We’re walking towards a local bar on the other side of The Lanes, I realise. Neither of us has suggested going there, but that’s the direction we’ve started to head in. When he first moved to Brighton eight years ago and it was all fresh and new, he and Bella and I would go there after work. We’d sit and talk and talk and talk. There seemed to be so many words out there that needed to be released in our stories and observations and chats. It was so easy. So simple. But the years, they pile things on and they take things away and you have to leave certain things behind when the clock strikes midnight to end that time period in favour of another era. There was a golden era when they moved here, and that lasted a while and then went away. Now we have had to find new ways to be together.
‘Look, it’s complicated and I want things to work out on all levels so I’m keeping things quiet for now.’
I sigh. Complicated is a euphemism for so many things, usually, ‘married’. ‘So she’s married, then?’
‘No, I wouldn’t do that.’
‘Yes you would, yes you have. Who do you think you’re talking to here?’
‘All right, I wouldn’t do that now. And no, she’s not married or otherwise attached. She was officially classed as single before we got together. She has no kids, she has a job, she has her own flat and she’s a good person.’
‘Oh yeah, overburdened with complications there.’
‘Sister Pops, how’s Alain? Still got that great job? And fantastic house? And still making sure his world basically revolves around his daughter?’
Wow, that was a low blow. ‘Yes, he’s still going for citizen of the year.’
‘And you’re still split up from him, why?’
‘We haven’t split up,’ I state. Not officially. Not outside of anyone but him, me and Betina.
‘Could have fooled me.’
‘You know nothing about it, Logan. So leave it, all right?’
‘Fair enough.’ We get to the bar, a dark and brooding pub that sits right in the middle of the parade of shops in this street like the gap of a missing tooth in an otherwise bright, healthy smile. ‘Truce, Pops?’ He points to the doorway. ‘Once we go in, no more aggro, all right?’
‘All right, baby bro.’
‘And no “baby bro” nonsense, either.’
September, 2012
‘What you doing?’ Alain asked. He came into the bedroom where I had a holdall open on the bed and was carefully adding folded clothes to it.
‘Packing.’
‘Going somewhere?’ he asked gently.
‘I’ve rented a flat down near Hove seafront. I’m moving.’
‘I see,’ he said calmly. He sat down on the bed and said nothing for a few seconds. ‘Any particular reason why?’ He was confused and I didn’t really blame him. I’d done all this on the quiet because I knew he’d be upset and wouldn’t understand.
Carefully, I placed the top I had in my hands into the bag and sat down next to him. ‘I need space, I guess.’
‘Space?’
‘I’ve never lived on my own, Al. I went from my parents’ house to prison to my parents’ new house to living here. I’ve never had to look after myself in the sense of living by myself and making my own decisions.’
‘And you have to do this now?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re three months pregnant, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘I’ve noticed. It’s why I’m doing it. I need to know I can take care of myself so I can take care of this little one.’
‘I think that’s bullshit. I think you’re scared that you’re happy and you want to sabotage things before they go wrong in a way that’s out of your control.’
‘If you say so.’
‘You don’t think you can have the baby and the guy, so you’re leaving me before I leave you.’
‘I want to be on my own for a bit, Al. Just for a bit. I didn’t think we’re spitting up. I just want to be by myself when it hasn’t been imposed on me by someone else.’
‘And I don’t get a say in it?’
‘Not if you understand what I’m talking about.’
‘Do you love me?’ he asked quietly. And then held his breath, as though he couldn’t be sure of the answer.
‘What kind of a question is that?’ I replied.
‘One you’re not going to answer, clearly.’
I turned my whole body towards him. ‘Of course I love you. I don’t know how you could ever doubt that.’
‘Apart from the fact you’re leaving me, you’ve never actually said it. Not in two years of being together.’
‘OK,’ I replied. He sounded so sure of that, so certain, that I didn’t want to argue. ‘I love you.’ I said it again in case he was right and in case I needed to prove I did by being emphatic about it. ‘And I’m not leaving you, I’m going to me.’
‘I have no choice in the matter,’ he said sadly. ‘No choice whatsoever.’
‘It’s not going to be for ever. Just for this next little while so I can find out who I am.’
‘Fine,’ he said. And left the room without another word.
By the time I moved into the tired but beautiful mansion flat not far from Hove seafront, he had come round. He realised that I meant it, that I really was going to me and not leaving him. He helped me move, he was on twenty-four-hour call. By the time I moved, Alain had come to realise us living apart was probably the best thing for us to stay together.
March, 2013
Her body was so very tiny, her teeny veins were visible under her mottled beige-pink skin. Her white nappy seemed far too big for her, it was actually almost the same size as she was. She had swathes of shiny, curly black hair, and her blue-hazel eyes were closed. I was grateful for that, because she wouldn’t see that she was in an incubator instead of in my arms. My daughter.
My. Daughter.
She was so beautiful. Everyone says that, I know that. Everyone looks down at their progeny and thinks no one could be more perfect, but it was true. My baby was something I could not describe without using words like ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘angelic’. I wanted to hold her close, kiss her newborn head, inhale her fresh scent, stroke every contour of her face, count out those toes and fingers. But I couldn’t. She’d been rushed here straight from the delivery room and she was being protected and kept alive in this clear plastic box, while connected by tubes to various machines. I wanted to hold her close, revel in the different type of nearness we were going to share. It was painful, actually, physically painful listening to the doctors talk about her condition and know that it was keeping us apart that bit longer.
I put my head to one side so I could look at her from the same angle she was lying in.
Alain had gone to get us some food. Probably from outside the hospital, possibly from one of the cafés downstairs. I didn’t know. I didn’t much care. I couldn’t even think about eating, had told him as much, but everyone – the nurses, the doctors, Alain – had kept repeating: you need to eat to keep your strength up, you need to eat to encourage your body to make milk for when she comes out of her little plastic prison.