The Baby (19 page)

‘Not at three o'clock in the morning she's not.'

He squeezes his forehead. ‘It's not fair that it's always you.'

She shrugs. ‘My choice.'

‘Shouldn't the dad have to do something?'

A small line forms between her eyes as she bends to lift Eliza on to her knee. ‘C'mon, you. Time for your bedtime bottle.'

He watches the soothing ritual; the baby sagging into Nicola's elbow, her eyes attached to her mum's. The button mouth ready to pull on the bottle, a tiny, soft hand lifted to graze against the plastic; a whisper of encouragement from Nicola.

Ben sips his cider and waits. Won't break the silence.

He breathes in the scented candle and fidgets his feet. It's never normally awkward.

Just the soft ticking of Eliza's mouth.

But then he suddenly has to say something, feels a bubble of it form in his stomach. Coughs. ‘Nic, what's this all about?' He nods at the candle. ‘You're not trying to seduce me are you? Cos you know I'm a lost cause.'

She giggles – which is a godsend – and pulls out the teat from Eliza's mouth with a small pop.

‘No,' but the tiny frown lines reappear when she tilts her head, ‘though you weren't always.'

He swallows. This is really unusual. This is never normally talked about. That mad hour all those months ago has been buried. Buried under clods of embarrassment, hidden behind a good friendship, away from the eyes of Olivia.

‘Woah! What you bringing that up for? I kind of thought we'd agreed never to talk about it again.' Hears his voice suddenly all thin and reedy. ‘My disastrous, last-ditch attempt at straightness.'

Nicola lifts Eliza on to her shoulder, starts patting away at her back. It's OK though, there's at last a smile with a mischief flavour on her lips. ‘Cheeky shit. That last-ditch attempt was my virginity.'

He laughs. Ducks his head. Feels shivers. Remembers the fumbles. Remembers their drunkenness; the mess of clothes and the taste of disappointment. In her bedroom while her mum was downstairs watching
Downton Abbey
. They'd been
drinking all day. Stolen vodka from Olivia's dad's drinks cabinet. Dutch courage, and an agreement – to get shot of their virginities. A mess. A disastrous, horrible mess which set his mind straight once and for all. He was gay. One hundred per cent.

‘Oops.'

Eliza's drowsy. Her legs have slumped, frog-shaped against Nicola. She looks the picture of sated baby. ‘I need to take her up.' She stands, places the empty bottle on the table next to his cider. Nods to the stairs. ‘Want to come?'

‘Um, OK.'

The bedroom's dark. Already prepared for a sleeping baby. Curtains drawn, floor cleared for walking on. Nicola's bed all made up ready for slipping into. The cot's empty, save a small, purple cloth rabbit in the corner.

He looks at all this. She's brilliant is Nicola. A really good mum. This happy, sleeping baby is proof. Ben swells with pride. Leans against the door frame watching them. There's a small sigh from the sleeping baby. It's lovely. Really lovely.

Nicola straightens after fussing a bit over the side of the cot. She pushes her shoulders back, stands upright.

‘I've never been good at maths, Ben.'

‘What?'

‘I've never been good at dates and things.'

‘That's OK. You don't need to, to get into the fashion business … do you?' She's starting to confuse him. Doesn't like the shake in her hands.

‘She's got blue eyes.'

He frowns. ‘I know, like Jonty.'

‘So have you.'

His whole body is pinned against the door frame now. Something's fixing him there. There's a pulse in the side of his throat. ‘Um … what are you trying to say, Nicola?'

Her hand is on the side of the cot but the rest of her has turned to face him. He's never seen her look so serious. Her hair falls, all waves on her shoulders. ‘I'm saying that I think I may have got it wrong, Ben. That when I worked it out with the calendar last week, like I should have done before, the dates don't match.' She looks back at the cot. ‘They don't match for Jonty.' And then she whispers so that he can't really hear her. But it doesn't matter. He knows, like a siren – an alarm-triggering, skin-prickling distress signal – what she's saying. ‘But they do match for you.'

The words sock him in the stomach. Sock at him like a mallet.

‘You think she might be … be mine?'

She nods. Bites her bottom lip.

‘Oh God. But what about Jonty?'

She moves to the bed. Perches on the end like her legs can't hold her any more. Her teeth are gnawing at her lip. It starts to look sore. She speaks between her fingers.

‘I was stupid. I just went along with it like everybody else. I think because you and me … well, it was only the once and neither of us really remembers it. And it was such a disaster. I think, because me and Jonty did it four times …'

‘Shit, Nic. I can't …' Swallows great globs of shock. ‘I can't
believe what you're saying.'

There's a roar inside his head then. Like being in a cave and having a crash of the sea echo and collapse. The wave splatters and collides against the side of his scalp, so it hurts.

His foot is tapping on the threadbare carpet. Can't seem to swallow. Can't seem to breathe. There's another crash of the wave and he wishes he was sitting down like Nicola.

He slumps on to the floor.

Knows she's staring. He can feel her eyes lasering him.

The baby …
his
baby stirs in her sleep. The mallet socks at him again.

Thinks fleetingly of the cider downstairs. Of tripping down the steps; of the coolness of the liquid; of the alcohol burning down his throat. He could down it; swing open the front door and run outside into the still-light evening air. Nobody would know any different. Parties could still be had. It would only take a few quick texts and he'd find a way of spending his Saturday night. Nobody would know any different.

Except Nicola. Nicola with the heart-shaped mouth; with the concerned look and the words which have just battered at his insides.

He knows he's got to say something. The room is bursting with the expectation of it.

‘Um …'

He's never lost for words. His English teacher says he's too full of them.

She squeezes her nose with pinched fingers. She won't take his eyes off him. ‘Ben?'

‘How can you be sure?' Hates himself.

With a disappointed drop of the head, so he feels even worse. ‘It was nine months and two days before she was born.' She looks at him then. He doesn't like the hardness in her eyes. ‘The first time I slept with Jonty was seven months and three days.' She smoothes her hands over her thighs. ‘And she wasn't premature. She was a healthy, full-term baby.'

‘How did you—?'

She looks up again. Her eyes glitter with tears. ‘My health visitor. She's good. She does more than she should. I think because I'm seventeen she's allowed to do more visits.' She shrugs. ‘I don't know.' She pushes her lips with her finger. He wants to tell her to stop doing that. ‘So last week, we were talking about conception and stuff. So that it doesn't happen again. Not till I want it to. About the menstrual cycle and ovulation.' She winces. ‘Sorry, is this too much information?'

He manages to shake his head.

‘So we got out the calendar from last year and she made me go through it. Showed me about dates. I mean we learnt about it in Biology, didn't we? I should have known. But all that was a bit sciency, not really about me. So she said that the best way to learn was to look at it yourself. Know your own body and stuff. Kind of apply it to you. Does that make sense?'

Nodding. It's all he can do right now.

‘And it's when we did that that I suddenly realized that the dates don't add up. Not with Jonty.'

There's a silence in the room which is noisy as it clashes against the walls.

He stands up. Takes another look at Eliza. She's on her back, her hands either side of her head. Surrendering. Peaceful.

It's difficult to swallow. Difficult to breathe.

‘Jonty'll go crazy.'

She nods. ‘But what about you?'

‘Um … Nic, this is a bit hard to take in. Um … Can I have a minute? You know, to get my head together.'

She drops her head quickly so that her hair falls like a curtain round her face. He feels bad. Really bad. ‘Look, I believe you. Don't get me wrong … only … um …'

Hates himself. Hate, hate, hate.

She stands up. All sharp. ‘OK. Look, why don't you go? Go and have a think. It's OK. I've had a week to think about this. I'm sorry. Sorry for springing this on you …'

‘I'll be all right. I'll help and stuff, only I'm a bit … you know …'

They're bustling to the door. Jostling for the stairs. Awkward elbows and knees. He can't get out quick enough. Desperate for air. Gagging to get outside.

Clashes against the front door, fumbles for the latch. Hears the solid crunch of it as it closes behind him.

At the end of the path, when he's sure she's not looking, he leans over. Rests his hands on his thighs. Breathes ragged, painful gasps. Hair in his eyes.

Don't be sick, not here
.

‘Did you have a nice time?' Bella's hand is in his. It's small and soft, her fingers grip tightly as they cross the road.

She skips up the curb. ‘We had burgers. Tia's mum is a great cook. She does curly chips.'

Ben smiles. Bella judges everyone by what they offer to eat. ‘Curly chips, eh?'

She giggles. ‘And pink sauce.'

They're walking home on his birthday evening. He tries not to feel sorry for himself. It's not Olivia's fault she was busy on his birthday. The card and Rolling Stones T-shirt more than make up for it. But even so, she's been his friend for a while now and he can't help feeling hurt. He wonders what she's doing. What's more important than seeing a mate on their birthday?

It's eight o'clock. The time when he should be getting ready for going out, like everyone else on their birthdays. Instead he's been made to collect his sister from her own celebrations with her five-year-old friend.

His head is full of Nicola and Eliza. He's had a week to think of her news. Can't get them from under his skin. He's phoned her a couple of times. Told her he's OK. Reassured her that he understands. That he believes her. That he accepts he
is
Eliza's dad. But he's not really sure. Not really sure that he's up to this. That stupid, drunken fling proved what exactly? Something he knew already. And then Eliza. He's still reeling with it, despite what he's said. But he loves them. Loves them both. And he'd never let them down. Nicola's brilliant these days – so strong. But she still needs all the support she can get. And if it means it has to come from him, then so be it. But fatherly support? Well, that's something completely different.
And he still can't get his head round it.

Goes to sleep worrying about it. Wakes up early with it still there. A pounding pebble of fret.

‘And ice cream with strawberry sauce.' His sister is still reeling off the menu. Any other time and it'd make him laugh.

The house is surprisingly gloomy when they walk up the path. The windows are blank and unwelcoming; it looks somehow bare. He frowns. Feels Bella's reticence in her fingers. She loiters reluctantly behind his legs. ‘Where is everyone?'

He feels for his keys. ‘Maybe they've gone out?' His voice sounds unnaturally loud in the silence. He's aware of his sister's sudden fear. ‘I'll give Mum a ring when we get in.'

Inside he can't understand why there are no lights on. His mum always leaves the lamp on in the hallway. He stretches his fingers to where the lamp should be. Everything feels strange.

Alarm trickles up his back. Something's not right.

Bella trembles in the doorway. ‘Ben?' Her voice quavers.

‘Stay there,' he demands and reaches for a stick by the front door which his stepdad uses when he goes walking.

And then, all of a sudden, there's a flash of light and a yell which has stars prickling at the back of his head.

‘Surprise!'

It's a multi-voiced shriek which makes him jump several centimetres off the laminate. Bella leaps to the back of his knees, her little arms circling around his thighs.

And so it's in this ridiculous pose, with him brandishing a
stick and his sister round his legs that he greets a room full of grinning, laughing friends.

Out of the haze of faces and teeth and party poppers shooting off in all directions, he first spots his mum, then Olivia, then Nicola.

Relief and shock fizz through him. He drops the stick and finally realizes what's happening: he's been had. He'd been sent out to collect his sister so that a shedload of mates could come round and surprise him. He didn't know he had so many friends. And suddenly a grin as wide as the moon splits his face.

A birthday surprise.

‘You bastards.' He laughs, then clamps his fingers over his mouth as he remembers his sister is there.

Then there are hugs. Great, perfumed, smiling, lovely hugs which thrill his insides. The noise is deafening and Bella has folded on to the floor in shock. Someone cranks up some music in the living room and his mum stands proudly by his side, scooping up Bella, telling her that everything's all right.

‘Mum?' he sighs. ‘You did this?'

She shakes her head. ‘Not me.' She nods over to Olivia and Nicola. ‘This is all their doing. I'm just providing the venue.'

Olivia grins and moves close to him so that he can breathe in her honey fragrance. ‘You honestly thought we'd forget your birthday?' she shouts over the music.

‘The T-shirt … ?'

She smiles, winding her arms round his neck. ‘Just a clever ploy.'