The Ice Marathon (9 page)

Although being clothed was almost certainly a good thing, I
felt hot and sticky. I sat up, being careful not to disturb Simon. Leaving him
fast asleep, I made my way upstairs for a shower.

Ooh! Lovely, relaxing warm water – just what I needed. What
would I say to Simon about the cuddle? Did I need to say anything about the
cuddle? I remembered the sex and the embarrassment caused by letting that go
unremarked. But then again, he had smashed me against the floor and sunk his
teeth into my neck before pounding me on a surface designed for food
preparation before finally impregnating me. Falling asleep in front of the
television was probably less significant.

I got out of the shower and began to get dry. I wrapped a
towel around myself and left the security of the bathroom to find myself some
knickers.

Then, I saw it – the beast.
Fuck!
It was on my towel!
I let out a blood-curdling scream. I chucked my spider-infested towel as far
away from me as I possibly could.

“Everything all right?” asked a familiar, deep voice.

I immediately realised the horror of my predicament. If I
looked down, I would surely see Simon Moran looking up at me – getting an
eyeful of my naked body. In slow motion, I looked down. Sure enough, there he
was, right beneath me.

I screamed again.

He covered his eyes.

I hurried as quickly as I could into my bedroom.

Shit – now that was embarrassing.
For some crazy,
inexplicable reason I seemed to be somewhat aroused – dammit. A cuddle
and
an accidental nude moment resulting in arousal – was
that
something we
needed to talk about?

* * *

The pitch-black night hid the rain but the splattering as
the drops hammered against the windows reminded me that a storm was in force.
The prickly night only made me feel worse about what I had to do.

“You’re always here! We don’t want you
always here
.
We need a break from you!” I forced myself to shout.

Simon looked taken aback, his blue eyes wider than ever.

“Joseph is only thirteen days old and you have been here
every single day!”

“Well, I am his father …”

This was killing me. I didn’t want to send Simon away. But
if I didn’t, he was going to cancel his trip to Antarctica and the marathon
he’d been training for since before we met. It wasn’t a race to him; it was a
way of honouring his best friend. Finishing the course would help him to move on
with his life and put the tragic loss behind him. He needed this.

I had tried telling him to go many times. It was always the
same story. He’d agree that I was right, that it was a trip of a lifetime and
he’d trained for too long to give up now; then he’d take one look at Joseph and
we’d be back to square one – plans to cancel his flight.

“You said you wanted me to be involved!” he pleaded.

“I do, but not every day
.
I can manage; you treat me
like I can’t manage!”

He tried to put his hand on my arm and I shook him off,
accidentally backing into the table and sending the contents a-wobble.

“Mind my camera!”

“I didn’t touch it! What’s it doing here anyway? This is
my
house!”

“Are you sure you’re not just having a mood swing?”

“Don’t patronise me!” I snarled. “I think we need a break
from each other. This trip has come at a good time.”

“Don’t say that, Emma.” His face contorted with distress.

“I’m sorry, but it’s how I feel.” I turned away so that he
couldn’t see than my tear ducts were threatening to splurge unwanted moisture
into the conversation.

“Fine. But can I call you in the morning to see how you
are?”

No!
I couldn’t stand for him to call me. I didn’t have
the strength to send him away twice. “I’d rather you didn’t.” I felt warm tears
rolling onto my nose.

“Do you know what, Emma?” he said, suddenly angry. “I think
you were right. We do hate one another.”

What? No. Don’t say that, please!

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. I couldn’t bear
this. I should just admit that I deliberately caused a row to send him away.
But I couldn’t be the person who stopped him from completing the most important
challenge of his life.

Suddenly, he stopped walking away and turned around. My
heart jumped for joy. But then he walked straight past me and toward the
stairs. “I’m saying goodbye to my son,” he said, without even looking at me.

* * *

I woke up feeling terrible. The storm seemed to have died
down, but that brought no sliver of comfort; I’d have preferred a sky to match
my mood. Getting up to feed Joseph three times in the night had exhausted me.
As a result, Simon’s words dug much deeper than I felt they should have done.

Did he really hate me? Hearing him say those words drove
right into my core. Now every thought tasted sour. Looking down at Joseph, I
felt guilty for being rude to his father. It felt as though the milk I was
feeding him was somehow tainted by the diseased air between his parents. I
hadn’t meant a word that I had said, but Simon hadn’t known that the row was
fake when he said that he hated me. Why hadn’t I corrected him? Why hadn’t I
told him that I didn’t hate him?

How could I have ever thought that there was any chance that
being parents together would run smoothly when we couldn’t even be friends
together? How could I have ever dared to assume that we had gotten over the
hideous beginnings of our relationship?

Now, he was going to Antarctica in emotional turmoil. Surely
it would have been better to let him postpone the race than do this to us. How
was he supposed to run his best now, believing that the mother of his child
couldn’t stand him being around them?

I loved him visiting. I loved the way he held Joseph, I
loved the way he tapped his little nose, I loved the way he sang his little
songs. And what’s more, I rather liked the way he was with me. His arrogant
streak seemed to have softened and now I found our little disputes about
television and films amusing. I like watching DVDs together and having him
there to chat to over dinner. His cooking wasn’t half bad either. I couldn’t
leave things like this, not for
ten
days.

Although it pained me to admit that I was wrong, I had to
talk to him. I looked for my mobile. Where was it? Why wasn’t it on the coffee
table where I usually left it? Frantically, I scurried around the house. When
eventually I found it, I ploughed through my call history. But my fingers
fumbled like sausages in gravy. After what seemed like an age, I managed to
dial his number.

“Come on! Pick up!”

I looked at the clock; it was ten.

“Pick up the phone!”

Still it rang and rang. I tried to remember what time his
flight was. I felt sure he said it was in the afternoon. That meant that if I
was quick, I could get to his house before he left for the airport.

I didn’t want to stop him from going – far from it. I just
wanted to tell him that, well … in a nutshell: we’d miss him. I
wanted him to know that he was welcome at our house whenever he liked. I wanted
to wish him luck. He’d trained hard but the Antarctic conditions would make
finishing the marathon challenging even for the most skilled athlete. I knew
how emotional it would be for him, surrounded by the last landscapes that Joe
ever saw. I needed him to know that I was on his team.

Whilst Simon’s house may have been only a short drive away,
it was quite a mission on foot. It would take me at least forty minutes to walk
and I didn’t very much fancy taking a perambulator on the bus. Eventually, I
decided to call a cab. Yes, it would be expensive, but I asked myself: how
often will you need to race against time to tell a man running an ice marathon
that you don’t hate him?

Everything is a complex mission when you’ve got a baby in
tow. I didn’t want to risk waking Joseph again, but I had to get him into his
pram. “We’re going to see Daddy,” I whispered, as I lifted him out of his cot.
“We’re going to tell Daddy that we like him, some of the time.”

It took ages to get ready. I had to dress Joseph in his
fluffy playsuit with his winter booties and his little mittens. Where were his
little mittens? Then, I had to find some more blankets for the pram, because
Joseph had been sick on yesterday’s. None of this was doing any good to my
nerves.

If this were a film, I’d be there by now, having hurdled
over fences with Joseph in a baby sling, effortlessly navigating downright
perilous obstacles. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was a long, frustrating slog.

Eventually, the taxi arrived – a London cab just as I’d
requested. The wind howled at us the moment we stepped out of the house. The
driver opened the door of his cab and helped me lift the pram into the back. I
confirmed the address and we were off.

Wham! played on the radio, ‘Last Christmas I gave you my
heart …” Last Christmas – it seemed like such a long time ago. Last year,
as I gobbled turkey, I had no idea that Simon Moran even existed. How did we
get here?

I had butterflies in my stomach. Would Simon still be at
home? And if he were, would he care what I had to say? Would he retract his words
too? What if he still maintained that he hated me?

When finally, we pulled up outside Simon’s smart semi with
its timber beams and leaded windows, the driver helped me with Joseph’s pram. I
didn’t think to ask the driver to wait, and was barely aware of him driving
off, as I hurried up the path to Simon’s house. His car wasn’t in the drive.

I rang the doorbell.
Come on Simon!
I couldn’t hear
anything or see anybody through the frosted glass so I rang the bell again. I
rang the bell for a third time, before finally conceding that he was gone.
Flaming
bugger.

He must be driving to the airport.
Idiot; airport parking
costs a fortune
. Perhaps he’d just popped out. Then, I looked at my watch.
It was almost midday. Of course he had left for the airport.

What scraps of options remained for me now? No face-to-face
scene accompanied by implied flute music. Not even a measly phone call to
rectify the problem in a modest fashion. Just text or voicemail. A text seemed
so impersonal, so easy to forge. I opted for voicemail.

It seemed like many minutes before his voicemail cut in, and
when it did, the words fell over each other as they somersaulted out.

“Simon, it’s me, Emma, Joseph’s mother.”
What are you
doing? He knows who you are!
“I don’t know if you’ll get a chance to check
your messages before your flight, or after your flight … I’m gabbling,
sorry. I suppose what I’m trying to say, is … is that … Oh don’t
worry – this isn’t a love confession or anything like that. I’m just trying to
say that perhaps, I don’t necessarily hate you.”

I hung up feeling distinctly embarrassed. I hadn’t quite hit
the tone I’d been hoping for. Still, leaving another message would make me
sound insane, wouldn’t it?

I sat with my head in my hands. ‘Perhaps, I don’t
necessarily hate you’.
What the hell?

If this were a film, I’d feel a gentle hand on the back of
my neck. I’d look up, and there he’d be – not gone to Antarctica yet after all,
but still here. I wouldn’t have to say anything. I’d find myself stretching to
meet his lips, and then, we’d kiss.

Kiss?
I was losing the plot. I picked myself up off
the floor and grabbed the handle of the pram. “Come on Joseph, we’re going
home.”

Chapter 10

I tried to accept that Simon was gone and I wasn’t going to
hear from him until he got back. Two days had passed and I’d had no response to
my message. Surely, if he had his phone on him, he’d have said
something
.
I was just going to have to wait it out, no matter how much it hurt. The
weather was a little kinder now, which at least allowed me to get out of the
house. I tried to keep busy with friends.

Watching Nicky with Joseph brought a tear to my eye. She was
a natural mother. It was a cruel world that denied her a child. Yet, if she
felt even a morsel of jealousy, she didn’t let it show. She gave him a Santa
teddy that she’d picked up at a petrol station – couldn’t help herself,
apparently.

“And how are you in yourself?” she asked, when finally she
managed to tear her eyes away from Joseph, who was now looking his most
handsome yet, with a few strands of auburn hair. His face was smoother now as
he’d lost most of his birth wrinkles. Although he had my colouring, there was a
distinct resemblance to his father – perhaps it was that precocious twinkle in
his eyes.

“I’m fine. Tired, obviously, but no more than you’d expect.”

“So no mood swings.”

“Nothing clinical.”

“That’s incredible. And you’re not back on lithium yet?”

“I want to breast feed for as long as I can.”

“Well, good for you.”

“Fingers crossed.”

I poured Nicky a cup of tea and took a seat beside her on
the sofa.

“It’s very quiet without Simon around.”

“I can’t believe he went!” she scoffed.

“I told him to go.”

“He should have insisted.”

“No, he shouldn’t. You don’t understand how big this is for
him. It’s about honouring Joe.”

“While his namesake is here in England, needing him.”

“I don’t need him. We’re coping fine.”

“But you’d like him to be around,” she said, with a giggle
in her voice and a little knowing grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you trying to tell me that you don’t feel
anything
for
him?”

“Of course I feel something for him, he’s Joseph’s father.”

“And that’s all?”

I thought about it. “It’s weird. Sometimes he can be
absolutely lovely but at other times, he’s insufferable. He’s so certain in his
convictions, like he’s never been wrong in his life. It drives me up the wall.”