I Owe You One(62)

“I don’t want him to know I’ve spoken to you,” she said adamantly. “I want him to think he’s changed his mind back independently. OK?”

“Er … right,” I said. “Of course. Sure.”

I thought I’d have some time to prepare, but it’s the next day, and here they are already, at 5:30 P.M. Hannah must have made Tim leave work early, I realize. And left work early herself. Clearly this is a high priority.

Oh God. So, no pressure, then.

“Hi, Hannah; hi, Tim!” I greet them, trying to sound natural. “What a surprise to see you!”

“Hi, Fixie!” replies Hannah stiltedly. “Yes, it was a spontaneous decision to come. I’m going to look at blenders for a birthday present. You keep Tim company.” And she strides off to the back of the shop without a backward look. Tim and I are alone. It’s my cue.

Shit. I should have planned this. What the hell am I going to say about babies?

“So!” I begin brightly. “How are you, Tim?”

“Good, thanks,” he says in that flat way of his. “How about you?”

“Yes, all fine, all good.” I nod a few times, frantically racking my brain. “Er … babies are great, aren’t they?”

Shit. That just came out.

“What?” Tim peers at me with a suspicious frown. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing!” I say hastily. “I was only thinking about it because … um … we had a baby in the shop today. It was so cute. And I thought, That’s the future. That’s the next generation. Let’s keep this planet in good shape, for the kids.”

Wait. Somehow I’ve diverted onto an environmental talk.

“What kids?” says Tim, looking confused.

“Kids!” I say desperately. “You know, kids!”

I can see Hannah peering out from behind the blender display, raising her eyebrows questioningly, and abruptly I come to a decision. There’s no point being subtle with Tim. You have to bludgeon him.

“Listen, Tim,” I say in a low, firm voice. “Hannah wants a baby. Why have you changed your mind? You’ve really upset her. And, by the way, she mustn’t know we’re having this conversation.”

Immediately Tim’s face closes up. “It’s my business,” he says, looking away.

“It’s Hannah’s business too,” I point out. “Don’t you want to have a family? Don’t you want to be a father?”

“I don’t know, OK?” Tim’s face is tight and kind of upset-looking. I’m definitely pressing his buttons.

“You’d agreed that it was what you wanted,” I persist. “What changed your mind? Something must have changed your mind.”

I can see Tim’s face working with some sort of emotion, and I wait breathlessly.

“I didn’t know what it involved!” he suddenly bursts out. “Do you know what having a baby involves?”

I want to make a hilarious joke about how his contribution isn’t exactly tough, but I’m sensing it’s not the moment.

“Like what?”

“It’s a nightmare!” he says, looking beleaguered. “It’s endless!”

“What do you mean?” I stare at him.

“Check baby carrier for weak seams. Visit nurseries. Research safety of car seats. Literacy. Organic paint. La Mars. Annabel Karmel. Flashcards.”

As this stream of gibberish comes out of his mouth, he’s counting items off on his fingers. I wonder for an instant if he’s having some sort of breakdown.

“Tim,” I say carefully, “what are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell Hannah I said any of this,” he says, hastily lowering his voice. “Promise me. But she’s just … It’s all … I can’t do it.”

I’m thoroughly baffled. This conversation has gone so off-piste, I don’t know what to say next. And now here comes Hannah, clutching her blender, looking at me expectantly.

“Hi!” I say, my voice high and awkward. “So, Tim and I were chatting about … things.…”

There’s a long, prickly silence. I can sense both Hannah and Tim trying to convey urgent silent messages to me.

“So!” I say again, avoiding both their gazes. “I’ll ring that up.…” I take Hannah’s payment and hand her the blender. “I’ll … er … call you later, shall I?”

“Shall we have supper?” says Hannah eagerly.

“Can’t.” I pull a regretful face. “I’ve got Leila’s birthday-drinks thing at Six Folds Place. But we’ll talk.” I nod. “We’ll talk.”

As Hannah and Tim leave, I breathe out. I need to decode all that. I need to work out what I’m going to say to Hannah. And look up what “La Mars” means. Or was it “Le Mahs”?

I’m about to type it into my phone when Bob comes out of the back room in his anorak to go home, and I smile at him.

“Hi, Bob. Everything OK? We’re not going bust yet?”

This is Mum’s little joke. She says it every time she sees Bob, so I’m keeping up the tradition.

“Not quite yet!” Bob replies with his customary little laugh. But I notice his fingers are tugging at his cuffs, as they always do when he wants to venture something awkward. “Just working through the invoices for the relaunch party,” he adds. “That DJ was an expensive chap, wasn’t he?” He laughs again—but he sounds anxious.