He Said/She Said(118)

Chapter 66





LAURA

30 September 2015

There are two photographers outside my house, shooting the cab even before they can know who’s in it.

‘Where’s Christopher, Laura?’ shouts one of them through the window.

‘Want me to come in with you?’ asks Ling.

‘I’m good. You go back to your girls, they’ve barely seen you all week. Ring you later.’ I keep my head down, and make it to the front door with my jacket pulled high over my head, my hair hidden. I gave them their kiss outside the court; clearly I was naive to think the story could end there. I force the smile it’s so important to show my twins. They have already seen enough of my crying to scar them for ever. Those muslin cloths that you suddenly acquire by the dozen with newborn babies are perfect for mopping up tears. For a while I walked around with one on each shoulder; one for a baby, the other to cry on.

The tag on the doorbell beside me now simply reads Langrishe.

Beth opens the door to me, stepping backwards so that the photographers can’t see her. She’s wearing one of my old milk-stained maternity tops and a pair of shiny leggings. There is so much to say, but for now, ‘Well done,’ she says, drawing me into a deep hug. ‘You got through it.’

‘We got through it,’ I correct her.

Beth’s smile is watery; we’ll do this later, over a drink. She came to visit the babies when they were two weeks old. This time, I begged her to stay. ‘Why her?’ asked Ling, when I hired her as my nanny. ‘Doesn’t she just remind you of all the shit you’ve been through?’ To which I could only reply, ‘Who else?’ All I see now are the opportunities she didn’t take to hurt me. Who could I trust more?

And anyway, how would I explain it all to a stranger?

‘Fin’s just woken up,’ says Beth. ‘I’m getting his bottle ready.’

‘Perfect.’ I kick off my shoes. In the sitting room, my oldest boy lies on his back, bashing the toys dangling from his activity bar like a manic little percussionist. I kneel to breathe in his almond smell and laugh as he grabs for my earrings. He’s changed even since this morning; his saffron eyelashes are longer, or maybe he’s just got more hair. He’s got his dad’s nose, his granddad’s ears and an oval face that’s all mine. He’s a clown and a bruiser where Albie is soft and sensitive, watching intently for patterns and outcomes before committing to anything; Fin ploughs headlong into whatever’s on offer. I try very hard not to compare them to Kit and Mac, and I may yet succeed.

‘Have they been good?’ I ask, disentangling Fin’s fist from my hair.

‘Albie’s been an angel, Fin’s been a little sod,’ she says fondly.

‘Did you talk to Antonia?’

‘She’s hiding in a neighbour’s, watching the paps over the road,’ she says.

‘Oh, no,’ I say, although I ought not to be surprised by this by now. Maybe I should text Kit and tell him to come in the back way, through Ronni’s garden.

‘He’ll be here in about ninety minutes. I said he could help with bath time.’

Beth’s face pinches in on itself. ‘Want me to make myself scarce?’

Part of me wants to say no, stay, let’s make him squirm his way through this. I’m sure it would be more convenient for Kit if Beth suddenly disappeared for good now. That’s not going to happen; but neither can she be here when he comes home. The way I manage his homecoming sets up the template for the rest of our lives. Kit has lost my love but he is still my children’s father. ‘Just this first time,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

Once Kit is here, a new nightmare will slide into the place of the old. There will be more lawyers, I suppose; mediation to start with, issues of access, the house, custody – he’d be insane to contest me on this, but I can no more predict his actions now than I could those of a stranger in the street – and, when he eventually gets a job, possibly even child support. He might have something to say on the subject of his sons’ surname. If he challenges me on my choice of childcare, he’ll have a fight on his hands.

A soft grizzling noise comes down the stairs as Albie wakes up and realises his brother has gone.

‘Want me to get him?’ asks Beth, but it’s a rare treat for me to wake either boy from his afternoon nap. I hand her Fin and climb to the nursery. The boys sleep in the attic room that used to be our study. Our desks and clutter have been replaced by two cots and a changing table, all from eBay. By the time they’re old enough for real beds, I’ll probably have had to sell up. It will do for now.

I tiptoe in even though Albie’s awake, and pause for a moment on the threshold. I’ve had the huge plate window fitted with a blackout shutter and the only light comes from the illuminated globe that turns gently on its axis, painting the white walls with maps.

‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ I murmur into the satin of his neck. I throw back the shutters and the sky spills in, a wide expanse of blue above the rooftops. Together we look out over them. The sky over Alexandra Palace is bright blue, streaked with white, the baby-boy-nursery colours. Albie stares unfocused at scudding clouds until something catches his eyes and makes them widen in delight. A low-flying aeroplane booms its vapour trail slowly across the sky. Albie points, the first time he’s made the gesture. I follow my son’s gaze skywards, forwards. It’s going to be so hard, from now on, but I won’t look backwards any more, or over my shoulder. Albie knows this truth: we are meant to look up.