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I open my mouth to retort, then shut it again. Even though I'm so angry I could spit, I have enough self-awareness to know I can't do this. Not here, not now. But if I stay here I'm going to explode and we will end up having an almighty argument in front of all these people. We're already making enough of a spectacle of ourselves as it is. I need to be a better person, to step back, to walk away.
I glance to my left and see David holding the baby while Andrea plays with his feet. Max is completely oblivious to everything going on between Alex and me—thank goodness—but from the awkward smile David shoots at me when he catches me looking at them, I know he and Andrea are all too aware.
I feel embarrassed. The need to get out of here claws at me. “I'm going to get some food,” I mumble, not able to look at Alex. “I'll take Max for a walk.”
Alex squeezes my bicep gently, then in the softest voice asks, “We good?”
No, we aren't good. We're not even in the same vicinity of good. But I force myself to look up and nod, all the while trying not to cry. “It's fine, we'll talk later. Good luck with the gig.”
“I'll see you before we go on, won't I?”
&
nbsp; I don't say anything. There's about five hours before they're due on stage, and the way I'm feeling now I can't see myself calming down by then. And the closer it gets to their set, I know what an arsehole Alex becomes. It's a recipe for disaster.
Fire, meet touch paper.
“Yeah, sure.” If he carries on drinking and smoking he won't even notice I'm gone. The sad fact is, out of sight out of mind works excellently for Alex. When we’re together, just the three of us, he makes it feel as though we are his world. But right now, I feel like a piece of gum clinging to the sole of his shoe.
David and Andrea are angels. When I walk over to them and explain I need to go for a walk, they don't ask any questions. Instead, David unravels the empty baby sling from me and straps Max to himself, while Andrea walks over to her brother and gives him a quick hug. Though I can't hear what she whispers in his ear, I can see him smile and nod, and for some reason that makes me feel sad.
I manage to hold it together as we leave the backstage area, clasping on to Andrea's hand while David and Max walk slightly ahead of us. I think of Alex and my eyes well up again, blurring my vision so I can hardly see. By the time we've found a secluded spot and sat down on the grass, I'm sobbing loudly, while Andrea rubs my back and David holds Max, his eyes soft and kind as he watches me cry.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I'm being so stupid.”
Andrea hushes me. “It's okay, it's okay.”
“He promised me he was giving up the weed. Then when I saw him with that girl...” I start crying harder.
“You know he'd never do anything to hurt you, right? Alex adores you, he worships the ground you walk on. I remember the first time he told me and Mom about you. He had this dreamy look in his eyes when he said your name and I knew you were the one. Then when he brought you home for Sunday lunch, God, I've never seen a man look at a girl the way he looked at you.”
“He doesn't look at me like that anymore,” I sob. “He thinks I've changed since I had Max. He wants the old Lara back.”
“Of course you've changed, silly. You're somebody's mum now. That has to change you. Different priorities, putting somebody else's needs first. Having a baby is supposed to have that effect on you.”
I wipe my damp cheeks. “Alex hasn't changed. He's still exactly the same.” And there lies the problem. I'm a mum first, and Lara second. Alex is just Alex.
“That's his issue, not yours.” Andrea sounds firm. “He's got a bit of growing up to do but he’ll get there, and so will you. I know Max has turned everything upside down, but the two of you will get through it—you need to give each other a bit of space.” She says it so confidently, I believe her. She's known Alex since he was born, has enough insight into the way he works for me to respect her judgement.
Even so, I still don't stop crying for an hour.
9
Despite my pent-up anger, the next two days fly past. At work I’m too busy to think about things, and at home Max has decided he can’t sleep without being cuddled. I’ve been too tired to argue, so my evenings are mostly spent holding him in my arms. By Wednesday I feel like the walking dead, so when I see I have a two hour break at lunchtime, I decide to step outside the clinic and grab some fresh air.
As soon as I leave the building, a light breeze catches my hair, lifting the strands until they tickle my face. I inhale deeply, tasting the freshness of the air, the coolness of the temperature. The sky is blotted by hazy clouds that diffuse the light, casting a peachy mellowness to the sun.
A movement to the left catches my eye. Alex pushes himself up from the wall he’s been sitting on and walks towards me, shoving his phone into his jeans pocket. His steel-capped boots are covered with a thin layer of pink dust, his jeans paint-splattered and worn. A thick checked shirt covers up an old band tee, but I know without having to look that it’s a Sex Pistols one.
“Hi.” Everything about him seems softer. Over the past two days we’ve hardly spoken. It feels strange to hear his voice.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” Nervously, he rakes a hand through his hair. “If you’ve got the time.”
“How did you know I’d be free?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t, but I’ve been sent over to cost a job in Brick Lane, so I thought I’d pop in on the off chance. I was about to call you to see if you were free for lunch.”
