‘I got these when Aideen and I had deluded ideas of going out swimming in the sea at the crack of dawn,’ says Tadhg.He lights the joint and inhales deeply.
‘Did the two of you live together?’I ask.
Tadhg exhales a plume of smoke.‘Nope.We didn’t really have time to plan big stuff like moving in together.’He passes me the joint and I reach out and take it.The sun loungers are just a couple of feet apart.‘Or maybe that’s just what we each told ourselves.Maybe both of us knew it wasn’t the right thing to do.’
I take a very small drag on the joint and hold it in my lungs for a moment before letting it out.He wasn’t joking about it being gentle and mellow.I feel some of the week’s tension start to ease.
‘You were right,’ I say.‘This is really nice weed.’
I snuggle down into my robe and take another, slightly longer drag.
‘I told you so,’ he says.Our fingers briefly touch as I passhim back the joint.Maybe it’s the weed, but I am suddenly very conscious of the physical contact.
‘You’re a very accurate drug pusher,’ I say.
Tadhg groans.‘I’m like something out of a nineties teen drama.“Hey, kids, just have a toke of this joint!It’ll chill you out!’”
‘Saint Tadhg’s drug shame,’ I say in a dramatic headline-announcing voice.
Tadhg lets out a hoot of mirth that turns into a proper fit of laughter, and I crack up too.It’s a clear night despite the freezing cold, and as I look up at the stars – surprisingly visible even though we’re not far from the city centre – a feeling that seemed impossible for much of the last week bubbles up inside me.
Happiness.
We lie there on our loungers, passing the joint back and forth.I feel cosy, and happy, and safe.Maybe that’s why, after a while, I say, ‘What about you and kids?Do you want to have them?’
If it weren’t for the fact that I’m slightly stoned, I would have been too nervous to ask him.I would have dreaded hearing ‘Yes, being a father is my dream and nothing is more important than passing on my genetic material’.Obviously Tadhg and I are not together – I’m not so high that I’ve lost my grip on reality – but it would have broken my heart, just a little bit, to know that I wouldn’t have been enough for him if we were.And yet somehow, right now, I feel like I can handle whatever he says.
‘I think I’ve always felt that if it happened, great,’ says Tadhg.‘And if it didn’t happen, also great.’
‘Did you ever come close to planning it?’I say.‘Sorry, that’s way too personal.’
‘No, no, it’s fine.’Tadhg takes another drag on the joint, which is almost finished now, and hands it over to me.‘My ex Amanda knew she didn’t want kids.And I thought about it a lot and realised I was fine with that.After her, I didn’t have another serious relationship for a few years – just short-lived things.Then I got together with Aideen and, like I said, we never got round to doing any serious relationship-changing stuff.I mean, I’ve thought about having kids.I suppose most people do, when they hit their mid-thirties.But it’s not something I feel I really have to do.’
I didn’t think it was possible for me to relax even more, but it turns out it is.I take a last drag on the joint and stub it out in the 1970s standing ashtray that’s positioned between the loungers.
‘Feel free to tell me this is none of my business,’ says Tadhg, ‘but how do you feel about it now?The whole kids thing.’
I exhale softly.‘Weirdly enough, I kind of feel … good?Maybe that’s not the right word.’I look up at the stars.It’s so clear I can make out all the constellations.‘Actually, I think it is, but it took a while.It was a huge deal when I realised I would never have a baby.It was … it felt like proper grief.’
‘But now?’says Tadhg.
‘I still feel sad about it every so often,’ I admit.‘Maybe I always will.Or maybe I won’t.Pregnancy announcements arestill, I don’t know, triggering.I don’t exactly feel jealous – it’s more like … excluded.Like, I’m happy for people, of course I am.It’s just every time someone tells me she’s pregnant, there’s one less woman like me in my life.I’m the outsider.Because I failed.’
‘You didn’t fail anything, Lol,’ says Tadhg gently.
‘I know,’ I say.‘In my heart I know that.And it’s not like there’s some huge gaping hole in my life.Day to day I’m genuinely okay with it all.Much more than okay, actually.’
‘Good,’ says Tadhg.
‘Yeah, itisgood,’ I say.‘And the whole thing made me confront how much I might really want to have children.Like, would I be prepared to go through fertility treatments that almost certainly wouldn’t work for me?Or try adoption?And I realised I don’t want to do any of that.Which I guess means there are limits to how much I actually want kids, even if I do feel sad about it sometimes.’I keep my eyes fixed on the stars.‘If it had happened, it would probably have been wonderful.But maybe it wouldn’t.The thing is, I’ll never know.What I do know now is that there are a lot of other things that can make me happy.And I can have a happy life without having kids.’
Tadhg sits up on his lounger and looks at me.‘But didn’t you believe that already?’
‘Well, yeah, in theory,’ I say.‘But it’s hard to feel it’s true when the entire world is always telling you that you’re a tragic failure.That’s really what makes me feel bad these days, not my actual life.I mean, every story where a couple doesn’t have kids or can’t have kids seems to end with a fucking miracle baby atthe last minute.Like you can’t be a proper grown-up or live happily ever after unless you have children.’
Tadhg ponders this for a moment and then says, ‘Shit, yeah, you’re right.’
I take a sip of wine.I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be saying all this if I weren’t slightly high and slightly drunk but I can’t stop now.‘It feels like the only women without kids I ever see in the media are the ones who never wanted to have them anyway, or the ones who did want to and couldn’t and never got over it.Why don’t I see women who wanted to, but it didn’t happen, and they were sad but eventually they were fine?I know I’m not the only one!’
