‘Wow!’ Matt’s voice is low and soft. ‘I think he looks like me. Don’t you think he has my eyes?’ Henry is staring up at his father. ‘I think he knows me. Hi, little dude. Do you know who I am? I’m your daddy.’ He is filled with wonder, and Gabby has sudden memories of when Olivia was born.
Each of her children’s births was awesome, but none quite so magical nor overwhelming as the first. The first time she held Olivia she couldn’t tear her eyes from her, wanting to drink her in, unable to believe this mysterious, magnificent creature had grown inside her body, had been created by her.
Matt feels it too. The awe at the life he has created. When he finally turns his head to look at Gabby there are tears in his eyes, and a lump in his throat.
‘He’s amazing,’ he whispers. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘I know,’ she says.
Just then the front door bangs open and, with shock, she hears the girls come in from school, their footsteps thumping on the stairs as they scramble up to see their brother.
Olivia is first, and she pulls up short, the smile wiped off her face as she stares at this strange man holding her baby brother. Alanna, coming up next, still smiles but is curious as to who this man is, this man cradling Henry in her mother’s bedroom.
‘Hi?’ Olivia’s greeting is a question.
Gabby immediately thinks of her mother saying absolute clarity is called for. No more lies; no more evasion.
‘Hi, girls,’ she says warily. ‘I’d like you to meet someone. This is Matt.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘This is Henry’s father.’
‘Wow. Hi!’ Alanna comes in and bends down to inspect her brother, completely unfazed by this information, but Olivia stays in the doorway, her eyes narrowing as she glares at Matt.
‘Olivia?’ Gabby prompts. ‘Please come in and say hello properly.’
But Olivia says nothing. She whirls round and stalks down the hallway, and the next thing to be heard is the slamming of her bedroom door.
Gabby is mortified. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, turning to Matt. ‘I don’t know why she was so rude.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Matt says, because as lunch progressed he learned the remainder of the story about her marriage breaking up due to the pregnancy. ‘It’s understandable. She blames me.’
‘I’ll go and talk to her. Are you okay being here with the baby?’
His face lights up. ‘You don’t mind leaving me with him?’
‘Can you handle it?’
‘If you can.’ He looks nervous. ‘What do I do if he cries?’
‘Alanna’s here. She’s very good with him, and I’m only two rooms away. If he cries, cuddle him. He loves being rocked and going up and down stairs.’ She lays a hand on his arm just as she leaves. ‘Relax,’ she says. ‘You’re going to be great.’
There is not a peep from Henry as Gabby walks down the hallway to Olivia’s room. She knocks tentatively on the door and waits, but there is no response.
‘Olivia? Let me come in.’
She turns the handle and opens the door. Olivia is sitting at her desk, pretending to be immersed in work; but her back and shoulders are tense, and she won’t turn round and look at her mother, won’t respond.
‘I talked to your grandmother last week about what to do, whether or not to tell Henry’s father he has a son, because I wasn’t going to. She pointed out, and I agree, that the father has a right to know Henry; that Henry has a right to know his father. He flew in from California today and I told him at lunch, and I honestly didn’t know what his reaction would be, but he wants to be involved.’
‘Involved how?’ Olivia spits. ‘Involved with you?’
‘No. Not with me. There is nothing between us any more.’ Gabby doesn’t know if it is her imagination but she is certain she sees a slight relaxation of Olivia’s shoulders. ‘Involved with Henry.’
‘But he’s in your bedroom. And he’s the man responsible for Dad leaving. If it wasn’t for him, you and Dad would still be together. We’d still be a real family.’
‘Oh, Olivia. We are still a real family. If you’re going to blame anyone at all for what happened, blame me. I know you have blamed me, but don’t blame Matt. He had no idea of the circumstances of my life, and he’s a nice man.’
‘I just …’ Olivia’s voice chokes. ‘I just wish things were how they used to be. I wish you and Dad were still together. I wish he wasn’t with that horrible Trish. I wish everything was like the old days.’ She dissolves in tears and Gabby rushes to comfort her.
‘I know,’ she croons. ‘I wish that too, but we have to accept that things are different. This is our life now. We can’t keep looking into the past and wishing for something that no longer exists. We have to move forward. You have to find a way to accept Henry’s father because, like it or not, he’s a part of this family.’
‘He’s not a part of my family.’
There is little point in saying anything else, in trying to persuade Olivia otherwise when she is in a mood like this. Gabby kisses her daughter on the top of her head and leaves her, knowing that she needs some time on her own, that she will re-emerge in an hour or so, pretending to still be grumpy, although she will, in fact, be fine.
Gabby closes Olivia’s bedroom door softly then stands and thinks for a moment about what Olivia said in there, her description of ‘that horrible Trish’. Thank God, she thinks, feeling ever so slightly guilty. But thank God it isn’t just me.
In her bedroom Matt is now standing, walking around, gently rocking Henry and singing him nursery rhymes, while Alanna lies on stomach on the bed, heels up in the air, laughing each time Matt gets the words wrong, which he is clearly doing deliberately to make Alanna laugh.
Gabby smiles and goes downstairs to her mother, who grins broadly at her as she finishes topping a cottage pie with grated cheese.
‘Well!’ She turns, folding her arms and beaming. ‘What a wonderful man. Boy. I’m not sure which, but he’s wonderful. What does he think of his son?’
‘I think he thinks he’s pretty amazing.’ Gabby wells up, sitting at the table and running her fingers through her hair. ‘God, I feel emotionally exhausted. All the pent-up dread and anticipation, but it couldn’t feel more right. I think Matt’s fallen in love.’
‘Who wouldn’t fall in love with that delicious little baby, who is, by the way, the best baby ever? Hardly a peep out of him. Makes me wish I’d had more.’
‘Except they would undoubtedly have been screamers like me,’ Gabby reminds her.
‘True.’ Natasha pops the cottage pie into the oven and sets the timer. ‘Now, is there any laundry to be done? I’ll go upstairs and check, shall I?’
‘No. Mum, it’s fine. Sit.’ Gabby gestures to the chair, not wanting to overtire her mother, who is turning out to have surpassed all Gabby’s expectations, even the deeply hidden ones she had thought were no more than wild hopes. Natasha hasn’t stopped looking after all of them, making Gabby wonder if, in fact, part of the problem had been that Gabby was an only child. Natasha needs a crowd, needs to be needed by a large number of people, not one independent, self-sufficient child.
Perhaps she could see Gabby never needed her, which is why she pulled in all the waifs and strays in the first place. Now she is needed. By Gabby. By the girls. By Henry, and now, perhaps, by Matt.
Natasha is in her element, cooking, doing laundry, and Gabby wants to tell her how grateful she is, but doesn’t know how to say the words. Instead she reaches out and squeezes her mother’s hand, and her mother squeezes back, because she knows what Gabby would say if she was able to say the words.
They both turn as Matt comes into the room, Henry starting to fuss in his arms. Matt holds him out, panicked, and Gabby takes her son, who instantly calms down when his mother holds him.
‘Would you like to stay for supper?’ Natasha asks with a bright smile. ‘It’s cottage pie.’
‘What’s cottage pie?’
‘Shepherd’s pie,’ explains Gabby. ‘In
England shepherd’s pie is made with lamb, and cottage pie with beef, but here I know everyone just calls it shepherd’s pie.’
Matt looks at Natasha, shaking his head slowly. ‘I have no idea how you knew this, but that happens to be my favourite dish.’
‘There are those who have called me something of a witch,’ Natasha says, twinkling.
‘No, I think it was a “b”,’ Gabby says. ‘Bitch. They said you were a bitch.’ Matt watches as she and her mother crack up.
‘Well? Are you staying?’ Natasha directs her attention back to Matt.
‘Let me talk to Gabby,’ he says, for which she is entirely grateful. It is so like her mother to invite all and sundry to stay, and she cannot blame her for inviting Matt, who she has clearly taken an immediate shine to.
There is Olivia to think of, and Alanna, although Alanna seems fine. And there is Gabby, who is delighted, but unprepared for Matt to suddenly be a part of this family. She thinks it is probably the right thing for the future, but needs to take it slowly.
‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ Matt says.
Gabby puts Henry in his bouncing chair, grabs her coat and gloves, slips her feet into snow boots, then they set off down the road.
‘I feel completely overwhelmed,’ Matt confesses, as they reach the corner. ‘I have no idea what to feel about this. I’m thrilled, and awed. And scared. I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father.’
Gabby says nothing, but gives him room to try to sort out his thoughts, imagining how hard this must be for him, dealing with such unexpected news.
‘At lunch, when you told me, I was freaking out inside, but then I thought, okay, so I made you pregnant, but it didn’t mean my life would have to change. I hadn’t thought about kids, other than to assume I’d have them at some point, but I figured that was all down the road. I guess I came back to meet him because it felt like something I had to do, but I didn’t expect to feel …’ He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t expect to love him. Instantly. To feel this … this, bond. Like I would do anything for him, would throw myself off a bridge for him. I know it sounds dramatic, but it’s just that I have never felt anything like this, and I’ve spent, what? An hour with him? Two?’
‘He’s your son,’ Gabby says simply. ‘You’re supposed to feel that way. That’s what parenthood is. It’s utterly selfless. You put your own thoughts and feelings and desires aside, without even being aware of doing it, and you put your children first.’
‘So what do we do now? How do we do this? I have to be a part of his life, but I don’t want to get in the way of yours, or do anything that would make you uncomfortable.’
Gabby stops and turns to him, tears in her eyes. ‘Thank you. Thank you for saying that.’
‘Gabby, I didn’t expect this. But now that he’s here, I couldn’t hope for a better mother for my son. I know you’re an amazing mother, and I know how much you do for your kids. I don’t want to do anything other than be there for Henry when he needs me. Listen, your mom is awesome, and I love that she invited me for dinner, but I don’t know that I should stay. I was thinking that maybe, if I go back to the hotel this evening, I could change my flights and stick around for a few days. I could spend time with Henry, and you and I could perhaps figure out some kind of schedule. You know, I could fly over here a couple of times a month to see him, or something.’
‘That sounds perfect,’ Gabby says. And it does.
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘Are you nearly ready?’ Trish calls out from the bathroom, where she is finishing putting on her make-up, while Elliott sifts through the handful of clothes he now keeps in her closet.
This is all moving very fast. A little too fast, he thinks, pulling out another new shirt Trish had insisted on buying him. He looks at himself in the mirror, not quite recognizing the man who stares back at him.
It isn’t that Trish is trying to change him, she teased him; she is just trying to gently propel him from eighteenth-century New England wasp to a modern man.
She has bought him Italian suede driving loafers to replace his old loafers; deck shoes from France; fine cashmere shirts; Ermenegildo Zegna jeans, which, he had to admit, did fit him beautifully.
‘See how elegant you are now?’ she said in the dressing room of the store, where she insisted he came out to show her every new outfit.
‘But I can’t let you buy this for me,’ he said, fishing in his wallet for his credit card, terrified of the thousands of dollars this little spree was going to cost, but feeling like he’d travelled too far down the road to get out of it now.
‘Absolutely not!’ Trish insisted, before leaning forward and whispering how much net profit her company made the previous year. Elliott put his wallet back in his pocket as she instructed the sales assistant to put the bill on the house account.
Tonight they are having dinner with friends of Trish’s, friends she has been anxious for him to meet. Jennifer and Colin. He is a hedge fund something, and she is an aspiring photographer and fellow yoga-addict – she and Trish do yoga together several times a week.
Elliott hardly ever went out for dinner when he was with Gabby. It was a rare treat when they did, but they were far more likely to cook dinner themselves, have people over, or go to other friends’ houses.
He had no idea, prior to dating Trish, that there is a whole other world that exists in this town: a world where couples get together to ‘couple date’. They dress up in their finest clothes and go to the newest restaurants, striding through with an air of authority, if only because they are the most beautiful people in the room, the people everyone else in there watches with envy.
He has had, now, a number of these evenings with Trish, as she brings him deeper into her world. They have eaten at all the trendiest restaurants in the area, which stretches over three towns. She has worn one of a never-ending selection of chiffon tops, long chunky necklaces, high platform heels that make her almost as tall as he is.
She looks gorgeous. Exquisite. Together, with his new, fashionable wardrobe, they look gorgeous. Exquisite.
Yet it all feels like so much effort for so little return.
Tonight, as he walks into the bathroom and sees Trish in yet another diaphanous top, large diamond hoops in her ears, skin-tight trousers and high silver pumps – ridiculous, given the snow outside – he is hit with a sense of dread.
He doesn’t want to sip a cocktail in a trendy restaurant and think of things to say to a man with whom he has nothing in common, while the women chatter animatedly between themselves. He doesn’t want to pretend to be interested in sports, which he couldn’t care less about, or ask questions about derivatives, and acquisitions, and futures, none of which he understands, nor wants to understand.
He doesn’t want to have yet another conversation about house values, or the new mansions going up, or how much value for money there is in town now, and how, if they had spare cash, they should really be buying up the tear-downs and rebuilding for under two hundred a square foot.
Trish is wonderful, but her lifestyle is tiring. Elliott is longing for a home-cooked meal. Trish is an amazing cook, but it is all about show; she cooks only if she entertains, or seduces. The rest of the time she expects to go out, or, perhaps, at a push, get takeout sushi.
And the house is so damned quiet. The children, Madison, Greyson, Bradley and Skylar, are usually down in their basement kingdom, playing Xbox or watching TV. He hears them laughing and shouting when they are with their friends, but around him they are the most well-mannered children Elliott has ever encountered. He misses the squabbling and fighting of his girls. He even misses their screaming and chasing each other through the house, flinging accusations of having stolen clothes, or hairbrushes, or make-up.
Trish has said he must make himself at home, but how is he supposed to make himself at home when it doesn’t feel like home? Where are the piles of papers and magazines next to the computer in the kitchen? Where are the shoes and boots, kicked off and left strewn a
bout the mud-room floor? Where is the clutter, the art, the knick-knacks you have collected over the years that tell the story of your life?
The objects in Trish’s house have all been bought since she renovated a year ago, and chosen to match the rest of the decor. What little clutter there might be is swept away by Ester, then artfully arranged in panelled closets you would never know existed.
Elliott looks at the soap dish, thinking of the soap dish in his old bathroom, at Gabby’s house. The soap was green, and there was always mushed-up green slush at the bottom of the bowl. The soap dish would never stay clean for longer than one use. Once you picked up the soap, it was all over. Here, the soap is white, and however much you use it, there is never residue left in the bowl. He walks over to the sink and picks up the soap, looking at the dry, shiny dish.
Trish finishes pushing bangles onto her wrist before swivelling and watching him finger the dish, her eyebrows raised. ‘What are you doing?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘How do I look?’ she asks, knowing she looks beautiful.
‘Perfect.’ He sees her face fall. ‘Beautiful. Stunning.’
She smiles as she approaches him for a kiss. ‘You look very handsome too,’ she says, admiring the shirt which she bought to turn him into the man she needs him to be in order to go out with him.
The evening is exactly as Elliott expects. Every head turns to inspect them as they walk in, and of course they should, for Trish is now, certainly amongst their age group, the most famous woman in town. Regularly profiled in magazine articles, written about in the papers, she is the woman everyone wants to be seen with.
And she wants Elliott. Which should make him the happiest man in the world. What must it say about Elliott that this beautiful, accomplished woman, this woman who could, let’s face it, have pretty much any man she could want, has chosen Elliott? How lucky he must be. He can see it in the faces of the people as they walk through the restaurants, the cocktail receptions.