Next year is going to be interesting. And not in the best way, speaking purely selfishly. I’m going to study locally to be a dance teacher, helping others reach those heights that were nearly mine; but Tim is all set to go to a great university for his qualifications in IT. It’ll almost certainly take him away from Foxton, and to be honest, I dread that. It’ll confuse Eleanor, and not seeing him when she expects to will break her poor little heart.
And mine.
It may have been my idea for us to split and focus on co-parenting, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still love him with everything I am. And the idea of him moving away, even temporarily…maybe even movingon… It makes a cold pit of sick emptiness open up in my stomach. I won’t be there when he goes. I know I won’t be able to watch him drive away. I’d run after him, begging him to come back and stay, and that would be monumentally selfish. He’s so fluid with technology, an obvious computer genius; if gardeners have green fingers, his must emit their own WiFi signal. The sheer number of times he’s fixed my old PC and gotten it working when it’s a hunk of irredeemable junk says it all, as far as I’m concerned. He deserves to get to the very top of his game, and I won’t stand in the way of that. But then, it’s not just about himorme anymore. We’ll figure something out, visit him at the weekends or something to make sure El still has a very present Daddy.
Unless he makes other plans with someone else…
I shake it off, frowning to myself for being so unfair. Tim would never put anything above spending his time with his daughter. He hasn’t yet; he even quit his spot as captain of the school football team because he’d rather read Eleanor stories and puther to bed than go to all their practices and matches. I wasn’t the only person giving something up after parenthood hit.
“All good?” he asks me with a bright smile.
“Yep.” I hand him the half eaten banana. “Just to let you know, the last couple of evenings she’s wailed in the bathtub until you bring in Mr Unicorn to watch her do splashies.”
“Alright, I’m sure we can make some sort of arrangement, hey, El?” I love the way he speaks to her, talking normally like they’re having a proper conversation.
“Yooooooocaw.” She nods importantly. “Yooooocaw spash.”
“Did you bring a change of shirt?”
“I brought two.” He taps his bag. “After last time…”
I grimace. There was a projectile vomiting situation. It did mean I got to come home to him shirtless and trying to dry his top with my hairdryer, which was both hilarious and distractingly hot, reminding me how achy and wet he can still get me in spite of my best efforts to let that go. “Yeah, good call.” I cast around for something else to say that isn’t about the baby. “How… How are things? Generally, I mean.”
He gives me another warm grin. “Yeah, all good. Got accepted into Foxton University.”
I gape. “You did?” My brain short circuits.He’s staying. He’s going to stick around and not move away. “But…I thought your dad wanted you to go to Cambridge?”
He snorts. “Not what I wanted. And besides, there’s no way I’d leave my little princess here.” He kisses Eleanor’s head, andshe continues smushing banana into her face, unaware that her mummy’s knees are weak with relief for us both.
“We could have made something work,” I murmur, scratching the back of my neck. “If you’d wanted to go somewhere else…”
He grabs my wrist, and heat and longing jolts through me, emanating from his grasp. “Nat,” he says quietly, “I could never leave. I’d be miserable.”Without you, I hear in my imagination. In my deepest dreams.
My eyes meet his, and his steady, determined look tells me everything I need to know. And everything I can’t bear to hear. I thought maybe the feelings I had for him would lessen in time, dial back to a manageable level, but they haven’t. They won’t. All that ever exists in my mind is him and our daughter, playing and giggling together, him lying on the carpet and holding her up, flying her around like superman. The way he makes up stories with kickass queens and generals, all called Eleanor, who rescue themselves rather than waiting for Prince Charming, and rule their kingdoms fairly and independently. How he’s never, not once, been impatient with her, even when she’s teething and fractious or just in a temper. Even when I’m notactivelythinking of them both, they’re there, in my head, the two people I love most in the whole world.
Someday, my choice won’t hurt as much and won’t feel so stupid.
I gently tug my wrist back. “As long as you’re sure,” I mutter, picking my own bag up from the counter.
“Yep. Still.Always.” He says the last word really quietly, and I have to go before I break down and beg him to forget what I said and come back to me.
To recalibrate, I look at Eleanor. She needs us both to be a solid and reliable unit for her, and young love is anything but. She’s more important than my lingering feelings. I can do this.For her. “Bye, sweetie,” I say, giving her a kiss. “Be good for Daddy.”
“She’s never anything but.” He nods at the door. “Sure you don’t want me to drive you?” he doesn’t ask during the winter months, when it’s dark outside by this time: heinsists.
“I’m good. She’s settled here now, anyway.” I pull my eyes away and go to the door. “Call me if you need to.”
“We’ll be fine.” He looks like he’s about to say something, and then sighs, discarding whatever it was. “Have a great class.”
We’re doing the right thing, I insist to myself as I leave.We ARE.
My dance teacher lets me clean the studio and lock up after classes, in exchange for free lessons. It was a really kind offer I was glad to accept; the baby takes up all of my mother’s spare income, and without this generosity from Mrs Shevchenkova, I don’t suppose there’d be enough money to pay for them.
It also allows me a little time after everyone has left to have the studio entirely to myself. And this ismytime. I’m not Mummy. I’m nobody’s daughter. I’m not a schoolgirl. I’m justme. And Icut loose, dancing however I choose for a few precious minutes to whatever music strikes my fancy among the CDs in Mrs Shevchenko’s collection. Sometimes I bring my own, but I don’t like to plan too much.
I’m trained in ballet, jazz, tap, street dancing, samba, all sorts. But in these moments, I let the music inspire me and freestyle my butt off. I think if I didn’t have these moments, I’d have given in to depression long ago. Dancing is my therapy, my touchstone, my north star. I can’t put into words what it means to me.
Today I started withDiamondsby Rihanna, andDie Youngby Ke$ha followed because I put a compilation album on random to keep myself on my toes. I’m in the middle of twirling around toSome Nightsby fun. when I hear the door bang and nearly lose my balance, righting myself just in time.
