I Invited Her In

by Adele Parks

  She had thought it would take months to get pregnant, perhaps even years. While she looked significantly younger than thirty-eight years (at least she did after she had put on make-up and blow-dried her hair) she was fully aware of the biological reality of her age. The papers and magazines were always spouting doom and gloom, implying that it was impossible to expect a quick, easy, trouble-free conception and that any clear-thinking woman froze her eggs the moment she hit thirty, but it wasn’t so. At least not in her case. Just another example of sexist, controlling society trying to guilt-trip women who dared have a career and delay motherhood.

  It was a miracle. The little blue cross on the test, like a kiss, that said yes, yes! She was having a baby. A baby! Her baby! The joy was blinding.

  Liam had been adorable. Despite everything she had done to secure his support, she still hadn’t dared to count on it. Not absolutely. After Rob, she didn’t have a very high opinion of men – she didn’t expect any loyalty. But Liam was being a delight. He’d cast aside his family with seemingly relative ease. Since they’d known of her pregnancy, he’d rarely left her side. He was smothering her in kindness and consideration – offering to get her drinks and snacks, rubbing her back when she vomited, nipping to the shops to buy ginger nut biscuits, because they read on the internet that they eased morning sickness. From the moment she’d told him, he’d been so excited. Within an hour, he’d posted on Facebook that he was going to be a father. Not especially considered, but endearingly impulsive. Youthful. Wasn’t that what she had wanted? Needed? His youth.

  Liam was a joy, really. He marvelled at everything. Took pleasure in everything, especially in her which was flattering, pleasant. He was like a puppy: eager, playful, devoted. She was in a position of power, his mistress: she could let him off his leash but she could also bring him to heel any time she liked.

  Before they kissed he held the power, then afterwards she did. Decisively.

  Abigail was the sort of woman who was used to being in control. On the whole men wanted to please her, with the notable exception of Rob; he only pleased himself. But she had wondered whether Liam’s youth might be a weapon that he could and would use against her. He could have looked at younger women with longing or admiration – that would have driven her wild with jealousy – but he only saw her. He could have embarrassed her by drawing attention to her outdated cultural references; instead he told her nineties music was cool. Everything she introduced him to he was grateful for, excited about: the restaurants they visited in London, the sex toys she kept in her suitcase, the famous names in her address book. He seemed to find her thrilling. They had few possessions – just some clothes, no furniture – so she had rented a fully furnished place. Liam had been all goggle-eyed with wonderment.

  ‘I didn’t know you could do such a thing,’ he’d marvelled. ‘This stuff is so cool.’

  He’d taken endless photos of the Eames lounge chair, Kartell ghost lights, the king-size sleigh bed. Then he sent snapchats to his mates. They’d messaged back with variations on the theme of ‘you lucky bastard’.

  They had been given the keys on Saturday morning. Liam had insisted on carrying her over the threshold. It was crazy. She’d laughed and said that was only for brides.

  ‘I don’t care,’ he’d insisted, picking her up with a show of obvious strength. She’d allowed it. Liked it. He’d flung her on the bed and they’d stayed there for the forty-eight hours. Even food seemed unimportant: they had one another to devour.

  It was only on Monday morning, when Abi woke up with the symptoms of cystitis, that she finally pulled on a T-shirt and some joggers to nip to the pharmacy which was just a few minutes’ walk down the road; that was the joy of a central location. She didn’t bother to shower. She didn’t care if the chemist could smell sex on her, if her dishevelled appearance shouted that she had just tumbled out of bed. She wanted to be there and back as quickly as she could be. Liam said he’d make breakfast in her absence. She knew this meant nothing more than him pouring cereal into a couple of bowls but she appreciated the effort.

  There was a queue in the pharmacy. So dull. She’d bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, waiting to get served, longing to get back to bed, back to Liam. She’d simply been glancing around the shop, to kill a moment or two. It was far from interesting: hair dyes, cough syrup, sanitary towels and pregnancy tests. Hardly Selfridges. Nothing that she might be tempted to buy on impulse. Although she eyed the pregnancy tests with keen interest, the way a young boy might gleefully eye packets of sweeties or fireworks, something akin to the way an eight-year-old girl regards her mother’s high heels. Could that be for me? Could that ever be my life?

  She had never had the need to buy one. She and Rob had obviously never tried for a baby and her periods had always been clockwork – you could set Big Ben by them; there had never been a scare that meant she needed to check. But, standing in the chemist, the sun streaming through the grubby windows, she pondered. Suddenly, hoped.

  She had not had a period since, when? She tried to recall. She was on the first week she arrived in the UK, but, no, nothing since. Could that be true? She approached the counter, ready to pay for her cystitis treatment when the chemist said, ‘These sachets shouldn’t be taken if you’re pregnant.’

  Abi speculated whether the woman had just seen her staring longingly at the pregnancy kits, or did she somehow have a gift that meant she knew more than Abi knew herself? It was farcical to imagine such things, but Abi swiftly snatched up a kit and paid for that too.

  On the short walk back to her flat she’d laughed at herself. Quite remarkable up-selling by the chemist, she thought cynically, because it just couldn’t be true. Could it? Yet she went straight to the bathroom. She’d better check before she dissolved the sachets in water, just in case. A precaution. Not a likelihood. Not a chance. Not really.

  But there it was. The blue cross that said, yes, she was pregnant. Then, Abi wished she’d bought two kits, three maybe. Just to be certain. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, only for them to be dashed in the cruellest way. But there it was. A blue cross. A kiss.

  And thinking about it, the past few weeks, she had been feeling slightly nauseous in the mornings. She’d thought it was the excitement of sneaking around with Liam behind Mel’s back or the late nights, the drinking and smoking— Oh God, the drinking, the smoking. Had she damaged her baby? The thought made her tremble. That had to stop immediately. She should have been preparing her body for this. She should have been swallowing vitamins, not shots.

  She’d stumbled out of the bathroom. Liam had not fulfilled his promise to make breakfast – he was still in bed, sprawled like a Greek God after a night of feasting and debauchery, which was a pretty accurate analogy. She went to crawl back into bed, planning to curl up with her arms wrapped tightly around her secret but she must have been smiling because Liam teased her.

  ‘So, you seem pretty pleased with yourself? What are you thinking about?’ He then kissed her nipple, drew on it hard.

  She couldn’t keep it in. Couldn’t help but blurt, ‘I’m going to be a mummy.’

  She’d waited, unsure how he’d respond. Her young man. Then, his face slowly cracked into a broad smile. ‘And I’m going to be a daddy.’

  Abigail was surprised by Liam’s loyalty to her; it seemed fierce and absolute. She’d forgotten how intense a young man’s devotion could be. It had been so long since Rob had been devoted. If he had ever been so at all. She was glad Liam had posted on Facebook. It wasn’t just the fact that doing so showed his commitment to her but, also, she knew that Melanie would be alerted. Alerted then horrified. Devastated.

  ‘Yes, darling. If that’s what you want. Why the hell not?’

  When Liam got back from his meeting with his mother he didn’t give Abi any details as to what was said, but he looked miserable. Squashed. When probed, he mentioned that his mum looked skinny.

  ‘Skinny, really? I can’t imagine that.’ Abi couldn’t resist the di
g. Even though she was happy, even though she’d won.

  ‘Yeah, she was in this thin top.’ He looked concerned and also annoyed. Annoyed at himself maybe, for being concerned. Then he bit his lip as though he was swallowing back whatever it was he felt. ‘When she leaned forward I could see the bumps of her spine. It was freaky. Gross.’

  They went to bed. It was always Abi’s answer. As usual, the sex was distracting, all-consuming. Afterwards, as they curled into one another Abi found she couldn’t fall to sleep as easily as she usually did; instead her mind started to whirl. They’d taken a six-month lease on this place but did she want her baby born in Britain? An American passport would be advantageous. Frankly, she was no longer particularly interested in any of her potential projects here in the UK. They would all require so much time and energy. Time and energy she now wanted to lavish on her baby.

  ‘Would you like to be a daddy in America?’ She asked, just mooting the idea, not sure if she was serious yet, but he leapt at the suggestion.

  ‘I’ve never been to Los Angeles. I’ve always wanted to.’

  She wasn’t clear as to how it might work. There were practicalities to consider. His green card for a start.

  And then he said it. Shyly. ‘We could get married.’

  The room smelt salty, syrupy, a little raw. He traced his finger over her body, across her hip bone, her stomach, her clean-shaven mound. She looked at his hands and thought they were beautiful – he should have played an instrument, Mel should have ensured that; Abi’s baby would have piano lessons as soon as he or she turned four. She also thought she needed to shave and then she wondered, did pregnant women bother? Was there a reason for pubic hair? Did it protect the vagina in some way that was more necessary now she was pregnant? More necessary than aesthetics. She’d Google it.

  He was staring at her, waiting for a response. What was he saying?

  ‘I mean, you’re nationalised, right? As you’re an American citizen, if we married I’d be allowed to stay there too.’

  Married? She’d never thought of taking it that far.

  ‘We can’t get married until you turn eighteen,’ she said with a smile in her voice.

  He was adorable. So willing, so pliable. She vaguely wondered whether the taste of such absolute power would ever become cloying. Wasn’t that why Rob had held her interest above all others, all these years? She never really believed he was hers. She pushed the thought out of her head. It was a downer. She feasted her eyes on Liam instead. His smooth, taut skin, his young, strong muscles. She laced her fingers through his hair and studied his beautiful features. He had a graceful nose, good eyebrows. He was a pleasure to look at. Everything was perfect.

  ‘That’s not long now. Just two months,’ he insisted.

  ‘And I’d need to be divorced,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Well, yes, obviously.’ Liam’s cheeks flared with colour. He didn’t like to think about Rob, her husband. He was jealous. It was sweet. ‘But after then? Accept his settlement, get a quickie divorce and marry me.’

  He flipped her onto her back and climbed on top of her. He began to kiss her neck, her throat, her breasts. He was impossible to resist.

  47

  Ben

  Tuesday 24th April

  Today was the third day that Ben had woken up in his boyhood bedroom; it was a faintly depressing thing. He didn’t want to regress in life but he felt staying in his boyhood bedroom was exactly that. It was early, just after seven. He’d only fallen asleep at about two. His mother hadn’t changed things much since he moved out to go to university. There was no need – she never had anyone stay over, other than family, and they’d got used to the skinny, hard bed pushed up to the wall under the window, and the tatty furniture that was so out of date it was having a revival. It could probably be sold in London somewhere, to someone who identified as a hipster and would call it ironic. There had been posters of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure on the walls until Mel had taken them down and suggested they could be sold on eBay. The girls were in his sister’s room – they delighted in waking up to her posters of the Little Mermaid.

  This morning when he’d woken up he’d listened to his girls’ voices seep through the thin walls of the house and just lain there. Still unable to galvanise the energy to get out of bed. Greet another day. At home, Ben rushed at days, couldn’t wait to get started; now he dragged himself through them, faking interest and joy for the sake of the girls, who skipped around the museums while he lumbered. So far, they’d visited the Life Science Centre and Beamish Museum. He’d done this mostly for their entertainment, but also because he knew that when Mel called them, she’d be impressed. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to speak to her yet, but she’d spoken to the girls twice a day. Each time they did so he pretended not to be listening in, but he’d heard them tell their mummy that they’d spotted the Angel of the North, one of their favourite things to spy; Lily said the Life Science Centre was ‘brilliant’ but would have been better if her mummy was there. In the Beamish gift shop Imogen had asked him whether she should buy a purple or a green skipping rope, and he’d said both were cool. She’d deliberated for ages but in the end, didn’t make the purchase. When he’d asked her why not, she’d sighed. ‘I couldn’t decide. Mummy would have known which one was best.’ He’d felt dreadful.

  Since they’d been staying at his mother’s Ben had run the gauntlet of emotions. Initially, he’d felt full to the brim with anger and hurt. His wife had lied to him for their entire marriage. She had always known who Liam’s father was and she’d refused to tell anyone. Refused to tell him. He thought they knew each other inside out. That’s what he counted on, the belief that they were on the same team had been unequivocal. But she’d lied. Why? He understood that she might have wanted to conceal his identity when she was very young and first pregnant, because her parents were threatening shotgun marriages and such, but why conceal something so monumental from him? From Liam? Didn’t they have a right to know?

  He’d continued to count her crimes.

  She had invited Abi into their life, to assuage her guilt, he supposed. She’d prioritised this long-lost friend while neglecting him and the girls, taking them for granted as she fell under Abi’s glittering spell. And the way in which she was behaving towards Liam, for doing exactly the same, was ludicrous. Ranting and raving wasn’t going to help matters.

  Plus, she had sent the damaging sex recording to that man, somehow allying herself with him, somehow rejecting Ben. He couldn’t quite straighten out in his head exactly why he felt that way, but he did; her actions were a slight, a betrayal.

  Yes, he’d felt furious. But then, he’d started to feel something different. Sadness. It was all ruined. Their marriage had been as beautiful as a snow-covered field first thing in a pink-sky winter morning, but now it was turning slushy, wet grey, trampled upon. Disappearing altogether. They’d been so happy. Other people used to comment on what a fun, easy-going family they were. Where had all that contentment, gratitude, joy slipped to? Now, they felt knotted, tangled. Their happiness had been paper thin, the past had ripped through, the present was torn to shreds.

  This morning he’d woken up and felt deep longing. He missed her. He missed the smell of her hair, her skin, her breath. He missed the way her body rolled into his, hot, solid. He felt weary with being angry at her – it took too much energy being furious, incredulous, frustrated. It had started to feel like an act. He just wanted to hold her. He didn’t care what she’d done or said or failed to say. He wanted to see his wife, to fix things. He was sure they could, couldn’t they? If they both wanted it enough? They had that in them, didn’t they? Ben leapt out of bed, invigorated, certain.

  He walked into the kitchen and his mother smiled brightly at him; she immediately saw that he’d thrown off something, seized something once again. He kissed the top of the girls’ heads; they carried on chatting to one another, barely acknowledging him, drowning in a glut of chocolate milk and bread and Nutel
la, a breakfast that Mel would only consider on their birthdays. He hadn’t had much of an appetite recently but now he felt hungry. He popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and put three Weetabixes in a bowl. His mother mooched about, dishcloth in hand, wiping surfaces and chatting to him about the neighbours creosoting the boundary fence. She asked his advice – ought she to do the same on her side? Ben picked up on the hint and wondered whether he should offer to do that before they set off back to Wolvney. He had been planning on hitting the road ASAP but he could do so this afternoon, after painting the fence. His mum had been great these past few days: listening and asking just enough questions, walking the thin line between being concerned and prying. It was the least he could do.

  ‘There’s a letter for you,’ said his mother, handing him the long white envelope.

  Naturally, he recognised the handwriting immediately. His mother’s house was small; there wasn’t anywhere to go that interested eyes couldn’t follow him, other than the loo. So, he read her words in there. Her words were a salve. Humble. Honest. Hurtful. Healing. He read her letter carefully, allowing each word into his head and his heart.

  Not an excuse, it’s just the explanation you are owed.

  I wanted him.

  I wanted to be her.

  It was something dreamlike and peculiar.

  If Liam ever knew . . . it would break his heart.

  Ben, I’ve never thought of Liam as anyones other than mine, and then mine and yours.

  I need you and the girls at home by my side.

  I’m sorry, my love. Sorry, sorry a hundred times over.

  Since the moment he was born I’ve done everything I could to look after him.

  I love you.