Behaving Like Adults (49 page)

Waiting for him to speak, I remembered something he'd once said. ‘I prefer excitement to contentment.' He'd thrown it at me during a row over money. He'd rather slit his throat, he'd declared, than save for a new kitchen, the very
thought
of it made him shudder. He wanted to live in Rome, winter in Zermatt, spend New Year in Barbados, meet thrilling people, do glamorous things, not save for kitchens. He made me feel like a dullard and I'd repeated his claim to Rachel who, like any good friend, pronounced it ‘a rotten, suspicious statement'.

‘Does the sweet thing not realise that contented people can
also
be excited?' she'd drawled, killing a match and taking the first glorious drag of nicotine. ‘To need constant excitement, babes, it's an escape, a fix, it suggests a person who is unhappy in life and unreconciled to reality.'

With dread I'd thought, was that Nick?

It wasn't now.

‘They were so sodding
unfriendly
,' he blurted. ‘I'd bought him this plastic dancing Elvis for his dashboard as a hello present – it twirls and jiggles as you drive – and
Russell goes, “What the fuck would I want with that?” He's my half-brother, and there was . . . nothing. It was like he
hated
me. He looks nothing like me, he's really weird. I don't know what you call it – arrested development? He's twenty-three and he's like a baby. Stroppy. Dressed in black, head to foot, and he smelt, like he hadn't washed. He picked his nose
openly
. Our mother said his room's all black, too, and he collects knives. He doesn't look at you when he's talking to you, but mostly he doesn't talk, he grunts. He ate with his mouth open and laughed at how I speak, he kept snorting to himself and – get this – we're halfway through eating, and Blockbusters ring him on his mobe to tell him what videos they've just got in! And I thought I was a loser. There's no way he's got a job. And even my mother was acting weird – Holly, she ate a Big Mac
while
smoking
and
chewing gum. She flattens the gum and stores it above her two front teeth: I went to hug her and she went stiff, it was like hugging a waxwork. She hardly said anything to me. I don't know if she's nervous of Malcolm or what. I'd taken my camera to get a picture of us all together, and in the end I didn't even get it out of my rucksack. You know when you feel something just isn't appropriate? It felt too . . . expensive, they'd think I was showing off. I just wanted a photo of me and my real mum—'

His voice cracked. Bolt upright on his lap, Emily purred and kneaded, her eyes wide with adoration. Cats have a reputation for being selfish but in my experience they show sympathy – well, polite curiosity, at least – when people are upset. Nick wrapped his arms round her solid little body and kissed her head.

‘And Malcolm's a psycho. Ker-
ist
. He just
sat
there, his arms folded, staring at me. Like he was about to challenge me to a fist fight! Even when he was eating his Party Meal, he looked at me menacingly while he chewed. His nose is so red, it's almost purple, with huge pores. There's practically more pore than skin. I wanted to stare back but I
didn't dare. And I insisted on paying – I mean, it was McDonald's, please – and now I think that was a bad idea. Malcolm thought I was trying to get one up on him. “Int you flush?” he said. Like I was flashing my money around. I mean, Hol, you know what I'm like –
what
money?! And even their clothes were different from mine in a noticeable and awkward way. I felt like Little Lord Fucking Fauntleroy in my stupid
blazer and brogues
. I mean, what did I think I was doing, dressing like Dad, Michael. Michael, I mean,' he added.

He swigged his not-so-hot chocolate. ‘And
then
, my mum looks at her watch – she's got this Casio digital watch, the kind you had when you were thirteen – and she goes, “Malcy, did you want to watch the snooker on Sky?” Hol, I didn't know people, still
played
snooker on television. So he goes, “Yeah, we should make a move.” And they all scuffled out. They didn't say even thank you for the food. Not that I care about that, but—'

‘She didn't say goodbye to you?'

‘No, she did. But hurriedly. Malcolm and Russell were halfway out the door. I said “Can I call you?” and she says in this ratty voice, “Look, I'll be in touch, okay?” As if I was some kind of phone pest.'

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘What's happened? It's too much. My head is about to burst. You hope, Hol. You imagine. You never think it won't turn out right. You're so used to that warm feeling as the credits roll, you get complacent. I feel like I've messed up, like I'm this big blundering mistake no one wants. Like Frankenstein's Monster. I have no one. No family. I'm an orphan. I don't fit in anywhere. I feel hollow. I can't believe I feel this isolated. I feel like I had the chance to have a family and I blew it.'

He paused.

‘At least I have you two.'

I clutched my stomach, aghast.

His phone rang and he fumbled for it, animated with hope. Then his face sagged. ‘What does
she
want?' he
muttered. ‘It's the fifth time she's called today.' He jammed the phone back in his pocket.

My conscience went hysterical.
You have no right
, it scolded,
you put a stop to this now
.

Okay, I bargained. I will. But first things first.

I got up and poured myself a glass of water. I felt like a strong person. I'd been convinced Stuart had raped me because I was weak. Dr Goldstein had said that, in fact, many rapists targeted women who were strong and successful, because these were the sort of women they dreamed of dominating.

I could do this. No more lying. To anyone. Including Nick, my parents and myself.

I sat down and cleared my throat. ‘Was that Lavinia?'

A terse nod.

‘Listen, Nick,' I began. Emily chose this moment to yawn so widely her head just about vanished in a vast expanse of throat. Her stress levels, I thought enviously, were remarkably low. ‘Nick, I have two confessions to make, and neither of them are going to please you. One, in fact, is very bad news.'

He frowned. ‘Go on.'

I clenched my fists in my lap. ‘Okay. First. I've been in,
communication
with Lavinia and Michael.'

‘What!'

‘
Wait
, will you? Let me explain. The truth is, they love you deeply, and they're devastated that you're so hostile to them. I saw them a few days ago and they both look terrible. You must have noticed. It's as if their lives have stopped dead, as if they're frozen in grief. They can't function. You're everything to them, really.'

His face was already scarlet. You think this is bad? Save it, I thought.

‘You saw them behind my back?'

‘Yes. Once, Lavinia came round here by herself, and then they both came to the office. They were desperate. But listen. They wanted to know what they could do—'

‘They've done enough.'

‘They're both contrite. Ready to do anything to show how sorry they are. I told them what Pamela Fidgett said, about the infertility, and the lying to you, and effectively keeping you a child by not telling you the truth, and betraying your trust and—'

‘You said all that?'

‘Yes.'

I waited for a response but he was silent. Then he blurted, ‘What did they say?'

‘They hadn't realised. They honestly thought they were doing the right thing, and they were horrified to hear how you felt. But, they didn't argue. They accepted full blame. They didn't try to wriggle out of anything. Even the stuff about not coming to terms with infertility. I suggested they might need to speak to a friend or even a counsellor—'

‘Get off!'

‘No, I did. And they accepted that. They're desperate, Nick. They've probably had about ten sessions by now. You know, Issy tried to explain this to me once, about the love you have for your children. She said, “If you were in a plane and you had to jump out to save your partner, you – well, he – probably would. Of course, you'd make a big deal about what a sacrifice it was first to make sure they appreciated it. But if it was to save your children, there'd be no question. You'd die for them in a second.” I suppose I understood it, because I'm sure Mum and Dad would willingly die for me, Claw or Issy. And Issy said that if anything ever happened to Eden, she and Frank would commit suicide. She was quite matter of fact about it. But . . . it's not often that you see that degree of devotion played out in front of your eyes. I saw it with Michael and Lavinia.'

Nick was screwing his face up. Finally, he spoke. ‘Okay. Okay.'

He stopped.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried again. ‘Okay. Know that I am
very
surprised at you for seeing them when
you knew I could hardly bear to myself, but—' He paused, as if searching for precisely the right words. ‘I see why you did it, I can imagine they didn't offer you much choice. I . . . I
suppose
you did the right thing. You didn't tell them about my birth mother?'

‘No.' His reaction was roughly fifteen million times more moderate than I'd feared. So far so good. But not for long.

‘So . . . was that the bad news?'

I hesitated. Would it be wise to hold his hand – maintain some kind of phsyical contact – as I told him? Would he be soothed or enraged?

‘No,' I said. ‘That wasn't the bad news.'

How
could
it be? I thought. What
is
a ‘real parent' anyway? In my opinion, Lavinia and Michael were Nick's real parents. They'd raised him and loved him. His blood mother was merely the vessel.

‘No,' I said. ‘The bad news is going to be very difficult for you. Incredibly difficult.' I paused. ‘And I can only ask you to try and understand the contributing factors to why I – well,
did it
is the wrong phrase – why it happened—'

‘Jesus, what is it, just tell me!'

‘We're not having a baby.'

A flicker in his eyes, nothing more. ‘I don't understand.' His voice trembled. ‘What do you mean?'

He stood up, tipping Emily from his lap and knocking over his chair.

‘I made a mistake. I thought I was pregnant. I hoped I was. I did the test. I didn't read the instructions properly. I'm not pregnant, Nick. I'm so sorry.'

‘But . . . your stomach was growing . . .'

‘I'd put on weight.'

‘You'd not had periods.'

‘I'd lost weight.'

‘But' – now he was shouting – ‘I was going to be a dad! This, we, we were having a family! This was our new family! How could you make a mistake like that? How stupid are you?'

I opened my mouth to quote Dr Goldstein on ‘massive avoidance' but my attempt was drowned out by Nick yelling. Emily crouched in the corner of the kitchen and stared at him, wide-eyed.

‘Christ! I've got nothing now! Do you realise that? Nothing!' His voice sank to a hiss. ‘Everything I have gets taken away from me. I lose everything. I so wanted . . . a brand new . . . this was going to be the first blood relative that I got to . . . 
keep
 . . . oh God, I feel sick . . . You . . . stupid, thoughtless, careless . . . I've been reading
babycare
books.' He shuffled in his bag, yanked out what looked like an illustrated manual, and hurled it across the room. It landed by the dishwasher. ‘I was planning my life around this. This baby was going to save my life. I'm just . . .' He stumbled over the chair leg, then kicked it. I flinched.

‘No point in marrying now, is there?'

Although I'd expected this, it still felt like a punch to the throat. It shocked me, because I realised that alone, we weren't enough for each other. In which case, it was better that the baby
was
a figment of my imagination. No child deserves to be born with the burden of keeping its parents together.

Nick was stamping towards the front door. I scurried after him. He snapped it open.

‘You've ruined my life,' he announced grandly, before slamming it in my face.

My heart seemed to rupture with the violence of a burst tyre, its flayed shreds sharp and black in my chest. But, sure, that was just me indulging my runaway imagination. When the doorbell rang, almost immediately, I was able to open it as if I was fine.

Nick stood there, fists clenched. ‘I'm sorry for shouting,' he said. ‘I understand, a bit, why you did it. I understand that you might have needed to do it. What with all you were, are going through. And I feel really, really sorry for you. I can see how you . . . might have needed this baby, too . . . more than me even.' He paused. ‘But I must be a terrible person. Because I don't think I can forgive you.'

‘
I TRUST THE
outfit is falling apart without me?' cooed Nige, batting his eyelashes. We were having a breakfast meeting, a meeting I normally object to on principle as the business detracts from the eating. My attitude to employers is, don't patronise me with a bowl of Frosties, we're all grown-ups here, just call that meeting what it is: unpaid overtime that cuts into your beauty sleep. But Nige had rung at seven that morning, demanding to see me, and after the woe of the previous night I felt I could do with the fun company.

‘We're scraping by,' I said, tearing at a chocolate croissant. ‘So, Star Boy, when can we come and see you?'

Nige groaned. He was wearing yellow sunglasses and a white fake fur coat and looked less like an actor than a pimp. ‘All in good time. But give me
a moment
. And don't expect front row seats. Yeah, yeah, I know that's what I said, but I was lying, I'll probably stick you in the gods. There's nothing more disconcerting than being grinned from three yards by people you know. Not,' he added hastily, ‘that you're a grinner, darling, but a single disaster makes you wary. Marylou fell asleep during the press showing of
The Cherry Orchard
and snored. I suspect she did it to put me in my place but it shook my performance. Mind you, my mate Jonas – he does mainly fringe and panto – walked on once and this voice in the audience booms, “Oh no, not him again, he's terrible!” We thesps are a highly sensitive breed. We must protect our fragilities where we can.'