by Dani Atkins
‘Jake—’ I said softly, but my voice was lost under the nurse’s reproving tones.
‘I’m sorry, but children aren’t—’
My mother stepped in front of the nurse who was approaching the bed, presumably with the intention of bodily lifting my child from his father’s side. ‘It’s fine,’ she told the younger woman firmly. Turning to the bed, my mum expertly lifted and repositioned the medical paraphernalia to allow her grandson uninterrupted access. ‘He just wants to cuddle his dad. I’ll make sure he doesn’t disturb anything.’
The nurse appeared uncertain, but my mother looked meaningfully into her eyes, and the nurse looked back at her, and I swear there was some unspoken conversation taking place, one that only they could understand.
‘Oh well, I suppose there’s no harm in it.’
My dad put his arm around his wife, and I don’t think I imagined the look of pride in his eyes before they both looked down at Jake, who had now manoeuvred his way past all obstacles and was securely nestled against the immobile length of Joe’s body. He laid his head on Joe’s chest, which was rising and falling in perfect synchronicity with the respirator.
‘Daddy, I know you’re like a superhero for helping that other boy, but I really, really wish that his own daddy had gone into the water instead of you. It’s not fair that you got hurt just because you were helping him.’ Our son looked up at me, before sliding his arm across Joe’s body and clinging to him like a limpet to a rock. He reached up to whisper into Joe’s unhearing ear. ‘I still need lots of help too, Daddy. I don’t know how to do that special knot on my shoelaces.’ His voice dropped even lower. ‘And we’re making Mummy that Christmas present, and you know I can’t finish it by myself.’
Very gently I leant over the bed, laying my arms around the two men who were all I had ever wanted or needed. I heard Kaye begin to cry softly, before Frank led her gently out of the room, but I didn’t turn around. I just kept holding on to the people I loved, praying that this wouldn’t be the last time the three of us would be joined in this way.
Charlotte
I had just emerged from the Ladies’, where I’d gone to splash some much-needed reviving cold water onto my face, when I heard the voice of a child. For just a single cowardly second, I considered ducking back inside the room I’d just left. But before I could, they rounded the corner and there stood Ally, holding the hand of the son that should have been mine.
In the flesh, the remarkable resemblance to his natural father was even more astounding. This was the same face, the same eyes, the same everything that I’d seen in numerous professional family portraits of David as a child, adorning the walls of his parents’ home. Perhaps there were also albums somewhere, filled with more relaxed and fun-filled family snapshots rather than those posed ones; jumbled memories of Christmases, birthdays and holidays, although – knowing David’s mother as I did – I somehow doubted that.
Thoughts of Veronica brought with them a feeling of gut-wrenching panic. I had no idea of her precise location, or even whether she was back in the country yet, but she was definitely on her way. And I had absolutely no way of knowing how she’d react if – or when – she saw her son’s face reproduced in perfect detail on this small child’s. I surprised myself with an inexplicable and unexpected urge to protect him from that encounter. Even more surprising, was the urge to protect Ally too.
‘But why do I have to go to the zoo with Granddad? I want to stay here until Daddy wakes up.’ There was just the trace of a whine behind the young boy’s pleas.
‘Sweetheart, you know that Daddy might be asleep for . . . well, for a long time yet, and you’re only going to get bored and restless having to sit around in this boring old hospital all day. Besides, if you go to the zoo with Granddad, just think of all the exciting and wonderful things you’ll have to tell Daddy when you come back later this afternoon. And Granddad said he’s really looking forward to going. He hasn’t been to a zoo in years, not since I was a little girl, and it would be such a shame to disappoint him.’
I liked the way Ally spoke to her child. She didn’t talk down to him, she just reasoned with him. Would I have known how to do that? No, of course not. I wouldn’t have had a clue. I could negotiate a deal worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, go through a contract with a fine tooth comb, but I had no idea how to talk to a seven-year-old. Something that was just about to become abundantly clear, I realised, as they drew to a stop in front of me.
‘Charlotte,’ said Ally, her voice measured and controlled, but I saw the way her eyes flashed a protective warning and saw too the way she had unconsciously placed her body slightly in front of the small boy’s. I’d seen that manoeuvre scores of times, but usually only on wildlife documentaries. It was the classic pose of a mother animal protecting its young; something else I knew absolutely nothing about.
I tried to smile and look relaxed, but I think I failed on both counts. I could feel my heart beginning to pound, and it was quite a shock to realise how nervous I had suddenly become. ‘Hello. You must be Jake,’ I said, my voice falsely cheery. I held out my hand to my husband’s seven-year-old son.
Jake looked at it curiously for several moments, and then his eyes went to his mother, questioningly I looked down at my own hand, still stupidly extended for a handshake. Ridiculous. Totally and utterly ridiculous. No wonder the boy looked bemused. Who greets a child of that age as though they’d just met them in the boardroom? A woman totally ill-equipped to be a parent, that’s who.
To be fair, Ally did her best not to make me look stupid. ‘Jake,’ she urged gently, nodding towards my extended hand. ‘You know what to do.’
His hand felt unbelievably soft and smooth within mine. And so small.
‘Who is this, Mummy?’ Jake whispered, as though I might not be able to hear him in the otherwise deserted corridor.
‘This is Charlotte, she’s one of my old friends from when I was at university,’ Ally explained. I have to hand it to her; she didn’t even hesitate before the word ‘friend’.
‘Is she here to see Daddy? To wish him better?’
Ally’s eyes went to mine, and I read the unspoken plea within them.
‘No, Jake. I didn’t know your daddy was in this hospital. I’m here because my husband is sick too.’
Jake looked comically surprised at the coincidence, and it was such a miniature replica of a look I’d seen so many times on David’s face that a small gasp got away from me. ‘He didn’t get hurt saving someone as well, did he?’
I shook my head sadly. ‘No. Nothing as dramatic as that. He’s just got . . . a poorly heart.’ Was that too much of an over-simplification for a child of his age, or just about right? I was working in the dark here.
‘Oh,’ said the boy thoughtfully. ‘Well, that’s sad. I hope he gets better soon, then perhaps he and my daddy can share a room and then they’d both have someone to talk to.’
Ally and I exchanged an identical look.
‘Well, maybe,’ I said.
Ally placed her hand propriotarially on Jake’s shoulder. ‘Come on now, Jakey Granddad will have got the car by now. It’s time to go.’
‘I’m going to see lots of animals at the zoo today,’ Jake informed me conversationally. ‘My granddad is taking me, but I really wish my dad could come along too.’ I felt an ache deep inside me.
‘I’m sure your daddy would give everything in the world to be able to take you to the zoo.’
I heard Ally’s sharply indrawn breath at my words. I dropped down to a crouch, bringing myself to eye level with her child, wobbling a little on my over-priced red-soled designer heels. Yet another example of my unsuitability as a parent. What mother would wear shoes this impractical? ‘It’s been really nice meeting you, Jake. I hope I’ll see you again one day.’
Ally didn’t say anything, but the look she threw over her shoulder as she began to lead her son down the flight of stairs was a curious mixture of apprehension and gratitude.
Ally
>
I fell in love with Joe through Jake and because of Jake. Not because I needed a father for my child. If that was all I was after, I knew perfectly well where to go. No, it was rather that Jake threw a light onto Joe, onto the man he was, the man I wanted to spend my life with. I’d have seen it myself, sooner or later, but because of Jake I just saw it much sooner and more clearly.
It was there even before our son was born. I can remember the first glimpse I had of my own future; it was on the day when Joe had given me a lift to the baby equipment store, where I was going to look at pushchairs. Yet again the cheap second-hand car I’d bought was back in the garage for repairs, a place it seemed to reside far more often than it did with me.
‘It’s no problem, I’m going to the bank anyway,’ Joe assured me, removing a bundle of bills from a sealed envelope and sliding them into his wallet. For the last few weeks he’d been working each evening on another private job, and I was surprised at how empty the house had felt without him. It was as though something drained away from the place during his absence, leaving it sepia-coloured and curiously bland until his return. I dismissed the fanciful notion as yet another peculiar by-product of my pregnancy, right up there with heartburn and the need to visit the loo at least three times a night.
Joe pulled up in front of the shop, and while retrieving my handbag from the footwell I saw his eyes follow an approaching couple as they walked arm in arm towards the store, before the automatic doors slid open and swallowed them up. I straightened in my seat and noticed the trace of a frown marking the otherwise smooth space between his brows. It deepened as he observed a second couple standing on the pavement, their faces pressed close to the glass as they studied a window display of vintage cribs.
‘Well, thanks for the lift. I don’t know how long I’m going to be, so why don’t I just catch the bus back.’ I expected him to drive straight off, but instead he unfolded his long frame from the van and walked around to the passenger door. ‘Joe, honestly, you don’t need to come in with me,’ I protested, as he held out his hand to assist me from the vehicle. It was getting harder to do anything gracefully these days, given the size of my bump and the unexpected loss of my centre of gravity. Low sofas and cars were definitely the worst.
‘I know you don’t need my help,’ he said, and there was a teasing trace in his voice, directed I’m sure at what he saw as my over-developed independent streak. ‘But the bank’s open for at least another hour, and I’m in no hurry. I’ll just hang around by the door until you’re done.’
Only he didn’t. I’d left him waiting at the front of the store, while an assistant had led me towards the section of modestly priced foldaway buggies. I could feel Joe’s eyes on both of us as we walked away, and I felt suddenly unattractive and cumbersome beside the pretty sales girl with her swinging blonde ponytail (why are they always blonde?) with the jeans that, unlike mine, were certain not to have an elasticated waistband. No wonder Joe couldn’t resist staring, I thought as I glanced back at him over my shoulder. He was smiling, but I wasn’t sure which one of us was the recipient. Her, I thought.
Twenty minutes later I was no closer to making a purchase. I’d just about decided that I might be better off searching through the local paper for a second-hand one, when I looked up and saw that Joe was crouched beside one of the most expensive pushchairs in the store, running his hands over the chassis, testing the wheels by spinning them beneath his hands, before lifting it from the display and pushing it along the carpeted aisle. He nodded to himself, before returning the pushchair to the stand and then proceeded to do exactly the same with the one beside it.
I hurried over to him. ‘Er, Joe, what are you doing, exactly?’ I glanced at my watch. ‘And shouldn’t you have left for the bank by now?’
‘In a minute,’ Joe replied easily. ‘I just wanted to test drive a couple of these.’ What is it about men and things with wheels? ‘I like this one best,’ Joe confirmed, nodding down at the extremely luxurious pushchair he was still holding. There was something about seeing his large capable hands firmly wrapped around the handles of the pram that prompted a very strange fluttery feeling inside me. Or was that just the price of the model which I’d glimpsed from the swinging tag? Surely they’d put the decimal point in the wrong place? That thing cost more than my car had done.
‘Yeah, well, that’s great, but I don’t need one this fancy,’ I said, feeling a little defensive. ‘It’s all whistles and bells.’
‘Sounds perfect for a musician,’ he quipped.
I nodded back towards the foldaway buggies I had been studying. ‘One of those will do me just fine.’
Joe wheeled the pushchair back into place. ‘Of course. Whatever you think is best. Anyway, I’m just going to head off to the bank. I should be done in about twenty minutes.’
I took less than half that time to make my choice, but when I went up to the counter to place my order, the assistant looked surprised. ‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised you were buying two’
‘Sorry?’
‘Two. Two pushchairs.’
‘No. Just this one,’ I corrected with a slightly bemused smile.
‘But what about the one your husband paid for?’
She was clearly confusing me with another customer. Pretty she might be, but not very observant, I thought. However, when I glanced around the store I saw that I was now the only shopper within it.
‘I . . . I don’t understand. I don’t have a husband.’
An annoyingly attractive blush flooded her cheeks. ‘Sorry. Your partner, I mean. He’s already paid for the Bugaboo De Luxe. Are you having this one as well?’
I’d challenged Joe about it, of course. But he’d been insistent. When I’d protested further, he even claimed it was more of an investment than a gift, and that the wheels of the ones I was looking at would have left marks all over his newly renovated floors. Joe somehow managed to make it sound as though spending the entire amount he had earned from his private job on a pram for my baby was just a sensible preventative measure, one that would save him from repair work in the future. But he wasn’t fooling me. Not for a single minute.
As I hurried back to Joe’s bedside, further memories scurried along behind me, each tapping me insistently on the shoulder as I walked, anxious that they too should not be forgotten.
There was the day when I’d walked down the length of the garden to the large outbuilding Joe used as a workshop, to find him working not on the custom-made cabinet doors I’d been expecting to see, but instead on an exquisitely carved swinging crib. He’d jumped – almost guiltily – when I’d eased open the door, the sound of my entry having been masked by the electric sander he was running backwards and forwards over the rails.
Absurdly, the sight of this man, who had no connection or responsibility to the child I was carrying, bent low in concentration over the beautifully crafted crib made me burst into unexpected tears. Joe turned off the sander and got to his feet.
‘Ally what is it, what’s wrong?’ I hadn’t been able to speak, but instead I had nodded at the tiny piece of furniture, that in less than two months would hold my baby. ‘Look, if you don’t like it, if you want to get something more modern, I won’t be offended. I just saw the ones in the shop the other day, and I thought . . .’ His voice trailed away as I crossed the distance between us to hug him. His arms went easily around me, despite the size of my bump.
‘I love it,’ I sniffled into the front of his shirt, which smelled of wood shavings, washing detergent . . . and him. ‘It’s perfect.’
But of all the memories clamouring to be heard, one had the loudest voice. It was the one when I first realised the feelings I had for Joe had strayed a very long way from the friendship which had brought me to him. It was several months after Jake had been born, and I had finally moved his crib out of my bedroom and down to the small nursery bedroom on the floor below. Joe and I had spent several weekends decorating the room, painting three walls a pale sky blue, with fluffy marshm
allow-like clouds, and on the fourth Joe had skilfully created a beautiful fairy-tale mural. I can remember the odd little look my mother had given me after seeing the room. ‘What?’ I had asked. She had shaken her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips, as though she knew a secret she wasn’t yet ready to share.
The baby monitor had crackled to life in the middle of the night at Jake’s first grumbling cry, and I had stumbled sleepily from my bed, thrusting my arms into my dressing gown. I crept barefoot down the stairs without turning on the hall light, anxious not to wake Joe, whose room was across the landing from Jake’s. But he was already awake. As I padded across the wooden boards I saw Joe, his back to the door, gently cradling my baby in his arms. Dressed only in pyjama bottoms, it was hard not to stare at the interplay of muscles across his naked back and arms as, with infinite gentleness, he rocked my child back to sleep. His voice was low and whispering in the darkness, and so incredibly tender as he soothed the baby. Something happened in that moment, when I saw my tiny infant with his shock of dark hair and bright blue eyes, staring intently into the face of the man who was smiling lovingly down at him. Very quietly, in a voice that would never make it past a choir audition, I heard Joe softly humming the Brahms lullaby I soothed Jake to sleep with each night. And that was the moment, there in the darkness of the hall, hidden from sight behind the thick oak door, that was the moment when I fell in love with him.
We took it in turns to sit with Joe throughout the morning, although every moment I spent away from his side left me desperately watching the clock, willing the minutes to fly past until I could return. Above the noise of the ward coming to life, I could almost hear the scratchy trickle of sand in an hourglass, slipping through my fingers.
When Frank and Kaye returned to the Relatives’ Room earlier than expected midway through the morning, I was already on my feet, anxious to reclaim the seat they had just vacated. Frank stilled me with an age-marked hand, which he laid upon my arm. There was an alarming tremor in his hold, and I was worried about this new occurrence. It was my job to look after both of them, until Joe was able to take up that role once more. It was what he would expect, and I did it willingly.
