Page 89 of The Last Train Home
‘Was for me.’
‘Oh, Sean, I had no idea. Why didn’t you say?’
‘You were having a nice time. I hardly saw you the whole trip.’
‘I was catching up with friends I hadn’t seen in so long. Why weren’t you doing the same?’
‘I did. I don’t have as many friends as you,’ he says bitterly.
I think of how he willingly let Tom go, and wonder who else he’s done that to. The steward arrives with a tray and I take an orange juice, eyeing Sean’s champagne greedily. It’s torture, watching other people drink. Nine months of not-drinking, and then the breastfeeding period. I do a mental calculation of when I can start drinking again and it’s probably another year away yet.
‘Can I have a sip of your champagne,’ I say. ‘Only a really, really tiny sip.’ I feel I’m going to need something to get me through the rest of the conversation. ‘Actually no, don’t worry.’ I change my mind guiltily and then sigh longingly as he glugs most of his drink in one go. ‘Was it that bad?’ I ask.
He signals for the steward to come back with another drink.
‘Yes,’ Sean harrumphs. ‘And I said we should have stayed at a hotel in central London. When you were out busy with your mates, I had to spend so much time with your parents at theirs.’
‘Hadto? I asked if you wanted to come and meet people. You didn’t want to.’
‘I thought I’d have the house to myself – that your folks would be out at work and I could relax, watch films or whatever. But your parents are always around.’
‘It’s the school Christmas holidays. They’re off work.’
‘Yes, I realised that quite early on in proceedings, actually.’
The steward arrives with more drinks for both of us on a tray. Sean forgets to say thank you, so I make mine extra clear and polite as I take a second orange juice. I haven’t touched my first one yet, and I am left with one in each hand. I hate putting them on the little tables in case they jerk and fall off as the plane begins moving away from the gate.
‘I guess now isn’t a good time to tell you I’m thinking of coming back home to have the baby, then.’
He turns to look at me so quickly I hear a bone click.
‘Ow!’ he says, rubbing his neck. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘I can’t think how else to do it,’ I tell him. ‘Natasha’s booked her wedding date for four weeks after the baby’s born. I don’t think I can get on a thirteen-hour flight a month after I’ve given birth. If I did, would you come with me?’
He necks the second glass of champagne. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I can’t keep taking time off for trips back to the UK.’
‘It’s Natasha’s wedding. She’s my best friend.’
‘She wasn’t atourwedding.’
‘No one was at our wedding.’ This is a pointless argument. I should never have said anything.
But he continues, ‘Healthcare in Singapore is amongst the best in the world. Why would you want to fly back here to have the baby?’
‘I wouldn’t normally, but it just works, with Natasha getting married. And my mum and dad would love to see the baby hours after it’s born, and all the days after, instead of having to book a last-minute flight and only spend a little bit of time with us. Your parents too. Everyone we know and love is here. It makes perfect sense.’
‘To you,’ he says.
Sean’s jaw is clenched. But I’m persevering with this, regardless. ‘It’s my body,’ I plead. ‘Where I give birth and how – it should be up to me. This is what I want.’
He’s quiet.
I’ve switched from pleading to accusing in my tone when I ask, ‘You will come, won’t you?’
‘For the birth of my child. Of course,’ he snaps. ‘But I’d really rather not have to travel. I can’t afford to take this level of time off again.’
‘You get paid paternity leave.’
