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He doesn't even bother to say goodbye.
12
Alex can be ruthlessly efficient when he wants to be. As soon as we walk into the flat he deposits me on the sofa, shoving a cup of tea into my unsuspecting hand, and tells me to stay there or else. Then he proceeds to bath Max, tidy the kitchen, and give him his final feed all while I stare on with something close to disbelief. Max seems similarly gobsmacked, looking curiously at Alex as he holds him in his arms.
If I'm being really honest, I don't like him taking over. I miss snuggling up with Max, watching his rosebud lips move rhythmically as he sucks at the bottle, seeing his pale grey eyelids slowly flutter closed when he finally gives in to exhaustion. I wonder if Alex feels this pang of jealousy whenever he watches the two of us. Max is a fickle little thing, willing to batter his eyelashes at whoever happens to be in control of his milk.
After putting Max to bed, Alex heads into the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge. “You want one?”
I'd kill for a glass of wine, but it's a mood enhancer for me. Great when I'm feeling full of the joys of spring. Right now? Not such a good idea. “No thanks.”
“A glass of water?”
Now I'm confused. Since when did I become the water guzzling type? Is it something I should be doing now I'm a mum, along with shedding the final few pounds and remembering to do my kegels every day? “I'm fine.”
He sits down on the battered leather easy chair across from me and takes a long gulp of beer. His Adam's apple bounces up and down as he swallows. When he puts the bottle on the scratched wooden table beside him, he looks at me. “So what did the doctor say?”
“He thinks I have mild post natal depression. I have to go back again next week. If things haven't improved he wants to talk about happy pills.”
Alex's eyes widen. “Seriously? It's that bad?”
“Not at the moment. But he's worried it could get worse.”
His face crumples, and he takes another swig of beer. “How bad can it get?”
For a moment I consider telling him about puerperal psychosis, about the women who are locked away to protect themselves and their babies. But he looks shocked enough as it is, and no matter how fed up I am with this whole situation, there's no point in making it worse.
“I don't know. But the big thing is identifying it. Now I know I can work on things.”
“I guess that explains some stuff.”
I can feel my blood pressure rising; there's no way he's going to blame all our problems on this. The PND didn't make him smoke weed when he promised not to and it didn't force him to sign up for a three month tour in another country without even consulting me. I open my mouth to let it all out and then...
I close it again. No shouting; I promised David. Anyway, I'm so tired, I don't know if I have the energy to stand my ground. Instead I sit there, staring down at my knees, wondering how the hell we got here.
A little over six months ago I was lying on an uncomfortable hospital bed in Hackney, watching Alex holding a bundled up Max in his arms, tears pouring down his cheeks. And despite all the pain and the mess and everything else that comes with a ten hour labour, I can remember thinking how completely perfect everything was for us.
We had a healthy baby, a good, strong marriage, and I honestly didn't think anything would threaten that.
How can things change so drastically in such a short time?
“I'll call Stuart,” Alex says.
I look up at him questioningly. What does Stuart have to do with this? “Why?”
“To tell him I'm pulling out of the tour.”
My first thought is, hasn't he done that already? After last night and all the painful arguments we had, why the hell hasn't he already considered this? And it comes to me, a little flash of insight. He didn't pull out of the tour this morning because he doesn't want to. The only reason he's thinking about it now is because I've got an actual medical diagnosis.
He's acting from guilt, not concern.
“No.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean don't cancel. Not because of this. I can cope without you.”
He looks shocked. I don't blame him, I'm pretty surprised myself. “I can't go, not when you're like this.”
