I am frozen, thinking of Kim.
There’s a strange second of tension, before she leans forward and begins to kiss me. She tastes of something sweet – a schnapps, or maybe ice cream – and the effect is so surprising that I find myself kissing her back hungrily, thinking of Sarah and her stupid writing partner and all the accolades she’s taken that should have been mine, and before I know it, Esther’s tugging off my trousers, and it’s as though we’ve only just met.
Later, we lie together on the sofa, pretending that it’s not uncomfortable being squashed together on it. I stroke her hair and tell her I love her, and when she’s silent for a long time, I ask her if she’s all right.
‘We are really lucky,’ she says, and I realise she’s crying. ‘We have so much.’
‘We deserve it,’ I say. ‘You’re working too hard. You need a break, that’s all.’
She sniffs a little, then sits up, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. It’s nearly 11pm now, and the tiredness is permeating my every pore. It’s been an exhausting day: Stu, then Kim, then Sarah, and now this.
‘I’ve been thinking about my dad’s money,’ she says.
‘I haven’t,’ I say, disingenuously. ‘Fuck it, fuck the money. Let’s blow it all on a round-the-world holiday. Or donate it to a cat charity. Did your dad like cats?’
‘Listen,’ she says, ignoring me. Her eyes are clearer now, she’s sobered up. ‘I was . . . talking to Vivienne got me thinking how lucky I am. How lucky we are. Despite what we went through . . . I know she would kill to be in our shoes. Sean still won’t even marry her. She thinks he’s waiting to see if she’s fertile first. Can you imagine? I’ve never liked him.’
Bonding over our dislike of others. It’s funny the things that bring you together.
‘You know what I think of him,’ I say, wondering if I’ve actually ever really told her. She’s got the general impression though.
‘I know, I know,’ she says. ‘But they’ve been together for so long. It can’t just be because of who her parents are . . .’ She pauses, shakes her head. ‘Anyway. It just made me think, what we have . . . it’s amazing. But the flat is too small, and I don’t like that Riley lives so near the main road . . . all that pollution. So let’s spend the money on a new house. A bigger house. A family house. It can be a fresh start for us. Away from . . . all the stuff that happened here.’
I smile, nod gently.
‘It’s your money. If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do,’ I say.
‘It’s our money. We’re married. You do such a good job taking care of Riley, you deserve the money just as much as I do. And it is. It is what I want,’ she says.
She pauses.
‘Is there a “but” coming?’ I joke.
‘This stuff with Kim,’ she says, her voice wavering slightly. ‘I want it sorted. Once and for all. She needs to sign those adoption papers, Robin. No more tiptoeing around her. I mean it.’
‘Of course,’ I say, swallowing.
Shit.
Time to get creative.
Esther
No one said relationships were meant to be easy. Look at Sean and Vivienne. All those years messing around, pretending they were too cool for commitment, and now that they’ve finally realised what they really want – a family – they can’t have it.
You’re not meant to compare your life with others’, but knowing that even people like Viv have problems has made me hopeful about the future. I’ve got to be grateful for what I have. After all, I’m so lucky. So, so lucky. I just need to look forward. No more looking back. I feel positive that finding a new, bigger home will bring us closer together again.
We are walking down the road to our first house viewing of the day. There are seven booked in, but thankfully Robin’s mum is looking after Riley. She’s at that age now where she doesn’t want to sit still for a minute. She’s feisty too, and fond of screaming if things don’t go exactly how she wants them to. It’s a little intimidating. Robin probably spoils her, but I can’t blame him for that.
He’s a wonderful father. So loving. Who wouldn’t want that for their child?
The sun is out, and I take off my denim jacket and fold it over my arm as we walk along, enjoying the late-spring warmth.
‘I’m optimistic about this one,’ I say, as we round the corner into the pretty, tree-lined street. We’re just north of Wimbledon, near Southfields. It’s an area I don’t know that well, but as soon as we left the Tube station I thought it was somewhere I could see us living. Still near enough to public transport and shops but with a slightly more suburban atmosphere that feels more mature, like the next step in life we should be taking.
‘Cherry trees – tick,’ Robin says, but he’s closed off and I can’t tell why. From the listing online, it looks as though this house is finished – been done up to the nines by its previous owners. I know he would rather we bought a project. Project managing a renovation would be the perfect way of keeping himself busy. I think it would be brilliant for him; something to help bolster his self-esteem.
The estate agent is waiting for us outside, a dark-haired chap who looks about nineteen. He shakes both of our hands rather vigorously, then leads us in.
The house is nice enough, but Robin’s right, it’s not for us. It would feel like borrowing someone’s coat if we bought it. It’d never quite fit.
Five houses later, and I’m exhausted. We stop off for some lunch at a cafe near the Tube to ‘regroup’, as Robin suggests with a wink that takes me back, suddenly, to a time when our lives were simple and we spent most of our days laughing.
As we sit at the table, I remember with a pang of shock that we have left Riley with Sandra. I feel dark with guilt. Is it possible I had actually forgotten that we had a daughter?
When things like this happen it’s impossible to shake the feeling that it’s because I didn’t give birth to her.
‘Hey!’ Robin says, looking over at me. My eyes have filled with tears. It’s been a while since I’ve been caught out like this, and I grab a napkin and start frantically dabbing at my eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’
I try to speak but instead I just cry even more. Perhaps it will do me good, to get these feelings out of my system.
‘We’ll find a house,’ he says, placing his hand over mine across the table. ‘It’s a good problem, right?’
I nod.
‘How is Riley?’ I say, eventually. ‘Has your mum sent an update?’
Robin pulls his phone out of his pocket and shows me a picture his mum has sent. Riley is on the swing at the local playground, laughing with glee. She loves the swings.
‘Apparently she’s had a two-hour nap today. Git!’ Robin says, looking at the photo. ‘She never sleeps that long for me.’
For me.
It’s constant, the reminder that I don’t play much of a role in Riley’s life. I’m like a 1950s father, bringing home the bacon but barely around enough to make an impact on her in any other way. Will she even remember me being part of her life, when she’s older?
‘She always plays up for us,’ I say. ‘We’re her parents.’
Robin holds my gaze.
‘Of course,’ he replies.
There’s a silence that lasts too long. I feel the tears pricking the backs of my eyes again and stare down at the sandwich in front of me.
‘Why didn’t you tell me your mum had texted?’ I say.
‘God,’ Robin replies. ‘What’s the matter? I don’t know. I didn’t think.’
I sniff.
‘What’s wrong?’ Robin says.
‘It’s . . . the adoption,’ I say. ‘You haven’t . . . have you even spoken to her? After our conversation the other night? I don’t understand what she’s playing at . . . Riley’s nearly eighteen months now! We need security, safety. I want to know she’s mine.’
‘She is yours,’ he says, softly. His hands are twitching. ‘Tot, seriously. She adores you. You’re her mum. She loves you to death.’
‘I can do it if you like?’ I say. ‘Why don’t I speak to her? Maybe it would be easier coming from me?’
‘No,’ he snaps. ‘I told you before, she’s mental. We can’t risk upsetting her. She needs careful handling.’
‘But . . .’ I say, angrily. ‘It’s upsetting me.’
Robin sighs and puts down his drink. He won’t meet my eyes.
‘I know, I know,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry, Tot. I’ll chase Kim again about getting it sorted, I promise. You know what she’s like – her life is a mess. It won’t mean anything; she’s probably just too chaotic to get around to it. I’ll set her a deadline – Riley’s second birthday.’
I frown. Where has the optimism of this morning gone? I can’t tell him I’m crying because him saying Riley is mine is somehow not good enough. That I want proof. A piece of paper that makes it legal.
I can’t tell him I feel overwhelmed most of the time, because whenever I think about what I went through with my pregnancy I feel as though I’m drowning in the contradiction of feelings.
I can’t tell him that I think he’s pushing me out, when all he’s doing is being the perfect husband and father, taking care of our daughter with such love and precision that I can never repay my gratitude.
I can’t tell him that even though I know I am the lucky one, that millions of mothers who’ve had to kiss their careers goodbye would kill to be in my position, all I want is some time alone with Riley, so that I can really feel like her mum.
So I tell him the only thing I can. My get-out-of-jail-free card.
‘It’s just . . .’ I say, trying to push away the surfacing guilt. ‘Everything. My dad. You know. The money. Thinking about the fact I didn’t visit him. At the end. But even before I got sick, I was so busy with work . . . and . . .’ I tail off. ‘Everything feels so unstable, so . . . fragile.’
He sits back in his chair, his whole body relaxing.
‘I know, darling,’ he says, and the word sounds strange coming from his lips. Has he ever called me darling before? I don’t think so. ‘You’re doing your best, and that’s all anyone can do.’
I know the words are meant to be comforting, but somehow they feel like a criticism, an unnatural response to my words. My anger rises.
What he’s left unsaid sounds louder than the rest. You’re doing your best, but we all know that’s not good enough.
By the time we get to the seventh house on the list, I’m feeling thoroughly despondent. The houses we have seen already have ranged from bland to awful, with not much in between, and certainly nothing that has excited me.
‘It’s the project,’ Robin says, suddenly taking my hand as we walk up to the gate of the final house. A typical Edwardian terrace. It had been lived in by the same woman for her entire life.
‘I’ve got to warn you,’ the estate agent says as she pushes open the door. ‘It needs everything doing.’
‘We don’t mind,’ I find myself saying as I step inside. She thinks we’re a blissfully happy couple.
‘The lady who lived here was born here, inherited it from her parents, married and raised her four children here. A real generational home.’
I see past the peeling wallpaper, the ominous damp patch above the living room bay window, the threadbare carpets and lethal wiring. The house has an atmosphere I can’t explain. It calms me, it soothes me, it says life is hard, but you will be all right. The light that floods into the bay window fills me with a strange sense of optimism.
I think about Robin’s promise to me earlier. He won’t mess it up this time, I know it.
And this house is the hope I have been searching for – the bright spark on the horizon.
I love it straight away.
Now
Esther
I have been to this hospital before, I think, as the police car pulls up outside it. It is where I first met Riley.
Riley, who, once I met her, looked so much like the pictures of Robin as a baby that I stopped breathing for a second. Riley, who had come to wash away all our sorrows. The ray of light. The bringer of sunshine.
Kim had a Caesarean section. She told us that it was her choice, but she didn’t share why. The night before the birth, I imagined the scalpel slicing into her stomach, like puncturing a balloon. She was older than me, but twice as lithe and her tummy muscles had held the baby in a tight embrace. I had barely had the chance to develop a baby bump before my pregnancy ended. Kim’s pregnant stomach looked as hard as nails, taut and somehow unbearably sexy.
She hadn’t let us come to any of the antenatal appointments, but we were there for the birth. Over and over I repeated the words Robin had said to me when we settled on the plan. It’s a surrogacy. The same as so many others. She will be our child, not Kim’s.
We had paid her twenty thousand pounds for the ‘inconvenience’. Robin told me not to mention it, that it might upset her.
That was always his line. His excuse.
We were so desperate not to upset her.
I had had five months to get used to the idea, but it was still taking time to sink in. But my arms had felt empty ever since I’d lost my baby, and I couldn’t wait to fill them with a real-life baby. What did it matter if she came to us through unconventional means? Plenty of babies are adopted.
It was only in the night that I remembered it wasn’t a normal adoption. That Kim wasn’t a surrogate, in the traditional sense. That my husband, who had sworn to stay faithful to me until death, had been inside this woman, had slept with her for reasons that had nothing to do with getting her pregnant, and everything to do with getting revenge on me.
I climb out of the police car and make my way through the hospital. The policewoman is talking to me but I’m not listening. Instead I’m remembering it all. The toxicity of the situation, how we tried to repaint it as something else, when in truth it was rotten to the core.
No. That’s not right. Riley isn’t rotten. Riley is my daughter, and I love her. Blood isn’t thicker than water. Robin’s relationship with his father is more than proof of that.
I have loved that child since the first second I held her. It was as though all the grief and guilt vanished and a little voice whispered in my ear, ‘This is who you were meant to love. This one.’
Kim was laughing as we came in the room, all gowned up. It was the first time I’d seen her since the New Year’s Eve party. I found it hard to believe that the woman in this situation was me. But there I was, nervously laughing along with them. My heart was thumping with desperation for this child, and with something else too: a shame I couldn’t push away, a fear that the carefully stacked cards could fall at any time.
What if she changed her mind? Took one look at her little girl – because she told Robin it was a girl after the twenty-week scan – and decided there was no way she could hand her over?
But Kim wasn’t me. We were so different. Robin said she’d already had two abortions, in her early twenties. He said she spoke about them with a strange kind of detachment, as though she had had no choice in the matter, with no sense of regret. She seemed to be very good at accidentally getting pregnant. I never probed that too deeply. I didn’t want to know.
Everything about Kim is casual. Her motto is ‘live for today’ – she has it tattooed just below her tummy button. I looked at the letters as she lay there on the delivery table, stretched to accommodate our baby, trying not to think about the number of men who must have buried their heads against the scrawly writing. Trying not to think about the fact my husband had probably done so too.
Vivienne said I was mad. To forgive Robin for betraying me like that. For taking on another woman’s child. But what I had done to Robin had broken him. I knew that. Kim was his way of punishin
g me. It had seemed like the best solution all round. And it had worked out, for a little while at least.
Until I found out what Robin had been hiding.
The policewoman ushers me into a small room and tells me to take a seat. The Bad News Room, as it so clearly is, has had a recent makeover, and I can smell the faint scent of paint in the air. There’s a sofa that I vaguely recognise as being from IKEA, a coffee table, and a water cooler set up next to a table with coffee, tea and a kettle. Sachets of long-life milk crammed into a paper cup.
‘The doctor is going to come and give us an update shortly,’ DS Tyler says, smiling at me. ‘But I believe they have stabilised his condition. For now.’
For now.
‘Have the police found out how he got there yet?’ I don’t know what I’m even doing here. I should be out there, looking for my daughter. But I can’t tell them I don’t give a shit about Robin. They wouldn’t understand, and I can’t risk them asking questions.
‘As soon as we have any news, you’ll be the first to know,’ DS Tyler says. ‘Would you like a drink? Cup of tea?’
I shake my head. I wonder if she has a family at home waiting for her. There are rings around her eyes, but no ring on her finger. That doesn’t mean anything though, these days.
When I took my marriage vows, I took them seriously. Perhaps it was the fact that I’d seen my father nurse my mother through her illness. Looking back on this time as an adult, I’m in awe of his complete lack of selfishness, something I had always thought was reserved for your children.
‘For better or worse,’ he whispered to me once as he gently cleaned her face as she slept. He wouldn’t let her go into a hospice, saying he wanted her to die at home, surrounded by her things. He was off work for six months to care for her and then he had me to look after, so he chose never to go back. I remember seeing him in a completely different light after the experience. He was my hero.
I thought Robin was like my father, once. Unselfish, caring, always putting others first. But his behaviour was for completely different reasons. He was a people-pleaser, constantly seeking praise and admiration, whereas Dad was the definition of humble.
The Perfect Father: the most gripping and twisty thriller you'll read in 2020 Page 14