Running my hand down my face, I walk towards the washbasin and glance at my reflection in the mirror. Just out of the shower, my hair is damp, so it looks darker than usual. I ruffle it with my fingers, but it doesn’t fall back into place, which tells me it’s in need of a cut. Placing both hands on the taps, I tilt my head and look at both sides of my face. I stare at the lengthening stubble on my cheeks and chin. Dabbing my skin with shaving foam, I begin pulling the sharp blade down my cheek. I reach over and pull a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll to mop up my whiskers. I double-check I’ve got all the stubborn stragglers off the basin and turn on the cold water, letting it run until the basin is spotless. I don’t need to give Natasha any more excuses to clean. I rub the hand towel over my face and neck. Yes, my skin’s pink and blotchy and feels hot, but it’s free of stubble. It feels good.
I’m looking at our bedroom, but instead of walking towards it, I stop and open the door to the nursery, smiling at the two Moses baskets standing side by side. Me, a dad. I blow out. It’s something I never thought I’d see, yet it’s happening, and soon; 11th October is D-Day for us all.
Back in our bedroom, I grab a clean t-shirt from the chest of drawers, pull it over my head and push my arms through the sleeves. I make my way down the stairs. Natasha doesn’t see my clean-shaven face, as the door’s only partially open, and from the noise coming from the lounge I gather she’s hoovering.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, but seeing rubbish hanging out of the kitchen bin, I think I’d best empty it. I stand my bottle on the worktop and search under the sink between bleach, detergents and anti-bacterial cleaners. Finding the bin liners, I replace the full one, resting it against my thigh as I tie the top. Pushing the bottle of water into the pocket of my jeans, I walk into the back garden. As I lift the dustbin lid to drop the bag inside, I glance down to see Mr. Pooch’s food bowl to my left.
“If only,” I mutter.
Most nights I pull the lid off a tin of cat food, empty half of it into her bowl and break it into small chunks with a knife. I put the rest in a sandwich bag in the fridge for the next day. It’s usually gone by the morning, but I know it isn’t her. She hasn’t managed to find her way home, so I guess the family of foxes think they’re in luck. I see them in the garden most nights around bedtime, usually any time after eleven. I lean against the brick wall behind me and look down. Daft, I know, but maybe Mr. Pooch will prove me wrong. Maybe she’ll come home. But until that day, it looks like the foxes won’t have to spend their nights hunting.
I re-enter the house, walking from the conservatory into the dining room. Hearing the patter of Larry’s paws, I look down. Bloody dog. I only have to move and he thinks it’s time for his walk. I shake my head and wag my finger in his face.
“Later,” I say, scooping him up under my left arm. “Now, stay put until I get back. Do you hear me?”
I push his ass down into the cushion. He grunts and widens those already humungous eyes of his. How is it possible for a dog to be so ugly, yet, at the same time, so cute? I step out of the conservatory and then step back. He’s already up on his feet, wagging his tail.
“Afraid not, Larry,” I utter, sliding the patio door.
However, for my own amusement, I don’t shut it but just slide it most of the way. I smile to myself as I picture his chubby brown face pressed against the glass as he tries to get through. I guess that’s what he’ll be doing until he loses heart and gets bored.
I won’t let the little fella miss out. I’ll walk him later. I know Natasha won’t bother; she’ll be too busy rushing round the place with the hoover in her hand. Since I told her my old dear is coming to visit, she’s become totally obsessed. For want of a better word, she’s OCD where cleaning is concerned.
“I’m just nipping out to see Aunt June,” I call at the top of my voice.
Natasha’s down on her hands and knees on the third stair, hoovering the edges of the carpet. She doesn’t turn, so I don’t have the pleasure of seeing her face, but I do have the pleasure of seeing her arse, which is held tightly inside a pair of dark-blue denim dungarees. I keep turning and looking back until I close the front door.
I sit in the Merc and take a deep breath as I fasten my seatbelt, but before turning the key in the ignition, I text her and ask if she’s alone. I hate having to hide things from Natasha, but the way she’s acting, she’s left me no other choice. I don’t have to wait long. The text I receive tells me that yes, she is alone and the front door is unlocked.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull up on her drive and peer towards the bedroom window. The curtains are drawn—my sign that the coast is clear and it’s okay for me to go in. As I walk through the hall, I see the lounge door is ajar. She’s curled up on the settee with her back towards me.
“See you upstairs, sexy,” I call, leaving my voice to trail behind me as I run up the stairs.
I pull the small wooden stool from beneath the dressing table and sit down. Her laptop is charging. So we don’t waste time, I type in her password.
I hear footsteps behind me as she walks into the bedroom, and then I feel her breath against my neck as she rests her chin on my shoulder.
“Sarcastic prick,” she whispers.
“Maybe, Danielle, but you love my sarcasm.”
Her long blue maternity dress brushes the carpet as she walks away from me to retrieve a pair of reading glasses from the bedside cupboard. I glance up, noticing her short blonde hair, which is sticking up in unruly tufts. I can’t help but wonder if she’s been wearing that black hat of hers, though with it being the middle of summer, I doubt it.
She slows, hovering at my side, which gives me the impression she’s waiting for me to move.
“Anyway, you’re the one that’s pregnant. Shouldn’t it be you who’s sitting down?”
I go to get up off the stool, but before I have the chance, she balances herself on my knee, leans forward and signs herself into my Facebook account.
“God, Gabriel,” she shrugs. “How many notifications have you got?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? The only reason I’ve got the damn site is to promote my artwork. As for my personal page, it’s empty, and my newsfeed,” I grunt, “is just full of selfies, people’s dogs and kids. I didn’t get my sight back to sit in front of a screen looking at crap.”
She turns, looks back and half smiles.
“Danielle, what say we forget about Facebook and you run me through exactly what happened to Logan that morning?”
She shakes her head. “Tell you again? Gabriel, how many times?” She blows out, then leans back against my chest. “It was probably around seven days into our holiday when Asim mentioned to us that his mother wasn’t well, and the day after he kept asking if he could take Logan to see her. Well, as I’ve told you probably a hundred times, Adrianna said no. She kept saying no.”
I shrug. “I can’t see why it was such a big deal. He only wanted to take Logan to see his nan.”
“But the old woman’s dying. Do you really think it’s something a child needs to see?”
“Guess you’re right. I didn’t think of it like that, sorry. You were saying...”
“On the morning we were leaving for the airport, she’d agreed to meet Asim for drinks over breakfast. He’d order her a coffee, and as soon as her mug was empty he’d order another. After drinking her third, she popped to the toilet. She couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but when she returned, Asim and Logan were gone. She searched the café and the road outside. She walked up and down the beach, calling his name, but there was no sign of either of them.”
“Have you still got the business cards and leaflets of the bars you went to?”
“Yeah, I have. They’re hidden in the top drawer with my underwear. I’ll show you if you like?”
I raise my eyebrows. “No, it’s okay. Think I’ll give it a miss.”
“Well, I had to hide them somewhere.”
I nod. “Couldn’t think of anywhere better myself, because who in their right mind is going to want to go through your knickers drawer?”
“Sarky git,” she snorts.
I jump as her elbow shoots back into my ribs.
“Now maybe you can see why I don’t go for men.”
There’s a serious edge to her voice, but when she peers round to face me, I’m met by her smile. It’s mad to think we have to sneak around the way we do. I mean, we’re basically related. Danielle’s my girlfriend’s sister-in-law, but it’s as though we’re the only ones who actually acknowledge the fact that Logan is missing. You only have to mention his name in front of Adrianna and she breaks down, and as for Natasha, her way of coping is to shut me out and say nothing at all.
Both Danielle and I know there’s not a lot we can do in trying to help find Logan, but even so, it doesn’t stop us. Once a week, or whenever Adrianna isn’t around, I make an excuse to Natasha for why I have to go out, either to walk Larry or visit my Aunt June. Whichever excuse I use, this is where I end up for a couple of hours, and then Danielle and I sit and scroll through the pages of the bars and restaurants in Marmaris and many of the other holiday resorts in Turkey. We know it’s a long shot, as we don’t know Asim’s Facebook account, or if he even has one; if he does, it may not be under his real name. The only thing in our favour is we know his face, so our hope is that he has been tagged in a photo when out drinking with friends or working in one of the bars. It probably won’t lead anywhere, but at least we’re doing something, which is more than anyone else. Even the local papers are keeping a low profile. Logan being missing has been mentioned, but only in a few lines; so few that they’ve probably been overlooked by most readers. But I guess because Logan is in Turkey with his father, who keeps in touch with Adrianna on a weekly basis, nobody seems overly concerned about the boy’s safety.
“Hey, look at this.” Danielle leans and points at the screen. “Did you know you have a friend request from Josh and Michelle?”
“Yes, I know. Delete them.”
“Oh, okay,” she says, pressing her finger on the delete button.
It’s not that I have a problem with either Josh or Michelle, but why would I accept a friend request from my girlfriend’s ex and his wife? I don’t care what they’re doing, and I certainly don’t want to look at their pictures.
“Oi, nosy, we’re not here to look at my notifications. We’ll go on your account next time.”
“I don’t think so. Adrianna uses my phone more than she does her own, but point taken.”
She clicks off my page and we check out a couple of bars that we haven’t looked at before.
Danielle gets off my lap and opens the curtains. Her shoulders drop as she walks back over to me and turns off her laptop.
I shrug, rubbing my eyes.
“Well, we’ve come up with fuck all, the same fuck all we did last week and the week before that.” I lean forward, resting my head in my hands. “We’re never going to find him. We may as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“You’re probably right, but, Gabriel, it would only take one picture, one lead.”
I smile at her. “Guess I’ll see you same time next week then.”
Danielle opens her bedroom door.
“If you’re not in any rush, why not stop and have a drink?”
“Yeah, go on then.”
Danielle pushes the biscuit barrel across the granite worktop towards me before turning away to fill the kettle. Glancing round the kitchen, I catch sight of folders and paperwork littering the table.
“How you finding college, your accountancy course?”
She turns, leans back against the sink unit and shrugs.
“There’s really no point. With my baby due the same time as the assessments, I’m not going to be able to finish the course.” She shakes her head and looks down. “Financially, we’re screwed. It’s not like I’ve got a job to go back to.”
“Well, you would have if you hadn’t got the sack. You can’t go telling your boss you’re ill, and half an hour later post pictures of you and Adrianna walking along the pier in Weston.”
She bites down on a chocolate digestive.
“You can blame Adrianna for that one. She’s a nightmare where social media is concerned. She tags me in pretty much everything we do. She’s even been out and bought a selfie stick.”
“I’m sure I remember Natasha mentioning she’d always hated her picture being taken.”
“She did,” Danielle says, tossing me a bottle of Pepsi from the fridge.
“So how come she’s gone picture crazy all of a sudden?”
She shakes her head. “To be honest, I couldn’t tell you. I thought it was just a phase she was going through. It began when she started growing her hair and showing an interest in make-up. But I think I’m wrong on both counts. She’s always on the laptop and has started up a blog. Now, all of a sudden, she seems to think she’s an expert on food, fashion, pregnancy and anything at all to do with kids. Talking of kids, she hardly mentions Logan, well, not to me. The only way I find out her true feelings is from comments she leaves on her blog. She leaves message after message to strangers. Reading between the lines is the only way I can keep up with what’s going on in that head of hers.”
I unscrew the lid of my bottle and take a sip.
“Well, you’ve got a damn sight more than I have. At least her blog gives you an insight. Whereas me, I really don’t know what’s going on with Natasha at the moment. I feel like I’m having to tiptoe around her.”
Danielle stirs her coffee and smiles.
“Cut her some slack. The twins are coming in a few weeks; have you ever thought it could be down to that? You know, she has got a lot on her mind.”
There’s a short silence between us, and I see her eyes narrow.
“Things are okay between you, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, of course they are. I love her to pieces. I just wish she’d open up to me a little more often. You say you’d like to know what’s going on in Adrianna’s head; well, I guess we’re in the same boat.”
She sniggers behind her hand.
“Funny, isn’t it?” I raise my eyebrows. “Sisters, eh? The irony. I guess they’re more alike than they care to believe.”
“No, no, it’s not that I’m laughing at. I’ve been here before, had the same conversation with Josh. I think Tash’s conversations are all in her head. She’s a deep thinker, always has been, so that leaves a lot of guesswork on your part.”
Her eyes bypass me to the clock on the wall.
“Anyway, enough talking. The footy’s on in five minutes. At least stop and watch the first half.”
I smile. For a woman, Danielle’s sound, but I’d best not.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I might drop in to see Aunt June on the way home. She usually pops in to see us at least once a week, and if she does, I know she’ll back up that I’ve been round at hers.”
When I get home and walk inside, Natasha runs from the kitchen red-faced.
“Gabriel,” she calls out, “I’m going upstairs to have a shower.”
I cover my nose with my hand as wafts of garlic follow her into the hall. I don’t need to ask, I know she been cooking her Aunt Dorothy’s goat curry. I take a breath, almost choked by the strong aromatic spices. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told her I can’t stomach this dish. I’m just glad I had my dinner at Aunt June’s.
I take a step towards the lounge, but stop and take a step back upon hearing paper rustling beneath my shoes. I look down. She must have knocked the letters off the window ledge as she ran past, because they’re all lying on the hall carpet. They’re always getting knocked off; I think we need to find a better place to keep them. I pick them up and notice a few that haven’t been opened. Slipping my finger under the seal of one, I sit down on the stairs. Just a credit card statement. I roll my eyes—another reminder of how much debt I’m in. I turn, fold it in half and put it on the stair above, then rip open the next envelope. I read the name: Mr. Rogers. It’s from my solicitor, a reminder of that damn court case I’m trying to forget about. How can a call centre sue me for doing my job? I know I made a mistake and have cost the company in excess of fifty thousand pounds, in fact thinking about it, probably more than that with all of the solicitor’s letters, but they knew about my failing sight, so technically I did nothing wrong, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose my house over it. I screw the paper into a ball and throw it towards the door—something for Larry to play with a little later.
The next couple of letters I sift through are utility bills. I don’t open them; they can wait. I flick through the remainder and notice each one is addressed to Natasha. I’m about to get up and place them back on the window sill when I see the blue hospital stamp in the top right-hand corner of four envelopes, so I stay sitting and browse through them. Each one I open is an appointment from the Oncology Department at Derby General. I gather they’re pending, and then screw up my face when I see the dates. Why the hell hasn’t she told me?
I drag my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and scroll through my contacts, stopping at Danielle. Maybe she can throw some light on what’s going on here. There’s no answer, so my call is diverted to voicemail.
“Danielle, it’s Gabriel. Ring me when you get this.”
Hearing the bathroom door, I jump. I quickly straighten the letters together between my hands and, placing them back on the window sill, take a final look down. My eyes widen as I see the corner of a red envelope peeking out from the bottom of the pile. I wouldn’t have missed something this bright, so I assume the letter didn’t fall onto the floor with the others. Hearing the blast of Natasha’s hairdryer, I figure I’ve got time to take a quick peek. I see that it’s addressed to us both and has already been opened.
I pull out a piece of card equally as red as the envelope, and frown when I see that it’s an invite to Hughie’s retirement party. You’d think now that Josh and Michelle are married, they’d leave us alone. Friend requests on Facebook, and now this. I can’t help but wonder what next. The party is only a couple of days away and it hasn’t been mentioned, so I guess Natasha’s already made her mind up that we won’t be going.
I sit in the lounge. There’s a pair of Natasha’s socks rolled up in a ball next to the coffee table. Seeing Larry, I bend down and pick them up, then throw them for him to fetch. The only things that move on that dog are his eyes. No wonder he’s so fat. Ironic really; I had a cat that would fetch anything and a lazy dog that fetches nothing.
I look towards him, lying with his head on his paws. He looks back. I can’t help but smile at that face.
“You’re useless, mutt. Do you know that?”
Seemingly unfazed, he closes his eyes. Waiting for Natasha to join me, I change the television channel from the news to a sports channel hoping to find the final score of the match. I turn up the volume, only to turn it down again as I feel my phone vibrate.
“You wanted me?”
Hearing Danielle’s voice, I smile.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Natasha’s hospital appointments, would you?”
“Yes, of course I do. Adrianna went with her.”
“And…?” I prompt.
“And what?”
“Well, was everything okay?”
“Don’t you think that’s a question you should be asking Natasha?”
“Danielle, cut the crap. Is there something you’re not telling me? Is there anything I need to know?”
She doesn’t reply, but I hear her breathe as she blows out.
“Danielle, what are you keeping from me?”
Her silence continues.
“Danielle.”
“Well, yes, there is kind of something.”
“Okay, what?”
“Look, it’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m sure it’ll blow over. Adrianna’s just walked in, I’ve got to go.”
She hangs up before I have time to question her further. I can’t leave things the way they are, so I ring back, but her phone’s been turned off.
For the next hour, it’s as though I’m in a daze. I’m sitting in the dining room. Natasha’s wandering back and forth from the kitchen with plates and glasses in her hands. I look up from the table as she ladles curry inside the ring of rice she’s already spooned onto my plate. Her eyes are bright and her face doesn’t look pale or drawn. I can’t switch off what’s going on in my head. I swallow. As for eating, I feel sick. I dig my fork into a piece of meat and stare down. My stomach tightens. What if the cancer has returned? When I finally look up, she’s already sat down and started to eat.
Between bites, I clear my throat.
“Natasha, is there anything you need to tell me?”
She laughs, spitting rice back onto her plate.
“You’ve noticed then?”
“Noticed what?”
“The recipe, it’s gone missing, so I’m sorry, but I had to improvise and put my own spin on it.” She puts her fork down on her plate and looks up. “So, what do you think?”
I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s a dreadful cook, or that her Aunt Dorothy’s goat curry, lamb casserole and spaghetti bolognaise all suck.
“Lovely,” I tell her, forcing a smile.
I can’t ask her what I want outright, so I guess I can’t ask her at all. I suppose the only option I’m left with is to carry on as normal and wait for her to tell me herself. Maybe if I were to take her out for the night and buy her drinks, she’d open up. I raise my eyes, but apart from Babies and Bumps, when do we ever go out these days? We don’t.
I strum my fingers on the table. A certain someone’s retirement party could be the answer. But I forget Mum’s coming to stay, so that puts a different spin on things. I guess I could give her a ring to see if she’ll leave early, though I can’t imagine her jumping at the idea, as she doesn’t like change and has never been the easiest person to please. Mum isn’t arriving until tomorrow, so that gives me a few hours to come up with something.
I pick at my food and try not to make it obvious that I’m staring as I watch Natasha eating across the table. I rub sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, but it isn’t from the heat of the curry; it’s from my thoughts as I picture her empty chair and try to picture the rest of my life without her in it. I just don’t get it. Why the hell does she go skulking off to Adrianna behind my back? Why the hell doesn’t she talk to me? I’m not going to let on that I’ve seen the appointment letters, that I know something’s wrong. I’ll bide my time. But there’s no way I’ll let her refuse treatment like she did last year.
I can’t take my eyes off her face. She’s sitting on the settee watching a film, and I’m sitting one cushion away, watching her. Every morning I wake up and she makes me feel warm inside, especially after I lost Dad and all the problems I had with my sight. I think back to the day she walked into my house. That was the day she gave new meaning to my life.
She leans towards me, laying her head in my lap and smiling up at me. I gaze down into her brown eyes.
“Our girls, it’s not long now,” she says, squeezing my arm.
I nod and smile back. “I know.”
I’m going to be a dad, yet at times the reality manages to slip from my mind; easily done I guess, with her sister being our surrogate and carrying our twins. My smile straightens. God, I hadn’t even considered the twins. If anything were to happen to Natasha, where would that leave me? It would leave me a single dad without a clue. The back of my eyes sting, but I can’t let her see I’m upset. She looks so comfy; I don’t want to disturb her, yet she leaves me with no option.
I stretch my arms above my head, feigning a yawn.
“I think I might go upstairs and grab an early night.”
Her brown eyes widen, and her body shakes as she giggles.
“Gabriel, is that an invitation?”
Guess she would think that, the amount of sex we’ve been having lately.
I shake my head. “No, not tonight, I haven’t got the energy.”
She rolls onto her stomach, reaching for the remote on the coffee table.
“No, Natasha, watch the end of the film. I can see how much you’re enjoying it.”
So much for an early night. I hardly slept. I just lay in the dark and listened to her breathing. When dusk finally arrived, I held her in my arms, whispered how much I love her and watched her sleep.
A chocolate bar and a cold bottle of water from the fridge are all I can manage for breakfast this morning after spending the last eight hours worrying myself silly over Natasha. I honestly couldn’t stomach toast or cereal. I shake my head at the thought of painting today, and I have clients due any time. A mother and daughter who I’m going to have to force myself to be polite to, because between the two of them they drive me crazy. The mother talks constantly, hardly coming up for air. As for her daughter, she doesn’t say a lot, but she does seem to find me incredibly funny because she giggles every time I speak.
I prop myself up against the window sill and breathe out. My eyes wander around the conservatory. Well, I guess I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be. I’ve set up my easel and carried the paper and most of the paint pots that I need from the pantry. Daft really, but I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve traipsed out of that small room, and even when I thought I had everything, I had to go back again for my brown satchel where I keep all of my brushes. I can’t exactly paint her portrait without them.
Hearing the front door open, I lay a large sheet of paper out in readiness and reposition my easel to give myself the best possible light.
“Julia, nice to see you,” I say as she walks through from the dining room.
I step towards her and hold out my hand. As I do, her daughter steps out from behind her, her face breaking out into a smile. My eyes can’t help but widen; she’s beautiful through the eyes of an artist. I would say a gift to paint. With waist-length ebony hair and those large dark eyes, I just hope that today my brush is able to capture those exquisite features of hers.
“Would either of you like a drink?” Natasha asks as she lifts Julia’s cardigan off her shoulders.
While Natasha talks tea and coffee, I take Lucy by the arm and manoeuvre her between the settee and coffee table, sitting her down on the wicker chair that I’ve already positioned at an angle next to the conservatory door.