Robert keeps talking, trying to defuse the situation, asking how Mandy is, when it’s obvious all she
wants to do is make sure her children are okay and leave. Ben stands awkwardly between Robert and
me.
‘Where are you going tonight?’ Robert asks us, when conversation dries up with Mandy.
Ben tenses. ‘I don’t know.’
Mandy looks over at me.
‘Sorry,’ Robert says. ‘This is Sophie, my friend Leila’s daughter.’
She doesn’t smile. Her eyes flicker across my face before returning to focus on her children. She
bends down and kisses them both. ‘Be good for your father,’ she says.
Fraser and Bella are more interested in their fizzy drinks than their departing mother. They give her
a quick wave but don’t watch her leave. The oak door thuds shut.
‘I’m so sorry, Sophie,’ Ben says. He moves closer to me. ‘She wasn’t supposed to bring them over
until Friday.’
‘That’s fine. It’s great you’ve got them an extra couple of days,’ I say, unsure whether I’m upset or
relieved that our chance to be alone has gone. Marcy’s taking orders, pulling pints and keeping an eye
on us.
Ben turns to Robert. ‘Dad, can you look after Bella and Fraser for a couple of hours?’
I look at Ben in disbelief. Robert nods, his attention focused on Bella. Fraser slides
off the stool and tugs at Ben’s trouser leg. Ben slowly shifts his attention from me to his
son.
‘What is it, Fraser?’
‘Can we go to the beach tomorrow?’
‘Of course we can. Whatever you want.’
‘We should all go out,’ I say.
‘To the beach?’ Ben frowns at me.
‘No, for dinner tonight. They’ve got an extra couple of days with you, make the most of
it.’
‘Or you could just stay here,’ Robert says, joining our conversation.
‘Can we?’ Bella asks. She holds Robert’s hand and stares wide-eyed up at Ben.
‘Table seven’s free,’ Robert says.
‘Is that okay with you?’ I look at Ben.
‘I have no problem staying here.’ He places his hands on top of Fraser and Bella’s heads and
manoeuvres them through the bar to the empty table near the open fire. ‘What do you want to eat, you
two,’ he asks them on the way.
‘Sausage, beans and chips,’ Fraser says without hesitation.
‘Are you joining us?’ I ask Robert.
‘On and off,’ he says. ‘I’ll ring Leila and let her know you and the kids are here. She
might want to come down and see them.’ His face reddens. ‘I’m sorry if they’ve spoilt your
evening.’
I glance across to where Fraser, Bella and Ben have settled at the table near the glowing embers of
the fire. ‘They’ve made my evening.’
‘They are gorgeous, aren’t they?’
I touch his arm. ‘Come and join us when you can.’
I sit opposite Ben and think it’s going to feel odd playing happy families with him and his
kids but Fraser and Bella diffuse the awkwardness as only children can. Fraser refuses to
look at the menu now he’s got it into his head what he wants: sausage, beans and chips.
Bella can’t be swayed either except she wants peas instead of beans. I decide on tenderloin
pork in a creamy mushroom sauce and Ben chooses the steak and ale pie. It’s lemonade all
round.
‘You can drink if you want,’ Ben says.
‘I’m fine, really.’ I quickly finish the pint I had up at the bar, aware of it on the table between us. ‘I
don’t drink that much in Greece anyway. It’s not in the Greeks’ nature to go out to get drunk. Beats
having a hangover.’ I’m talking too much, justifying why I’m not drinking because I know he can’t
drink with his Dad around. He catches my eye and I smile weakly. He knows Mum’s talked to me. I am
sorry he’s missing his children growing up. Seeing the smile on his face and the way he
looks at them, with his arm round Fraser’s shoulders, laughing at Bella trying to stab a
runaway pea with her fork, makes me sad. They’re still at the age where each day they’re
changing, growing, discovering and learning. It must be awful for him to miss out on all
that.
‘So,’ Ben says, once he’s mopped his plate and Bella and Fraser are engrossed in the dessert menu.
‘Dad said your boyfriend’s coming over.’
‘Apparently so. He had the cheek to ask Mum when he phoned the other day.’
‘How long is he here for?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t even know for definite when he’s arriving.’
He takes a sip of his drink and looks at me over the rim of the glass. ‘Are you going back with
him?’
‘We’ll see. I’m not ready to go back yet. It’s like I’m getting to know Mum all over again. I’ve had
time here to think about my life.’
‘Daddy,’ Fraser says, grabbing Ben’s shirtsleeve. ‘Can I have sticky toffee pudding please? With ice
cream.’
‘And custard,’ Bella says.
‘Custard as well?’ Ben asks.
Bella nods enthusiastically. Ben puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head before
reaching his free hand across the table and taking hold of mine. The warmth of his touch is comforting.
I wonder what Mum would make of this family tableau if she walked in now. ‘I’ll miss you when you go
back,’ he says quietly.
‘Look,’ Bella says, tugging at my sleeve. She takes a necklace from her skirt pocket and lays it on
the table. ‘I made it myself.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say. Red, blue, green and purple beads are strung together on gold string. ‘Do you
want to wear it?’
She nods and turns her back to me.
I lift up her curly hair and place the necklace around her delicate neck. I tie it in a loose knot and
arrange her curls on her shoulders.
‘Thank you,’ she says, turning to me with a grin. ‘Now I’m a grown-up.’
…
It’s still early and I follow Ben, Fraser and Bella upstairs to Robert’s spacious flat above the pub. Bella
and Fraser run ahead into the living room screeching, ‘
Nemo, Nemo, Nemo
!’
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ Ben says, patting the back of the sofa. ‘I’ll sort these two
out.’
I kick off my shoes, slump on the sofa and curl my feet beneath me. Like the pub, the upstairs
ceiling is low and beamed. The room is large and open plan with the kitchen visible behind me with
only a breakfast bar separating it from the living area. There’s an unlit log fire set in the grate and the
two windows in the living room overlook the road at the front of the pub to the field beyond. Fraser
and Bella have plonked themselves on the rug in front of the TV and Ben is kneeling between them
searching through DVDs.
‘I’ve found
Toy Story
,’ he says, holding a DVD up.
‘I want
Nemo
,’ Bella says. She looks at Ben with wide eyes. How can he refuse? He goes
back to the stack of DVDs on the floor next to him. I know Alekos will be a natural with
children: they’d always come first, the same as his family does. Maybe that’s what’s wrong;
I can’t imagine myself a part of family life in that way. Family for me has always been
Mum and that’s it. Alekos, Candy, Ben and even Mum’s upbringing was with two parents
and brothers or sisters or both. I’ve always been an outsider. I felt it with Candy and her
family and again now with Ben and his children; it’s a part of life I’ve missed out on. I can’t
imagine how Ben must feel when he has to say goodbye and watch them being driven back to
London. He finds
Nemo
and Bella quietens down and watches it with her brother. Ben sits
down next to me and rests his arm on the back of the sofa with his fingertips grazing my
neck.
‘It wasn’t quite the romantic night out I imagined it would be,’ he says quietly.
We’re whispering like young lovers on the back seats of a cinema. ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I enjoyed
myself. It’s good seeing you with your kids. They remind me of Alekos’ nephew, Yannis – he’s all the
entertainment we ever need on a night out or at a party.’
‘It’s true. I think me and Mandy would have split way before we did if it wasn’t for Fraser and Bella
keeping us laughing and sane. If it had been just the two of us we’d have stopped communicating years
ago. The only reason why there was any fun and laughter in the house was because of these two.
At least something good came out of our marriage.’ His fingers start to stroke the back
of my neck. ‘I miss this,’ he says, motioning towards Fraser and Bella and then back to
me.
I suddenly see myself through his eyes. ‘You still love her, don’t you?’ I say.
His fingers freeze on my neck and I know it’s a yes. He’s been displaced and is floundering in
no-man’s land: no home, no woman, his family split up. And then I walk into his life; someone as
emotionally messed up as he is.
‘I didn’t appreciate what we had at the time,’ he finally says. ‘I guess I thought I could get away
with not paying our relationship much attention. It probably would have been okay if someone else
hadn’t been paying her the attention instead.’
‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we?’ I say. My God, I’d gone out thinking I might be having sex with him
by the end of the night, not a heart to heart with him on his sofa while his kids happily watch TV. The
passion I felt with him during our walk has dissipated and I sense the same with him. I’m still longing
for him to touch me but I’m not sure if it’s more to do with comfort rather than desire. Footsteps
sound on the stairs and when Robert appears in the doorway we separate like fumbling
teenagers.
I feel nauseous the moment I wake up. I’m sick in the bathroom toilet and it’s certainly not because I
drank too much at
The Globe
last night. The feeling I’ve had for the past couple of days, ever since my
period was late, is confirmed. Five days now and that’s unusual – my periods are like clockwork, with
or without the pill – I can one hundred per cent rely on the day and usually pinpoint the time
too.
I had a scare once before, when I was in Falmouth. I was nineteen years old and too much alcohol
and a one-night stand got the better of me. My period was twenty-four hours late and I panicked. I
thought history was going to repeat itself – like mother like daughter. I was stupid but lucky. I was
given a second chance.
I take a walk. I want fresh air and need to get out of the house. Mum doesn’t ask where I’m going
and I don’t say. It’s blustery out and dried leaves are beginning to coat the driveway. I do my jacket
up and wish I had a scarf, hat and gloves. I shove my hands into my jeans pockets and
battle up the hill against the wind. It’s amazing how quickly things can change in only three
weeks.
I push open the Spar door and go in. It’s busy inside and cramped; I have to squeeze
past people to get down the aisles. I go back for a basket and add meaningless things to
it: a bottle of water, a sandwich and a
New Woman
magazine before I find the toiletries
shelf.
Shit. I hadn’t thought the cashiers might know Mum. Small villages like this talk. I finger the box.
My stomach churns but it’s not the feeling I want. What I would give for a bad, horrible, painful period
right now. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I pick up the pregnancy test and slip it beneath the prawn
sandwiches and magazine, like an embarrassed sixteen-year-old.
This is what we talked about, a little more than a year ago. This is what we wanted, what I
wanted.
‘Sophie. What a pleasant surprise.’
‘Robert.’ I nearly drop my basket. He’s right behind me in the queue and I can’t escape.
‘I’m just picking up some milk,’ he says.
My face is getting hotter and hotter.
‘What are you here for?’ he asks.
‘Nothing. I wanted some fresh air.’
‘It’s certainly that. Fresh.’
‘Next,’ the girl behind the counter says. She looks at me lazily as I place the basket next to her. It’s
painful to watch her pick up the bottle of water and swipe. Robert’s still not being served.
Sandwiches, swipe. Magazine, swipe. Pregnancy test. She turns it over to find the barcode.
Swipe.
‘Can I help?’
Robert steps forward to the next till and glances across. So much for worrying about
village gossip. The cashier puts my items into a bag, one by one. Robert finishes at the
same time and we walk out of the door together. A gust of wind nearly knocks us off our
feet.
‘Do you want a lift?’ he asks.
‘No thanks, I fancy walking.’
‘If you’re sure.’
However much quicker the journey to
Salt Cottage
would be, I don’t want to give Robert an
opportunity to ask questions. I stuff the plastic Spar bag into the bag slung across my shoulders and
start walking.
I’m halfway down the hill when it spots with rain and by the time I reach the cottage my hair is
plastered to my face and my jeans are stuck to my legs.
I quietly shut the front door, creep past the closed study door and up the stairs. I’m learning where
the creaks are. In my room I tip my shopping on to the bed.
This is ridiculous. I’m on the pill. I’m pre-menstrual; I’ve been moody. I lock myself in the
bathroom and open the box. Only a couple of days ago I was sitting on the back doorstep in floods of
tears over nothing.
There’s a chip on the corner of the sink. My cleanser and toner lines the shelf next to Mum’s apricot
facial scrub; my green toothbrush keeps her purple one company in the holder with a near-empty
tube of toothpaste. I should have bought some more. I neaten the towels hanging on the
rail.
My fate is sealed by a colour.
I don’t know how to react. It’s sudden, unexpected. Unwanted? A mistake. I don’t feel any different
from how I did an hour ago.
There’s no going back. But how do I possibly go forwards? I should be hugging Alekos not dripping
tears on to Mum’s bathroom floor. This was never meant to happen like this.
Despite me staring at it, the stripe remains defiantly blue.
I’m not ready. We’re not ready. I tear the box into pieces and stuff them and the test into the empty
Spar bag and chuck it away in the kitchen swing bin. I don’t want to deal with anything right now but
I can’t stop thinking about the enormity of a baby. I move through the rest of the day on autopilot.
Mum suggests a lazy night in, so I drive to Holt for an Indian takeaway and a DVD. I should phone
Alekos but I can’t bring myself to call him. Doing that would make things real. It would
mean I’d have to make a decision. Sleep does not come easily. I play my future over and
over in my head, like
Groundhog Day
: what would happen if I made certain choices. If
I got rid of it. No one would ever have to know. Nothing appeals. All of them involve a
screaming baby less than nine months from now. I throw the duvet off. I’m hot one moment and
then wake up later shivering. I feel sucked dry and lifeless by the time my alarm goes off.