May felt unreasonably upset. She hated any mention of her age, absolutely hated it, and now she felt stupid as well. Of course it was true that he spoke Welsh, why would he lie to her?
‘Oh May, I didn’t mean to upset you, I was just joshing, come here.’ Alain sat down at the kitchen table and pulled May on to his knee.
She wished that she wasn’t so emotional, so girly, so weak. She hadn’t been like this before she got pregnant, she was sure she had been tougher. Why couldn’t she just ask him why he had hidden it from her?
‘Oh lovely girl,’ Alain said, followed by something in a lilting language that May presumed must be Welsh. ‘See, I can still do it! I was at university in Wales, you know that, a little college in Lampeter, and Welsh was on offer to all the students there. There weren’t many English students, in fact hardly any, I don’t know quite how I ended up there but I did and I took the Welsh option and I loved it. And now I’ve got a job from it and it’s such a good start for us. It’s with the Welsh Film Board. I bet you never even knew there was such a thing, did you? Go on, admit it. But there is, and I’m going to be one of their translators. They have a small team, you see, who translate the major new releases into Welsh. They either oversee the dubbing process, or they write subtitles. It’s a dream of a job and that’s not even the best bit.’
Alain turned to May. She could see the excitement shining in his eyes.
‘What is the best bit?’ May asked. It must be a pregnancy thing, she thought, some altered reality thing that made her feel as though she was playing along, as if none of it was true.
‘I’m glad you asked that,’ Alain said, ‘very glad indeed. It’s as though you could read my mind, thank you, missus, lady with the lump, you’re a picture of beauty even when you’re stirring the mince. I’ll tell you, seeing as you asked so very nicely. There’s a flat with it, that’s the best thing. Look, I’ve got all the details here.’
Alain reached into the bag by his side and pulled out a sheaf of papers and photographs. May stood up, conscious of how heavy she must feel on his lap. He handed her the papers and May gasped. The pictures were amazing. May could see a large house with a long driveway set amongst trees. She had been so worried about where they would live when the baby was born. The panic she felt had increased with every week of her pregnancy, until it was there all the time like a malevolent parrot attached to her shoulder. May felt the weight of it lessen.
‘That’s it, merry May, that’s the Welsh Film Board house. And our flat is inside, imagine! There’s a Land Rover that everyone can use to get to the end of the driveway, and from there it’s only a few minutes into Bangor, it will be such a great place for the baby to grow up, May, imagine.’
Wales. May had spent a seaside holiday in Wales once, in a caravan. She had always wanted to go back. Just the word conjured up pictures of sunny beaches and picturesque hills. Compared to Hull, it sounded like paradise. She looked again at the trees and the big, friendly-looking house.
‘Will it matter,’ she said, ‘that I don’t speak Welsh? I mean, if everyone else does.’ May trailed off, painfully aware of how boring she must sound. She wasn’t good at languages, Alain knew that.
‘I’ll learn, of course,’ she said, trying to sound more together, less pathetic, ‘I’ll pick it up, I’m sure.’
‘Oh darling, you will, you will, and we can bring the baby up to be bilingual, maybe call her Myfanwy or Glendower.’
That’s going a bit far, thought May, I’m not sure about that at all. She would have liked to say something about the names they had already chosen, but Alain was so excited and really, he was right, it was a great opportunity. A flat in a big house, with trees and grounds and space for the baby, no housemates. May could hardly eat for excitement. It was going to be OK.
Later that evening, after Mastermind, May snuggled up to Alain on the rickety sofa. He was knitting, following a pattern he’d made himself.
‘I love you because you knit, do you know that?’ she said. It was true. May adored the fact that he knitted, loved the way his mouth pursed as he was tackling a difficult part of a pattern. The little creatures Alain had knitted for the baby marched across the mantelpiece in a line. There was Pooh, Christopher Robin, Eeyore, Tigger, four hedgehogs and a family of dogs with sticking up ears.
‘The baby will love them, and I love them,’ she said. ‘Tell me a story.’
‘Ah, well, Eeyore, there, he loves babies. Not to eat, you understand, he loves to wash them and feed them and generally look after them. It’s his thing, his private passion.’
‘Like speaking Welsh,’ May said.
‘Yes,’ said Alain, ‘exactly like that. Only more difficult to follow through, because at least a person can speak Welsh in their head, or to a wall or a dog. But looking after babies, well, you need a baby for that. Eeyore tried to get his hands on one, but no one would trust him. “You’re too damn miserable,” they said, “it’ll rub off on the baby.” One of his friends, I think it was Tigger, bought him a doll, a little woolly baby he could practise on. Do you think that worked?’
‘No,’ said May, ‘I think Eeyore would have wanted the real thing.’
‘Spot on,’ said Alain. ‘You couldn’t pull the wool over Eeyore’s eyes, if you’ll pardon the pun. He was so sad. All the creatures with babies kept away from him; they still saw him on adult occasions, obviously, nights out, that kind of thing, but at home he was alone, and he longed for a baby and a family of his own.’
‘Didn’t he want a wife as well?’ said May.
‘I’m not sure about that,’ Alain said. ‘I think he thought he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worthy of a wife. He had terrible depression, you see, and I think he thought that only the love of a baby would cure it. Hang on, I’ve got to concentrate here, this bit is fiddly. It’s the tail.’
‘Let me see,’ said May. ‘Oh look, it’s a tiny Eeyore, I didn’t realise, it’s so sweet, is it his baby?’
‘It is,’ said Alain. ‘I thought I’d give him what he wants.’
I’m happy, May thought, he’s a sweet man. It’s normal to have little niggles.
‘Do you think it will always be good?’ May said. ‘I mean us, our relationship, will we always be happy like this?’
She stretched out and patted Alain’s head.
‘No,’ Alain said and for a moment May’s stomach clenched, ‘it’ll be better, I promise, even better than this. We’re never going to need anyone else.’
May wondered for a moment about friends. Surely we’ll need other people sometimes, she thought, friends with babies, that sort of thing.
‘Just us, merry May,’ Alain said.
October 2017
Lewisham
The door across the corridor has been closed for days. Whoever he is, he likes his privacy, that’s clear, although sometimes I get this prickly feeling. In the back of my neck, as if I’m being watched. I look out when I can but there’s nothing much to see from my room except passing ghouls leaning on sticks or walking frames or being pushed like babies. There are trolleys, of course, and if I could talk I’d try some conversation openers about them. Trolley dolly, I could say, or, have you got any gin on there? I used to know a whole song about hostess trolleys but I can’t get it out, even when I try really hard, one word at a time. I wouldn’t mind how it sounded if I could just say something. I read about someone once, had a stroke and when they started speaking again, they had a Russian accent. I’d even be happy with a Hull one.
It was an odd