Page 122 of The Last Train Home
How am I here, in Tom’s house, with my baby and about a billion little stitches in my stomach? If the universe has a plan, it has a weird way of letting me know about it.
Next to me my little girl cries again, so I start to move. I really need to think of a name for her. Why is it so hard? I want Tom to know how much I value his presence in my life. Even when he wasn’t present, he was always there, under the surface, under my skin. I loved him. I loved Sean too,but I never stopped loving Tom. These feelings don’t simply die because we want them to, because we think it’s for the best. And now I’m here and I still can’t make them stop. If anything, it’s getting worse.
Thomasina. Is that a good name for a baby? Will Tom know how much I value him, how much I care for him, if I name the baby after him? Thomasina. I try it out on my tongue. That’ll piss Sean off nicely. Maybe the name will grow on me. But what if Tom and I get close and he rejects me again, then my baby has his name? That’ll pissmeoff.
Baby’s crying is really ramping up now. It’s taking for ever, but I finally swing my legs out of bed very slowly and lean over the cot. I can do this. My stomach muscles tell me, in no uncertain terms, that they are not happy. I cry out, but I’m determined and then Tom runs in.
‘What are you doing?’ he cries.
‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ I protest.
‘Christ, this is exactly what I’m here for.’ He picks her up. He’s in his boxer shorts and I’m totally awestruck by this. I can’t look away. I can’t stop staring at his chest, his legs, his strong arms as he holds my baby. I need to look away.
‘Sorry,’ he says, noticing my harlot eyes scanning him. ‘I couldn’t find my pyjama bottoms in the dark and you cried out, so I just ran.’
‘OK,’ I say. I’m anything but OK.
Tom tells me he’s going to change her nappy first, even though she’s screaming for milk. He says he nailed this practice in about a minute when Teddy was small. ‘It means she’ll fall asleep after her milk, and I won’t have to pull her around and make her angry by changing her nappy after she’s all ready to go back to bed. Makes putting her down so much easier.’
‘OK,’ I say over the noise. I really need to think of something else to say. ‘Thank you.’
I make myself comfy in bed and shortly after my freshly changed baby is in my arms and bashing her face on my breast, ready for milk. She suckles eagerly.
Tom stands by the end of the bed and looks towards the door of the spare room I’m in. Teddy’s standing, looking curious and nervous.
‘Sorry, mate,’ Tom says. ‘Did we wake you?’
Teddy nods. ‘It’s OK.’ He’s clutching a book in his hands, which makes Tom smile, until he realises the time and wonders why Teddy’s holding a book at 1 a.m. when he should be sleeping. ‘Can you read me a bit to get me to sleep?’ he asks Tom.
‘Maybe a couple of pages. It’s late, buddy.’
But Teddy’s moved on, as he gazes at the baby. ‘Can I watch her feed? How does it work?’
I explain it to Teddy and he automatically curls up in bed next to me and the baby while he listens. It’s nice, the feeling of Teddy nestled against me in this big double bed, surrounded by muted tones. He strokes the baby’s hair while she feeds.
‘OK if I go put some trousers on?’ Tom asks me, gesturing towards Teddy as if I might not be able to cope with a four-year-old snuggled quietly with us.
I smile. Of course I’ll be fine. ‘Sure.’
Tom leaves and returns with pyjama bottoms on, still shirtless. In amongst being superdad, I assume he still finds the time to work out. Teddy and I are reading a page of his book:Matildaby Roald Dahl. I feel this book is a bit old for him, but he seems keen.
‘Samantha bought it for him,’ Tom says. ‘She’s got no idea how reading ages work.’
‘Ronald loves Roald Dahl,’ Teddy says and I look at Tom for any hint of a grimace, but he seems content as he smiles at Teddy’s enthusiasm.
Teddy continues, ‘I’ve already readGeorge’s Marvellous MedicineandFantastic Mr Foxwith Mummy and Ronald. I didn’t likeThe BFG. Too many words I didn’t understand.’
‘Matildawas my favourite when I was a child,’ I say.
‘Was it?’ Teddy asks. ‘I really like it. She’s got special powers.’
I nod sagely. ‘She has. Shall we keep going?’
Teddy nods. He holds the book and turns the page when I tell him to, as I’ve got my hands full holding the baby. Tom sits on the end of the bed and watches us, thoughtfully or sleepily. I can’t tell. He looks like he wants to nod off, but I sort of need him to put my little girl back in her cot. And then he has to get Teddy back off to bed. Poor man. He’s going to be exhausted in the morning. I feel so guilty. I really hope I start feeling better soon.
We stop reading at the end of the next page and I glance at Tom, who looks like he’s itching to get Teddy back to bed.
‘What do you think of Thomasina?’ I ask, desperate for his approval.
