Let’s see though… who knows what could happen?
He loved these moments when it was just him and Jemima. Gemma had a way of making him feel completely inadequate, criticising him for the way he spoke to Jemima, not cutting up her grapes small enough, not putting the nappy cream on properly. Anything and everything could be like a red rag to the bull and then Gemma would be off on one, like she was the only person in the world who knew how to look after a baby.
But the truth was that Gemma wasn’t all that good at it herself and he was secure in the knowledge that although he may get the logistics wrong, he was nailing the cuddles and playtime. In fact, he was nailing the fatherhood thing full stop.
He opened the door to a woman standing on his front step, who looked vaguely familiar. She was wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and an oversized hoodie that was pulled up over her head, so he couldn’t quite make out her face. Her eyes were covered by large sunglasses, out of place on such a cloudy day. He immediately went to close the door on her, saying, ‘Nothing today, thanks’ in case she was one of those convicts selling tea towels or a Jehovah’s looking to discuss the end of the world while shoving a copy of The Watchtower in his hand.
‘Greg Lowe? I have a delivery for you.’
He hesitated. ‘Oh?’
Jemima gurgled in his arms, her tiny fists still clamped in his hair.
‘Ah, such a lovely baby.’ The woman leant into the doorway and stroked Jemima’s cheek.
Greg stepped back one pace, so that the woman was just out of reach. ‘Thanks.’
She shoved a small, white box at his stomach. Greg took hold of the box and looked back at the woman, but she was already walking away, her immaculately white trainers crunching across the gravel.
He frowned and closed the door. He gently lowered Jemima to the floor and she took off on all fours. Greg looked at the box in his hand. It was the kind of thing they put your cakes in at the bakery and, lifting the lid, that was exactly what was inside. A selection of four, small, delicious-looking patisserie cakes decorated with edible flowers and delicate icing. His mouth started to water just looking at them. He’d only had Gemma’s green smoothie so far today.
Oh, but the diet. Gemma would be furious with him if he brought these out after dinner. Just that morning, she had made him weigh himself in front of her and had tutted when he had only lost a pound. He hadn’t told her about the sneaky pint he’d had with Mike on his way home from work on Friday – or the bag of pork scratchings that he’d washed down with it.
He scooped Jemima up and tucked her into her highchair, where she continued to destroy the sticker book in front of her. The box had no message with it. It was just a plain white box.
Maybe Maddie had sent them. It certainly wouldn’t have been Gemma and it was far too feminine a gift for it to have been one of his five-a-side mates. There was a bakery down the road. Maddie probably had them sent from there – but why?
Unless it was because of what he’d told her the other day. He thought back to lying next to her again, the sheets wrapped around their legs, her cheeks flushed. She’d looked like the Maddie of old, before the pregnancies and the stress and the heartbreak. She’d looked like the girl he had fallen in love with. He’d been making her laugh by telling her about his disastrous attempt to deep-fry tofu last week for their dinner. She had said she thought he was fine the way he was and he had joked about maybe sneaking off to eat cake in his lunch hour when the lettuce and fresh air diet he was on got too much.
She must’ve sent these as a joke, something just between them. It was the kind of thing she would do. He smiled, feeling his stomach lurch like a boy with a crush on the girl next door.
Greg turned on the coffee machine, popped a strong espresso pod in the top and brewed a coffee, then sat at the table next to Jemima with his box of cakes and his cup.
Nestled inside the box like a cuddle were two slices of what looked to be a rich chocolate cake and two slices of vanilla and peach cake. He thought about getting a fork from the drawer, then just reached in with his fingers and grabbed the vanilla cake first, took a large bite and let the moist, delicious sponge dissolve in his mouth. Jemima reached out to grab the cake, but he moved it from reach. He wasn’t sure if cake and cream were good for babies. Peaches were though, weren’t they? One of her five a day?
Her hand reached out again almost instantly and this time he put a bit of the cake in her grasp. She shovelled it into her mouth with delight and he laughed. ‘I know! Cake is the dog’s bollocks, isn’t it? Don’t let your mother know I said bollocks though – or that I gave you cake,’ he said conspiratorially.
Before long, the slice was gone and Jemima was wearing cream from one ear to the other.
‘It would be remiss of us not to taste the chocolate too, don’t you think?’
He was sure Jemima nodded.
The chocolate was just as rich and decadent as he expected. The slice was gone in minutes, shared with Jemima to an extent, but mostly consumed by Greg.
For a second he considered eating the other two slices in the box too, but then thought better of it and got up to find somewhere to stash the box where Gemma wouldn’t find it. He could save them for later. She had another yoga class booked tomorrow evening and he knew exactly how he would spend the time while she was out.
As he got to his feet, his throat started to itch and he coughed a little, then a lot. Within seconds, it felt like a hand had reached up, shoved some razor blades down his throat and then begun to squeeze his neck so that he couldn’t breathe past the blades slicing the inside of his oesophagus. The pain and asphyxia caused spots to bloom in his vision. The spots swam in and out as he gasped for breath and lurched into the kitchen to the tap, hoping that perhaps some water would dislodge whatever was obstructing his windpipe.
But he knew what it was and he knew water wouldn’t help him now.
He hadn’t had a reaction like this in decades. In fact, since he was at school. But now that it was happening, he recognised the signs of anaphylactic shock. There must’ve been nuts in one of the cakes. He hadn’t tasted nuts though. And if Maddie had sent them, she knew how allergic he was and had always been so careful about it.
He stumbled out of the kitchen on weakening legs. He had a syringe of epinephrine in the bathroom cabinet upstairs, but he couldn’t remember when he last checked it or if it was out of date. It would have to do though, because he was starting to feel light-headed and he could hear himself wheezing as his throat closed up and slowly cut off his air supply.
He stumbled and fell in the corridor and had to drag himself up the stairs. His heart was racing, his eyes were streaming and he was properly terrified for the first time in his life. As he crawled up each Everest of a stair, his thoughts turned to Jemima, her beautiful little face and her delightful smile. The sound of her giggle and the way she opened her mouth and clamped her gums onto his cheek in her version of a kiss. Then he thought of Maddie, her face filling his brain. His eyes were streaming, but now with tears rather than from the exertion of trying to suck in air.
*
When Gemma opened the front door, the first thing she heard was Jemima screaming from the kitchen.
So much for calm and relaxation.
‘Greg?’
She threw her yoga mat down in annoyance. She’d only been gone a couple of hours and it sounded like all hell had broken loose. And she was thinking it wouldn’t hurt to go for a green tea with Emilia after their class; Greg could cope for a bit longer. In fact, lately she’d been thinking that Greg could cope much better than her altogether. He was so much calmer than her, so affectionate with Jemima. Gemma had to admit it annoyed her that he had adapted to fatherhood so easily. Greg and Jemima were like a little compact unit and she felt like the outsider most of the time.