“Claire, please. I’m not ready to say goodbye.” His hand still hovers in the air, looking so strong and safe. I long to take it, but I know I can’t.
“Me neither,” I say, but the words catch in my throat. Slowly I turn around, and begin to walk away.
“You’ll see me again,” he promises. “And you will always know who I am, even if you don’t always know it. You will feel it.” I turn my back on him, and let myself back into the kitchen, where the onslaught of artificial warmth stings my numb cheeks and toes. When I turn back to close the door, he is gone.
“What are you doing?” Mum comes into the kitchen, her dressing gown knotted tightly around her. She sees me, and her exhaustion turns to fear. “Why have you got a coat on? Were you going somewhere?”
I shake my head and hold my hands out to her. “I was just in the garden,” I say. “Come and look at it.” She comes over just as the last of my footprints in the frost have melted away. “Look,” I say. “The sun is up and, for once, it isn’t raining. It’s going to be a beautiful day.”
18
caitlin
I wake up with a start, and sit up, not sure where I am, and then gradually it comes back to me. I am still in Manchester. The filmy light of morning seeps through the thick net curtains against the window. And I am not alone.
Very quietly, very slowly, I turn my head and see Zach, still slumbering next to me, lying on his stomach, his blondish hair messed up, which he would hate, and his lips slightly parted as he sleeps. Carefully, I climb out of bed and go and lock myself in the bathroom.
I didn’t react in quite the way I thought I would when Paul Sumner more or less told me to get lost. I was certain that I would feel rejected, and cry—feel hurt, despair, and confusion, all of the things that I have been feeling on a loop for the last few months—but I didn’t. I had a weird surge of feeling strong, and happy, and sort of relieved. I walked out of his office and the faculty building with Zach behind me, asking me what had happened. I didn’t tell him until we were outside.
“He didn’t believe me,” I said. “He thinks my mum’s made it up because of the AD.”
“Shit,” Zach said, looking stricken on my behalf.
“Well, look, it’s fine,” I told him brightly. “I gave it my best shot, and I’m grateful for your help, so thanks. What I’ll probably do now is just…go home, I guess.”
“No, don’t go,” Zach said, touching my arm. I realized it was the first time he’d touched me, and it came as something of a jolt, like an electric shock, shooting through me with a zap!
“Well…” I moved away, ever so slightly, so that his fingers were no longer making contact with my arm. “I think I sort of have to. I mean, I can’t think of a reason to stay here.”
“Do you think Paul Sumner is your father?” Zach asked me.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, because Mum doesn’t lie, and anyway, have you seen him? I look like him, a lot like him. It’s weird, actually, how much like him I look. But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to know, and I get that. So…I’ve come this far without a dad, but I do have a mum, and she needs me, so I’m going home.”
“You’ve got to give him another chance,” Zach said, stepping to his right to block me from leaving. “This is too important not to.”
“He doesn’t want another chance,” I pointed out. “And who can blame him?”
“But he needs it,” Zach said. “He might not know yet that he needs it, but he does, and one day he will wake up and realize what he’s done. So you need to stay and give him another chance to be your father.”
“Are you Jesus?” I asked him. “I can’t think of a reason why you would care, if you are not Jesus.”
“No!” He laughed. “Jesus wouldn’t wear this shirt.”
“That’s because Jesus has taste,” I said.
“Phone home, talk to your mum. I bet she won’t want you to just give up.”
“Do you drink?” I asked him.
“Yes, a bit,” he said.
“Well, I can’t, so shall we go to a pub and I’ll watch you get drunk?”
Zach shook his head and laughed. “Let’s go and have lunch. I know a nice place. And then you can go and phone your mum, okay?”
“Maybe you should be my dad,” I said.
—
And that’s the thing about Zach that I don’t understand: he is so funny and kind and nice. And I wonder why I find it hard to believe that a person can be so funny and so kind and so nice to another person, one they hardly know, for no apparent reason. I wonder if it was because of Zach that I didn’t curl up in a corner after Paul told me to go away. Or if it’s because of me. I think mainly it’s because of me, because when I decided that I love my baby, I also decided to be the sort of person who isn’t defeated by setbacks, because if my mum has taught me anything, it’s that mums are warriors: they might be knocked down, but they always get back up. It had helped that I knew Zach was there outside the door, though, waiting for me.
That must be what it’s like having someone in your life, knowing that there is someone there who’s got your back. That must have been what it was like for Mum and Greg. It was a nice feeling, and it made me feel better, like I was somehow bigger and more grown-up than I feel most of the time.
We spent the afternoon together, and it was just nice. There was no agenda, or tension, or mind games, like there always seemed to be with Seb. Zach is just very good at being a man; he doesn’t seem to need to keep proving to everyone around him that that is what he is. I was sleepy after lunch so we went to see a film, something Zach wanted to see—a ridiculous heist movie with lots of car chases. I fell asleep after maybe twenty minutes, and woke up with my head on his shoulder as the credits rolled. He kissed me on the forehead and told me that he had to go to work. I didn’t want him to, but it didn’t really seem fair to ask him to quit a shift based on our short friendship.
He walked me back to the hotel, and it was a strange walk, one full of meaning when there wasn’t any, really. I am a pregnant girl with a sick mother. I have much more to think about than nice-looking blondish boys with terrible taste in clothes and music. If things had been different, if I’d simply split up with Sebastian, or if Mum had carried on simply being Mum, then maybe I could have got excited about the way Zach made me feel when he looked at me, as he walked me through the busy streets of Manchester yesterday afternoon. I still remember the way he watched me, and then looked away when my eyes met his. How he punched his number into my phone in the hotel lobby, and told me to call him if I needed anything, and then called his own number before giving my phone back to me, so he’d have my number too. And how he waited with me until the lift came, and then, just before I got in, kissed me on the cheek when he said goodbye. In another life, I could have been excited about all of those things, and the possibility that something new was just beginning. But not in this life. And anyway, if it wasn’t for Mum and Paul Sumner, I never would have come to this city, at this time, and met Zach working a shift in a bar on the university campus. Which is why I need to keep telling myself that this is not meant to be. This is not something special that has happened just at the time in my life I most need it. It’s a series of coincidences that I will have to let go of—today, or tomorrow at the very latest.
I was trying to fall asleep in front of the TV, and trying not to think about what will happen when Mum, Gran, and Esther get here, when my phone rang, making me jump. My first thought was that something terrible must have happened, but then I saw Zach’s name. It was just after midnight.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” he said.
“I know,” I said.
“Just thought I’d check and see if you were okay,” he said. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about you all night. Not in an inappropriate way,” he added hurriedly. “Just thinking about all the stuff you’ve got going on.”
I had to admit I was disappointed: I kind of liked the idea of him thinking about m
e in an inappropriate way. I put my hand flat on my belly, which was just beginning to curve with the baby inside, and smiled to myself. Maybe one day I’ll be lucky like Mum, and meet the right person, who’ll always have my back. But not now. Now I just need to focus on my family. I need to have their backs.
“I’m surprisingly okay,” I told him. “It’s odd, actually, because I’ve been an incredible mess for ages, and now suddenly everything seems really clear. And I am going to give Paul Sumner another chance. Well, I’m not sure if another chance is the right phrase. Another attempt, maybe. My mum, my gran, and my little sister are all coming up tomorrow to sort him out, so maybe it’s more like a vendetta.”
“Shall I come over?” he said suddenly. “Now?”
“To my hotel room?” I said. “Sounds inappropriate.”
“No, I mean not to…just to see you, to hang out and talk? I like hanging out and talking to you.”
“I don’t mean to be funny,” I said, “but don’t you have your own mates?”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “I’ve got loads of my own mates, and one new one, who I probably won’t see again after tomorrow. So can I come over? Just to hang out. Watch a film or something? Your choice, this time. No car chases, promise.”
And I realized, all of a sudden, that having him with me would make me really happy, and yet sort of sad all at once. And so I said yes.
We were halfway into the film when I turned to him and asked him a question that had been bouncing around in my head since he’d first mentioned her. “Tell me about your mother,” I said. “Tell me what she was like?”
He turned to look at me, and then shook his head. “She was a really great woman, funny and strong and kind. My dad adored her, we all did. She was glam too, you know? Hair and makeup always done for work behind the bar, and for church every Sunday.”
“So you are a religious nutter!” I said, nudging him in the ribs.
“Not exactly.” He grinned. “Mum’s faith meant a lot to her, and some of it’s rubbed off on me. I mean, I prefer to think that there is something out there rather than nothing, don’t you?”
“No,” I said simply. “I don’t want there to be something that decided to make my mum, or yours, so sick just on a whim. I’d rather it was all random, horrible chance. Otherwise it’s impossible to understand.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I felt like that when she died. We all felt like that. We didn’t know how much she held the three of us together until she was gone. Dad was so angry; I was so angry. I lost him too, for a while. We went our separate ways for almost four years. I’d hear about him getting thrown out of the pub that Mum used to work in, spending the night in the cells. He’d hear about me bouncing from one hovel to the next, waking up tired and confused.”
“And then you found Jesus?” I asked him a little mischievously.
“And then I gave my dad a second chance, and he gave me one too, because we both worked out, before it was too late, that Mum would be so upset to see how we’d reacted to losing her. It would be like everything she’d done when she was alive was for nothing. So me and my dad made friends again. It was a slow business—it took a long time—but we needed each other. We sorted each other out. He’s my family, and I love him.”
“And that’s why you think I need to give Paul another chance?” I asked him.
“I think so,” Zach said. “I don’t think you should ever turn your back on any human relationship when there is still even a shred of hope.”
“I have a family already, though,” I said. “Most of them will be heading this way first thing in the morning. And I don’t want to force my way into someone’s life. Not even if he is my biological dad.”
“You,” Zach said quietly, looking right into my eyes in that popstar way of his, “you will never have to force yourself into anyone’s life. Anyone with half a brain can see that you are…something wonderful.”
“I must have met a lot of people who are brainless, then,” I said to deflect the moment, which seemed like too much for two people who were just hanging out.
“That,” Zach said, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms, “is entirely possible.”
A little while later, when I was almost asleep, his voice woke me. “What are you going to call your baby?” he asked me. It was the first time since I’d told him I was pregnant that he’d asked me any direct questions about it.
“I have no idea,” I said sleepily. “Maybe Moon Unit, or Satchel. Maybe Apple, if it’s a girl.”
“And what about the father, what does he think?” He asked me ever so carefully, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t mentioned him yet. For all Zach knew, he could be waiting at home for me now.
“He doesn’t know yet,” I say. “We split up, and then he thought I’d got rid of it. But I will tell him. I have to because, well, look at me. A textbook case of history repeating itself. I have to make sure this little one doesn’t do that.”
“Good,” he said simply. “You should tell him.”
I don’t know when we fell asleep, or who fell asleep first, but it was probably me. All I remember was that one moment we were talking about the true meaning of The Shining, and the next I woke up with my back pressed against his, and we were the opposite of spooning, curled away from each other…and yet I felt somehow fully embraced.
I do wish I hadn’t fallen asleep in my clothes, although I suppose it is marginally better than falling asleep without them.
—
Now I wonder about having a shower, but it feels wrong, being naked with him next door, and so instead I brush my teeth, take off my makeup and wash my hair, leaning over the bath so that the rivulets of warm soapy water defy gravity to run up my elbows, soaking my shirt. I wrap a towel around my head and look in the mirror. I look stupid, so I take it off again and attempt to towel-dry my hair as much as I can, until it is hanging in damp ringlets. I look slightly less ridiculous. I walk back into the bedroom, and he is still asleep, still curled up on his side. He looks so…ridiculously beautiful that I have to remind myself that beautiful boys with lots of friends don’t fall for pregnant girls with stupid hair and very sick mothers. Oh, but how wonderful it would be to think that they might.
I sit on the edge of the bed and touch his arm. He really is flat out—clearly a very deep sleeper. Shaking him gently, I watch as his eyes finally flutter open and focus on me. He smiles. It’s such a sweet, happy, sleepy smile that I want to kiss him. But I don’t.
“It’s morning,” I say. “Just gone eight.”
“I stayed the night!” He sits up and stretches. “I’d better go home and get changed—I’ve got work.”
We sit looking at each other for another moment.
“I don’t want you to leave Manchester without saying goodbye to me,” he says.
“Okay, I won’t,” I promise. “I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye to you, either.”
I watch him get out of bed, pick up his things, run his fingers through his hair until it’s slightly less crazy, and then I stand up as he walks to the door.
“I’m going to hug you,” he warns me. I nod my assent, and we embrace, my arms around his neck, his arms around my waist. We stand chest to chest, and I rest my head in the curve of his neck. He squeezes me ever so gently.
“Take care, both of you,” he says, as he lets himself out of the door.
And I realize that, apart from Mum, he is the first person to talk to my baby like it’s a person in its own right. And that makes me happy.
—
“Rosie!” Mum squeals when she sees me, running over to me with her arms outstretched. “Rosie McMosie! We are going to have a blast!”
She kisses me on the cheek and rocks me from side to side as we hug.
“The first thing we need to do is to give the oldies the slip, and then we’ll hit the town, yeah? Know any good bars round here?” Mum looks expectantly at me.
“Um…” Esther, who looks sleepy and confused a
fter the long drive, screws her fists into her eyes and blinks, scrambling down from Gran’s arms as I come into focus. “Caitlin!” She shouts my name with about the same level of enthusiasm as Mum had called out this Rosie’s. “Yay!”
I pick her up and kiss her.
“This is my kid sister,” Mum tells me. “She’s not too annoying most of the time.”
“Mummy’s playing pretend,” Esther tells me sagely.
“Hello, darling.” Gran kisses me on the cheek, and Mum rolls her eyes at me, waggling her eyebrows like we have some sort of shared joke about mums, which makes me laugh—my mum, joking with me about mums. “Claire,” Gran says. “We are in Manchester. We’ve come to see Caitlin, to help her talk to Paul Sumner?”
“Oh, him.” Mum grins like…well, like me, I suppose, this morning. “I think he fancies me.” She winks at me. “Is he here? Oh my God, what am I going to wear?”
“Claire,” Gran says again, taking Mum’s hand and looking her in the eye. “This is Caitlin, your daughter. She’s twenty years old, remember? And having a baby, just like you did at her age.”
“I’m not getting pregnant at twenty,” Mum says, appalled. “Who would be stupid enough to get knocked up at twenty?”
“You, dear,” Gran says. “And Caitlin is about to make you a granny.”
Mum looks at me. “Oh,” she says. “You aren’t Rosie at all, are you?”
“No, Mum,” I say, holding out my arms to her.
“Oh, hello, darling.” She kisses me on the cheek and holds me again, differently this time, like a mother should. “I’ve missed you. Now, let’s hatch a plan to make your father see sense.”
wednesday, july 3, 1991
The Day We Met Page 24
