I tried to get back into Personal Storage Units and grapple with the six versus eight drawers conundrum, but I felt knotted inside. I’d never seen Oliver so closed and distant.
When Ben eventually reappeared with half of what I’d asked him to get, I wasn’t much further forward. I’d had an email from Malcolm – an unusually expansive missive for him – talking about my going for brunch at the weekend and including a link to an interview with a chef who claimed an electric whisk should be employed in pursuit of the perfect scrambled eggs, but not mentioning the debacle with Gabriel at all.
And a fraught-sounding one from Paul enquiring how things were going. (Very slowly, since you ask …) Oliver and Sam were both still upstairs.
After a small internal wrestle during which respect for privacy and personal space pitted itself against motherly responsibility and the latter bulldozed its way through, I tapped on the bedroom door. ‘Are you happy with an avocado salad?’ I called to Sam.
She opened the door in her dressing gown, looking wan. Oliver lay, still in jeans and t-shirt on the top of the duvet. He appeared to be engrossed in his phone.
‘I’m so sorry, Tess,’ she said. ‘I should be cooking tonight …’
‘It’s no problem,’ I told her, adding brightly: ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Oh yes.’ Her face lit up. ‘Kerry the midwife was lovely and she said she’d just had another girl in who’d got pregnant being sick. She’d had the norovirus and couldn’t understand why she wasn’t getting any better. By the time she went to the doctor she was three months …’ As Sam chatted on, telling me about blood tests and the date for the first scan, I stole a look past her at my son. He was still intent on his screen, tapping at buttons, showing no interest in the conversation.
‘I’ll doing a chicken Caesar for us,’ I said, when Sam had paused for breath. ‘And there’s a quiche.’
‘Great,’ he said, without enthusiasm.
I went back downstairs, unsettled. Had I traumatised him shrieking about the shoes? I heard Ben’s voice when I’d expressed concern for Gabriel. He’s 24, Mum. So would Oliver be in a few months’ time and after that he’d be a father … But I still couldn’t bear his face shut towards mine.
As I fried croutons in olive oil and shaved off slivers of Parmesan, Ben came to lean in the doorway. ‘Have we got any beers left?’ he asked hopefully.
I shook my head. ‘But you could open a bottle of wine.’ I forced a smile. ‘I think I could do with one.’
I looked at the back of his head as he wielded the corkscrew. ‘Have you started your essay yet?’ I asked, knowing he hadn’t. He sighed. ‘Nope. Need to though – it’s twenty per cent of my first year.’ He groaned. ‘And then I’ve got to do stuff for the exams …’
I looked at him in alarm. ‘When are they?’
‘Next week.’
‘I didn’t even know he had exams,’ I told Oliver, when Ben was back in front of the TV and my eldest had carried a pile of plates into the kitchen after dinner. ‘This year is galloping past. Did you know he’s thinking of changing his course? Or leaving altogether?’
My eldest son did not look up from the dishwasher. ‘He’s just freaking out at all the revision he hasn’t done,’ he said. ‘He’s only got two – and one of them is a multiple choice. The rest is practical.’ Oliver straightened up and reached for a bundle of cutlery. ‘He always wants to change course when he has to do any work.’ He looked at me and smiled for the first time that evening. ‘Remember how many times he wanted to leave school when he was doing his A levels?’
I smiled back and nodded.
‘He’s bad at sticking at things,’ Oliver said. ‘He can’t deal with commitment.’ He was abruptly straight-faced again. For a moment he looked as he had done in the bar on St Pancras Station when he’d told me about the baby.
I stretched clingfilm over the remaining salad. ‘He’s only young,’ I said, struck by the edge to Oliver’s voice. I hesitated for a moment. ‘Is that what’s worrying you?’
Oliver came back when Ben was in front of the TV and Sam had gone to have a bath. I’d booted up the computer again, but felt too washed out and shaken to concentrate on the plans.
‘I’m sorry I shouted.’ he said.
‘It’s okay.’ I saved the document in front of me and tried to smile. ‘It is indeed my bloody fault. I should have got the mussels – if that’s what the midwife thinks it probably was – in the fridge quicker or not brought them home on the train at all. I am entirely responsible for Sam getting food-poisoning and I am truly sorry, but I know that in the end when you have a beautiful son or daughter and I have a very special grandchild it will all be meant to be …’ I trailed off, a huge lump in my throat.
Oliver looked at me. ‘You don’t have to pretend. I know you don’t want it either. You told Tilly you didn’t want to be a grandmother when you were looking after Fran’s kids.’
‘No I didn’t!’ I said hotly, cursing my daughter’s lack of thought. ‘I said I wasn’t expecting her to have any children YET.’
Oliver continued to gaze at me – his face sceptical.
‘I’m not one of those mothers who would put the pressure on. You know I’m thrilled. I just wasn’t expecting it,’ I finished lamely. You don’t seem old enough, I added silently. Even though he was exactly the age I was, when I had him …
‘No, well, it’s taking some getting used to,’ Oliver said awkwardly. He crossed to the pine cupboard with the bottles on top. ‘Can I have some of this port?’
I watched as he poured himself a hefty measure. I’d noticed at dinner he’d drunk most of the wine we’d opened. I’d been trying to sip slowly so I could still get some work done, but after Oliver’s outburst I’d refilled my glass too.
‘I understand, darling. I can remember being pregnant with you,’ I offered, swallowing hard. ‘I would wake up sometimes at four in the morning, and worry. Even though I wanted you so much,’ I added hastily.
‘It’s natural,’ I went on, warming to my theme. ‘It’s the thought of the responsibility. Knowing you’ve got to look after this little person for the next twenty years. I smiled at him. ‘Or probably a lot longer.’
Oliver gave a weak smile back.
‘But I promise you won’t mind a bit because when the baby is actually here – a real, tiny person, then you simply feel–’ I stopped, as Oliver shook his head miserably.
‘And I expect Sam feels like this too, sometimes. Have you talked to her about it?’
Oliver shook his head again. ‘It wouldn’t be fair. She’s not feeling well and she’s worried about how we’re going to afford everything. And when we first found out, and I suggested, just once, that maybe–’
He stopped. ‘I didn’t really mean it but I thought we should at least discuss options.’
I nodded. ‘You were thinking it through.’
‘She got really upset. Said she could never get rid of my baby. She was hurt I even mentioned it. I can’t express doubts now.’
‘She may be having them herself. As I said, even though I’d planned it, I used to–’
‘Mum!’ Oliver’s voice stopped me in my tracks. ‘It’s not the baby.’
The theme tune from Family Guy floated through from the front room and moments later I heard Ben give a shout of laughter. I got up and pushed the dining-room door closed.
‘What is it, then?’
Oliver was studying his glass, turning it round and round in front of him. ‘It’s Sam,’ he said with difficulty. ‘I don’t know now if we’re meant to be together or we just have to be …’
I took a mouthful of my own drink. I’d expected money or lack of parenting skills.
‘I mean I love Sam, of course,’ Oliver was saying. ‘I still love her but it’s kind of changed. It’s not …’ He stopped and looked embarrassed. ‘And if we’re going to have a baby, then we’re going to have to be together for ever. I couldn’t leave her for years, could I? What sort of bastard would that make me?’ Oliver looked anguished.
‘But you don’t want to leave her. Do you?’ I asked in a low voice. ‘You were going to live together, you told me how good it was, you’d made plans.’
Oliver didn’t reply. He drank some port.
‘You were so happy–’
Oliver shook his head.
‘You’re just panicking,’ I said. ‘You were going to get the flat and–’
‘Everything’s changed,’ he said in a rush. ‘It’s–
He was abruptly silent again as the landline rang. ‘Hold on a minute,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell Paul I’ll ring him back.’
But it was Tilly demanding to know why I hadn’t answered my mobile and in full flow about rehearsals and the run starting and a possible flat share in Tooting with the gay cousin of Shane, who was ‘adorable’.
Oliver started to get up, but I flapped my hand at him to stay, while I waited for my daughter to draw breath. Tilly had realised she would be much happier sharing with a man because although Danni was calmer and had asked Tilly to consider staying on, it would only be a matter of time before she went bonkers again.
Oliver topped up his glass and sat back down, looking morose. ‘Tell me in a minute,’ I mouthed.
‘So I’m going to stay there for ten days and then after the run, I’ll probably be moving in with Matthew,’ Tilly was saying, ‘so I’ll just be back weekends till then.’
‘Okay, well whatever–’
‘It really doesn’t matter,’ Oliver said in a low voice.
‘IT DOES,’ I mouthed back. Tilly was still talking. ‘Tilly, that’s all lovely but I’m having a chat with Oliver–’
‘Oh!’ Tilly did not sound pleased.
Across the table, Oliver shook his head crossly and stood up again.
‘And it’s important,’ I said firmly, flapping my hand again and ignoring Oliver’s black look. ‘So can I call you back, darling?’
‘No, I’m going out,’ Tilly was sounding bored now. ‘If you’re okay with all that, I’ll see you Friday night.’
‘It’s fine!’ I trilled, ringing off and leaping across the room to grab Oliver’s arm. ‘Darling, please talk to me.’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘What’s changed? Apart from being pregnant and having to move in here,’ I added, realising it was a stupid question, because everything had. ‘You’ll have your own place when Sam’s parents get back and–’
Oliver had his face turned away from me. I sat down and after a moment he did too, taking another big mouthful from the tumbler in his hand. He was slightly flushed.
‘I suppose we’ve been together nearly three years now,’ he said slowly, eyes still averted. ‘And it’s not going to be the same as in the beginning …’
‘No,’ I took quite a large swallow of wine myself, sensing I had to get whatever I said, absolutely right. ‘Relationships do change …’
‘She feels sick a lot of the time and she’s very tired …’
‘It won’t always be like that …’ I said, reflecting that actually, yes, that was my life for what felt like a decade when the three of mine were all under six and I was constantly knackered. ‘She’ll start to feel better soon and–’
‘But people still stay together, don’t they? Even though–’
I tried to think how to summarise tactfully, showing motherly insight that would not make him sink into a pool of embarrassment.
‘Of course,’ I began. ‘One can’t realistically expect to keep up the level of romance and passion one feels at the very beginning, but gradually that is replaced with something deeper, warmer …’ I stopped.
Oliver raised a wry eyebrow. ‘Is that what happened with you and Dad?’
‘Yes!’ I said firmly. ‘We had many happy years together,’ I went on, my determination to be positive making me declare this rather loudly. ‘And even though we wanted different things eventually that doesn’t mean–’
Oliver was looking at me now, expectantly. I had to be reassuring.
‘–I wouldn’t change a moment of it. We have three amazing children and your father and I were only agreeing the other day,’ I paraphrased, ‘that we were so glad we’d married and it was all so worthwhile.’
Oliver gave a small nod and I ploughed on.
‘It’s all quite usual you start off hardly being able to keep your hands off each other and then–’ I hesitated as Oliver winced, clearly uncomfortable with this level of sharing from his mother. ‘Then things settle down.’
Had I been unable to control myself in the face of Rob’s animal magnetism? There was that incident in the bus shelter, but we’d both been drinking … Did he ever turn me on the way David had the other day? Maybe I’d been drinking too much now – my glass was empty.
‘Sam’s a lovely girl,’ I went on, ‘and she makes you very happy. You told me she was your best friend.’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Imagine how you’d feel if you went upstairs now and she said she was leaving you?’
Oliver nodded. ‘Devastated. I know.’
‘It will all be okay. I know it will.’
Oliver shrugged. Then gave a small, resigned smile back. ‘It’s going to have to be, isn’t it?’
‘Talk to her,’ I urged. ‘Ask her how she’s feeling about it all …’
The dining-room door swung open and Ben waved an iPad at us, grinning widely. ‘Hey bruv, you’ve got to see this clip on YouTube. It is sick!’
Oliver swilled down the last of his drink, put the glass on the table and got up. ‘I’m there.’
There he still was when I gave up and went upstairs. The wine had made me foggy and tired and I’d decided the best thing I could do was set the alarm for dawn. If I had a clear run tomorrow, I’d get everything finished.
Sam was on the sofa with the boys, wearing pyjamas. I was relieved to see her leaning comfortably against Oliver, who was holding her hand. Both turned to smile at me. Ben waved the remote control but kept his eyes fixed on the screen. ‘Night, Mumsie!’
As I sat on the edge of the bed, weary to my bones, my mobile beeped twice.
I grabbed it, hoping it was David. It wasn’t.
Caroline wanted to know if I had time for a drink before I caught the train on Friday. Gabriel was thanking me for my support. Scrolling down, I found a text from Gerald I’d missed earlier, asking if I’d be in time for lunch on Monday. I looked at it guiltily. With all that was going on, I’d barely given my mother’s appointment a thought.
My fingers hovered over the keys. ‘Never text a man drunk, unless you’re already at the stage where you can summon him for sex,’ Caroline had advised. I put the phone down and went through to the bathroom. Roll on Saturday.
A shame we weren’t at the summoning stage right now …