‘It’s not contending with the news that’s the issue here, Aiden. It’s more than that. It requires a complete change of mindset. You’re going to be a dad and that doesn’t stop for the wedding or after the wedding or any time soon. In fact, it doesn’t stop for the rest of your life.’
Case in point; she was on the phone toherchild with one eye on the clock, worrying about him, trying to find solutions, doing her best to make everything feel better, and that child was hurtling towards thirty.
‘I know, Mum.’ His voice no more than a whisper and he sounded young, oh so very young. ‘When she saw the look on my face she knew it was no joke and she kind of pulled away from me, even though we weren’t touching. She pulled her arms in towards her body and pushed her legs together and moved an inch or two to the left so there was no danger of us making contact, of being close or of comfort being offered. Weirdly, I think that’s what I’ll always remember, not the words that cut the air between us, words that change everything, but the way she pulled away from me, shrank. It was as if she wanted no part of me, nothing.’ His voice cracked.
‘Oh, love. That can’t have been easy, but at least it’s done.’ She would never admit that at the back of her mind was a ping of relief at the thought that if things really were done, she could take a breath, life could get back to normal, or as close as it could, and they could let the madness of the last few weeks settle. ‘How are things now?’
‘We didn’t say anything for quite a while – well, it felt like quite a while, it might only have been minutes – and then she said, so what happens now? As though I knew the answer and wasn’t trying to figure it all out as I go along. It’s as if we’ve come to a fork inthe road that means we might have to turn in a different direction from the one we were planning.’
‘I guess that’s true, in a way.’
‘I don’t want to be a dad. I don’t want that, not with Holly and not now, I don’t want any of it!’
To hear his blunt and emotional admission was both agonising and infuriating. Enya closed her eyes and spoke plainly, all worry about treading carefully now gone. There was simply no time for that. If she was grabbing the reins, so could he!
‘Well, that, my love, is neither here nor there. The fact is, it’s happening.’
Her words, harshly spoken, were intended to galvanise the boy into understanding, if not action. It brought her no pleasure to be the one pointing out that his options were somewhat curtailed when it came to his choices about parenthood, but she knew it was important for him, for Holly, and for the future.
‘I’d better go.’
‘Yes, speak to me later, Aiden. And it will all be okay, I promise.’
‘You say that, Mum, and I want to believe you, I really do, but I just don’t know how it will all be okay. There are no guarantees, are there?’
She pictured Jonathan studying images on his laptop, clicking on hotels in Andalucía, pointing out walking routes, cycle paths and which restaurants by the water had the best gazpacho and pescaíto frito. They had debated back and forth over dates, wondering whether it was better to go for one week or two, a self-catering apartment or a fancy hotel, should they hire bikes or drive and take their own? Like her, part of the fun of a holiday for her husband was the planning, the imagining, the anticipation of all they would taste, sip and experience. This the last trip they had booked and one they had never taken, because illness had drawn their focus and they had done the opposite of shrinking away fromeach other. They had huddled close, touching, together as one, to face whatever came next. One team.
‘No, love, there are no guarantees.’
Her day passed quickly, and she was thankful. The shuffling of paperwork, filing of forms, making and taking calls, and even whipping up cups of tea, had all served to distract her from her thoughts about Aiden’s call. Her brain too full to linger on any discord between him and Iris. As the clock now nudged five, she nipped to the bathroom and washed her hands, applied a little scent, dabbed on her lip balm, and ran her fingers through her unruly mop of hair. As her stomach bunched with nerves, she spoke to her image in the mirror.
‘Why on earth did you say you’d meet her for a coffee?’
The answer was she hadn’t felt able to say no, and now she had no option other than announcing a sudden mystery illness or migraine or hiding in the cupboard until morning. It was, she decided, far easier to give advice on facing up to a situation than it was to act on it.
That, and the cupboard was in fact full of stationery, no room to hide at all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Enya’s phone beeped with a text from Trish; she was at Potters the coffee shop opposite the bookshop. Enya hastened her pace, not wanting to be late, and not wanting Trish to experience the same awkwardness she would feel if it were her sitting by herself waiting for someone to arrive. She wasn’t very good at drinking alone or dining alone, not that anyone else seemed to give a fig, but a heightened level of self-awareness meant she found it excruciating. This too something she needed to conquer, but one step at a time.
It was oddly jarring to see Iris’s mother in the place that was familiar to Enya, a little invasive for reasons she couldn’t easily voice. This woman, whose daughter had, through no fault of her own, caused such ripples of disharmony in Enya’s neighbourhood, her stomping ground. She looked behind her as she walked in, wary of seeing Jenny and of Jenny seeing her, not in the mood for confrontation today. Her heart skipped a little bit anyway.
Trish looked lovely as she raised her hand in a small wave. Her golden hair was neat, her make-up perfect, her nails a delicate shade of pretty pink. Enya stared at the beautiful woman and dismissed the uncomfortable flash of jealousy that sparked in her gut.
I am not that person.
She repeated this to herself as she smiled and made her way to the corner table, where two brimming, milky coffees bedecked with an arty fern shape in their foam sat next to a small plate of dainty macarons in lurid shades of green and purple.
‘I got you a latte, hope that’s okay?’ Trish rose to offer a brief hug that squeezed the last drops of pettiness and spite from Enya’s core.
‘Any coffee is good coffee, thank you! And thanks again for Saturday, still thinking about that view from your garden, don’t think I’d ever tire of staring at it.’
Not that I want to live in your house, with your husband, please don’t think that, I most definitely do not!These the words she had to strangle in her throat to stop them from leaping out into the wild.
‘Sorry the food was a bit lacklustre, and sorry I fell asleep before you left. I think it was the heat, it got to me.’ Trish double blinked, as if acknowledging the lie and hoping Enya swallowed it.
‘The food was fine, and don’t worry, the heat does that to me too.’ She sipped her coffee.
