‘When do we go?’ I asked the question, even though I knew the answer.
‘I’m going tomorrow. Alone. We both know this isn’t working. And if you’re going to keep the baby, it’d be better off not growing up in a home where its parents can’t stand each other.’
Can’t stand each other? When did that happen?
‘If I go now, it’ll never miss me. We can have a fresh start.’
‘Sean. What? What am I supposed to do? We’re three months behind on the rent. I can’t live here by myself. What about when the baby comes?’ I bent double, clamouring for air, the pain ripping through my guts like a meathook.
‘Here.’ He tossed a wad of notes onto the table. ‘That’ll help get you started. Get to Citizens Advice, or whatever. There’s good benefits these days for single mums. I’m sure your parents will help. They’d probably be pleased to know they’re going to have a grandchild.’
I was aghast, speechless.
‘This is your decision, Amy. You took risks with your contraception. You decided not to work. You chose to keep a baby. I’m just not ready for this. I can’t be a parent at my age and I’m not going to spend the next eighteen years paying for your mistake.’
‘YOU’RE not ready?’ I screech-wheezed, finding some kind of voice at last. ‘I’M NINETEEN!’
‘Like I said, your choice.’ He swung his bag over his shoulder. ‘I wish you all the best.’
And that was the last time I saw the scumbag wastrel otherwise known as Sean Mansfield.
* * *
The version I gave Joey was somewhat sanitised. Somewhat. I would do whatever I could to spare my son a twinge more pain than was necessary, but at the same time, my sore heart felt little obligation to protect the man who’d left me alone, broke and pregnant, and in doing so, leave Joey unprepared. And how do you pretty up, ‘yes, he knew I was pregnant when he left, and, no, he made no contact with me to ask about my child until now’?
‘You still want to go ahead with this?’ I asked.
Joey nodded, his frown uncharacteristically grave. ‘Warning noted. Dad was once a loser – but, hey, we know better than anyone that losers can change, right?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Right.’
I kept the email short, simple:
Sean,
I am considering your request. Can you please provide more details about what level of contact you had in mind, and what you hope to achieve? Clearly, my first priority is protecting my child.
Amelia
Three minutes later, as Joey pretended to watch TV in the living room and I sat at my desk watching videos of pandas rolling down hills to calm myself down, a reply pinged through:
Amy,
Thank you so much for getting back to me. I can’t tell you how much this means. I totally understand you want to protect Joseph. I’m happy to proceed as you see fit and take it as slow as necessary to rebuild trust. My aim is simply to get to know my son, to do whatever I can to make up for not being there. I know there’s nothing that can replace the years he had to go without a father, but he doesn’t have to go the rest of his life without one. If he doesn’t want that, I get it. All I’m asking for at this stage is the chance to say how sorry I am, and to at least try.
Sean
‘That FUDGING CUSTARD!’ I growled, while noting, with a sense of pride, my impressive self-control in neither swearing when my thirteen-year-old son was in the next room or hurling my laptop out of the window.
How the FUDGE did he know my son’s name? And, actually, he chooses to be called JOEY.
How DARE he imply that somehow Joey missed out from not having that worthless piece of SHITAKE MUSHROOM in his life?
He doesn’t have to go the rest of his life…like it was some CHUFFING accident or unpreventable tragedy that stopped him from picking up the phone or sending an email up until now.
Like I wasn’t enough?
Like he had the power to make Joey’s life better?
