**Diary Entry December 10th**
Never mind, Dave! Chin upat least you had a cracking New Years Eve!
Here I was, back in my hometown. I stepped off the train, crossed the station square, and headed for the bus stop. I hadnt told Emily I was coming back today.
My mood was sour. I knew I was in for an unpleasant conversation with her. Shed scold me again, call me selfish, accuse me of not caring. But how couldnt I care? Id tried ringing her on New Years Eve to wish her well, but shed turned her phone off. Bloody typical.
For three days, I kept callingno answer. So I gave up. And lets not forget, she couldnt even be bothered to wish my parents or sister a happy new year, never mind me. Well, Id have my say the moment I walked in. She wasnt blameless eitherfar from it. Best defence is a good offence, isnt it?
I squared my shoulders and marched into the flat, ready for a row.
Silence greeted me.
“Oi! Anyone home? Em, Im back!” No reply.
Kitchenempty. Bedroomnothing. But something was off: the crib by the wall was gone. So was the changing table, the chest of drawers, even the pram her parents had bought. I yanked open the wardrobeher side was bare.
“Has she lost the plot? Left me?”
I rang her mumno answer. Next, I tried Kate, her best mate. Still nothing. Finally, I got through to Mike, Kates husband.
“Mike, mateput Kate on, will you? Cant reach her.”
“Kates in the village with the kids. Signals dodgy there.”
“Right. Listen, have you seen Emily? Got back from my parents and shes vanished. All the baby stuffs gone too.”
“Waitwasnt she due any day? You left her alone over Christmas?”
“She didnt want to come! Doctor said the tenth or eleventhplenty of time.”
“Dave, youre a right plonker,” Mike snorted.
“Why?”
“Because youre probably single now. Ring the hospitalshes likely there.”
***
Ten days earlier…
“Dave, love,” Mum had said over the phone, “why stay home if she wont come? The babys not due for weekspop down alone.”
“Everyones hereAunt Vera, Uncle Steve, Nat and Vic, even Ollie and Paul. Weve booked a lodge in the Cotswolds. Four nightsthirtieth to the second. Gala dinner on New Years Eve. Ive paid your sharesettle up later. Stay till Epiphany, then head back. Youll make it in time.”
Emily refused.
“Dave, I could go into labour any minute. Imaginemid-celebration, miles from hospital? No thanks.”
“Mum says women today treat pregnancy like an illness. She had three of us and never made a fuss.”
Part of me knew she had a point. But the thought of a quiet New Yearsjust the two of us, a half-hearted meal (shed already said she couldnt be bothered cooking)made me miserable. Meanwhile, the family would be laughing, dancing, ringing in the new year properly.
So I went alone.
The lodge was brilliant. Just past midnight, I slipped out to call herstraight to voicemail.
“Fine. Your loss. Couldve been here with everyone.”
Next morning, Mum moaned about Emily.
“Not even a call to wish us happy new year! Youve spoiled her rotten, son.”
“She doesnt understand family. Let her sit alone and think.”
***
Emily hadnt been thinking about them. If anything, shed thought of mecertainly not my parents or their lot.
Her folks, hearing shed be alone, invited her over. No big dojust a quiet evening. Her brother worked shifts in London, so itd just be them.
At nine on New Years Eve, as she and her mum laid the table, her waters broke.
Ambulance called. Mum went with her; Dad followed in the car.
Emily welcomed the new year in a hospital bed. Her parents waited downstairs. By half twelve, she was a mum.
***
Back in the present, I took Mikes advice and rang the hospital.
“Emily Carter? Discharged yesterday.”
“What? Already?”
“Baby arrived January first, 12:30 AM.”
“Who picked her up?”
“Sir, we dont log that.”
Had to be her parents. I bought roses and went straight there.
Her dad answered.
“Yes?”
“Im here for Emily.”
“And you are?”
“Her husband.”
“Emily!” he bellowed. “Bloke here says hes your husband. Want a word?”
“No. Send him away.”
He shrugged. “No luck. Cheers, mate.” Door shut.
I stood there, then knocked again.
This time, her mumtall, sturdy, loud. (Ill admit, she terrified me.)
“Still here?”
“Let me in. Ive got rights”
She snatched the roses and whacked me across the face.
“Your solicitor can explain your rights. Now sod offmy grandsons asleep.” Door slammed.
I trudged home, rubbing my face. Lovely roses. Pity about the thorns.
Back home, I rang Mum.
“They wouldnt even let me see my son.”
“Dont fret, love. Shell come crawling backwhere else can she go? No calls, no money. Let her parents foot the bill. A week or two, shell be back. Get some sleepwork tomorrow.”
I ate microwave lasagne and turned in, oblivious itd be my last night there.
Next evening, my stuffboxed and baggedwas on the landing.
Her mum answered. (The flat was hers, after all.)
“Well? Need directions to your digs, or shall I remind you? Take your junk. Cleaners binning the rest tomorrow.”
So I moved into shared housing.
Divorce papers came. The hostel grated, but when I saw my payslipchild support, spousal maintenanceI knew renting alone was off the table.
“Tighten your belt,” Mike said. “Save for a deposit. Cheer upleast you had a belter of a New Years!”
Emily stayed with her parents three years. They helped with little Jack while renting out the flat. Once she was back at work, they moved back in. After a refurb, no trace of me remained.
**Lesson learned:** Some choices cost more than you reckon. And roses? Always mind the thorns.
