“It’s true, I’m a mongrel,” I say. “I look like all sorts of people. Brad Pitt, David Beckham, Max Reigate… It’s a real curse.”
Ellie rolls her eyes at me. “They say new dads feel extra-confident, but Brad Pitt? Really? You’re not even blond!”
“But you look like every bit the Angelina, my darling,” I tell her, giving her a kiss.
But maybe Mum feels a bit nauseated by all the smooching, because she’s back on Max Reigate.
“Where did you get that CD, anyway?” Mum asks.
I look at Ellie. I don’t know where we got it. Ellie just produced it one day. “Look what I found,” she said. “Spooky, right – look at the nose, the eyes, the hair. It could be you. Or, like, your long-lost brother!” And we’d listened to the CD, which actually turned out to be pretty amazing, this romantic piano concerto full of clashing chords and little haunting riffs of melody. It starts off being all orchestral, and you’re just waiting in suspense for the piano to take over in its solo brilliance, because you know it will. Then once it does, you know nothing will be same again. It just haunts you, by its presence and its lack.
Ellie looks at Mum. “I borrowed it from your place,” she says to Mum, her voice level. “While we were watering your plants, when you were away, I came across it. I hope that’sOK?”
“You came across it?” Mum asks. Her voice is tight.
Ellie shrugs. “Yes.” She holds Mum’s gaze. It’s like a challenge.
I feel like I’m missing something. I look at Ellie but she is busy examining the CD case. Then she looks up.
“Let’s play it!” she says, brightly (defiantly?). “We’re meant to be celebrating, so let’s celebrate.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Ellie love,” says Dad. “You’re meant to play babies whale music, aren’t you, not Ma – not this stuff.”
“My baby,” begins Ellie, then joins hands with me briefly, and corrects herself. “Our baby, is going to take after Will’s doppelganger and be an amazing musician. Not mess around with skeletons and brains like his nerdy dad. It’s all decided.”
Mum and Dad don’t look too pleased. But Ellie is already advancing to the CD player. And I get an outbreak of the goofy grins again at the thought of being a dad. Plus it is, as I’ve said, pretty amazing music.
“Put it on track three,” I say. “It’s the best bit.”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “Will always likes to get straight to the climax.”
I try to blush but I guess my parents kind of know we’re having sex. The evidence is protruding from Ellie’s belly. If not my tousled hair. Plus it’s like they’re not in the room. This is mine and Ellie’s and little (almost baby) Leo’s moment. We can do what we like. Mum is holding the Appletiser glass so tightly I am worried she might break it. Maybe I should offer her something stronger.
But then the room is filled with Max Reigate’s amazing sounds. The piano builds up in a wonderful rhythm of threes – ya da da, ya da da, ya da da – with chords separating then combining, unrelentingly crescendoing until my brain feels like it’s filled with blood, and with each beat of the piano hammers against the strings, there is more blood, pulsating to escape. And then –
“This is the best bit,” I say, waving my arms around, twirling about the room, in a way I know Ellie thinks is attention-seeking, but it’s how the music moves me. “Listen to how the violin and the piano are almost talking to each other, like a love affair, together coming closer and closer towards the climax, that wonderful pianorgasm and – ”
The music stops. But it’s not the end. Mum is standing next to the CD player, her finger on the stop button. Her back to the room.
“Mum, did you stop it? Sorry, did ‘pianorgasm’ offend you? It just…”
I trail off. Because Mum turns to face me. And she has tears in her eyes.
-Will-
“Mum? Is something wrong?” I ask, rushing to her.
She is shaking her head wordlessly.
“Gillian, you OK? Do you need to go home?” Dad puts his arm around her.
Mum takes a deep gulp and manages to add some words to her head-shaking. Too many of them.
“Home? Don’t be silly. We’re celebrating! Isn’t it wonderful news about the scan? Ellie, have another cupcake!”
“Mum, honestly, are you OK? Do you want to sit down?”
“I’m fine, Will.” Mum replies. “Just being silly. The music’s beautiful, and you’re having a little boy. I’m just so pleased.”
I look up at Dad. He is standing mutely behind Mum.
“Aren’t we pleased, John?” Mum asks him.
Dad takes his cue. “Delighted. I might even have a cupcake too.”
Good. Some kind of normality is restored, I guess. I help myself to a cupcake. Not sure what the blue icing is made of, but it’s pretty tasty. I wonder if Mum had some pink cakes in reserve.
“Great. So. What shall we do, to celebrate?” I ask.
“Let’s get the photo albums down,” says Ellie. “Go mushy over pictures of us when we were little.”
“Mum, Dad, what do you think? I don’t have my baby ones, obviously but – ”
Mum cuts in. “We’re so sorry about that, Will. I keep replaying the moment we closed the door on the Dartington house – I was sure we had everything. And I called up the new owners about the albums, but nothing.”
“Probably paedos,” jokes Ellie. “Wanted to ogle photos of Will in his little bathtub.”
I’m not sure Mum gets that it’s a joke because she looks a bit appalled.
“Yep, thanks for that Ellie,” I say. “Now, Mum, Dad, in a non-paedo way, would you like to look at photos of baby Ellie?”
“Why not?” says Mum brightly. “Let’s go through to the living room. It will be more comfortable in there for Ellie.”
“Fine. You go through. We’ll make some tea and bring in the albums.”
So Mum and Dad potter off into the front room, taking the scan picture with them. In the kitchen, I fill the kettle. Ellie is springing around in excitement. I wonder if Leo enjoys that or if it’s like being inside a mad rollercoaster.
“You know who else lives in Dartington?” she asks me in a whisper. “Max Reigate!”
“Damnit, so he’s the paedophile who’s busy looking at my baby photos! And here’s me thinking he was just into music.”
Ellie sticks her tongue out at me.
“Anyway, how do you know?” I ask. “Have you been Googling him? Trying to find a better photo? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you fancied him.”
Ellie leans forward to kiss me. “I fancy you,” she says, saucily. Then she breaks away. “So it figures I’d fancy your doppelganger.”
“Hey!” I say, hitting her lightly on the arm.
“Will, you’re not meant to hit pregnant women, you know,” she says.
“You’re not meant to talk about other men in front of our son. Or above or around our son, whatever it counts as now. Anyway, you’re distracting me, you minx. What’s the deal with Mr Doppelganger and Dartington?