by Penny Parkes
She breathed out slowly, willing the thoughts from her exhausted mind and, for a moment, she allowed herself to revel in the splendid isolation. Not a soul in sight and a view to be savoured, before wondering – as she so often did these days – what it might be like to share the experience. Not necessarily with a boyfriend, but with someone.
Someone without four legs and his nose buried deep into a tangled heap of glistening seaweed.
Chewie yelped and leapt back from his investigations, as a small but disgruntled crab scuttled away from the swathes of seaweed. The ridiculous dog skidded backwards in alarm, before running over to Anna and thrusting his wounded nose into her crotch. She was so busy comforting him that at first she didn’t notice that they were no longer alone on the beach, didn’t notice the young father walking along the tideline, singing softly, his feet in the water and a baby papoose strapped to his chest, his attention entirely on the tiny bundle within, arms and legs stuck out like a starfish.
It was the lilting refrain that caught her attention, the Beatles track an old favourite of hers and entirely appropriate for this beautiful morning as it carried across the sand.
‘Here comes the sun…’
Anna caught herself in a wave of unexpected emotion. There was something so simple, so pure, about his devotion. His absolute focus. The easy familiarity which spoke of hours dedicated to this new soul. She couldn’t help but watch, all the while feeling a little as though she were intruding, yet somehow unable to look away.
‘Anna?’
She blinked, thrown from her reflections, and completely blindsided, half wondering whether her thoughts had summoned him here. ‘Henry?’
He left the water’s edge and quickly closed the gap between them, leaving neat, distinct footprints in the wet sand. ‘I thought I was the only one mad enough to be out and about this early.’ He looked incredibly awkward for a moment, before obvious pride reasserted itself. ‘This is Oscar.’
Anna smiled. The dozing baby, although older than she’d realised from afar, certainly suited his name; indeed he already had the look of a little old man about him – a neatly buttoned cardigan and navy chinos gave the impression he was heading off to teach a little physics or history after his stroll.
‘He’s very sweet,’ she said hesitantly, wondering how Oscar fitted into Henry’s life, and equally unsure how to ask.
‘He’s mine,’ Henry blurted. ‘I mean, he’s my son.’
Anna found herself simply nodding; the bond between them was almost primitive – there had really been no doubt – and yet still she found herself surprised.
Hurt, even.
They may only have shared a small glimpse of their histories, but this omission felt like a glaring oversight.
‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,’ Henry said, one hand automatically holding his sleeping son close. ‘And I don’t know why I didn’t really. But here he is – six months of boundless energy and rampant insomnia – and the best decision I ever made.’
‘Decision?’ Anna said, pulling her gaze away from Oscar and looking at Henry properly for the first time. ‘Sorry – you don’t have to answer that. And honestly, no apology needed.’
He reached out, missing her hand by only an inch or two. ‘I disagree. And it sounds a little bit mad, but there’s not many boundaries round here. Everyone knows everything and I can promise you, they’re never short of an opinion. So, it was just – well, it was really lovely to have a conversation with someone who didn’t.’
Anna smiled, watching as his hands strayed to cradle Oscar’s dangling feet. ‘I can see that. It must be all-encompassing having a new baby.’ She broke off, unable to ignore the niggle of discomfort that she had misread their new-found intimacy so completely.
Her own duplicity conveniently forgotten.
This sense of connection – or even a desire to connect – didn’t happen often as Anna made her way around the world, dipping in and out of other lives. Yet when it did, she had become well versed in the art of reframing her own behaviour to be a little more acceptable than it probably was: fast friendships, intense relationships, a taste of vulnerability so much easier with an expiration date.
Even if she was the only one who knew that.
‘We’re not together,’ Henry said intently. ‘Oscar’s mum and me, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Anna blinked, a little shocked that the thought hadn’t even entered her mind. And she didn’t actually like what that might say about her. ‘Ok-ay.’
Could it be that her own interest in Henry was so fleeting as to make his circumstances irrelevant?
The weight of unspoken hurt in her throat suggested not, and for all its discomfort, it was also a relief. A relief caught on the tail by a more galling realisation: that her entire being was focused on the slumbering Oscar. On the weight of his lashes on those pinked, plump cheeks. On the rhythmic clasping of his miniature hands into fists. On the absolute contentment and trust as he leaned into the comfort of his father’s chest.
‘He’s wonderful,’ she said simply, Henry’s pleasure at her reaction written all over his face.
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘But then I am rather biased.’ He shifted slightly, readjusting the papoose, moving fractionally closer to Anna, a waft of baby powder and warmth catching in the air. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a dad.’
Instinctively Anna held out her hand, watching in fascination as Oscar’s hand curled around her finger and held fast. ‘How…’ she began, before wondering where to even begin with all the things she suddenly, desperately, wanted to know.
Henry, eager to please, and slightly missing the point, saved the awkward silence. ‘I’ve known Lily since I was six. We’ve been best friends, well, almost for ever when you think about it but we never went out. And honestly, I think that’s why we knew we could make it work when this one took us a bit by surprise.’ He shifted slightly. ‘A few dodgy ciders and we’re still not sure why that one night seemed like such a good idea. But now we have Oscar. And me and Lily – we’ve always liked each other, you know? Like, properly respected each other as people. A proper mate.’
Mate. A simple word with so many connotations, but Anna was struck hard by Henry’s convictions that it was the friendship, more than any whirlwind romance, that would sustain them.
She nodded, still trying to alight on the question she actually wanted to ask. ‘But how – how did you know you were ready? I mean, where does a person even begin in being a parent?’ She gave an awkward laugh. ‘A good parent, I mean?’
Henry hesitated, seemingly realising that there were so many layers to Anna’s questions. ‘My mum and dad did everything by the book, right? But she still died. And our family never really got over that.’ He paused, correcting himself. ‘I never really got over that.’ He gave Anna a goofy smile. ‘But like I said, I’ve truly always wanted to be a dad, and I reckon there’s more than one way to be a family. Me and Lily, we’re making it work. We’ll carry on making it work, co-parenting this little wombat because we both love him more than anything else in the whole world. It’s not perfect. But then, what is? But we’re better parents than many. We’re young. We’re not in a relationship but we support each other and split our time with Oscar. So really, it all comes down to putting him first, you know?’
Anna nodded. She did know that. She’d never experienced that herself, but on so many levels it really was that simple.
‘Are you okay?’ Henry asked, after a moment. ‘I haven’t upset you?’
‘You have absolutely not upset me,’ Anna replied, her finger still caught in the warm, sticky clasp of Oscar’s fist. ‘You have impressed me, though.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I’m a little in awe of anyone who can make that commitment, even more so of anyone who has the resilience to see it through.’
The lie was ready on her lips, so easily trotted out over the years. A twist of the truth to imply some biological impediment to having children, but Henry’s gentle honesty disarme
d her. ‘I guess I’m too afraid of history repeating itself to risk it. If I turned out to be anything like the disaster that my own parents…’ She broke off, frowning. There was sharing and then there was baring her soul – she was unused to either.
‘Ah, the dodgy parent gene,’ Henry said knowingly, nodding his head in recognition. ‘My mate Josh worries about that all the time.’
Anna looked up at him crossly, her surprise and exposure making her tense.
‘I don’t think you’re alone in having that concern, is all I’m saying,’ Henry said softly, reaching out and rubbing her arm. His touch was kindness personified, yet still Anna felt herself contract. ‘Have you never thought that you might be the pendulum that swings so far the other way simply because of the childhood you had? Because you, Anna Wilson, strike me as a very lovely person, who might yet make a very lovely mum one day.’ He nodded down towards Oscar’s hand entwined with hers and gave a rueful smile.
‘But again,’ he said, ‘I think I might be slightly biased on that front too.’ His smile was filled with teasing affection. ‘Have you never really thought that having a family might yet be worth throwing caution to the wind and giving it a go?’
Anna breathed in slowly, fighting her instincts to rebuff, or rewrite her own history.
‘Once. I thought so once.’ She nodded to herself as she spoke. ‘But the timing wasn’t right. And the boy wasn’t right. And loving him wasn’t enough to build a life on together, because he wasn’t actually very nice.’ She offered a watery, apologetic smile. ‘But I truly thought that I might be enough, on my own, if I was completely and utterly committed to that little soul, to making it work. Like you have.’
Henry stayed silent, patiently letting her work through what she wanted to say. Yet another sign that he was probably a much nicer human being than she was.
‘But I…’ The pain, it seemed, never really went away. She hesitated; swallowed the memory of the blue lines on the pregnancy test, swallowed the hopes and dreams that had toyed with her so briefly all those years ago. The insurmountable doubts. ‘It didn’t work out. Life intervened.’
‘One false start doesn’t mean you give up altogether though, Anna. Not if it’s something that’s important to you,’ Henry said.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Anna replied. ‘Maybe it was a lucky escape. For the baby. For me?’ She’d said the same words before, but still didn’t quite believe them. Even the thought of that time, years ago, still had the capacity to wind her. It was better not to open that particular Pandora’s box of pain. ‘It’s actually been easier since I just closed the door on that kind of life. And it’s not for everyone, right? We don’t all get a happy ever after, just from willing it so.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Henry said, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘And I don’t think fear is a good enough reason not to follow your heart.’
Anna laughed, a small yelp of mirth at his endearing naivety. She would never see this wonderfully earnest young man once this week was over and a reckless disregard for her own habitual discretion swept over her.
‘Oh, Henry, you darling boy. Fear is an excellent motivator for almost everything. To do something. To avoid something. To plan your life around the line of least resistance.’
He stilled, even as Oscar stirred, awoken by her outburst.
‘I get that you’ve been afraid, Anna. I do. Honestly. But you only answer to you now, right? If you make the wrong call, you can change path. There isn’t only one way to do anything.’
She frowned, the words jumbling into an order that jarred with her own reality. Her whole life she’d been telling herself the same story: there was a template for being a proper family, a proper writer, a proper partner… Henry was right in part, but the sentiment was misguided: there was a right way, and a wrong way.
And Anna, who had fought so hard to outstrip the trajectory expected for people like her, with childhoods like hers, was determined to make the right choices. The perfect choices. Or simply not make them at all.
Chapter 19
Dittisham, 2019
Henry and Anna walked along the beach, settling Oscar back into his snuffling doze and giving Chewie the chance to run gentle loops through the shallow waters. Occasionally their arms would brush together and Anna felt herself grow increasingly aware of his proximity, yet theirs was a comfortable silence as they let the waves and the vocal ‘kryks’ of the resident seagulls fill the need for words.
Every now and again, Oscar would jerk in his dreams, little arms and legs shooting out rigid, making Anna jump, yet Henry took it all in his stride. The very definition of a hands-on dad, he cradled the sleeping baby against him, and occasionally dropped a kiss onto Oscar’s downy head.
‘You’re very sweet with him,’ Anna said when he glanced up and caught her watching.
He shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? He’s fabulous. Hard work, but everything I ever wanted.’ He gave her another goofy grin. ‘Although I might not have been so generous at 3 a.m. on the fifth nappy change. But to my mind, you always get out of a relationship what you’re prepared to put in. So, you strip the sheets and sing a lullaby and remind yourself that this little fella is entirely reliant on you. On his mum. And you make the best world for him that you possibly can.’
Anna blinked hard, her emotions apparently so readily on call this last week. Imagine what a life little Oscar would have with parents that adored him so unconditionally; with parents who were committed to making it work, even outside the boundaries of a traditional nuclear family. With parents who seemingly didn’t actually care about how that might look to the world at large.
They wanted to raise their son here, with love, with friends and family around him.
Home: an ever-fixed mark that would give him constancy and a sense of belonging.
How could that possibly be wrong?
And in that moment, as the sun broke through over the haze above the headland and the waves sparkled and glistened, Anna began to wonder whether she had been horribly mistaken for a very, very long time.
‘Aren’t you scared of getting it wrong though? All that responsibility?’ she ventured, her own fears and insecurities still colouring her every experience.
‘A bit. I mean, who wouldn’t be? These little buggers are slippery.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m not doing this on my own, Anna. I know Lily and I aren’t together, but we’re part of something here, and on the days it gets a bit much, I can guarantee that my gran is there with open arms to pinch this little fella for a few hours, or even park him with Molly at the Post Office. All five of her kids have left home so she’s always up for a little cuddle.’ He blushed. ‘With Oscar, I mean.’
He stopped for a moment and turned to look at her, the sun behind him blurring his features into shadow but the intensity in his words no less diluted. ‘I think if a person waits for everything in life to be perfect, then they will always be waiting. And life throws curveballs anyway – so what was perfect one minute can be broken the next.’ His voice cracked a little. ‘I had a wonderful, amazing, loving mum. And then she was gone. Life’s too short to be on hold, Anna.’ He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently as he held her gaze. ‘If you take one thing away from your stay here, I really wish it would be that.’
She prickled slightly. She knew pity when she heard it and it never felt good.
‘A little caution is no bad thing, when you’ve seen what life can throw at you,’ she said, hating the self-righteous justification that sprang so readily to her lips. Wanting Henry to step back, to stop looking at her as though he could read her mind and most of all to stop the deluge of uncomfortable questions that were scrolling through her mind like the credits on a movie.
He let go.
And instantly she wished he hadn’t. Contrary as ever.
‘So tell me. Tell me how your life is better for being cautious, for waiting, not doing. I’m not being arsey, Anna, I promise; I’m just genuinely intrigued. Because you talked
about writing and about travelling, and your friend Kate, but you never say where you’re heading, or what exactly it is you’re waiting for.’
Anna stared at Oscar, willing him to wake, to throw a spanner into the conversation and save her from Henry’s well-meaning but entirely intrusive questions. ‘You don’t really know me,’ she said instead.
‘No. You’re right. I don’t. But I’d like to.’ He smoothed Oscar’s cardigan, gathered at the shoulders by the papoose, and then looked at Anna with such open regard, such devastating honesty, that Anna felt her irritation ebb away.
‘And I’m not being cagey,’ she said. ‘Honestly. It’s just that I don’t really like being quizzed.’
‘Okay,’ he said simply. ‘I didn’t think I was quizzing you, so much as finding out what your plans were. But I’ll stop. Hey, Anna – I’ll stop. The very last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.’ He gave an awkward smile. ‘You might not know this about me, but almost everyone in my life has always been in my life. I don’t range far. So making a new friend – well, I don’t have much practice with that…’
His cheeks were flushed and she could tell that she’d made him feel uncomfortable now too. Tit for tat. An easy, habitual deflection, but a hollow victory.
In fact, none of her usual coping mechanisms felt all that comforting right now. It was as though that one night with Andrew Fraser had morphed her life into some kind of snow globe, where even the slightest movement or deviation threw up a blizzard of emotions and unanswered questions. And that, in itself, hurt more than the physical bruises she’d been smothering with arnica.
How many other bruises had she been smothering too, she wondered. The invisible kind, where arnica and ibuprofen would never be enough.
‘I have this thing about doing things right,’ Anna said slowly. ‘And I know, even as I say that, that I sound like a control freak, but actually it’s almost the opposite.’ She breathed out slowly, even the familiar comfort from knowing that she would be moving on soon not quite enough to make this particular truth palatable.