After a few minutes she’s asleep, the noises of the road proving a good lullaby.
I’ve shaved, as Esther commanded me to anyway, changed into a smart shirt and dug out my old work coat. I’m not wearing jogging bottoms for the first time in a fortnight. I’ve even put some aftershave on.
I’m not going to do anything. But I can’t deny the cognitive dissonance thrumming in my brain. I’m a thirty-nine-year-old man, after all, and, if I’m honest, the chemistry Kim and I had reminded me of those early days with Sarah. Frantic, visceral. Nothing like the pedestrian mechanics of Esther and me.
I think of the sex Esther and I had just a few days ago. It had been a welcome relief when she initiated it, but such a surprise it only lasted seconds. Afterwards, when I came back from the bathroom, I found she was huddled in a corner of the bed, crying.
It broke my heart to see her like that. She’s still taking her time to come to terms with everything. I’m trying to be patient.
I spot Kim standing by the water fountain as I enter the common. She’s wearing a bobble hat, her long, dark hair spilling out from under it, all over her shoulders. She’s dressed in tight jeans and a bomber jacket, and she stands up and waves at us as I push Riley towards her. I feel strange, and then I realise that it’s nerves.
Unusual, for me. This is a delicate situation. I have to tread carefully, and I’m not known for my tact or diplomacy.
‘Dude,’ she says, ambling towards me. She flings her arms around my neck and kisses me on the cheek. Her perfume is strong, a strange musky smell that’s both sickly and masculine all at once. She’s more tanned than the last time I saw her, and slimmer too.
‘It’s freezing,’ she says, laughing, her white teeth flashing as she does so. ‘How’s bubba?’
She leans over the pram, pulling back the cover slightly. Her face breaks into a wide smile.
‘Sleeping,’ I say.
Kim looks at me.
‘Still beautiful like her mother?’
I shake my head. She pushes her luck. Just like me. Maybe that’s why I like her.
Kim hooks an arm through mine and we walk together slowly, me pushing the pram gently across the wet grass.
‘How are things?’ I say.
‘You know,’ she says. ‘Could be better, could be worse. Keeping on. I’ve . . . met someone though.’
‘Anyone special?’ The question is out before I have time to consider it, and it hangs there, unanswered, for several seconds.
‘Why, you jealous?’ she says, teasingly, and I squeeze the handles of Riley’s pram so hard that my fingertips start to ache. Shit, it’s all going wrong. This is not what I came here to do. But I’m on this track now, and the pathetic thing is it’s a track I enjoy riding.
‘Definitely,’ I say, glancing sideways at her. ‘Definitely maybe. Perhaps. A little bit.’
‘Shush, you naughty boy,’ Kim says, dramatically flapping her arms at me. ‘Way too complicated. Anyway, tell me about Riley. How’s Daddy Day Care working out? My mates are so impressed with you, what you’ve done.’
‘What mates?’ I say, my hand flying to my mouth in mock-shock. ‘You have mates? Prove it.’
‘Haha. They think you’re quite the modern man. Seriously, it’s amazing what you’re doing, dude. You rock.’
I find myself smiling, relaxing, enjoying her company. There is something so incredibly freeing about her, the fact that she has no expectations of me whatsoever, that she just lets me be, accepts me as I am.
‘It’s all entirely self-serving, I assure you,’ I say. ‘Just doing it to scrape together material for a new show. And there’s loads of it. I might try and take it to Edinburgh this year . . .’
We reach a bench and sit down side by side. Her leg is pressed against mine, her neat nose silhouetted against the morning sun.
‘I went to this baby yoga class the other day . . .’ I continue. ‘Christ. I would have been stared at less if I’d turned up with a kitten instead of a baby. I know the whole “reluctant dad” trope has been done to death, but what about the non-reluctant dad? No one talks about him. It’s a charitable act. I’m giving him the airtime he deserves.’
‘Smarty-pants,’ Kim says, clapping her hands together. ‘Sounds genius. I reckon you’ll make millions.’
‘Do you think?’ I say, suddenly shy. Her faith in me reminds me of the way Sarah believed in me. Once.
‘Of course!’ she replies. ‘Ed Fest crowds will lap that up.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, smiling. I haven’t even told Esther about my idea yet.
Kim turns to look at me. I stare in her eyes. They’re deep and dark, framed by thick, curled eyelashes that can’t be natural, but that somehow suit her so perfectly it’s hard to believe she wasn’t born with them.
She smiles, looks away. The air feels thick between us.
I shut my eyes and try to block out the memories.
But they pop up, over and over again: Kim, against a wall, breathless and compliant as I thrust into her unthinkingly.
Kim, lying beneath me, pulling me towards her as though I was the only man in the world.
Kim, the woman I turned to when my world fell apart for the second time.
Esther
I am late home from work – the meeting with Sarina and the research team was fascinating. I had so many ideas of ways we could use their findings in future campaigns that I couldn’t help but stay late to empty them out of my head before they disappeared. There’s so much more public awareness needed around gestational diabetes, and the risk especially to obese mothers. I don’t want to pull focus from our main campaigns this year but I’ve decided to call a meeting with the social media team tomorrow, to see if we can push out a mini campaign based around the research team’s findings.
It’s incredibly exciting – to me, anyway – but it means I have missed bath time.
By the time I finally push open the front door to our flat, it’s 7.30pm. Not late by the standards of some parents I know, but late enough that Riley is asleep already, in her cot that’s attached to Robin’s side of the bed. It’s called a co-sleeping cot, and means that Robin can easily lift her up to feed her if she wakes in the night. I wanted it on my side of the bed – after all, I hardly see her in the day – but Robin said it made no sense, that I needed my sleep more than he did.
I tried not to see it as anything other than a sensible decision.
‘Sorry,’ I whisper, as I hang my coat on the overcrowded rack in the hallway, and climb past the buggy. Our flat is too small to house us, a baby and all the baby’s paraphernalia. We want to move eventually. I just need to wait for my promotion so that we can get a bigger mortgage.
Disloyally, I have thought that Robin could still do gigs in the evenings if he wanted – we’d just need to make sure I was home from work on time. But he doesn’t seem keen. We’ve discussed it and the decision has been made: Robin will stay at home to look after her until she turns one.
After all, if Robin was a woman no one would blink an eye at this plan – in fact, they’d expect it.
The television is on in the living room, of course, so I push open the wooden door and peer in.
‘Hi Tot,’ Robin says, shifting position on the sofa. I take a few steps over to him and kiss him on the cheek. He’s wearing aftershave. I shouldn’t be surprised; I asked him to shave, after all, but I stand up sharply. Certain smells can take me back to the time when I thought I might be sick just from breathing in. I still can’t believe that I survived that experience. Sometimes I wonder if I really have, or if my life is just a weird dream.
‘Has she been difficult?’ I say, looking around at the scattered toys littering the living room rug.
He shifts on the sofa.
‘Our daughter, difficult? Princess Riley of Rilesville? Let me think. Uh, yeah. Epic PMT today. Sorry about the mess. Her Royal Hi
ghness wouldn’t settle – she’s literally just gone down now. I was trying to stay quiet.’
I swallow. Robin looks tired.
‘Stressful day?’ he says, reaching out a hand. I take it, trying not to focus on how clammy it seems, and sit next to him on the sofa.
‘No, it . . .’ I start. I don’t find my job stressful, at all. Fast-paced, exhausting, frustrating at times, but not stressful. Stressful is trying to get a screaming baby to sleep. I know how lucky I am to be in this situation. My friends stuck at home with young babies constantly tell me. ‘It was pretty exciting, actually.’
He looks up at me, and I immediately regret my words. It sounded like a boast.
‘Oh?’
‘Oh, exciting to me, research stuff, you know. How about you? How’s Riley?’
‘I think she wanted to see you,’ he says, cocking his head to one side. ‘She was really grumpy at bedtime. God, I wish she could speak, you know, and actually tell us what’s wrong. I feel sure she would come out with something really profound. Like “more milk, Daddy”.’
‘I feel bad,’ I say, my voice small. ‘Shall I pop in and see her now?’
‘Her Royal Highness requests that she not be disturbed,’ he says. ‘As I said, she’s just stopped grumbling.’
I sniff. He’s right, of course, but I miss her.
‘How was your day?’ I ask.
He rubs his nose with his fingers. I notice the bottle of beer on the side table, half empty. I think about his half-hearted period of abstinence last year and then shake my head. He’s allowed a drink at the end of a long day. I’ve got to stop being so controlling.
‘It was good, yeah,’ he says. ‘We went to the common for a bit of fresh air, then stopped at the supermarket on the way back. This afternoon we did a lot of exercise on the baby gym.’
I laugh.
‘Which common?’ I ask, keeping my voice light.
‘Oh, Tooting,’ he says. ‘It was a nice day. Just fancied stretching my legs.’
I think of the words I read this evening on Kim’s Facebook page. A friend had left a comment on her profile picture.
Is it true you’re back in Londinium for a bit, my love?
And her reply:
YES. Staying with some mates in Tooting. DRINK PLEASE?
‘There’s a lot of pollution on Tooting High Street,’ I say. ‘I’d rather you didn’t walk her up there really.’
‘Yeah, fair dos,’ Robin replies, but he’s flicking channels on the television, not really listening. He certainly doesn’t seem anxious. Not like last year. Not like he has anything to hide.
I trust him. What happened was a one-off, in exceptional circumstances.
I need to stop looking at Kim’s social media. It’s just so hard. I’m trying my best. I’ve never known anyone to have quite so many friends, to be doing quite so much stuff, to be constantly the focus of everyone’s attention. Why is she so popular?
‘What’s for dinner?’ I ask, and Robin turns to me, smiling.
It’s his new thing: cooking. He’s been making jokes about being a natural housewife ever since we agreed he would be a stay-at-home dad. He even bought a pinny – thankfully, he has yet to wear it.
‘I made a pasta bake.’ He laughs, as though it’s a culinary masterpiece. ‘I’ll just serve up. Now, what would you like to drink after your long day in the office? Gin? Or we’ve got a new bottle of white in the fridge?’
I frown. My head is throbbing a little, the threat of a headache lingering.
‘No, I’ll just have some juice, please.’
‘Bore.’
He disappears through to the kitchen at the back of the flat, and I chastise myself again. He’s so unselfish, so good at looking after me. Yes, he cheated on me but there were extenuating circumstances. And we’ve made the best of it, and he’s trying so hard.
As I wait for Robin to bring our meals through, I check my WhatsApp messages for the day. I’m in a group with two of my university friends; we all became parents within a few months of one another. A little red number at the side of the group tells me that I have thirty-seven messages waiting for me. I tap on the group name to read them.
Oh my God, the 6-in-1 vaccine is evil! My poor bubba.
Oh poor Seb, did he not take it well?
Been screaming the house down since we got back from the doctors. And of course Jon’s away for the rest of the week for work.
Oh Lordy, you poor thing.
Different time zone too. Can’t even whinge to him on FaceTime.
Has Riley had her vax yet, Esther?
Yeah, she’s a couple of weeks older than Seb, isn’t she? Did she get a temperature?
I continue reading, my fingers hovering over the phone keypad, trying to decide what to write. The truth is, I don’t know whether Riley has had her vaccination yet. I didn’t even know she needed to have one.
Robin comes back into the room, carrying my drink and a bowl filled with pasta.
‘Try not to enjoy it too much,’ he says. ‘It’s one hundred per cent pure stodge.’
‘Has Riley had her jabs yet?’ I say, my iPhone still in my hand. ‘Zoe and Fran were just saying . . .’
‘Oh shit, yes. Didn’t I tell you?’ Robin replies. ‘They’re booked in for tomorrow. 10am. It’s on the calendar.’
‘Oh,’ I say, my voice muted. ‘I would have liked to come . . . apparently it’s pretty nasty.’
‘Come!’ Robin says, settling down on the sofa. ‘I’m sure Riley would love to have you there.’
‘I can’t,’ I say, shaking my head and pushing my fork into the mound of steaming pasta. ‘I literally just called a last-minute meeting with the social media team for the morning. I was quite insistent . . .’ I shake my head again. ‘Maybe I should cancel.’
Robin looks at me, his mouth full of penne.
‘Tot,’ he says as he chews. ‘It doesn’t matter. She won’t remember who took her. And anyway, it’s bloody horrible. Last time she screamed the place down. Not surprising, given the size of the needle they use. It’d make me scream the place down, and I’ve got a tattoo, don’t you know.’
I smile.
‘Still,’ I say, looking down at my phone. ‘I wish I could be there.’ The screen is flashing with new messages from Zoe and Fran. They’re now back on their favourite topic of conversation: bemoaning the fact that their partners have no idea how hard it is to be at home with a baby all day. It feels like a dig, even though I know they’re both too sleep-addled to bother taking potshots at me.
They often tell me how lucky I am though.
It’s amazing what Robin does. You’re so lucky to have such a forward-thinking husband! I’d give anything to be able to go back to work and know my baby was being looked after by someone who loved them as much as me.
They’re right, of course.
Lucky. That’s what I am. That’s what I have to remember.
Robin
Thank God.
Kim is back in Stratford with her dad. She texted me a selfie of her waving goodbye. Nothing suggestive about it – you could only see her face and hand in the photo – but I deleted it anyway, after wishing her a safe trip.
It’s easier now she’s not that nearby. Although we only met up once, she had started texting me during the day, asking how we were. It was making me nervous.
I meant it when I told Esther that I would never cheat on her again. Aside from the fact that nearly losing everything last year was the real wake-up call I needed, I’m too knackered.
No one tells you how much having a baby kills your sex drive. I constantly feel light-headed, as though I’m low on oxygen. Sugar and coffee are my main cravings these days, as my even softer stomach shows.
I’ve also lost enthusiasm for my work. It feels so utterly unimportant. Whenever I log on to Faceb
ook I’m confronted by hundreds of invitations to friends’ gigs, and friends-of-friends’ gigs. The whole thing wears me out. It all feels pointless, irrelevant. Just a load of desperate egotists trying to prove their lives have worth. Nothing they do matters. Nothing is important.
Why can’t people understand that looking after my daughter isn’t a second choice to my job? It’s my destiny.
What’s that expression?
If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.
And I couldn’t love Riley more. Sometimes, when I look at her, I feel like bursting into tears. That she’s mine, that I get to keep her. It’s so overwhelming, the love I have for her. It’s like the way I felt about Sarah when we first met, but magnified and matured to the hundredth degree. I watch her as she sleeps, the way her fingers curl up tightly around her muslin cloth, which she won’t sleep without. Sometimes she puts it over her face, as though she’s trying to block the world out.
She’s my daughter, all right.
I wonder if my dad even has the capacity in his pickled heart, the space in his full-of-crap brain, to understand what he missed when we were growing up. Too late now. Cry me a river, Dad. We’re born malleable, and slowly, as we mature, our personalities solidify like cement, fixing themselves into these twisted, ugly shapes. And that’s what’s happened to him. It’s impossible for him to ever change back.
That’s why the early years are so important; they set the shape for the clay. Last week I had a crazy idea: perhaps I could retrain as a primary school teacher? Or maybe even a childminder? But people would probably be funny about leaving their babies and toddlers with a man. Depressing.
Just another way in which the male species lets the human race down.
I lay Riley in her cot. She’s fine now, after a grouchy few days post-vaccinations. The nurse smiled as she saw me come in with her.
‘No Mum today?’ she said. Her tone was light enough but it was still irritating.
‘No,’ I said shortly. The nurse looked down, as though she’d said something terrible. Probably worried Riley’s mother had died in childbirth or something. That’s the depressing thing; people always assume there’s been some kind of tragic accident, rather than imagining that actually, we have just decided to switch the parenting roles.
The Perfect Father: the most gripping and twisty thriller you'll read in 2020 Page 9