‘No. Not stupid at all. I think you’d be great,’ he says eventually. ‘Wasn’t your dad a teacher too?’
‘He was, among other things – he dabbled in the stock market as well, which was always a surprising thing about him. He’d be thrilled if I stayed, thrilled if I became a teacher. I hope I don’t let him down. I never want to let him down again. Anyway. Enough about me, fascinating as I am – what about you? You said last night you’d stay for as long as you were needed…’
I don’t specify who by, because we have cleared the air, and I don’t want to pollute it again. He nods and finishes his coffee.
‘Yeah. I’m staying, for now at least. There’s plenty of work around here, and Archie says the village committee is looking at taking on a handyman as well.’
‘That could work,’ I say, gazing at him thoughtfully. ‘You are a man, and you are indeed handy…’
‘Are you thinking about me in a tool belt again?’
‘Absolutely not. That would be flirting, and I don’t do that any more, remember?’
The slow, indulgent smile he gives me is enough to make me reconsider that vow. In fact it’s enough to make me reconsidereverything – including my recent vow of chastity. Week sixteen of pregnancy, the internet tells me, is when I might see an increased sex drive. The internet is obviously wrong, because I feel like I’ve had that since I met this man. The man I have literally just told is firmly in the friend zone. Ah.
Luckily, I am saved from my sick temptations by the arrival of a now wide awake two-year-old boy in dinosaur pyjamas. He crawls out of the tent flap, looks around with bleary eyes then spots us. He makes a tottering beeline in our direction and climbs straight onto Guy’s back. Pummelling his shoulders, he yells: ‘Aeroplane, Grandad, aeroplane!’
Guy laughs and hoists him up onto his shoulders, spreads his arms out like wings, and zooms around the field at top speed making revving noises. Evan clings on for dear life, chuckling so much he can barely breathe.
I lie back on the grass and watch, laughing at their antics. The bigger picture is too much for me to really comprehend – but the little picture? The tiny details, the sweet brush strokes of life like the sound of a child’s giggle? That will do for now.
SIXTEEN
The next couple of weeks pass in a simple and summery blur. The weather holds fine, warm to the point where I am starting to be glad that I won’t be at my biggest for a while yet. The combination of the heat and pregnancy would be highly sweaty indeed.
I’m definitely showing a little now but have yet to feel the baby move. Ella assures me that this is completely normal in a first pregnancy, or at least a first pregnancy that made it this far, but I am still desperate for it to happen. To feel the tangible evidence that he or she is in there, doing somersaults and flips in their cosy watery home.
‘Don’t worry,’ she’d told me, ‘it’ll happen. And it’ll be amazing. The very best butterflies in your tummy.’
I’ve been calling in to see Ella on a regular basis, often just for a chat. The fact that she is both a doctor and a woman who has suffered the loss of a baby herself means she is the perfect sounding board for many of my irrational fears, niggling doubts, and ‘what if’ moments. She has endless patience with me, and I always leave her company feeling so much calmer.
In other exciting developments, I have started holding a sunset yoga class on the beach, which is proving extremelypopular. It’s a gentle and meditative thing, with stretches, breathing, and sitting still with our thoughts. That’s the hardest bit for many people, including me. I do love it, though, and enjoy meeting the new people who turn up to join in – locals, men and women from the surrounding villages, tourists who are staying in Starshine. It’s nice to feel useful, to feel like I’m contributing to life here even if it is in such a small way.
My dad has even come along to one of the sessions, though he did bring a deck chair. ‘If I sit on the sand,’ he told me, ‘I’d need a crane and a hoist to get me back up again.’
I think he’s enjoying having me around, and I am enjoying being with him. That sounds straightforward but it was by no means always that way, and I never took it for granted that we would both settle into our current state of gentle ease.
He has never pushed, never prodded, only very delicately raising the issue of living arrangements once the baby is born by asking what colour I’d like to paint the nursery.
‘I know, I know,’ he’d added, looking sheepish, ‘that sounds like I’m being presumptuous! But I’m not, really – if you decide to move on, which is totally fine of course, then I like to hope that you will at least come and visit occasionally. And when you do, I’d like my new grandchild to always feel at home here. Would that be all right with you, sweetheart?’
It made me a little sad that he was being so careful not to pressurise me, but also grateful. He is giving me space, letting me know that he will support whatever decision I make – and by giving me that freedom, he is showing me love.
I hugged him and gave him a kiss. ‘At the moment, Dad, I’m not planning on going anywhere. And in fact it’s me who should be asking you what you want, not the other way around. I don’t assume that I can just turn up out of the blue after donkeys’ years and expect you to look after me.’
‘Why ever not?’ he asked, frowning and looking genuinely confused. ‘I’m your dad, and that’s what dads do! How would you feel if it was your child?’
‘I don’t really know yet, but… Okay, I take your point. I’d probably forgive it anything, and love it even if it grows up to be a bit of a pillock. But thank you anyway. I want you to know that I appreciate it, Dad. When I was younger, I was so rude! Rude and ungrateful and constantly resentful. I’m so sorry.’
He waved the comment away, making light of it. ‘You were much better once you’d left for university, Suzie, which your mother knew all along would be the case. I never understood that, but I didn’t need to – your mum did, and I just loved you regardless. In exactly the same way you will love your child, no matter what.’
‘Is this that unconditional love malarkey I’ve heard about?’
‘Indeed it is,’ he said firmly. ‘And you can rely on it. You have a home here for as long as you want one. I adore having you here, and I’m a dab hand at baby-wrangling.’
I thanked him and left it at that. I don’t suppose it’s part of anybody’s life plan to move back in with a parent in their forties, but I am not exactly a life plan kind of person – plus I seem to be doing everything back to front. Besides, I missed so many years with him that the thought of leaving again feels insane. I also have practicalities to think of. I might be independent, but this is the real world, and I am a middle-aged woman about to have a kid. I will need help and support and understanding, and I’d be crazy to turn down help with baby-wrangling. There is a lot to think about, for sure.
My dad has asked a few questions about the baby’s father, and never once so much as raised an eyebrow at the unorthodox situation. For a man who was born in the 1930s, he has a remarkably open mind. Alex himself is in South Sudan for the foreseeable future, but we have been in contact. I’ve sent him apicture of the scan photo, and he is cautiously excited about the prospect of being a father, albeit a long distance one for now. His suggestion for a baby name is Jose, after the brand of tequila we were drinking the night we magically and accidentally created a whole new human life. Naming your child after booze seems like a bad omen, though.
