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“She’s had the baby.” The thud of a football followed closely by a chorus of children cheering throws me. Did I just hear right? Did he just say that he’s become a father? “It’s a boy.” I did. A shiver rips through me.
33
“I see,” I say stonily as the wind blows my hair. So, that was the emergency, the urgency. Why he was so anxious to see me today. “And does she have a name, the mother of your child?”
He looks at me wordless for a few moments, face full of remorse, and then, “Yes, of course.” He shakes his head, “It’s…”
“Don’t!” I raise my hand to stop the words from leaving his lips. I startle him but I don’t care. If he tells me her name then she’ll become a real person and no longer a nameless, soulless silhouette in my mind.
We’re silent for a while. I watch the sixty-something jogger in the distance climbing the hill with fearless gusto and determination, then suddenly it hits me - that’s how I should tackle this upheaval in my life. I won’t let Nick or Daniel bring me down. I don’t need a man in my life to be happy. I don’t need to be anyone’s wife or mother or partner to feel content. I lean my head back and stare up at the sky to the thump of a football and the soundtrack of foreign voices from a group nearby. “So,” I say finally, as a boy ironically calls out “Papa”, “Have you seen your son?”
He nods pensively. I imagine a bonny little boy, the spit of Nick, in a duck-egg blue woolly bobble hat, weensy mitts, and matching outfit. I can just see them, walking along Camden Lock - his son is in a harness and her on his arm, smiling contentedly. A happy family. “I’m arranging a paternity test,” he says breaking my reverie. “I’m not giving her a penny until I see it in black and white.” He flicks ash off his cigarette. I know we spoke briefly about whether he’s the father or not, but it didn’t occur to me that he had any real doubts in his mind. He seemed so convinced at the time.
“And if it’s positive, what then?”
He shrugs. “Do the right thing, pick him up every other weekend, maintenance and all that.”
“What about…her?”
“What about her?”
“Can’t you try to make a go of it for the baby’s sake, at least?”
He laughs. “You’re joking, aren’t you? She’s bloody married for a start off.” Oh, this just gets better and better.
“Well, if she’s married then he might not be yours.”
He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Not much chance of that, I’m afraid. Her husband had the snip. They’re separated now, going through a messy divorce. I’ll probably be named and shamed.”
“Oh, I see.” The little girl playing football has just kicked the ball over her father’s head and scored to the dismay of her younger brother.
“Anyway, I wanted to tell you myself, I know how quickly news travels,” he says cynically.
“Oh, come on, Nick, Louise is my best friend, she tells me everything.”
“If you say so,” he scoffs.
“Stop it! Lou’s a good friend. She’s been there for me.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Gerry’s too good for her, she’d better watch it or else…”
“Or else what?” I ask, suddenly concerned. Does he know something? Is Louise’s marriage in trouble?
“I’m just saying, that’s all.” Phew, just Nick having one of his Louise rants. It amazes me how much they loathe each other. “You okay?” He blows smoke from the side of his mouth. “You look a bit stressed.”
“Yes.” I run a hand over my face. I didn’t expect the news of the birth to have such an impact on me. “Just tired. Look, I really should get going.” I get to my feet and shoulder my bag.
“You will see me again, won’t you?” he asks tentatively, stamping out his cigarette under his shoe. “The baby won’t make any difference to our friendship, will it?”
I nod. “We’ll see.”
He stands up and takes my hands. “It kills me to say this but I hope that you and Daniel have a happy life together. I really mean it, Foxy.” He squeezes my hands gently, his eyes fill. “I want you to be happy, I really do.” He wipes the corner of his eye, blames it on hay fever, but we both know that’s not true. “And I’ve heard he’s a top bloke too,” he sniffs.
“Yes, he is,” I smile hesitantly. He doesn’t need to know that we’re estranged, it’ll only give him false hope. “I’d better go. I’ve got a bathroom to clean, and Mum and Dad are expecting me for dinner. Chilli-con-carne night.”
“I miss those family nights.” He pulls me into a bear hug and I cling to him tightly, drowning in the familiarity of his scent, his touch, his breath. “I lost the love of my life when we broke up,” he whispers into my hair, “but I also lost my best friend. I miss you so much.”
I swallow back a big tear queuing at the back of my throat. I miss him too, more than he will ever know, but there’s no way back for us, not now; everything has changed. He’s got a son. I’m in a messy relationship with another man. I had sex with his cousin – his best friend.
