20
I hadn’t replied to the email by lunchtime as I made my way round to Inga’s house, doubts about whether I’d be able to produce enough suitable paintings within the time frame still crowding out my excitement about the opportunity.
And in any case, I forgot all about the exhibition when Inga opened the door because I was shocked by the state of her, though I did my very best not to show it. Her T-shirt was stained with milk, her hair was lank and unwashed, and the deep circles around her eyes spoke of a severe lack of sleep.
“Come in, come in,” she said in a whisper. “But for fuck’s sake be quiet. I’ve finally got him to sleep.”
“D’you want me to come back later?”
“No, it’s fine. Just close the door quietly after you if I fall asleep drooling in the middle of a conversation.”
I smiled. “Will do. So, how’s it going?”
Inga flapped a hand to indicate her dishevelled appearance, a pile of baby clothes on the sofa, a stack of unwashed plates and cups on the coffee table. “As you see. All pretty normal, as I understand it. I managed to get to the corner shop yesterday. Only took an hour to get out the door. Never imagined I’d think of a trip to One Stop as a big day out, but there you go.”
“Well, if I can help out in any way at all, let me know, won’t you? Want me to do some washing up?”
“No way, far too noisy. If you really want to be helpful, you can talk to me about something other than babies. Absolutely any fucking thing else. How did it go with Violet in Nottingham? Did you go there on the train?”
“No,” I said uncomfortably. “Matt drove me.”
Inga lifted her eyebrows, hastily stifling a hurt twist of her mouth. “That was nice.”
“Yes, it was good of him, wasn’t it?” I heard myself talking politely, as if to a stranger. Wasn’t sure how else to speak about it. Became aware of being in uncharted territory. Wondered whether Inga felt it too.
“How is he?” Inga sounded polite too.
“He’s all right.”
“Is that it? All you’re going to tell me?”
Ah, that was more natural. More like Inga. But I didn’t want to tell her about Spain, not until it was confirmed. If it was confirmed. It wasn’t my news to share, after all. And I could hardly tell her what Matt had said about his doubts about Inga as a parent. Or the fact that we’d shared a hotel room.
I shrugged, feeling uneasy and off-kilter about keeping things from her. “He was Matt. It was good to have him there. Especially as things didn’t go so well with Violet.”
The sound of crying started up from the back room. Noah was awake.
Inga closed her eyes, looking utterly exhausted. “Jesus, why doesn’t that kid ever sleep?”
“D’you want me to go and get him?”
Her eyes flicked open. “No, I’ll leave him just for a little while. He might go back off. So, it didn’t work out well with Violet?”
“No.” I didn’t really feel like going into it, not with Inga like a coiled spring, listening to the note of her son’s crying to try and judge whether he meant business or not.
“Kevin wasn’t interested in connecting with Violet. I don’t know why he even bothered to turn up. He made a run for it while she was in the loo. Left me to break the news to her myself. She stormed off God knows where. Matt and I looked for her for a while, but then we had to come home.”
The crying went on and on. It didn’t sound as if Noah was going to go back to sleep anytime soon, and in the face of that distressed wailing, my problems with Violet seemed insignificant.
“Sorry,” Inga said. “I can’t really concentrate on anything properly when he’s like this.”
“It’s fine.”
Inga got up with a heavy sigh, looking as if her limbs were a lead weight. She soon returned with a squirming, wailing Noah in her arms. “Could you just hold him for me for a minute while I go to the loo?”
“Sure.”
I took the baby from her, looking down into his face while Inga went to the bathroom. He was such a beautiful little boy—or would be, if he wasn’t screwing his face up so badly. Maybe he just needed burping. There was a muslin cloth amongst the pile of washed bodysuits. I pulled it out, draped it over my shoulder, and lifted Noah up there, swaying gently as I patted his back. Seconds later, he gave an almighty baby belch. Ah, that had been it, then. Wind.
Still swaying and rubbing his back, I began to sing softly, transporting myself back in time to the days when I’d held Violet like this, remembering for once not the panic and anxiety of having to take care of her, but the joy when something I tried worked. The times when Violet was bathed and fed and ready for bed. When she smiled, or closed her eyes, her cheek on my shoulder the way little Noah’s was now. It hadn’t all been bad, taking care of my sister. I had loved my little ally. My constant companion.
Nothing like the hostile, accusing woman who’d stormed out of the café after Kevin, convinced I’d deliberately tried to sabotage their reunion. And I thought again about what Kevin had said about Violet using drugs. Wondered for the umpteenth time where she was, whether she was all right.
Inga came back from the toilet. “Oh,” she said. “You got him back to sleep.”
“He had some wind. He was okay after he brought that up. He’ll probably settle back down now.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Something about the way she took the baby from me and carried him carefully into the next room made me wonder whether I ought to have left Noah for her to sort out. I hadn’t meant to take over, my instincts had just kicked in.
“Everything all right?” I asked when she finally returned.
“Sure. He’s fast asleep. Well done.”
Now there was no mistaking her tone of voice. She was definitely narked.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped a line.”
Inga sighed, running a tired hand through her hair. “You didn’t. It’s just ... you have a way of making me feel inadequate sometimes, you know? You break up with Alex, and you’re fine. You’d never get accidentally pregnant, and I’ve done it twice. You’re talented, and you keep at it, producing the work, even when you’re holding down two jobs. You’re fucking impressive, Lily, and sometimes it’s a lot to keep up with. And it would just be good if I had a better idea about how to keep my baby happy than you did, that’s all.”
I stared at her, wondering how anyone could have such an inaccurate view of me, not really knowing where to start with putting her right. But then I saw that her eyes were almost closed and remembered that her body was pumped full of post-childbirth hormones.
“Why don’t you take a nap while Noah’s asleep? Here, lie down on the sofa. I’ll get you a throw.”
Inga lay down silently, placing a cushion beneath her head and tossing the rest to the floor. “That’s another thing,” she said drowsily when I returned with the throw and covered her with it. “You’ve got the patience of a fucking saint.”
I picked my bag up from the floor and headed for the front door, holding back tears with difficulty. “Sleep well, see you soon,” I whispered, but Inga didn’t hear me. She was already asleep.
It was a lonely walk home. All the way I asked myself how my best friend could have got things so wrong about me. Okay, so I was careful about contraception because I was so sure I didn’t want children, but as for sailing through my break-up with Alex, surely Inga knew how lonely I’d been these past months? How badly it hurt to have been so quickly and easily replaced by Fliss? She’d seen me, after all. But maybe I’d been good at putting on some act, because Inga didn’t seem to know it. Maybe keeping things locked away inside myself was my coping mechanism. Like a Jenga tower, where the whole thing topples if you remove the wrong piece.
As for me coping with balancing out work and painting, that was a complete joke. Okay, so I’d managed to keep painting over the years; I hadn’t given up art altogether the way Inga had. But I had a shift at the hospital starting in two hours and three days solid teaching I hadn’t prepared properly for after that. The only art I’d produced lately were the crazy, wine-induced ravings currently scattered over my studio floor. I produced art because without creativity filling up my mind and my time and my heart, I was in danger of staring into an abyss. But right now, when Inga was tired and vulnerable, caring for a newborn baby, wasn’t the time to tell her any of that. I could take care of myself. After all, I’d been doing it all my life.
It had been lightly raining ever since I’d left Inga’s flat, but suddenly the heavens opened, and I ducked into a convenient bus shelter. As luck would have it, a bus was just approaching, splashing through the puddles on the road. I hailed it, climbing the stairs to take the seat right at the front—Violet’s favourite seat when we were kids.
Gazing out of the bus window at the rain-drenched streets, I focused on the people hurrying along under their brightly coloured umbrellas, trying to resist re-entering the rabbit hole of worrying about my sister. Violet didn’t want my help. She’d thought she had, meeting Kevin, but she’d soon discovered she was wrong. And now Inga didn’t seem to want my help either. It was stupid for that to make me feel so profoundly lonely. I wanted Inga to be okay, didn’t I? It was a really good thing if she felt she didn’t need quite so much help.
Jesus, I really needed to stop feeling sorry for myself.
On impulse, I took out my phone and dashed off an email in reply to Diane.
What a wonderful offer. Thanks so much. I’d love to accept the exhibition.
I panicked the second after I’d hit send. Shit, shit, shit. How the hell was I going to find the time to finish the amount of paintings I’d need for an exhibition?
My phone beeped. I thought it might be Diane. But it was from Inga. One word. Sorry.
I quickly typed a reply. That’s okay. Take care. Love to you both. See you soon. L X