‘So you don’t mind if I go, do you?’ Jake says. ‘It’s to talk about your birthday. Apparently she’s planning The Birthday Surprise.’ He injects the capital letters into his voice; says the words in the voice of a game-show host. ‘Anyway, how are you? How was your day?’
It’s a good question. I’ve spent every moment since I left the park this morning, fretting about agreeing to go to the cinema with Simon. But I don’t have his number, and neither do I know where he lives. The thought of the arrangement makes me uneasy. But it’s just catching a movie with an acquaintance, isn’t it? I’ve nothing to be worried about.
‘Oh, fine, thanks,’ I say. ‘Went walking.’
‘Great. See your friend Anna?’ Jake’s perched on the arm of the sofa, distracted with his phone.
‘She wasn’t there so I chatted to that Simon guy.’
He loosens his tie and flexes his neck, disinterested in what I’m saying. I’m about to tell him about the film when his phone buzzes. He opens the message.
‘Okay. It’s Sarah. I’ve said yes and she’s walking down to get me at eight. It’s dinner apparently.’ He looks at me and we stare at each other for a moment.
‘We’re planning your birthday…’ Jake says firmly.
‘Sure,’ I say, moving it on. ‘But, look.’ I point at my belly. ‘Nothing wild, please. My idea of a good night out right now is a warm bath, a book and bed. Please don’t sign me up for a bar crawl, strippers, anything involving me having to watch everyone else get drunk, in fact anything that doesn’t involve a quiet dinner and an early night.’
Jake rolls his eyes. ‘You’re a whole bag of fun. Maybe we’ll just let you leave early and carry on without you.’ But then he comes over and hugs me, and I try to imagine a life when I haven’t got a human being sitting in my stomach and might look forward to nights out again.
*
The doorbell rings bang on eight. Jake’s been upstairs getting ready and I hear his feet thunder down the stairs. He lets Sarah in, and I hear the smacky sound of air kisses, then they’re standing in the living-room doorway in a cloud of perfume.
‘Hi,’ says Sarah. ‘Don’t get up. You don’t mind me borrowing your husband tonight, do you?’ She gives a laugh two shades dirtier than white. ‘Got a few ideas I want to go through with him.’
After our lunch the other day, what I want to say is: ‘Just behave yourself – he’s spoken for,’ but what comes out of my mouth is, ‘Don’t go to too much trouble. I’m really not up for much.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Sarah says. ‘It’s your last birthday before you become a mum! It’s a cause for celebration. End of an era and all that.’
I shrug. ‘I’ll still be me.’
Sarah laughs and nods. ‘Course you will. Anyway,’ she turns to Jake, ‘are you ready? We have a booking for 8.30 so we better get going.’
‘Where are you going?’ I ask.
‘The Italian, so we can have a few bevvies and walk back. Do you like Italian food?’
My heart skips a beat: the Italian I went to with Sarah may be a bistro by day but by night it’s another creature altogether: all candles, cosy lighting and romance.
‘Love it,’ says Jake patting his tummy. ‘Especially a good carbonara. Right, will you be all right?’ he asks me.
‘Fine.’
‘Okay, we won’t be late.’ Jake kisses the top of my head.
‘I’ll get him home before midnight. Joking!’ Sarah calls, and then the door opens and shuts and they’re gone, leaving nothing but a scented cloud of their two fragrances mingling: his and hers.
*
I call Anna later that evening when I’m slumped on the sofa watching-not-watching something on television. All I’ve had for dinner is a bowl of homemade soup, a compromise between the wolf of my hunger and the physical sensation that there’s absolutely no space left inside me for food. I imagine the soup sliding its way around my organs and the baby, filling what small spaces it can find. Sometimes I feel as if the baby’s so big his arms might start poking out of my ears.
‘How are you?’ I ask.
‘Much better, thanks.’
‘Any more weird deliveries?’
‘No, but… oh, it’s nothing.’ Pause. ‘How was walking?’
I shift myself back on the sofa, easing into a more comfortable position. Anna clearly wants me to quiz her but I don’t have the patience.
‘I walked with Simon,’ I say.
‘Surprise, surprise. What’s your husband got to say about that? Another man muscling in on his pregnant wife.’
I half laugh, half frown at the living room. ‘Don’t be daft!’
‘Jake’s not the jealous type, then?’
‘He trusts me.’
‘But?’
I suppose I walked into that one. ‘But nothing.’
‘You don’t always trust him?’ Anna prompts.
‘Nothing,’ I say.
‘Oh my god, something’s happened? He’s done something, hasn’t he?’
‘No, no, no. It’s all a long time ago and we don’t talk about it. All right?’
There’s an awkward pause and I wonder if she’s going to question me further.
‘Okay,’ Anna says lightly. ‘Any news on your birthday plans?’
‘Actually, yes,’ I say. ‘I should know later tonight. Jake’s out with Sarah right now, discussing it. They’ve gone for dinner.’
The pause is infinitesimal but definitely there. ‘Dinner?’
‘Yes. The Italian place.’
‘Lovely,’ says Anna, then, ‘I wonder what they’ll come up with.’
*
I have every intention of waiting up for Jake to get back but, by the time my head’s fallen down and snapped up twice in front of the television, I decide to go up to bed. It’s 10.30 and I can’t imagine Jake will be much longer – still, I’ve already been asleep when I hear the sound of his key finding the lock; maybe it’s half eleven. The door opens and I hear a giggle and the sound of shushing. The door shuts very quietly, then footsteps move towards the living room. Water squeals in the pipes as the tap’s run: Jake must be making them a coffee. I doze off again so I’ve no idea how much later it is when I hear murmured voices in the hall below.
‘Good night.’ It’s Jake, then something I don’t catch that ends with ‘fun’.
‘Night,’ Sarah says, then there’s a silence for one, two, three long seconds – three seconds in which I’m plummeted straight back into the day I picked up Jake’s phone in the States and learned what he was up to. You imagine that finding out your partner’s cheating will be all drama, shouting and fireworks, but sometimes it’s the silences – the things that are missing – that tell you more than the words. I lie absolutely still, holding my breath, waiting for the door to open, then finally there’s a scuffle of feet, and it’s Jake who speaks, his half-whispered voice cheerier than usual, carrying straight up the stairs to where my bedroom door is ajar.
‘Night then.’ There’s a rustle of clothing, then a giggle that’s stifled as soon as it starts. The front door opens and then Jake speaks again.
‘Bye now,’ he says quietly. ‘Will you be all right getting home?’
Sarah says something I don’t catch, then laughs, another of her low, dirty laughs. Outside the window, her heels clack down the path. The door clicks shut, Jake shoots the bolt as quietly as he can, and I know he’s pulling the door tightly in to ease the passage of the bolt, which gets stiff when the door’s swollen with damp, and I wait, still holding my breath. Jake’s footsteps go to the kitchen and again the pipes squeal, then I hear the click of the light switch and the tread of his foot on the creaky bottom stair. I lie there, full to the brim with baby, and pretend to be asleep.
They kissed. I’d put my life on it.
Eighteen
After a fractured night of dreams, which I spent chasing Jake and Sarah around a department store, catching sight of them kissing behind various displays, I know I can’t keep my suspicions to myself.
The moment Jake’s eyes open, I ask him.
‘How did you and Sarah get on last night?’
‘Not bad,’ he says, his voice croaky from whisky and wine.
‘Sounds like you had fun when you rolled in drunk. Did you kiss her?’
Jake shoots up onto one elbow. ‘No!’
I raise my eyebrows at him.
‘Is that what you think? What makes you think that?’
I just look at him, every cell of my body screaming past behaviour.
‘Oh, come on!’ he says. ‘Look, I learned my lesson, okay? You’re pregnant. I’m not going to do it again. You have to understand that.’
‘But…’ I start but then realize there’s no point. He’s a good liar. We both know that. He’ll deny it until I work myself into a hole. I flop back onto my pillow and speak to the ceiling.
‘If you do it one more time, I’m leaving. You know that, don’t you? I’m taking the baby and going straight back to the States. Okay?’
‘I didn’t kiss her, I swear.’
‘Fine.’
*
I slobbed about the house in an XL t-shirt and leggings after he’d gone to work. I did a bit of cleaning, I guess – a bit of vacuuming and a bit of dusting, punctuated with lengthy bouts of sitting down drinking tea and checking social media – but I couldn’t settle to anything much. I was discombobulated – I love that word – after my talk with Jake and it was that kind of day: bright but windy; one of those days when the dramatic appearance and disappearance of the sun threw unexpected light and shade across the room, changing the mood from minute to minute. Perhaps it was because of that that I was unable to settle to anything much; perhaps it was my bad night’s sleep, or just the unpleasant taste left in my mouth by Jake’s night out with Sarah. I didn’t need that at this point in my life. That’s what I was thinking when the doorbell rang.
We didn’t have a peephole back then but, even so, I didn’t use the chain Jake had installed. I cringe now, thinking about it but then, as a California girl, I couldn’t find it in myself to be as security-conscious as I ought to have been. I was smiling as I opened the door – I remember that.
And it was only Simon. Standing there on the doorstep in his green anorak, the collar of a pink shirt peeking out the top, and his pink skin so freshly shaved it looked somehow naked. I felt completely wrong-footed to see him on my doorstep with no warning. I remember that, too.
‘Taylor! Oh, I’m so glad I got the right house,’ Simon says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to knock at my door. ‘I wasn’t sure I remembered it right.’
Had I told him where I lived? Maybe there was a discussion about which street it was when I was telling him about Sarah and the book club but, if there was, it’s slipped my mind – it wouldn’t be the first time.
‘What can I do for you?’ I ask.
He pushes his glasses up his nose and then holds up a paper gift bag. ‘Delivery,’ he says. ‘I got a little something for the baby,’ and I think immediately of Anna’s rattle.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Well, thank you.’ I take the bag then hesitate.
‘Can I come in?’ he asks, leaning in towards the door and looking past me into the house.
‘Oh… sure…’
Simon follows me inside and we stand in the living room. Without thinking what I’m doing, I put the dining table between us, suddenly aware that I’m alone at home, pregnant and vulnerable, and that, now he’s in my home, I don’t know Simon so terribly well. He’s a tall man and he seems very big in my space. I place the bag on the table.
‘Shall I open it now?’
Simon shrugs, his shoulders moving up and down in the jacket. I imagine him in the shop, choosing that particular coat, that particular shade of green. ‘If you like. It’s just little. A token.’
‘Thank you.’
Inside the bag are two wrapped gifts. I unwrap the first, telling myself to look happy no matter what it is.
‘Ah!’ I say. It’s a wooden alphabet jigsaw, of the sort you have to fit the letters into their cut-out spaces. It’s brightly coloured and I can picture a toddler having heaps of fun with it. ‘Thank you. It’s lovely.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yes. But you didn’t have to.’
‘Oh, but when I saw it I realized it would look perfect in your nursery.’
I freeze and his voice fades.
‘Instagram,’ he says with a shrug. ‘Sorry. It was one of the pictures I liked. Remember I was telling you? You have a beautiful home, by the way.’
I give him a weak smile, glad the table is still between us.
‘I was going to get a rattle,’ Simon says. ‘That’s more conventional for newborns, isn’t it, but I thought you probably had one already.’ He pauses. ‘Anyway, he or she probably won’t use this for a year or so, but you got to start ’em young on the reading, haven’t you?’ He nods at the other package. ‘That one’s for you and Jake.’
I really don’t like the sound of Jake’s name in his mouth. I open up the parcel. It’s a copy of Go The F**k To Sleep. I can’t say the word out loud in front of him so I flick through the pages.
‘I’m hoping for a good sleeper, of course,’ I say, ‘but you never know… I’ll probably get an insomniac.’
‘From what I hear, it’ll be tough for the first few weeks,’ Simon says quite seriously, ‘but I don’t need to tell you that.’
‘First few months even, maybe.’
‘It is what it is,’ he says. ‘Think positive.’
I gather together the wrapping paper. ‘Thank you. Really. It’s very thoughtful of you…’ I wait, but Simon shows no sign of leaving. ‘Would you like a coffee or something?’
‘I’d love one, thank you. If it’s no trouble,’ he says, unzipping his jacket.
‘It’s fine.’ I look at my watch. ‘I’ve got something in half an hour,’ I lie, ‘but I’ve got time for a quick one.’
I make our coffees then we go, somewhat awkwardly, into the living room. Simon sinks onto the sofa so I perch on a dining chair.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to sit here?’ he asks, patting the cushion next to him, his fingers stroking the fabric, and I imagine sitting there next to him, our bodies touching at shoulder, hip and thigh, and stifle a shiver. ‘You’d be more comfortable,’ he says.
‘No, I’m fine here, thank you. It’s easier for me to get up.’ I laugh and take a noisy sip of coffee even though it’s still far too hot and it burns my lips.
‘Is the nursery upstairs?’ Simon asks. Then he rolls his eyes. ‘Sorry. I guess it is.’
‘Yes, it is.’ I look up, as if I can see through the ceiling to the small room where the blue and white cot is waiting; the tiny sleepsuits all washed and ready, just in case the baby comes early; my hospital bag packed.
‘Good,’ says Simon. ‘Very good.’ There’s another awkward pause and I take a sip of coffee, then Simon speaks again. ‘I never had kids.’
I tilt my head at him. ‘There’s still time. It’s easier for guys.’
He sighs a deep sigh, then pushes his glasses up his nose again. ‘Came close once. When I was married. My wife was pregnant.’ While I rejig my idea of him to include being divorced, he pauses and shakes his head to himself. ‘Got everything ready: the nursery, the toys, the clothes, everything. Went to all the appointments, the scans and the classes. It was a boy.’
Dread twists in my stomach ‘What happened?’ I can’t bear stillborn stories, not at this stage. The thought of having to deliver a dead baby is too horrific to countenance. I’ve seen those pictures in the papers, the pictures of mums holding their dead babies, and they make me sob great big, unbidden, uncontrollable sobs that explode out of my mouth.
‘He wasn’t mine,’ Simon says and I bite my lip to hide my relief that I don’t have to picture a dead baby; a mother destroyed. ‘A couple of months before she was due, she told me she was leaving. Must have been about your stage, actually. Had another nursery
set up in her lover’s house. Took her stuff and left.’ He looks down at his hands and I see he’s struggling to compose his face. He’s rubbing and twisting the bare skin of his finger where a wedding ring would have encircled it. ‘I managed to sell most of the stuff; gave some bits to charity.’ He looks up, his lips a straight line. ‘At least the bitch was honest about it. Could have been worse. Kid could have grown up with the wrong father, and what kind of a fuck-up would that have been?’
He looks at me defiantly and I see suppressed anger still there.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.
‘Thank you. Time helps. He’s three now, and I… well, I have Father to take care of. That’s enough for me.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘No use fretting about things you can’t change.’
‘Did you just take her word for it that the baby wasn’t yours?’ I ask and realize, as the words come out, that I might be opening up an issue he doesn’t wish to dwell upon.
‘You mean did I do a paternity test? No. There was no need.’
‘Really? I think I would have done, if I were you.’
Simon laughs. ‘That’s because you’re American! No, I trusted her. She should know.’
I stop myself from blurting out what I want to say, which is: you trusted a woman who cheated on you?
‘Have you ever seen the baby? The child?’ I ask.
‘Once.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m sure he wasn’t mine, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Okay. All right.’ I sigh. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ We both take sips of coffee. ‘So,’ says Simon, ‘about the film. Are you still up for it? I thought we could fix a date. I do have to plan ahead a bit just to make sure, you know, that there’s cover for Father.’
‘Of course.’ I take a deep breath and exhale slowly: this is my chance to cancel, but I feel bad for Simon, especially after what he’s just told me.
‘Tell you what,’ I say. ‘My book club was also talking about seeing that film. Mind if they tag along with us?’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I’d love to meet your book club.’
‘I’m not sure if they have a rule against men but I’m sure they won’t mind for one evening.’
I Know You Page 10