Don't Want To Miss A Thing

by Mansell, Jill

  ‘I know, it would make things too difficult. But it’s OK, this is my house now. And Mum left me money too. Come along inside.’

  ‘But you’ve put it up for sale,’ said Joe.

  ‘It’s too big for us and the garden isn’t suitable for children. I’m going to downsize, find somewhere nice and simple. The neighbours here are a bit old-fashioned. They don’t approve of unmarried mothers.’

  Joe immediately wanted to go round to the neighbours and bang their narrow-minded heads together. How dare they disapprove?

  ‘It’s fine.’ Christina saw the look on his face. ‘A chance for a fresh start. It’ll be an adventure. Anyway.’ She pushed open the door to the living room and said, ‘Ready to meet your son?’

  Probably not, but Joe went ahead anyway. And the next moment it happened. There was Shaun, sitting in a blue bouncy chair, a small stuffed toy clutched in one hand as he slept. His hair was baby blond, he had cheeks like Winston Churchill and his bottom lip stuck out like . . . well, also like Winston Churchill.

  In blue velour pyjamas with Postman Pat on the front.

  My son.

  As if aware that he was being watched, the lashes fluttered and the eyes opened. His gaze went instantly to his mother and he held out his arms. Christina unbuckled him and lifted him out of the bouncer. She kissed each pouty Churchillian cheek in turn and said lovingly, ‘Hello, beautiful, you woke up! Someone’s here to see you!’

  Someone. It was only a figure of speech but the word cut through Joe like a razor. He was the father. Some men might choose to live their lives knowing they had children and happy not to meet them but this wasn’t something he could do.

  ‘Do you want to hold him while I get his bottle ready?’

  ‘Won’t he cry?’

  Christina smiled. ‘Only one way to find out. But he’s usually very good.’

  And he was. Joe picked him up and held him and in that moment knew there was no going back.

  His voice cracking with a tidal wave of emotion, he said, ‘My boy . . . my son.’

  A month later, he was at Frankie’s side when she gave birth – after twenty-seven hours of fraught and painful labour – to Amber. Red-faced and bawling, she was checked and weighed by the midwife then wrapped in a white blanket and ceremoniously presented to Joe.

  Exhausted and ecstatic, Frankie watched him take his daughter into his arms. ‘Look at you!’ she marvelled. ‘You’re a daddy!’

  The midwife said cheerily, ‘Taking to it like a duck to water, he is.’

  ‘He’s never even held a baby before,’ Frankie told her with pride.

  ‘Ah, your husband’s a natural. That’s a good sign.’

  Unable to look at them, Joe concentrated all his attention on Amber. In the last four weeks he had managed to get over to Chepstow on six occasions. The other afternoon he’d given his son a bath. There were tiny resemblances between him and both of his children but they didn’t look remotely alike. The overwhelming surge of love he felt for each of them, though, was exactly the same.

  He didn’t want to be in this situation but it had happened, it was happening now and it would carry on happening – he’d accidentally got himself on to a rollercoaster ride and could see no way of getting off.

  ‘Look at us. We’re a family.’ Her fringe sticking to her forehead, Frankie beamed up at him. ‘This is the happiest day of my life.’

  He didn’t want to lie to her, but what other choice did he have? Joe nodded and said, ‘Me too.’

  Promotion at work meant more travelling, more flexibility and more opportunities to spend time away from Briarwood. Joe made up for this by being an exemplary father when he was at home. He loved Frankie and Amber. He also loved Shaun. He didn’t love Christina but he liked her a lot, respected her and really enjoyed her company. They were good friends and he told himself that as long as that was all they were, it would be OK. He wasn’t cheating on his wife.

  Christina’s mother’s house finally sold and she began searching in earnest for somewhere else to buy. When she found the place in Tetbury and saw how friendly the neighbours were, she went back the next day with Joe and together they looked over the house in Parnall Avenue.

  The estate agent just assumed they were a couple, as did the owner of the house. It was easier to let them carry on thinking it than to launch into awkward explanations, especially as Shaun was now eleven months old and had started to say Da-da.

  The offer was put in and accepted, the sale went through without a hitch and somewhere along the line the friendly neighbours learned that Joe’s job required him to spend four or five nights away, on average, each week. It was a shame, of course, but that was life and sacrifices had to be made. As Christina pointed out, compared with soldiers serving overseas for months on end it was nothing at all.

  They also explained that they weren’t actually married but they were a committed couple devoted to their son.

  Which was pretty much true.

  Wasn’t it?

  Up until then, they had been careful to keep their renewed relationship platonic. Joe told himself that if it stayed that way, he needn’t feel so bad about what he was doing.

  But as time went on . . . well, it turned out they were only human after all. His feelings towards Christina deepened; from liking and admiring her, he grew to genuinely love her just as much as he loved Frankie. And after another year or so of struggling to keep their emotions under control, nature took its course. Because Christina loved him too and – among other reasons – it seemed unfair that she should be forced to live a celibate life.

  From then on, Joe experienced more guilt, yet more happiness too. He felt simultaneously better and worse about the tangled web that his life had become.

  But really, he had no other choice.

  Chapter 20

  Was this what having a panic attack felt like? Dex rang the bell again and felt perspiration prickle down his spine. When Molly opened her front door he held Delphi out towards her. ‘It’s no good, I’ve had enough of this. I can’t do it any more. I’m not cut out for looking after babies.’

  ‘Too bad.’ Molly shook her head. ‘Not my problem.’

  ‘I’m serious. You have to take her.’ He thrust Delphi into her arms and began to walk away, back down the path.

  ‘I’m serious too. Honestly, you’re such a waste of space. Here, catch.’

  Dex turned just as she threw Delphi at him. Catching her like a rugby ball, he said, ‘No, she’s all yours,’ and threw her back. They shouldn’t really be doing this, not with a baby, but Molly needed to understand how desperate he was. ‘And if you throw her at me again, I’m not going to catch her.’ To prove he meant it, he raised his arms in the air and turned away. But Molly threw Delphi anyway. Too late, he realised he wasn’t going to be able to reach her in time—

  Dex sat bolt upright, jerked awake by the whoosh of adrenalin. Oh thank God it wasn’t real, had just been a dream. Still in a state of terror, he took deep shuddering breaths and gripped the arms of the chair. There was Delphi, safe and well, fast asleep in her cot. He hadn’t been hurling her through the air like a rugby ball, hadn’t been about to let her fall.

  Jesus Christ, though, it had certainly felt real. His heart was still hammering away in his chest. What was the point of a dream like that?

  Dex checked his watch: of all the unearthly hours, it was five thirty in the morning. Delphi, who was teething, had had another terrible night. Three times he’d managed to get her back to sleep then returned to his own room, only to be woken again by more fretful sobs. On the fourth occasion he’d put her back down and sat on the hard chair next to the cot to wait and see if she stayed settled. That had been two hours ago and now he had a major crick in his neck.

  Downstairs, because it might be a crazy hour but he wouldn’t get back to sleep again now, Dex made himself a coffee and headed out into the garden. The sun was rising over the horizon, the sky was clear and it promised to be a stunning spring day. But tha
t dream was still bothering him. What if it meant he was subconsciously tempted to absolve himself of the responsibility of looking after Delphi? Because there was no getting away from it; much as he loved her, she wasn’t always the most scintillating company.

  Dex paused to watch a spider busily weaving a web between one of the garden chairs and the yew hedge behind it. He used to make his way home from clubs as the sun was coming up. Now the whole day stretched before him and there was likely to be boredom involved. So far the highlight was whatever he decided to cook for his breakfast. Except his cooking skills were diabolical, which meant toast would probably be the safest bet.

  Or a Farley’s Rusk.

  By eleven o’ clock, cabin fever had well and truly set in. Five hours felt like five days. Dex scooped up Delphi, took her next door and rang the doorbell.

  The sight of Molly with her hair twisted into a knot and secured with two pencils made him smile.

  ‘What are you doing this lunchtime?’

  ‘Why?’ She blew kisses at Delphi. ‘Want me to look after this one for a bit?’

  If he was honest the thought had crossed his mind, but guilt over the terrible dream wouldn’t allow him to do it. Besides, if Molly were babysitting, who would he go with?

  ‘No.’ Dex shook his head. ‘I need to get out of this village for the day. The walls are closing in. Fancy coming out with us for something to eat?’

  ‘Luckily,’ said Molly, ‘food is my favourite thing. Do I have time to change or can I just go like this?’

  She was wearing pink pyjamas.

  ‘I’ll book us a table at the Avon Gorge Hotel,’ said Dex. ‘Wear whatever you like.’

  By midday they were on their way down the motorway to Bristol. Molly, having showered and changed into a yellow sundress, watched Dex as he drove. Finally she said, ‘What’s the matter? You’re still on edge.’

  Dex shrugged and kept his eyes on the road. ‘Honestly? I’m used to living in the city, going out to work, having fun. All the things the social workers kept warning me about when I told them I could do this. But now I’m here it’s taking some getting used to.’

  You had to feel sorry for him. ‘Babies are hard enough to cope with when you’ve had nine months to get used to the idea of having them. Not that I have,’ Molly amended. ‘But I’ve heard other people say it enough times. It’s bound to take a while.’

  ‘I know.’ He nodded in agreement.

  ‘You’re just having a bad day.’

  ‘True.’ Dex smiled briefly. ‘Let’s hope it turns into a better one.’

  By the time they reached Clifton and found a parking space, the sky was blue and the sun was blazing down.

  ‘Shall I carry the bag?’ Molly pointed to the big holdall as he scooped Delphi out of her car seat.

  ‘Leave it there. Let’s live dangerously.’ His mood already improved, Dex said, ‘And to think I used to leave the house with just my wallet and keys. Now it’s like packing to go to Australia. Nappies. Nappy cream. Wet-wipes. Bottle of milk. Bottle of water. Cans of food. Complete change of clothes in case she’s sick. Another change of clothes in case something else happens. Soft toys, blanket thing, more nappies . . .’

  ‘Microwave, rocket-launcher, frying pan,’ said Molly. ‘Trampoline.’

  He smiled. ‘It feels like that sometimes. Come on, let’s go.’

  The busy restaurant had tables out on the sunny terrace overlooking the gorge and Brunel’s famous suspension bridge. The food smelled amazing, a wedding party was eating at one end of the terrace and the general mood was festive and celebratory. A waiter brought a high chair over for Delphi and Dex fastened her into it. Within minutes they had ice-cold wine, food had been ordered and Delphi was happily occupied chewing a piece of bread.

  ‘This is more like it.’ Visibly relaxing, Dex sat back and clinked his glass against Molly’s.

  ‘More like your old life,’ she said.

  ‘I guess.’ He indicated the rest of the terrace. ‘People I don’t know, meaningless air kisses, superficial Sloaney types talking too loudly and laughing like donkeys.’

  ‘WaaaAAHHHH,’ squealed Delphi, frustrated by the high chair and doing her best to wriggle out of it.

  ‘No.’ Dex shook his head at her and handed her another piece of bread. ‘Stay in the chair.’

  ‘BRRRGGHH-YA.’ Delphi hurled the bread into the air so energetically it reached the next table.

  ‘So sorry!’ Molly grinned at the brigadier-type and his starchy wife. ‘Could we have our bread back, please?’

  They didn’t look remotely amused. Grumpy gits.

  ‘Stay.’ Dex pointed at Delphi. ‘Honestly, if this was Crufts it would work. Why are babies more difficult than dogs?’

  ‘SSSKKKKRISSCCC.’ Delphi let out an ear-splitting dolphin shriek that caused diners all over the terrace to stop talking and turn their heads in disbelief.

  ‘I’ll have to take her out of there,’ Dex sighed as she fought to escape the chair. ‘She can sit on my lap.’

  ‘Ridiculous,’ sniffed the starchy wife at the next table. ‘Bringing a baby to a restaurant when they can’t even control it.’

  Dex glared at the two of them as he unfastened Delphi and eased her – literally kicking and screaming – out of the high chair. Delphi repaid him by knocking over his glass of wine with her foot.

  ‘No problem at all,’ said the charming waiter, arriving with dry cloths. ‘Let me just clean that up for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Molly gamely ignored the cold wine dripping off the edge of the table on to her knees. ‘Can we have another glass of white, please?’

  ‘Bbbbrkk,’ Delphi trilled, beaming happily across at the flinty-eyed brigadier-type and his wife.

  The table was dried, replacement wine was brought and their starters arrived. Holding Delphi on his lap with his left arm, Dex picked up his fork and dug into his twice-baked cheese and asparagus soufflé with—

  ‘A-tchoo!’

  Delphi’s sudden sneeze caught them all by surprise. So did the amount of gunk that shot out of her nose and landed on Dex’s plate.

  Or more accurately, on his soufflé.

  Oh dear. Any other time it would have been funny. Today it evidently wasn’t. With a look of resignation, Dex produced a handkerchief and wiped Delphi’s nose. For such a tiny one, it had done a lot of damage. He then pushed the plate away and said, ‘I’ll give that a miss.’

  Molly said to the sympathetic waiter, ‘Could he have another soufflé?’

  ‘Of course, but I’m afraid there’ll be a twenty-minute wait while it’s cooked.’

  ‘Don’t worry, leave it. I’ll just wait for my main course.’

  Molly held out her arms. ‘Dex, give her to me. She can sit on my lap.’

  He shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine. Doesn’t matter. Right, let’s just enjoy ourselves, shall we? Look at that.’ He indicated the dramatic gorge beyond the terrace. ‘What a view.’

  ‘People have bungee-jumped off that bridge,’ said Molly.

  He grinned. ‘Sounds like the kind of thing I’d do for a bet. Ever tried it?’

  ‘No, but I’ve abseiled off a cliff.’

  ‘Me too. How high was your cliff?’

  It was nice to see him start enjoying himself at last. Molly took a sip of white wine and said, ‘Just a bit higher than yours.’

  The coup de grâce occurred ten minutes later, just as their main courses arrived at the table. A noise like a small erupting volcano emanated from the depths of Delphi’s nappy.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Dex burst out laughing for roughly two seconds before the extent of the damage made itself hideously apparent. His face changed as the warmth and wetness sank in. He closed his eyes and said, ‘Shit.’

  Which was appropriate.

  From across the table Molly could already see it had exploded out of the legs of the nappy and over the top of the waistband at the back. Maybe if Delphi had been wearing an all-in-one suit the worst of it might have been
held in. But in a two-piece, containment wasn’t an option. There were also ominous brown stains across the front of Dex’s white shirt and jeans.

  ‘WAAHHH,’ bellowed Delphi, dropping the car keys she’d been playing with as Dex stared down at himself in horror.

  Oh Lord, his shirt.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get the bag from the car.’ Molly scooped the car keys up from under the table, jumped to her feet and ran through the hotel.

  Back a couple of minutes later, the receptionist on the front desk said sympathetically, ‘He’s downstairs in the men’s loo.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Clattering down the stairs, she hammered on the door.

  ‘This is a nightmare.’ Dex let her in. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘It’s OK, I’ll help.’

  ‘No.’ He took the bag. ‘It’s my problem, not yours. Let me do it myself.’

  He meant it. Molly leaned against the sink and watched him laboriously remove Delphi’s poo-strewn clothes. It took an entire packet of babywipes to clean her up – while Delphi lay on her back, cheerfully oblivious, and gurgled at Molly.

  At last she was presentable again, in a clean top and lime-green dungarees. Beaming, she pulled her thumb out of her mouth and said, ‘Baaaa.’

  ‘Baaaa to you too.’ Molly scooped her up into her arms.

  The door to the bathroom was pushed open and the brigadier-type barged in, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him. His eyes narrowed at Molly.

  ‘What the bloody hell’s going on? For God’s sake, what are you doing in here?’ He then turned to Dex. ‘And what d’you think you’re doing with that brat?’

  Dex replied evenly, ‘Cleaning her up and changing her nappy.’

  The man’s grey moustache bristled in disbelief. ‘What’s the matter with you, man? Your wife’s the one who should be doing all that. It’s a bloody disgrace. And look at the state of your clothes. If you can’t control your child you shouldn’t bring it out to places like this. I’ve a good mind to report you to the manager.’

  ‘Brilliant idea. You do that.’ As he said it, Dex unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Oh good grief, what was he going to do, challenge the man to a boxing match?