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Hope Manchester is fun!
TWENTY-SEVEN
The days in Florida were bright and beautiful and mostly the same. Ada and her parents went to the yellow house around nine every morning to take Orion for an hour or two while Gabby went back to bed and Hank was supposed to go back to bed but he would tidy and host instead. On the third morning, after making everyone’s coffee and toast, he had sat on the couch and fallen straight to sleep and Ada had held Orion and watched him and whispered, ‘That’s your daddy, he’s a good daddy isn’t he,’ while Orion stirred and grizzled. Gabby usually rushed to Orion when she woke up, but this time she saw Hank asleep and went to curl up next to him, leaning on his side for a few minutes before collecting the baby for a feed. When Hank woke up a little later he was so apologetic and Gabby said, ‘You’re allowed, honey,’ but Hank shook himself off like a dog that had jumped in a creek and headed into the kitchen to fix some snacks.
Around lunchtime, Ada and her dad would get in the car and go to buy groceries and stuff for dinner. On the first day they passed a turnoff for a beach and Ada told her dad she was desperate to go swimming. So from that day on they would go to the beach on the way back from the store. They’d hit the freeway then detour across a narrow bridge to Siesta Key. Diana had packed one of Ada’s old Speedos from home, so she would pull it on hiding behind the car door in the car park while her dad held a towel and looked the other way. They would head across the hot, white sand and into the flat sea. Ada and Richard occasionally tried to catch waves but it wasn’t that kind of water, so mostly they drifted, looking up at the sky, until one of them would say, ‘We’d better get back,’ and they’d head in to shore.
After two days of this Diana started to make slightly snippy comments about the beach trips and Gabby said, ‘Mum, I am begging you to go with them, Hank and I can handle two hours alone!’ so after that Diana joined them and made them put sunscreen on in the car. Ada grumbled but had in fact noticed pink patches round the edges of her swimmers so was pretty sure her mum was right. They would swim until Richard said, ‘We’d better get back before the car cooks those groceries for us,’ and Diana rolled her eyes at his caution while knowing he was right. They would head back to the house and take turns showering in the all-white bathroom with baby blue accents, Ada making note of which shampoos and body washes she was using so she could replace them at Trader Joe’s.
The grandparents would hold Orion or take him for a walk around the block if the sun wasn’t too hot and Hank would be on nappy standby. When Orion fussed, Hank bounced with him on a yoga ball they’d bought during Gabby’s pregnancy and sang nineties grunge classics in soothing tones. When Ada expressed surprise at ‘Black Hole Sun’ becoming a lullaby, Hank looked embarrassed and said, ‘I’m realising I don’t know any kid-appropriate songs.’ Ada felt bad, she hadn’t meant to shame him, so she knelt next to the yoga ball and sang, ‘My baby son, won’t you come, and wash away the rain … see it works!’ and Hank smiled at her and she smiled at him and Orion farted and everyone relaxed.
Ada had noticed that a burp or fart from Orion was the pivotal action upon which the whole household hung. Gabby would watch anxiously as he was walked up and down by someone else – walking was still a challenge for her with her stitches, she said, and Ada tried not to visibly cringe – as Orion fussed and writhed until he let out a sound at either end. The first time Ada got him to burp, she felt like she’d just scaled a mountain while learning an instrument at the same time and when he followed up that burp with a light rain of white vomit she said calmly, ‘Ah, could someone get me a muslin?’ and didn’t even gag. She had never heard the word muslin before this week and now they were the most important items in the world, these little scraps of fabric, and Ada felt like she’d entered a secret club of infant knowledge.
Ada fell into the habit of making dinner, the old recipes that had been the first her parents taught her. Roasting a chicken with three kinds of vegetables, spaghetti bolognaise, leftovers fried rice. And always a big, fresh salad, the kind it was hard for her to make when it was just her and Mel and a sad bag of Sainsbury’s rocket. Hank said everything was delicious and she really believed him and Gabby ate more than she’d ever seen her eat before. She said nursing made her starving and she’d had heartburn for most of her pregnancy so it was so good to fill her tummy again. After their early dinner they would eat fresh pineapple and watermelon, sometimes a little yoghurt, and then Hank and Richard would draw the mosquito nets down and the day was mostly done.
Hank’s parents came over for dinner every two days, always with a new item for Orion, a rattle or a squishy book or a bath toy that he didn’t need because he wasn’t taking baths yet. Mr Mathers would get close to the baby and say, ‘Atta boy!’ and then try to engage Hank in conversation about something to do with Trump. Ada had been grateful to discover the Mathers were anti Trump and when she said that to Gabby the next day she’d said, ‘Duh, Ada, they’re not hillbillies,’ then had said, ‘Though you never know,’ and Ada realised Gabby had probably worried about the exact same thing.
Mrs Mathers would hold Orion until he made any sort of move or sound at which point she’d say, ‘Oh bless him, he wants his mummy,’ and hand him back to Gabby while saying, ‘Little boys always want their mummy!’ This drove Gabby mad, Ada could see, and after Mrs Mathers had made her fifth comment of the night about giving ‘that little boy’ (she didn’t call him Orion) a bottle, he was obviously very hungry, Ada said, ‘Oh, but he wants his mummy, you see,’ and Gabby smiled at her. Ada knew that they were giving Orion a bottle here and there – Hank had told them a story about spilling half a tin of formula in the kitchen in the middle of the night – but they had all decided without discussing it that that information wasn’t to be shared. Mrs Mathers wasn’t in the club.
One morning Gabby complimented Ada on an orange shirt dress with huge purple flowers on it and Ada said, ‘Thanks, a charity shop find,’ and Hank said, ‘Oh, you should go to the big Goodwill! The snowbirds always donate a tonne of stuff.’ Gabby explained that snowbirds were people from the north who came down to Florida when the weather got cold there and Hank said, ‘They drove me nuts as a kid but when I was living in New York, I really understood it, you know? Those winters are brutal,’ and Ada said yeah, she knew. She asked Hank if he missed New York and he said, ‘I never planned to move back here but when Gabby got pregnant … no, I don’t think I do. The pizza maybe. And my friends. The job is the same anywhere but the people aren’t. Maybe I do miss New York,’ and Gabby said, ‘It’s OK if you do.’
So that afternoon, between the store and the beach, Ada and her parents went to a Goodwill the size of Ada’s primary school and she picked out dress after dress from the $5 racks. Sequinned minidresses and floaty seventies kaftans and a couple of vampy cinched-waist ones for the cabaret night. When she went to pay, her dad offered to get them as an early Christmas present and she said yes and then they took them home to show Hank and Gabby.
That night the Mathers came for dinner and Ada said she couldn’t believe how many great dresses had been donated. And Mrs Mathers said, ‘Well, no one wears dresses in Florida apart from religious extremists,’ and then she speared a piece of her steak, held it up to the light to examine it and then put it in her mouth. The next day Ada said to Gabby, ‘Would you like a biscuit with your tea?’ and Gabby said, ‘Of course not,’ very rudely, and Ada felt a rising barrel of stress, and Gabby said, ‘Only religious extremists eat biscuits in Florida,’ and it was great. Ada said, ‘Are they on you about getting married?’ and Gabby said, ‘No, they save that shit for Hank.’ Ada said, ‘Is it kind of weird that they live so close?’ and Gabby said, ‘Not for me but maybe for Hank. He was gone a long time and I think it’s … different now. He seems to want them around more but when they’re here I think he hates it,’ which Ada hadn’t noticed.
One morning a clatter of women came over, five of them, none of them, Ada noticed, in dresses or skirts. Gabby had told her that some friends were coming but these women seemed to mostly know Hank, from high school, Ada figured. They were in blousy tops and capris and two of them carried babies of their own but they fussed over Orion and Gabby like they were the first babe and mother to ever exist. Ada had made an Earl Grey teacake for the occasion, though there had been no loose-leaf tea at Trader Joe’s so she’d had to tear the little bags apart to make the batter and she was worried it would be flavourless. Only one of the women commented, though, to say it was interesting, which Ada decided was a compliment.
When Gabby told the group that Ada lived in London – they didn’t already know this basic fact, Ada observed – they tripped over each other to say how exciting that sounded. ‘My Lord, you’re brave, girl, the things we hear about knife crime over there,’ said orange capris while bouncing Orion and Ada said nothing about guns, which she thought was very discreet.
‘At least we’re not worried about alligators!’ she said instead, pathetically, as grey capris said, ‘I went to London with hubby after our honeymoon in Paris and it’s a nightmare to drive through. Tell me, have you found the English to be particularly bad drivers?’ but Ada said, ‘I’ve never really driven there,’ and soon the morning tea was over. When they left Gabby said to Hank, ‘That went OK, right?’ and he said, ‘It was great hun, they love you,’ and Ada realised she hadn’t had the worst morning.
There was wifi at the yellow house and Ada asked for the password on the first day and Hank said, ‘Of course, I’ll get that for you,’ and then Gabby had asked for a breast pad and he had been distracted. Ada didn’t ask again after that. So every night they’d get back to their stark, tiled palace and Diana would open a bottle of wine and she and Ada would share whatever snacks they’d snuck into the shopping that day (‘they will put peanut butter in anything here baby, it’s innovative really’). And Ada would read the messages from Stuart and reply with any funny stories she could remember from the day. But her days weren’t very funny so sometimes she would send photos of the beach or the weird snacks or the baby. The only ones he replied to were the snacks. She told herself that babies weren’t for everyone though she felt, maybe, that this baby should be of some interest to him.
Ada also messaged Mel every night – selfies with Orion, photos of her mum asleep on the couch, thoughts about Gabby and Hank and Florida in general. She told her that in diners they top up coffee constantly so when she and her parents went out for breakfast one day when Gabby had a hospital visit she ended up getting so buzzed on caffeine that she wasn’t sure she should hold the baby. Mel told her about her day and Ada tried to ask about Will, the guy from work, and Mel was vague so she left it. Ada asked about Sadie too and Mel said she was seeing less of her, she was out most nights, but she’d showed Sadie some pictures of Orion and Sadie thought he was very beautiful. Sadie had liked the Instagram post of Ada holding him and that was all they’d heard from each other.
On the fourth night, Stuart was still awake when she got home and he told her he’d gone out and got ‘mashed’ and she ‘should have been there’ so she suggested they FaceTime. She took a glass of wine into her echoey tiled room and climbed onto her high stiff bed and called him and he answered from his own bed, mostly in the dark. She tried to ask about his night and told him to turn a light on so she could see him and he said, ‘You don’t need to see me,’ and she said, ‘I do,’ and then he went quiet and she realised he’d fallen asleep. She held on a little longer then hung up and went back into the living room. Her mother asked who she had called and she said, ‘This guy … artist guy that I’m sort of seeing,’ and her father said, ‘An artist! So boho. Is he any good?’ and Ada said, ‘Yeah, I guess.’ Stuart messaged when he woke up saying he didn’t remember hanging up and he was really sorry but she was asleep when he sent it.
At the yellow house the next morning Richard said, ‘Ada’s dating an artist!’ and Gabby said, ‘Oh, what discipline?’ and there didn’t seem to be malice behind the question so Ada said, ‘I guess painting mostly. Though he won a sculpture prize once,’ and Hank said, ‘That’s impressive!’ Diana said, ‘Our girls have always been attracted to artsy types, I mean they’re both so creative themselves,’ and Hank said, ‘I assume I’m the exception that proves the rule,’ but Diana wasn’t listening. She said, ‘Do you remember when your boyfriend … Gabby, what was his name, that boy you were dating in high school and he came to see you both in the dance concert and sat next to us while you two performed?’ Ada knew this story was all wrong, Gabby quit dance when she was ten, it was Ada’s concert only, Ada’s boyfriend. Gabby was forced to be there and brought a book and afterwards she referred to the boyfriend as ‘a creep’. But present-day Gabby was focusing on Orion, rubbing a damp cloth over his milky chin and said vaguely, ‘I don’t remember, what concert was this?’
Then Hank said, ‘Speaking of art, you should really go to St Petersburg,’ and Ada said, ‘In Russia?’ and he laughed and said, ‘Sorry, no, the one near here.’ And that’s how Ada learned there was more than one St Petersburg. Hank explained that it was an art district and he said, ‘And actually my parents are coming in the afternoon today instead of dinner so … you could go this afternoon.’ Ada saw the weight of the two families on Hank and said, ‘OK, I’d love that.’ She asked Gabby if it was OK and Gabby said, ‘Yes, I think I’ll plan a nap around three.’ Ada said they’d pick up take-out for dinner and Gabby gave her the address of a Mexican restaurant – ‘and they put Coke in their sauces, it sounds crazy but it’s so fucking good’ – and then Ada and her parents left for St Petersburg.
It took about an hour during which Diana drove and Richard read them the full St Petersburg entry in the Florida guidebook Hank had given him. When he said the museum there housed the biggest Dali collection in the world Ada said, ‘Fuck off. In Florida? Why isn’t it in Italy?’ and Diana said, ‘Well, first of all baby, Dalí was Spanish,’ and Ada said, ‘OK but still.’ Richard said, ‘Turns out Dalí had some rich American mate who bought a bunch of his stuff and now here it is,’ and Ada said, ‘I need a rich American.’
St Petersburg was built around the water, like all the best places in Florida, and when they got out of the car Ada was hit with a sense of incongruity. They were surrounded by art and by galleries and the sun was lazing above them and the water was light and glinty. They turned a corner and saw the Dalí museum, rising out of a deep green lawn, concrete and undulating glass. Ada said to her mum, ‘Well, the Tate Modern can get fucked,’ and her mother laughed and they went inside. As they moved through the levels, crossing winding concrete bridges, Ada felt a sense of déjà vu, and when she looked up at the spiralling crosswalks she realised that it was like the library in Liverpool. She took a photo and then spent ten minutes connecting to the museum wifi and then sent it to Stuart saying, ‘This museum copied your library!’ When they left she checked her phone and saw that the message had sent but not the photo and she thought about going back inside but her parents were talking about their favourite pieces and she realised she hadn’t absorbed a single one.
They got gelato and walked along the wide footpaths together and her father said there was one other gallery they had to look at. An artist called Chihuly, who Richard said was the most important glass-blower in the world, and Diana laughed and said, ‘Well, what a claim to fame,’ and Ada was struck, as she was every so often, by how much she was her mother. They reached the gallery and stood on the footpath finishing their gelatos, her father smugly spooning his from the cup into his mouth while Diana and Ada licked the runny bases of their cones.
Inside was like an alien planet, technicolour rivers of glass somehow spiralling upwards all around them. Ada stood under a piece called Tumbleweed, hanging neon blue spirals that buzzed and hummed so slightly that you had to lean close to catch it. There were glass sea creatures filling waterless tanks and Diana said, ‘Like the Barrier Reef!’ and Ada remembered when she and Gabby snorkelled off a boat, staying close together as their parents went further out. Ada tried to take photos but nothing captured the colour and she remembered when she and Mel took the Eurostar in the middle of the week and stayed in a crappy Paris hostel for three days. And on the second day they had gone to the Louvre and lined up with everyone else to see the Mona Lisa and Ada said, ‘Oh, it really is just like in pictures,’ and Mel said, ‘I tried to tell you.’ This buzzing room of rainbow glass was the opposite of that.
At the gift shop, Ada got a tiny snow globe with a Chihuly miniature inside for Orion and that night, over enchiladas, she showed it to Gabby. ‘Sorry if you don’t want this, I realised after I bought it that you can go to St Petersburg any time,’ and Gabby said, ‘I love it, it’s like a decoration for a hot Christmas,’ which was exactly what Ada had thought when she bought it. And Hank said, ‘Anyway, if we move to Australia we won’t be able to go to St Petersburg!’ and Gabby said, ‘That’s true.’ There was silence and then Orion stirred in the carrier strapped to Hank’s front and he got up to walk him around and Ada saw her mother take her father’s hand.
TWENTY-EIGHT
29/09/2017
