Authors: Rosen Trevithick

The Ice Marathon (7 page)

“This,” he said, gesturing to the door I’d just opened, “is
the child’s bedroom.”

“But it doesn’t even go all the way up; it’s only four foot high.”

“Yes. Like it says on our website, ‘Perfect for a small
child’.”

* * *

It’s irritating when a man presumes you need his help, and
infuriating when he’s right. How was I going to bring myself to admit that
actually, despite my past protest, I did need Simon to find me a house? How was
I going to get from “There is nothing I need less than help finding a new
home!” to “Hey buddy, fancy helping me find a home?”

Simon pulled up next to me in his midnight blue BMW, hardly
a car that suggested one likely to be gracious in victory. I climbed in. He was
looking particularly flash today, in a blue shirt that brought out the pigment
of his eyes. I frowned. This man could make me feel subordinate just by wearing
a well-chosen shirt.

“Evening!” he said, with a grin.

“Hey,” I replied, flatly.

“You said you wanted to talk. Shall I take us to the pub?
Sorry! I forgot – no booze for you. I’ll take you to a coffee shop instead. I
could get you a fruit juice …”

“Actually …” I took a deep breath – may as well spit it
out, “I wouldn’t mind going to look at some houses.”

I waited for it – the victory dance, the smug grin, the
stupid laugh … but none came. Instead, he shrugged and said, “Sure, I’ve
got a couple in mind.”

For a moment, I was speechless – thrown by the unexpected
humility. It was the perfect time to say ‘I told you so’, but instead he’d left
my pride intact. I hadn’t expected that.

“Rental?” I checked.

“Yes. I thought it was time to talk to some property owners
and put some of those empty houses to good use, like you suggested.”

“I meant for housing homeless people, those really
vulnerable …”

“Well, you are a priority need in my book.”

“What?” This annoyed me. There were people who needed
housing much more urgently than I did; for a start, I had a home already. “Why
would you say that? Just because I’m pregnant, and bipolar, and a woman, does
not mean that I’m …”

He smiled at me kindly. “It’s none of those things; it’s
because you’re Emma.”

Oh.

That actually sounded quite sweet … I think. Was being
an Emma a good thing? I tried to see myself through his eyes – perhaps not.

“That’s a good thing,” he added, as if he’d read my mind. I
hated it when he did that.

Chapter 7

There were so many cots – white cots, brown cots, wooden
cots, plastic cots, double-sided cots, single-sided cots – and they were all
so … WONDERFUL!

I stood in the furniture store, literally spinning on the
spot. How could I possibly choose just one cot when they were all so lovely? I
wanted to get the authentic wooden one with carvings on the posts, but if I got
that one, I would be depriving my little boy of the white one with ANIMAL
STENCILS!

Well, I couldn’t stand here all day looking at cots, cots,
cots. My baby was due in two weeks and I still hadn’t finished furnishing the
house. (The house by the way is a-may-zing! So chuffed with Simon for sorting
it out. Perhaps I should have invited him shopping – no! My house.
Our
baby but
my
house. We need boundaries if this is going to work.)

To save time, I decided to buy five cots. There were five
rooms in the house. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realised the advantages of
MULTIPLE COTS before. This way, I could have my baby in the same room as me
whether I was peeling the spuds or watching telly. Oh yes! This was a brilliant
idea.

I could tell that the cashier thought it was a brilliant
idea too. He shot me a big, wide smile as I plugged in my credit card and
punched in the number.

“I’ll have them all home delivered please,” I requested.

“To the same address?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Of course!” I said, “I want my baby with me whether I’m
peeling the spuds or having a poo.”

“Oh,” he said, softly.

* * *

I simply could NOT wait for the cots to arrive. Oh my God –
five cots! This was going to be great! I had assembled a flat-packed coffee
table already that week, so I knew how much I LOVED assembling flat-packed
furniture. It was always so rewarding to see flat pieces of wood turn into
three-dimensional objects – a bit like a mini mathematical miracle.

When the doorbell rang, I leapt up. I sang a tune with a
whistle in it. (How odd that people always either sing or whistle – a tune with
a whistle in it is so much more EXCITING!)

I signed the thing I had to sign and tugged the cots into
the hall. Wow! That was hard work, especially with my belly now the size of a
large watermelon. But, oh YES! Today was going to be cot-building-
tastic
!
Why hadn’t I got pregnant sooner? This baby preparation stuff was just such
delightful fun! I’d been dreading maternity leave but now that it was here, I
was in my element! “Ellie-ellie-element!” I sang. “Ellie the Element built a
cot, and said goodbye to the circus!”

Not that I was through even half a cot when there came
another ringle-dingle at the doorbell. “Who could this be?” I sang, forgetting
to whistle, so I whistled a separate tune for good measure.

“Hello!” I warbled, swinging open the door so fast that the
inside handle chipped the paintwork.

Two well-dressed middle class types – one of each – stood on
the doorstep. I presumed that they were lost. It was a pretty nice area, but
one of them was wearing expensive fur (fake, I hoped).

“Look what I did!” I giggled, pointing at the paintwork and
trying to keep a straight face. “Shhh!” I hushed. “Don’t tell Simon!”

“Don’t tell Simon what?” asked the maler one of the two.

“Don’t tell Simon I chipped the paintwork,” I whispered,
then giggled.

“Are you Emma?” asked the female poshy, looking a little
concerned.

“Holy mother of fuck!” I chuckled. “You are here to see
me
!
I thought you were lost or something. Nobody really has this address yet, so
you must be …” I paused to think.

“Simon’s parents,” said the man, sounding very grave.

“Oh yes! Of course!” I sang. “I knew he had parents! I knew
it! I knew it! Well, you simply must come in! He’s a very good friend of mine
you know. Well,
ours
!” I said, patting my belly.

They exchanged looks.
Oh dear, looks like they’re Tories,
just like their son.
Still, for a Tory, he wasn’t half good in BED! I
giggled. Perhaps, if I asked nicely he’d agree to a rematch …

Both of his parents were around the same height – she was
slightly tall for a woman, he was slightly short for a man. She had ash blonde
hair in a tidy bob. He was almost bald. His chin oozed into his neck. Hers was
pointy.

I led them into the living room, which had five cots in it,
all liberated from their packaging, but none of them yet fulfilling their cotty
potential.

“As you can see, I am building cots!” I announced, making a
sweeping gesture.

The lady sniffed suddenly. “Mmm, I can see that.”

“Why do you need so many cots?” asked the man, sounding
gruff.

“For your grandson!” I cried. Then, I hurried over to the
one in fur and whispered in her ear, “He does know I’m up the duff, doesn’t
he?” then I chuckled again. ‘Duff’ was such a funny word. I repeated it in my
mind – duff, duff, DUFF!

“I am well aware of your condition. I want to know why there
are so many cots,” he demanded.

“One for every room!” I explained. “So that I can see my
little baby whether I’m on the loo, doing a poo, eating a poo …” I started
giggling again. “Excuse me, just my little joke!”

“Are you quite all right?” asked the lady.

“Yes! I’m perfect.”

“Is she drunk?” the man asked the woman.

“Drunk? I’m prrrr-eg-nant!”

“High on something, I suppose,” he muttered.

“High?” I laughed. “Do you know what? The doctor was worried
about me coming off my mood stabilisers, but I’m just FINE!”

“Mood stabilisers?” repeated the woman, softly.

“What do you mean mood stabilisers?” questioned the man.
“Are you ill?”

“Not at ALL!” I shouted. “I’m just dandy. Don’t know why I
didn’t come off the medication years ago!”

The man placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, and said
quietly, “I’m going out to the car. I’ll see if I can reach Simon on his
mobile.”

The lady looked uneasy.

“Can I get you a tea?” I asked her. “Your son
loves
tea. He likes toast too – well
toasters
, actually, and …”

She took my hand very gently and looked at me with lovely,
kind eyes. They were the same colour as Simon’s – very beautiful. “Perhaps I’ll
make the tea,” she said softly. “Maybe you’d like to sit down.”

“SIT DOWN? I’ve got five cots to make!”

She sighed, smiled and disappeared into the hall, presumably
in search of the infamous kitchen. I decided to use the opportunity to do a
little more work on cot number one. But, which bits were cot number one? WHAT
HAD POSSESSED ME TO GET TWO WHITE COTS? How could I possibly be expected to
tell the difference between cot number ONE and cot number FOUR? A little sob
squeaked out of my throat.

A sob? What the fuck? This was my happy time – my super,
splendid, awesome, wholesome maternity leave. This was not a time to sob!

I felt deeply disturbed by the sob. So much so that another
sob came out. TWO SOBS? This caused further upset and a third sob came out. No!
Not today. There are IN-LAWS here. You have to smile for the in-laws, otherwise
they might think that there is something the matter.

By the time that the nice lady returned, I was sobbing
almost hysterically. Breathing had become difficult.

She placed the tea somewhere and joined me on the floor. She
put an arm around me. It was very comforting. I found it odd that she didn’t
ask what was wrong, so I decided to volunteer the information.

“Cot number one is the same colour as cot number four!” I
sobbed.

“I know,” she said, rocking me backwards and forwards as she
held me tight.

“I have to build five cots!”

“I know,” she said, stroking my hair. “I know.”

But how did she know?

“Do you often feel like this?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me put it another way, what usually helps when you feel
like this?”

“I don’t know,” I sobbed.

“Come on, you do know …”

“Walk,” I muttered.

“A walk?”

I nodded.

“Would you like us to go for a walk?”

I didn’t, but I began to realise that it might help with the
sobbing, and I really didn’t want to be sobbing. I forced myself to nod again.

“Well I know a lovely park not far from here. Let me tell
Gerald what’s happening, and we’ll go for a nice, gentle walk, just you, me and
that little boy in there.”

This lady, Simon’s mum, was so utterly lovely. I was taken
aback and if truth be told, rather moved. Without family of my own, I wasn’t
used to this sort of support from a member of another generation. Her manner
soothed me and gave me hope for the future. Raising my son would be so much
easier with such an understanding grandmother.

Chapter 8

“You told my parents that you’re bipolar?” Simon asked,
sounding deeply concerned.

“I’m sorry!” I scoffed. “I didn’t realise that it was something
to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“Well, it certainly sounds like it!” I barked.

He took my hand. “It’s not
you
that I’ve got a
problem with, it’s
them
.”

I didn’t believe him. His mother had been lovely. She’d
walked around the park with me twice, then come back into my flat, made me
another cup of tea and set up a DVD for me to watch. Then she’d stayed with me,
until Simon arrived. She didn’t seem like somebody with a problem to me.

“What? What problem?”

“Can we not talk about them, please?” he asked.

“But they’re our baby’s grandparents. If there’s something I
should know …”

“There’s nothing to know, I just don’t find them very …
tolerant. I don’t know what you thought you were doing building cots in your
condition anyway. I told you I’d help with things like that.”

“And I told
you
I could manage,” I snapped. Then I
realised that he was right. I did need his help, and what was more, he needed
to be involved. This was
our
baby, not mine. “You can clear away the
dishes if you want to help,” I smiled.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, grabbing the plates together.

“I just emptied a jar.”

He smiled. “Do you mind if I stick around for a bit?”

“What for?” I asked, automatically. Then I smiled. Over the
last few weeks, I’d enjoyed him popping in and out.

“Well, you’ve had a bit of a funny day, haven’t you? And my
family were partly responsible.”

“No, they were lovely. The mania was less delightful.”

“What will you do tomorrow?”

“I’ve already booked in to see my doctor.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just sit with me for a bit? Maybe we could watch a
film …”

“Sounds good to me.”

We cleared away the dinner dishes. I still felt slightly
embarrassed when we were in a kitchen together, but at least this was not
the
kitchen.