Chapter 54 Flynn
Five Years Ago
My whole world has shrunk down to this one little face. Tiny, screwed up, supremely angry. I have never seen anyone more incredible. Her existence blows me away. I’m speechless. All I can do is hold her little body, the unfamiliar feeling of soft bones and thin limbs resting on my chest. When she snuffles then yawns, I can’t look away. It feels enormous and important, and for a moment the way in which my world has transformed in a few short hours takes my breath away. That I am responsible for this, that I can love and protect this baby and give her all the things I think she should have …
We’re both completely worn out and the hospital lighting means it is impossible to know what time of day or night it is. She has arrived four weeks earlier than expected but is a healthy seven-pound baby.
Tanya’s waters broke in the middle of the night and I tried to stay calm, to swallow down my panic that it was too early, as I picked up the pre-packed bag, following Tanya’s instructions to the letter. My organizational skills meant I had been preparing for this like the most important work event, and it helped to focus on the practicalities rather than Tanya’s laboured breaths, groans of pain.
The baby had to be helped out. Watching Tanya in agony, her cheeks red with effort, forehead sweating, muscles clenched, was the hardest thing. The midwives instructed, soothed. I tried to stay calm, dependable, bring Tanya the things she needed as she went through it all. I tried to stay strong, repeating the words of the professionals, when all I wanted to do was clamp my hands over my ears, hating to see her go through something so raw.
And then the utter shock of being handed this screaming bundle, the strange weight of her as they turned their focus back to Tanya and I was left bewildered in the corner staring, utterly lost, down at the baby.
The last few months have been focused on the impending arrival of our daughter. The things that worried me about our relationship didn’t disappear, but I needed things to work. I had to make it work, couldn’t not be a father, I’d sacrifice anything. I know what it’s like to live without love. I want this baby to have parents who dote on her, her greatest cheerleaders.
When I told my mother she was going to be a grandma she didn’t reply for three days, and the pain of that only convinced me more that this time round it would be different. This baby would feel so wrapped in love she’d moan to her friends that her dad embarrassed her by never stopping telling her. Her friends. A teenage daughter. These thoughts are the ones that make me blink.
I’m holding Charlotte – Charlie – and the midwives have left us. It still feels surreal and I’m terrified that I’ll do it wrong. Won’t support her head, will pull off one of her fingers putting on the babygrow or somehow drop her. I sit, tense in the chair, body rigid and uncomfortable as I stare down at this precious thing. I can’t move without panicking I will wake or upset her or do it wrong, so I block out the pain in my muscles if it means all is well. It’s completely overwhelming and my chest physically aches with the feeling.
I look across at Tanya, now sat up in the hospital bed, pale, toast crumbs on her chest as she holds up her phone and snaps a photograph. Slowly she lowers the mobile and stares at us, taking us both in. I give her a small smile of encouragement.
‘I can’t believe what you did, what you went through …’
She places her mobile slowly back on the table and looks back at us. This time her face has changed, the strangest expression stealing over her.
I realize then that her eyes have filled with tears and I want to go to her, but I’m also not confident enough to get up and walk across to her with Charlie, pinned into this chair by my own fear. I sort of straighten, panic and then sit as still as possible.
‘Shall I buzz someone? Are you OK?’
Her eyes have welled up completely and a single tear slips down one cheek.
‘Tanya, hold on, let me get someone.’ I’m worried now. No wonder she’s crying, I’d be howling. I am not sure I will ever be able to repay what she has gone through with cups of tea, kind words.
Gently, I cup Charlie’s head closer and struggle to stand.
‘Don’t get up,’ Tanya says and the ancient armchair sags once more under my weight. ‘I just have to tell you something.’
I smile in relief. ‘Literally whatever it is, it’s a yes.’
She doesn’t return the smile. A small spark of unease flares inside me. ‘What is it?’ I ask, my voice serious.
‘She’s not yours.’
I don’t hear the words at first, not really. They don’t make any sense to me.
Then they permeate my brain and my body clenches, my brain fogs.
The next sentences seem to be spoken from a distance.
‘She wasn’t premature. She was born on time.’
I don’t, I can’t. Charlie snuffles closer to me; I’m aware of the sensation, how our flesh feels together. This can’t be true. The things Tanya is saying. That would mean … My mind shuts down, the implications starting to rear.
‘I lied about the due date. I was going to tell you, I wanted to. I almost did, a couple of times, I was going to go through with it. It’s just I can’t. Now I see her, I know it’s not fair. I …’
She stops talking now, her words completely overcome with the tears that are falling freely down her face.
I’m still frozen in the chair, in this absurd scene.
I can’t get angry. I can’t get upset. I am holding a baby; I am aware I am. My baby. I can’t hear her. I can’t understand. In alarm, I realize my vision has blurred and I try to focus. This isn’t about me. It can’t be.
The lies are just completely overwhelming. Small, big, a hundred in the past few months; I’m frozen in the armchair, the room falling away. My mind can’t quite compute what I’m being told.
Tanya tries to explain, her chest heaving, ‘I just couldn’t tell you. You seemed so excited, but I have to tell him, I can’t keep this in and now …’
She glances at her mobile on the table next to her. She had been staring at it before she snapped the photo.
My head lifts and my heart fills with pity for her. I see the gargantuan effort she has made; she is on her knees with exhaustion. I can’t bring myself to feel anything other than an utter desperation.
‘He wants to see her. He’s coming in. I need you to … to leave.’
I blink rapidly.
He. Of course. There is a father. It’s just, the father isn’t me. That’s when I unfreeze. When I understand what all this means for me. That this is final, over.
‘But. You need, I can’t …’ I start to protest, panic now gripping me. I am holding her, I’m holding my daughter. This can’t be happening. This innocent, precious baby with her sparrow-like limbs and her angry little face is the love of my life. I can’t abandon her.
‘Please, Flynn. I need you to go.’
‘No, but …’ I hold the tiny body closer, as if I can absorb her into me. How can I love something so much that isn’t mine? Of course, she’s mine.
‘Please.’
I can’t refuse. Tanya breaks down completely. I can’t refuse.
I stand robotically, wavering at the foot of the bed, shock making my movements slow. I move across to Tanya who lifts her tear-stained face and slowly holds out her arms in the bed, holding out her arms for her baby.
I stare at them, and then down at the bundle in my arms, the blanket soft and tight around her body. I’d been so proud, a little burrito, I’d practised at the house with a towel and a rugby ball. I’d been so ready.
The house. I’d have to leave the house too.
‘I’m … I’m so sorry,’ she whispers.
Gently I release the little fingers that have circled instinctively around my finger. My whole body hurts as I stare down at the small face, unable to believe this is really happening. For a second I can’t do it, her little finger not quite ready to release. But then she does. My finger is free and carefully I lower her into Tanya’s waiting arms.
Straightening, I feel empty, my arms wanting a weight, a something, a baby.
I have to get out. I have to get out before I snatch her back, press her to me, break down completely.
Be a man, Flynn.
That icy sheet that had thawed hours before, that felt hopeful, new, fresh. That ice returns, thicker, quicker. No threat of tears, the strange detachment descending as I turn.
She is not mine.
Charlie starts to wail as I push open the door – sensing the atmosphere or just crying because she doesn’t know any better? I don’t know her well enough to know what her cries mean, and now I never will.
She is not mine.
I move unseeing down the corridor, the antiseptic smell, the busy nurses, wheelchairs and waiting patients. I step out into the street and catch a cab. The ride back to the house is a blur; the taxi driver, believing I’ve suffered a bereavement, almost cancels the fare. I pay on a card and step out, thanking him in a strange monotone I don’t recognize as my own. I had been a father. I had loved a daughter. Staring up at the house, I can’t believe I’m back here on my own.
I’m not a father any more. I never was.
It’s Tanya’s house, her parents’ base in Fulham that they gifted her. I moved in a few months ago when she told me about the baby. It made sense for us both to live here when Charlie came along. Now I stare at the familiar bottle-green door, the black and white tiles, and reach into my pocket for my key.
The hallway is decorated with a banner, a cheesy one I picked up a couple of weeks back. Something to make Tanya smile when she got back to the house as a family. I’d run back to Blu-Tack it to the wall just before we left in the taxi.
The words taunt me now. ‘Welcome Home!’ The banner covered in small babies.
I reread the words, feeling my body turn inside out with pain. There is no baby, no family. Just me. My whole world tilts. I don’t know who to phone, who to tell. I know so many people, but I don’t have many close friends. I could ring the boys I play cricket with, I could ring Karim at work, but what would I tell them? How would I put this into words?
I move like a ghost through the house putting things into bags and a suitcase. It doesn’t take me long and I don’t care what I take, what I forget. I just need to get out of this house. My hands are shaking as I zip the last things into a bag. I descend the stairs once more. It was always Tanya’s house and I realize how few things I brought across.
Something inside me fractures, cracks, the pain so intense I can’t breathe as I take a last look at the jaunty banner. I step across to the side table and leave my key. Shouldering my things, I head towards the door. It’s started spitting with rain as I step out into Fulham, with no clue at all where to go, or what to do with my life now.
I was a father, and now I’m not. I’m just Flynn. I have no one.