Page 101 of The Last Train Home
Teddy looks understandably unimpressed by my story.
‘How was it?’ Tom asks.
‘It was OK. I’m not sure I want to do it again in a hurry, but I know Icando it. So … that’s the main thing.’
‘Yeah, it is,’ he says, wide-eyed amazement still on his face that I’m here.
Tom doesn’t look a day older than when I last saw him – in his kitchen on the night of my leaving party.
Our conversation falters. I could say how much I’ve missed him, how I wish it hadn’t been so long, and how I know it was all my fault that it was; that I wish things hadn’t ended the way they did.
Instead I say gently, ‘Bye, Tom. It was so lovely to see you again. And you, Teddy. Although you won’t remember me.’ I raise my hand to wave and, with the rain trying its best to destroy my ballet pumps, decide to brave it in search of a taxi. And as I say the words – as I utter my brief goodbye – it feels wrong. Because I know it will be years until I see Tom again. If ever at all.
Chapter 63
Tom
‘Goodbye?’ I call after Abbie as she starts down the lane. Is she serious? ‘Is that it? You’re just going to go?’
I step out from the doorway, holding Teddy’s hand. Rain lashes down, but not on Teddy, who’s cleverly clutching his umbrella.
She turns round. ‘I’m not really sure what else there is to say.’
‘There’s plenty to say. You could tell me all about the baby, you could tell me what you’ve been up to, other than getting pregnant. We could … I don’t know, we could talk about anything. Teddy’s off pre-school today, which is good timing because today is—’
‘It’s my birthday today,’ Teddy pipes up finally.Nice one, son. Between us I’m sure we can keep her talking.
‘Oh, happy birthday,’ she says. ‘How old are you?’
‘Four,’ Teddy says. The rain’s easing off a bit now, but we’re so soaked it wouldn’t matter if it continued for ever.
‘Gosh. Time flies.’
‘It does. He starts school in September,’ I say.
‘My God, Tom,’ Abbie says. ‘That’s mad.’ She directs her attention to Teddy. ‘What presents did you get?’
She listens politely as Teddy reels off a list of items he received from me and from his friends who came to his birthday party at the weekend. Then he starts on the list of items Samantha and Ronald bought him. Abbie’s face is so expressive, making ‘wow’ faces as she listens, totally ignoring the fact that she’s drenched. Then she asks him something about one of the Transformer toys he’s talking about, and Teddy lights up, grows animated as he explains how it moves. ‘It’s in my bag,’ he says and points to his backpack. ‘Do you want to see?’
‘Sure.’ And then, ‘That’s a lot of presents,’ she says when he finishes showing her his toy and has worked his way verbally through his list. Above us, the rain has finished and the sun’s making its way out, giving the cobbles an iridescent glow.
‘Mummy and Ronald gave me loads of presents at the party at the weekend,’ Teddy continues. ‘But she saved all the Transformers for this morning, so I’d have something big to open when I woke up at their flat. And Daddy’s giving me his presents tonight.’
I see Abbie frown as she computes Teddy’s parental set-up, and then she understands and looks at me questioningly.
‘Samantha and I aren’t together any more,’ I say.
She nods, her lips parting as if she wants to reply, but Teddy cuts her off.
‘It doesn’t mean Mummy and Daddy don’t love me any more. They love me more than anything. They just don’t love each other any more, which is OK because they’re bothvery happy now.’ Teddy’s remembered my and Samantha’srationale word-for-word. We worked on how to phrase that for about an hour. It was an hour well spent. A shame we didn’t spend all the other time we had together over the years being quite so cohesive.
Abbie looks at me, questioning this reasoning. Am I happy now?
I nod, smile.
‘Well, that’s good,’ she says.
‘It means I get two homes, because I see Mummy most weekends when she’s not travelling, and I get two sets of birthday presents,’ Teddy reasons.
