Men I've Loved Before

by Adele Parks

  ‘Should I get you some water?’ asked Neil.

  Nat knew she must look ghastly if he was offering to help her. ‘Am I very green?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s more that you’re sort of transparent.’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about. It’s happened a few times recently.’

  ‘Too many boozy nights,’ muttered Neil nastily. He couldn’t hide his fury or jealousy and his tone goaded her into saying the one thing she’d sworn she’d never say.

  ‘I’m pregnant, Neil.’

  41

  ‘Pregnant?’

  Natalie was already regretting the confession, but she had been so hideously weary for weeks now and so utterly terrified for days that she was unable to think straight, it had just blurted out. If she’d thought for a moment about the consequences of her declaration, she would have cut out her tongue rather than mutter those two damning words but she was petrified, drained and lonely, and as such she was quite unable to think of consequences beyond throwing up on Angus’s duvet.

  Nat had known enough pregnant women to expect a bit of nausea in the mornings and maybe some tiredness; every pregnant woman she’d known had talked about both those things, but neither ‘nausea’ nor ‘tiredness’ came near the reality. Nausea was a polite word, one that suggested something bearable and acceptable. It was a viciously imperfect description of how Nat actually felt. She was sick. Sick, sick, sick. Entirely, utterly, right up to the back teeth sick. And not just in the mornings, oh no, the mornings were the times she might expect to vomit but the threat stayed with her all day. And the tiredness! Some days it felt as though someone had packed her body with wet sand as her limbs were so weighty and cumbersome. She was used to running up the escalators at work and on the underground; now it was all she could do to step into the elevator and lift her arm to press the button for the required floor.

  At first Nat had thought the nausea and the exhaustion were part and parcel of her break-up with Neil. She’d known she was nervous and depressed so the symptoms were not unexpected. But then her period didn’t arrive and she was one of those women who could set a clock by her cycle. She took a test. It was positive.

  The irony of the word. Positive. How could this be positive? she’d wondered.

  Nat forced herself to glance up at Neil. He looked as though someone had just sent an enormous electric charge through his body. He’d leapt to his feet and his entire body appeared rigid and fraught. His arms were spread wide and his fingers were splayed, his back, neck and legs were stiff and unyielding, even his hair seemed to stand on end; unbending and shocked.

  ‘Is it mine?’

  ‘Of course it’s not yours! Are you mad?’ He wasn’t thinking straight. They’d always used condoms so how could it possibly be his? As much as either of them might want that to be the case, it simply wasn’t. Another cold, hard fact. Nat’s life was full of them. It was so unlucky. She’d only slept with Karl that once and while she couldn’t even remember it, she had hoped that even in their horribly inebriated state they might have stopped and reached for a condom, that her habit of a lifetime would have made her insist on that at least, but apparently not. God, she was a fool.

  Neil wondered if Nat had been pregnant that last time they had made love. The thought sliced him open. He had to admit that their lovemaking that night had had a new energy to it; Nat had been imbued with a different confidence and exhilaration. It was perfectly feasible to deduce that the energy and confidence had come from having another lover. Now, Neil felt sick too. He had his theory about who his wife had shagged, who had fucked up his life.

  Neil had found Nat’s mobile phone almost immediately after she’d left their home that hideous Friday night. He’d put it in his pocket with the intention of returning it to her when he delivered his bouquet and apologies. But when she’d boldly announced she had slept with someone else, he decided to hang on to it so that he could examine the call log and the text message records, like every other desperate and deceived partner had done for years and would always do. It was ignoble but he at least deserved to know who’d ruined his life. He’d scrolled through the names, shocked by the number of possible candidates, and was none the wiser. There were half a dozen men’s numbers in the phone that he hadn’t expected and a series of texts detailing times and places she had met them. Then he thought to check the last text she’d sent and it all became crystal clear.

  Tsdy GR8. Again so srry bout 2nite.Ws looking frwrd! x.

  A text to Lee Mahony. It was the exclamation mark and the kiss that upset him. He searched back and found Lee Mahony had sent three messages to Nat and she’d sent him one other. OK, so none of them were exactly pornographic but he was certain Lee Mahony was her lover. She’d probably run to him that very night they’d rowed. From the texts he’d learnt that they’d had plans to meet up and the invite to Ali’s dinner party had screwed that up; that was probably why she’d been in such a mood all night. It made perfect sense. After all, she used to refer jokingly to Lee Mahony as her ‘most passionate encounter’, although she always added, ‘until I met you, that is’. Neil was sickened to think that he’d always believed her because he’d always been so secure in her love. But no longer. Neil remembered bits and bobs about this Lee Mahony from the stories they’d swapped in the heady, early days when lovers compare and contrast their conquests of the past, to prove their desire and desirability. Lee Mahony was Irish. The Irish were known for their charm, thought Neil indignantly, suddenly believing the entire nation’s gift of the gob was working against him. How was it that Nat had described him all those years ago? She’d said women could not resist Lee Mahony and the reason was that Lee Mahony could not resist women, he liked them all. Neil only remembered because at the time he thought this Lee guy sounded quite cool, the sort of man he might want to go for a pint with, secretly the sort of man he would have liked to be. No longer! Wanker!

  Plus, out of all the names Nat had listed and all the dates she’d admitted to on that fateful night he’d called out Cindy’s name, Lee Mahony’s had been notably absent. Proof! She must have been protecting him. Even then. She’d talked about all the other names listed in her contacts: Alan Jones, Michael Young, Richard Clark, Matthew Jackson and Daniel McEwan. She’d given up their identities readily enough and she’d confidently denied having slept with any of them. But she had not admitted to Lee Mahony. Neil had thought and thought about why she’d confessed to sleeping with someone when she did, and he’d been able to draw only one conclusion: she wanted to be with this someone, she wanted to ditch him. Neil wanted to ask her how long she’d been sleeping with Lee Mahony and how often and how good it was. But he knew the answers would be a fatal blow. He couldn’t do it.

  ‘Fuck.’ Neil wasn’t sure who the expletive was aimed at. Natalie? Lee Mahony? Fate? Not the baby. Even in this moment of filthy, disgusting hurt and bewilderment, Neil couldn’t help himself, he took a sneaky sideways glance at Nat’s stomach. Was it curved? Even just a tiny amount? Or was he imagining that? To think there was a baby in Nat’s stomach! Or womb, or were you supposed to say uterus, wasn’t that the accepted word nowadays? He preferred womb, it was warmer, more feminine. The thought of a baby growing inside Nat was the most amazing miracle he could ever have dreamt of and yet, at the same time, it was the darkest, most cruel nightmare. ‘Fuck!’ he said again.

  Nat flinched as the word shot across the room towards her. ‘Not that any of this matters as it will all be over on Wednesday,’ she said carefully.

  ‘What?’ Neil ran his hands through his hair with such violence that Nat thought he might yank out a chunk. ‘You’re having an abortion?’

  Nat swallowed. ‘Of course.’

  ‘You can’t!’ Neil yelled. Neil had always believed in a woman’s right to choose whether she complete a pregnancy or not. He believed that there were circumstances when bringing an unwanted baby into the world might be as big a crime as aborting a foetus. Women who were rape victims ought to have a right to cho
ose, young girls who were barely out of their own childhoods had that right too, breadline mothers with more mouths to feed than they could physically or mentally manage perhaps, and women who had been told they would have babies with terrible illnesses or disabilities. But Nat? Did Nat have a right to choose? He supposed if he was going to be rational about this then, yes, Nat too had the right to choose. He understood that on an intellectual level but this had nothing to do with his intellect. His response was entirely emotional. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘I can and I am,’ said Nat, as though the decision had been easy for her. But it had not. Nat did not want a child. She knew that, she’d always known that. She did not want to be pregnant. A state she saw pretty much akin to a death sentence. But not wanting to be pregnant and terminating a pregnancy were two entirely separate things. She hadn’t expected it to be so, but she’d discovered as much when she’d called the abortion clinic to try to make an appointment. The lady who had answered the phone had asked Nat if she wanted to take advantage of a counselling session. Nat had declined. Nat had also refused the invitation to read the literature on the development of the foetus. She knew what she wanted and she didn’t want to be swayed. Gently, it had been pointed out to her that no one wanted to sway her; they just wanted her to have all the facts. But Nat did not want to dwell. This was a difficult decision to make on her own, pointed out the woman at the end of the phone. Then she’d asked if there was anyone Nat could talk to. The baby’s father? Her mother? A friend? Was there anyone she might like to accompany her when she visited the doctor? Nat had said she’d think about it but she hadn’t intended to do so. She was sure the best thing she could do was bury this reality away at the very back of her mind for all eternity; not to dwell on it, certainly not to share it. It was a surprise to her that, despite her firm intentions to keep this issue an absolute secret, she was talking to Neil about it. Neil of all people! She had to bring this conversation to a close.

  ‘This is really none of your business, Neil,’ said Nat. The truth of this statement pierced them both like an arrow. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. I have no idea why I did. I’m not thinking straight.’

  ‘No, no you’re not, so this is not the time to do anything rash,’ said Neil desperately.

  ‘Neil, it’s not your baby,’ she reminded him firmly.

  He conceded the point. ‘So what does the father say?’ He couldn’t bring himself to say Lee Mahony’s name. Not here in his nephew’s bedroom, it would be sullying.

  ‘Nothing, he doesn’t know, I haven’t told him.’ Nat found this conversation excruciating. More so because she knew she was throwing daggers at Neil.

  ‘Hasn’t he got a right to know?’

  ‘He wouldn’t be interested,’ Nat said flatly. She was pretty sure this was the case. Besides, she wasn’t interested in Karl. ‘We’re not an item, Neil.’

  Neil was unsure whether Nat meant that as they were no longer an item, he had to back off and keep his nose out of her business, or did she mean that she and Lee Mahony were not an item? He felt a surge of hope flush through his body. If they weren’t an item then . . . well, maybe . . . wouldn’t there be a chance for . . . Neil wasn’t able to complete his thought before Nat threw icy water on to his daydream by reiterating her initial position, a position that remained to him mystifying and indefensible. ‘I don’t want to be a mother and certainly not a single mother. I need you to forget we ever had this conversation.’

  Nat stood up and left the room. As the door banged behind her, one of Angus’s certificates fell off the door. Neil picked it up and stared and stared at it. It was a certificate to commend Angus for ‘Showing a caring attitude towards friends in the playground’. Quite a skill, thought Neil.

  42

  Neil stayed in Angus’s bedroom until his brother Ben threatened to physically carry him downstairs. Then he sat next to the Christmas tree (half hiding behind it) and remained mute for the rest of the day. His family threw sympathetic glances his way but they all realised that there was something profoundly closed and unusually distant about the expression he wore; even his mother did not dare to offer a ‘penny for them’ as she might usually have done. They suspected that he was picking over Christmases past, it was natural to remember happier times, and they tacitly agreed that silently indulging him for a little longer was reasonable. But who could have guessed how bleak and turbulent Neil’s thoughts were? He could not make sense of his situation. He could not, no matter how desperately he tried, process what Nat had told him. The facts whirled around his head like clothes in a washing machine, tangled, misshapen and soggy.

  He needed to talk to someone, but who? Family members were all too claustrophobically close. He knew if he told any one of them that Nat was pregnant and planning an abortion, and oh, by the way, it’s not mine, he’d be opening the most gigantic Pandora’s box and he would never get the lid back on. Neil couldn’t face the inevitable slagging off of his wife (or should he say ex-wife now? He didn’t know the etiquette), he couldn’t bear the thought of wading through other people’s hysteria and disbelief; he was only just coping with his own. He was sure his family would all have strong views on the situation and they would all want to express them, and really, he just needed someone to listen. He thought of talking to Tim, who he trusted completely and who was capable of offering sound advice, as indeed he’d done often enough over many years. In many ways, Tim was like a brother to Neil but somehow that disqualified him too, Tim would be too staunchly loyal to be anything other than indignant and condemning, which left Karl. Karl was unlikely to respond hysterically; even if he were to be shocked by the events, he was too cool to let on. And if he had strong views and wanted to express them, the vocalisation was likely to take the form of the utterance of multiple, efficient expletives. Neil felt he could cope with a string of incredulous ‘You are shitting me’, ‘the bitch’ and ‘no fucking way’, which were likely to be Karl’s immediate responses. Neil knew this was not a conversation he could have over his mobile. He’d have to wait until Karl was back in town. When would that be? He knew Karl was spending time at Jen’s family home. He texted Karl and asked when he was coming back, and was relieved to receive a reply saying the twenty-eighth. He’d worried he might have to wait until the New Year and he couldn’t afford to wait. There was no time to lose.

  So on the twenty-eighth, Neil bought a six-pack, hunted out the chocolate orange that he’d snaffled out of Fi’s fridge and set off to Karl’s.

  Karl was surprised to see Neil standing on his doorstep at nine in the morning. At first he thought Neil had come round to punch him, a thought he’d secretly harboured for seven weeks. So far his indiscretion with Nat had apparently gone undetected but still, Karl was nervous. Sometimes these things revisited you when you least expected them to, just when you’d stopped checking over your shoulder. He knew he’d been a plonker to fool around with Neil’s wife. However tasty Nat was, it wasn’t good form and he really wouldn’t have done so normally (he hadn’t in the seven years he’d known her, no matter how much he’d wanted to), it’s just that on that particular night he’d drunk enough to sink a ship and truthfully he had been a bit unsettled by all this marriage stuff with Jen. He wasn’t one for making excuses or over-analysing things, that was not his scene at all, but he was a bit freaked out by the fact that within moments of him handing over the money for the engagement ring, the wedding preparations had taken on a life force of their own. A force that was so overwhelming and all-consuming that Karl thought a Jedi Master might struggle to battle against it. He didn’t feel in the slightest bit connected to the wedding and while he was the first to admit he wasn’t exactly an archetypal romantic knight in shining armour, he had expected the woman he’d marry to be ga-ga about him. Was Jen? He wasn’t sure. She was ga-ga about the wedding, definitely. But about him specifically? Take the ring, for example. They hadn’t chosen it together; when Karl said yes, Jen admitted that she’d already selected one. It seemed all that was required
of him was ready cash, when a shop assistant asked for it, and a ready smile, when anyone congratulated them. It bothered him. It hurt his pride and maybe somewhere a little deeper. So he hadn’t been thinking straight that night Nat buzzed his bell.

  With relief Karl noticed the beer and chocolate and thought it was unlikely that Neil had come to seek any sort of revenge. Once he was reassured on that front, Karl was genuinely chuffed to see his mate. For a start, Neil was out of his house and he was dressed in clean clothes, which hadn’t been the case for weeks. Karl was not made of stone; he was worried about Neil because he’d really plummeted off the rails. Secondly, Karl was delighted to see Neil because he had neither beer nor chocolate in the house.

  ‘Mate, good to see you.’ Karl pulled Neil into a loose, back-slapping man-hug and led the way up to the flat.

  Karl’s flat was tastefully decorated. The walls were different shades of almost white, which made the most of the small place. Karl had funky black and white photos hanging everywhere; the best ones were displayed in the narrow, short corridor that led towards his bedroom. When he showed women these shots he often claimed to have taken them himself. He hadn’t, they were all Habitat prints and their ubiquitous nature meant he occasionally got caught out on that particular lie but he didn’t care, it rarely mattered. Claiming to be a photographer usually impressed at the pertinent moment, the moment he was leading the women down the corridor, and that was all he ever aimed to do. He had bought most of his furniture from Habitat too and last year he’d had an Ikea kitchen installed. It was grey lacquer and looked impressive. Jen did a good job at keeping the flat clean, or at least she used to. Neil noticed that the place was surprisingly dusty and there were coffee mug rings on every surface; it looked like it had before Nat facilitated Jen’s stumbling into Karl’s life.