by Adele Parks
‘How was that?’
The meeting had begun shambolically. Natalie was not a woman easily put off her stride but Neil’s talk of wanting a baby had done exactly that. She’d arrived at work half an hour earlier than the time when the meeting was due to begin but, for reasons Natalie couldn’t quite explain, she’d still managed to arrive ten minutes late at her boss’s office. She’d been watching the clock and somehow drifted off into memories of how the previous night’s row had played out. Where had it come from? Was it going to be revisited? When she noticed the time, she’d rushed to his office in a panic and she’d dropped her file the moment she walked in. Her carefully ordered notes scattered across the floor. The notes stubbornly refused to reassemble into any sort of order, no matter how much on-the-hoof filing she attempted. She knocked over a glass and the water spread unchecked across her boss’s smart glass-topped desk, brooked only by the silver photo frame which proudly showcased a snap of his beautiful wife and three healthy, smiley children. She’d mopped up the mess with tissues from her bag. The meeting definitely hadn’t started well and Natalie had so wanted to impress. Nat did not want to tell Neil any of this. He would think she was blaming him (which in a way she did). Instead she said, ‘Oh, it was fine.’
‘Just fine?’
‘Yes.’
Natalie could talk to her mum or friends on the phone for three hours solid, simply describing a dress that she nearly bought because it was perfect but didn’t, in the end, so Neil found her reticence to elaborate inexplicable. He pondered for a while. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it because it had gone hideously wrong. Her idiot boss had probably dumped a whole load of extra projects on her at the last minute, projects with ridiculously short deadlines and hideously high targets. He often did this and while Nat always referred to these projects as ‘exciting challenges’, Neil thought that the pressure was probably getting to her. Bound to be. It was inevitable. She was only human.
Neil cleared away the plates, which were clean except for smears of tomato sauce and minuscule slices of olives (he’d been a bit heavy-handed with the olives), and then he opened a second bottle of wine. He returned from the kitchen with a tray, carrying hot chocolate fudge cake, a large bowl of raspberries and a jug of cream.
‘This is not just hot chocolate fudge cake, this is—’
‘Hurrah for supermarket puddings!’ cried Nat, grinning appreciatively as she dived straight in with her spoon.
She looked so happy in that moment, all traces of the stresses of her work day gone. Neil felt an urge to wrap his arms around her. He wanted to protect her, for ever. To make her happy, for ever. Contrary to popular belief, men often have this thought about the women they love (fulfilling popular belief that they don’t all manage to hold the thought indefinitely, sometimes something good comes on TV and they get distracted). He’d promised to do this on his wedding day, not only when he said his vows in the church but he’d promised her mum as well. Funnily enough, his promise to Nina always seemed more vibrantly real to him. Nina had collared him in the aisle before Nat had arrived and had said something along the lines of if he ever hurt her little girl she’d break both his legs. Nina looked beautifully impressive and scarily strong in her enormous purple hat. She was a slight woman, a much frailer build than Nat, Nat had inherited her father’s looks, but in that moment Nina was a giant in Neil’s eyes. He could almost taste the love that she emitted; he could smell it and touch it. He was desperate to prove to Nina she could trust him with her only daughter. On the spot he promised Nina he’d never hurt Nat, he said that he loved her, always had from the moment he saw her. He must have sounded convincing enough because Nina had flung her arms around him and said she believed him, she understood, she’d felt exactly the same thing. Then she’d started to weep into her handkerchief, allegedly because she was so happy. From lioness to kitten in one swoop. Women! Neil just didn’t understand them. He thought he never would and he was deeply suspicious of men who claimed they did. Liars.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking.’
Natalie stiffened. She paused for a nanosecond before she crammed another spoonful of the hot chocolate fudge cake into her mouth. If he talked about babies again she might scream. She didn’t want to scream; with a mouth full of sweet stuff she minimised the risk.
‘Oh yes,’ she muttered cautiously through the cake.
‘It was really stupid of me to bring up the baby-making thing the way I did.’ Natalie thought it was really stupid of him to bring it up at all; irrespective of how he broached the subject she wouldn’t be interested, she’d made that clear before they married. Yet, Nat felt sick with fear, and doubt and sadness. Part of her knew that it wasn’t stupid of Neil to talk about wanting babies; people – couples – did talk about wanting babies, about having a family. Sometimes she thought it was all her friends ever talked about nowadays. It was, she supposed, inevitable that Neil should broach the subject. ‘I shouldn’t have sprung it on you,’ Neil added.
‘Look, Neil, love—’
‘No, let me finish. I’ve been thinking. We need a holiday. You do especially. Your job is too stressful. Too demanding. You can’t be expected to think about something as huge as having a family when you barely get a moment to yourself throughout your working day. You’re always saying you often don’t get the time to go to the loo let alone eat lunch. It’s unhealthy. I think you should take a sabbatical.’
‘I think you’ve lost your mind!’ Natalie had wanted to remain calm, but the yummy pudding wasn’t able to disguise the bitter taste of fury that rinsed her mouth. A sabbatical? She was the last person on earth who would ever want to take a sabbatical. She loved her work. It was important work. Had Neil had a blow to the head? Where was all of this coming from suddenly? ‘What are you saying?’ she demanded, confused and afraid.
‘Just that your work doesn’t have to be everything. We could manage on my salary, if we had to. You don’t need to feel that you have to work.’
‘But I like working. I like my job. I love my job.’
‘But it’s dull.’ The words were out of Neil’s mouth before he had a chance to fully calculate the consequences. Natalie threw down her spoon. Why not? He’d already thrown down a gauntlet.
‘So now not only do you want to have a baby, even though we agreed before we married that we’d never have children, you also want me to stay at home and look after it! To give up my career!’
‘I’m not saying that, I just—’ Neil could see how she’d heard that but that wasn’t what he was saying. He was always so bad at explaining himself when it came to anything big. She knew that. Normally she cut him some slack. Hadn’t they long since agreed that if there were ever two ways of interpreting something he’d said, a good and a bad way, she should know he always meant the good way. He didn’t want to hurt her. Not ever.
‘And then you insult the job I do! It’s dull, is it? Well, was it dull eating in the Bluebird restaurant last night? Was it dull going on holiday to the Seychelles last May? Because my dull job paid for both of those things and a lot more besides.’
Natalie earned more than double the amount Neil did, a fact that neither of them thought about very often. Natalie was surprised at herself for saying something so crass and explosive. She never really thought about who paid for what; now Neil would think she kept score. She’d only said that because she was feeling defensive and shocked. She didn’t want to be mean. She never wanted to hurt him. Not ever. But how could he have got it so wrong? Her so wrong? Her job was not dull. It was important and she loved it. It didn’t utterly define her but it was a big part of who she was. Was he saying she was dull?
Nat and Neil’s friends and family often privately commented on the fact that, while the couple were clearly deeply in love and committed to one another, they were a definite case of opposites attract. Neil’s parents had been rather relieved that he’d chosen such a sensible girl to settle down with, a woman who clearly valued routine and security, a dete
rmined woman not afraid of hard work, a woman who saw the importance of having a plan and sticking to it. Nat’s parents had hoped that a little bit of Neil’s devil-may-care attitude might rub off on their daughter. She was a worrier and it wouldn’t be a bad thing if she occasionally threw caution to the wind and did something reckless, impulsive or even silly. Nat and Neil had always loved their differences. Nat was excited by Neil’s thrill-seeking, daring and spontaneous nature; at least she had been, until now. In this instant, she wondered about his impetuous, madcap approach. Neil had always adored Nat’s depth, her integrity and veracity. Now he was beginning to think she was just old-fashioned stubborn. Nat and Neil glared at one another from across the table and for a moment they both forgot that they’d always believed they were one’s yin to the other’s yang. The expression that was bubbling up in both their minds was chalk and cheese.
‘Do you know what lymphatic filariasis is?’ Nat demanded. Neil shook his head. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going but he knew it was off course, he could tell by the unprecedented level of sarcasm in Nat’s voice. ‘Oh, it’s terribly dull. Especially if you happen to be one of the one billion people in any of the eighty-three countries that are at risk of infection of this disease, a disease that just happens to be one of the world’s most disabling. It’s caused by a parasite transmitted from one human to another by mosquitoes. It’s as disfiguring as leprosy, and as crippling as polio, it can lead to massive swelling of the limbs, elephantiasis of the skin and hydrocele, that’s watery fluid around the testicles.’ Neil flinched. ‘Infection is often caught in childhood, although severe forms of the disease usually appear in adults, which often forces adults to become dependant on their children, thus ruining entire communities.’
Neil was beginning to get the picture but he didn’t dare interrupt her.
‘However, the life cycle of the lymphatic filariasis parasite can be interrupted by treating the entire at-risk population annually with antiparasitic medicines manufactured and donated by my company. Do you think that’s dull?’
‘I understand what you’re saying.’ Neil took a deep breath and the plunge. ‘But all of that would still go on without you. You are only a very tiny cog in that wheel. Our having a baby needs you. No one else can do that job,’ he said.
Nat glared at him. So, now he was saying she was disposable and interchangeable. Didn’t he believe she contributed something unique and important at work? Did he think Becky could do just as good a job? Well, he was wrong and her boss knew better. Today’s meeting might have started off badly but once Nat had mopped up her spillage and settled down, everything had gone swimmingly. In fact, things had gone so well that she’d been offered a promotion. It was a huge role. She was a little overwhelmed by the thought of it, actually. It would involve lots of long hours and maybe more travel. Nat had wanted to discuss with Neil whether she ought to accept the offer or would it have too much impact on the quality of their life together and therefore not be worth pursuing? But now she wasn’t so sure that she’d consult him. It was obvious that he’d be against her taking it. He didn’t see the point of her work, he thought she was replaceable; worse still, he thought she ought to be replaced so she could concentrate on having a family. A family they’d long since agreed they were never going to have. It wasn’t fair! Where had this come from?
Nat now clearly realised that she did want to take the job. The work she did was meaningful, helpful and critical. She’d go and see her boss first thing tomorrow morning and say that yes, she was ready to leave the procurement division and join the team opening a new research and development facility. She would be responsible for a large amount of the cost analysis involved in this project. Yes, she would take it. She just wouldn’t tell Neil. Well, at least not straight away. What was the point of doing so? He’d only say something undermining or disheartening. He thought she was just a cog; he wanted her to take a sabbatical and talk about babies. This wasn’t the time to talk about babies! The very thought sent bolts of terror jolting through Nat’s body. The terror quickly morphed into aggressive indignation and suddenly Nat felt entitled to retaliate. Her bank of achievements at work were the result of extreme diligence and graft, and what should have been a celebratory moment was being spoilt. Well, maybe she was just a cog but she was a cog in a gigantic, magnificent wheel. The new facility was to focus on research and development into neurodegenerative disorders such as Parkinson’s disease, multiple sclerosis and Alzheimer’s.
‘What did you do today, Neil?’
Neil knew that this seemingly innocuous question was some sort of a trap, although his head was too fuzzy from red wine and panic to understand entirely what the trap might be.
‘You wouldn’t be interested,’ Neil replied cautiously.
‘Explain it to me.’ Nat sounded reasonable, interested and tolerant but that just heightened Neil’s suspicions. Her faux sanguine attitude somehow accentuated, rather than disguised, her disdain for his work.
‘I did some market research today.’
‘Which means?’
‘I played some of the games the competitors are currently producing and test ran one of our new ones.’
‘Ah-ha.’ Neil wasn’t entirely sure why Nat sounded so triumphant but she did. ‘Have you brought any of them home?’ she asked.
Neil often brought his work home but they both knew it wasn’t a hardship for him; it wasn’t as though he had to paw over tricky spreadsheets or agonise over weighty documents. The biggest hardship Neil could expect to endure with his work was if he got a crick in his neck from sitting in front of the TV for too long while holding the controls of the console at a funny angle.
Neil retrieved a couple of games from his baggy leather satchel and offered them to Nat. Nat picked up one box carefully between her thumb and forefinger; she did this in a way that suggested she wished she was wearing rubber gloves.
It was a certificate 18. The packaging was boysie and bloody. It happened to be a game both Neil and Karl had worked on, not the competition; Neil was pleased that his game had caught her eye above the others. Nat read the back of the box aloud.
‘“In Damned: the sequel, players assume the identity of a former Serial Crimes Unit investigator, Mick Grady, who has been called back to duty to track down his missing partner. The cruelly disturbing events from Mick’s past have left him a desolate man – a desperate burnout drifting aimlessly through a dissolute society, in inexplicable decline.”’ Nat looked up and rolled her eyes in a way that efficiently conveyed total scorn.
‘Karl wrote that,’ said Neil defensively.
‘Yes, it has his light touch,’ commented Nat sarcastically. Then she returned to the game. ‘“Fighting terrifying inner demons throughout his lonely investigation into a sinister conspiracy, Damned: the sequel players will engage in visceral combat using a variety of firearms, blunt instruments and an all-new fighting system, complete with defensive and offensive combo chains. Warning: scenes of a graphic nature include torture, rape, sodomy and decapitation.” Lovely,’ said Nat in summation. ‘Your mum must be very proud.’
Neil actually couldn’t see much difference between the Damned horror story and the one about watery testicles, but intrinsically he knew it would be adding lighter fuel to the situation if he said so.
‘You have no problem with violent movies.’
‘There’s no role play involved.’
‘I enjoy my work,’ said Neil. It seemed a reasonable defence to him.
‘That’s fine,’ replied Nat. ‘I get that. I have no problem with that but you don’t seem to understand that I enjoy mine and mine makes the world a better place.’
Neil thought Nat sounded like a Hallmark card.
Natalie thought that perhaps Neil’s sudden desire to have a family was subconsciously linked to a realisation that his work was . . . well, pathetic. She’d never said so before. She’d never actually thought so before. But now she had to wonder, what was the point to Neil’s work
? What was he contributing? What was he going to leave behind? Maybe, if he was a bit more fulfilled at work, he wouldn’t be so keen to have a baby.
As if reading her mind (which Nat considered unlikely, there was no precedent), Neil came back with an argument to counter the one she was forming in her head.
‘I work as a games designer at one of the biggest video games companies in the world. I do what I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve fulfilled a lifelong ambition. Not everybody is so lucky. Ask any accountant, traffic warden or the guys who empty the bins of scooped dog crap. Working in the video games industry is evidence of my creativity and of my ability to lead, to delegate and to collaborate, at least that’s what I put on my CV.’ Neil offered up the weak joke like a sacrificial lamb but Nat was not appeased. She did not laugh, she didn’t even smile, thus goading Neil to continue his diatribe.
‘Games are an essential part of human experience and are known to every culture. I consider it an honour to be part of an industry that has a tradition dating back as far as the thirtieth century BC. Games invariably encompass cerebral and/or physical stimulation. What could be finer than designing a prepared and planned activity, mostly undertaken for delight and gratification? Although, please note, games are sometimes also used as an educational tool. I facilitate the achievement of goals and the rush of rising to and meeting a challenge whilst abiding by rules and regulations. These are life skills!’
‘You play all day.’
‘Video games have come an awfully long way since the naivety of Pong and Space Invaders back in the seventies. You mustn’t dismiss gaming as a mere distraction for the few nerdy kids who can’t make friends and stay holed up in their bedrooms when they should be gasping fresh air. The video-game industry is now worth billions. The level of sophistication, both in terms of game play and graphics, continues to grow at a phenomenal pace, and in many households they’ve overtaken TV as the entertainment of choice for winding down in the evening. Video-game production is now serious business. While you may think being a video-game designer is just a day-long play-about, the truth is it’s a very demanding, albeit very rewarding job.’