Page 105 of The Last Train Home
Tom’s face is still placid. ‘And so, wait … what?’
‘So I’m here on my own and I’m staying with my mum and dad, and I’m not sure what I’m doing, but whatever it is, I’m doing it on my own. Sort of.’
‘On your own?’ Andy says. ‘He’s not here?’
‘He’s not here,’ I repeat. ‘And he’s not coming over for the birth, and instead every month or so a whole bunch of money drops into my bank account.’
There’s a long pause and none of us speaks until Andy says, ‘Fuck me sideways.’
‘Yeah,’ I say quickly. ‘So there it is. I’m pregnant, I’ve left my husband – although I think you could say it was mutual – and in a matter of weeks I’m going to be a single mother.’
I can’t see Tom’s face. He’s turned slowly, has started loading the dishwasher, although his movements are slow.
‘Andy, tell me about you,’ I say, to break the silence.
He launches in, only too happy to steer the conversation away from my predicament. He’s saying something about the cartoon, but all I can focus on is Tom’s clenched jaw as he moves to and from the dishwasher.
After an hour or so, Tom glances at the kitchen clock and then starts to round up the kids, with excited chatter about weeknight sleepovers. I say goodbye and happy birthday to Teddy as his football-shaped rucksack is heaved onto his shoulders, full of his overnight stuff; and his bag for pre-school is clutched in his little hands, ready for the morning. He really is a cute kid.
‘Thank you for coming to my party,’ he says to me, unprompted.
‘Oh, thank you for having me,’ I tell him and then I whisper in his ear, and he looks up at me and gives a huge smile.
Tom hugs his son and lifts him and his multiple bags into his arms, kisses Teddy on the head and then puts him down. ‘Happy birthday, little man,’ he says. ‘Have a good sleepover.’
When Andy and the boys have gone, Tom closes the door and gestures for me to go back with him into the open-plan kitchen. I stand by the breakfast bar as he makes us both some tea.
‘What did you whisper to Teddy?’ he asks as he pours boiled water into mugs. ‘Or is it a secret?’
‘I told him I owed him a present and if he could think of something he’d like, then I’d like to get it for him.’
‘He’s going to be so spoiled,’ Tom says. ‘But thanks.’
‘He’s a lovely little boy,’ I say. ‘Genuinely. You’ve done really well, Tom.’
He shrugs. ‘Ah, you know.’
‘It must be tough, being a single parent.’
‘You’re about to find out,’ he says.
‘Yeah … I know. I’m not sure it’s really sunk in yet.’
‘You must have had a good reason to leave Sean,’ Tom says. ‘If you’re sure you’ve done the right thing, then …’ He doesn’t finish the sentence.
‘I am,’ I reply. ‘It worked when it was just the two of us. But I could see it wasn’t going to work when we became a three. We weren’t enough for him.’ And because I can’t stop myself, I tell him everything. I tell him how we could never match up to Sean’s ambition; how he didn’t want to move back home – ever, by the sounds of it; how much the power and the glory of his job had changed him; how lonely I was; how lonely I still am (although I wish I’d not said that bit),but how it was preferable to being with Sean, because in the end we were only going through themotionsof being a happy couple while we were pregnant, because Sean wasn’t happy. But it was too late to push the stop button. Until I went and pushed it anyway.
Tom sips his tea. There’s silence.
‘You’re being really restrained,’ I say eventually, when I can’t bear it any more.
He runs his top teeth over his lower lip. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I am.’
‘OK, go on. I’m ready.’
‘Ready for what?’
‘I’m ready to hear what an idiot I am, or what an idiot Sean is – it’s got to be on the tip of your tongue, right?’
