by Fiona Gibson
By 6 p.m. he’s almost finished the feature. It’s Thursday – late night shopping – and Nadine, who’s looking impatient now, wants to start checking out buggies and cots. It takes another half hour before he makes his way over to her desk.
‘Sorry about that,’ he says.
‘That’s okay.’ She smiles prettily, having reapplied her cherry-red lipstick (how does she always get it so immaculate? he wonders) and customary eyeliner flicks in preparation for the shops. As they head for the lift, Rob can’t resist taking Nadine’s small hand in his. God, this is weird, he thinks, a thought that darts across his brain without warning several times a day. Here we are, virtually a couple now, having a baby. A couple who, less than an hour later, have taken possession not just of a buggy but a car seat, cot, bouncy chair, play mat and wall hanging featuring hand-appliqued gambolling bunnies, all to be delivered within the next five working days.
‘Oh, look at that!’ she cries. He’d been trying to casually manoeuvre her out of the baby department of the store before his credit card melts in the machine.
‘We don’t need that, do we?’ He eyes the cripplingly expensive quilt.
‘Well, I suppose it’s not essential, but we don’t want our baby sleeping under a tatty old blanket, do we?’
‘No, of course not, but I’m sure there are cheaper—’ He stops abruptly as she picks up the quilt. The bags he’s clutching already contain a changing mat, several fleecy rompers in gender-unspecific lemon and mint, plus a knitted toy mouse in a scratchy red coat which doesn’t look terribly baby-friendly to Rob (but hey, what does he know?). And now Nadine is choosing a rotating night light which projects pictures of sheep, and cooing over a hand-painted wooden trolley filled with bricks (which the child won’t be capable of pushing until he or she is at least a year old – but again, he says nothing). Rob is flagging now, but Nadine is showing no sign of ever wanting to stop. He chews his lip as she browses anti-stretch-mark oils in a mums-to-be boutique off Oxford Street, and stuffs his traumatised Visa card back into his wallet as she chats with the salesgirl.
‘Massage in the oil at least twice a day,’ the woman advises her. ‘That way, you’ll keep the skin supple so it’ll accommodate your growing bump.’ She beams at Rob. ‘You’ll do that for her, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ he blusters, sensing himself flushing. At least she didn’t assume he was her dad, dragged out on bag-carrying duties.
‘God, you’re so uptight,’ Nadine chastises him as they leave the shop.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Looking all embarrassed when that woman said you should massage me.’ She laughs disparagingly. ‘It is natural, you know, to take care of your pregnant girlfriend …’
The carrier-bag handles are biting into Rob’s hands, and he dumps them on the pavement as he scans Oxford Street for a cab. ‘I’m not embarrassed. It just a bit public, that’s all.’
‘Hmmm.’ She narrows her eyes at him. ‘Maybe it’s just an age thing. I guess men of your generation just aren’t that comfortable with nudity.’
Rob snorts involuntarily. ‘Oh, right, so I’ve become a man of my generation now, have I? Well, I’m sorry but there’s not much I can do about that.’ Funny how his age didn’t seem to matter while she was ravaging him in his drunken stupor. He glances down at the numerous shopping bags at his feet. ‘Those night lights are rubbish,’ he adds. ‘Mia had one and it broke within two days.’
‘Well, we’ll be more careful, won’t we?’
‘No,’ he insists, ‘I mean they have a design flaw. The rotating bit rests on a little spike and it’s just not sturdy enough to withstand any knocks—’
‘Rob,’ she cuts in, ‘I don’t feel too good.’
‘There are other kinds of night lights,’ he continues, still scanning the street for a cab. ‘They’re little glowing things to plug in which seem to work better and are less complicated …’
‘My stomach hurts,’ Nadine murmurs.
He looks down at her, realising now how pale she is, and how fragile-looking in her little black jacket and red knitted dress. ‘Maybe it’s that bean thing you made last night. To be honest, I’ve been a bit, um, flatulent in the office …’
‘I’m not flatulent,’ she snaps, waving as a cab approaches while Rob gathers up their bags. ‘I’ve got a pain in my stomach, okay? I’m worried, Rob. This doesn’t feel right.’
‘You don’t think something’s wrong with the baby?’ He feels sick with panic as the cab pulls up alongside them.
‘I don’t know. I’ve just got these pains …’
Something changes then, and Rob no longer cares that she’s chosen a silly sheep night light or seems overly hung-up about stretch marks as they climb into the cab. He puts an arm around her and holds her hand tightly as they speed towards the hospital.
Chapter Thirty-One
Whenever Rob is due to pick up the children, Kerry experiences the same dilemma. Should she be polished and fully made-up, suggesting that she’s swishing off on a lunch date followed by copious afternoon sex the instant his car’s pulled away? Or slump to the door in scabby jogging bottoms, hair unwashed and face raw from sobbing? Reminding herself that trying to project some kind of image would imply that she actually cares what he thinks, she quickly pulls on a corduroy skirt, pale grey sweater and brushes on mascara and tinted lipgloss. Harvey-the-Clown is coming for his first proper lesson today and, after her watery-eyed moment last time he was here, it feels important to present herself as a properly functioning human being.
Rob, who’s arrived now, does look different these days. While he still favours his usual weekend attire of smart jeans and expensive-looking cotton sweater, there’s also a cloud of tension around him.
‘Is he always like this?’ Rob asks from his cross-legged position on the kitchen floor as he tries to bat Buddy away from his crotch. Disconcertingly, instead of dashing straight off to his parents with the children, he has chosen to hang around to help Freddie with his Great Wall of China, an ambitious Lego construction which now bisects the kitchen.
‘You know what’s strange?’ Kerry says tersely. ‘He might not be the best-behaved dog in the world, but he’s actually never done this to anyone but you.’
‘Well, that’s nice,’ Rob says as Buddy continues to investigate his nether regions. ‘Suppose I should be flattered, then.’
As Kerry regards him with distaste, sitting there pathetically on the floor, she is overwhelmed by an urge to kick him hard in the shins. She can’t, of course – not with Freddie beside him, carefully placing a yellow brick on the top of the wall. She must behave nicely. God. The effort required triggers a strong desire for wine, and it’s only 11 a.m… .
‘Maybe it’s a smell you’re giving off,’ she adds.
‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘Well,’ she says dryly, ‘perhaps you’re giving off a powerful testosterone scent that only dogs can detect. Maybe it’s an age thing – you know, your final hormonal surge.’
Rob makes a small grunting sound.
‘Or,’ she continues, quite enjoying herself now, ‘you’ve brought it on yourself because you’ve got this thing about dogs homing straight for your toilet parts and it’s become a self-fulfilling prophecy.’
‘You’re deranged,’ he mutters, shaking his head.
‘I don’t think I am, Rob.’
‘Look,’ he says tetchily, ‘could you just call him off me please?’
Call him off, as if he’s a savage police hound. Kerry snorts in derision as Rob tries to push him away, which has the effect of making Buddy sit obediently at his side and offer him a paw.
‘He’s giving you his paw, Daddy,’ Freddie observes.
‘Is he? That’s nice.’ Rob shrinks away a little.
‘Don’t you like Buddy?’
‘Of course I do, Freddie. He’s, ah … a real character.’
Kerry turns away, wondering if these handovers will become easier with time, and if
she’ll ever stop wanting to physically hurt him. Please leave now, she urges him silently. Just fuck off out of my house.
‘Buddy’s fine with all the other men who come round,’ she says before she can stop herself. Oh, the murky depths she’s plummeted to now. All the men who are desperate to ravish me, you arse, and who are thrilling in bed, unlike you who – I have to say this – was a pretty bloody tedious lay with your, ‘Ooh, give me a little scratchy first’ routine …
The years of her life she wasted, dutifully running the tips of her nails up and down the jerk’s back. And the baby voice he used when he asked her! Ugh, she could puke right here on Aunt Maisie’s floral-patterned lino. How had she forgotten that?
Kerry clears her throat. ‘Freddie, could you please go upstairs and tell Mia that Daddy’s ready to leave now?’
Mercifully, he scatters a handful of Lego on the floor and charges upstairs as requested while Rob straightens up, somewhat creakily, Kerry is pleased to note. However, if he’s distraught by the possibility of her entertaining copious gentleman callers, he certainly isn’t showing it.
Perhaps to distance himself from Buddy, who has rolled onto his back anticipating a belly tickle, Rob has now pos-itioned himself at the kitchen window. He looks, Kerry decides, like someone who’s just arrived at a rented holiday cottage and is assessing the view. She feels idiotic now for trying to make him jealous. After all, the prospect of going to bed with anyone ever again is highly unlikely. Sex has become like golf to her, or fly fishing – something other people do, and she can’t for the life of her see what’s so enticing about it. Last time she slept with a man who wasn’t Rob, mobile phones weighed roughly the same as a bag of sugar and she could have redecorated the house in the time it took to log on to the internet. What would happen now, if she were to find herself in bed with someone? Would candid shots of her naked body be broadcast across the globe?
Even thinking about sex with Rob in the vicinity feels wrong. Pointedly refusing to break the awkward silence, Kerry busies herself by pretending to sort through an enormous stack of paperwork from the top of the fridge.
‘We were at the hospital on Thursday night,’ Rob murmurs, still facing the window.
‘Oh. What was wrong?’ She keeps her voice flat, emotionless.
Rob exhales forcefully. ‘Er … Nadine had some pains. Thought she was going to miscarry …’
Why the hell is he telling her this, and how does he expect her to respond?
‘So what happened?’ Kerry asks flatly, aware of the children chattering upstairs – no, arguing, actually. Mia has apparently ‘stolen’ Freddie’s wellies.
‘She was scanned, everything was fine – seems like it was just a warning. Doctor says she’s got to take it easy, she’s probably just been doing too much …’
‘Mmmm.’ Kerry flicks through a wodge of paper – a reminder to have Mia’s eyes tested, something from the bank, a new contract from Cuckoo Clock, a questionnaire asking her how she plans to boost Shorling’s chances of winning Britain’s Prettiest Seaside Town … If there are windowboxes at your property, are they: well-tended/requiring attention/empty at present (please tick box) …
‘She’s … er … coming to Mum and Dad’s this weekend,’ Rob adds. ‘I hope that’s okay with you.’
Kerry blinks at the piece of paper in her hand. If you are able to get involved during the week prior to judging, what kind of help can you offer? Litter picking/exterior painting/tending communal gardens … please tick box.
‘It’s none of my business really,’ she replies, so relieved when Mia runs into the kitchen that she could hug her.
It’s Rob who’s bestowed with cuddles, though. Kerry watches, feeling momentarily redundant as Mia exclaims, ‘I didn’t know you were here, Daddy! Freddie didn’t tell me …’
‘Me and Mummy were just having a chat,’ he says. ‘I love your hair in those little plaits, by the way. Very pretty. So what have you been up to this week?’
Her face crumples. ‘Audrey-Jane was mean to me at school.’
‘Aw, what did she do, sweetheart?’
‘She said I could play, and we were playing, then Tabitha came over and they ran off and told me to go away …’
‘Oh.’ Rob, who finds the intricacies of girls’ friendships baffling, clearly doesn’t know how to respond.
‘They said we’re poor,’ she adds.
‘Silly girls,’ he blusters. ‘What a load of nonsense. They’re just spoiled rotten, okay? Anyway, I heard you’ve been doing really well in class …’
‘Yeah. Got to read my story out.’
‘That’s fantastic, darling. Well, the others are probably just jealous.’ Freddie has reappeared now, and Kerry quickly checks their overnight bags to ensure that essentials haven’t been discarded in favour of yet more cuddly toys.
‘All set then?’ She glances at Rob. ‘It’s just, I have a pupil due in ten minutes.’
‘But I wanna finish my wall.’ Freddie glares down at his Lego construction.
‘Sorry, we need to go now,’ Rob says gently, taking his hand. ‘Come on, Nanny and Nonno are so looking forward to seeing you.’
Thank God for Rob’s parents, Kerry thinks, not for the first time since the break-up. Rob is using their place as a base for when he has the children, which means they’re still getting Daddy-time – she isn’t so peevish as to deny them that – without having to stay in the London house, where they don’t even have beds anymore. Or, worse still, her flat where, presumably, Rob will soon be living full-time. Despite her determination to be fair and reasonable, Kerry isn’t sure she can handle the idea of them staying there. At least, not yet.
‘Can we take the wall,’ Freddie asks hopefully, ‘and finish it at Nanny and Nonno’s?’
‘Of course not, stupid,’ Mia crows. ‘It’ll break.’
‘No it won’t.’ He blows a farty noise in her face.
‘I’ll keep it safe for you,’ Kerry says quickly, ‘and you can finish it when you get back, okay?’
‘Don’t smash it up.’ He fixes her with a fierce stare.
‘Of course I won’t, darling.’ Although, if you were to construct a Lego model of your father’s face …
They’re leaving now, and at the sight of Kerry hugging the children, Buddy leaps for the door as if trying to block their exit.
‘He gets a bit stressed when people leave,’ Kerry says over his fretful barks.
‘A dog with a separation anxiety?’ Rob pulls a wry smile.
‘Yes, well, he has abandonment issues.’ Restraining Buddy by his collar, she steps outside with Rob and the children, shutting the door firmly behind her.
A car has pulled up, and Harvey climbs out, looking mildly taken aback by the small group who are clambering into Rob’s car, and the urgent barking from inside the house.
‘Hi, Harvey,’ Kerry says with a smile, glancing back to see Buddy who’s on the back of the sofa now, steaming the glass with his breath. ‘Just saying goodbye,’ she adds. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
‘Yeah, sure.’ No need to introduce him to Rob, she decides as he buckles the children’s seatbelts and climbs into the front. For all he knows, this handsome young man has come round to whisk her off to that glass cube seafood restaurant, followed by an afternoon in bed. She tries to transmit the message: I am fully intending to have hot sex with this man. But she can’t even do that. With all the barking going on, Kerry is incapable of dredging up a lewd thought. Anyway, Mia has lowered the rear window and is shouting, ‘It’s that clown man again! It’s Harvey Chuckles!’ Which causes Harvey to blush and Rob to smirk, infuriatingly, before driving away.
*
Harvey, it turns out, is a joy to teach. Keen and attentive, he picks up simple chords and melodies with ease, and soon Kerry starts to feel halfway human again.
‘So you do children’s parties,’ Kerry says after his lesson.
‘Yep, for my sins.’ He steps gingerly over the Great Wall of China in the kitchen and
ruffles Buddy behind the ears.
‘Well, I admire you. Two birthday parties a year are enough for me. I can knock together a cake and organise a few games, but there’s always that sense that everything could spiral out of control at any minute …’
‘I know that feeling. Last one I did, some kid pelted me with barley sugars.’
‘Who gives out barley sugars at a children’s party?’
‘God knows,’ he laughs. ‘I suspect they were handed out as ammunition – you know, make me work for my fee.’
‘I don’t suppose …’ She pauses. ‘No, I’m sure you’ll be busy – it’s the Saturday between Christmas and New Year …’
‘What is?’
‘Mia’s birthday party. We’re having it here, planning to invite a few of her class …’ She breaks off again, wondering how much to tell him. ‘It’ll be her first birthday since we moved here, and since her dad and I split up,’ she explains, ‘so I really want it to go well for her. I don’t suppose you’d be free that day, the twenty-ninth?’ She sees him hesitate and regrets putting him on the spot.
‘Fine, I’m sure I could do that.’
‘Well, if something else comes up …’
‘No, I’d like to do it,’ he adds firmly.
She smiles, relieved. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of booking someone before. It’s probably because Rob wouldn’t have considered it. How feeble does that sound?’ She laughs. ‘Sometimes it feels as if I’m still getting used to being on my own, you know? And when things need seeing to – like horrible stuff bubbling up in the shower – I need to think, okay, don’t panic, just call someone who knows what they’re doing …’ She stops abruptly, conscious of babbling on. Since when did she become incapable of conducting herself like a normal person?
