22
G enerations of seagulls have seen many comings and goings on and around the river. Tall ships laden with goods, the harbour bustling with merchants in powdered wigs, and urchins scavenging alongside birds for scraps with much squawking and hollering. They’d seen it all, those gulls. Had seen people in couples, groups or singly, strolling along the side of the river, else sat at tables next to soon-to-be-gentrified dilapidated houses. Or the ruins of Bristol Gaol where the rioters of 1831 were hanged with much cheering from a crowd so deep that they threatened to spill over the walkway and fall into the water.
Yes, they’d seen it all. The gulls and the river. Nothing much changes. A couple of seagulls hung in the air over Polly and Spike, as if listening in on their conversation.
‘Will you stop your fidgeting, Polly,’ Spike was saying. He’d invited Polly and Rowan to join him at the boatyard where he was repairing a dinghy belonging to a friend of his. Polly had been tapping her foot on the concrete slipway and twiddling her bag handle with agitated fingers.
‘I’ve coffee in that flask over there, if you’d like some,’ he said. ‘Might give your hands something to do.’
Polly stuck her offending hands behind her back. Spike was the only person (beside Mel) who ever teased her about her fidgeting. ‘No, you’re all right,’ she answered.
He bent down, allowing Rowan – on tippy toes – to reach up both her arms and latch them around his neck, giving him a cuddle – or “huggle” (Rowan and Polly’s word for half-hug-half-cuddle).
‘How’s my darling girl?’ said Spike, and was rewarded with Rowan’s trademark: a double-handed-Eric-Morecambe-slap-around-the-chops.
‘Daddy,’ giggled Rowan, as he started to tickle her in response. Then – ‘Daddeee!’ – writhing, shrieking and squealing as he continued to tickle: first up and under her arms, then her tummy, then her sides. Polly could see that Rowan was starting to turn puce in the face.
‘Put her down. That’s enough,’ she said. ‘Seriously, Spike…’
He stopped to look at her – mid-tickle. ‘What harm can it do? You’re enjoying it, aren’t ya, Roly Poly.’
‘Spoken by a man who is not ticklish.’ Polly took Rowan from his lap, stood her child firmly on both feet and then smoothed down Rowan’s little pinafore dress.
‘So you remember that I’m not ticklish, Polly?’ he said, making her feel uncomfortable under his amused gaze. ‘If I remember rightly, you can’t abide having your feet tickled. Would insist I’d somehow tickle you to death, if I did. Isn’t that right?’
‘Yes, well.’ She reached inside her bag for a tissue to wipe Rowan’s runny nose. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘Not so long,’ he said and, before she could respond or even register, he turned to Rowan, saying, ‘Who’s for ice cream?’
Polly sat at one of the small tables outside the Cottage pub, next to the sailing club. Idly she watched Rowan investigate a cat meticulously cleaning itself with spit and paw on a low wall. Spike had gone inside to get them all a drink.
Across her line of vision passed a Bristol dragon boat with a carved wooden dragon’s head on its prow. Its rowers, instead of – well – rowing, were paddling like some crew of a Viking ship headed for shore and a spot of pillaging and invading. Except, instead of furs and those horned helmets, they wore T-shirts emblazoned with – Bristol Royal Infirmary. Must be medics , thought Polly, as she shaded her eyes with one hand from the rays of the afternoon sun. Suppose they’re getting ready for the Dragon Boat Festival in September . Would Spike be around for that? Inwardly she flinched, feeling a pang, like the memory of an old wound signalling the return of rain. She turned round at the sound of clattering announcing Spike’s arrival, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and cups in one hand and a clutch of crisp packets in the other. She gave him a welcoming smile.
‘They were out of sandwiches,’ he said, as he set down the tray. ‘Here, Roly. Come and sit next to your dah.’ She left off stroking the cat to come charging over, arms up for him to lift her onto a chair. ‘Shall I give her one of these?’ he asked Polly.
Rowan regarded the crisps with all the concentration of a blackbird waiting for a worm to wriggle up from the ground.
‘Okay,’ said Polly.
‘Yay!’ from Rowan.
‘Which one do you want, Roly?’ asked Spike. He opened the cheese and onion one she pointed to, and handed it over. She was rather low to the table, so he pulled her chair next to his in case she fell off.
‘Bam not here?’ asked Polly, her attempt at nonchalance sounding false even to her own ears.
‘Why? You’re not planning on getting me on my own and giving me a kiss again, are you?’
‘What?’ Polly blustered. Of all the nerve. Trust him to rub it in when he knows perfectly well that I’m happy with Max … It was then that she saw the twinkle in his eye. ‘Huh. You wish!’ she said. Glad at the same time that they could joke about it. ‘So, you expecting Bam?’
‘We’re not joined at the hip, you know.’
‘Oh really? Isn’t that her coming towards us now?’ she said. Spike turned to follow Polly’s gaze. There was Bam, all right, striding along the path, raising her hand to them in a cheery greeting.
Polly thought (but wasn’t quite sure) that she heard Spike mutter ‘Christ!’ under his breath as Bam arrived, all smiles and kisses.
‘Hey, babes.’ She threw her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on his cheek. ‘Hey, Polly – mwah! Roly – mmmm, big smackeroonee for you!’
‘I thought we were meeting up later,’ Spike part hissed at her. ‘You could have texted me, you know.’
‘I was bored with shopping. Couldn’t find anything at that Cabot Circus.’ She held out her arms. ‘Look. See? Didn’t buy a single thing. I guessed you’d be here so thought I might as well toodle along to join you.’ She gave them all a big white-and-straight-toothed grin.
‘Polly and I have things to discuss,’ insisted Spike.
‘We do?’ said Polly, trying not to notice how Spike half-heartedly resisted Bam’s hugs, much like someone trying to fend off a puppy.
Spike gave in with a half-shrug.
‘Bet you’re glad to see me really, though, babe, huh?’ said Bam, placing her face alongside Spike’s as if they were posing in a photo booth together. He looked rather uncomfortable.
‘Oh, oh, I get it,’ said Bam, pulling up a chair to join them. ‘Not a good tactic to speak about stuff in front of Rowan, right?’
Spike gave her a pointed look. She leapt to her feet. ‘I know!’ she declared, clapping her hands together, causing Rowan to jump at the noise. ‘C’mon, Roly Poly.’ She turned to Polly and Spike and said, ‘No worries. I’ll keep her entertained while you two have your chat.’
‘Good idea,’ said Spike, smiling a stiff thanks.
‘Right then, Roly,’ said Bam, as she lifted the child from her chair. ‘Up you get.’ Bending down, she encouraged Rowan to climb up onto her back. ‘Hop on!’ Rowan didn’t need asking twice. With as much skill as a nearly-three-year-old could muster, she clambered up onto Bam’s back, concentrating as hard as a freestyle climber scaling the outside of the Empire State Building. Polly kept an eye on proceedings – after all, Bam was nearly six feet tall, without heels, and Polly didn’t want her child crashing to the ground. By now Rowan was safely on board, arms clasped tightly around Bam’s neck, while Bam had firm hold of her ankles.
‘Phew. Better cut down on that chocolate, Roly. You weigh a ton! Just kidding,’ she said to Polly’s stricken face – after all, no mother likes to be told her child is fat. Bam pranced up and down. ‘Look, see? She’s as light as a feather.’ She twisted her head around to address Rowan. ‘Horsey-horsey, yeah? We had great fun playing that the other day, didn’t we, Roly?’
‘Horsey!’ squealed Rowan, as she clapped her hands, nearly falling backwards in the process.
‘Hold tight,’ instructed Bam, as the two of them took off down the tow path; Bam galloping along and Rowan jiggling up and down, squealing with delight.
Polly and Spike watched them go.
‘Guess this is where her polo pony experience comes in handy,’ said Polly, who rather admired Bam’s cheerfulness. She wouldn’t have blamed Bam if she felt threatened – even a scintilla – by the presence of the mother of her boyfriend’s child. She knew she would.
She turned to face Spike. ‘She’s good for you, y’know.’
‘Yes. I do know.’ He sighed, and smiled fondly in Bam’s direction. ‘She’s a great girl. Just look at her…’ Bam was now chasing Rowan up the path, letting her run ahead, little legs pounding, then scooping her into her arms and swinging her round, legs flying, the two of them having so much fun that Polly could hear the laughter from where she was sitting.
‘So,’ said Polly, shielding her eyes from the sun, ‘what is it you want to talk to me about?’ She noted how he had a wayward black curl threatening to flop into his eye. She supposed he’d not had a chance to get it cut since arriving back in Bristol. Polly always did prefer it on the long side.
‘Are you staring at me, Polly?’ he asked, his crinkly smile deepening the dimple in his right cheek. The one that Rowan had inherited.
God, I probably was, wasn’t I , she thought, but didn’t say. She wondered if there was some primeval force that rendered the father of your child deeply attractive to the mother. Or are you not as over him as you like to think, eh? Oh, shut up.
‘Hmm? Did you say something, Polly? You look as if you were about to say something.’
‘I was wondering if it was arrangements you wanted to talk about. You know? For contact after you’ve… after you’ve gone back to Australia. Just when are you planning on leaving us again?’ She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. She looked over to where their beautiful daughter, with Spike’s curls – only blonde – and Spike’s same-colour eyes played perfectly happily with the woman who was about to make off with her father. For good. She turned back to Spike. ‘I think it’s only fair that I know. So’s I can prepare Ro…’ her voice faltered under his steady gaze ‘… and everything,’ she muttered.
He leant back in his chair, stretching out his long legs in their dust-covered jeans. ‘Ah yes, there is that, Polly. I can see how we do need to talk about that… and everything…’
For a moment Polly wondered what on earth he might mean by “everything”. Did he mean anything at all by everything? Was “everything” just a generic catch-all everything? Or was it something? Her heart went pitter-pat.
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘not to put too fine a point on it… there is something else. Something which, if I’m frank about, did come as a surprise… I’ve been trying to find the right time to speak to you about it.’
A surprise? What could it be? She tried not to let her mind run riot – but there it was, going off on its own, imagining Spike grabbing her hand, saying how his feelings had taken him by surprise, how he’d never got over her, that she was The One, that seeing her in the flesh once more had made him realise he was going to break it off with Bam…
‘Mel has asked me to be her sperm donor.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘So you know, do you?’
‘Yes, she told me last night. But what I want to know is why didn’t you mention this to me?’
He shaded his eyes against the sun, low in the sky. ‘What, and cause a ruckus between you twos? Would take a stronger man than me, Polly. Now, I can’t say I’m not flattered,’ he continued, ‘but is that how you girls see me? A sperm bank for you to have your babies by?’
*
When Polly returned home with Rowan, there was a note waiting for her – pushed through her letter box.
Thanks for everything, babes. Am sorting things with Fen, and concentrating on her at the moment. I know you think I’m mad – but I do love her so much! You are, and will always be, my best mate and blood sister. Mel xxxxx
Polly screwed it up and threw it in the bin. She still thought Mel was making a mistake.
‘Mummy?’ said Rowan.
‘Is okay, Ro Ro. Why don’t you go watch Peppa Pig while Mummy cooks the tea.’
‘What?’
Polly bent down to Rowan’s level. ‘Mummy cook tea. You go watch Peppa Pig . Yes?’
‘Desss.’ And, with that, she high-tailed it off to the sitting room.
Polly rubbed her forehead, feeling very alone.
She walked over to the verandah doors, and opening them, she went to stand on her deck; leaning out over the railings to take a big breath of fresh air. She shivered slightly as there was an evening chill and she’d already taken off her coat. She gazed over the water. And now Mel was probably having make-up sex with Fen, while all that was on Polly’s menu was chicken burgers.
I’ll bet Mel’s having a glass of wine with Fen right now , she thought, as she wandered back into her kitchen and put the burgers in the oven. Probably cooking their adults-only meal too .
She wiped her hands on a tea towel, thinking how she’d felt fine on her own, before. Had been proud that she didn’t need a man. So why the difference now? Because… oh, because before she’d always had Mel.
Come on , she told herself, flicking at a fly buzzing around the room. Buck up, for fuck’s sake. Flick – damn, missed it!
She gave up on the fly and absent-mindedly picked up the bottle of red that she and Mel had part drunk the night before and placed it on the kitchen worktop. Yes, she’d relied on Mel, and taken her for granted. And just when Mel had needed her the most, she’d disapproved. After all, who was she to tell Mel who she could and couldn’t have a baby with? Polly looked around at the mess in the kitchen, the sounds of her child watching television, the thankless task ahead of making something to eat, the endless cooking, clearing up, washing, folding clothes away, spreading out before her forever and ever, amen.
Oh, this won’t do .
She began to clear the kitchen worktop, wiping its surface, moving the bottle out of the way. She stared at it. She could just have the one. Ah, but that was how becoming an alcoholic started. Drinking wine on your own. She glanced at the clock. Pretty close to wine o’clock. She shrugged – what the heck – and poured herself a large glass then took a gulp. It slipped down her throat like a sigh as she closed her eyes, letting the alcohol deliver its first muted kick. That was better. Turning the bottle over in her hand, she examined the label. Lidl’s finest German plonk. She hugged the bottle to her chest.
Gawd. Carry on like this and I’ll end up singing along to “All by Myself” in penguin-covered pyjamas. Drunk in charge of a kid .
She poured the rest of her glass down the sink.
‘Yes, I’ll give it a go with Max. For at least he’s here and not about to take off to the other side of the planet with some leggy doe-eyed posh bird!’
‘What? What you say?’ called Rowan from the sitting room.
‘Great,’ muttered Polly. ‘Am now talking out loud to myself!’ She wandered over to stand in the sitting-room doorway to watch her daughter. Rowan had her back to her, engrossed in the television.
‘Nothing,’ said Polly, coming up behind her. She touched her on the shoulder. ‘I said nothing, Ro Ro.’
‘Eh?’ Rowan twisted her head to look up into her mother’s face.
‘I said Nothing,’ repeated Polly.
‘Nothing means No,’ said Rowan emphatically, and returned to her programme.
Polly took out her mobile and sent Max a text. Be good to see you. Now. If you’re free. xxx
The morning after getting tipsy and maudlin and insisting that Max come over and shag her senseless, Polly was feeling foolish. Max, on the other hand, appeared delighted that she’d finally broken their curfew and he had been allowed to stay overnight when Rowan was at home.
As Polly opened first one eye and then the other, she groaned and reached for the glass of water by her bed.
‘Morning,’ said Max, propped up in bed by a couple of pillows. ‘Guess I must be your proper boyfriend now.’
‘Guess you must be,’ she answered; her tongue like the bottom of the proverbial birdcage, and her hair – she could see in the wardrobe mirror – having acquired all the shape and texture of a bird’s nest.
‘This is great,’ insisted Max, as he snuggled down under the covers to spoon her in bed, his obvious erection pushing against the cheeks of her bottom.
‘Hmm. Not now, okay?’ she said, squirming out of the way. Because although she would have loved to burrow under the covers and lose herself in their lovemaking, she knew that Rowan would soon be up. ‘Rowan. She’ll be awake any minute – if she isn’t already. What time is it?’
‘Nearly seven,’ he said, as he kissed the top of her head. ‘You know I really would like us to do more of this… ‘ his hands moved round to tweak her nipple ‘…and this…’ and then slid between her legs.
‘No. Sssshhh…’ she said, breathless, her body wanting to – oh, so wanting to –but she had to be sensible.
He stopped and pulled her round to face him. ‘You delicious creature,’ he said, and Polly was almost purring like a cat – she did indeed feel delicious, and soft, and yielding and horny… He sat up in bed and looked down at her. ‘I really want to make this work, you know. I mean This. You and me.’
‘Me too,’ she said, pulling him back down to her, and coiling her leg around his.
‘Only you’ll have to stop doing that,’ he said, rubbing his penis on the inside of her thigh, where it would be oh so easy to just… but no. She pushed him to the other side of the bed. ‘Seriously,’ he said over his shoulder, as he swung his legs out of bed. ‘We could be great together.’
‘Let’s talk about it later, yeah? Just not right now,’ she said, throwing a pillow at him. ‘Because – have you seen the time? Rowan…’
‘Righty ho. I’d better pop along to the bathroom.’ He bent over to give her a kiss on the lips. She watched as he moved across her bedroom floor, admiring the curve of his bum and his long legs.
Why do men have far better legs than women? He made for the door. ‘Oi, underpants,’ she called, suddenly remembering. She searched under the bed, located his boxers and chucked them at him.
‘Why? Oh, I see. Rowan, right? Only I’m used to walking around commando with Ben.’
‘Not with a little girl around, you don’t.’
He pulled on his boxers and made for the bathroom while Polly slipped into her silk dressing gown and attempted to smooth her hair in the mirror. Bag , she thought. Where’s my bag? She located it just behind the door, pulled out her brush and headed for the bathroom, where she spotted Rowan, standing on the landing in front of the open doorway of their separate toilet, her mouth agape as she stared in fascination at Max’s back while he peed into the toilet pan with the full force of a horse that had drunk a whole flippin’ lake!
‘Door!’ cried Polly, pulling it to and taking Rowan by the hand.
After getting herself and her daughter dressed, Polly carried Rowan downstairs to the kitchen, congratulating herself on the fact that – all things considered – the sleepover had gone rather well. She slotted her daughter into her child seat and fetched her a bowl of Cheerios. Polly was feeling not only relaxed but pretty cool with it all – much like the cat that got the creamiest double-clotted creamy cream.
‘Hey there, Rowan,’ said Max, as he strode into the kitchen, now dressed in his jeans and buttoning up his shirt. He ruffled a startled Rowan’s hair and planted a tickly kiss on Polly’s neck while she was doing her best to concentrate on buttering a slice of toast. ‘Mmm, you smell gorgeous,’ he said, nicking the toast from her hand.
‘Catch you later, hmm?’ he said, leaning over to cup her breasts in his hands. She wriggled out from under him.
‘Honestly. Stop it! Child present,’ she hissed, all too aware of Rowan, sitting and staring at them open-mouthed. She passed her daughter a beaker of juice.
*
Max shot off soon after. ‘I’ll give you a call,’ he’d called as he skipped down the path, making Polly laugh. She shut the door behind him.
‘C’mon, Roly Poly,’ she said. ‘Finish up your breakfast.’
‘Eh?’
‘Eat, darling. C’mon or we’re going to be late.’
Polly finished her toast and set about facing the rest of her day.
She tried Mel again, leaving messages on her mobile phone, but Mel was proving to be elusive, and Polly needed to let Mel know that she understood about her going back to Fen (even though she didn’t). Either Mel was avoiding her or Fen had yet again asserted her wish that Mel choose between Polly and her. Weirdly enough, Suze was being elusive too. And Donna was threatening to withhold her rent.
‘I don’t want to, Poll,’ she’d said, ‘but FYI, your muh’s not returning my calls, and I can’t hang about for ages like last time, Poll. Is not on. Really it’s not.’
Polly’s own calls went straight through to voicemail, and remained unanswered. Even though she said it was urgent. Emails weren’t answered, either. She finally managed to get through to Suze’s boyfriend, Brian.
‘Sorry, Poll,’ he said, ‘but your mum’s got a lot on her plate right now.’
Polly nearly made a joke about plate and Suze being a chef but thought better of it. At times Brian found Polly’s sense of humour strange.
‘Shall I go ahead and arrange something this end again?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, sure. Sorry, babe. Got to go.’
With that, he hung up. How on earth he managed to get acting work when he could hardly string a sentence together was anybody’s guess. Ah well, probably got hidden shallows , she thought, and nearly made herself laugh… if it wasn’t for that nagging feeling…