The Child Inside
Page 30
Is it enough? Can it ever be enough?
He left his old school without a second thought and I saw the clouds lift out of his eyes. We live close enough for him to see his father every day, and if he doesn’t see him, Jono speaks to him. Perhaps we all make more effort now.
‘He says you’re doing some teaching,’ Andrew says.
‘Oh, just a bit. Just private, you know, while Freya’s still so young.’ Freya. I have never said her name to him before. I watch his closed face and grip my hands a little tighter.
‘Can I see her?’ Andrew says, and my heart jolts.
But then Jono comes bounding up with that dog yapping at his heels. ‘Can we get a dog? Can we, Mum?’ he asks, and I laugh and try to catch him in a hug.
‘We don’t need a dog, we’ve got a baby,’ I remind him and he goes straight to the car, opens the passenger door, bends down and drops a kiss on his sister’s cheek.
‘She’s asleep,’ he says, and he starts tickling her chin with his grubby fingers, till she screws up her little face and fleetingly opens her baby-dark eyes. And then he is gone again, back down that garden, the dog following behind.
‘Babies are not quite as much fun as dogs,’ I mutter, just for something to say.
Because Andrew is standing by the open car door, looking down at Freya with a look on his face that will haunt me forever. How could I ever think that my husband had no feelings? How could I think that he didn’t care? Regret clogs my heart like a rock.
‘She’s beautiful,’ he says, and his voice is thick, barely more than a whisper.
I look at him, looking down at my baby, and my eyes are burning with tears. ‘I’m sorry, Andrew,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I reach my hand out, to touch his. I feel his skin, soft, dry, so instantly familiar. Tentatively, my fingers creep around his.
He says, ‘I wish that she was mine.’
My fingers move against his, are caught and held. He rubs his thumb against mine; he clutches my hand tight, like he will never let it go, squeezing it, squeezing it.
And I say, ‘I wish that she was yours too.’
THE
CHILD
INSIDE
Suzanne Bugler lives in south-west London with her husband and two sons. She is the author of This Perfect World and has also written two novels for young adults: Staring Up at the Sun and Meet Me at the Boathouse.
By the same author
THIS PERFECT WORLD
Acknowledgements
With thanks to Sara Menguc, Jenny Geras and the staff at Macmillan. Thanks also to my husband Nick, and to my family and friends for their love and support.
First published 2012 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2012 by Pan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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ISBN 978-1-4472-0921-8 EPUB
Copyright © Suzanne Bugler 2012
The right of Suzanne Bugler to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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