Page 52 of Two Wrongs
‘I didn’t tell Mum.’ According to her, you’re never too big or too old for a skelped arse. I think she would’ve more than walloped his backside for that. She would’ve probably called a priest. For an exorcism. ‘I supported you then. I think it’s your turn now.’
‘Of course—Jesus, Ivy. You think I’d turn my back on you?’
‘No, but it’s not even the call, exactly.’
‘I’m not calling her,’ he quickly added.
Ignoring him, I pushed on. ‘Look, this baby isn’t going to have a daddy.’ At least, it might not. And I can’t stand to think about that right now. How I’ll tell Dylan. How he’ll react. Bugger it—I’m not dealing with those thoughts right now. ‘But he or she will have an uncle in his place—an involved uncle, I hope. A really awesome one...’
Mac frowned, looking like the worries of the world rested on his shoulders. ‘Of course, I’ll be there,’ he’d said. ‘For you both. I’ll be the best bloody uncle there is, only...’
‘Only what? Spit it out,’ I said.
‘You’re sure there’s no way you can find the man? It seems awful unfair that he doesn’t get to know.’
‘What part of anonymous don’t you get? I met him in a nightclub, and he was on holiday—I can’t even remember where he said he was from! It was just a night of really hot, sweaty f—’
‘Aye, aye!’ Mac winced again, patting the air with both of his hands. ‘I get the picture. No need to be so... explicit, yeah?’
But that was the point. By making him uncomfortable, I could get him to shut up.
‘Explicit? Really? We can go there if you like? I mean I miss talking about this sort of stuff with Fin, with her gone and all. And I suppose you still owe me for me not telling Ma about you beating one out in the front room a few months ago.’
Fin and Nat had walked in on Mac in our childhood home; jeans around his ankles and porn on the big screen. Hardly his finest moment, though Natasha was certainly titillated.
‘You’re a hard girl, Poison,’ he’d said, shaking his head.
I didn’t even bite at my childhood nickname. Back then, he’d called me poison as an antidote to everyone else thinking I was sweet. Wonder what they’d all think now?
Probably the same as Dylan; Edera Velenosa.
‘Really? Hard? Freudian slip, much?’
‘Enough!’ he’d said, doing that weird patting thing with his hands again like he could ward off my words. ‘I’ll do it—do whatever you want.’
‘Good, because I’ve booked a Skype call.’
‘For what?’ This hit the air more likefir wit?
‘To tell the olds they’re about to become grandparents.’
Mac didn’t answer. He just groaned.
‘Couldyou no’ have worn a t-shirt?’ Mac complains, as my father’s hairy paunch comes into view followed by a grating wave of static.
It’s late Monday evening, and Mac and I are sitting at my kitchen table, laptop in front. I feel sick—no surprise there—but this time, it’s accompanied by my stomach on a nervous spin cycle.
I can do this. I’m a grown-up. And a business woman. And... I don’t want to disappoint them.
That’s what it boils down to. The essence of it all. I prefer to be the nice girl; the daughter who causes no problems. The daughter who is nothing but a success.
‘Stella—we’re on!’ My dad’s voice carries across the ether, followed by my mother’s admonishment to sit down.
‘I suppose we should be happy he’s got trousers on,’ Mac sayssotto voce.
‘I heard that,’ Dad replies. My father is a man of few words, which is just as well, because if talking was an Olympic sport, my mother could represent Scotland.
‘Now all we can see is the top of your heads. Angle the laptop screen down.’
