“I want to watch it,” he said, defiantly.
“Really?”
“Okay, no, not really.”
Before Simon could change the channel, Darko the Duck waddled onto the screen carrying a rose.
“That doesn’t mean he’s in love with him!” I cried.
“I love you Larry the Lion,” quacked Darko.
Oh crap, I’m never going to hear the end of this.
Simon started laughing and jabbed me in the ribs. “See, what did I tell you?” He started to tickle me.
“All right, all right,” I conceded. “Maybe the duck is gay.”
We laughed for a few moments. How trivial that argument seemed now, in light of everything that had happened between us. Simon suddenly looked serious. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?” I asked, immediately concerned.
“I’m not a Tory.”
“You’re not?” I asked, privately delighted.
“No. Never was, never will be.”
“Oh.” This was good news.
“So do you like me now?”
“I wouldn’t go that far!” I laughed.
I was surprised when Simon put an arm around me, and further surprised when I fell back into his embrace. I told myself that I was too tired to think straight. The Coupling episode began. As it happened, I could sleep. Before I knew it, I’d drifted off.
At five, I awoke confused about the arms that seemed to be around me and the warmth of my back pressing against another person. I recognised Simon’s cool cologne. Oh heck! Did something happen? I patted my legs – definitely clothed. Thank goodness! I could think of nothing more twisted than sleeping with the father of my child.
Although being clothed was almost certainly a good thing, I felt hot and sticky. I sat up, being careful not to disturb Simon. Leaving him fast asleep, I made my way upstairs for a shower.
Ooh! Lovely, relaxing warm water – just what I needed. What would I say to Simon about the cuddle? Did I need to say anything about the cuddle? I remembered the sex and the embarrassment caused by letting that go unremarked. But then again, he had smashed me against the floor and sunk his teeth into my neck before pounding me on a surface designed for food preparation before finally impregnating me. Falling asleep in front of the television was probably less significant.
I got out of the shower and began to get dry. I wrapped a towel around myself and left the security of the bathroom to find myself some knickers.
Then, I saw it – the beast. Fuck! It was on my towel! I let out a blood-curdling scream. I chucked my spider-infested towel as far away from me as I possibly could.
“Everything all right?” asked a familiar, deep voice.
I immediately realised the horror of my predicament. If I looked down, I would surely see Simon Moran looking up at me – getting an eyeful of my naked body. In slow motion, I looked down. Sure enough, there he was, right beneath me.
I screamed again.
He covered his eyes.
I hurried as quickly as I could into my bedroom.
Shit – now that was embarrassing. For some crazy, inexplicable reason I seemed to be somewhat aroused – dammit. A cuddle and an accidental nude moment resulting in arousal – was that something we needed to talk about?
* * *
The pitch-black night hid the rain but the splattering as the drops hammered against the windows reminded me that a storm was in force. The prickly night only made me feel worse about what I had to do.
“You’re always here! We don’t want you always here. We need a break from you!” I forced myself to shout.
Simon looked taken aback, his blue eyes wider than ever.
“Joseph is only thirteen days old and you have been here every single day!”
“Well, I am his father …”
This was killing me. I didn’t want to send Simon away. But if I didn’t, he was going to cancel his trip to Antarctica and the marathon he’d been training for since before we met. It wasn’t a race to him; it was a way of honouring his best friend. Finishing the course would help him to move on with his life and put the tragic loss behind him. He needed this.
I had tried telling him to go many times. It was always the same story. He’d agree that I was right, that it was a trip of a lifetime and he’d trained for too long to give up now; then he’d take one look at Joseph and we’d be back to square one – plans to cancel his flight.
“You said you wanted me to be involved!” he pleaded.
“I do, but not every day. I can manage; you treat me like I can’t manage!”
He tried to put his hand on my arm and I shook him off, accidentally backing into the table and sending the contents a-wobble.
“Mind my camera!”
“I didn’t touch it! What’s it doing here anyway? This is my house!”
“Are you sure you’re not just having a mood swing?”
“Don’t patronise me!” I snarled. “I think we need a break from each other. This trip has come at a good time.”
“Don’t say that, Emma.” His face contorted with distress.
“I’m sorry, but it’s how I feel.” I turned away so that he couldn’t see than my tear ducts were threatening to splurge unwanted moisture into the conversation.
“Fine. But can I call you in the morning to see how you are?”
No! I couldn’t stand for him to call me. I didn’t have the strength to send him away twice. “I’d rather you didn’t.” I felt warm tears rolling onto my nose.
“Do you know what, Emma?” he said, suddenly angry. “I think you were right. We do hate one another.”
What? No. Don’t say that, please!
He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. I couldn’t bear this. I should just admit that I deliberately caused a row to send him away. But I couldn’t be the person who stopped him from completing the most important challenge of his life.
Suddenly, he stopped walking away and turned around. My heart jumped for joy. But then he walked straight past me and toward the stairs. “I’m saying goodbye to my son,” he said, without even looking at me.
* * *
I woke up feeling terrible. The storm seemed to have died down, but that brought no sliver of comfort; I’d have preferred a sky to match my mood. Getting up to feed Joseph three times in the night had exhausted me. As a result, Simon’s words dug much deeper than I felt they should have done.
Did he really hate me? Hearing him say those words drove right into my core. Now every thought tasted sour. Looking down at Joseph, I felt guilty for being rude to his father. It felt as though the milk I was feeding him was somehow tainted by the diseased air between his parents. I hadn’t meant a word that I had said, but Simon hadn’t known that the row was fake when he said that he hated me. Why hadn’t I corrected him? Why hadn’t I told him that I didn’t hate him?
How could I have ever thought that there was any chance that being parents together would run smoothly when we couldn’t even be friends together? How could I have ever dared to assume that we had gotten over the hideous beginnings of our relationship?
Now, he was going to Antarctica in emotional turmoil. Surely it would have been better to let him postpone the race than do this to us. How was he supposed to run his best now, believing that the mother of his child couldn’t stand him being around them?
I loved him visiting. I loved the way he held Joseph, I loved the way he tapped his little nose, I loved the way he sang his little songs. And what’s more, I rather liked the way he was with me. His arrogant streak seemed to have softened and now I found our little disputes about television and films amusing. I like watching DVDs together and having him there to chat to over dinner. His cooking wasn’t half bad either. I couldn’t leave things like this, not for ten days.
Although it pained me to admit that I was wrong, I had to talk to him. I looked for my mobile. Where was it? Why wasn’t it on the coffee table where I usually left it? Frantically, I scurried around the hous
e. When eventually I found it, I ploughed through my call history. But my fingers fumbled like sausages in gravy. After what seemed like an age, I managed to dial his number.
“Come on! Pick up!”
I looked at the clock; it was ten.
“Pick up the phone!”
Still it rang and rang. I tried to remember what time his flight was. I felt sure he said it was in the afternoon. That meant that if I was quick, I could get to his house before he left for the airport.
I didn’t want to stop him from going – far from it. I just wanted to tell him that, well … in a nutshell: we’d miss him. I wanted him to know that he was welcome at our house whenever he liked. I wanted to wish him luck. He’d trained hard but the Antarctic conditions would make finishing the marathon challenging even for the most skilled athlete. I knew how emotional it would be for him, surrounded by the last landscapes that Joe ever saw. I needed him to know that I was on his team.
Whilst Simon’s house may have been only a short drive away, it was quite a mission on foot. It would take me at least forty minutes to walk and I didn’t very much fancy taking a perambulator on the bus. Eventually, I decided to call a cab. Yes, it would be expensive, but I asked myself: how often will you need to race against time to tell a man running an ice marathon that you don’t hate him?
Everything is a complex mission when you’ve got a baby in tow. I didn’t want to risk waking Joseph again, but I had to get him into his pram. “We’re going to see Daddy,” I whispered, as I lifted him out of his cot. “We’re going to tell Daddy that we like him, some of the time.”
It took ages to get ready. I had to dress Joseph in his fluffy playsuit with his winter booties and his little mittens. Where were his little mittens? Then, I had to find some more blankets for the pram, because Joseph had been sick on yesterday’s. None of this was doing any good to my nerves.
If this were a film, I’d be there by now, having hurdled over fences with Joseph in a baby sling, effortlessly navigating downright perilous obstacles. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was a long, frustrating slog.
Eventually, the taxi arrived – a London cab just as I’d requested. The wind howled at us the moment we stepped out of the house. The driver opened the door of his cab and helped me lift the pram into the back. I confirmed the address and we were off.
Wham! played on the radio, ‘Last Christmas I gave you my heart …” Last Christmas – it seemed like such a long time ago. Last year, as I gobbled turkey, I had no idea that Simon Moran even existed. How did we get here?
I had butterflies in my stomach. Would Simon still be at home? And if he were, would he care what I had to say? Would he retract his words too? What if he still maintained that he hated me?
When finally, we pulled up outside Simon’s smart semi with its timber beams and leaded windows, the driver helped me with Joseph’s pram. I didn’t think to ask the driver to wait, and was barely aware of him driving off, as I hurried up the path to Simon’s house. His car wasn’t in the drive.
I rang the doorbell. Come on Simon! I couldn’t hear anything or see anybody through the frosted glass so I rang the bell again. I rang the bell for a third time, before finally conceding that he was gone. Flaming bugger.
He must be driving to the airport. Idiot; airport parking costs a fortune. Perhaps he’d just popped out. Then, I looked at my watch. It was almost midday. Of course he had left for the airport.
What scraps of options remained for me now? No face-to-face scene accompanied by implied flute music. Not even a measly phone call to rectify the problem in a modest fashion. Just text or voicemail. A text seemed so impersonal, so easy to forge. I opted for voicemail.
It seemed like many minutes before his voicemail cut in, and when it did, the words fell over each other as they somersaulted out.
“Simon, it’s me, Emma, Joseph’s mother.” What are you doing? He knows who you are! “I don’t know if you’ll get a chance to check your messages before your flight, or after your flight … I’m gabbling, sorry. I suppose what I’m trying to say, is … is that … Oh don’t worry – this isn’t a love confession or anything like that. I’m just trying to say that perhaps, I don’t necessarily hate you.”
I hung up feeling distinctly embarrassed. I hadn’t quite hit the tone I’d been hoping for. Still, leaving another message would make me sound insane, wouldn’t it?
I sat with my head in my hands. ‘Perhaps, I don’t necessarily hate you’. What the hell?
If this were a film, I’d feel a gentle hand on the back of my neck. I’d look up, and there he’d be – not gone to Antarctica yet after all, but still here. I wouldn’t have to say anything. I’d find myself stretching to meet his lips, and then, we’d kiss.
Kiss? I was losing the plot. I picked myself up off the floor and grabbed the handle of the pram. “Come on Joseph, we’re going home.”
Chapter 10
I tried to accept that Simon was gone and I wasn’t going to hear from him until he got back. Two days had passed and I’d had no response to my message. Surely, if he had his phone on him, he’d have said something. I was just going to have to wait it out, no matter how much it hurt. The weather was a little kinder now, which at least allowed me to get out of the house. I tried to keep busy with friends.
Watching Nicky with Joseph brought a tear to my eye. She was a natural mother. It was a cruel world that denied her a child. Yet, if she felt even a morsel of jealousy, she didn’t let it show. She gave him a Santa teddy that she’d picked up at a petrol station – couldn’t help herself, apparently.
“And how are you in yourself?” she asked, when finally she managed to tear her eyes away from Joseph, who was now looking his most handsome yet, with a few strands of auburn hair. His face was smoother now as he’d lost most of his birth wrinkles. Although he had my colouring, there was a distinct resemblance to his father – perhaps it was that precocious twinkle in his eyes.
“I’m fine. Tired, obviously, but no more than you’d expect.”
“So no mood swings.”
“Nothing clinical.”
“That’s incredible. And you’re not back on lithium yet?”
“I want to breast feed for as long as I can.”
“Well, good for you.”
“Fingers crossed.”
I poured Nicky a cup of tea and took a seat beside her on the sofa.
“It’s very quiet without Simon around.”
“I can’t believe he went!” she scoffed.
“I told him to go.”
“He should have insisted.”
“No, he shouldn’t. You don’t understand how big this is for him. It’s about honouring Joe.”
“While his namesake is here in England, needing him.”
“I don’t need him. We’re coping fine.”
“But you’d like him to be around,” she said, with a giggle in her voice and a little knowing grin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Are you trying to tell me that you don’t feel anything for him?”
“Of course I feel something for him, he’s Joseph’s father.”
“And that’s all?”
I thought about it. “It’s weird. Sometimes he can be absolutely lovely but at other times, he’s insufferable. He’s so certain in his convictions, like he’s never been wrong in his life. It drives me up the wall.”
Nicky smiled at me.
“What?”
“It sounds like you’re describing yourself.”
“I’m not stubborn!”
She laughed. “You’re just like him.”
I looked at her and sighed. “How am I ever supposed to forgive a man my own flaws?”
* * *
“Shut up!” I screamed at the ceiling. I couldn’t scream at little Joseph, but I felt I had to scream at something. “Please stop him crying,” I pleaded with the universe, “please!”
I went through breakfast in a zombie-like fashion but then, while I was washing the
dishes, tears began rolling unexpectedly down my nose. The next thing I knew, I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor in a heap, crying my eyes out.
Joseph seemed to sense that I was upset and began crying too. I knew I should go to him, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to get up off the floor.
With every one of Joseph’s cries, I felt worse and worse. I must be a horrible person to sit here on the floor, while my helpless, tiny baby needed me. The guilt only served to paralyse me further.
Finally, I managed to drag myself up the stairs. What good was I going to be to him anyway? I’d only just fed him. He’d been changed. What more could I do? “What do you want?” I wailed.
I dropped onto the floor again. It was no use. I didn’t know how to help my baby. I had been crazy to think that I could bring up a child at all, let alone on my own.
But I wasn’t on my own, was I? There were people around who could help. I knew what I had to do. I crawled up the stairs and into my bedroom. I reached up to the bedside table where my mobile phone lay. On autopilot, I found the number that I wanted. “Pick up! Pick up, Nicky.”
She didn’t answer. With every ring, I felt a little more panicked. Nicky was my go-to girl.
What else could I do? I picked Joseph up and cradled him. Still, he did not stop crying. Should I call the doctor? I definitely felt that I wanted to call the doctor, but to say what? That my baby was crying?
Then I remembered Simon’s parents. They were brilliant with him, especially Judy. What’s more, they’d offered to be there for us day or night. Was this the sort of eventuality that they had imagined when they offered unconditional support? Well, unconditional meant unconditional. Surely that meant that I could call them whenever I needed help, and I needed help now.
“Judy …” I stuttered into the phone.
“Who’s this?”
I sobbed.
“Is that you, Emma?”
“Yes,” I sniffed.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“I … I really don’t know. I just can’t … I don’t seem to … I don’t seem to be able to … do anything.”
“We’ll be right there,” she said, no further questions.
The Ice Marathon Page 7