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“You’re implying I don’t love my son?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “I’m not being disrespectful. You have clear vision of what fatherhood means to you, including your legacy. I’m saying we both wanted children and planned my pregnancy. You don’t love Joshua? How could you think that!” My voice broke, overwhelmed by his brusque criticism. The trip to New York remained raw in my memory, and sometimes I seemed to be treading on egg shells around him.
“Sorry. Forget what I said. Of course, I was excited about having Joshua, and if I worry about anything it’s keeping him safe and protected from unwanted attention. Look, we’re both tired, and I’m upset about Louise and Ben’s lack of support. I believed he was a good choice for her. Now I have my doubts.”
“Can I help you, relax or something?” I reframed my thoughts around the mantle of a submissive wife.
He chuckled. “I’m sure you can. Fire up the webcam, get undressed, and show me your gorgeous naked body. I’ll think of something.” His command tantalised, and I hung up the phone before he could tell me to hurry up. Sometime later, I resembled plasticised gloop on the bedroom floor, having been permitted multiple orgasms with my favourite vibrator.
***
The following Saturday morning, Louise opened the front door of the cottage where she and Ben lived and waved us in. She wore tatty jeans and a plain T-shirt, her hair was d
ishevelled and her face unadorned by makeup. It was obvious she’d climbed straight out of bed and seemed sapped of energy, and, unlike her usual bright demeanour, her shoulders hung low as if an invisible rucksack of boulders burdened her back.
I’d chatted to her twice since she appeared on our doorstep. She and Ben had spoken little and although he hadn’t mentioned an abortion again, they hadn’t discussed the source of their discord: Louise’s pregnancy. The man had an ostrich head, and he’d buried it deep in the ground.
Jason carried Joshua in. The boy struggled against his father’s firm grip, while jabbering away and pointing at the floor, telling us in his baby speak he wanted, “down.” Jason relented. Joshua dashed across the threshold in search of mischief.
“Oh crap,” said Louise. “This house isn’t baby proof.”
She hastened into the living room, collected up empty glasses and mugs, and hauled them off to the kitchen. I relocated the remote controls out of Joshua’s reach, and Jason removed the Saturday paper, which Josh would have shredded to pieces quite happily if left to his own devices.
Ben and Louise had chosen the cottage not long after they settled together. It was situated in a village on the outskirts of Oxford. She commuted into the city to work in a large urban hotel while he ambled out the back door to a converted outbuilding that housed his workshop. The quaint cottage had two receptions rooms and three bedrooms. I envied the kitchen because it retained many of the original features, such as the baking oven by the red-brick fireplace and an Aga stove inside the hearth place. The interior of our houses had been modernised and stripped of quaint features.
They had been gradually renovating the cottage and Ben, with his capable hands, had wanted to do most of the work himself. Consequently, he took his time, juggling plastering walls and stringing violins. In the living room was another fireplace with a wood-burning stove. It was summertime and thankfully the fire wasn’t lit. There was nothing to protect Joshua’s hands from reaching out and touching the cast iron. Not a childproof setup.
“Ben is up,” said Louise, wringing her hands.
The hour wasn’t early for Jason and me and even with the drive out, we’d made it to their cottage before ten in the morning.
“He’s in his workshop. Something about checking glue has dried.” It wasn’t a picture of domestic bliss. Ben probably sought an excuse not to be in the house and in sight of his brother-in-law.
I fetched a bag of toys and snacks from the Range Rover while Jason helped Louise make coffee in the kitchen.
He stretched out on the carpet with Joshua, who pushed his Thomas the Tank Engine around and under the furniture. In the process, he found crumbs, sweet wrappers, and other pieces of small rubbish. Jason intercepted each, whipping them out of the small hands with a, “Daddy will have that.” He didn’t criticise the lack of cleanliness, but Louise cursed under her breath.
“I don’t let the hotel rooms get this bad.” She grinned and knelt down to hunt around for more litter.
“I’m sure you don’t,” said Jason. “You’ve been in London for most of the week. Housekeeping can wait. Sorry to have missed you.”
“Oh, it was daft, my turning up unannounced. Gemma was the perfect hostess.” She smiled in my direction.
Joshua stared up at Louise. His view of the world must involve a lot of nostrils and chins. “Nutty loo,” he blurted.
I cringed, and Jason laughed.
“We’ve been trying to get him to say Aunty Lou,” I explained to a puzzled Louise.
Joshua plonked himself down on his bottom, stuck a finger up his nostril, and giggled. Louise’s eyes widened.
“Don’t worry,” I hastened. “It’s his thing at the moment. If we tell him not to do it, he keeps doing it. So, ignore it.”
“Ri-ght,” said Louise, backing away.
“Is that Ben’s coffee?” I asked, pointing at the solitary red mug. “I’ll take it out to him.”
Before Louise could suggest otherwise, I darted out of the door, carrying the steaming mug, determined to find the underlying cause of Ben’s concerns about Louise’s pregnancy. My departure also gave space for Louise and Jason to have a heart-to-heart.
