Page 123 of The Last Train Home
‘Who’s Thomasina?’ he asks, rubbing his tired eyes.
‘This little one, maybe.’
‘That’s not a real name,’ Teddy says.
I laugh. ‘It is a real name.’
‘It’s not a name for a baby,’ Tom says. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘I want to name her after you, so you know how much you mean to me, to her – what you’ve done for us. Not just five years ago. But now as well.’
‘No. Sorry. I’m not having that. Thank you. But no. I’ve got a man’s name. She’s a girl.’
This makes me laugh. ‘Thomasina is a girl’s name.’
‘You know what I mean,’ he says. ‘It’s a punishing name for a baby. Such a mouthful. Do you love it? The name? If not, don’t do it for me. Call her something you actually love.’
‘I don’t love anything,’ I whine. Now I think about it, I’m glad Tom didn’t like the idea of naming the baby after him, but I hope he appreciates the gesture.
And then Teddy cuts through with his own thoughts on the matter. ‘What about Matilda?’ he says, gesturing to the book.
I look at Teddy and then I look at Tom. Tom mouths the name, and so do I.
‘It was your favourite book,’ Teddy suggests. ‘Do you like other names?’
‘No. I don’t think I do.’
‘You could shorten it,’ Tom suggests. ‘Matty or Tilly?’
‘Tilly,’ I say. ‘I like that. Matilda, and for short … Tilly.’ I look down at my baby. I can’t tell if she suits it or not. ‘Tilly,’ I say thoughtfully. She opens her eyes and then closes them, continues sucking. ‘Tilly.’ I nod. ‘I like that.’ I might need to think about it a bit more, but in the interim I say, ‘Well done, Teddy. You clever thing.’
He yawns.
‘OK, you,’ Tom says, picking up his protesting son. ‘Bed. No arguments.’
Teddy waves at us from his position in Tom’s arms as he’s carried off to bed and I wave back, then I look down at my baby. ‘Tilly,’ I say, deciding I do actually really like it. And then I whisper, ‘Oh, thank God, you’ve got a name.’
Tom knocks on the open door a few minutes later. ‘I think Teddy’s asleep.’
I smile. ‘You can come in properly, if you want.’ I realise I want him to come in. I want him to stay. Just a bit longer. He sits on the end of the bed for a few minutes, looking tired. ‘Tilly’s finished feeding,’ I say, using her new name.
He smiles. ‘OK then, Tilly. Let’s get you back to bed too. And then I’ll be right back here in about two hours, when the fun begins again.’
He winds her, places her back in her cot and starts to leave.
‘Don’t go,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you stay here for a bit?’
He looks at me, says nothing. And then, ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’ And I genuinely mean this. I’m in maternity pyjamas and I am definitelynotthe svelte fifty-laps-every-morning size I was when I got pregnant. I’m huge now, desperate for my I’ve-just-had-a-baby stomach to retreat back from where it came.
‘You must know why not?’
‘Tom,’ I say, ‘while the connotations are very flattering, I know you don’t mean what I think you mean. I’m the least attractive I’veeverbeen. You’re in no danger here.’ I simply want to spend some time with him. I want to be near him. I’m reminded of a conversation with Natasha about knowing that she loved Will because she wanted to bewithhim.
‘You’re kidding, right?’ he says. ‘You’re the most beautiful I’ve ever seen you. I’m in all kinds of danger here.’
‘You’re lying,’ I whisper.
