As soon as Alice heard Jay’s tone of voice on the phone, she knew that Angela had had her baby. On the surface, his greeting was the same as usual, but she knew him too well not to hear the undercurrent of excitement.
“Angela’s had the baby, hasn’t she?” she said.
“How did you know?”
“Call it feminine intuition.”
“Ah.”
“Well, aren’t you going to tell me all about it?”
“Oh, Alice. I didn’t know how to do this. I thought of asking to see you and telling you face-to-face, but —”
“Like giving someone bad news, you mean?”
“No. Of course not. But I knew it was going to be difficult.”
“You mean, you knew I was going to be difficult,” said Alice, knowing that that was exactly what was already happening. She was overcome with sudden nausea, and sat down on a kitchen chair.
“Not at all. But I can imagine how you must feel.”
“Can you?”
“I’ve a pretty good idea.”
“Well, tell me. Tell me how I feel, Jay, and then I won’t have to go to the bother of finding out for myself.”
“Alice, please.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, really I am. And I’m being pretty ungenerous, too. So do tell me about it. I want to know; of course I do.”
“Well, she went into labour yesterday afternoon. The baby was born early this morning.”
“And you were there?”
“Of course I — yes, I was there. She wanted me there.”
As she questioned Jay, Alice knew that she was pouring salt into her own wounds; it was almost as though she were trying to get all the pain out of the way quickly. For naturally, Jay would have been there. Nowadays, wasn’t it rare for fathers not to be present at the births of their children?
Apart from a formidably businesslike midwife, there hadn’t been anyone with her when Finn was born. She had asked her mother whether she would like to be present when her grandson came into the world, but her response (“No thank you, dear. I’ll see you both when you’re all tidied up”) had been unequivocal.
“And everything went all right?” she asked now.
“Everything went fine. Angela was very — no, you don’t need to hear that. She had a good labour, and we’ve got our daughter.”
“And she’s beautiful.”
“Of course. We think so, anyway.”
Oh, how that “we” seemed to cut into her, like a knife. Before the baby, Jay had rarely referred to himself and Angela in that way, and Alice had managed to persuade herself that they weren’t really a couple at all — or if they were, it was in name only. The baby had changed all that.
She pulled herself together. “What are you going to call her?” she asked.
“Arabella.”
“Oh.” Alice hated what she thought of as frilly names, and Arabella was not without frills.
“Not your kind of name, I know, but Angela likes it.”
“And you? Do you like it?” It was an unnecessary question, but Alice wanted to know.
“It’s — okay. I’ll get used to it.”
Alice felt a small tingle of pleasure. If Jay had been the one to choose the baby’s name or if he had been more enthusiastic about what they had called her, she would have found it even more hard to bear.
“So, I guess congratulations are in order.”
“Congratulations would be nice.”
“Oh, Jay, I do congratulate you. Of course I do. It’s wonderful news, and you must be so thrilled.”
But Alice knew that her good wishes had come too late and that Jay was hurt. How could she do this to him? On this, which must — or certainly should — be one of the happiest days of his life, how could she not be happy for the man she was supposed to love? And yet she was overcome with misery, not just because Angela was probably at this moment holding Jay’s baby in her arms, but because she, Alice, was such a nasty, jealous person that she hadn’t even been able to act as though she were happy for him.
“You’ll be able to have bonfire birthday parties,” she said now, trying to remedy the situation.
“What?”
“You know. Children’s birthday parties can be a nightmare, but as hers is so near to Guy Fawkes, she’ll be able to have fireworks.”
“I suppose she will.”
But the moment was lost. Alice had had her chance — and goodness knows, she had had enough time to prepare for it — and she had blown it.
“So — I expect you’ve got lots to do?”
“Yes. Yes, I have.”
“Goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye, Alice.”
For a long time, Alice sat on at the kitchen table, gazing out of the window at the leaden sky of a dank November morning. She didn’t cry — as far as Jay’s baby was concerned, she had done all her crying weeks ago — but she felt a bleak emptiness that she had never felt before. She knew that her behaviour had been unforgivable and that Jay must be angry as well as hurt. But she also knew that even had her congratulations been fulsome and sincere, it wouldn’t really have changed anything. She had known — they had both known — that the writing was on the wall. Their relationship had weathered all kinds of storms; there had been rows and misunderstandings in abundance. But they had never had to face anything as big as this, and Alice knew that there could only be one conclusion. How odd that something as small, as innocent, as a newborn baby should be the one unsurvivable obstacle to a relationship that had once seemed indestructible.
But if Alice thought she had reached rock bottom, there was more to come.
“Trot and I want to talk to you,” Finn told her over their lunch of sandwiches.
“That sounds very portentous.” Alice pushed away her plate, deciding she wasn’t hungry.
“If you’re not eating that, can I have it?”
“Be my guest. So what’s this all about?”
“Best to wait till Trot comes,” said Finn through a mouthful of sandwich. “He’ll be here at teatime.”
“And wants feeding, I suppose.”
“Thanks, Mum. He said you’d offer.”
“Did he now?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t trust you two.”
Finn grinned. “Trot and me are perfectly trustworthy.”
“Trot and I.”
“What?”
“Oh, never mind.”
Trot turned up promptly at five. Alice thought he looked ill at ease and wondered what on earth he was up to.
“Could I have a beer?” he asked.
“Of course. We’ll all have one.” Alice fetched three cans from the fridge. “Now, what’s this all about, Trot? I hope it’s not one of your silly games.”
“No silly game,” said Trot, opening his can and taking a long swig.
“What, then?”
Trot and Finn exchanged glances.
“It’s like this.” Trot put down his beer and leaned forward in his chair. “I never had a gap year.”
“It seems to me that your whole life has been one long gap year,” Alice remarked.
“I never had a gap year,” Trot continued, ignoring her. “And Finn would like one, wouldn’t you, Finn?”
“Too right,” said Finn.
“So, we thought we might have one together.”
“When?” asked Alice, with a feeling of foreboding. “When exactly were you and Finn thinking of taking this — this break from your labours?”
“Well, the thing is —” Finn began.
“When, Finn? Just tell me. When? Not a difficult question.”
“After — after my GCSEs. More beer, anyone?” Finn made to get up.
“Finn, sit down. What on earth are you talking about? Of course you can’t take a gap year after your GCSEs. What about A Levels? You’ll have two more years before you can even think about gap years.”
“He doesn’t want to do A Levels,” Trot said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“He doesn’t want to do A Levels,” Alice repeated. “What a mature decision. He’s not yet taken his GCSEs, and he’s already decided, has he?”
“Well, yeah.” Finn looked uneasy.
Alice took several deep breaths. This was not a time to lose her temper. “And whose idea was this — this gap year?” she asked.
“Mine.” Trot and Finn spoke together, then looked at each other and giggled.
“It was your idea, Trot, wasn’t it?”
“Well, not exactly. We were discussing it, and Finn said he wanted to travel, and I’ve always wanted to, and it seemed like a good idea. It’d be safer with two of us,” he added (the only sensible thing he’d said so far).
“I really don’t want to do A Levels, Mum. I’ve never wanted to. I’ve told you and told you, but you won’t listen.”
“If he gets good GCSEs, he’ll be fine,” said Trot, who as far as Alice was aware knew nothing at all about the importance of further education (and was also living proof that a disregard for qualifications was no guarantee of success in life).
“Let me get this straight,” Alice said. “Finn is going to do his GCSEs, and then the two of you are just going to — to bugger off round the world. Is that it?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Trot agreed.
“And has anyone discussed this with Finn’s teachers?”
“Naturally we wanted to talk to you first,” Trot said piously.
“How kind.”
“Yes, well, you are his mother.”
“And you, Trot, are his father. You’re supposed to be encouraging him to make the best of himself; you should be considering his interests. As it is, I suspect you just want a companion for your silly adventures. You want to sacrifice Finn’s future for your own fun.”
The argument continued through tea, with Alice becoming increasingly cross and frustrated, and Finn and Trot — who had obviously made some kind of pact — being sweetly reasonable — thus, as they presumably saw it, putting Alice firmly in the wrong.
After their meal, Kenny called round, and he and Finn went up to Finn’s room together, leaving Trot and Alice alone.
“What really annoys me,” Alice said, “is that you two seem to have been planning this — this escapade for some time, without a word to me.”
“Can you wonder?” said the new, reasonable Trot. “We knew this was how you’d react.”
“Who are you really doing this for, Trot?” Alice asked.
“For both of us. I want to travel; Finn wants to travel; we’d both like someone to do it with. Going together seems the obvious solution.”
“And you can’t wait until he’s finished school?”
“He’ll have finished school.”
“You know what I mean. Till he’s eighteen.”
“Look.” Trot leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “How’s this for a deal? If Finn works really hard and gets good GCSEs, and if he still wants to leave school and travel, then that’s what we’ll do. But if he changes his mind and decides he wants to stay on, then he does that. Seems fair, doesn’t it?”
“And if he fluffs his GCSEs?”
“Then we’ll have to cancel our plans, and he’ll have to go back and take them again.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“And you won’t put any pressure on him?”
“Not if you won’t.”
“You’ll encourage him to pull his finger out?”
“Yes.”
“And if he decides to go back and do his A Levels after this little jaunt, you won’t stand in his way?”
“Absolutely not. Why should I? Alice, I know you think I’m irresponsible, but I do have his best interests at heart.”
“Who’s going to pay for all this? Travel isn’t cheap.”
“I’ve got a bit saved up. I’ve got one or two things I can sell, and I’ll adapt the van so we can sleep in it. And we can work if necessary. If we live simply, it shouldn’t be too expensive. In any case, that won’t be your problem, Alice. I don’t expect you to pay for this.”
After Trot had gone, Alice gave the idea some more thought. She still didn’t like it, but she had to admit that it wasn’t quite as mad as it had seemed at first. Finn had never really liked school, and while he was bright enough, he would never be particularly academic. A year away just might help him to think again about his future. It would give him a chance to get away from school and home and see things from a different perspective, and then he could go to college and take his A Levels the following year if he wanted to.
But what would she do without him?
As Finn was growing up, she had become increasingly aware of the brevity of childhood and hence the relatively short time for which she had him to herself. She would never have another child now; Finn had been her one chance of motherhood. Last week had seen his sixteenth birthday. Those sixteen years had flown by, and now, if this plan went ahead, her time with him would be over by next summer. He would come back, of course, and would probably be living at home again, but it wouldn’t be the same. Things would never be the same again.
Once more, she was consumed with fury at Trot, who was planning to steal from her the final precious years of Finn’s childhood. Trot, whose input had been minimal, was now cashing in on all her hard work — on everything she had done to help Finn to become the person he was — and taking him off as a companion for his globetrotting. She knew that Trot loved Finn, but he was also self-centred in the way that people who live alone sometimes are. He had never had to consider anyone else’s needs as other than secondary to his own, and while he would certainly do his best to ensure Finn’s safely, that was about all she could expect from him.
The next time she saw Jay — a brief, snatched meeting, for Jay had other responsibilities at the moment — Alice told him about the gap year idea.
“Is it such a bad idea?” he said. “I always wished I’d had a gap year.”
“But not at this stage. Not before A Levels,” Alice said, wishing they had found somewhere more salubrious than a roadside greasy spoon.
“Well, what does he want to do? As a career?”
“He’s no idea.”
“So he doesn’t know what qualifications he’ll need, does he?”
“Maybe not. But surely it would be better to start off with at least some qualifications? A Levels, at least?”
“Not necessarily.”
But Alice knew that Jay was having trouble concentrating. He looked exhausted, and there was something that looked suspiciously like baby sick on the shoulder of his sweater. She decided to change the subject.
“How’s the paternity leave going?” she asked.
“Tiring.”
“Nights?”
“We take it in turns.”
“Not — not breastfeeding, then?”
“Angela didn’t like the idea.”
No, thought Alice. Angela wouldn’t. She felt a tiny surge of triumph. Finn — poor fatherless (at the time) Finn — had at least had the best in that department, for Alice had breastfed him for nearly a year. That this was as much due to laziness and poverty as anything else was something Alice chose to ignore. She liked to think of herself as something of an earth mother, who had happily sacrificed her figure and her sleep for the good of her baby. In fact, Finn had been a good sleeper, and Alice’s breasts had recovered nicely, but at least she had taken the risk. She had put her baby first.
“How is the baby?” Alice asked.
“She’s fine. Screams rather a lot, but I guess that’s what babies do.”
“Finn didn’t scream much.”
“Well, lucky you.”
This was not going well, but then, how could it? Each of them had preoccupations in which the other played no part, and both were too tired to make much of an effort.
“Have you any photos?” Alice asked.
“Of the baby?”
“Who else?”
“I may have.” Jay got out his wallet. “I didn’t think you’d want to see them, so I didn’t bring any.”
Alice both did and didn’t want to see photos of Jay’s daughter. One part of her was curious, but the other felt (illogically) that if she never saw a photo, then it would be almost as though the baby didn’t really exist. She could continue in her present state of semidenial.
“Oh, I have. There’s just one.” Jay took out a small photograph. “But I’m afraid it’s got —”
“Angela in it,” Alice finished for him. She had never seen a photo of Angela before, and oddly, this was harder than seeing the baby, who could, in this photo at least, have been anyone’s newborn child.
She examined the photograph. It was obviously taken just after the birth, for the baby was swaddled in a towel and Angela still wore a hospital gown and an identification band on her wrist. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion. But there was that smile (Is there any other smile like it?) of the new mother — triumphant, exultant, disbelieving (Is this really mine? Did I produce this miracle myself?) — as she gazed down at the tiny face and still-damp, dark hair of her new daughter.
“I’m sorry,” Jay said. “I didn’t want you to see this one. It — it…”
“Brings it all home?”
“Yes.”
“But it — she’s there, Jay. I can’t keep pretending you don’t have a wife and child.” She hesitated. “She’s very pretty.”
“The baby?”
“Well, yes. But you can’t see much of her in this picture. I meant Angela.”
“I suppose so.”
“You don’t have to pretend, Jay. She is pretty. And it must be nice to — well, to have a pretty wife.”
Jay took the photo from her and replaced it in his wallet.
“Pretty doesn’t seem important somehow,” he said. “But yes, Angela’s pretty. And she’s nice. And I think she will be a good mother. Is that enough for you?”
Alice swallowed hard (I won’t cry. I won’t). “I suppose the hardest thing is — that you have a photo of them both in your wallet. That you carry her — them — around with you. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it?” Jay said wearily. “People ask to see a photo, and that’s what they expect. Especially people who know us both.”
A waitress came round with a none-too-clean cloth and wiped their table.
“We haven’t finished yet,” Jay said. “And we’ll have two more coffees, please.”
The waitress shrugged, and went off to fetch the coffee, leaving the table wet and smeary.
“I don’t think I’ll have any more coffee,” Alice said, getting up from her seat. “I ought to get going.”
“Pressing engagement?” Jay managed a smile.
“No pressing engagement. Just that we — this — isn’t going too well, is it? And perhaps we’d better leave things for a few days. To give us both time to think.”
“No.” Jay caught her arm. “Don’t go. We need to talk. We can’t leave things — well, like this.”
“I thought you were in a hurry.”
“This is more important.” Jay picked up his jacket. “Let’s talk in my car.”
In the car, Jay took Alice’s face between his hands and forced her to look at him.
“Alice, have you any idea — any idea at all — how hard all this is for me? I know it’s awful for you. We’ve discussed that, and I’ve done my best to understand how you must feel. But it’s just as difficult for me.”
“How can it be?” Alice tried to look away again.
“It just is. In a different way, but it is. Of course the baby’s wonderful, and I know I’m going to be besotted with her, but it’s you I want to be with, to spend my life with, to grow old with. You’re the one. You’ll always be the one.”
“You’ve never said it like that before.”
“No, because there wasn’t any point, was there? It would only have made things harder for you. But I sometimes wonder whether you realise how much I love you. How much I need you. How do I get it into your stubborn little head how much you mean to me? What do I have to do?”
“Oh, Jay! I don’t deserve you.” Alice gulped back the tears that were threatening. “I’ve been such a cow recently, and you’ve taken it all on the chin.”
Jay took her in his arms. “Darling, let’s not play the blame game,” he said. “And let’s not waste any more time over recriminations or guilt or any of that stuff.”
“Because we haven’t much? Time, that is.” Alice’s voice was muffled against his chest.
“I don’t know.” Jay kissed the top of her head. “I honestly don’t know. In a way, it’s up to you. I think I can carry on like this, especially if the alternative is losing you altogether. But is it fair on you?”
Sitting back in her seat, Alice gazed out of the car window. The lorry drivers were leaving now, climbing into their cabs, shouting their farewells. A dog (a stray?) sniffed about among the debris by the rubbish bins. The sky darkened with the threat of rain. She sighed.
“I just don’t see how it can work,” she said. “It’s not fair on you, either. You, Angela, or the baby. You have a family now. You’ll want to do the right thing by them. I’m the — the outsider. I’m the one who has to go.”
“Don’t make any decision yet, Alice. Please. Give me — us — a chance.” He took her hand in both of his and held it against his cheek. “Can we see how things go? This — situation is unknown territory. It just may be easier than we think.”
“We’ll see how things go, then.”
But driving home, Alice knew — as she had known for weeks — that there was no decision to make. She and Jay had no future together, and it wasn’t so much a matter of what would happen as when. In a way, a short sharp ending would be so much easier than all this pretending and procrastination, but still she couldn’t bring herself to make that final break.
That evening, Alice reached an all-time low. Quite apart from her problems with Jay, Finn was away for the night with a friend, and the house echoed with emptiness. She missed the clatter of his feet up and down the stairs, the ringing telephone, the thump-thump-thump of his music vibrating through the house. This is how it’s going to be, she thought. Gap year or no gap year, one day I shall be on my own, and this is how it will feel.
When the telephone did ring, she jumped.
“Hi,” said a cheery voice.
“Hi, Trot.”
“Thought you could do with a bit of cheering up.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You’ve seemed pretty down recently, and the gap year thing — well, the timing wasn’t too great. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“So, shall I come round? I’ve got some cheap plonk.”
“Do you ever have any other kind?”
Trot laughed. “You know me so well.”
He came round with his plonk, and Alice made beans on toast for them both.
“So, tell me,” said Trot when they’d finished eating and Alice was fetching another (much nicer) bottle of wine, “what’s up?”
“It’s the baby,” Alice told him. “Jay’s wife’s had her baby, and things aren’t — well, they’re becoming very complicated.”
“I’ll bet.” Trot poured more wine.
“To put it in a nutshell, the end is in sight, although I don’t think either of us is ready to accept it yet. Jay says it’s up to me, and I suppose it is, but it’s so hard.”
“Oh dear.”
“I love him so much — I need him so much. How am I going to manage without him? What am I going to do?” Alice blew her nose and took several deep breaths. “But I’m not going to cry.”
“Cry away if it helps,” Trot said.
“No. No more crying, Not yet, anyway.”
“How can I help?” Trot asked after a moment.
“You can’t. Not really. No one can.”
“I can listen.” Trot made himself comfortable on the sofa. “I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener.”
So Alice, fuelled by wine and sympathy, poured out all her unhappiness of the past few months, while Trot, who really did seem to be listening most attentively, continued to refill their glasses and make all the right noises.
“So there you have it,” Alice said when she’d finished. “One big problem; one simple solution. I just can’t bring myself to make the break.”
“No need to just yet,” Trot said. “In the meantime, why don’t you come to bed with me?”
“What?”
“Don’t look so shocked. You need comforting, and sex is the best comforter I know. Plus, we have done it before.”
“But I don’t remember anything about that!”
“Neither do I. Does it matter?”
“But — what about Jay?”
“This has nothing to do with Jay. Besides, he sleeps with his wife, doesn’t he? That baby must have come from somewhere.”
“But we were drunk last time!”
“Well, we’re not exactly sober now, are we?”
“That’s true.” Alice looked at Trot, who was freshly shaven and wearing clean jeans and sweatshirt, and felt a sudden flicker of suspicion. “Trot, did you plan this?”
“Not exactly plan, no. But I thought it might be rather nice. For both of us. And for old times’ sake. Why not?”
“I suppose I ought to be angry.”
“Why? You can always say no.” Trot finished off the last of the wine. “So, what do you think?”
Alice looked at Trot. He was certainly not unattractive. He had nice eyes and a very endearing smile, and everything about him was comfortingly familiar. And while she wasn’t particularly bothered about the sex, just at that moment, she could imagine nothing nicer than a strong pair of male arms around her.
“No strings?” she asked after a moment.
“Absolutely no strings,” Trot said, pulling her to her feet.
Alice stumbled against him and giggled. “Can you have a one-night-stand if you can’t even stand up?”
“Course you can.” Trot took her in his arms and kissed her. “That’s better. Now all we have to do is pick up from where we were — how many years ago, was it?”