A Part of Me

by Anouska Knight

  It was only ever a matter of time before parallels would be drawn between James and my dad. I inhaled deeply and rolled into the inevitable. ‘That’s just it, Mum, they can help themselves. It’s a choice they make.’

  ‘No, not always, Amy. Sometimes they just … they fall into an unexpected situation, and then before they know it they’re not sure what they want.’

  I wondered if after telling herself the same thing for so long, my mother had somehow erased the basic principles of betrayal from her understanding. Eighteen years on she was still hanging onto the ghost of a notion – that Dad’s departure was somehow not of his choosing.

  Mum looked out onto the garden. I let my eyes fall to the teacup steaming on the table between us. It felt intrusive somehow to look outside while she did also. She sighed and turned uncertain eyes back to me. ‘I’m not trying to be insensitive, Amy. I know how much hurt you must be feeling, I do. But, you and James have been through so much together. Experiences that have bound the two of you. He hasn’t led you to believe that he wants a relationship with this woman, has he?’ I searched the garden for something to concentrate on. The robin was nowhere, abandoning me to the conversation. The answer to her question was no. No, he hadn’t. In every one of the messages he’d left these past seven days, James had said that he loved me. He loved me, and that he was sorry.

  Mum was still waiting. I shook my head to answer her.

  ‘James knows how complicated things can be, Amy. Hear him out, see what he has to say. Life isn’t a walk in the park for anyone, sweetheart. It’s complicated and messy and at times, ruddy heart-breaking. But, you have to press on.’

  ‘So what? I should just forget what he’s done?’

  ‘No, not forget. James has done wrong, but he is trying. Doesn’t that count for something?’

  It did count for something. Mum had never met another man, waiting for my father to show a fraction of the regret James had shown over this last week. It would be cruel to say to her that it didn’t count, I just didn’t know whether it counted enough.

  ‘I can’t go through with the party, Mum. I’m sorry. Even if we were on speaking terms, I couldn’t stand in front our friends and family and … fake it.’

  ‘You haven’t got anything to be ashamed of, Amy. Lots of people learn to carry this sort of burden. Relationships are all about accepting each other’s imperfections. Goodness knows, we all have those.’ I couldn’t argue with that. Imperfections didn’t exactly encompass that which James had accepted in me.

  ‘The party was a nice idea, Mum, but it was your idea. I never wanted a fuss about the adoption, I just wanted the …’ I couldn’t say the word; it stuck in my throat like a rusty barb. I had to get around this or I’d never make it through a single day at Cyan. I tried to think of something, anything, else, but I was already losing again. I looked outside, hoping the shift in position might slow the inevitable but the tingling was already there behind my eyes.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart. Don’t cry. You’re tougher than this, I know you are.’ Mum leant over and began rubbing my knee reassuringly. I shook my head. I wasn’t tough. I couldn’t survive a broken fingernail or a mistimed buzzword.

  ‘I’m not, Mum. Guy’s tough, not me.’ I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever seen my brother cry, not even during the catastrophic fallout after he’d walked in on my father and Petra. Guy had glued the three of us together until Mum had finally realised that we didn’t need to keep eating Dad’s favourites any more.

  ‘Oh, Amy, you’re tougher than you think.’ She reached for my hand, clasping onto it as she always had whenever I’d brought a crisis home with me.

  ‘What am I going to do, Mum?’ I asked steadily, trying not to set myself off again. She was making small circular motions over the back of my thumb.

  ‘Well, first you need to work out what’s most important in your life right now, sweetheart.’

  ‘I know what’s most important. That part hasn’t changed in the last five years.’

  ‘Right. Well, that only leaves one other question. Has James’s part in that changed in the last five years?’

  James had always been part of that picture, but tensions had been growing lately. Somewhere along the line, we’d stopped laughing and making plans. I realised that there had only been one plan for a long time now, and what had started out as a joint venture had at some point turned James into a back-seat passenger on my much diverted road-trip to parenthood. But never had I imagined him not being there, somewhere, with me. Never had he said he wanted to get off this journey. Or maybe I just hadn’t been listening.

  A bustling through the front door and my brother’s cheerful voice throbbed through the open hallway. ‘Hey, hey! Somethin’ smells good! Sam … don’t push! You’ll knock somebody over.’ Sam scrambled into the kitchen making a beeline for the biscuit jar.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Mum warned, leaping from her chair to intercept him. A waft of cool air came in with them as Guy plonked Harry’s car seat down on Mum’s pine kitchen table.

  Lauren followed them all in, rosy cheeked, puffing mousy-brown strands of hair away from her face, arms full of the things Harry couldn’t possibly need in just a couple of hours. She dumped her bags and came straight over with an embrace, then reassuringly rubbed my arm. ‘Hey. How are we doing?’ I smiled crookedly letting her hug me for a second time. ‘I’m so sorry, Ame.’ I shrugged my shoulders. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t blub in front of the kids.

  Guy scratched his short-cropped curls and threw me an unimpressed look. I glared back at him, in case he was under any illusion that dealing with Mum’s counsel wasn’t taxing enough. He arched his eyebrows and held his hands up briefly in submission. He wouldn’t say anything about James, for now. I let out a breath as he came over and planted a kiss on my cheek. ‘Just say the word,’ he said quietly. ‘He needs his arse kicking.’

  ‘Samuel Alwood! What on earth have you done to your face?’ Sam peered wide brown eyes out at Mum from underneath the hood of his duffel coat, a strange purplish bruise beneath his eye.

  Lauren huffed as she pulled him from his coat. ‘He stuck a Tic Tac up his nose, didn’t you, buddy? Pushed it that far up there, burst a blood vessel.’

  Sam grinned at his achievement. ‘I made Mummy’s legs go funny!’ he said triumphantly. Lauren was squeamish, which made it all the more baffling to understand how she’d had not one, but two children with my heathen brother.

  I bent down beside Sam. ‘Let me see, Curly.’ He lifted his chin to allow me a better look. ‘Ew, gross. At least you’ll have minty fresh nostrils for a while, kiddo.’ I stole a kiss before he could make his escape.

  ‘Daddy said I can’t put anything else up my nose now, Aunty Ame. Not even my fingers.’

  I ran my hand over the softness of his curls. ‘Good to know, kid.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s good advice.’

  ‘I’ve got some advice for you too if you want to hear it?’ Guy asked me.

  The timer on the oven began bleeping urgently, answered with a grizzled response from the kitchen table. I ignored Guy as Lauren peered into Harry’s car seat and groaned. ‘Harry! We can’t spend all day in the car! It’s not practical.’ She began to unclip him from the seat harness as Harry’s protestations grew. ‘Guy’s taken to driving him around the estate to get him off!’ she said, scooping him from the chair.

  ‘You’ll want to get out of that habit, Guy,’ Mum warned, repositioning the oven trays. ‘He’s got to learn to settle himself sometimes, or he’ll grow up expecting the world to do it for him.’ She looked over at Lauren peeling Harry like a banana from his snow suit and completely lost track of what she was doing. ‘He is scrumptious, though,’ she cooed. ‘Here, I’ll get him off for you.’

  Something began boiling over on the hob, sending a crackle of spitting water everywhere. Mum looked over at the veg.

  ‘I’ll take him,’ I offered. Harry bunched into himself like a hedgehog as Lauren handed him to me. I settled him into my chest a
nd grazed my nose over his downy dark hair. He was going to be curly too. I took the deepest lungful of air I could manage. He still smelled of that something only new babies did. Of softness and milky cotton.

  ‘So? Have you seen him since you moved back?’ Guy asked tartly. Harry grunted softly next to my ear. I nuzzled into him, into all that cotton-softness and rocked him gently, unsure as to who was really comforting who.

  Mum began mashing the potatoes with unnecessary vigour. ‘Have I mentioned the parish meeting at the community centre to you both yet?’ It was a transparent attempt to change the subject.

  ‘I haven’t moved back, Guy,’ I said, rubbing my cheek against my little friend’s. ‘I just needed some breathing space.’ I knew it wasn’t me Guy was angry at, but the situation. He was friends with James, he had him down as a good guy too. Guy was always going to struggle with that. He was black and white that way, always had been, but I had other things to consider – a whole spectrum of grey.

  I walked away from my brother and lifted Harry’s tiny hand to my lips to press a kiss there. There was a reason new babies’ hands were sized to match an adult mouth. Kisses were meant for tiny fingers. Tiny, delicate fingers, so perfect it was almost inconceivable that they could be created so easily. So easily for so many. I held Harry’s hand against my mouth.

  We’d never meant to fall pregnant. I hadn’t even missed a pill. It had just happened, and everything had changed, irrevocably. The doctor had told us ours was a determined little egg, the one in a hundred to outwit the advances of contraceptive science and bed down for a chance at life. By some twist of fate, we’d been shown something wonderful, and then, once we’d fallen in love with our tiny stowaway, fate had seen fit to take him away again.

  Mum intensified her attack on the spuds. I indulged in another hit of Harry’s inimitable scent. ‘Come on, handsome.’ I clucked, strolling towards the conservatory windows. ‘Let’s see if we can find that little robin.’

  CHAPTER 5

  THERE WERE MANY days I’d have rather forgotten during my career as lead designer at Cyan Architecture & Design, but this one was already shaping up to go straight to the top of the leader board. A cyclist with a death wish had just committed the cardinal sin of cutting us up and Mum was still growling at his disappearing reflection in her mirrors. ‘Sunshine always brings the idiots out,’ she huffed, catching up with the traffic ahead. I was making a point of not looking up there: the city buses were all running the same campaign, posters plastered above their bumpers showing three beautiful children in a tricolour of races, begging the question, Could you adopt?

  ‘Stop fiddling with your ear, sweetheart.’

  ‘I’m not fiddling with my ear. Watch the road.’

  Mum threw me a sideways glance. ‘You’re bound to feel nervous, Amy.’

  ‘It’s not my first day at school, Mum. Thank goodness. Could you have bought a more obscenely coloured car?’

  ‘You’re supposed to be a designer – embrace the alternative. Anyway, madam, there’s always the bus.’

  The bistro-lined streets were already alive with coffee-wielding officebots on their way to work as Mum pulled us over into the bus lane. I eyed the small private car park over by the biscuit factory. James’s car wasn’t there. Good. Thoughts of what our first encounter might hold had me turning myself in knots. It had been the same for days now, I’d try to work out what I was going to say to him, but even within the controlled parameters of my own mental monologue, it all got messy and jumbled. First the hurt of what he’d done would hit all over again, then the anger at his timing (because if your boyfriend feels the need to bonk one of your colleagues, timing made all the difference, of course). Thinking of James and Sadie together had invariably been enough to trip off further unsightly bouts of snotty crying each time I’d played it through my head. Not being able to remember the last time I’d driven James wild with a single kiss, or was woken in the morning with a kiss of his own, triggered my growing sense of inadequacy just as effectively.

  One of the city buses honked and pulled around us into the lane.

  ‘All right, all right. I’m going!’ Mum snipped.

  I tried not to look at the advertisement plastered across the rear of the bus, but eyes have a habit of seeking out what the mind knows isn’t good for it. I’d never been so glad so see an ad for broadband.

  I jumped out of Mum’s lime-green Honda before I could change my mind. I needed to talk to James, I knew that much. But walking back into the office was a big enough hurdle to deal with today.

  ‘Amy?’ She was ducking to better see me as I straightened myself out on the pavement.

  ‘Please, Ma. No more advice.’

  ‘I just wanted to say, good luck. It takes courage to walk in there, Amy. You hold your head up.’

  I stopped fussing with my clothes and smiled feebly. ‘Let’s just see how it goes, Mum.’ If I could get this out of the way, anything was possible.

  I shut the car door and turned for the courtyard, power-walking towards the cluster of businesses before my feet had a chance to change direction. This did indeed feel like a first day at school. Only worse. The gusto of my power-walk pushed me straight through the glass doors and swiftly across the lobby where two figures loitered at Ally’s desk. ‘Morning,’ Dana called politely. Ally sat open-mouthed.

  ‘Morning,’ I called back, rounding the far doors into the offices. I was unwavering in my path.

  I shadowed the wall intersecting the office, following it past the first pod of workstations where Alice and her team were already settled into their workload. The marketing lot had a good corner position on the studio floor, made cosy where red bricks remained resolutely exposed before running into the sleek white plasterwork flanking the rest of the studios.

  The next group of workstations were all vacant, basking in sun where tall industrial windows stood like a row of guards, flooding the studios with natural light. The view they offered across the courtyard gave my eyes something to focus on while I made it past Sadie’s empty desk. I’d nearly traversed the first studio, past the kitchen where more bodies were loitering for morning coffee and gossip. I didn’t look inside.

  The boardroom lay directly ahead of the interiors team’s workstations. I kept on with the power-walk then abruptly veered left, slinking into my chair. My heart was a little racy when I punched the button on my pc.

  Not a word from any one of the seven bodies around me to compete with the lethargic hum of my computer. I resisted the urge to fidget. Across the low partition separating our desks, Hannah’s face was locked on her monitor. She was being careful not to look at me. Nine days on, it was safe to say even the cleaners knew that Stewart from reprographics was not the Nightshagger.

  The other side of Hannah, Phil spun her chair around and sat casually back into it, grinning like a Bond villain. Hers was a unique brand of solidarity, but an effective one. At that predatory smile, a tension eased. You can do this, Ame. One awkwardness at a time.

  ‘Amy?’ boomed a voice from the office beside the boardroom. ‘A word.’ My next awkwardness was well over six foot tall and looming in the doorway there. Adrian Espley was an imposing man, with a near-military-grade haircut and the build of a person who had enjoyed rugby in a long forgotten youth, before the Guinness had taken over.

  Phil’s smile never faltered. Be cool, she mouthed, as I waddled past her. There wasn’t enough of a distance to deploy the power-walk, damn it.

  ‘Close the door behind you,’ Adrian instructed, holding a huge hand out towards the chair beside me. I did as he asked, pulling on the hem of my fitted waistcoat before sitting down in the hot seat. ‘I’m not going to dance around, Amy. I’m not happy about this … situation.’

  My face suddenly felt awkward and rubbery.

  ‘I don’t want to know who’s done what, all I give a toss about is will it cause me any problems?’ My hands felt clammy in my lap.

  Be cool. ‘Of course not, Adrian.’ That was what he
wanted to hear, after all. Adrian cleared his throat, a sound I’d come to recognise as his acceptance of a satisfactory outcome.

  ‘Excellent. Right, leave what you’re on and get Phil to run you through the Bywater file. New client, just bought a nice place out near Briddleton. Got it for a song, too – the vendors ran out of money before they had to sell up. Managed a nice job on the conversion, very nice, but it’s basically a sexy shell, nothing going on inside.’ I thought of the comparisons I could draw. ‘He’s got a fairly healthy budget and the mill would look fantastic in our residential portfolio. I want you to win us this contract, Amy. Get your teeth into it.’

  Good. Work was good. I could feel myself relaxing. ‘Where are we at with it?’

  ‘He’s emailed over a few photos, and a set of AutoCAD plans that the previous architects drew up. He’s bringing everything else he’s got into the office this morning.’ Yes. This was what I needed. ‘Right then, I think we’re done here. Phil’ll get you up to speed.’

  And like that, equilibrium resumed in Adrian’s company.

  Phil was getting one of the architects up to speed on her drawings when I made it out of Adrian’s office. I began picking over the papers on her desk. ‘Hannah? Have you seen anything for a Mr Bywater? There should be a file?’

  Hannah looked sheepishly over her shoulder at me. I sighed quietly. ‘Hannah, this morning’s awkward enough. I know how the jungle drums work around here, don’t worry about it, okay?’ Hannah nodded as I took a cursory glance back down the studio.

  ‘She’s not in today,’ Hannah whispered. ‘I heard Dana telling Marcy that Sadie phoned in sick again.’

  A slap of papers hit the end of the desk. ‘Rohan Bywater. Has Adrian talked you through it, or was he too busy checking the balance of his applecart?’ Phil stood leaning with one hand flat on the desk, the other on her hip. ‘He’s due in this morning, you want me to do the meet-and-greet or—’

  ‘No, I’ve got it.’