Chapter Ten
I don’t think I heard him properly. I can’t have because this is my son – my kid. I realise he’s a fully fledged grown-up on paper and could pass for an adult man on the outside. But what does ‘on paper’ actually mean? His passport looks as if it’s been fished out of a septic tank. He still carries a skateboard at any opportunity, as if it’s some life-supporting device – and he still hasn’t replaced his lost debit card.
‘No time,’ he’d announced, when I asked him if he’d spoken to the bank.
Yet he’s had time to get someone pregnant!
That’s what Eddie’s just told me – I think. Hang-on-it-doesn’t-take-very-long-to-make-someone-pregnant.
No, I must have misheard him. Having spoken perfectly clearly until around the age of thirteen, Eddie suddenly developed a muffled diction, as if speaking through a cushion, and it’s stuck.
‘I said I’m going to be a dad,’ he repeats.
I grip onto the duvet, as if that’ll help me. ‘Oh my God, Eddie,’ is all I can say.
‘What is it?’ Frank asks, alarmed. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Hang on .’ I swivel to cut him out of my vision. ‘Eddie, are you sure?’ I’m trying to keep my voice light, as if asking, Has a bird just shat on my head?
‘Yes, Mum. I’m sure.’
For a moment, I simply try to take this in. Frank is asking repeatedly what’s going on, but I can’t bring myself to tell him. ‘What I mean is,’ I start, straw-clutching now, ‘are you sure it’s your—’
‘Yes!’ Eddie announces. ‘Why d’you even ask that?’
‘I’m only asking. That’s all.’ Because I know, from what you and Bella and Ana have told me – very sharply, on occasion – that ancient people like me aren’t meant to assume that people are exclusive. They might just be hanging out, or ‘talking’, whatever that means – and what-do-I-know-anyway-he’s-only-been-in-Edinburgh-five-bloody-minutes!
‘Carly, what is it?’ Frank demands.
I still can’t say it out loud. Right now, I can barely breathe. I fix my gaze on the little green cut-glass vase on the chest of drawers that used to belong to Mum. ‘I’m just trying to figure out how it happened,’ I say.
‘In the normal way,’ Eddie mutters.
My heart is thumping against my ribs. ‘I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.’
‘I’m not.’ He clears his throat. ‘It was just … a thing. ’
‘Right. Okay—’
‘Carly, I need to know what’s going on!’ Frank is out of bed now, still naked but grabbing at the clothes he tossed all over the floor in expectation of an afternoon’s session. He stumbles as he tugs on his boxers. ‘Can you please tell me—’
‘Someone’s-having-a-baby!’ I blurt out.
‘ What ?’
‘Oh, have you told Dad?’ Eddie snaps accusingly.
‘Well, yes, love! He’s right here.’
‘ Who’s having a baby?’ Frank thunders.
‘I didn’t think you were going to tell him right now ,’ Eddie complains.
‘Does it matter? He’s going to find out—’
‘I just thought you could … build up to it,’ Eddie says. How does he imagine I’d do that?
Frank, I need to break it to you that our firstborn is sexually active.
Darling, our son has been somewhat cavalier with contraception.
Frank, honey, sit down a minute. How does the idea of being a granddad feel to you?
I watch bleakly as Frank pulls on his jeans and T-shirt.
‘There isn’t really a way of building up to this,’ I start, then turn to Frank: ‘Eddie’s going to be a dad.’
He stares at me, frozen for a moment. Then his entire being seems to sag as he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ he breathes.
‘I met someone,’ Eddie is explaining now, ‘on a night out. I know what you’re thinking but please don’t start lecturing me because I know it’s a real fuck-up …’
‘Eddie,’ I start, ‘I’m not going to lecture you but—’
‘’Cause I know it was stupid,’ he barges in. ‘It just happened. I was drunk and didn’t think much more about it. Then she got in touch and said she’s pregnant and I thought, God, right. Okay. And then she said she wants to have the baby …’
Tears flood my eyes. ‘Oh, love. Is she really sure about that?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And … how old is she?’
‘Dunno. About the same age as me …’
I breathe out slowly. ‘And she’s absolutely certain, is she? I mean, does she need time to think it over—’
‘Nope,’ he says firmly. ‘She’s definitely going ahead.’
A silence hangs between us. Last time we saw Eddie he gleefully told us that, after just two weeks, his boss had taken him off kitchen portering duties and was training him up as a commis chef. A vacancy had come up and Eddie had proved himself to be eager and hard-working. ‘He said I’ve got potential,’ he announced, ‘and I’m picking it all up really fast.’
‘I wish you’d been this keen when we were doing the food truck,’ Frank had teased him.
‘Yeah, but this is real cooking,’ Eddie retorted. ‘It’s like, proper food.’
Frank spluttered and I thought: well, at least our boy’s found something. And maybe this could be his ‘thing’? He seemed so happy and confident and my heart swelled with pride. Now he sounds like a boy again.
‘Eddie,’ I start, ‘have you both really thought about this? I mean, d’you realise what it’s going to entail?’
‘Well, yeah! It’s going to entail a baby being born.’ Obviously, thicko Mum!
I swallow hard. ‘That’s just the start of it. The easy bit! This is massive, d’you realise that? You need to talk it all through with her. Have you discussed it at all?’
‘Not really,’ he says defensively, as if that’s another of my ridiculous suggestions. Like getting a proper window covering for his room!
‘Well, might that be a good idea?’
‘Don’t shout at me.’
‘I’m not shouting!’ I take a moment to try and steady myself. ‘Sorry, Ed. I’m … shocked. That’s all.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ he mumbles. And now my tears spill over because, even though he’s been stupid, he’s still my son. Still the boy who loved my banana pancakes and wrote a story at school about a candle-shaped man made of ‘wacks’, as he spelt it. And right now, all I want to do is hold him close.
I wipe away the tears, telling myself to be calm, and wondering when Frank might think of doing something more useful than sit there staring at the wardrobe.
‘So, what’s her name?’ I ask flatly.
‘Lyla,’ Eddie replies.
‘And … what’s she like?’
‘I don’t really know.’ His admission hangs in the air. Get it together, I tell myself. Do something.
‘Okay,’ I start, ‘so me and Dad’ll come over …’
‘What for?’ Eddie asks, alarmed.
‘To see you!’
‘When?’
‘Well, right now if that’s okay? Not at work, are you—’
‘Yeah, I am. I’m on a break—’
‘Tomorrow, then?’
‘I’m working in the afternoon.’
‘We’ll come in the morning then. First thing—’
‘You can’t come in the morning ,’ he exclaims.
‘Why not? We want to see you—’
‘I’m going out tonight and it’s gonna be a late one.’
‘Oh, right,’ I exclaim. Go clubbing as if everything’s normal and you haven’t made a baby!
‘Mum, honestly,’ he says firmly. ‘There’s no need to dash over here like it’s an emergency.’
‘But it is an emergency!’
‘Well, I just wanted to let you know,’ he cuts in sharply. ‘I’m not up for a family conference, okay?’ I start to protest that it won’t be a conference; only me and his dad, coming over to show our support, because we love him. But Eddie wraps up the call, and I’m left feeling hollow and sick and battered, all at once.
So that’s what happens when you think, At last our son’s got his shit together.
I swivel out of bed, pull on my clothes and look at Frank. He’s standing at our bedroom window now, staring out to sea. Then he swings round to face me, dark eyes beaming hurt and disappointment as he says, ‘I thought you gave him the contraception talk?’