‘No. No, it’s going to be good. Mum is going to dehydrate within minutes.’
‘We’ll bring tissues and bottled water. Your dad’s going to explode. He’ll be trumpeting around the house, singing his songs, telling me it’s about time…’
Rebecca shuddered slightly. ‘No more “Haven’t you got my daughter pregnant yet then?” jokes, thank God. Like he spent a lot of time thinking about our sex life.’
‘He’s just enthusiastic about things. He’ll be all about pregnancy now, asking about your discharges.’
‘James! Yuk…’ she said, squirming on the edge of the bed. ‘And he won’t anyway. He’s a results man, he’ll just want to know when it’s due, and start nagging me if it’s late.’
‘And speaking of being late…I’ll be down in the car. I’ve loaded up the presents.’
James headed downstairs, taking them two at a time, to check all the doors and windows were locked, before heading for the car. It was the best Christmas he’d ever had, all the more exciting for thinking how much cooler still the next one was going to be. A proper family Christmas, and he’d even get his parents to celebrate it next year.
The morning had been spent in bed opening presents with Rebecca, and talking about the future. He’d got up early and made breakfast in bed. Well, tea and toast, but with a beautifully wrapped and bowed packet of ginger nuts for Becs’ present. No morning sickness yet, but he’d thought they might be needed before long. As soon as they’d discovered they were pregnant they’d agreed they weren’t going to get each other expensive presents this year – they were going to need to be sensible and save up. She’d got him a funny old 1950s pregnancy and parenting manual from the charity shop. He’d got her the biscuits, and a two hundred quid handbag she’d had her eye on. He’d got his shopping sorted out the first weekend of December as usual, so the money was already spent.
There’d been a heavy frost, and so even at this time of day the car’s windscreen needed clearing before they left. It was a sunny day but with the direction the house faced and how low the sun appeared at this time of year, it would barely get the chance to warm up the glass all day. He went to the kitchen to heat up a bit of water in the kettle, and while it boiled he looked around the cramped space with its low ceiling. After three years in residence, he’d finally got the hang of stooping naturally whenever he came in, to reduce the risk of braining himself on a light fixture. He felt a small swell of excitement as he thought about plans for changing the layout – shift the wine rack off the floor onto some kind of wall mount, and the high chair could go in the corner next to the breakfast table. They could all sit around on Sunday mornings reading the papers and eating rusks. The baby’s first words could be something agricultural picked up from The Archers omnibus.
There’d been nothing in his life he’d ever looked forward to more. He wasn’t sure when the change from wanting kids at some point to actually wanting kids had happened, but the last time he and Rebecca had had their hypothetical children conversation, and she’d asked ‘When?’ his answer just popped out, ‘Now?’ The thing is he wasn’t sure he even liked them that much. He didn’t dislike them, and he wasn’t one of those people who tuts and sighs at the sight of them in a pub garden or Pizza Express, but he just didn’t know how to get on with a two-year-old. He was OK if they took charge though, and they often did. Being a big guy, and pretty smiley, at friends’ parties or work family days there’d usually be one cheeky toddler that’d see him as some kind of walking climbing frame and before he knew it there’d be a mob of them piling onto him, squealing and shrieking while he pretended to be a giant. He usually quite liked it, and wasn’t unaware of how it made him look to Rebecca – the cool, modern dad.
It’d been during a weekend in Edinburgh visiting old friends of his, who’d already managed three kids in about the past five years, when it’d happened. The first day they’d been there it had been a beautiful winter’s afternoon and they’d all bundled up and gone for a walk in the park. He’d had a five-year-old on his shoulders, and was carrying an upside-down three-year-old, while the baby nearly tripped him over and brought them all crashing down by tugging on his leg. Everyone was in hysterics. Then after the kids had gone down for the night they and Si and Jools had tucked into a mountain of fish and chips and wine and had a great laugh talking about how life had changed since he and Julia had been trainees together. Rebecca had just come off all her contraception, and they were on johnnies until they made a final decision to go for it. That night, they’d figured why wait any longer? By 6am they were hungover, had a Coco Pops-fuelled five-year-old bouncing on their bed, and had been woken up virtually every hour on the hour by a screaming baby who apparently was ‘a bit teethy’. They couldn’t even come out of their room to take a desperately needed slash because they could hear Si and Jools having a storming row, outside the door. It genuinely sounded like Jools was on the verge of leaving for a while. They decided they might leave it for a bit longer before they started trying after all.
But…
The kettle clicked off, and he picked up the jug and added a burst of cold water before taking it out to the car. Stretching over the windscreen he poured out a thin stream of hot water, seeing how little he could use to clear the whole screen in one pass, without any bits to go back over for maximum points. He finished his first go and saw there were a few bits he needed to give another splash, but not a bad effort. He smiled to himself as he thought about the pregnancy again. He knew it wasn’t a competition, or test of manliness or anything but still: he shoots, he scores! He checked the time on his watch; they were supposed to have been on the road ten minutes ago.
He wondered if he’d get away with a friendly ‘hurry along’ beep of the car horn.
‘Winfield, you swine, my daughter make you late again did she?’
‘Howard! Great to see you. Merry Christmas!’ James gave Rebecca’s father a vigorous handshake while she gave her a mum a hug, before they swapped over. ‘Merry Christmas, Penny, your dress looks beautiful.’
‘Thank you, dear,’ she said adjusting the collar of her outfit. ‘Trip all right? I wanted Howard to call and make sure you were getting on, but I wasn’t sure who’d be driving, and he wouldn’t do it anyway. Too busy playing games on that blinkin’ phone of his…’
‘I was checking to see if your wayward son was online, dear. Thought he’d be missing the smell of your sacrificial sprouts,’ Howard said with a wink, before leaning in to James’s shoulder adding, ‘although those Angry Birds aren’t going to propel themselves into those green piggies are they, eh?’
James grinned back and gave Howard a pat on the back. Her dad being a slight, wiry man, watching him and James together often reminded Rebecca of watching an old lady’s Jack Russell terrier strutting about at the park bossing around a big, cheerful family Labrador.
‘Lunch smells gorgeous already, Penny. Have you done your potatoes?’ asked James.
‘I did an extra tray, just for you.’
‘What a woman!’
Over the years, it had been while watching him comfortably chat away with her parents that Rebecca had got an idea of what James must be like at work. Comfortable in a formal setting, but able to be relaxed and friendly. Respectful without being fawning. He’d been able to do it since they first met, and throughout the five years since, he’d been able to effortlessly play by their rules. It was a trick she’d never mastered, either at work or with his parents – although they were a bit odd so it wasn’t entirely her fault. She was just amazed at James’s ability to be someone else in these situations. OK maybe not someone else, but not exactly the same as the man who would burp ‘I love you’ after his first bottle of beer and bag of Doritos on a Saturday-night-in in front of the telly.
And it had only taken about eight seconds for her dad to get in his first dig about