I Unlove You (34 page)

But
now
…
sitting alone in a near-blackened room, waiting
for
…
what? What comes next? What am I supposed to
do?

I
avoided work for a few days, but they don
’
t care for
broken hearts. My sole purpose is to design meaningless logos, and
posters that nobody cares about. I
’
m a slave to their
regime, and that
’
s how it is. Not
that I
’
ve told them what happened, because how you do
explain that your baby isn
’
t yours? As far as
they know, I
’
ll still take
paternity leave in a couple of months; at some point,
I
’
ll have to tell them the truth, but
how?

Keeping myself to myself, I avoid eye contact and small
talk. I
’
ve yet to go a day where someone
hasn
’
t asked about
B
…
about my son
…
about the scan and whether we
’
ve
decorated his room.

“
I
’
ll bring you a bag
of baby clothes,
”
said Pam, one of our receptionists.
“
I
can
’
t believe my Simon
’
s six this year.
Enjoy them while you can, because they don
’
t stay babies
for long.
”

Nodding and forcing a smile, I tried to keep it together
when deep down all I wanted to do was cry.
“
Thanks,
”
I said, scurrying away and cowering behind my
desk.

I
try and block out every thought possible and lose myself into
whichever tedious task sits on my desk. I
’
ve never
experienced days this long, despite the fading light. As soon as I
wake, I long for sleep. Everything in-between
’
s
torture. I doubt it
’
ll ever be the same.
Life
’
s taste isn
’
t as fresh anymore.
The air isn
’
t as crisp. The
light, not as vibrant.

Joey will arrive home any moment, cautious in what he says
to me, unable to find the right words.
“
I hate seeing you like
this,
”
he said last night, perching on the end of the glass coffee
table.
“
Tell me how to fix this, brother.
”

I
chuckled.
“
I don
’
t think you can fix
this, Joey.
”

I
practically live here, unable to return home and face my parents
each morning and night. If telling them about the baby was hard,
seeing them the other day was impossible. Joey begged me to see
them. My father calls him several times each day. I want to see
them and to bundle into my mother
’
s arms, but I
can
’
t.

“
Come here,
kiddo,
”
he said, as soon I stepped through the door. Inviting me
into his chest, he hugged me like he used to. Old memories of him
reading to me, my head on his shoulder, wrapping me under his
jacket on the side of the canal; wiping away tears after bumps and
bruises. He embraced me and tried to dissipate the pain, desperate
to relieve me.

“
Everything will be fine, you
hear me?
”
he whispered into my ear.
“
We
’
ll get through this
as a family.
”

Crying, my mother stood behind him with a tissue scrunched
into her fist. She smiled, tears streaming down her face, for she
not only hurt because I hurt, but because she lost a
grandson
…
and the daughter she never had.

Knees buckling, I lost control and tumbled to the floor,
huddled against the hallway wall and clinging to my legs. Against
the same wall they used to measure how tall I was, I sobbed and
shook all over.
“
I
’
m so sorry,
”
I cried, the words crackling out of
me.
“
I
’
m sorry,
”
I repeated over and over.

“
You have nothing to be sorry
about,
”
said my father, collapsing on the floor next to me. My
mother joined us, leaning her forehead on my forehead as her tears
mixed with my own. The three of us cried until there was nothing
left.

“
What do I do,
Dad?
”
I asked, coffee in hand as the night drew
in.

“
I don
’
t know, son. I
don
’
t think there
’
s much that can be
done at the moment. You just need time to figure things out. Time
does help. I promise, in time it
’
ll get
easier.
”
He shook his head.
“
It makes no sense. Are
you sure she meant it? Are you sure she wasn
’
t mad at
you?
”

“
I don
’
t know what
I
’
m sure about anymore.
”

“
Were there any
signs?
“

“
That she was cheating on me, or
hiding something like this?
”
I said, frustrated at myself more
than him, because it
’
s a question I
continue to ask.
“
No, Dad. I didn
’
t have a clue. It
wasn
’
t until afterwards I realised
…
it
doesn
’
t matter.
”

“
What? What is
it?
”

I
sighed, placing my cup on the table and leaning on my knees.
“
A few
months ago we did this stupid bet about who could last the
longest.
”

“
Last without
what?
”

“
Sex.
”
I looked at him.
“
I
don
’
t even remember why we did it, and
I
’
d forgotten all about it until she showed me one of my
letters. I thought it was months ago, but
…”

“
It coincides with the
pregnancy?
”

I nodded.

“
How long? How long
didn
’
t you have
…”

“
I don
’
t know. Six
weeks, maybe.
”

Sighing, he took a mouthful of coffee.
“
I
see.
”

“
I didn
’
t think about
it. It
’
s just some silly bet we did, and when she said
she was pregnant, it didn
’
t cross my mind,
because why would it? We love each other and trust each other
and
—“

“
I know, son. I
know.
”

My
mother pleaded with me to stay, but I couldn
’
t. The
house holds too many memories, and each time I look at either of
them I feel shame, embarrassment. My pain is their pain, and I
can
’
t handle that right now. That house, and them, and my
room
…
too many memories and moments to forget, although life in
general offers far too many.

Sitting on the train reminds me of her, and the times
we
’
d speak over the phone whilst I made my way home. Or
wrote her letters and read the ones she had written to me. Or the
fact I
’
d usually head home to see her and kiss her and
fall asleep beside her.

I lay awake at night scared to
close my eyes, for each time I do I picture her face. When I do
drift off into a restless sleep, I dream about her or him or
us.

Maybe if I understood the truth and the reasons why, it
would be easier. Maybe it wouldn
’
t. I can
’
t handle it,
and although Joey insists I shouldn
’
t, I keep trying to
call her; from phone boxes each time, the way I used to when we
were teenagers. My heart races with each ring, but she
doesn
’
t answer. I want to hear her but
I
’
m not sure what I
’
d do if she
answered. I
’
m not sure about
anything anymore.

“
I do have electricity, you
know,
”
says Joey, approaching from behind.

“
I love this
view.
”

“
Me too. The best view in
Leeds.
”

I nod, twisting away from him
until my face captures more of the shadows.

“
Look,
”
he says, sitting
beside me.
“
I
’
ve got something to tell you, but it
isn
’
t easy.
”

“
Did you speak to
B
? What did
she say?
”
I ask, grabbing his shirtsleeve.

“
I didn
’
t speak to
her.
”

“
What is it, then?
What
’
s happened? Is the baby okay?
”

He
shakes his head.
“
It isn
’
t good, brother. As
in, I don
’
t want to tell you, but I don
’
t think I
have a choice.
”

My stomach, chest and shoulders
tense into knots.

He
sighs and looks at the floor.
“
I guess
there
’
s no easy way to say all this, so I suppose I
should just spit it out. I knew someone had to know something. I
spoke to everyone, but nobody knew a damn thing.
”

“
You spoke to
everyone?
”
I ask,
clenching my teeth.
“
Everyone knows what
’
s
happened?
”

“
No. No, not like
that,
”
he says.
“
I promise. I figured if I started talking about her,
and bringing her up in conversation, at some point someone would
say something. Halifax
’
s a small town, and
we hang out in the same circles in Leeds. We know the same people.
There
’
s no way she could keep something like this
hidden.
”

I nod.

“
She did keep things hidden.
Nobody knew anything. I asked a bunch of door staff if
they
’
d seen her, but no one has for weeks. These guys know
everyone and everything about everybody. It didn
’
t make
any sense, so
…”
Reaching into his light brown satchel, he pulls out a
green folder with
B
’
s
name written on it.

“
What
’
s
this?
”

“
It
’
s about
B
.
”

I
glance at it and shake my head.
“
What do you mean
it
’
s about
B
? What is this?
”