Men I've Loved Before

by Adele Parks

  ‘Where’s Nat?’ Neil’s only thought.

  ‘She’s putting her gown on,’ said Nina gently. ‘Neil, you need to understand something. I’m not Nat’s biological mother.’

  ‘What?’ What was she talking about? Neil couldn’t understand what Nina might possibly mean. Was she distancing herself from Nat because Nat was having an abortion? How perverse. That wasn’t likely. That was not the Nina that Neil knew. The Nina who, on his wedding day, had pluckily pulled him aside and threatened to deliver all sorts of hell to his door if he ever hurt her baby. ‘Her mother died in childbirth,’ Nina explained.

  Huge waves of nausea ran through Neil’s body. He was suddenly drenched with a brutal understanding and icy fear.

  ‘A hereditary condition?’ he asked in a tight, slight voice.

  ‘No. All Nat inherited was fear but that’s still real, Neil. Very real. No one would insist a claustrophobic went pot-holing or an acrophobic went abseiling,’ Nina said defensively. She wasn’t sure where all these sporty analogies were suddenly coming from but she was scrambling around for ways to explain the impossible and any means would do.

  Poor, poor Nat. How terrified she must have been. How much more terrified she must be now. Neil couldn’t think why she’d never told him about her birth mother but now that Nina had, the last crazily confused months of his life became crystal clear. He hated Nat for not telling him, he wanted to scream at her for creating all this chaos and commotion. And he loved her, utterly, at the same time and wished he could hold her right now when she must be at her most bewildered and battered. ‘I understand,’ said Neil calmly.

  ‘I hoped you would,’ said Nina with a sigh of relief. ‘I just needed you to know that much before you got here. And Neil, darling, be as quick as you can.’

  46

  Nat had not allowed Nina to go into the room with her. She’d asked her mother to wait in the corridor, it was enough that she knew she was there, close by. Nat didn’t want the picture of the room to be imbedded on her mother’s memory, as no doubt it would be on hers. No matter how uniformly impersonal the room was she knew it would always be distinct for her, and no matter how clean and neat it was, she knew it would always represent a huge, dirty mess.

  The nurse who had showed her into her room was younger than Nat. She had an enviable air of competence about her. She was pleasant and efficient. She handed Nat a green hospital gown (just like the one Nat had worn when she’d had her appendix out two years ago). She squeezed Nat’s arm in a gesture of sympathy and understanding and instructed her to put the gown on and then just lie down on the bed.

  ‘A doctor will come and see you before we move you into surgery. Try and get some rest.’

  Nat obediently lay on the bed but resting was beyond her.

  47

  Neil had never seen traffic like it. There had been tailbacks all along the A3 so they’d taken a chance and followed an alternative route, nipping through a series of small villages. Under other circumstances, Neil would have commented how picturesque these villages were; a few months back, if he’d been travelling with Nat, he might have even chanced his hand and commented that these were the perfect sorts of places to bring up kids. God, he’d been a tosser. He’d put her under so much pressure, constantly going on and on about starting a family. He’d more or less demanded it, then whined about it, threatened, cajoled, sulked about it and ultimately even tried to trick her into it. He should have approached the whole thing differently, he should have found out why she didn’t want a family. They could have talked about her fears; they could have had counselling or some such bollocks. He’d have tried anything that might have helped soothe her. Neil longed to turn back time and yet he also desperately wanted to press fast forward. He looked out of the window but could see nothing other than an endless chain of red brake lights. Why were they standing still now? What could possibly be delaying them? They had been stuck behind a gritting machine and a tractor already today, what else could go wrong? As if reading his mind, Karl explained.

  ‘We’re only about a mile and a half away. It’s just after this little town. I think the traffic jam is down to shoppers trying to get parked.’

  ‘Fucking sale shoppers, I hate them,’ Neil snarled, banging his hand on the dashboard.

  ‘Nearly there, mate. We’re doing our best. We can’t do more than we are doing,’ reasoned Karl. ‘Why don’t you call Nina again and see what’s going on?’

  ‘I tried, went straight through to voicemail. Her phone’s switched off, I think. You have to switch your phone off when you’re in a hospital, don’t you?’

  Karl hated hospitals. No one had said anything about hospitals when he signed up to this. He’d offered to drive Neil round to Nat’s parents’ gaff, which would have been trial enough, and then Neil had said they had to go directly to a clinic, which was a step further than he wanted to go, and now Neil was talking about hospitals. Hospitals made him squeamish. He really didn’t fancy talking to Nat in a hospital. They had that funny smell about them, didn’t they? Illness and sorrow. Still, he had no choice, he realised that. A man had to do what a man had to do. In the meantime, of course, he could always try and hide in a joke.

  ‘They make you switch your phone off on aeroplanes too. Maybe she’s had a change of plan and nipped to the Caribbean instead.’

  ‘Shut up, Karl,’ said Neil and Karl thought it was probably best if he did.

  Neil’s phone suddenly rang and he nearly dropped it as he scrabbled to press the receive call button.

  ‘Neil, darling, how far away are you?’ Nina asked. The concern was audible.

  ‘Not far but the traffic is at a standstill.’

  ‘I just wanted to call you, darling, to warn you that you might be too late. I think she’s already gone into surgery. I’m sorry.’ Her voice was tired and forlorn.

  ‘Stop the car!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pull over, Karl. I need to get out.’

  Neil flung open the door even though the car was still moving. ‘Where you going, mate?’ yelled Karl.

  ‘This is too slow. I’m going to run. She’s gone into surgery.’

  ‘We’re too late?’ asked Karl, his face distorting with genuine regret.

  ‘No, I’m not too late,’ said Neil. ‘I’m going to my wife. She’ll need me when she comes round. I’m going to bring her home. I might not be too late for that.’

  Neil started to run up the road. Karl leant out of the window and called after him.

  ‘Mate, I’ll follow up in the car. It may have escaped your notice but you don’t have a white charger. You’re going to need my Toyota.’ Karl thought Neil was likely to head off in the wrong direction or collapse with a stitch; it would undoubtedly be wiser and more rational to have stayed put, no matter how slow they were travelling; it was bloody cold out there but even so, Karl was really proud of him.

  48

  The pain in his chest was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, it felt as though his lungs and ribs were trying to pound their way out of his body. His breathing was shallow and he felt dizzy and sick. The agony of his effort stretched through every one of his muscles in his stomach, back, legs and arse. The pain was worse than the pain when he had been punched in the face by Cindy’s husband or when he’d punched the wall that night he was rowing with Nat. It was relentless and it got worse with every step he took. Up until the split he had played football in the park, every weekend, and Neil was used to running around a pitch for ninety minutes at a time. But his fitness levels had quickly fallen well below par, having existed on a diet of self-pity and pizza for so long.

  By the time Neil arrived at the clinic, he was breathless and sweaty. He considered he must look a bit like Chris Moyles climbing up Mount Kilimanjaro to raise money for Comic Relief but not as noble. He burst into the reception with such force that the receptionist fingered the button that summoned the security guard. If Nat hadn’t rushed so willingly to Neil’s side, he’d probably hav
e been forcibly ejected.

  ‘Neil, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to tell you . . .’ God, it hurt to speak. He had this great speech he wanted to make; he’d been playing it over and over in his head as he’d run here and in his head it sounded like something as impressive and motivational as Barack Obama might utter but in reality, between gasps, it wasn’t cutting it.

  ‘I’ll get you some water,’ Nat said, quickly turning to the water cooler.

  No, no, it was all wrong. Neil didn’t want it like this. He wanted to look after Nat, not the other way round. Why didn’t Nina or the receptionist get him some water if someone had to? Instead they were just staring at him, with something like amazement (and not in a good way). They shouldn’t be letting Nat dash around, not straight after her procedure, it wasn’t right. If he’d had the breath he’d have complained. Neil flopped into a chair, accepting at once both the indignity of his unfitness and the plastic cup of water. He gulped it back and then waited to catch his breath.

  ‘Nat, I have some things I need to say. Please listen to them. Please don’t interrupt because they’d be really difficult things to say even if I had enough breath to make me audible.’ Nat nodded. ‘I know there is no baby.’

  ‘Neil—’

  ‘You agreed, no interruptions.’ Neil placed his finger on her lips. She didn’t move it. Oh, the joy. The joy of touching her again. He considered leaving his finger up against her soft, swollen lips throughout his speech but then thought it might distract him. Reluctantly he took it away. ‘Even though this is now academic, it’s still extremely important. I need you to know that I’d have been its dad. Even if I wasn’t. Although I might have been.’

  ‘Why would you imagine that you might have been, Neil?’ Nat wasn’t keeping her promise of keeping quiet but Neil was pleased to note her tone was tender not aggressive.

  ‘I put pinpricks in the condom that last night we were together,’ Neil said quickly.

  ‘You what?’ Nat looked stunned.

  ‘Can we do this outside?’ Neil looked left and right and saw Nina and the receptionist stare at him, aghast, jaws hanging open. Nat ignored his request.

  ‘You irresponsible, stupid—’ This time Neil clamped his entire hand over Nat’s mouth, he didn’t think a tender finger would do the job. Her eyes continued to screech at him.

  ‘I know, I know. Big mistake. Wrong. Desperate. But you slept with Lee Mahony.’

  Nat bit hard down on Neil’s hand; he had no choice but to pull away. ‘I did no such thing! I slept with him!’ Nat pointed an accuser’s finger at Karl, who had just sneaked in the door. He hadn’t parked his car in the car park, he’d abandoned it in front of the building, not caring if he got a ticket. He thought now it might be a good thing to jump back in it and flee. Infinitely preferable to playing a part in this drama but he knew he could not run. Not on this occasion.

  ‘Karl!’ shouted Neil in disbelief. ‘You slept with Karl?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Nat.

  ‘No,’ insisted Karl.

  Nat and Neil both turned to glare at Karl. It was unclear which of them had the most ferocious inclination to rip him limb from limb.

  ‘Karl, there is no point in denying it now. We might as well have everything out in the open,’ said Nat with a deep sigh.

  ‘We didn’t have sex,’ Karl insisted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We fooled around.’ Karl coughed and stared at the floor. He wasn’t sure who he was most embarrassed to be making this confession in front of, Nat, her husband or her mother. He hoped to hell Nat didn’t ask how far they’d fooled around. He really didn’t think he could say the necessary words in front of someone who had a bus pass. ‘Nat, you started to cry, you said you couldn’t do it to Neil. Well, actually, you said you couldn’t do it to the nasty bastard but I knew who you meant. Then you passed out. I slept on the couch. Don’t you remember?’

  No, Nat did not remember. She had woken up in Karl’s bed and thought the worst. What else would anyone think of Karl? She remembered flashbacks of flesh and lips, she had never been able to remember coherent details, she’d never wanted to, and then she found out she was pregnant, which seemed to confirm things.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Any one of them might have said it but it was Neil. He had worked out that the baby, the baby that was no more, was his after all. His minuscule moment of pure, unadulterated delight was blasted apart by a searing grief. His vision blurred with tears. He wiped them away and tried to stay focused. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he insisted bravely. ‘None of it matters. It’s all finished with. I set off today with the intention of telling you I’d be the father, if you let me, no matter whose the baby was.’ Nat gasped, desperate to interrupt but Neil was determined to woo her. ‘But I also wanted to tell you that even without a baby, without the chance of there ever being a baby, I’d like to be your husband again, if you’d let me. I’d like it more than anything on earth, Nat. That’s what I wanted to say. Nat, can we start again, please?’

  ‘But Neil, there is a baby. Your baby. Our baby. I couldn’t go through with the abortion. We’re going to have a baby.’

  49

  As Natalie had lain on the hospital bed, wrapped in nothing other than a starchy, arse-exposing gown and a paper hair net, she had thought about her mothers. Both of them. She thought of Nina, sitting in the sterile corridor, no doubt half crazed with worry. Poor Nina. She thought how much it must be costing Nina to come here with her and support her even when she did not agree with her decision. Nat could almost feel the waves of sympathy and stress oozing through the walls. How selfless and brave and uncompromisingly maternal Nina was. It struck Nat that Nina would make a great grandma. Nana Nina had a ring to it.

  And Nat thought of Christina. Christina had been a cheerful-looking woman. She looked distinctly cheeky and carefree, with bright green, laughing eyes and a wide, honest forehead. She had dimples. Nat knew this from studying photos, as there used to be pictures of Christina around Brian’s home but over the years the photos of Christina had slowly disappeared. There hadn’t been a dramatic moment when Nina had swept away all evidence of her predecessor, that wasn’t Nina’s style at all. Over time the photos had simply, quite naturally, been replaced as newer shots, capturing important family moments such as the boys’ christenings or Nat’s first pony gymkhana, had been displayed. One photo had been removed when its frame broke (although Brian had had the intention of getting it replaced, he’d never got round to it), another was taken down when a wall was repainted and it never found its way back up. Brian carefully kept all these photos, preserved in a big red box that sat at the bottom of his wardrobe and he enjoyed looking through them from time to time. He’d encouraged Nat to keep one for herself as he thought that keeping a picture of her mother by her bed might be a comfort to a young girl. Nat had accepted the photo but did not keep it by her bed. She found it difficult to relate to the woman in the photo, a woman she didn’t know, a woman she’d hacked down in her prime. Nat tucked the picture away between the pages of a Jackie Annual and she’d rarely looked at it. She tried never to think about it.

  But, lying in the rigid hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, Nat found she couldn’t get Christina’s cheeky, cheerful, carefree grin out of her head. Would her baby inherit that beam? And those dimples? Was that possible? Nat had not even glanced at a photo of Christina for many years but she found the image was indelible. Nat wished for the millionth time that her mother had lived and that she’d shared the secret that lay behind that seismic grin which must have given her such confidence in the world.

  Suddenly, from nowhere, like an angel’s kiss, it struck Nat what Christina’s secret might have been. Christina was loved. Christina loved in return. She loved Brian, her parents and her many friends too, no doubt. For once, Nat did not shun thoughts of her mother but instead she pursued them. She wondered if Christina had ever tasted buttered toast on a cold winter afternoon? Yes, probably, almost certainly. Had
she felt sunlight flood through a window and warm her back? Yes. And she’d have read funny books and watched moving films. She’d have had a favourite colour and a favourite outfit. She’d have smelt waxy lilies and French coffee. She might have rolled down the side of a grassy hill, giggling until she thought she might be sick. She’d have watched sunsets and sunrises and marvelled at them. Boys would have made her cry and she’d have hurt one or two herself, no doubt. She’d have panicked about exams, carefully saved money, carelessly spent money. She’d probably got drunk on occasion and sung at the top of her lungs, maybe tunelessly, like Nat did.

  Christina had lived.

  Loved and lived. And if she’d lived a little longer, no doubt she’d have loved her daughter more than anything, Nat was sure of it.

  But she hadn’t lived until a ripe old age, which was a tragedy. Nat had been at this point in her reasoning when she heard Nina cough. She’d crept into Nat’s hospital room even though Nat had instructed otherwise. Nina sat down next to Nat and firmly took hold of her hand. She said nothing at all, which was the most articulate and absolute show of her love. Nina was there. By her side. Splendid, wonderful Nina. She had always timed her entrances to perfection.

  Nat had gazed out of the hospital window at the cold, wet, uninspiring January afternoon and yet her mind was clear as a summer day. Both mothers deserved a more fitting tribute than Nat’s fear. Such love and devotion could not be met with dread and trepidation. Nat understood that she deserved a life full of careless, dimpled grins, a life devoid of fear.

  EPILOGUE

  ‘Nat, look at this.’ Neil was waving a heavy-looking cream envelope. Nat gave him a fraction of her attention but largely she was concentrating on scraping the last of the raspberry jam out of the jar and on to her third slice of toast. The bump was ravenous this morning.