by Parks, Adele
‘No, the betrayal of you publishing a book based on our lives.’
He nods. ‘I’d never do that. I thought you’d know that much about me, at least. Why didn’t you trust me more, Alison?’
‘I saw the pitch, Jeff. The Swap. It was in your mind at one point.’
‘Yes.’ He looks at his feet, awkward. He’s wearing Ugg slippers, which always makes me smile; a man really can get away with a lot if he’s a writer. ‘It was,’ he confesses, ‘but only for the briefest of time.’
‘But you do use your own life as inspiration. I know very well that I’ve appeared in your books in various guises.’ He looks a bit hangdog, caught out. Versions of me are in all four of Jeff’s novels. I’m easy to recognise. I’m often cloaked in a ubiquitous fog of fretfulness or apprehension, which, more often than not, the hero finds infuriating, because he fondly remembers the amusing, sexy woman he fell in love with. I’m rarely usefully employed. I self-assign to a bit part as I’m often irritatingly non-committal about expressing views on whatever catastrophe is unfolding in the plot of the novel. I’m always a little thinner in his books because, if you could invent a perfect world, why wouldn’t you make your wife drop a dress size?
‘I should have thrown it away, but you know I never bin any ideas.’ This is true: he superstitiously thinks that dismissing ideas is somehow rejecting creativity. I suppose, since he’s been incredibly stressed about his flow and whether he might have writer’s block, rejecting any idea would seem a sacrilege to him. ‘But you do see that I didn’t present The Swap to Sue.’
‘Yes.’
‘You believe me when I say I’d never expose you, or Katherine, or Olivia – any of us – in such a way.’
‘Yes.’ I believe him because he’s the man who sometimes follows me into the utility room and helps me pair socks. Because he’s the man who mows the grass even though he thinks I’m insane for not hiring a gardener. Because he’s the man who still joins me in the ritual of picking out a gift for the baby I gave up thirty years ago. Because he’s the man who will stand by me, no matter what the results are of Katherine’s tests. He holds his arms wide and I fling myself into them.
We are peaceful and content for a few minutes, clinging to one another. Then Jeff asks, ‘Where did you go?’
‘What?’ I understand his question, but I’m buying time. I’m pretty sure this newly negotiated peace will be destroyed if he hears I ran to Tom; besides, I’m not ready to tell him what happened tonight. I know I must; there have been far too many secrets in this house of late. That has to stop. I’m going to tell him about that first secret lunch I had with Tom and about the private conversations we’ve had that I should have shared. I’m going to tell him how Tom has misinterpreted my friendship, how he kissed me, first gently and then quite brutally.
But not yet.
I distract him. ‘So this concept – a single dad is bringing up his son and the son gets his girlfriend pregnant?’
‘That’s it in a nutshell. I thought maybe a one-night-stand rather than a long-term girlfriend. There would be the humour of “Who are you?” “I’m the mother of your baby.”’ Growing in confidence, he dares to make a stab at the characters’ voices.
‘Poignant humour.’
‘Indeed. She would move in; the boy and the father both support her through the pregnancy. They’re inept at first, but become increasingly proficient and responsible.’
‘And they get it together at the end of the novel?’
‘Maybe. Or maybe she goes to university and the boy and his father will take responsibility full time. That would still be a happy ending.’
‘It would indeed.’
It’s fascinating, this part of the process, when everything is up for grabs and Jeff can play God with his characters, controlling the outcome, serving up just desserts. It must sometimes be tricky for him living in the real world, where he is as mortal and helpless as everyone else. Where there is no guarantee of justice, no immunity from mistakes or regret.
‘I want this to start out as a really funny book. Irreverent, zeitgeisty.’ He’s trying to look modest but I can tell he’s pleased with himself. And so he should be: he’s right, it’s not easy coming up with a new concept, something no one else has investigated, and I think this is it. I can imagine he’ll do a good job of it. He’ll write an amusing, relevant and emotional book.
It’s been a while since I have shown him how much I care about what he’s up to. In truth, it’s been a while since I actually did care, so now I’m keen to show him I’m interested. ‘How did you come up with the idea?’
Jeff’s face turns a distinctive red. ‘Ah, now. There is something I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve been mulling it over for a week or so now, but I’ve just never been sure of when would be the right moment to bring it up.’
I nod in sympathy. The concept of ‘the right moment’ has vanished from our home. Whoosh! Gone. Since Tom sauntered into our lives and destroyed everything we thought we knew, when have we had a moment that wasn’t stained with fear, regret or reprisals?
‘Alison, there is no easy way to say this.’
‘Just spit it out.’ I want to sound encouraging, but I think I come across as a bit aggressive, as Jeff – only just recovering from our row – flashes me an uncertain look.
‘The idea for the novel occurred to me when I saw Olivia reading a pregnancy book.’
‘Olivia? Hang on, Jeff. Are you saying Olivia is pregnant?’ Jeff looks shamefaced.
‘Well, that’s the thing, I don’t know. Initially, the idea never crossed my mind. I thought it was maybe a biology project or something. I mean, she’s only fifteen. But in the last few days I started to wonder—’
‘What? Hold up.’ I put my hands in the air as though that might actually stop something. Time, perhaps? The onslaught of more problems? ‘When was this exactly? Where?’
‘I was in the university library. I’ve been going there quite a bit. Partially for info, partially for inspiration. I like watching young adults interact with each other. Alison, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young. I thought I knew, but I don’t. They all burn, all the time, and they are excited, uncertain, elated, depressed by turn.’ This conversation has echoes of the one I had with Tom at the ice rink. I’d like to investigate it further and, obviously, Jeff feels inspired, but I need to bring him back to the point.
‘Olivia?’ I say firmly.
‘Oh, yes, well. When we went for that Sunday walk – way back, do you remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, we spent a bit of time chatting.’ I remember that, too. I’d always wanted to ask him what they were talking about, but I didn’t dare intrude on their relationship. ‘She mentioned that her school library wasn’t particularly well stocked. She has quite the enquiring mind, you know.’ I didn’t know, but I have a feeling I should have. ‘Anyway, I suggested that she use the uni library, even though she’s not a student. With my position there, I got it waved through.’ He’s trying to downplay his largesse but I know he’s thrilled with himself. ‘I sometimes see her studying there.’
So she has been visiting the library, after all. I don’t have a moment to feel pleased and proud of this. ‘Go on.’
‘I don’t usually try to go over and chat, I don’t want to cramp her style – she’s often with other students.’
‘Older students? Do you think her boyfriend is older than her?’ My heart sinks to the floor. I hear it thud.
‘I don’t know.’
‘We should know.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, normally I just give her a discreet nod, but one time she was on her own so I decided I would go and say hi. That’s when I noticed she was reading a pregnancy book.’
‘What was it called? Did you see?’
‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Do you remember it? We had a copy, didn’t we?’
We did. It’s a bible for every mum-to-be. It’s not a book yo
u’d read for a biology project. I wonder if it can be true. Olivia pregnant? Tom didn’t believe that she was going to the library; it seems he was wrong about that – but he did know about an unsuitable boyfriend; that much, I’m afraid, he was right about. ‘Did you ask her about it?’
‘No.’ He looks contrite. Depressed. ‘I didn’t think about it, not at the time. I’m sorry, Alison. She scrambled to put the book away the minute she saw me. I distinctly got the impression that she didn’t want to talk about it with me. As I say, I assumed it was for a school project. Then, I suppose, because it gave me the idea for my novel, I just got caught up in that—’ He breaks off and shrugs, but it’s not a shrug of indifference: it is regret.
‘Oh, Jeff.’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. I should have said something. I should have thought.’
‘Oh, my poor girl. She’s fifteen.’
‘It does happen, Alison. You, more than anyone, should know that.’
I do. Yes, I do. I also know how hard a thing it is to deal with, and she’s dealing with this alone.
‘But she’s just a baby herself,’ I murmur.
Suddenly, it hits me. I’m almost knocked off the kitchen stool as a huge wave of palpable, physical love practically floors me. I think of Olivia’s shocked and confused face tonight and all I want to do is soothe her, reassure her. I think of her secretive, sulky comments and I feel a need to cheer her. I remember her moments of wit and honesty and I want to encourage her, agree with her. I’m full of compassion, bursting with it. I want to reach out and touch her, but I’ve never been able to. She’s run away from me and, let’s face it, I’ve never tried to chase after her. I will help her now. I will. She is not Katherine, she’s nothing like her, but she is a child and she is alone. I brought her into the world, I have to help her negotiate a path through it.
‘You should have talked to her, no matter if she was reluctant, no matter if you were embarrassed. She needs someone in her corner.’ I feel this acutely. I wonder how far along she is, I wonder what her plans are. I imagine she’s too shocked and terrified to have any plans yet. I know it took me weeks to face up to my pregnancy. Just long enough to blow all my chances of getting decent grades in the exams I’d worked so hard for.
Olivia must not be left to deal with this alone.
‘Have you got Olivia’s mobile number?’ I ask.
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Give it to me.’ I send a text. I keep it simple. I tell her where and when to meet me tomorrow. I don’t tell her what I want to talk about. I don’t ask her if she will come. I don’t want to give her the opportunity to turn me down.
Eighteen Years Ago
She fell in love with him the day she met him in Camden but considered it impossible. He was so full and complete; she was so lacking. What could he possibly see in her? She wasn’t going to make a show of herself by throwing herself at him. Instead, she’d settle for friendship and be grateful for that much. So much. Someone who knew the very worst there was to know, the darkest, deepest, most painful and shameful secret and yet still valued her. It seemed almost too incredible. A miracle. She sometimes thought it was more than she deserved. She certainly didn’t dare push it.
For four years – four long years of yearning – she stood by while he had flings with lithe, foreign girls who spoke English with faltering, provocative accents or posh, leggy girls who rode horses and had weekend parties in the country. They settled into a pattern: he’d have his fun then turn up at her scruffy flatshare and suggest they go for a pint, over which he’d complain that they didn’t get him, these other women, not really, not any of them. ‘Not like you, Alison,’ he’d say.
Their friends shook their heads, wondering what was taking them so long. They were clearly just right for each other. He buoyed her up; she stopped him floating away. Alison felt for him, as much as she did for herself. She wished she had thinner legs and silkier hair because then maybe he’d notice her in the way she longed for him to. The way he eventually did. She had not suddenly transformed, Pygmalion-style, a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, so she reasoned that the time arrived because he simply, inevitably, grew up. He finally came to value the importance of being understood, thoroughly and completely. She thought it was odd that it took him so long because that’s what she’d fallen in love with in the first place – his ability to understand her, to accept her.
Not that Jeff would ever agree with Alison’s account of the way their relationship had progressed when, in years to come, she would repeat it in a jokey voice to dinner-party guests and friends. He would for ever insist that he had been in love with her from the get-go but had waited four years because he wanted her to be ready. He wanted her to be sure of him. He claimed that the other girls had been time-fillers; he was always trying to tell her that she was his one, but she’d never listened.
Alison would laugh and shake her head, finding it hard to believe.
But that was his staunch and secure memory of their love and she’d never persuade him otherwise.
31
Even though it’s now past two in the morning, I find it difficult to fall to sleep. Jeff and I have just made love. It’s been a very long time since we’ve connected like this. At all. I’ve missed him. His warmth, his confidence. I let both sink into me. I’m glad he’s back. I’m glad I am. His arm is hot and heavy, thrown over my stomach. I can hear his breathing: it’s slow but he’s not quite asleep yet.
‘Why are humans so complex? How come we manage to blight everything?’ I ask the dark room.
‘It’s not all blighted,’ insists Jeff kindly. It’s nice to get a response and it’s reassuring that he doesn’t accept we are in the eye of a storm. For once, I don’t bother to remind him what might be. He knows the situation as well as I do. Or, at least, most of it.
Making the effort, he props himself up on one elbow, head resting in his hand. He can barely keep his eyes open. It reminds me of the nights long ago when we first got together. Our eyes stung so much with tiredness, but we couldn’t stand the idea of losing a moment of each other to sleep. ‘I’m so glad you are piling in and helping Olivia.’
‘Of course.’
He raises his eyebrows and I have the self-awareness to feel a bit sheepish. There’s no ‘of course’ about it. Until last night Jeff hasn’t been able to take my affection for Olivia as read. Nor have I.
‘I’ve been so surprised by how you’ve held her at arm’s length.’ He trails a finger along my hip. ‘It’s been very hard to watch. I mean, you’ve shown more interest in just about every kid you’ve ever come across than you have in her, be that Katherine’s friends, your friends’ kids, my nephews. I was hurt for her and—’ He pauses. ‘I was hurt for me. I took it personally. It was like you were rejecting me. The baby we made wasn’t of any interest to you.’
‘It wasn’t that at all. I didn’t dare love Olivia. I hardly dared so much as look at her.’ I don’t bother to point out that Olivia didn’t seem in the least bit interested in having a relationship with me either, that she wouldn’t give me her mobile number or answer my friend request, that she told her dad she didn’t want anything to do with me. I’m the adult; I shouldn’t have accepted her rejection so willingly, I should have continued to offer her opportunities to be in our lives, but I thought I had to guard Katherine. I thought there wasn’t enough room for two of them. That I couldn’t have any entitlement to both. I try to explain: ‘I’ve been so terrified they’d take Katherine away.’
‘Who? The Trubys?’
‘Yes, or worse still, cancer. I’ve been gripped by the fear that if I let Katherine drop out of focus, even for a moment, then I might be punished for it.’
Jeff’s fingers are resting on my arm now. It tickles, but in a pleasant way. ‘You do know that’s nonsense. You do know that none of this is your fault.’
I sigh. ‘I once read that in days gone by the Chinese had a superstition never to praise a newborn baby because it would draw the atten
tion of evil spirits and demons. These spirits and demons would jealously want to take that baby from you if it was highly valued. They’d want that treasure for themselves.’ I check to see if Jeff is following me or whether he’s drifted off. He looks alert, interested. ‘So, instead, the Chinese referred to their babies in unfavourable terms. You know, “Oh, my baby is too fat”; “My baby is slow and boss-eyed.”’ Jeff smiles, giving me confidence enough to splutter out my fear. ‘It sounds crazy but sometimes I think that by adoring Katherine as much as I have, I’ve been asking for trouble. I think all parents of sick or lost children must wonder the same.’
‘That’s not at all rational. You’re worrying about not giving her enough attention and yet blaming yourself for giving her too much.’
‘Since when have I been known to be especially rational?’
‘True.’ He beams in a way that ensures I don’t take offence.
‘The thing is, I love her so much it’s not possible to be rational. I don’t think many parents are. She’s my world. You understand that?’
‘Yes, certainly I do. She’s my world, too.’
‘And now our world has been blown apart.’
‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘But it has expanded. We have to find room for Olivia. I’m glad you’ve made a step in that direction. We’re allowed to love her. There’s no question for me who is whose parent – the parents are the ones who do the bringing-up – but there’s room for us all to love them both. I’ve been thinking about this, Alison, a lot, and the way I see it is that we need to have a proper relationship with Olivia or move away and let her go completely.’
‘How can you talk about moving away? She might be pregnant. She needs us.’
Jeff looks relieved, happy. ‘I want to love her. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to be able to stop myself. I think she’s great. She’s just like you.’
‘Chaotic with contraception, you mean?’
‘No, I mean independent, feisty, passionate. Maybe a bit reckless.’ I’ve hardly noticed any of these qualities in Olivia – how could I have? I’ve only met her a handful of times – and I struggle to recall them in myself, but I understand that Jeff is trying to pay me a compliment.