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The second time he does it I have my camera ready. I send the video to Alex, my fingers trembling as I bring up his contact details. Every time I think about him I feel sick. I know there's talking to do, decisions to make, though I don't know where to start.
Can I come and see him tonight?
Alex's text makes me feel desperately sad. Should he even have to ask?
Of course. Any time.
I mean it. No matter what happens between Alex and me, Max comes first. He deserves to have both parents doting on him.
I spend the rest of the morning cleaning feverishly, in a way I never did when Alex and I were both staying here. I bathe Max after his tea, dressing him in a fresh onesie, then I brush my hair and fix my make-up.
There's no denying this feels weird. It's a dance millions of ex-wives do every weekend; the passing over of a child, the keeping up of appearances. The desire to show the other person what they're missing.
Except I know Alex is missing us. He texts me all the time, calls me every day. Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, my phone lit up, showing his name, and I practically snatched it off the bedside table.
“Hey.”
“Lara.”
I've always loved the way he says my name. It sounds like he's smiling. As if I do that to him.
Checking my watch, I climbed out of bed, not wanting to wake Max. He was curled up on his side, three fingers in his mouth. Thankfully the slurping noises had died down.
“You okay?” I sat on the armchair, tucking my legs beneath my bum. “What are you doing up so late?”
“Thinking about you.” His voice was soft; an aural caress. “Missing my family.”
“We miss you, too,” I whispered. It was so dark in the room it was like having my eyes closed. I could picture Alex, lying in his childhood bed, unable to sleep. It made me feel like the worst person in the world. Refusing to let him come home, denying him time with his son. At moments like those, it was hard to remember why he wasn't here.
Then I remembered the tour. The drugs and the photos. There was so much for me to work through—for us to talk about—and having him living here would confuse everything. I was mixed up enough as it was.
“How's Max feeling?” I heard a rustle. Like he was turning over in bed. “Are you managing to get any sleep?”
“Max is fine. The doctor says his lungs are clear.” Apparently miraculous recoveries are the norm when it comes to babies and bronchiolitis. Looking at him now, you'd never believe he was in hospital last week.
I didn't tell Alex I was hardly sleeping at all. Twisting and turning in bed, listening for the sounds of Max's breathing. Second guessing myself over my decisions. I was drowning in a sea of recriminations. “How are you?” I whispered.
Silence. I heard the sound of his breathing, low and long. Could picture his face. Brow drawn down, lips thin. Thinking of a response.
“I'm not good,” he said eventually. “I just...” His voice broke then. I felt it inside, stabbing me like a knife. Tearing me apart. “I want you back. I want Max back. I know you hate me right now—”
“I don't hate you,” I interrupted. I couldn't have him thinking that. “I'm so mixed up I don't know what to do. And I need to concentrate on Max.”
“I know.” He sounded so sad. “But I'm not giving up on us and I won't let you, either. I thought about you and Max every day when I was in the States, I was miserable without you. Even before I heard about his illness I wanted to come home. There has to be a way to make this work.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to banish the tears. “I hope so.”
“There is,” he said, firmly. “I want my family back.”
* * *
When the door buzzes at six that evening, I sweep Max into my arms and run to open it. Alex is leaning on the door jamb, holding a bunch of flowers in one hand, a teddy in the other. Except this isn't an ordinary teddy; it's wearing a punk outfit, holding a tiny microphone in its paw.
I laugh out loud. “What the hell is that?”
He shrugs, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. “A present for Max.”
“A fetish teddy. He'll be delighted.” I smile, taking the flowers when he offers them to me. In return he takes Max, swinging him against his chest.
