by Carrie Elks
“Aww, he'll be gutted to have missed it. Maybe you can video it for him or something?”
“I suppose so. But I want him to see it for himself, not on a stupid phone screen. I feel like a single parent. It's not fair.” I know I sound spoiled, but I also know Beth understands me. I need to vent, to let it out.
It's either that or stew all night.
“It's not for long. He'll be back before you know it. Leaving the toilet seat up. Filling up the laundry basket. You'll ache for these days, believe me.”
“I miss him so much.” I wrinkle my nose. “More than I thought I would.”
“Of course you miss him. I miss Niall when he goes away, too. But the reunions kind of make up for it.”
Beth makes it sound so easy. I know Niall often has to travel for his work. Being an artist, he has exhibitions and commissions across the world. But the two of them—and Allegra, Beth's adopted daughter—make it work somehow.
That's another thing that worries me. We were already having problems before Alex left on tour, add that to his absence and it's a recipe for misery. It feels as if we're climbing a mountain wearing an iron shawl. An uphill struggle.
“It all seems so hard, you know?” I rub my face wearily. “The lack of sleep. The lack of husband. I don't know how single mums survive.”
“They survive because they have to,” she says gently. “And you will, too. You're stronger than you know.” She pauses and I take another mouthful of tea. “How are you feeling, anyway? What does the doctor say about the post natal depression?”
I shrug, even though she can't see me. “He says I should keep going to the PND group. He wants to keep an eye on me, but he doesn’t think I need medication.”
“That's good, right? And we have this weekend to look forward to. Allegra's so excited you and Max are coming to stay.”
Her enthusiasm makes me smile. I'm so excited about this weekend, too. Max and I are taking the train to Brighton on Friday night and spending the whole weekend with Beth and Niall. To say I can't wait would be an understatement.
“Oh God, I'm like a kid counting down to Christmas. I'm looking forward to seeing you all.”
“So am I. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the weather. And on Saturday night Niall's offered to babysit while we hit the town.”
“Really?” I sound incredulous. As much as I love Niall, I can't picture him being excited about that. “He doesn't have to do that.”
“Yes, he bloody does. You deserve a break and so do I. Anyway, we don't have to go out for long. We can put the kids to bed first then sneak out for a couple of drinks. And don't say no, I've been looking forward to this so much.”
She sounds as desperate as I am for some child-free entertainment. I love Max to death, but I also miss the times when I could go out and paint the town red. “I won't say no.”
“Good. Because I've bought a dress and everything. And I've booked the taxi.”
“In that case, how can I refuse?”
“You can't,” she says happily. “A couple of drinks, a bit of a boogie and you'll forget all about your worries.”
“I hope so,” I sigh.
Even if I don't forget about my worries, at least I'll be able to spend some time with my best friend, something almost as rare as a conversation with my husband. When we finish our call and I hang up, there's a small smile on my face.
Friday can't come quick enough.
* * *
I'm lying in bed, scrolling through the updates on my phone when I remember my conversation with Amy at the picnic. Pressing on the touch-screen, I open up Facebook, and type in the search box. The Fear of Flying fan page is first in the results, and I'm kicking myself for not checking it before. It looks like Stuart and Alfie are keeping it updated regularly, with news of their progress, and posts about each gig they've performed.
There are photos, too. Excited, I scroll through them. Smiling when I see the ones of Alex mid-set, his slicked-back hair shining beneath the stage lights, his eyes dark and intense in the hazy atmosphere.
There are ones of the band sitting on their tour bus, laughing, Alex clutching a guitar, a pen tucked behind his ear as he strums.
Seeing him makes my chest feel tight. The sense of loss I felt earlier intensifies, growing into a black hole that fills my body. I spend long minutes staring at his face, taking in the way his brow furrows and his lips purse as he listens to something Stuart is telling him.
Later on in the album, I find photos of last night's gig in Austin, and scroll through them greedily, excited that I've nearly caught up to him. I follow the progress of their day; the sound check, an early dinner, the four of them holding bottles of beer as they toast that night's gig.
Then there are the ones of Alex performing. Like in the earlier pictures, he looks glorious. Strutting sexily across the stage, leaning forward as he sings into the microphone, a smirk on his face as fans in the front row try to touch him.
God, he looks so natural. A star in waiting.
Finally, we get to the after-party. Some dingy bar with threadbare seats. They are surrounded by fans. There are photos of Stuart signing a pair of boobs, and Alfie rolling his eyes at the sight.
And then... and then...
My heart stops.
Alex is sitting down, a pretty blonde perched on his lap. Her arm is looped around his neck, while his is casually slung around her waist.
He's laughing.
Staring into her eyes and laughing.
There's something so intimate about it I feel as though I'm intruding. As if I'm the interloper, staring at him and a girlfriend.
Opening my mouth, I take a ragged breath. It catches in my throat, my chest too tight to let it in. And for a moment it feels as though I'm drowning in oxygen.
Last night, my husband let a pretty girl sit on his lap. He let her put her arms around him. While I slept in our bed, and our baby slept in his cot, Alex wrapped his own arm around her waist.
I don't care if she's a fan, or a friend. I don't care if there's nothing in it, or it's simply an awkward snapshot of a passing moment. At one point last night, that girl sat on his lap and made him laugh.
The tightness in my chest starts to burn. Though I turn off my phone, the image lingers in my mind. I can't ignore the nasty thoughts lingering there no matter how hard I try. Even if it was nothing more than a passing embrace, the bitter taste it leaves in my mouth makes me feel nauseous, angry. And I want to hit out at something.
I don't know what to do. Should I call him, demand answers? Laugh it off like I would have done previously? Seeing that picture has mixed up everything, making it hard for me to think straight.
It makes it impossible for me to sleep, too. In spite of my exhaustion, I toss and turn all night. Feeling angry, jealous, and lonely. When Max wakes up at four in the morning, crying softly for some milk, I'm feeling as miserable as he sounds.
17
It's been a long week. Long and hard, but not in a good way. Though I've spoken with Alex twice, both times he was surrounded by people, and I couldn't find the right way to phrase my questions. Instead, I left them unsaid, letting my mind work overtime, imagining this girl as a sex-hungry groupie following them from gig to gig, waiting for the moment she can sit on his lap again.
I torture myself with images of them. Sitting. Holding. Kissing.
By the time I get to Beth's on Friday night, I've managed to build it up into something cataclysmic. We settle Max in his travel cot and walk downstairs into her pretty cottage kitchen. Beth pours us both a generous glass of wine and I gulp it greedily, needing the numbness it creates in my body.
“So I'll admit it looks pretty bad,” Beth says, staring at the screen of my phone. “But you know Alex would never do that to you.”
“She's sitting on his lap.” I stare off into the distance. A black mark on the far wall of their kitchen catches my eye. It’s small, hand-shaped; made by Allegra, no doubt. “They're not exactly having a casual conversat
ion.”
As soon as I finish one glass, Beth tops it up. Wine sloshes over the side, dripping onto the wooden table. I suspect she's trying to take my mind off things, but even alcohol can't erase that image from my brain.
“It's a snapshot in time. Maybe she only sat there for a second.” Her face softens. “The two of you were meant for each other, you know that. And now you have Max, as well. Don't let some stupid picture ruin everything.”
When Niall arrives home twenty minutes later, she shoves the picture in his face, wanting a man's opinion. He stares at it for a moment, expression implacable. Then he gives me back my phone, his hand squeezing mine as I take it from him.
“He's a stupid git, but he's not a cheater.” Alex and Niall have been friends for a while now, ever since Niall started working at the clinic. As soon as I introduced them they hit it off, talking music and art while making their way through a six pack. “He loves you, Lara. Any idiot can see that.”
I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. “You would say that. Bros before Hos and all that.”
Niall opens the fridge and takes out a can of beer. When he pulls the key there's a hiss, followed by froth bubbling over the edge. He lifts it to his lips and takes a long mouthful.
“Does that make you the ho?” He smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I narrow my eyes. “There's no need for that. If there's a ho in this situation it isn't me.”
Beth reaches out and whacks him on the arm. “Don't be rude to our guest.”
He turns to me. “Speaking of guests, where's the little guy? Is he asleep already?”
“For now. Give him a few hours and he'll be wide awake.” I wince at the thought of a 3:00 a.m. wake up call. Maybe I should stop drinking now; I'll pay for it in the morning.
“I'll get my cuddles later, then.” Niall winks, and I have to admit there's something pretty sexy about it. No wonder Beth goes all swoony whenever he's near. With his Mr Rochester looks and easy-going temperament, he's a dangerous combination of bad boy and good. When he turns his intense blue eyes on you, it's hard to do anything but stare right back. He's hypnotising.
“I'm sure Max will like that.” I don't tell him he hasn't had a cuddle from a man in a while. With Alex gone, and David snowed under with work, I've been surrounded by women for the past few weeks.
“Not as much as Niall,” Beth says drily, as her boyfriend leaves the room, mumbling about leaving us girls to it. Leaning forward, she whispers into my ear. “He's gone baby mad. Keeps asking me when we're going to try.”
My eyes widen. “Really?” I don't know why I'm surprised. Beth's almost thirty and Niall's two years older. “I thought you said Allegra was enough for now.”
Beth sighs. “She is. What with my degree and looking after her I'm not sure where I'd fit in a baby. But Niall's adamant he wants one soon. He's even said he'll stay home and do the child care. Reckons he could fit his painting around it.”
I try not to laugh. I can remember thinking how easy it would be to have a newborn. That I'd get loads done while I was on maternity leave. As it turned out I was a slave to Max's needs, either feeding, burping, or changing him.
“What do you think?” I ask.
She makes a face. “I think I can barely keep things afloat as it is. As much as I want to make Niall happy, he might have to wait a couple of years. It's not as if I'm running out of time or anything, is it?”
“Wise words.” I reach across and rub her arm. “Having a baby is hard work, it has to be something you're both ready for.” I wince as I say it, remembering Alex's accusation. That I wanted Max more than he did. For the first time I wonder if he's deliberately trying to sabotage things between us; smoking, touring, having pretty girls sitting on his lap, while I have a baby sitting on mine.
If that’s what he’s doing, then he’s making a good job of it.
* * *
We spend Saturday at the beach. The sun beats down, the September haziness almost pushed back by a cool, easterly wind. Allegra runs around collecting stones while Max shuffles himself across the picnic blanket, making mad lunges for shells that he promptly tries to stuff in his mouth. Every time I prise them out of his hands he protests with a squeal, turning his lips down in angry protest.
When we get back to the cottage that night, we’re all feeling a little tender, our faces chapped from the wind, with hair thick and matted from the spray that carried in the breeze. After a day of gossiping, I feel on an even keel, able to laugh off mentions of Alex's antics, giving them both as I get when they tease me about my rock star husband.
After a tea of egg and chips, Beth disappears to help Allegra bathe, while Max and I snuggle up on the sofa. He slurps hungrily from the warm bottle of milk, his lips forming a vacuum on the teat. I'm staring at his downy head when a movement in the corner of the room catches my eye. I turn my head to investigate.
Niall is perched on the arm of the chair, his pencil flying across a blank page of his sketch pad.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, not wanting to disturb Max. His body has relaxed. His face taken on a sleepy glow.
“Sketching.” He tilts his head to the side, cross hatching in a shadow.
“Let me see.”
He chuckles and looks down at his pad. “You're as bad as Beth. She used to hound me when we were at university.”
I raise my eyebrows. He rarely mentions that time, neither of them do. They met at university during Beth's first year, but then their close friend died from an overdose and they both ended up getting expelled. By the time they saw each other again—nine years later—Beth was married to somebody else. I remember back to last year, when Beth's marriage was falling apart, and how hard she fell for Niall.
If the two of them could overcome that, surely Alex and I can work through our problems.
“Does she still hound you?” I like the way he talks about her. He's a man in love and not afraid to show it.
“About everything.” His lips twitch, as if he's remembering something funny. “Between her and Allegra I rarely get a moment’s peace.”
“Is that a problem for you?”
This time he looks up and catches my eye. “Not at all. I love every minute of it. They're my girls.”
The way he says it, so naturally, makes me want to sigh. ”I wish Alex felt that way.”
Niall frowns. “Of course he does. He loves you. Both of you.” He puts his pad to the side. “Is that photo still bothering you?”
I shrug. “I guess so. I know he wouldn't cheat on me. He isn't like that. But it's the fact he looks so casual, that it isn't a big deal. It makes me wonder if he really knows me at all.”
Beth chooses that moment to walk in. “Everything okay?”
“She's still worried about that picture,” Niall tells her.
“I'm not worried. It niggles, you know? I know he's still smoking weed and didn't even remember to sort his phone out. All these things that show me he doesn't really care what I think.”
“You're reading too much into it.” Beth shakes her head. “He's not doing it deliberately. Maybe he's going through a midlife crisis a bit early. Most guys get a sports car or a motorbike, Alex decides to become a rock star.”
“I could live with a car,” I mutter, rolling my eyes for effect. “It would beat lugging Max onto public transport.”
I shut up when Allegra walks in, her hair damp and her face scrubbed clean. She's wearing a pair of pink striped pyjamas. “Can I try feeding him tomorrow?” she asks, reaching out to tickle Max under his chin. Without waiting for an answer she runs over to Niall, sticking a thumb in her mouth as she stares at his drawing.
“That's good,” she says. “It looks like them.”
Then she throws herself into his arms, hugging him tight. Niall holds her close, his eyes closed, his lips curled up into a contented smile.
A pang of jealousy jabs at my stomach. I can't help wishing Alex would hold Max that way.
* * *
<
br /> We travel home on Sunday evening, arriving back at the flat as the sun slips her anchor, sliding down to the horizon in a trail of orange fire. My skin is still pink from our day on the beach, making my face feel tender and tight. Max has fallen asleep in his buggy, his head lolling to the side, occasionally falling forward as we hit a dip in the pavement. Exhausted by the Brighton air, he's been sleeping for most of the afternoon.
Like mine, his nose is pink and sensitive, but from another cold rather than sunburn. He developed a sniffle last night, fretting and spluttering for most of the evening, causing Beth and I to return early from our girl’s night out.
I knock on David's door as we pass it, planning to let him know we're home safely. When he finally pulls it open, I notice the shadows beneath his eyes, the way his face looks sallow and pale.
“You're back. Did you have a good time?” Leaning against the door jamb, hands stuffed in his pocket, he doesn’t invite me in.
“Yeah, it was good.” I haven't told him about Alex's photo. As sweet as he's been I don't want to air my dirty linen in public. At the moment, it's only Niall, Beth and me in the know. “I got a bit burnt, though.” A car horn blasts through the evening air, making Max jump, though it doesn't wake him. “How are you? Still busy?”
He shrugs. “Snowed under.” He looks down, pulling at the nail on his left thumb. “D'you want to come in for a cup of tea?”
I hesitate for a moment. It's already seven o'clock, I really should put Max to bed and get ready for the week ahead. But there's something about the expression on David's face that makes me agree.
I park Max in the corner of his living room as David makes the tea, and accept the steaming mug when he finally hands it to me. We sit for a minute, sipping quietly, until he breaks the silence.
“My mum saw Claire last week.”
