19. Carly
Chapter 19
Carly
‘ Y ou’re doing great.’
Syd and I are sitting at traffic lights and I have one eye on the red light in front of me and the other on the rear-view mirror, aware of the car behind, the sound system blaring out, the driver with one elbow half out of the window, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, and revving his engine as if he can’t wait to overtake.
‘Am I? It still worries me when there’s some idiot like that on the road. How am I meant to know what he’s going to do next?’
Syd touches my arm. ‘Just chill, Carly. You can’t do anything about other drivers or how they behave. Just concentrate on what you’re doing. You can try to anticipate any problems but that’s it. Just because someone else is speeding or getting angry or driving up your rear end, don’t rise to it. What’s the speed limit here?’
I look at the road, for signs and cameras, and note the rows of street lights. ‘Thirty?’
‘Spot on. So, drive at thirty. If the bloke behind you doesn’t like it, that’s his problem, not yours.’
I like Syd. I like his hint-of-an-accent and that laid-back attitude all Aussies seem to have. I feel comfortable with him, and safe. I have picked a time for my lesson, straight after work, when, even though there’s more traffic about, at least I know there’ll still be daylight. I know I’m going to have to face it sooner or later but for now I feel a bit wary of being out on the roads once it starts to get dark.
The lights change and the car behind swerves out and roars past. We both laugh, five minutes later, when we pass the driver at the side of the road, out of his car and talking to two police officers.
‘See?’ Syd says. ‘You didn’t have to do anything. He did that all by himself. Arrogant, impatient, thinks he’s king of the road. Look where that got him. I call that karma, don’t you?’
When we get back to my place, I ask him in for a coffee.
‘I shouldn’t really. You were my last lesson for today and I promised I’d get back to help with the kids. Rosie fancied a night out but we couldn’t get a babysitter, so the least I can do is get home and cook something, so she can put her feet up. Give her a break.’
‘I don’t have any plans.’ I’ve said it before I’ve had time to think what I’m doing.
‘Well, I know Rosie would probably love to see you, but I was thinking more of dinner for two, if you know what I mean. Date nights are few and far between these days.’
I laugh. ‘I didn’t mean me turning up and being a gooseberry. I meant me turning up and being your babysitter. If you still want to go out.’
‘You mean it?’
‘Of course I do. You’d have to give me a bit of a crash course in what to do, but you’re a good teacher. The driving has shown me that.’
‘Not so much of the crash talk when it comes to driving though, eh?’ Syd laughs at his own joke. ‘But, honest, Carly, that would be great, if you’re up for it. There’s not a lot to nappy changing and bottles once you give it a go. I couldn’t have been more of a novice myself when they were first born, and we wouldn’t be asking you to do anything much except just be there. They’ll be in bed asleep most of the time. I hope!’
‘Right, you’re on. What time do you want me?’
‘Come now if you like. I can drive you, save messing about on public transport later. And it’s already half past six. I’m happy to pay for a pizza delivery for your tea, or you can raid our fridge. There’s cider and lager, and plenty of biscuits if you fancy a snack later. We won’t stay out too late, I promise. Ten thirty? Eleven? We never make it awake until midnight these days. Too scared of turning back into Cinderella! And the little buggers get us up so early in the mornings.’
‘Okay, why not? Pop up for quarter of an hour while I get changed and grab a book or something?’
We get out of the car and head up the stairs to the flat. Fran is sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, surrounded by a tumbling pile of old socks and rolled-up tights. She looks up and grins. ‘Just having a sort-out,’ she says. ‘Knicker drawer next, so you’re lucky you came in when you did. Not a sight for male eyes!’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Syd says. ‘I like a pair of big old Bridget Jones bloomers. They’re great for washing the wheels of the car, and for wiping the windscreen when it snows. Better than the cloths you can buy for the job. And bigger. Let me have any you’re going to chuck.’
I can see from Fran’s face that she isn’t sure if he’s joking or not. He winks at me and follows me into the kitchen. ‘You go and get sorted. I can make my own coffee,’ he says, reaching for the kettle. ‘Shall I do one for Fran too?’
‘She’s never been one to say no. Especially if you throw in a chocolate biscuit.’
When we walk into Syd and Rosie’s, she is nowhere to be seen.
‘I called her, gave her a bit of warning,’ he says. ‘So, she’s either frantically hiding all the piles of dirty washing or she’s upstairs getting changed.’
‘I heard that!’ Rosie comes down the stairs, unusually without a baby in her arms, and greets me with a hug. ‘They’re both in their cots, just while I’m getting sorted, but it’s a bit early to expect them to go to sleep. Still, you’ll want to see them properly before we go out, won’t you? If you want to have a go at nappy practice or whatever.’
‘It’s the whatever that bothers me. You do realise that I have never looked after a baby before, don’t you? Let alone two at once.’
‘You sure you want to do it?’
I see the flash of disappointment cross her face.
‘Well, I’m not going to let you down now, am I? Not when you’ve already got your glad rags on.’
Rosie looks down at her sick-stained top and baggy jogging bottoms and we both laugh. ‘I will be getting changed, honestly. Now that you’re actually here and I know Syd wasn’t just getting my hopes up.’
‘As if I’d do that to you.’ Syd plonks himself down on the sofa and checks his phone before switching it off. ‘Right. I am officially not working tonight. No calls, no messages, no appointments. Rosie, my love, I am all yours.’
I settle myself down and open my battered old childhood copy of Mary Poppins while my friends disappear up to their bedroom to get ready for their date. Something about this evening has put me in the mood for a bit of magic, with beautifully behaved children and everything going like clockwork, spoonfuls of sugar and all. I know that, later, when the twins are downstairs, I’m unlikely to get much time to myself. Hot drinks could be risky, and is it even possible to eat pizza with two crying babies balanced on your lap? Oh, well, there’s only one way to find out. And, really, what’s the worst that can happen? A wonky nappy or a bit of spilt milk never killed anyone, and we can’t all be the perfect Mary Poppins, can we? If I have to get by without a cup of tea, or go home hungry, so what? It’s just one evening, and I had nothing else planned. In a funny kind of a way, I’m looking forward to it.
As it turns out, I quite enjoy myself. I watch as Rosie does both nappies just before they leave, and unless some awful pooey accident occurs she assures me they shouldn’t need another change until morning. I am given two bottles of milk, colour-coded and already warmed, a cloth to sling over my shoulder, and vague instructions about when to take them up to bed, which I take to mean it could be at any time, whenever their little eyes close, and basically just to play it by ear. She lies them down on the sofa, one each side of me, and promises me they won’t roll off so long as I keep an eye, or a hand, on them, and then she and Syd go out and I’m on my own. Well, not quite!
Jamie is a sweetheart, all smiley face and squishy little grabbing fingers. I lift him into my lap and he’s got his fist looped into my necklace within minutes. The only way to get it away from him and stop myself from being strangled seems to be to take it off and drop it into my bag. He takes his milk easily and slowly slips into sleep, so I carry him across the room and lie him down in one of the Moses baskets, happy to have both arms free now to turn my attentions to his sister.
Becca proves to be more of a challenge. I get back to the sofa just as she’s attempting a kamikaze roll towards the edge. I lift her into position in my arms and try to get comfortable before round two begins. Her eyes follow my every move and there’s a strange puzzled expression on her face as if she’s trying to figure out who I am. Every time I try to slip the teat into her mouth, she turns her head away and flatly refuses to suck. Maybe she’s testing me, maybe she’s showing me who’s the boss around here, or maybe she’s just not hungry.
Reading my book is a definite no-go so I reach for the remote control and switch the TV on. I think perhaps a bit of background noise might just help to settle her, but she’s having none of it. She’s a born wriggler, this one. It takes one episode of Emmerdale and an hour of Corrie before she finally gives in and drinks her milk, falling asleep mid-suck.
It makes sense to bypass the basket and take her straight up, so I walk very carefully up the stairs with her in the crook of one arm, holding on tight to the banisters in case I trip and drop her. Once she’s in her cot, tummy upwards as instructed, I dim the light and go back for Jamie.
It seems strangely quiet when I’m back in the living room by myself. It scares me to have the TV on too loud and maybe not hear the babies if they cry. There is a monitor but I’ve never been one to fully trust in technology. So, I switch the TV off, pick my pizza from the menu Syd has left me (along with a twenty-pound note that he refused to take back), phone in my order, pour myself a large glass of cider and open my book.
Is it odd that a thirty-one-year-old woman has never spent any time alone with a baby? I suppose having just a younger brother, and no cousins within a hundred-mile radius, and my small group of close friends still being mostly single, I just haven’t come across a lot of mother-baby situations. Rosie has kind of opened up the way, been a pioneer, when it comes to kids. And, with two at once, she’s certainly done it in style. I know I’ve done a lot of mocking in the last four months, joking about her being up to her eyes in sick, feeling sorry for her and all she’s had to give up, dreading the day it happens to me, but I’m beginning to think I was wrong. What Rosie has is good. A loving husband, a proper home, and two little people who are totally dependent on her. There’s a lot of love in this house.
Syd insists on driving me home. ‘Can’t have you waiting for buses at this time of night,’ he says. It’s only just after half past ten, but I can’t pretend I would relish hanging about in the dark, so I say yes. ‘And I haven’t had a drink,’ he adds, as if I might be worrying, which I wasn’t. ‘More than my job’s worth.’
‘So, how was it, really?’ he asks, when we are driving and Rosie’s no longer around to hear. ‘I know Rosie won’t admit it but she does worry a bit, whenever she has to leave them. Even with someone like you, that she trusts.’
‘Does she? That’s good to hear. I know I’m new to all this, but it was okay. Becca was a bit of a handful, fighting to stay awake, but absolutely no problems with Jamie. If you don’t count trying to steal my jewellery!’
‘Ah, there you are, see? You females are always the difficult ones. Obstinate, demanding, hard to please… We men are much more easy-going. And always looking for ways to pocket a few quid, of course.’
‘Just a cheap chain, I’m afraid.’
‘Never mind. He was just attracted by the sparkle, I expect. No idea of value yet. He’ll learn!’
I laugh. ‘You old cynic, you.’
‘So, how’s life, Carly? No bloke on the scene? No possibility of tiny feet pattering your way anytime soon?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘You’re not still pining over old Jacky Boy, are you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I watch his face, in profile, as the street lights throw a half-light into the darkened car, expecting him to turn towards me, but he keeps looking straight ahead at the road. ‘And I have never pined in all my life!’
‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. He’s not for you, Carly, you do know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ I can’t help remembering how close we had come to kissing and I’m glad of the darkness that hides what I know only too well will be showing in my face. ‘But…’
‘But what? Come on, you can tell me. I’ve said this before, but if you need anyone to talk to, you can trust me. It goes no further. I’m a safe pair of hands. Or ears, or whatever.’
‘Look, I know it’s stupid, and probably totally one-sided, but we get on so well, and it’s great having him working in the same building, like it’s fate or something. We had lunch one day, in the park. And a drink after work. He even carried my shopping! I like being near him, being with him…’
‘I don’t like the sound of this.’
‘I love him, Syd, okay? You wanted to know, so there it is. I think I really do love him.’
‘You can’t love him, Carly. You only think you do. Because it’s not real, is it? You hardly know him. And for the last five years you haven’t set eyes on him, let alone had any idea what he might be doing with his life. So, he’s back, and you still feel something. A spark. But that’s not love, it’s infatuation. Jack’s like any other man. He makes mistakes. He might have been happy to meet up again, sent you mixed signals, flirted a bit more than he should, but you don’t have to be drawn in. He’s not worth it, and you’re worth more, if that makes any sense. Remember what I said earlier, when we had that idiot driver behind us? You can’t do anything about other people or how they behave. Just concentrate on what you’re doing. Be the better person.’
‘I can’t help it, Syd. Ever since we first met, all those years ago, it’s only really ever been Jack. If only I’d done more at the time, thrown myself at him, begged him to stay. If only he hadn’t had to go back home, he might not have married this other girl.’
‘Molly. She does have a name, you know.’
‘I know she does, but I don’t want to think about that. Or about her.’
‘Well, maybe you should. Because she’s his wife, Carly. She’s the one in the right here, the one on the moral high ground. She’s the one who would be mortified if she knew about you, not the other way round.’
‘There’s nothing to know. Jack and I… we had a bit of a moment a week or two back, but nothing happened. Honest. I stopped it. Well, we stopped it. And I don’t expect it to happen again.’
‘But you’d like it to?’
‘You know I would. He’s the one, Syd. You know how sometimes you just know? He’s the one, the only one, and I have no idea what to do about it. Except hope for a miracle, like his wife walking under a bus or something.’
Syd stops the car outside my flat and turns to look at me at last.
‘I can’t believe you just said that. Or that you could possibly mean it.’
‘I don’t mean it. Not really. It all just makes me feel so…’
‘What? Jealous? Angry? You have to let this thing go, Carly. Let Jack go.’
‘I’m trying.’
‘Not very hard, from what I can see. How about I introduce you to someone. I must have an available mate or two. Just for fun? It doesn’t have to be anything serious, but you never know…’
‘No, thanks, Syd. I think I’m okay without, for now.’
‘Just a thought, that’s all. But as for Jack, he’s off-limits. I mean it. Stay away, all right? A bit of mild flirting in the office is one thing, but having a moment as you call it sounds like a whole other level. Think about Rosie. How do you think she’d feel if some random woman she’s never met, or even heard of, was chucking herself at me? Oh, I know you probably think that’s never going to happen, I know I’m no Brad Pitt, but I’m her Brad Pitt, if you know what I mean.’
I don’t know what to say. I have never been lectured by Syd before, or by any man except my dad, and it feels wrong somehow, weird, him thinking he has the right to delve into my life, my heart, and tell me what to do. The trouble is, I know he’s right. I’ve known it from the day I found out Jack was back. He’s not mine. He never will be.
‘And you probably don’t know this, and it’s not really my place to say, but I’m going to tell you anyway.’
I have my hand on the door handle, ready to get out of the car, but my curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Haven’t you said enough already?’ I snap, grabbing my bag from the floor and staring at him.
‘She’s pregnant, Carly. I’m sorry, but it’s true. He told me himself. Molly and Jack are having a baby.’