I kept my foot steady on the accelerator. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was rushing to see him. As we came to a stop, Thomas whooped. ‘Daddy’s home!’ he shouted and started wiggling. I manoeuvred to the edge of the car seat and inched myself out, one hand on each side of the doorframe, in case Stephen was watching. Of all the things that become difficult when you are very pregnant, getting in and out of a car is the most noticeable.
Stephen appeared from around the side of the house, plodding towards us. He would not meet my eye but jiggled on the spot, his hands in his pockets, as I helped Thomas out of the car. Thomas ran for his leg and twisted himself around his father. Stephen reached down and ruffled his hair. Waffle snuffled around our feet.
‘Sweetheart, why don’t you grab your bike and show us how fast you can ride around on the grass?’ I nudged Thomas in the direction of his new toy.
He climbed on, hopping from one foot to the other. ‘Watch me, watch me, Daddy!’
Stephen and I followed him, so we were standing side by side under the porch that ran along the front of the house. A few scraggly pansies were fading in the flowerbed opposite. We never had discovered how the irrigation system worked. Not something we were ever likely to solve now. Stephen cleared his throat and swallowed. His voice was strangled with the effort of not attracting Thomas’s attention. ‘Where are my clothes?’
I shrugged. ‘I didn’t think you were coming back.’
He grabbed my arm. ‘That’s ridiculous. I need my stuff. What have you done with it?’
‘Chucked it. You’ve got money. Get her to buy you some more. Bet she’s got better taste than I have, anyway.’
He grimaced. His hand was in his pocket – I knew he would be squeezing the stress ball on his key ring. I had bought it as a gift for him when he first started his business and was struggling to stay calm in difficult conversations with suppliers. We’d run through it together: ‘I’ll pay you (squeeze) on the twentieth (squeeze), but I need a line of credit (squeeze) until then.’
He was grinding his teeth. He looked away from me, at the overgrown lemon tree he had been promising to prune. He was off the hook there, at least. ‘I want to see Thomas. Alexa says I have a right …’
I spluttered. ‘You want to talk about rights?’
A bird took flight from the tree in surprise. ‘I think I have a right not to have a husband cheat on me when I’m about to have a baby.’
Stephen stepped back as if my anger shocked him. ‘I’m just asking if we can arrange for me to have Thomas, maybe a Saturday afternoon.’
Thomas was still zipping happily around the lawn. For the first time, I could understand the urge to spit with disgust.
‘Is that enough for you, is it? Take his dad away but give him just enough to let him know what he’s missing out on. Every Saturday afternoon to show off your awesome parenting to the world. Get some good photos for your Facebook feed.’
‘No one is taking away his dad.’
‘Maybe not, but it’s not going to be the same, is it? You’re not going to be around when he wakes up in the morning and wants someone to rest his head on when he watches cartoons. You’re not going to race around with him on his bike after work. You’ll have your Saturday, or whatever you decide you can fit into your new life, and the rest of the time who cares about us?’
He whirled around, and the fury in his face was shocking. His cold, angry eyes and clenched jaw could have belonged to a stranger. ‘You can feel sorry for yourself,’ he hissed, darting a look at Thomas. ‘You keep making me the bad guy if that makes you feel better. You chuck out all my clothes if you don’t want to look at them anymore. But don’t pretend that this is all my fault.’
Thomas was scooting away down the far end of the lawn.
‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘Okay, Alexa and I started seeing each other. I’m sorry, all right? That was a crappy move.’ Stephen crossed his arms. ‘But you’re not perfect, are you?’
I looked at him, open-mouthed, as he blustered on. Not perfect? Probably not – but who could blame me?
He was gesticulating at me in much the same way Thomas did when he was mid-tantrum. I watched him. Was this what I wanted to hold on to? Maybe he was actually doing me a favour.
‘You just want someone around to help pay the bills.’ Stephen was still talking. ‘We never spent any time together. And it was all just going to get worse once this one comes along. I sometimes wonder if you can even remember my name.’
I had to suppress a snort of laughter. He had no idea what it was like for me. Sometimes I could barely remember my own name.
I had assumed that Stephen would pick up more of the parenting as Thomas got older but it had not happened. I had learnt how to respond to a work message on my phone, sliding around the corner of the door so Thomas wouldn’t know I wasn’t paying full attention to his bath-time display. But Stephen would arrive home from work and if we didn’t give him ten minutes alone on the couch with his beer before Thomas requested that he play, he’d look aggrieved. While I worried about finishing meetings and interviews in time to pick Thomas up from nursery, Stephen would casually inform me the night before a trip that he was going away and wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d be.
He was still speaking. ‘What have you got planned for when the baby arrives?’
Did he mean the actual birth? He had rolled his eyes about every antenatal appointment I’d asked him to come to. I could not see why he would suddenly be taking an interest in my birth plan.
‘I still want to be there.’ He folded his arms obstinately.
‘Why would you want to do that? Why would you think I’d let you do that?’ The feeling that I was in an alternate reality was growing stronger with each breath I took. Everything felt so unreal.
‘I’m this child’s father.’
‘Yeah but I’m the one who’s going to be naked, in pain – what makes you even remotely think I want someone there who doesn’t even want me around anymore?’
Giving birth to Thomas had been the time of my life when I had felt the most exposed. There are not many instances where you basically perform every bodily function imaginable on a table in front of a room full of people.
The idea of having this man who was becoming more like a stranger every second watch me go through that, and then go home to someone else, made my skin crawl. Thomas was scooting back towards us on his bike, his eyes wide. I gave Stephen the most withering, dismissive glare I could muster. ‘We will talk about this later.’
I reached out for Thomas and lifted him off the saddle. Avoiding Stephen’s eyes, I pushed past and strode around the side of the house to the front door. His footsteps crunched behind me, but as soon as we were across the threshold, I shut the door and leant against it. It was not long before I heard him whistle for Waffle. His truck door slammed and he drove away.
How to make a parking garage for toy cars
What you’ll need:
A box
Some tubes (paper towel rolls will do)
Cardboard
Sand down your box to get rid of any rough edges. Cut the tubes until they are just long enough to reach from the back of the box to the front. Glue