He wandered through the night-soaked streets, stumbling heavily after drinking more than his fair share. Where was he headed? It didn’t matter to him. These were his familiar roads, and his feet would find their own way home eventually. His mind, however, was wrapped in more important pursuitshe was pondering existence, aloud to the cold England air.
“Why is my life like this?” he grumbled. “Twenty-sevenmy mates kids are already off to school, yet every girl I meet vanishes after a month, if Im lucky. Am I harsh? Not really… Well, maybe I am a bit. Thats how a blokes meant to be,” he admitted, a wry smile on his lips. “S’pose the only thing Im any good at is business. Not a millionaire, but its enough for a decent life.”
Suddenly, he stopped, clutching his head as tears welled and spilled over his cheeks. Spent all that money on that doctor, but whats the use? Nothing I can do for you. Heres an address for some London specialist, but even he probably cant help. Well, maybe Ill go see the chap tomorrow. Why not?
He found himself at the old stone bridge, staring at the rivers black, silken surface far below. Perhaps I ought to end it? Deep enoughitd swallow everything, he thought, gazing into the cold water. No, I wont jump. Its freezing, and anyway, Socrates hasnt been fed yet. He turned back toward home.
As he crossed, midway he noticed a woman, strikingly young, standing on the edge. A tiny infant was fastened snug against her chest in a rucksack. She stared at the water for a spell, then climbed over the railing, arms outspread. He lunged, catching her by the waist, and together they tumbled clumsily onto the dusty bridge deck. The baby screamed.
Are you out of your mind? he barked, suddenly dead sober.
What do you want? Why are you interfering? she sobbed.
Because it seemed too early for you to die, he nodded toward the crying baby. Especially for that one. Up, and off home to your husband or your mum. Whove you got?
Theres no home, no husband, no mum. I’ve got no one, she choked.
He propped her and the baby up. Just what I needed, eh? Come on.
Im not following you anywhere. What if youre some sort of madman? she drew back.
Jump all you like, no ones stopping you. But a madmanthat frightens you? He tugged her hand. Come on then!
***
They wandered through the night-glazed city, the childs wailing echoing off the lamplight. At length, he erupted:
Whys your kid always screaming?
Hes hungry. She clutched him close.
Then feed him.
Ive got no milk, no money.
And not much sense either, the man looked about. There, look, an off-license. Lets get some milk.
***
The cashier and security guard watched them approach, suspicion in their eyes. But he strode straight to a basket and tipped his head at the woman.
Come on. Wheres your milk?
The cashier pointed. Back there, love.
They reached the fridge. Get what you need, he ordered.
She plucked a small carton. This one.
Get as much as you wantgo on! He waited while she loaded more into the basket. Anything else?
Nappies.
Whatre those?
She smiled faintly and pointed. There.
Get ’em all.”
And wet wipes too?
Sure.
At the till, he fished out his bank card.
Sorry, cash only, the cashier droned.
He pulled out a battered wad of fifty-pound notes, peeled off one and handed it over.
No change this late, she said.
Throw in a bar of chocolate for the difference then, he grunted, pointing at a row of sweets.
***
Inside his flat, she looked around in wonder as he pulled off his shoes and tossed a fish fillet to the cat, which bounded out of nowhere. Next he grabbed a carton of juice, gulped it down, and addressed her with brusque hospitality.
Youre staying in this room. Kitchen, loo, bathrooms there. Im off to bed, he declared, stomping away, then turned back. Whats your name?
Emily.
Im Robert.
***
He doesnt seem a lunatic, at least, she thought, flicking on the hob in the kitchen and setting the kettle. Daft, nearly drowned myself. If not for that crazy sodhow would I and Jack have survived out in the cold all night? Hell throw us out tomorrow, but at least its warm for now.
As the kettle sang, she hurried to the spare room, laid her still-whimpering baby on the bed, found a tiny bottle at the bottom of her rucksack, then darted to the kitchen. She washed it, filled it with milk, and warmed it with the boiling water.
Jack drank it greedily and drifted into peaceful sleep. She dabbed him down with the wet wipes and strapped a nappy on. Out like a candle.
She washed up, visited the bathroom, then returned to the fridge. Hunger gnawed. She grabbed a chunk of smoked sausage, crammed it into her mouth, then cut off some bread, cheese, more sausage.
Once fed, a flicker of guilt went through her, but she shrugged and crawled onto the bed beside her son, slipping into sleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
***
Morning. Emily woke several times through the night, feeding Jackeight months old and always hungry. She heard Robert up at odd hours, and now again, clattering in the kitchen.
Best go, she thought, careful not to disturb the baby. Nothing good lasts for long.
He was busy at the stove. She washed quickly and poked her head in.
Sit down, he nodded at a chair. Ill do some eggs.
Better let me, she nudged him aside softly.
She grabbed a fresh bunch of dill, chopped it fine and sprinkled it over the eggs. She eyed the glasses critically, scrubbed them well, then made a pot of coffee.
He was barking into the phone the whole time: giving orders, arguing, barely seeming to notice her. He ate, drank his coffee, then stood up.
Emily tensed, bracing for what was coming.
“All right, Emily, listen. Im off for a week. Main thingfeed the cat, names Socrates. And dont you dare give him any of that supermarket nonsenseonly fresh fish and proper meat, got it? My studys off-limits. Do as you like elsewhere.
A cry came from the bedroom. Emily leapt up, looked at him.
“Go on,” he nodded.
Five minutes later, she returned with the child. Several crisp fifty-pound notes lay on the table.
That should be plenty for a week, he said. Im off.
He made for the door. Suddenly, the baby stretched out his tiny arms and mumbled something nearly like da-da. Maybe Robert just imagined it, but it caught at his heart. He knew hed never be someones father.
Emilycan I hold him? The question surprised even himself.
Of course. Emily smiled, passing over the child. Have you never held a baby before?
No.
Like this, she guided his arms. Jack burbled joyfully and flailed his hands. Robert stared in wonder.
Ill never have a son, he thought, face clouding as he handed Jackie back.
And he left.
***
He came home again. The big-shot doctor in London had said thered never be children. His mood was foul.
Whats the point? Why all this dosh, a four-bedroom flat, a Land Rover? A mans meant to make money for a family. My place is a tip. That cars got seven seatsand for what?
He stepped inside, face like thunder… and stopped. The flat was spotless, the air warm. Emilys smile was sheepish.
Da-da!those tiny hands fluttered in the air.
His bag dropped to the floor and, without a thought, his arms reached instinctively for the boy.
