She felt the tightening in her throat, quite overwhelmed with a rush of love, heavily flavoured with nostalgia. It happened like this, these reminders that they were no longer carefree students with their whole lives ahead of them and barely a care in the world. It had been a lovely time. The loveliest. ‘That’s so cool. Mother and baby doing well? I think that’s the standard question!’
‘Yes, yes, really well. He’s awesome, Ash, so tiny! But just ... awesome!’
She heard the crack of emotion in his words and was pleased for him, pleased for them both. It was something she understood, even if it didn’t reflect her own feelings around becoming a mother. She had seen and felt the elation in those all around her, none more so than in Archie, of course, and that had felt like enough, to know it was her effort, her body, her sacrifice that had made the whole thing possible.
‘We’ve decided to call him Ben.’
‘You’ve decided to call himBen?’ she asked with undisguised shock, her words coasting on laughter.
‘Yes.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re joking?’ She hardly dared ask, the tone of his voice suggesting a distinct lack of humour.
‘I’m not joking, no. Bit controversial, I know, but ...’
‘Bit controversial? Your dog is called Ben! Ben the dog! Ben the dog with his many, many outfits!’ She pointed out the obvious, wondering if maybe in a state of post-birth delirium and with a heady cocktail of drugs whizzing around Ada’s system, this had been decided in error.
‘Yeah, and honestly, Brett, there’s no name we like more, so Ben it is!’ He laughed.
‘That’s absolutely mad!’ She laughed too.
‘It’s not mad. It’s practical, and we like it, so.’
‘Well, obviously you like it, proof being that you already named your much pampereddogBen and now you’ve called yoursonBen. What will happen if you have another baby, a girl maybe, will she be Ben too? Benita? Benjamina? Or maybe you could just number them all:Number five, your tea’s ready! Number three, phone call for you!’
‘I’m, erm ...’ He didn’t laugh in the way she had anticipated, and she felt her gut fold with having got it so wrong, as the clock ticked loudly. It was strange, to feel so awkward and ill at ease when chatting to Guy.Guy!‘I’m going to let you go, Ashleigh.’Ashleigh, she noted, notBrett. ‘I know you must be busy.’ His thinly veiled dismissal was jarring, and she knew that the old Guy, the pre-Ada Guy,Gigi, would have laughed loudly at the thought of having a whole brood of Bens. ButthisGuy ... It was a marker of where they were at – matured, a little estranged, grown up?
All three. His reaction hit her like a thump in the gut.
‘Give Ada my love and give Ben a kiss from me. That’s Ben the baby, not ...’ Ashleigh let this hang. She heard his mouth open as if to say something else, but then he was gone. His absence echoed down the line, and she smothered the desire to cry. There was far too much to do today for that. She sat for a while, composing herself, staring out of the window at the comings and goings along Chiswick High Road, wondering if it was her.
Ben?She stifled her laughter and couldn’t wait to hear what Archie thought of it all.
A quick squizz on the Peter Jones website, and a bouquet of baby vests was to be sent to their address, along with a bottle ofchampers and a box of cupcakes from the bakery they loved. No expense spared.
The door opened and in walked their accountant, Bernie. She wasn’t expecting him, not that it wasn’t nice to see him. He was smiley, round and calm, the perfect antidote to her call with Guy.
‘Hey, Bernie. I’ve just got off the phone to Guy. You’re not going to believe it, but the little one’s arrived!’
‘Oh, fantastic.’ He dumped his leather bag by the chair and sat down hard. ‘What variety did they get?’
‘Little boy, called Ben.’
‘Ben?’ She watched his brow furrow as the fact landed. ‘But isn’t that ...’
‘It is,’ she confirmed. ‘I can’t even ...’ They both laughed with their hands over their mouths, as if to do so in the business that was half Guy’s was not the done thing.
‘Well, that’s um ...’ She watched the man try to find the right thing to say and mentally matched his confusion. ‘It’s going to be fun when one of them is naughty:Ben, stop eating grass!’
‘Ben, don’t cock your leg on the wheelie bin!’
‘Ben’s bitten the postie!’
‘Ben, stop sniffing Fifi’s bottom!’
‘Has Ben had his worming tablet?’
They both chuckled again before Bernie calmed and coughed, as if trying to find a level of gravitas befitting his role as their accountant. He pointed towards the door.
