CALLAN
One Month Ago
I’m surrounded by chaos, but that’s nothing new. It’s the last dash to make the house inhabitable before contracts are exchanged in a few days. All the jobs that can be done in tandem are being done. The kitchen and bathroom are being fitted. The first coat of paint is being put on the walls in whatever room is the least chaotic. The carpet has arrived and is rolled up in the front room. I’m doing the electrics around them all. You’d think that a company specialising in new build houses would be better organised. You’d be wrong.
My phone rings when I’m halfway through adding a fuse for the lights to the circuit board. I ignore it. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message. It stops ringing but starts again almost straight away.
“Are you going to get that, Callan?” Liam asks me as he wanders past with a sink in his arms.
He’s part of the crew fitting the kitchen. The circuit board is under the stairs in the hallway. There isn’t much room for me to work or for him to pass. It’s a good thing we’re used to it.
“Not right now.”
The phone stops ringing and then starts again.
“Someone wants to get hold of you,” Liam yells from the kitchen.
“My guess is a woman,” Séan chimes in. “Did you fuck and run last night?”
“No. That’s your style, not mine.”
The ringing stops.
I finish my task, stand, and shake my legs and shoulders. Crouching in confined spaces is never fun, but it’s a large part of my job. I check who the missed calls were from. Ironically, Séan was partially right. They were from a woman, but not a one-night stand.
I haven’t heard from Niamh in almost seven months since we broke up and moved out of our shared flat. The rent was too high for either of us to afford alone.
I step into the kitchen. “I’m taking a break.”
Liam gives me a thumbs up. Séan stops cutting a piece of worktop to size so he can grind his hips. I roll my eyes and go into the garden. The turf hasn’t been laid, and the fences still need to be built, so it’s nothing more than a patch of dirt. The boundaries are marked with string, stretched between thin poles. Like the house’s interior, it will be transformed within the next few days.
I call Niamh.
She answers almost immediately. “Callan?”
“Aye. What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant.”
I almost drop the phone. My brain turns into cotton wool. I can’t think. “I haven’t seen you in—”
“It’s due in just over a month.”
My heart leaps into my dry mouth. “Are you saying—?”
“It’s yours.”
“Did you know when you left?”
“No.”
But she must have realised soon after. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to know.”
“You—?” I take a calming breath. There’s no point in getting angry.
“I want you to be there. At the birth.”
