Journey to the Centre of Myself (5 page)

I nod, accepting her apology.

‘Sure could have been fun, though,’ she adds.

I step through our door at ten to six. I love our house with its creamy walls and Picasso prints. My bare feet sink into plush beige carpets and the open plan of the downstairs gives a sense of space. We have two brown leather sofa’s that face each other, his and hers, plus a forty-two-inch television fixed to the wall.

After the lounge, there’s the dining room and kitchen. There are sliding doors between every room so we can close them off if we wish. Usually, the house is minimal but as of the first of December, I trim up every available surface with seasonal fare. The lounge is now complete with a six foot black Christmas tree, dressed entirely in gold decorations. Some presents in matching gold and black paper lie underneath. Even the house phone’s ringtone is set to play ‘Jingle Bells.’ I adore Christmas.

Will is already shuffling around in the kitchen; he’s opened the door to make it a kitchen/diner and the aroma of curry wafts through the air.

I head towards him and peck his cheek. ‘Hey, you. What are we going to feed them?’

‘All in hand, Amber, all in hand.’

‘So how come we’ve finished up with guests at the last minute?’

‘Olly called to apologise for Friday night and it came up they weren’t doing anything so I invited them over.’

‘Does that include Alfie?’

‘Well, they come as a package now, don’t they? Anyway, that might be us soon, we wouldn’t want to be excluded because we had a kid would we?’

‘I thought that might be what this is about. Did they need to bring Alfie or is this you trying to give me a practice run?’

Will looks guilty. ‘Well, I did kind of think it might be nice to watch them and imagine what it will be like for us.’

I shake my head. ‘You’re a real softie, Will Stockley.’

‘Hey!’ He holds my waist and spins me around. ‘I can’t wait to make a baby with you. How cute’s it going to be, if it takes after me?’

I thump him in the arm and pinch an onion bhaji from the counter. He slaps my hand. ‘Later. Honestly, you can never wait.’

I can for some things I think. I could wait much longer.

Upstairs I straighten my hair, add some shining product and apply makeup. Green eyeliner emphasises my hazel eyes. I slip on a loose burgundy tee and some skinny jeans and throw flip flops on my feet.

‘What time are they arriving?’ I call out as I head down the stairs.

Will doesn’t hear me with the pans clattering around. I study the front door and just for a moment, a split second, I consider running through it and going to the Hula bar. I take a deep breath and head back to Will. ‘When are they coming?’ I repeat.

‘Any minute. They said between six thirty and seven. Apparently Alfie sleeps in a bed now, so they’ll put him down around eight and then we can have some grown up time.’

‘He’s going in our bed?’ Thoughts of drool or urine fill my mind.

‘Yep, they said they’d bring the travel cot, but I didn’t see the point.’

No, you wouldn’t. You’re not the one who’ll have to change and wash all the covers.

Olly, Sam and Alfie turn up at twenty past seven. Sam can barely look Olly in the eyes, her teeth are gritted. Alfie is wailing, arms clasped around his mum’s neck. Olly breezes in, hugging us both. He hands Will a bottle of wine and stands in the doorway yawning, stretching his arms so his grey tee-shirt reveals some of his stomach. A stomach I know used to be toned to perfection, but now gives me a glimpse of a slight roll of white flab.

‘Christ, we were up half the night with him.’

‘We?’ snaps Sam. ‘You mean you turned your head a couple of times and asked if I could get him to be quiet?’

‘Well, I have to get up for work.’

‘And I’m up every morning with your child.’

‘Exactly, that’s your job.’

‘Come through and let me get you a glass of that wine.’ I grab Alfie out of Sam’s arms and pass him to Will. ‘There you go,
you
wanted practice.’

Sam looks shocked. Alfie himself has shut up, confused at being confronted with Uncle Will. He hasn’t decided whether to bawl harder at being separated from his mother or stay with the guy who spoils him rotten. Will pulls a face and Alfie shivers, his mouth wobbles and then a huge beam crosses his face. ‘Unc ill’.

‘That’s right mate, it’s Uncle Will, baby soother extraordinaire.’

We walk through to the dining area and I get out the plates and serve dinner.

We’re sat at the table and I watch Sam suck on her lip. Sam is thirty, slim, and before Alfie, she used to run marathons. She’s back to 5k training now and her newly shorn dark brown hair indicates her wash and run mentality. She tells us that as soon as Olly is home from work, she’s out running, “My me-time.” I like Sam, but there’s always been a distance between us. I wonder if she knows about me and Olly.

‘Everything alright, Sam?’ I ask.

She breaks off a piece of naan bread and feeds it to Alfie. ‘Sorry, I never thought to ask what we were eating. It’s just that curry’s a bit strong for Alfie.’

‘Sorry,’ says Will, his ears turning red. ‘I thought kids ate smaller portions of adult stuff.’

‘They do most of the time,’ adds Sam, ‘but like I said, curry is a tad strong, and it can have a high salt content which is dangerous.’

‘He’ll be fine, stop fretting,’ says Olly.

‘One of us has to make sure he’s getting his nutrition.’ She pushes her own plate away. ‘Sorry, I’m not feeling hungry.’

Olly stares daggers at her.

‘Can he have cheese on toast?’ I ask quickly.

Sam looks at me. ‘Oh, that’d be great. Thank you, Amber.’

I get up to make it, glad to escape the atmosphere around the table. It’s permeating more than the odour of curry.

At seven-thirty Sam attempts to put Alfie to bed. He’s not having it and screams the house down.

‘Bring him back down,’ yells Olly. ‘He wants to be where it’s happening.’

Sam appears at the top of the stairs clutching Alfie. ‘We have a routine. I want to stick to it. Kids like a routine. It’s because he’s not had a bath. He always has a bath before bed.’

‘We can run him a bath,’ says Will and runs upstairs to help Sam.

I sit on the sofa and Olly sits opposite.

‘More wine?’ I ask him.

‘God, yes please. Do you have one of those glasses where a whole bottle fits in?’

I laugh. ‘I guess you’re not the designated driver then?’

‘God no, Sam makes sure she’s sober in case Alfie needs her for anything. She’s not had more than one alcoholic drink at a time since she had him.’

I grab the bottle of Merlot he brought, unscrew it and pour us both a large glass.

‘Enjoying being a parent then?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s a blast, can’t you tell?’

He looks towards the stairs for a minute and adds, ‘He’s worth it, though, Amber, every bit of hassle. The truth is, we put him to bed and all I want to do is wake him back up again.’

I top up my drink. This is not what I want to hear.

‘So you don’t regret it? Wish you’d waited a bit longer?’

‘No. We’re hoping for at least another one so we didn’t want to wait much longer. I’m guessing Will’s asked you?’

‘Yup.’ I down my drink.

‘Steady on Amber, there’ll be none left for anyone else. I gather you’re not up for it?’

‘On the contrary, I said yes.’

Olly gasps. He slaps a hand on his cheek. ‘But you don’t want a kid, do you?’

‘I’m sure I’ll come around to the idea once we’ve got one.’

‘What if you don’t?’

I shrug my shoulders. ‘Will can be a house husband.’

‘What’s that you’re saying about me?’ Will is halfway down the stairs.

‘I said you can be a house husband, don a pinny and raise the kids.’

‘Fine with me.’

I fill up my glass again.

By ten o’clock, myself and Olly have drunk two bottles of wine. Will has had the odd glass. Sam has had water and frequent trips upstairs. Not to the bathroom but to check on Alfie.

I can see I have Will’s attention. He’s trying to tell me with his eyes to stop drinking. It’s irritating. I go to open a third bottle, but Will takes it off me and whispers, ‘Enough, Amber.’

‘Christ, don’t be so bloody boring.’ This comes out a lot louder than I intended and I see Sam sneak a look at her watch.

‘I think it’s time we went, Olly.’

‘Why? It’s just getting good,’ he replies.

‘What do you mean “just getting good?” Have you not enjoyed the evening?’ I snap.

‘That’s not what I meant, Amber, I just—’

‘Go. Your missus wants to go home anyway.’

‘I need to get Alfie back to his own bed, Amber,’ she says frowning. ‘As his mother I’m responsible—’

I’ve heard enough. I turn, swinging the wine glass around. ‘Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, God, you’re not the first woman to have reproduced you know? He’s fast asleep in bed, you could leave him. He will not grow up emotionally stunted because he had a sleepover at ours.’

‘Amber.’ Will is hopping from foot to foot, looking from me to Sam.

Sam looks unsure and looks across at Olly, who is sat on the sofa laughing.

‘And what’re you laughing at?’ I shout. ‘You’ve done bugger all to help your wife all night. She won’t have a drink because you’re so bloody useless and by God, she needs one to look at your face every day.’

Olly looks like I’ve hit him with ten thousand volts.

I think Sam’s crying and turn towards her, but she’s hysterical with laughter; tears roll down her cheeks.

‘What’s so funny?’ I yell.

‘Olly never shuts up that you have a big old crush on him. He’s always trying to tell me how lucky I am, how you’d have loved to have him as a husband. I never expected you to say something like that.’

‘We were nineteen,’ I say, ‘Seriously, Sam, I only ever snogged him when I was pissed, so the fact I’m totally bongoed now and think he’s a trout should reassure you.’

Sam is having trouble getting her breath. ‘Stop… ow… my cheeks hurt,’ she says rubbing them.

Olly is in the hallway getting his coat.

Sam stands up and takes a deep breath. ‘Any chance we could stay until early morning?’

‘If you can share with Alfie, we can bunk down here,’ I say.

‘Olly,’ Sam shouts. ‘Your turn to keep an eye on Alfie, I’m getting trollied.’ She picks up a glass and hands it to Will. ‘That bottle needs opening after all.’

‘Are you sure about this, Sam?’ asks Will.

‘Absolutely.’ She takes the bottle from him.

I pick up my glass and turn to Olly. ‘Cheers, big ears.’ I raise my glass. ‘Poor thing, his hair used to cover them up.’

Chapter 6

Karen

An hour later the next plane departs without incident and I’m on my way to Berlin at last. I sit tense, my neck in knots for the entire journey, wondering if the plane will fall out of the sky. We land at Tegel airport at a quarter to one English time. It has taken around eighteen hours, but I’ve made it. I send Steve a quick text, switch off my mobile and head for the taxi rank.

My hotel is on Friedrichstrasse, a long, elegant looking street lined with department stores and upmarket boutiques. It appears to be in the heart of the shopping district and I welcome that I’ll be able to explore without being scared of getting lost. A well-dressed doorman opens the entrance for me. I wheel my case inside, dodging the piled up snow.

The foyer is light and airy. A sign indicates a bar and restaurant on the left-hand side. The hotel is used for conferences and a large board displays instructions for a research company’s investigator meeting.

My guidebook has a small phrase book section in the back. I address the Receptionist, ‘Guten Tag.’

‘Good afternoon, Madam.’ Her smile shows she appreciates the effort but realises that’s the limit of my vocabulary.

She directs me to my room on the second floor. As I walk towards the lift, I pass a huge model of the hotel made out of Gingerbread. A reminder that Christmas is not so far away. Gosh, today is the eleventh of December. We no longer make a fuss of Christmas. It’s just another day to us. I adore this gingerbread house, though its windows are made from melted boiled sweets. Forcing myself to move away from it, I carry on to the lift, ascend to the second floor and come out on a long corridor. Thick navy carpet lines the floors and the lights come on by sensor as I walk along the corridor. I insert my key card, watching the light flash green as I withdraw it. A deep breath and I push the door open.

I’m not disappointed. The bed is a huge king-size affair. It looks like the comfiest bed ever and I touch the duvet cover. It’s so fluffy. There are around eight pillows on the bed. I’ve never seen so many. I pick up the card lying next to them. It’s a pillow menu! It describes all the different pillows; feather filled, memory foam, soft, firm, even lavender. I pile the lot up and lay on the bed, my head like the tip of a needle amongst a sea of cotton.