Chapter Nineteen

 

 

WAKING A FEW HOURS LATER, I discover I’m in bed alone. I shoot up after noticing the time. 10.30am. Shit! The kids. I quickly pull on my pyjamas and dash down the corridor, only to find their beds empty. Plus, Sam… where’s Sam?

I arrive downstairs a gasping mess, only to discover Sam and the kids enjoying themselves around the kitchen table.

“Mummy? Is Sam our new daddy?” Emily asks, her usual prim self.

Rupert is stabbing his spoon repeatedly into a bowl of overdone porridge.

For a few long moments, it takes me a while to digest the scene. I can’t figure out why I’m uncomfortable with it.

“He’s Mummy’s friend,” I tell Emily, kissing her on the head, then Rupert.

I catch Sam’s eyes and there’s something different this morning. It’s not a good different either. He has stayed over before, but he has never tried to inveigle his way into my family like this, ever. He usually leaves early…

I never asked him to take care of my kids and it’s strange for Emily not to have come and woken me. She always comes into my bed for a few minutes before we get up, together.

“There’s some coffee in the pot,” he tells me sweetly, trying to grab me around the waist as I pass him.

I wriggle my way out of his hold and try to calm myself down as I pour the coffee.

“Do you want a top up?” I ask, trying to be polite.

“I’ve had two cups, I’m done.”

He’s had two cups? So, he’s been up for a while and made himself at home? I should be grateful. It’s me who’s slept in, isn’t it? He’s obviously been keeping the kids entertained. It looks like Emily finished her breakfast hours ago and now she’s playing with her playdoh. Rupert’s porridge looks like Sam’s fifth or sixth attempt to get him to eat something, going by the used bowls on the sideboard.

I grab one of Rupert’s bottles and fill it with milk, which he wolfs down in thirty seconds flat. Then he recommences playing with the porridge, which is becoming more concrete by the second.

I put some bread in the toaster and observe as Emily uses the playdoh to make stuff resembling food. Sam just sits with his arms folded, watching and listening as she teaches him how it’s done.

Sam’s still in his boxers, wearing just a t-shirt on top. That also leaves me uncomfortable. It’s not that it’s too familiar – but it is all too soon.

“I said I’d meet Hetty for lunch today,” I lie, finding it so easy to. “I should get the kids ready to go out.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“I thought I’d bring some of my stuff round…” He lets me digest that, waiting for me to respond. I have no idea what to say.

Early this morning, it was all different. My grief is always the worst then, and my kids weren’t around, and our conversation made me feel as though we were heading in the right direction…

But now this!

I don’t know why, but it’s too much. Too soon.

“I thought I’d move in,” he eventually adds, but he’s not looking at me. He’s concentrating on helping Emily, who’s still too young to grasp what is really going on here.

He’s trying to get me to agree while the kids are around… in case a disagreement ensues.

“We’ll have to talk about this later,” I tell him. “I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

He stands up and walks towards me. He’s still got that sickly-sweet look in his eye.

“But what about last night? I thought we’d figured everything out?”

“Maybe between us, but you moving in with my family is different. It’s too soon.”

He clucks his tongue. “I’m sorry. I thought you were finally letting go of your grief.”

Do we ever really let go? Or do we just learn how to cope? Maybe not even that. Perhaps with time, the pain just gets dulled. I don’t know…

All I know is, it’s too soon.

“It’s not as simple as how you’re portraying it to be. Last night I was emotional and you were here for me and it was wonderful, but my kids are a whole different thing. This is their home.”

“I thought you were serious about us?” he says with a sniff, his body in front of me, but his eyes looking elsewhere. “I guess I was wrong.”

He leaves the room quietly, without any drama or fireworks, but I can tell his words are meant to prompt action from me. I have to stand my ground. Yes, I love him, yes, he’s gorgeous, but he’s not their father. How can he just think he can come in here and play happy families with me, so soon after…?

Then again, do I really want to be alone? Do I?

I almost leave the room to beg him to stay… for him to give me time to think about it all. However, I’ve ignored my instincts in the past much to my own detriment, so perhaps I ought to start listening to them.

In all the time I’ve known Sam, he’s always been a carefree, take-it-or-leave-it sort of person. He’s never been desperate like he is now. Does he really want to take on a woman with two kids? I don’t get it. Maybe I’m being cynical or whatever, but there’s a flip-flopping in my heart, telling me there’s something strange going on here.

The toast pops and I butter some for myself, then share the rest between the kids.

Sam returns to the room with his hair combed and his clothes on.

“I’m off then. I’ll leave you to your day. I know when I’m not wanted.”

I can’t believe he’s acting like this. I thought he was intelligent enough to know when it’s just not the right time – or circumstances. Maybe I was wrong about him.

He’s gone from the house before I can protest. My immediate feeling is that I’ll miss him, but I do wonder whether I could do without complications right now. My fingers hover over the screen of my phone, contemplating calling him to come back, but somehow, I know that’s exactly what he wants me to do.

It’s funny how when you’re growing up, adults say, “Everything will look different in the morning.” As a kid, you struggle to believe it, and yet it was always different in the morning, no matter how everything felt the night before – it always did feel more bearable the next day.

I have to say though, that old adage has never felt truer than it does right now. Last night might have been lovely, but today’s another day.

A woman’s love for her children – it surpasses everything else.