Did The Earth Move?

by Carmen Reid

  He was a lovely man.

  Was .. . was .. . she reminded herself, willing her thoughts to stop. He turned into a jerk, remember, Eve? – that's why he had to go and you packed up his bags and got rid of him.

  Robbie woke up hourly throughout the night, to be sick, to cry, to lie listlessly in her arms, willing her to make him feel better because she was his mummy. And that's what mummies were supposed to do.

  At one point he woke up and demanded that they go and make a cake.

  'What?' she asked him, fumbling for the sidelight, hardly able to wake up yet again because she was exhausted.

  'I want to make a cake,' he was crying at her now.

  'A cake??? Oh Robbie, honey, it's the middle of the night.' In fact it was 5a.m. 'Shall we try and get back to sleep and make one in the morning?'

  'I want to make a cake, I want to make a cake,' he kept repeating over and over. He was boiling hot and still so dry, not one bead of sweat, there was no sign of this fever breaking.

  She needed to sponge him down again and get some water into him.

  He was still grizzling on about the cake, so she went into the kitchen and poured flour into a bowl, put a wooden spoon into it and brought it back to the bedroom. I must be insane, she thought, watching her delirious son stir flour until it had settled on his hair, his arms, his pyjamas, her duvet cover, the bed.

  He puked up the mouthfuls of water she had made him sip into the bowl and then, moments later, fell asleep in her arms.

  Just a few restless hours later, Anna was up offering to make Eve some breakfast while Robbie finally slept deeply.

  'So long as you haven't reverted to breastfeeding him,' Anna said, as they sat together at the kitchen table, Eve barely able to hold a spoon, she was so whacked.

  'No, I haven't – but you know, if it was what he wanted, I'd have done it, just to comfort him.'

  Eve had breastfed Robbie until one month after his second birthday, despite Anna's disapproval.

  'He's anxiously attached,' Anna had told her.

  'Maybe you're jealous,' she'd countered.

  'Yuk, I am not!'

  'I'll stop when he's two, I promise.'

  So she'd had to explain to Robbie that he was going to get a beaker with milk. They had gone out together to buy a bright red beaker with purple swirls on it. He drank from beakers all day, but this was a special milk beaker.

  'I like boobies,' he'd told her, cuddled up in her arms, after just a few sips of beaker.

  'So do I,' she'd said. 'But you're a big boy now, boobies are for baby boys.'

  'Am I big?' he'd asked with a smile.

  'Yes.' And she'd kissed his fat cheek.

  That was how the breastfeeding ended. Later that night, she couldn't help crying about it. That was it, the last baby weaned. Her little breasts would shrink up into an even tinier size and never be of any use to her again.

  'You look terrible,' Anna told her now.

  'Thanks, darling.'

  'Is Robbie going to be OK?'

  'I'm sure he is. I think he's a bit better already, he's sound asleep and he doesn't feel so hot any more.'

  'How come you've got flour in your hair?'

  'Oh, long story.'

  Yup, she looked undeniably rubbish: sagging, shapeless grey nightshirt, greasy hair with flour, eyes with double bags. She really needed a bath, but then Robbie woke up and had to be attended to and somehow the morning wore on without her having the chance to wash, dress or sort herself out.

  Until the phone rang.

  'Hello, Evelyn, glad to catch you home.' She registered the American twang before she began to wonder how this voice knew her name – her old name.

  'Hello?'

  'Hi, yeah. It's Dennis here. I'm meeting the boys at their place at noon, so since I'm early, I thought I'd drop off. Visit you, catch up, see the flat.'

  'Dennis?' DENNIS!!!!!! Heart pounding, breath catching shock.

  'Yeah, hi. Are you about? Are you up for it? I'm just round the corner, in a cab.'

  Round the corner!

  'I'll be right there. Thought it would be good to say hello.'

  Why was it so hard for her to say no to this man? He was like an unstoppable tide. Still the same bossy voice, just a bit Americanized, coming down the mobile phone at her. She was hardly able to speak, she was so shocked to hear him. Somewhere, there must have been a note of his arrival date, some word from Denny or Tom, but she'd filed it away and forgotten all about it. Avoided thinking about it, more like. Now here he was about to knock on the door, turning up completely unexpected, like a, like a ... virus.

  She said nothing. He wasn't listening anyway. He just carried on, as he always had done, getting everyone else to fit in with his plans.

  'OK, does that suit? I'll be there in five. Number 53, right.' Click. Unbelievable. He didn't even wait for her agreement, goodbye ... anything.

  'AAAAAAAAAAARGH!' she shouted out loud with the burring receiver in her hand. 'Get lost! Get stuffed! Leave me alone!' But none of those things would come out when he was actually in earshot, would they? Why not? How did he still manage to make her feel this ... powerless?

  He would be here in five minutes! In the reunion she'd pictured, she'd fussed about what to wear, how to look, what to say. Now she was about to get caught barefoot in her nightshirt, looking like crap. It wasn't fair. It made her want to cry.

  She rushed into the bathroom. God, she looked awful. Where to even begin the rescue operation? She brushed through her hair frantically, but that just seemed to spread the flour around. She scraped it back in a ponytail and searched about for some lipstick, couldn't find any . . . raced to the bedroom for clothes. Anything clean would do... maybe even ironed, was ironed too much to ask?

  The doorbell was ringing as she did up the last buttons on her jeans. There wasn't going to be a moment to straighten up the flat. But still, she picked up armfuls of stuff and threw it into cupboards as she headed for the door. At least Robbie was asleep again, that was one thing less to worry about.

  And now here she was, opening the door on the man she had once called husband, the man who had walked out on her and the boys, the man she hadn't set eyes on for almost six years now.

  She registered the horrible sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as her hand went up to the Yale.

  'Hello, Evelyn.' A pinstripe-suited man with a ruddy face and a blond, balding crop was holding out his hand to her.

  'Dennis?' She barely recognized him. He looked so old, well into his fifties of course; even his eyes looked a different colour than she had remembered. But then again, it was probably years since she'd even looked at a photo of him.

  'Hello,' she managed at last and held out a hand for him to shake. 'Come in.'

  'Had a great flight,' he said, before she'd even thought to ask the question. 'First class – only way to go. Treat you like royalty, in-flight massages...' He held forth as she led him down the small corridor into the kitchen.

  A mistake, she thought, as she looked round. It was never the tidiest of rooms, but this morning, oh boy. There was even a plastic salad bowl containing a small quantity of sick and a scrunched-up paper towel on the table.

  She threw a cat off a chair and gestured to Dennis to sit down. He didn't look too sure.

  'My little boy isn't well, we've had a terrible night.' She waved vaguely, wanting to explain away her outfit, the chaotic state of the flat. Wondering why she was caring so much what he thought of it.

  'Jeez, this place is tiny. You have just this floor? What... two bedrooms?'

  She nodded.

  'So at some point you, the boys, your boyfriend and your other children were living here? Aren't there laws against that kind of thing?' This was said with a smile as if he meant it to be funny. Some bloody joker he was.

  She was about to explain that actually Joseph and the big boys had moved out by the time Robbie arrived. But what was the point? He wasn't listening anyway, too busy critically taking it all in, maki
ng his snide little judgements.

  'Tea?'

  'Ummmm ... do you have coffee?'

  She thought about the tin at the top of the cupboard, about making him a coffee and sitting down to a joint while he drank it.

  'Decaf?' she asked instead, deciding she should try and behave herself. Not scandalize him any further.

  'Sure.' Not 'thank you' or 'lovely' or anything grateful. Just 'sure'.

  She banged the kettle on, thumped and clanged her way through the coffee-making process just to let off some steam.

  They tried out some small talk about their children – first the mutual ones and then their second families.

  It was awkward and not exactly bonding.

  'Well, they've turned out quite well, considering,' Dennis had offered about Denny and Tom. 'A fashion photographer and a software designer – not bad considering they haven't a degree to rub between them.'

  'They both went to college,' she snapped.

  'I don't think that's quite the same.' His mobile rang, saving him from the eye-scratching he was coming close to.

  'Dennis Leigh . . . Ah ha . . . that's great, Guy ... really great. No, I can reschedule. I'll be there at one for lunch, great... yup, fresh off the plane. Ah ha ... in north London, catching up with some former colleagues.'

  Former colleagues. It crossed her mind to have a secret spit in his coffee.

  And before he'd paused for breath he was on the phone to Tom cancelling his lunch arrangement and agreeing drinks at 6p.m. instead. No, he wouldn't be able to see their flat today – he'd do that another day ... urgent business.

  Well, that was Dennis. Didn't see his sons for six years, then would postpone his reunion for a business meeting.

  She'd thought he might just have mellowed a tiny little bit... but obviously not.

  'So,' he sipped at his black coffee, spit-free. 'Still in the same flat, the same job as when we last met?'

  She nodded.

  'Haven't you managed to step up at all? In six years?'

  For a moment, she was going to mention the promotion possibility, but then she decided she didn't want him to know even that much about her life at present: 'I've had another baby, been busy,' she said instead.

  'Yeah. You well and truly missed that part of the biology lesson, didn't you?' Casual little 'ha ha', and another sip of coffee.

  Oh Jesus. Why couldn't she just tell him to go now? She thought of her little boy, lying on the sofa, at last getting a bit better and this creep referring to him as a mistake.

  His making might have been unplanned but Robbie would never, ever be a mistake to her. She hated anyone even hinting at it.

  'This flat is pretty... unique... isn't it?' he was looking around now. The painted ceramic plates on the table didn't match. The walls were an uneven, yellow-orange. And the place was a mess. Even with a sick child, the woman he'd married would never have let things get out of control like this.

  He'd seen Eve occasionally over the years since he'd left her and in his opinion, she seemed to get more and more unravelled. Why hadn't she just made her life simple and married another wealthy City boy, like him? He couldn't believe she hadn't had the opportunity. Instead – look at her! Mad, hippie, vegetarian, pink haired, single mother of four. Bringing his sons up in some piss-pot little flat in Hackney. But he'd just left them to it, he thought with some annoyance now, he'd been too busy: work, his new wife, his two daughters. He hadn't been able to give Eve and his boys too much thought. Just hoped they'd turn out OK.

  He stood up and looked out of the window at the extraordinary garden. It was small, but absolutely brimful, bursting with green and blossom. But he saw only the mess of toys strewn all over it, a little yellow tractor, a sandpit shaped like a turtle, plastic spades and forks and several footballs.

  'Keeps me sane,' Eve said, anticipating the usual compliment about her garden.

  'I see,' was Dennis's reply and the compliment didn't come.

  She looked OK though, he had to admit. He knew she was 42, but she looked much younger. She hadn't sagged or crinkled up much, she was just a little softer round the edges, fuzzier. She still had her girlish, supple figure and he certainly envied her that. Was she happy? He had no idea. Was he happy? In most ways, yes. He loved his wife. He knew that, at least, had been the right decision.

  'I'd like to get to know Denny and Tom a bit better,' he said now. 'I'm going to invite them to come over and visit, open invitation . . . whenever they'd like.'

  'That's nice,' she heard herself answering, but knew she was just dreading this. With a wealthy, US-based dad they could both go and work in the States, and wouldn't they want to do that in a shot? Especially Denny.

  Even now, she could hardly repress the fear, lurking for all those years, that Dennis would some day turn up and lure the boys back with the sheer glamour of having been the missing parent, the absent one, the fantasy parent, rather than the one who did the washing, the homework, wiped your nose, took you to the dentist.

  'Mummy!' She heard the cry from the sitting room.

  'You should probably go,' she told Dennis, who immediately flicked a glance at his watch. 'I don't think Robbie's really up for visitors and I'm waiting for a work call.'

  'Of course, have to go anyway. Can you hail a cab round here or should I call one?' So then there was all that kerfuffle, finding cab numbers, phoning, and now he had to wait around for ten minutes.

  'Mummy!'

  'I'm coming.'

  'Look, you go and see to him, I have some calls to make.'

  Finally she was saying goodbye, waving him out of the door, forcing herself to keep that smile up for just a little bit longer.

  She slammed the door shut behind him, though. No, that wasn't quite enough, she went into the sitting room and pummelled sofa cushions very hard for a few minutes while Robbie giggled at her.

  Fuck him, fuck him, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  OK. That was a bit better.

  Chapter Thirty

  Denny dropped them at the lobby of the swank hotel and drove off to find a parking place.

  This was all Dennis's idea, of course. The big family reunion. She and her four children were scrubbed up and polished, ready to meet him, his wife and his daughters.

  OK, she knew it was pathetic, but she'd taken ages trying to decide what to wear. The black work suit had been put back in the cupboard because it was too formal, the hipster jeans and a variety of bright tops had been tossed to the floor because they were too informal. Finally, she'd decided on a long, clingy satin skirt, green, and a black blouse with her best turquoise beads and arm cuffs. She had been worrying about whether the turquoise clashed with the green, but then Anna came in to discuss her own choice – an unusually girlie pink party dress someone had given her as a Christmas present, but Eve wasn't going to disagree – and then Robbie demanded juice and a biscuit and a video and when were they going? and was it nearly Christmas? ... So the skirt and the mildly clashing jewellery stayed and in the back of Denny's car, Eve even did lipstick and sparkly eye shadow because this was a special occasion after all.

  Denny made them wait for him in the lobby on pain of death: he didn't want to miss one second of this big get-together. When he finally got back, Eve and the children were directed to the residents' lounge where 'Mr Leigh and family' were waiting.