Page 97 of (Not) The One
‘Oh. Nice. How long have they been married?’
‘Well, my mother passed when I was barely a teenager.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ Such trite words, but it’s hard not to mean them. To lose your mother when you’re so young must be terrifying. The only family member of mine who has passed is my gran. And she wasn’t particularly nice, so I really can’t compare the loss.
‘Would it surprise you to hear that, twenty-five years later, my father’s love for her endures? And not in any sense of a moping, maudlin love. He loved her so completely, enough for several lifetimes, I’ve heard him say. And he considers himself blessed to have had the time with her he did. And that’s blessednotin that terrible Instagram, millennial way.’
‘I knew what you meant,’ I deadpan.
‘My father is ex-military. He’s eighty years old, a great dad, and a good human, and extremely pragmatic.’ The last point he delivers with an added emphasis.
‘Not all experiences are the same.’
‘Your parents, I take it.’
I nod, sitting back in my chair. ‘Let me tell you about my parents.’ I inhale deeply as though the garlicky air in the restaurant is somehow fortifying. ‘Last week, I woke to my mum’s tears. Our dog had gone missing. Smudge is technically my sister’s dog, but she moved to Sydney after uni, so he’s become more or less my mum’s dog, though still a family pet. He’s twelve, he doesn’t bark or bite or cause a fuss, and he’s never wandered off before. In fact, one time I accidentally locked him out of the back garden because I didn’t realise he was on the other side of the gate. And he didn’t wander off. He just went trotted around to the front of the house and stared through the window until one of us noticed him.’
‘I’m sorry to hear he’s lost,’ James offers as I take a sip of my water.
‘Oh, he’s wasn’t lost. Thankfully, he’s at home, probably sleeping soundly in one of his many baskets. But, that day, she was in a state. She called RSPCA, the local veterinary clinics, the not so local ones, the out-of-hours services, and the local pound. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she called every animal rescue place in London. Meanwhile, she gets a call from Battersea Dogs Home. They have Smudge at their Windsor unit. He was dumped there by someone who was described as looking suspiciously like my father.’
‘They’re separated?’
My expression twists. ‘Not by proximity, unfortunately.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Me either, really.’ I place my glass down and look at the squares on the tablecloth, the door leading to the kitchen, at the evening sky through the window. In fact, I look everywhere but at him. Why? Because I find I’m trying very hard not to cry.
‘I’m sorry you have to go through this.’
‘We live in Wimbledon,’ I find myself adding. ‘And he went all the way to Windsor to try to dump the dog. And why? Just to hurt her. These are my parents. They used to be so in love.’ From heartsore to resigned, I feel my shoulders slump. ‘God, I have to get out of there.’
‘The house, you mean?’ I nod. ‘I must admit I’ve had my concerns about the way you’re living.’
‘There’s no need for you to worry,’ I respond tartly. ‘I won’t be living at home much longer. And the same for pet-sitting. A few more gigs and I’m thinking of giving my notice.’
‘That’s a relief to hear. Two jobs in your condition would be taxing.’
‘Pet-sitting isn’t really a job.’ It’s a good job Heather isn’t within listening distance after I’ve said the exact opposite to her—several times.
‘I was going to suggest I help you find somewhere more suitable.’
‘Define help.’
‘I have some property and—’
‘Nooo. No, thank you.’ That’s not happening.
‘Thatishalf my child you’re carrying.’
‘Trust me, I know. I remember the conception.’ Oh, f... fiddlesticks. Am I now to add involuntary expulsions along with zoning out to my pregnancy brain now? But I’m not living in a place James owns. Blurred line city! No. I need to do some of this on my own. I’m not foolish enough to think I won’t need help, and I know James will be there in whatever capacity he can, but those kinds of living arrangements are a little toomistress-yfor me. At least, right now.
‘I want to share these responsibilities.’
‘I know. And you will, but I’ve got this. Harry’s current accommodation is fine.’ I add a pat of my stomach as though to make my point, and then I realise what I’ve just called our child.
‘Harry Harrison? It has a certain ring to it.’
