12 June 2015
No one argues with Olivia Coombs. It’s one of the qualities that makes her such a brilliant producer/director.
It also makes her bloody awkward as a life partner.
‘You have to be willing to take a risk, Joel. Otherwise, what’s the point of us being together?’
I close the doors to the terrace, so our neighbours won’t hear. I’ve got a hunch this is gonna get heated and even though I’m sub-Z-list on the celebrity scale, there’s no guarantee someone won’t post our arguments on social media.
‘Liv, I’m not saying never. But I’m not ready now. Not yet.’
‘The genetic odds aren’t going to improve, are they? And my fertility is declining year on year. It’s logical to start trying now. Unless you don’t want kids with me.’
The honest answer is I’m not sure I want any more kids with anyone.
Trouble is, I love her. I want her to be happy because she’s made me happy, and Leo adores her. After Zoë died last year, the guilt was overwhelming, but Liv made me see that in the end, Zoë made choices that no one else could have changed . . .
And that Leo needed me to keep it together even more than before.
‘You know it’s not that simple for me, Liv.’
‘Well, here’s simple. We’ve been together a year, which is enough time to know one way or another. Meanwhile, I want a child, and I’m thirty-five and if you don’t want one too, I probably need to look for someone who does.’ Her voice is calm, but as she turns to leave the flat, I see her face is flushed with frustration.
I should tell her to wait, so we can talk it through some more. Except where do we go from here? This isn’t about me wanting a beach holiday and Liv wanting a city break. We’ve had exactly that scenario already and ended up in Stockholm, because she talked me round, as she generally does.
I open the folding doors again and look over the terrace, watching her stomp away down Gardner Street, before she disappears. She’ll be heading for the sea, where she’ll drink a double espresso in her favourite cafe, curse me under her breath, skim a few stones with frightening accuracy and head back feeling calmer . . .
Could we try counselling? There aren’t many counsellors who’d be a match for Liv’s bossiness. Ant sometimes tells me I’m hen-pecked. I prefer directed: Liv and I work together quite often, so it’s natural that she falls into calling the shots at home as well as on location. But despite the teasing, Ant thinks it’d be grounding for me to have another kid. And his little girls love babies.
It’s so seductive, the idea of doing an even better job this time: being there when Liv does the pregnancy test, for the scans and the shopping and decorating the nursery. Our penthouse has a lift for a pushchair and the terrace for shaded naps on warm summer days, or we could always sell it to move to Hove.
I can picture Liv cocooned in the hanging chair in front of me, feeding our baby – a girl, I think – with Leo proud to be a big brother.
Yet I can’t set aside the fear. It was one thing Zoë giving birth to a child I never expected. It’s very different to try to conceive, knowing there’s a huge chance the new person we create might be blighted by a life-threatening disease. Just because I didn’t pass the faulty gene on to Leo doesn’t make it any less likely I’d pass it on to another child. And going down the embryo screening route isn’t an option: the abnormality they found is so rare that it hasn’t been authorized for in vitro testing yet.
But I’m afraid of losing Liv too. We work together, live together, love together and I am happier than I ever expected, in our unconventional family. I don’t want anything to change.
Which scares me more? Being without Liv, or taking a risk that could bring bliss and pain in equal amounts?
When I’m stuck, I sometimes imagine Kerry is here, trying to talk some sense into me.
I think she’d tell me that life is never risk-free . . .
‘Do you think there’s something different about baby-making sex?’ Liv whispers in my ear after we’ve got our breath back.
I laugh. ‘No condoms?’
‘Not just that, idiot. It feels . . . reckless. After all these years trying not to get pregnant, I’m getting an added frisson from playing baby roulette.’
‘It’s nature’s way of giving us something to look back on when we’re new parents and sex is a distant memory.’
‘Bullshit. I will never be able to share a bed with you without wanting to shag you, Joel Greenaway. Even when we’re in our nineties, I will still be harassing you for sex.’
‘Poor me.’ I kiss her, the idea of growing old with Liv adding to the afterglow. Of course she got her way about trying for a baby. Right now, I’m completely on board with the plan and I want to hold on to this warmth and—
‘Dad! Livvy! Time to get up!’
Leo bounds into the room, jumping into the centre of the bed, even though at ten years old, and growing rapidly, he could easily do serious damage to us or the bed frame.
‘Yeah, all right, Lion King, we’re allowed a lie-in occasionally,’ Liv says, winking at me. ‘Dad will get you breakfast then how about the beach?’
I grab my boxers from the floor and pull them on under the duvet before I usher Leo into the kitchen. Sun pours through the folding doors and I feel as if we’re in an advert for something wholesome – bio yoghurt, maybe – because this is what life’s best moments should feel like. I start to make Leo’s favourite eggy bread, which was my favourite too when I was his age.
Liv comes through in her dressing gown, smelling of the shower gel she uses that reminds me of our first holiday together, and I’m already looking forward to Leo’s playdate this afternoon because we’ll get more time to try to make a baby . . .
I interviewed a positivity guru for the Secrets of Wellbeing show I do, and he said that we often only realize we were happy in retrospect, after things go wrong. That part of the key to contentment is to take the time to notice the present moment, and to be grateful.
So I say it in my head: This is happiness.