“They do love you, Louise,” Adam said as his wife began scrubbing potatoes in the sink to within an inch of their lives before slamming them on the side.
“It came so easily to you, didn’t it,” she said, turning around and leaning on the counter. “Being a dad.”
“No, babe, it didn’t. I work at it. They drive me mad. Some days I’m staring at my watch from three pm onwards, watching the minutes tick by and waiting for bedtime. Some days I shout at them because they push me to my limits. Some days I just want to be able to have a shit in peace without a toddler trying to wipe my arse.”
Louise smiled a little bit at that.
“You’re depressed, Louise,” Adam continued. “You’ve got to understand that. You’re not a bad mum.”
“I do love them, Adam,” Louise said, “I know I’m not the greatest mum in the world…”
“You’re a brilliant mum and they love you.” Adam put one hand on each of Louise’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Stop beating yourself up.”
“It’s hard, Ad. They want you for everything… I feel like they wouldn’t notice if I never came home from work.”
“Are you mad? They love story time with you before bed. They love their Saturday mornings with you.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But nothing. Try and clear some more time, spend a morning or two with them and you’ll see. That’s all it is, time. You’re their mum, Louise. They love you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Louise said. Adam smiled at her and refused to break eye contact until she smiled back.
“Now,” he said, stepping back from his wife, “can you stop bitching at me about peanut butter? It’s not my fault the kids think I’m best, is it.” He laughed and ducked as Louise threw a potato at him and chased him out of the kitchen. When she caught him in the hallway they kissed and held each other for a little while, no longer speaking. Eventually:
“We’re doing all right with them aren’t we?” Louise asked quietly.
“Yeah, I think we are,” Adam replied.
* * *
It’s all quiet upstairs, both children have gone to sleep relatively quickly. After ironing Maria’s school uniform and packing her and Matthew’s bags for the morning, he pours himself another glass of wine and stares from the front window, missing Louise, wishing she was here to speak to. He spoke to her this morning, a quick call as she’d been distracted, saying there was a seminar she needed to attend or something and couldn’t talk. They’ve always found time to talk to one another, but now he’s starting to worry that he’s missed something, that she’s struggling more than he’d realised.
There hadn’t been any sign that Louise would struggle with motherhood the way she has. In fact, throughout her pregnancy, it’d been the other way around, Adam had been the one who wasn’t making adjustments to their new reality. In the early days of their relationship, it wasn’t only hedonism that made him drink and smoke all of the time, it was the fact he didn’t know any other way to stop feeling. He and Louise were grieving, but they were also young so neither of them thought much of their overindulgences. They told themselves they were getting on with life, getting through it – they both knew life could be short and they wanted to wring everything out of it. But then Louise got pregnant and had to stop smoking and drinking. But Adam took a little longer to adjust. If he wasn’t drunk or stoned or both, he would start thinking about Tom. And he didn’t want to do that.
With overuse, weed also brought anxiety, stress and paranoia along for the ride. So as Louise’s pregnancy progressed, Adam had to make sure he had no weed in the house and no dealers would tempt him. He was still drinking, but he wouldn’t begin his day with wine, beer or vodka like he used to with weed, so it was a start.
Is there any difference between addictions, Adam wonders? Too much of anything is bad, after all. Maybe everyone is an ‘oholic’ in some way or another. Maybe that’s the true human condition. Addicted to money, power, chocolate, soap operas, caffeine, sex, nicotine, exercise, alcohol, cakes, quilted toilet paper, desire, pleasure, pain, stress, masturbation, daytime television. All escapes from thinking, from the real world, from reality.
As her pregnancy progressed, Adam still smoked weed, but he took to hiding it from Louise because she wasn’t so accommodating of him being quite so fundamentally fucked all day long as she had previously been. He understood that, he didn’t resent her for it. Actually, he thought she’d been remarkably tolerant and he loved her all the more for it.
“I can’t drive,” he’d said one day as she’d held the car keys out to him.
“Why not?” Louise had been standing in the doorway, jacket half on, heavily pregnant, staring at him quizzically.
“I haven’t got my glasses,” he’d mumbled in reply.
“They’re on the side behind you.”
“What are?”
“Your glasses.”
“Look, I don’t want to drive. You drive, will you?”
“You’re stoned, aren’t you?” she’d asked, not angry, more exasperated.
“A little bit, I just had a small pipe before I showered, that’s all.”
“Adam, you’re gonna be a dad. What if I went into labour and you had to drive me to hospital? You’ve got to grow up.”
For the entire pregnancy, Adam had been terrified of being a father, absolutely mind-numbingly terrified. Louise, on the other hand, had been calm and in control. She’d been looking forward to being a mother, to righting the wrongs of her mother before her. But the moment the nurse handed Maria to him, the moment he saw her screwed-up, beautiful little face, everything had changed. He’d fallen in love. He had purpose, a new life depending on him. But Adam realises now that those emotions, the ones flooding through Adam, weren’t flooding through Louise as she’d expected, not immediately anyway. And he supposes she couldn’t handle that – maybe she still can’t, he doesn’t know because they can’t talk about it because she’s at this bloody conference.
He sips his wine thoughtfully, staring from his front window and watching Imogen turn into their road, waving to him in her summer dress and low heels. She’s pretty, Adam thinks, good for her age. But on the inside? Not so much. She’s always ready with a barbed comment or unnecessary put down.
A couple of weeks ago, she’d popped by for a coffee with Louise.
“Hello,” she’d said, air kissing both of his cheeks as he’d let her in. “Is Louise home?”
“Yes, she’s expecting you, she’s in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, darling,” she’d said, breezing past him, looking over her shoulder as she went, saying, “I suppose you’re taking care of the kids again? You’re so good, Adam, not many men would put up with what you do. Not real men, anyway.” She’d winked, as if she’d said something nice or something amusing and made her way into the kitchen to chat to Louise. Adam stood in the hallway for a moment, not sure how to feel. Maybe she had been joking?
Imogen isn’t the only person that makes comments about Adam being a stay-at-home dad. He doesn’t think it’s that unusual, certainly not in Brighton, but sometimes other people say things that give him an insight into how they see him, bringing their situation sharply into focus. Like when he’d taken Maria and Matthew to the library after Matthew was born so Maria could play in the children’s area. He’d prepared a bottle before he left the house, making it hot enough so that it would cool down by the time he got the library so he could feed Matthew. They’d arrived and Maria, sixteen months herself and still overexcited with the use of her legs, had hared off to play with the toddler toys while Adam parked the pram next to six or seven other prams in the corner and found a comfy seat to sit in, a couple of feet away from Maria.
Matthew hadn’t even woken as he’d taken him out of the pram and cradled him in his arms and sat back. Adam knew Louise was finding things difficult so he’d left her at home in bed, knowing she needed the space. She’d get through it, he was sure. Look at what they’d made, after all,
these two wonderful, perfect little beings. He’d stared at Matthew’s scrunched-up little face and a wave of utter euphoria came over him. Maria had been giggling, finding herself a little friend to play with around the wooden blocks – they were building a tower. Matthew was stirring, opening his sticky little eyes and gurgling. Adam leant down to his change bag of many pockets and found the bottle of milk he’d made before leaving the house. Putting Matthew’s little bib on, Adam had tested the temperature of the milk on his wrist and offered his son the bottle teat, which he took greedily.
“There you go.” He’d smiled down at his son, one eye glancing at Maria every few seconds to make sure she was still in sight and nearby.
“Isn’t Mum breastfeeding?” a woman’s voice had asked. Adam had glanced up to see a woman in her early thirties who he’d never seen before, smiling at him.
“I’m sorry?” he’d said, averting her gaze and looking back into his son’s eyes.
“Mum, isn’t she breastfeeding?” The woman was still smiling and she’d sat down next to Adam, leaning over and moving the blanket away from Matthew’s face so she could see him more clearly. “He’s adorable,” she’d carried on seamlessly. “How old is he?”
“Two weeks,” Adam had replied.
“Two weeks? And you’re out with him alone – you’re brave,” she’d said.
Would you have said that if I were a woman? Adam had thought but not said. What was brave about a father being out with his children?
“We’re not alone, we’re with his sister,” Adam had said instead, nodding over to Maria, who was squealing with delight, playing with another little boy, trying and failing to spin a spinning top.
“You are brave,” the woman had said in something like admiration.
Would you have this much admiration if I were a woman? Adam had thought again. Isn’t it entirely normal for a parent to be out with their children?
“Are you mixing then?”
“Mixing?” Adam had said, still drinking in his son’s face as he devoured his milk greedily.
“Bottle and breast,” the woman had said, “or has Mum expressed?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you…” Adam started.
“Because there’s nothing like breast milk for them.”
Adam had tried to hold back the irritation he felt, without success.
“Hello, by the way,” he’d said without looking up.
“Oh, yes, hi,” the woman had replied.
“Because you didn’t say hello,” Adam had continued, raising his head to meet her gaze. “You didn’t say hi, didn’t introduce yourself, you opened with ‘Is Mum breastfeeding?’.”
“I’m…I…” the woman had stuttered.
“For reference, that’s pretty rude. There are women all over who can’t breastfeed for one reason or another, have you ever thought about how you make them feel?”
“I just meant that…”
“I am well aware what you meant.”
“I didn’t…I mean.” The woman had lapsed into silence and Adam had returned his gaze to his son. Maybe Adam had been hard on the woman, she’d probably only been making conversation. Except conversation is always laden with meaning and hidden truths and politics. Somehow, she’d made him feel like his being out with his children was political rather than utterly normal.
* * *
“Hello, darling,” Imogen says, standing on the front door, all fluttering dress and casserole and Tupperware filled with homemade scones.
“Are those scones homemade?” he asks incredulously, making an effort to loudly and clearly say s-cons, so she picks up on the pronunciation. Who has time to make homemade scones, anyway?
“Of course,” she replies, stepping in and kissing him hello on the cheek. Not an air kiss, a real kiss, lingering a little too long.
“Now, I can’t stay long, Adam,” she says, as if he’s asked her to come over and it’s a slight inconvenience. She walks through into the kitchen despite not being invited to and Adam follows behind.
“I just wanted to come and see how you are,” she continues, “make sure you’re eating properly.”
“I’m fine, Imogen. Louise is only away for a few days and…”
“Go on then, I’ll have glass of wine,” she says. “Then I must get off, I can’t stay too long, I’ve left Timmy alone with Gavin; who knows what mess I’ll go home to. Gavin isn’t like you, Adam.”
Adam pours her a glass of wine and as she goes into the living room, he puts the casserole in the oven. Joining her in the other room, Adam sits on the sofa next to her, back straight, legs crossed.
“So, are you really okay, Adam?” she says again, leaning over to touch his knee sympathetically.
“It’s just a catering conference, Imogen. I appreciate the concern, but we’re all fine, honestly.”
“It’s…well, I’m only saying this because I’m your friend, Adam, you know that don’t you. But I don’t know if you’ve googled the conference she says she’s attending, but…” She trails off, leaving the rest to Adam’s imagination.
“Honestly, there’s…” he starts.
“It’s just… There is no conference.” Imogen’s body relaxes slightly as she says this, clearly over the moon to be ‘helping’ Adam by imparting this information about her friend. Adam sits quietly, processing what she’s told him. He hasn’t googled the conference, why would he? He hasn’t ever felt the need to check up on his wife, they are a unit, a team. So why would she lie to him?
“Adam, do you think Louise is having an affair?” Imogen says bluntly. “I’m just saying it as a friend.” Imogen leans over and touches his knee again. “We all know she’s not herself.”
Chapter Nine
When she first found out she was pregnant with Maria, she and Adam had still been in the first flushes of love and infatuation…and the fact he was Tom’s twin brother made it…sexier, somehow. Forbidden fruit. And when she found out about Maria, it felt like she’d finally have something that was hers that nobody could take away from her. After so much loss, this pregnancy felt right. Real. Her first attempts to tell Adam weren’t overly successful. After she’d done the first home test, she’d run into the living room to tell him, only to find him stoned and muttering about seagulls and shopping bags, so she’d left him to it, waiting for another moment. Her next attempt hadn’t been any more successful.
“Adam,” Louise had said, touching his arm. His fingers found hers and clasped them tightly, but his attention didn’t waver from the television. Defeated, she turned her gaze to This Morning and noticed the cooking segment was over and had been replaced by a medical segment. A woman was lying on an operating table with a surgeon standing above her with a tiny hammer.
“Oh my God, he’s got a hammer,” Louise had half laughed, half screamed, clutching Adam’s arm a little tighter. He’d turned to her grinning, blowing smoke in her face and clutching her hand tighter. She breathed out heavily, turning her face away, aware for the first time that she was breathing for someone else now, someone who shouldn’t have a lungful of marijuana and tobacco smoke.
“Nose job,” Adam had said, quickly turning back to the horror show in case he missed anything. The surgeon had produced a small, chisel-like object and had inserted it in the woman’s nose.
“Oh my God, they can’t show this. It’s morning television. Oh my God.” Louise had snatched for a cushion, but couldn’t help watching from behind it. Even Adam had been flinching and looking at the television sideways, as if this would somehow make the woman’s surgery less explicit.
“Oh my God, he’s hammering in her nose.” Blood was being suctioned from beneath her nose in a frothy mess. “Oh my God. I can’t believe they’re showing this.”
“Oh my God,” Adam shouted, grabbing Louise close to him. “He’s pulling a piece of bone out. He’s pulling a fucking piece of bone out. I don’t believe it.”
Third time lucky: “I’m pregnant,” she’d said, lying in bed beside Adam. H
e’d been asleep, so hadn’t replied. She’d propped herself up on one elbow and stared into his face, handsome but unremarkable. Not like Tom’s at all, but everything like his at the same time. How strange – all and nothing all at once.
Tom had only been dead a few years. He was still fresh in her mind; she could still picture him. Adam had rolled over with his back to her and Louise had lain motionless, staring at the mole on his right shoulder blade. Had Tom had a mole there?
Lying next to Adam, hoping he’d wake and hear her, Louise had realised that her memory of Tom was slipping away, becoming homogenised with that of his brother. What traits were Tom’s and what were Adam’s? They were so alike, yet so different – how could she have been merging them so quickly? She’d known Tom’s memory would fade, that it would become something different, something intangible, but she hadn’t realised it would happen in a matter of years. Lying there next to Adam, she’d felt a surge or desperation, an intense need to keep something of Tom alive.
“I’m pregnant,” she’d said again, loudly this time, begging Adam to hear her. And he had, and he’d rolled over and grinned and spluttered in abject excitement and positivity. And she’d frozen, scared to feel, because once she’d let the thought in, she hadn’t been able to let it go. A piece of Tom, through his brother, was growing inside her. This wasn’t Adam’s baby, not for Louise, it was Tom’s: something she could keep hold of. Such a terrible, destructive thought, but pervasive:
This child will have Tom’s DNA. His exact DNA. It’s like I’m having his child.
Louise had recoiled back, knocking the bedside table and spilling her glass of water onto the floor. Adam had frowned, slightly confused, slightly concerned.
“It’s okay,” he’d said. “This is great…we’ll be great.”
But throughout her pregnancy, Louise couldn’t let go of that thought: she was having Tom’s genetic child. And she felt excited, like she couldn’t wait to meet it and to hold it and to hug it, this little miracle, this piece of Tom that shouldn’t and couldn’t exist. Which made it all the more puzzling that when the nurse put Maria’s purple little body into Louise’s arms, wailing, genitals all swollen and…alien, Louise hadn’t felt the immediate, overwhelming love she’d expected. The love everyone said she was supposed to feel was absent. She’d stared at her daughter and saw nothing of Tom in her, nothing of Adam, even. She saw herself. And her own mother. She hadn’t expected that at all. Hadn’t expected it and didn’t want it. Her baby hadn’t felt connected to the cherished thing she’d been carrying for the past nine months and her feelings – or lack of them – confused Louise. Exhausted and emotional, she’d done the only thing she could – pretended she felt all the things she was supposed to. Smiled in the right places while her brain screamed and bled within.
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