Coming Around Again

by Billy London

  “It’s in my proposal. Denmark for the week. Stay with Grandma and Grandpa. Call Muma in the evening…” They’d planned to do that together. And he was doing it on his own? Or with some young fancy thing? Her stomach rolled in protest.

  “Don’t make that face,” he ordered. “I’ll bring them back.”

  She shook her head. “What did I do to you? Didn’t I love you enough? Didn’t I give you enough of myself? Is that why you want to hurt me? You want to keep hurting me?”

  His teasing countenance vanished, a frown of concern replacing it. “That’s not how it is. It’s not about getting at you. You know damn well how much I’ve been wanting to take the boys home with me.”

  “Who else is going?” she demanded, her heart constricting in fear—fear he was about to confirm her worst nightmare.

  “Just me and the boys.” He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. “No one else, I swear.”

  She leapt to her feet. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Stella…”

  “Have your holiday,” she suggested, backing away from him. “Enjoy it. But that’s the last thing you have on your terms. If anyone’s going for full residence, it’s me.” She stormed to the conference room where her barrister was writing something out. “I’ve changed my mind. Full residence in my favour.”

  Both women’s mouths fell open. Closing the door, Stella went and sat on the other side of the waiting room. Dread ripped her insides to shreds. The war had been over, but Stella wanted to reanimate her soldiers and carry on. No more giving in.

  ***

  Eighteen months married

  Stella waddled into the kitchen, to Niels’ sigh of disapproval. “I told you to stay in bed,” he said impatiently.

  “I can’t lie down any more,” she murmured, handing over a hot water bottle. “I ache all over.”

  “Back?”

  “Everywhere.”

  He gazed at her in concern. “You shouldn’t have come with me. The flight didn’t agree with you. You’ve been off since we came back.”

  Stella simply put her arms around her husband and squeezed. “Of course I should have.”

  “You should have listened to me.”

  “Don’t I always?” she teased.

  He curled a hand around her neck and pressed a kiss to her hair: “No. I couldn’t have dealt with it without you.”

  Those were the first words he’d used in reference to his dear grandmother’s funeral. The moment Alwine Strøm called Niels and told him the old woman had passed peacefully in her sleep, Stella booked them both on the first flight to Copenhagen. Whatever Alwine needed, Stella did her best to help. Niels did everything else. He only wavered in his strength during his grandmother’s favourite hymn. Once he regained his composure, he became a master of ceremonies—dealing with the mourners, food, drinks, and ensuring his own mother was supported. At twenty six weeks pregnant, Stella’s doctor warned her flying was not the smartest thing to do. And yet, how could she possibly have left the Strøm family to deal with their loss without her? When she knew her husband needed her? If not to talk, but to be there for him to hold her, sometimes so tightly it hurt.

  They’d only returned from Denmark last night and his silence stopped frustrating her a long time ago. Niels rarely talked about his feelings. It wasn’t his thing. He never had to open his mouth to say if he was upset, or angry. He made it pretty obvious, but to have a round table discussion about his emotions? Not for the Dane.

  “Yes, you would have.”

  He sighed heavily. “It’s a shame she won’t get to meet your masters.”

  “Is that their new name?” she laughed, patting her tummy, full with two male children who did control her every moment. “She would have told them who’s in charge.” For a moment they quieted, thinking of the fearsome and blunt wonder that was Niels’ grandmother. Stella spent most of her time between a devastated Alwine, her mother-in-law, and a strangely unemotional Niels. The world seemed a little duller, less fun without the old woman’s cackle and blunt, inappropriate sayings.

  Stella’s back gave another twinge and she groaned. “It’s like they’re punching me.”

  He filled the hot water bottle and pushed her out of the kitchen with a firm hand. “They clearly want you to do as you’re told.”

  “Can you rub my belly for me?” she begged. “Then I can stick the bottle at my back?”

  “If you had just stayed in bed, you’d get the same.” He led her up the stairs and eased her back into bed. With the hot water bottle at her back, Niels rubbed her overly pregnant belly with his large, rough palms. The two babies inside her wriggled with joy at the contact. She glanced up at her husband’s face and saw such contentment, it brought a lump to her throat.

  “Don’t,” he warned her, not taking his eyes from where one baby elbowed his palm.

  “Don’t what?” she asked, throat thick with tears.

  “Don’t make that funny noise. The one you always make when you’re about to cry.”

  “I’m not crying,” she warbled.

  Niels leaned down and cradled her belly between two huge palms. With a sigh he touched his mouth lingeringly to her belly and murmured, “You’ve never made me happier. Or prouder.”

  “See, now I’m crying.”

  He laughed and looked up at her. “I love you. So much.”

  “I don’t love you anymore! Making your poor, pregnant wife cry!”

  He sat up, only to kiss the tears from each eyelid. “Yes, you do. Stay here and I’ll bring you some rooibos tea. I mean it this time, don’t you dare move.”

  She watched him leave and then continued the slow circles over her belly. “Do you see how bossy your father is? See how he orders me about? You two have to defend me. This is my castle, and you two are my knights. You get me?”

  She received a volley of feet and hands in agreement. Best to get in there before Niels did. After all, three out of their four member family had penises. Sometimes that trumped a Queen in her own home.

  ***

  The judge shifted the papers to one side and looked directly at Niels. “Mr. Strøm, I am granting your holiday application, as long as you provide an undertaking to your wife that you will return the children to her care. That is a solemn promise to the court. If you break it, I am sure your wife would be minded to pursue not only child abduction proceedings, but contempt of court. Meaning a fine and or imprisonment. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied solemnly.

  Stella felt her heart sink, and then the judge looked at her. “Mrs. Strøm, I am only giving the prohibited steps order, because Mr. Strøm admits that his intention always was to return to Denmark. Your concerns are therefore reasonable. The order I am granting will permit Mr. Strøm to remove the children from the UK for the duration of the holiday only. No more, no less. Within the order, you have temporary residence of both children and their home is considered as being in this country. Nowhere else. Clear?”

  She nodded. His beady stare lasered into her over rimless glasses. “But do not use this as an excuse to interfere in your husband’s relationship with his children. Listen to me, from one member of a minority to another. I am a man of colour. Do not underestimate how important it is for male children of diverse backgrounds to have their fathers in their lives. It’s important for all children. But for those of colour, I cannot state enough how much they will need his guidance. You want them to succeed, don’t you? To be balanced individuals. Good citizens. Yes?”

  Stella nodded, unable to vocalise her feelings.

  “Then facilitate their relationship with their father. He may well have displeased you, but your children exist. It’s too late to put your disappointments with him on them.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “I can see it heading that way, from the tone of your position statement.” The judge sighed, folding his arms in front of him. “Have you attending the parenting class?”

  Stella’s barrister intervened on he
r behalf. “My client runs a business, as well as looking full-time after the children. She has scheduled a class for next month.”

  “I’d try an earlier one,” the judge suggested. “Work together. Not against one another. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” both Stella and Niels echoed.

  “Good, list this for the first available date after…when will you be back from your holiday, Mr Strøm?”

  “Second week in April. Just over the Easter break.”

  “And when is the parenting class for you, Mrs. Strøm?”

  “First week in April,” she admitted, feeling brutalised.

  “Third week in April. See if things have improved since then. Remember, you both made these children together. That means you are stuck with each other. Your first concern should be your children and not your pride,” he glanced at Stella, “and not to score points,” his gaze turned to Niels. “That will be all.”

  Both barristers stood up as the judge left the courtroom. Stella remained seated in shock. Just like that. Someone who didn’t know her or her children just kicked her life sideways. In agreement with Niels.

  Stella’s barrister shook her shoulder. “This is good. You’re the parent with temporary residence. One step closer to permanent residence.”

  “But he got what he wanted…”

  “I told you this. Judges will rarely say no to a holiday. It’s barely a week and it’s a Hague Convention country. So if he decided to stay, then you’d get the children back. I doubt he’d be that silly, though.”

  Niels came toward her and Stella scrambled to her feet. “Go away,” she snapped.

  “Can’t you talk to me?” he demanded, eyes suddenly furious. “Didn’t you listen to what the judge said? We’re stuck with each other because of the twins. We can have a civilised conversation.”

  She picked up her bag and said to her barrister, “Just send me the order when you have it. I want the school to know.”

  Her barrister opened her mouth to speak, but Stella already moved to the exit. Niels followed her.

  “Stella.” His voice demanded obedience and Stella had no interest in playing sub.

  “Leave me alone,” she repeated. “You’ve got what you want. Now fuck off.” Hurrying out of the High Court, Stella gulped in stark, cold air, filled with petrol fumes from buses, cars, taxis, and the surrounding buildings. Her phone started ringing, and instead of answering it, she headed for the nearest café and ordered an espresso. As soon as the barista set the cup on her table, Niels sat down next to her.

  “For God’s sake. You’re around me more now than when you married me,” she fumed. “What? What more do you want? A kidney? Bone marrow?”

  He sighed. “My God, woman. The drama. Isn’t it enough?”

  She tapped the side of her cup with a manicured fingernail. “Why else are you sitting here? To gloat? Or because you want something else from me?”

  “I want you to talk to me about our sons without thinking I am trying my best to hurt you. Don’t you understand how much I miss them?”

  Tapping the side of the china seemed the only thing she could do with her hands. Slapping him silly would do her no good. “Who asked you to do any of this? Don’t, I’m not having the same argument with you again. I can’t.” She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “They’re staying with me. Enjoy your holiday.”

  He gently cupped her face and leaned in, touching his lips to her temple. “Talk to me. They’ll always be our kids. So talk to me. Please. What is it good for?”

  “War? Everything.” She enunciated the word deliberately for him to understand. “You’re not having anything else from me. Trot on, Dane. I’m busy.”

  Raising his hands up in defeat, Niels stood up and left the café. It took three tries for Stella to lift her coffee cup without shaking half the liquid out. The sensible thing to do would be to sit down and talk to him about what happened with the children. With Niels, sense always went out of the window.

  She loved him. Still. Even with him dragging her through the high court over everything, she still loved the selfish bastard. And until she stopped, a civilised conversation would never happen.

  Only then would she stop trying her best to make him feel the same pain she did…

  Chapter Five

  Stella collected Danny’s vomit-covered coat and threw it into the washing machine. “I didn’t mean to,” he gargled, looking at her through tear-filled eyes. With a damp dishcloth, she wiped his face in practical strokes.

  “I know you didn’t, my darling.” She glanced at the clock again before pushing him into clean clothes and his weekend coat.

  “Why am I getting dressed?” he demanded. “I just want to sleep.”

  “I know you do, but you can’t do that here. Come on.” She lifted him into her arms. God, he was far too heavy and far too old for her to be lifting him like a sack of potatoes but he really wasn’t playing ball with her. “Lighten up a bit, I’ve got Lucozade in the car.”

  She tapped in the alarm with one hand and locked the door with the other, carrying Danny out. Luckily, Will had gone with the pool and was probably wondering what had happened to his brother. She settled him in the back and fixed his seatbelt before he could get out and stage a protest about where she was taking him.

  Once inside the car, she whacked up the heating, praying that the amount of projectile vomiting she’d witnessed wouldn’t carry to her. She couldn’t afford to be ill. Not when she was opening another salon and had shifted her meetings twice around the kids. There was no chance she could do it again today.

  “Mum, where are we going?” Danny’s tone reached a level that was grating on her goddamn nerves, which only made her flex her fingers on the wheel.

  “We’re going to see your father,” Stella answered, catching Danny’s pasty-faced confusion in the rear-view mirror. “He needs to keep an eye on you for today as I am going to be late for this meeting and Mum doesn’t need any more hassle in this new premises.”

  Danny burst into tears, flinging his arms onto the car seat in frustration. “I just want to go home! I don’t care about your prem… whatsit.”

  Stella barely took her eyes off the road. “Daniel Strøm, don’t you dare get in a huff with me. I cannot look after you and I can’t get anyone else to look after you at such short notice. Your dad can make the time for you. Now stop crying and have some Lucozade. It’ll make you feel better.”

  With a sniffle, he picked up the bottle from the holder next to his chair and suckled at the drink. He hiccupped and said, “Dad’s nicer than you.”

  “Okay then. Here. Watch Adventure Time.” She passed him her iPad and he settled down to watch the programme as she negotiated the roads to her ex-husband’s offices in Mayfair. Another time, she’d ream him for saying Niels was nicer than she, but she didn’t have the time or the patience for his insolence. She figured it was delirium from the stomach flu.

  Poor thing. Mother guilt was like nothing she’d ever experienced before and Danny’s little laughs in the back seat made her feel terrible. But she couldn’t ask Niels for more money and to be honest, she refused to ask him for a hand-out.

  The meeting was with her business bank manager to persuade him that opening another salon was important, considering the country was forcing its way out of a recession. People needed to relax, look pretty, and feel confident about themselves. Fake tanning and gel-coated nails would do that. Niels was good at that. Persuasive meetings, where he needed something from someone, he’d charm it out of them with a smile. He coached her through the first meeting with her business bank manager ten years ago. She’d say coached. He’d say she distracted him with a lack of underwear.

  No. Focus.

  Parking outside of Niels’ impressive building, Stella hoisted her son into her arms and marched inside. She stalked past the receptionist who recognised her and decided from past experience to let her carry on. His secretary saw her approaching and scrambled to her feet.

&n
bsp; “Mrs. Strøm, please, you can’t!”

  Stella threw her a withering glance. “Sit down and be quiet,” she commanded, reaching around Danny to open the door. Her husband, former husband, seated behind a huge desk she vaguely remembered having sex over a while back, took in the sight of a child in her expensively suited arms and lifted his feet from the desktop.

  “I’m going to have to call you back,” he said into the receiver, not taking his eyes from her. “Stella’s here. My wife, Stella, yes.” Ex, she wanted to add, but didn’t want to rise to his blatant bait. “I’m sure I’ll be fine this time. Speak later.”

  He put the phone down and rounded his desk. “Everything all right?” He asked, reaching over to lift Danny from her arms. “Daniel, what’s the matter?”

  “Sick, Daddy,” he muttered, resting his cheek on Niels’ shoulder.

  Niels pinned Stella with an ice-blue stare. “Since when?”

  “Since this morning,” she announced. “Stomach flu. So in the interest of… God, how did your bitch of a solicitor put it? Equality of parenting. Unfettered time with your children. Here you are. I’ve got a meeting.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to Danny’s chubby cheek. “See you, darling.”

  Niels caught her by the arm before she could leave. “What are you trying to prove?”

  “Nothing at all. But, since you want the chance to prove you’re the better parent…” Danny chose that moment to throw orange-coloured vomit all over his father’s well-tailored shirt.

  “Oh, Daniel,” Niels sighed.

  “This is your chance,” Stella concluded. “Muma loves you!”

  With the look of horror on her ex-husband’s face giving a spring to her step, she strolled out of the office back to her car. The radio played Aretha Franklin and she turned it up at full blast. Damn right, RESPECT.

  She pulled up outside the bank and was directed to the meeting room. Her assistant caught her with a wide-eyed stare of terror, but Stella walked into the room with gusto and determination. That loan was hers.