Chapter 32
It’s so strange to be home.
I feel like I’ve done so much and changed so much and everything here is just the way I left it, but of course that’s not true, because there’s a baby.
But before I can hold him, I have to sit on the sofa so Riley can show me Reel after Reel of Uncle Bao, a cat she’s obsessed with, while Alfie squeezes up against my other side, asking me if I know the Spanish word for poo (he does) and if I saw any sharks.
Mae is shy at first, standing next to the baby’s Moses basket with her thumb in her mouth and a blanket wrapped around her hand, occasionally going up on tiptoes to peek inside, before looking back at me as if she’s not sure I know what’s in there.
‘Everyone out,’ Mick says, once he’s extricated me from the sibling sandwich and hugged me hello.
‘Let Hope have a bit of peace.’
The kids all complain until he tells them he’ll take them to the LEGO Store at Liverpool ONE, and then they can’t get ready quick enough.
‘Here,’ Mum says, once they’ve finally left.
‘Have a hold while I make you a brew.’
I slide my hands under his tiny, soft body and lift him out of the Moses basket, holding him against me, his little face resting against my neck.
‘Oh, he’s so tiny,’ I sigh.
‘Didn’t feel so tiny when he was getting dragged out of my arse,’ Mum calls from the kitchen.
‘I’m pretty sure that’s not where babies come from,’ I tell the baby in a sing-song voice.
‘That’s what it feels like,’ Mum says.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Oh my god,’ I tell her, bringing the baby with me into the kitchen.
‘Tea. Obviously.’
I drink coffee from a machine on a boat when I haven’t had enough sleep.
At home I drink tea, like I always have.
‘I’m thinking “Bob”,’ Mum says, filling the kettle.
‘Do not call this baby “Bob”,’ I say, stroking his soft hair with my finger.
‘I don’t know,’ Mum says.
‘He looks like a little old fella, I thought I’d give him an old fella’s name.
Amos. Cecil. Archibald.
Basil.’
‘Basil.’ I roll my eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, baby. ’
‘Wilf,’ Mum says.
‘I quite like “Wilf”.’ I sniff the top of his head.
‘Hello, baby Wilf.’
‘I don’t think Mick’ll go for it, but I’ll stick it on the list.’
I put my baby brother back in his basket and Mum and I sit at the dining table with our teas.
‘So,’ she says, ‘tell me everything.’
I tell her everything.
About Adam and Berry and how it all ended.
Mum squeezes my hand, gets up to bring me a box of tissues, then gets up again for biscuits.
‘I used to worry about the two of you,’ she says eventually.
‘That you’d got too serious too soon.
Adam’s great, he’s always been great, and he was good to you, which was a relief.
So I used to feel guilty sometimes for worrying.
But . . . you were so young when you got together.
I worried you’d get married and pregnant and that would be it – you’d be stuck. ’
I don’t tell her I had the same worries myself, despite everything.
She takes a sip of her tea.
‘You’ve always been so responsible, so conscientious.
A lot of it was my fault.
I put a lot of pressure on you.
At first out of necessity and then I told myself it was fine, you didn’t mind, you were coping with everything.
But you shouldn’t have had to look after the little ones while you were at uni.
That wasn’t fair. It was only when you left and I didn’t know how to do half the shit that needs doing I realised how much I relied on you.
And I’m so grateful.
But I’m so sorry you had to. ’
I shake my head, my eyes brimming with tears again.
‘I didn’t mind. I like helping. ’
‘You did more than help.’ Mum brushes her thumb over the back of my hand.
‘I honestly couldn’t have done any of it without you.
But that makes me feel like shit.
Because you shouldn’t have had to do any of it.
You had to grow up too soon.
I used to say you were born grown-up and it took me a long time to realise it wasn’t that; it was because you had to be. ’
‘Mum,’ I say, shaking my head, ‘I don’t –’
‘No,’ she says.
‘Listen to me. And then you’re texting me from a bloody yacht, beating yourself up cos you couldn’t be with me when I had little Cyril here. ’
‘No. Not Cyril.’
She smiles.
‘I didn’t need you here.
I love you and if you’d been home it would’ve be nice to have you there, but I’ve got Mick.
I don’t want you worrying about me.
I want you to be free.
I want you to make mistakes and fuck up.
To get drunk and dance and laugh and kiss the wrong people at the wrong time and then find the right people to kiss and kiss them as much as you want. ’
I smile through my tears.
‘I’ve done some of that.
And I got stung by a jellyfish. ’
Mum laughs. She’s tearful now too.
‘Well, that’s something, I guess.
You’ve always taken care of everyone else.
Including me. Including Adam.
I want you to forget about everyone else and think about what you want. ’
When I wake up the following morning, I remember there is one thing I want.
And when I call, there’s been a cancellation so I’m able to get it today.
I’m home just before dinner time.
It’s pouring down outside and Mick is singing a song about the rain to the baby, holding him up against his shoulder and bouncing on his feet while rubbing Wilf ’s back.
‘That’s the stuff,’ he says when Wilf burps.
‘You like a bit of Supertramp, don’t you? ’
‘That’s Supertramp? ’
I say. ‘That song?’
Mick nods.
‘Good band. Look them up. They look like a bunch of supply teachers, but they had some great songs. “Breakfast in America”, that’s another one. ’
‘My friend told me about them.’ My chest clenches when I call Berry my friend, but I don’t think I can call her anything else now.
I probably shouldn’t even call her that.
‘She made me a yacht rock playlist.’
‘Are they yacht rock?’ Mick says, squinting one eye closed as he thinks.
‘I’ve never thought of them as yacht rock.
That’s more . . . the Doobie Brothers, no? ’
‘God,’ I say. ‘What is it with middle-aged men and yacht rock?’
He laughs.
‘It’s good stuff. What else is on this playlist? ’
I connect my phone to the kitchen speaker and put Berry’s playlist on shuffle while Mick dances around the kitchen, smoothing his hand down Wilf ’s back.
I want there to be a message in the songs.
I want Berry to have chosen them to tell me how she felt about me.
But they’re almost all love songs and none of them are specific to our situation.
Or all of them are. And I know how she felt about me.
I just hope she still feels the same way.
The next song that plays is the one Berry said her parents still dance in the kitchen and my eyes prick with hot tears.
Much as I love Mick and Wilf, I don’t want to dance in the kitchen with them.
I want to dance in the kitchen with Berry.
And if she doesn’t want me, then that’s fine.
But I have to tell her how I feel.
I’ll regret it forever if I don’t.