I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“This is our baby Matt, this is our chance.” She hardened her stare and my heart dropped at the way the issue had already driven such a thick wedge between us. She was rail thin and the hatred radiated off her in waves as she tried for the hundredth time to get me on board.
“It won’t be yours at all though, will it Jem? It’ll be mine and some other woman!” I raged, “it’s not our dream, this was far from my fuckin’ dream.”
She pinched her lips together and tried to push me out of her way, her tiny body was no match for my hardened gym physique. The years before I’d released my frustrations in the gym, finding a hobby where I wasn’t confronted daily with the sadness bestowed upon my wife due to her useless lady parts. I was a solid mass but moved out of her way as she huffed through to the spare room door.
The day I decided to see Ivy, I finally opened that door. After eight months of not stepping foot inside I noticed how the dust had muddied all her hard work. I sat on the white glider chair that was now greying with almost a year’s worth of neglect. I roamed my eyes around the room and saw the light grey walls and a little lamb freeze that she had thrown up all by herself. The white changing table and white crib all constructed and ready. She had so much faith in Penelope, so much faith that she would deliver and that a little life would live in this room and I hadn’t helped one bit.
As I glanced around I knew that Penelope tried to fill this room, she asked me after Jemma’s death what my plans were and how we would go on and I ignored her as long as I could. Penelope was true to her word but she still expected her twenty grand and I didn’t want anything to do with their weird agreement, not without Jemma.
Sitting in the empty nursery, looking at all Jemma’s hard work and remembering how I berated her for it made me feel shame, pure shame. It was one thing to shout and scream at my wife and let all my anger and hurt spill out as venom to burn her but it was another to deny the one thing that she had always wanted, our child.
Had Jemma not died I would have loved that little person, I would have loved her with everything and she would have fixed us, God knows we needed it. We needed her and she just came that little bit too late.
Shame made me contact Penelope but love for my wife would make me be a good dad to Ivy despite the fact that her mother is a stranger and that she’ll never get the chance to know how amazing her intended mother really was.
Words said in anger are so hard to unsay, I just hoped that wherever Jemma was that she trusted the years of love I gave her rather than the final months of hurt.
Chapter 13 - Seven Months Old
Penny
SO MATT BECAME A regular Sunday afternoon visitor to my tiny flat. That first day in the park we’d walked round, made awkward small talk whilst he held Ivy and finally pushed her on the swings. He seemed so sensible and settled compared to me, he slipped into the conversation that he was thirty-six and I daren’t even say I was only twenty-five. It was bad enough that I felt so unworthy in so many other ways but lacking age and experience was another straw to add to breaking the camel’s back.
Matt told me about his job, his life seemed to revolve around the gym and work and not much else. We discussed a few TV programmes he watched but I didn’t have Sky or Virgin and so I could only really comment on the reality TV. After a cold, blustery hour I suggested we have a coffee at the cafe in the park and he agreed.
We sat facing each other, me giving Ivy crumbs of the cake he’d bought and both of us sipping our lattes in deathly silence. It was horrendous and when he asked if he could see her the next week my stomach dropped, I couldn’t face another awkward encounter but didn’t really want him having her alone until I knew him better. So I invited him to my flat.
“I can get some jobs done whilst you spend time with her,” I said as casually as I could, strapping her into the carrier. He already knew where I lived so I didn’t see the harm. He nodded.
“Thanks Penelope,” he added graciously.
“Penny,” I told him, swallowing hard and trying my best at a friendly smile.
“Penny,” he nodded and then Ivy and I turned and walked away.
The week after he turned up at the flat at the agreed time of 1pm. He was wrapped in his expensive blue puffa coat and he gave me another awkward nod. Ivy was happy enough to see him, although it was only the second time they had officially met. I sat her in her jumparoo, a Christmas gift from Gail and Jim, he sat opposite her on the sofa, making faces as soon as he sat down. She laughed and he was content with that.
“Drink?” I asked.
“Um, coffee?” came his reply in a question.
“Sure, milk? Sugar?”
“Just milk,” he rasped out and I cringed, how long was he planning to stay? I made the coffee, myself a tea and placed it on the small side table by the sofa within his reach but not Ivy’s.
“Thanks,” he uttered.
“I’m going to do some washing,” I told him, “so I’ll just stay out of your way and you call me if you need me.”
“Right,” he nodded. I walked to our small shared bedroom and started to grab at some of the things in the wicker linen basket when I heard him call.
“Erm Penny?”
I dashed back through the doorway and saw that he had lifted her out of the jumparoo and was now covered in white baby sick. “Oh no,” I hopped to where he sat, relieved him of Ivy and grimaced at his ruined sweater. It was cream and looked expensive and now it smelled bad and had a huge blotch of milk sick down the front.
“Oh shit Matt, I’m sorry,” I told him earnestly, I felt dreadful. “I should have said she’d just eaten,”
“Oh no,” he looked down at the sick and screwed his face up at the smell or the consistency, I wasn’t sure. “It’s no one’s fault, I shouldn’t have roughed her up. I um ... I better take it off.”
“Right, okay, I have nothing that will fit you,” I added quickly but I can run it through the wash.
“I’ve got a t-shirt on,” he shrugged, standing to pull the sweater off carefully so the sick didn’t get on him. However as he manoeuvred a little smeared on his face. “Oh shit,” he said and I held back a giggle with a small smirk.
He saw my face and his mouth turned up at the side, “did I get it on my face?”
“Yup,” I laughed lightly and ducked holding Ivy to pass him a packet of wipes. Just as I did she was sick again and it blasted into the carpet. “Oh shit!” I said again, I threw the wipes at him and he rolled his sweater into a ball and threw it towards the lino’d kitchen floor. He wi
ped his cheek and ducked to the old fashioned patterned carpet that came with the flat.
“I’ve got it,” he said, using wipes to scrub the carpet and I took Ivy into the kitchen to get her some water.
“You can leave it,” I shouted behind me. “I’ll do it.”
“It’s fine,” he shouted back in his deep, clipped voice. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah,” I stood in the doorway, giving her water in a sippy cup as he bent over the shitty carpet and scrubbed. It seemed surreal and when he was done he sat back on his haunches.
“How about we take a walk?” he sighed, “we seem to be failing cooped up inside.”
“Okay,” I nodded, passing Ivy and her sippy cup back to him. “Pass me your jumper and I’ll shove it in the washer.”
“It’s fine,” he shook his head.
“I want to,” I nodded and he gave me a grateful smile.
I went back to the kitchen, grabbed the sweater and rubbed it under the faucet with some fairy liquid and then checked the washing instructions, “hand wash only!” I shouted through to him.
“Oh,” he stood in the doorway, a white t-shirt stretched across his wide chest. He looked huge holding little Ivy, who rested her head on his impressive bulky chest as she held her sippy cup and sucked it. Not really drinking. “My mum does my washing,” he shrugged, “I’ve not been great since ....”
My heart ached a little for him; Jemma was a lovely woman and I had no doubt this man missed her like crazy. “Well I can hand wash,” I told him with a softened stare and he gave me a tight smile as he held Ivy in front of him and bobbed her like she loved.
“You don’t need to,” he objected.
“I’ll do it,” I shrugged, “you cleaned my floor, it’s fine.”
“You keep a nice place,” he added, watching as I filled the sink bowl and grabbed my washing powder from underneath the sink. “My place is a disaster.”
I turned and smiled, “it’s small, so I need to keep it neat or we’d be trapped inside.”
He made a quick laugh sound but it didn’t sound genuine, “our house was always too big for the two of us and Jemma would be so mad at how I’ve managed to fill it with crap.”
“I’m sure she’d understand, anyone would understand, you’ve just been through hell.” He didn’t answer just kept his head down, still bouncing Ivy lightly. I decided the topic was too raw and continued to wash the sweater.
I scrubbed and dunked, something I had learnt from my time in foster care. I was self-sufficient food wise at five but learning to wash came later. One foster family only used the washing machine at weekends and it had to be after ten pm and before six am to save money, she had a three wear rule despite spillages. As if school wasn’t hard enough, so I learned to hand wash.
“I suppose I need to learn some skills but my mum is so handy,” he said to the room as Ivy giggled in his arms.
“Perfection,” I agreed and it did sound like something I’d always imagined a mum would be like. I didn’t think Matt knew much about me from what I gathered, hence I treaded carefully as I didn’t want to give away more than I wanted to share.
“So have you eaten lunch? My treat?” he offered, maybe being in my flat was as uncomfortable for him as the awkwardness wandering outside for me.
“I hardly get chance to eat these days,” I laughed, “never mind eat out anywhere.” I’d stopped breastfeeding a few weeks before so that I could work and she could be fed by the childminder without me expressing but she was still difficult sometimes in public.
“Well it’ll be a treat for all of us then,” he sighed, “I’m not sure when I last ate out either.” I was hard-hearted at times as I’d dealt with a lot but empathy was brimming in me for Matt, I hated the situation he had forced me into at the time but when I saw how crushed he was and having known Jemma I could tell he was a decent guy just trying to deal with a bad situation.
I soaked, squeezed and hung up his sweater on a radiator to dry. I left the heat on in the flat, even though that would usually be a no no as I couldn’t afford to heat the place when I wasn’t inside it, but I knew he needed the sweater back. He didn’t say a word, obviously those things were never an issue for him. I figured we wouldn’t be too long and so it would be fine.
“Where’s your pushchair?” he asked as he attempted to get a wriggling Ivy into her snowsuit. It was getting a little snug and harder to squeeze her chubby frame into, now she’d started eating solids she was filling out even more. I couldn’t decide if to splurge on a new one or just get a coat as the winter was almost over.
“Oh,” I bit my bottom lip, “I just have the carrier,” I swatted the air, “buggies are just hard work on the bus and being on the second floor it’d be a pain to lug up and down.”
“Right,” he nodded, “I get it.” I doubted he did get it, I doubted he knew how expensive pushchairs were. I doubt he had any idea how much I didn’t want to buy second hand and have my daughter embarrassed of everything she owned just as I was. I hadn’t even had more than a handful of pairs of underwear until I lived with Gary and Leon. I smiled as I remembered how they were disgusted that besides my school uniform I had one dress and two other outfits when I’d arrived. I didn’t want that for Ivy.
Ivy was in her suit, “wow she’s growing,” he observed and I nodded. I grabbed my huge parka and swung it around myself. My body was very different to how it had been before I had her. I didn’t even feel like I was showing until the last two months but she had changed my stomach, breasts and hips. Being back at work helped but as I zipped the parka up, it definitely fitted more snugly around my breasts.
He reached for his own coat, passing me Ivy and I grabbed the carrier, securing her in place. We then set off to find somewhere nearby to eat. My flat was located within an old town house and on a long, busy London street that gave way to quite a few places.
“We driving?” he asked, nodding to his car.
“Do you have a car seat?” I pursed my lips with a knowing smile.
“Nope,” he laughed to himself, “idiot!”
“There are loads of places up here.” I started walking and he dropped in step next to me. Ivy laid her sweet head back on my chest, he glanced down at her and touched her hand. He was taller than me and so we probably looked strange next to each other, the short, blonde girl with no makeup next to this gorgeous, buff man who could have any girl he wanted. Jemma was so beautiful, she was dark and exotic looking and always looked impeccable in whatever she wore. Her hair coiffed and makeup always applied to perfection. No wonder she’d snagged Matt.
He smiled at me as I regarded him for a second and I smiled back, we were an odd pair, Ivy’s parents, but I was starting to think he was an okay guy. He seemed caring and gentle with her and he didn’t make me feel threatened in any way since our first meeting so I tried to relax.
We found a cafe called Lou’s, I’d been there a handful of times in the years that I‘d lived in my flat. It was surprisingly empty for early afternoon on a Sunday, perhaps it had been full for brunch. We read the menus and Matt ordered at the counter, paying despite me offering him some money.
“So is the money enough to cover childcare?” he asked, looking at me sheepishly, recalling our initial discussion about why I needed his money.
I shrugged, “it helps.”
“Are you short?” he asked, his face became serious and he leaned back in his chair, his brows furrowed. “Where do you work again?”
He said again but I had never mentioned where I worked and this gave me more evidence to support the theory that Jemma had told him nothing about me. “I’m a dance teacher,” I said with a smile as I unzipped a now sleeping Ivy and laid her in the crook of my arm.
“Right,” he bobbed his head. “So is that full time? I mean the hours are ...”
He left it open for me to fill in the blanks, “I work about twenty hours a week teaching dance and I did used to work about ten teaching yoga but I’ve had to cut that down becaus
e the night classes are hard to cover, my boss helps and the childminder will help but she charges more at night.”
“What nights do you do?” he asked just as the drinks arrived at the table.
I waited until the cans of diet coke were placed in front of us to answer, “Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday now yoga, and then most afternoons and all day Saturday dancing.”
“Maybe ...” he watched me for a reaction, “maybe I could sit for you those nights?”
I knitted my brows together and opened my can of diet coke, “erm....” I started.
“Look no pressure but ...” he sloped his head to the side and looked a little uncomfortable, “besides the gym I need ways to keep busy and socialising with friends is the last thing I feel like doing these days.”
“Well, you’ve never been alone with her.” I looked down at her peaceful, sleeping face.
“Maybe when you feel better about things?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I nodded and then toasties were placed in front of us.
“My, she’s a beauty,” the older lady said as she placed the plates down, “such a sweetheart, looks just like daddy.”
“I know,” I smiled at the lady and looked down at Ivy again, she was so much like Matt and nothing like me. The feeling of inadequacy crept over me again and the guilt that I was an imposter in this little girl’s life.
“I don’t know,” Matt said as the woman bent to trace Ivy’s cheek with her finger, “I see her mum sometimes.”
“Well she’s a natural beauty too,” the woman swatted my arm lightly and gave me a wink, “lucky little girl.”
She walked away and I looked at Ivy again, “I wish I could see some of me.” I admitted to him and he took a bite of his toastie chewing for a few moments.
“I can see you Penny,” he gave me a sad smile, “I can tell she’s not just mine.” I wondered if he said it to make me feel better or to reassure me that he wasn’t here to swoop in and take control, either way it made me feel a little easier.
