Chapter 26
Twenty-six
Nash
July, present day
I close the front door behind me, having just dropped Nancy at Mum and Dad’s for the night, and one look at the chaos that is my house is enough to make me want to cry.
Ignoring the toys strewn about, the dishes littering the coffee table and the dining table, and the large brown stain on the rug where Nancy accidentally spilled her hot chocolate the other day, I climb the stairs and collapse on top of my bed.
It only takes a few minutes of tossing and turning to recognise that sleeping in jeans and a button-down shirt is not going to be conducive to rest, so I haul my body, heavy with fatigue, from the bed and make my way into the bathroom for a shower.
Refreshed, I return to my bed and switch on the bedside lamp. Piling pillows behind me, I recline against the headboard, blankets kicked off slightly as my still shower-warm skin cools. My head falls back against the headboard, and I close my eyes.
I knew that being a dad would involve a lot of adjustment, and it’s not that I care all that much about mess, but I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams a little.
Nancy’s behaviour has improved so much in recent weeks, and we’re like two peas in a pod.
I love nothing more than reading together, playing with her café playset – she’s moved on from hairdressers, thank goodness, since Rain still hasn’t stopped crying over Aidan’s hair – and heading down to the beach where she is becoming a master of sandcastles.
But the practicalities and logistics of being a single parent are well and truly hitting home.
Kids are fucking messy. She’s like a chaos gremlin who leaves stuff in her wake wherever she goes.
And don’t get me started on trying to leave the house.
What used to take me two minutes is now a forty-minute song and dance of last-minute toilet trips, shoelace tying because “no, Daddy, I can do it myself”, and forgotten items.
I wouldn’t be without her, but I’m exhausted and frustrated because I can’t help but feel like I’m doing this whole thing wrong.
The faint buzz of my phone on the bedside table drags me from my thoughts, and I look at the screen, unable to quell a smile when I see Corey’s calling.
“Hi, little rabbit. How are you?”
“I’m good, Doc. How are you?”
I take a deep breath.
“I’m… fine?”
“Is that a question?”
“No?”
“Nash,” he says softly. “What’s going on, babe?”
“Nothing really, I’m just…” A sigh escapes.
“You sound exhausted. Have you not been sleeping?”
The concern with which he asks is painful because I don’t want him to know how much I’m struggling, but he’s caught me at a vulnerable moment, caught up in my head about all my failures.
“I sleep fine, I just don’t sleep for long. I always have washing to do, or tidying to do, or cleaning to do before Nancy gets up, and she gets up early, so I’ve been getting up earlier or going to bed later. I just don’t know how people do this on their own, Corey.”
He’s silent, allowing me space to vent.
“I love Nancy so much, and I just don’t want to let her down by having a home that’s untidy all the time. And don’t get me started on the cooking. I feel like we recycle the same three meals because I can’t get her to try anything new. I just—”
“Babe, stop,” Corey’s gentle voice cuts in, and I do. I stop this verbal spiral before it drives Corey away completely. “OK, so there’s a lot going on, hmm?”
I huff out a laugh. “You could say that.”
“OK, so first things first. You are not letting anyone down, least of all Nancy, if you are loving her the way she deserves and keeping her safe and happy. Are you doing that?”
I think of the way Nancy leapt into my arms before I left her at Mum and Dad’s tonight and whispered “Love you, Daddy” into my ear before she disappeared into the house to find her grandad.
“I think so, yeah,” I hedge.
“Of course you are. So she’s not going to care or, frankly, even notice if the house is a bit messy.
I have a reality check for you, babe. Kids are messy.
When I was on my teaching placements, I was so proud of my classroom every morning, but by the end of the day, it looked like a bomb had gone off. ”
I can’t help but chuckle. The image of a younger Corey flustered with his hands on his hips, surveying the state of his classroom at the end of the day, makes my heart ache to be near him.
I just want to hold him close and sleep with him in my arms. Whoever wrote the phrase ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ was a wise person, because in the six months since Corey moved away, I have fallen for him hook, line, and sinker.
Our letters have been a lifeline for me.
A way to connect with him in a way we probably never would have in such a short time, even if we’d been dating.
I reread them when I miss him too much, and that is to say, often.
And that letter he sent when he was drunk…
fuck me. That letter lives rent-free in my head, and I think I could probably recite it by rote at this point.
“A little mess doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong, Doc. It just means that…” he hesitates.
“That what, little rabbit?” I encourage.
“That, maybe you need a little help? Like maybe someone you employ? Then you won’t feel like you’re asking for favours from family, even though I know they’re more than happy to help. But I know what you’re like, and if you can get that help another way, then why not do it?”
I consider his words. I’m self-aware enough to recognise that I have the privilege to afford at-home childcare and home help. I think Mum mentioned something about this the other day when I was falling asleep at the kitchen counter, nursing a coffee while she cleaned.
“I can’t believe I haven’t properly considered this. Mum mentioned that when she was younger, people used to hire… what did she call it, mothers help? They’re like someone between an au pair and a nanny.”
“Oh yeah, that’s a great idea. A nanny will have a lot more childcare experience, but you kind of want more of a home help–cum–babysitter, don’t you?” I hum in agreement. “OK, so then an au pair or mother’s help would be a great solution, don’t you think?”
A kernel of hope blooms in my gut at the mere prospect of being able to pay someone to help me with all the domestic shit that’s been overwhelming me. This is one of those times where Corey’s knowledge of education is a lifeline.
“Do they have agencies like nannies do?”
“Umm, I’m not too sure, but I can ask Em. She used to au pair in Switzerland for a year before uni, so she’ll have a good idea where to start.”
Relief. Sweet relief.
“Thanks, little rabbit.”
“You’re welcome, babe.”
Fuck, I miss him.
***
Two weeks and about twelve interviews later, I’m no closer to finding anyone. They’re either woefully inexperienced, so authoritarian they’d give Pol Pot a run for his money, or so young they look like they still need a nanny themselves.
I’m taking a day off from the search, and I’m taking my daughter to Joyland with her uncles and auntie. We haven’t all been together properly for a few weeks since Mum and Dad have gone away on a cruise, which has meant our Sunday lunches have been put on hold til they get back.
In fact, Wren’s precise words were: “You can get fucked if you think I’m slaving over a hot stove all day to feed you gannets like Mum does.” Such a delicate flower.
I secure Nancy in her car seat after the, slightly improved, twenty-seven minutes of faffing before we could leave the house, and start the journey to collect Wren and Sam.
They’re officially a couple now, despite none of us having a clue what the hell has gone on.
I’m hoping she might finally tell us today when Mum and Dad aren’t around.
“Hello, sugarplum,” Wren coos at Nancy as she climbs into the back seat. “Look at your cute seal jumper. Did Bunny send you that?”
“Yes. Bunny sended it. He’s going to get a matching one, too. He’s my best friend in the whole wide university.” Wren laughs gently at her seriousness.
“He is? What about me?”
“You’re not my friend, silly. You’re my Auntie Wren,” Nancy shrugs as if to say ‘and that’s that’. Wren catches my eye in the mirror and winks at me as she pats my shoulder affectionately.
“Hello, sugarplum,” Sam coos at me when he climbs into the passenger seat.
“Oh fu- er, get lost with that,” I stutter as Sam scoffs at me, an amused smirk on his stupid face. “I’ll get you back for that,” I warn. “You won’t know when it’s coming, but trust me, it’s coming.”
We hit the road, the journey to Great Yarmouth only taking about twenty-five minutes.
I park in the roadside bays on the seafront, breathing in the sharp bite of the salty air as soon as I exit the car.
The seafront is not what it once was in its Victorian heyday, but there are still a huge number of holidaymakers milling about, most of them likely staying at any one of the myriad holiday parks in the area.
I help Nancy out of the car, and immediately she takes Wren and Sam’s hands, wanting to be swung between them as we walk.
Hearing her giggle each time they count her in fills me with a joy I don’t think I could’ve ever found anywhere else than in being a father.
She really is a dream come true, and I’m so grateful for her therapist, who has helped her settle in so well.
We still have bad days, but they are fewer and farther between, and Nancy knows she has a secure, loving family around her who dotes on her.
She has truly taken over as the heart of this family, a role previously embodied by our mother, and one she has been more than happy to hand over to her granddaughter.