‘You really want me to come over?’ he says hesitantly.
‘Yeah, I’d just like to see you,’ she says. ‘That’s all. Would that be okay?’
It takes Eddie a moment to digest this. ‘Right. Yeah, of course.’ His heart is lifting now. Then something occurs to him. ‘I … don’t actually have your address.’
Lyla emits a small laugh. ‘This is so mad, isn’t it?’
‘It is, yeah.’ His mouth twists into a smile.
‘I’ll text you it. See you soon.’ And with that, she’s gone. Eddie lies there, grinning, for a moment. Then he scrambles out of bed, deciding this is it. He must seize the day! He remembers Mr Crowther, his English teacher, barking at him when he was having a little nap on his desk.
‘Wake up, Mr Silva! Carpe diem! Know what that means?’
‘Something to do with carpets?’ he’d wondered aloud. The whole class laughed, including Mr Crowther – and now Eddie is going to do just that.
‘Carpe diem!’ he announces out loud in his dismal room. Grinning now, Eddie reaches up to his window, rips down the faded bath towel and blinks, joyously, as sunlight streams in.
Chapter Thirty
Eddie feels super-charged as he strides along Princes Street. No lolloping walk now. He bounds along as if he’d guzzled a whole tub of Raj and Calum’s vitamins and his hourly quota of water according to the markings on the giant plastic bottle. He isn’t smoking a roll-up because he’s trying to stop smoking, as of forty-five minutes ago when he woke up.
Already it’s making him weirdly sticky-eyed and hyper-aware of every nerve in his body, but he just needs to ride through it. Can’t be smoking around a baby, he’s decided. Can’t be all stinky with Rizlas, filters and lighters stuffed in his pockets when he has his newborn son or daughter in his arms.
The irony of having to ask Lyla for her address isn’t lost on him as he walks past a bagpiper, the squawks and drone so discordantly awful, it sounds as if the pipes are being reversed over by a truck. But it feels good, like some kind of progression. Of course he’d been to her flat before – onthe night it happened – but he’d never have been able to find it again. And now he knows where she lives!
He is smiling as he rides the escalator down to Marks & Spencer’s food hall. Because he’s decided to pick up a couple of gifts for Lyla. He rushes around the store, piling a basket with chocolates, posh biscuits and a showy bunch of brightly coloured flowers. He baulks at the price tag – is that how much flowers cost? He’s never bought anyone any before, apart from a tiny bunch of supermarket daffodils for Mother’s Day on strict instructions from his dad. And they were only two quid. Still, Lyla’s worth it, he tells himself. Then he’s back on street level and bounding along with his wares.
Still an hour and a half before he’s due to start his shift. The restaurant’s nearby. Maybe he’ll take Lyla there sometime soon. Really, he has no idea how things are going to pan out. But now he’s allowing himself to believe that they might be …something.Like partners. Co-parents. Not in an intimate sense, but as two sensible adults who created a child and are somehow going to manage the whole business with ease and maturity and everything will befine.
He reaches the main door to her building and, a little nervous now, presses her bell. She buzzes him in and he hurries upstairs. Bizarre how they conceived a child in this building and he has no recollection of the place at all. Then her door opens and she’s standing there, wearing a fresh white T-shirt and black sweatpants, her bump clearly visible now and a big smile on her face.
‘Oh, flowers!’ She beams. ‘That’s so sweet of you. Come in. I’ve got some coffee on.’
‘Great. Thanks.’ She takes the gifts from him and he glances at her bump.A bun in the oven!Marius had teased him at work, when word got out. It seems a bit crude now and Eddie is all on edge, wondering what to do with himself as she goes off to fetch their coffees.
‘Sure you can’t come to Dinah’s thing tonight?’ she calls through.
‘Sorry, I really can’t,’ he replies, although now he wishes he could. But after Marius’s talk yesterday he’s determined not to put a foot wrong. He’s checked out Jill Gilbert. She not only writes for a prominent newspaper, but glossy magazines too,andshe’s a guest judge on a cookery show. He’s inspected pictures of her, forensically. With her short black hair and red lipstick – like a slash of blood – she looks pretty scary. Eddie is relieved that he’ll be in the kitchen rather than having to interact with her face to face tomorrow.
His gaze skims the pale grey walls, the expensive-looking lamps and the porridge-coloured sofa. He perches on the edge of it, afraid of sullying it. Unlike the sofa at his place, it’s not covered by a throw. This, he realises, is because there aren’t any stains that need hiding. When will Eddie have furniture that doesn’t need shrouding in pieces of cloth?
Lyla reappears with their coffees in posh-looking china mugs that remind him of the one he smashed back at home, which belonged to his mum. She places them on the low table in front of them, and sits beside him. ‘Funny this is only the second time you’ve been here,’ she remarks with a smile.
‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘So …’ He picks up his cup and takes a sip. ‘How’re you doing? How’s your work and stuff?’
‘It’s good,’ she says lightly.
Eddie doesn’t know what else to ask about her job because he doesn’t really know what it is. ‘And are you … you know?’ His gaze drops briefly to her bump.
‘I feel good,’ she says with a nod. ‘Bit tired sometimes but that’s normal.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ he says, although he has no idea.
Lyla smiles. ‘It’s kicking, you know.’
‘What, right now?’ he asks, astounded.
She laughs as he stares at her bump. ‘Not right now, no. But come here, put your handhere…’ His heart jolts as she takes his hand and places it on her bump.
