‘He looked at me and started crying!’ I proclaim, shooting a look at Ed. ‘I thought you said babies couldn’t see yet.’
Both Gary and Mum start to laugh, which doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation. ‘Can someone take him please?’
‘Can I have a hold, Paula?’
I look at Ed, who’s already holding his arm in the appropriate position. Mum takes Tom from me, kisses his face, then hands him to Ed.
‘Hello, little man,’ he coos, booping his tiny nose. ‘What’s all the fuss, eh?’
I watch in amazement as Tom immediately stops crying.
‘Wow,’ Gary remarks. ‘Looks like you’ve got the golden touch, lad.’
Ed smiles and starts walking Tom around the room. ‘Want to try again, Kate?’ he asks, while Tom the traitor continues to coo at him.
‘I’m good, Mary Poppins,’ I reply. ‘I’m just going to use the loo.’
I leave the room and head upstairs, peeking into my old bedroom. The walls are now yellow, with animal stencils all around them. A cot stands where my bed used to be, and near the window is a large white chest of drawers with a blue mat on top. Although we only moved in here two years before I left for uni, there’s nothing left of me here. It’s been gutted to make memories for someone else.
I go into the bathroom and close the door, locking it behind me. I wonder if I can just hide in here? This is very surreal, and I’m actually surprised that my mum wants to go through all this again. The crying and the feeding and the nappies. . . not to mention she’ll be well into her fifties by the time Tom goes to university.
I finish using the loo and grab some toilet paper, noticing a big white packet on the shelf beside me. Maternity pads. I pull one out and wince. They’re huge. Jesus, how much do you bleed after birth? This could absorb a pint of beer. I mean, my periods are heavy, but I couldn’t picture myself wearing. . .
I pause.
My period. I begin running numbers and dates in my head. Last period? The day I met Lauren for coffee; I had to borrow some change for the tampon machine. That was the Saturday before Ed came home from Manchester and I wasn’t on then because we had sex twenty-five times. Which was seven weeks ago. Which means. . . I’m late.
I run the dates again, then again, but the answer is still the same. I feel myself break into a cold sweat. This can’t be right. There’s no way I could be pregnant. We were careful, we’ve always been careful.
Fuck, were we careful?
No. No way. Careful people who are about to start a graduate diploma do not get pregnant. People who want to buy a brand-new red Mini convertible with absolutely no room in the back for a baby seat do not get pregnant!
I hear Ed downstairs, still talking in that stupid baby voice to Tom. Normally, I’d find this cute but right now him being excited by offspring is the last thing I need to hear. Right now, I’d rather hear him announce that he hasno plans to ever become a father and could someone please remove the baby from his field of vision.The moment I share any of this with him, everything will change, whether I’m actually pregnant or not. I’m not ready to tell him that kids with me might never be an option.
Putting on my best game face, I return to the living room and perch on the end of the couch. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t strange being back home. Being back with Ed. We’ve spent the past three years adapting to a new way of being together, with endless phone calls, snatching weekends here and there in between holiday visits.
When we left for university, although it was difficult at first, there was a certain allure to what we were doing. We’d been together almost every day since we were fourteen, so the longing we felt, although almost unbearable, made our time together even more precious. However, inevitably the novelty of the first year soon wore off and after that, not seeing Ed became the norm. Even during the summer break, we both still had to work to ensure we didn’t get thrown out of our respective flats and replaced with one of the many students trying to find decent accommodation for the next term, which meant seeing each other less and less. I spent a good chunk of my time at university wondering if what Ed had said was right– that long-distance relationships don’t work.
But we battled on and now we’re home again, right back where we started, and while Ed is the same funny, loveable, slightly irritating person he always was, it feels like something haschanged. No, not something. Me.
December 26th– Boxing Day
Kate
Despite the gargantuan amounts of food I consumed yesterday, I’m starving this morning. Gary’s back in the kitchen and has prepared us all some bacon, eggs and slightly burnt toast. I pull out the seat next to Gubba and pour myself some tea.
‘That perfume is lovely, Kate. What is it?’
‘It’s called Miss Dior, Gubba,’ I reply, taking my third slice of toast. ‘Ed bought me it for my birthday.’
‘Can I borrow some?’ she asks, sipping her tea. ‘I haven’t brought any with me.’
‘Of course,’ I say, finding it a tad strange. Gubba doesn’t tend to wear perfume often these days as it irritates her skin. ‘I’ll get it for you after breakfast, before we leave.’
‘You headed tohishouse?’ Mum asks, handing Tom some cereal. She rarely calls my dad, Brian, by his first name. In fact, she usually calls him that useless tosser, but never in front of Tom.
‘Yep, same as always,’ I respond. ‘I don’t think anyone else visits him.’
