Sottopassaggio (26 page)

I glance at the guy and then snort and turn to Tom.

“Not really my type,” I say quietly.

Tom shrugs. “I quite like the big ones,” he says. “In a funny sort of way.”

“Tom,” I say. “Can I tell you something?”

Tom shifts in his seat. “Sure,” he says with a nod.

“I…” I shrug and sigh.

Tom grins at me. “Go on,” he says. He is blushing a little.

“I just wish you weren't with Antonio,” I say.

Tom stares into my eyes, emotionless, unreadable.

“It's selfish,” I say. “But I wish you were single.”

Tom rubs his chin and then twizzles his beard.

“Thanks,” he says.

I shrug.

“You know what?” he adds.

I shake my head slowly.

“Sometimes, so do I,” he says with a little laugh.

I frown at him.

“But, you know, you have to take the good with the bad,” he says with a thoughtful nod. “And you have to resist. Otherwise nothing lasts.”

I smile. “That's what Jenny says,” I say.

Tom snorts. “Well,
within reason
,” he says. “There have to be limits.”

I nod.

“And what about the baby?” he asks.

I frown at him.

“Nick wanted her to get rid of it didn't he?” he says.

I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I don't know where they are on that one.”

“Well, that'll be the decider I expect,” he says, chewing the inside of his mouth.

I wrinkle my brow at him.

He shrugs and continues. “She may be happy to be slapped around a bit,” he says. “But we all have our limits.”

I nod.

“The decider,” Tom continues, nodding gravely. “Will be whether she's prepared to kill her baby.”

I stare at him and then nod slowly.

“If that's the choice he's forcing on her,” he adds.

“Yep,” I agree. “I suppose it will.”

I stop in at
Superdrug
and pick up a toothbrush and a flannel for Jenny. I expect that a woman away from home needs infinitely more kit than this, but in the end, I just don't have the faintest idea what it might be.

I stop at the cash-point and withdraw the two hundred pounds I owe her, then wander thoughtfully up St James' Street.

By the time I reach the house I have a plan.

As we cross the main road towards the sea Jenny says, “I phoned my mum. Nick's been on the phone to her twice already. He wanted her to give him my address, well, your address.”

I wide-eye her. “She didn't give it to him I hope?”

Jenny shakes her head. “Relax,” she says. “She doesn't even have it.”

I nod. “Well, good. You be careful, because she could get it from the phone number if she wanted,” I say.

Jenny shakes her head. “She doesn't know that though,” she says. “She's not that devious.”

“Well good,” I say. “Because I don't think I'd want to take Nick on again.”

Jenny glares at me, so I drop the subject. We turn towards the pier.

“I'll need to call him though,” Jenny says. “No matter what you think of him, he will be worried,” she says.

I nod. “Well, leave it till tomorrow, OK?” I say. “It'll do him good to sweat a bit if nothing else,” I say.

We walk in silence as far as the pier, then turn and start to return along the lower promenade.

“I'm sorry about before,” Jenny says. “I don't want to argue, not with you.”

I squeeze her arm. “I know,” I say.

“It's just. Well, he isn't a bad person, you know? He doesn't mean to be like that.”

I nod. “I guess,” I say.

“When he's sober, he's lovely,” she says. “He has a really good sense of humour, you'd like him.”

I laugh lightly. “Yeah, well,” I say. “I guess things are never all black and white.”

Ahead I can see the goal, coming into view.

“No,” Jenny says. “It's all shades of grey.”

I nod. As the first shrieks from the children's play area reach our ears, I take a deep breath. I feel bad about this. It's so obviously manipulative. But then, it's so obviously
needed
.

“But as far as the safety of your daughter is concerned,” I say. “It seems pretty black and white, you know?”

Jenny shoots me a sideways glance. Despite my best efforts she has realised what I'm doing. But she says nothing. We continue walking towards the colourful play area. I feel like I'm playing chess with someone else's life.

The shrieks of laughter are warming, and I start to feel better. Kids are running madly, swinging from frames like monkeys, spinning on roundabouts. A little boy is carrying his toddler sister from one ride to another, her feet passively dragging along the ground.

I sit on the wall overlooking the area, and though Jenny glances at me suspiciously, she takes her place beside me.

The cloud that has been hanging in front of the sun finally moves away. “Thank God for that,” I say. “I was feeling chilly.”

A beautiful little boy with olive skin and jet black hair, peers at us from inside the enclosure, then pushes his little fingers through the fence. He hangs there staring at us.

“I never looked like that,” I say. “Lucky bugger.”

Jenny smiles. “I bet you did,” she says.

I shake my head. “I was the skinny blond one with the thick glasses,” I say.

Jenny wrinkles her nose. “I was the fat one with freckles,” she says.

I glance sideways at her. “What happened to the freckles?” I laugh.

She shrugs. “They went the same way as your thick
glasses I guess,” she says. “It's a shame the fat remains.”

The little boy sticks his tongue out at us, and screaming engine noises, roars off around the perimeter of the playground.

I laugh. “You wouldn't want that one around for long,” I say.

Jenny shrugs.

We sit in silence for a while. A beautiful father comes and picks up a baby who is crawling recklessly towards the roundabout.

“Cute dads,” I say.

Jenny laughs. “Yeah,” she says. “Did you never want kids?”

I look at her and frown, then sigh.

“I guess I did, once,” I say with a shrug.

“Yeah?” Jenny sounds surprised.

“Maybe
wanted
isn't the right word,” I say. “I guess I thought I would end up with kids. Before I sorted out my sexuality. I once imagined that it was inevitable,” I say.

Jenny nods. “And now?” she says.

I shrug exaggeratedly. “It's kind of like asking if I would have wanted to be an astronaut,” I say. “Or an Olympic runner.”

Jenny frowns. “You mean just alien?”

I nod my head from side to side. “Just not an option really,” I say. “I'm quite good at tailoring my desires to fit what's possible.”

Jenny nods. “I guess we all do that,” she says. “But you
could
… I mean, gay couples
do
,” she says.

I wrinkle my nose. “I know,” I say. “I guess.”

Jenny sighs thoughtfully.

“I suppose it would just seem, sort of set up,” I say. “I mean; it's not like it can just happen, naturally.”

Jenny shrugs. “So?”

“So I guess I don't want kids enough to falsify the whole procedure. To force it all to happen,” I say.

She nods.

“But when I've had the chance to be involved with
friends' kids,” I say, turning and smiling at her warmly. “Well, I really like it.”

Jenny nods.

“I'm not good at it, but I really like it,” I say. “And anyway, most of the gay relationships I see don't last long enough to organise buying goldfish,” I laugh. “Let alone having children.”

Jenny unzips her cardigan. “It's so much warmer when the sun's out, isn't it?” she says. “So you think children need stable environments?”

I laugh. “I think they need love,” I say. “My childhood was fairly stable, in the bricks and mortar sense. But, well, no one would have complained if the love had been a little more visible.”

Jenny raises an eyebrow and nods. “I know what you mean,” she says.

“And I guess the nicest thing about having children must be trying to do it better. Trying to give them the things you would have liked to have for yourself.”

Jenny nods.

“I mean, not the material things, but the unconditional love, the acceptance.”

“Yeah,” Jenny says.

“And you?” I ask. “Why do you want to have this baby?”

Jenny shrugs. “Do I?” she says quietly. “Want to have this baby?”

“OK,” I say. “Then why
did
you want to have this baby?”

Jenny lowers her arms, crossing them around her stomach. “It's just…” she glances sideways at me. “I don't know, biological I suppose,” she says. “Instinctive.”

She nods and tips her head to one side. “My body wants it to happen,” she says. “Every cell is
screaming
for it to happen.”

I nod slowly.

“Does that make any sense?”

I laugh. “Yeah,” I say. “I guess it makes a lot of
sense.”

Jenny clears her throat. “I have an appointment you know,” she says. “On Wednesday, in Farnham.”

I swallow. “Check-up?”

Jenny runs her tongue across her lips. “Abortion actually,” she breathes. “In a private clinic.”

We sit side by side. The sound of children fills the air, rising to a crescendo. It's as if the volume has momentarily been turned up.

I search my brain for a phrase, something intelligent, something clever, something ultimately convincing. But now we are here at the exact point I imagined, my mind is a blank.

I squeeze Jenny's arm and turn towards her. My eyes are watering and I can see that Jenny's are doing the same. She moves in her seat, half turning towards me.

She looks flushed; her face is taut with the mixed emotion of tears and an unexpected smile.

She gives a little laugh. “But I guess I'm not going am I?” she says.

I exhale heavily and lean over, hugging her with difficulty. “I think that's for the best,” I say. “I really do.”

We walk back in silence. Only as we near the house does Jenny speak. “I'm really sorry you know,” she says. “I mean; I do see how stupid this all is.”

“I just want you to be safe,” I say. “And it seems really clear to me that you want this baby,” I add.

Jenny sighs. “It's strange,” she says. “It's like there's two different people in my head. I guess that sounds weird.”

I shake my head and smile. “My head often seems to contain a whole crowd,” I say.

“But it's not like I'm confused,” Jenny says. “I just keep alternating one way and another. When Nick's not around, well, it seems obvious.” She shakes her head.

I swing on the railing and mount the first step towards Owen's front door. “And when he
is
around?” I say.

Jenny shrugs. “It's like he has some power over me,” she says. “I can't explain really, I don't understand myself.”

I wrinkle my nose and step aside, ushering her in.

“It's like,” Jenny explains. “Nick will say – you know you don't want a baby now. You know it's not a good time.”

I nod.

“And I hear myself saying,
yeah, you're right
.”

“I guess I know what you mean,” I say. “Kind of.”

“And then I'm suddenly not sure what I want at all.” Jenny pauses thoughtfully in the hallway, then shrugs. “Yeah, I really don't get it,” she says.

I throw my jacket over the banister and follow her into the lounge.

“Well, you know what I think,” I say.

Jenny laughs. “I can guess,” she says.

“I think you should stay here, maybe right up until
you have the baby.”

Jenny snorts with amusement.

“What?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Oh, nothing. I just knew you'd say that, that's all.”

I follow her through to the lounge. “Probably because you know it makes sense,” I say.

Jenny shakes her head. “I don't know,” she says. “Honestly, I just don't know.”

I look at her sadly.

“”Maybe we could ask Owen anyway,” she says brightly. “Just in case.”

I smile at her, relieved. “He won't mind,” I say. “But I'll call him. When's the bugger due anyway?”

“The baby?” Jenny shrugs. “21
^st
of December, give or take,” she says.

“A Christmas baby then?”

Jenny nods. “Babies conceived at Easter are born at Christmas,” she says. “You can't get much more Christian than that.”

I nod. “Wow, that's a long time though,” I say.

Jenny laughs. “Yeah, nine months,” she says. “A full nine months after the 21
^st
of March equals the 21
^st
of December.”

I stare at her, my smile fading.

“What's up?” Jenny asks.

I furrow my brow.

“What?” she insists.

I swallow hard and lower myself onto the edge of the sofa.

Jenny crouches before me. “Mark, you look like shit,” she says. “Are you OK?”

“The 21
^st
of March?” I ask.

Jenny nods.

“That traffic jam wasn't in Italy at all, was it,” I say.

Jenny frowns and shakes her head. “What? I don't know what…”

“You said Italy,” I say.

Jenny nods. “We were coming home from Italy. Yes.
So?”

“But the traffic jam was in France, right?”

Jenny nods. “Yes, but…”

“In fact, it was just after Fréjus,” I say.

Jenny shrugs. “We were stuck just after Cannes,” she says. “I remember because we wished we had turned off.”