Page 29 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
‘And, by the way…’ he adds from the doorway, pointing his fork at me. ‘Don’t you dare say anything toJames when he comes here. Whatever’s happened, it’s your problem, so don’t make it mine.’ The door slams on his way out.
I shake my head. Frigging teenagers.
I can imagine the discussion I’d normally have had with Monica. We’d have started by normalising Will’s behaviour, saying Joanne and James were exactly the same and that these teenage strops were a rite of passage and then we’d have sympathised with each other before finally ending up laughing as we always did…
Annoyed I’m thinking of Monica again, I throw the dirty pans and plates into the dishwasher and pick up the filthy rugby kit Will has dumped in the hall.
Well, at least Will didn’t bring up the subject of his biological father again.
I sigh. My once little lad now towers over me and, disconcertingly, he’s grown to look just like his dad. I sometimes catch my breath when I see him; he has Dev’s startlingly good looks.
Fobbing off my son is becoming increasingly difficult, but I stick to the same story. ‘I decided to be a single mum, went to a sperm bank and asked for a donor from the same ethnic group. End of.’
Yesterday he started a whole new tack.
‘There’s no such thing as remaining anonymous if you donate sperm. I looked it up. They have to give you a name and I have a right to know.’
I’m in a dilemma. I mean, the truth isn’t so bad, but it’s bound to change how Will thinks of me. Where would I begin?
Will, you were a complete miracle; a one-in-a-million chance. It’s true. I was told I was infertile.
What I won’t say is how I laughed it off in front of others – why would I want children? – while shrinking inside. It completely sucked. As my mates got pregnant, one by one, I decided to stick with my single friends and then I discovered the dating apps and the freedom of never having to take precautions. I soon convinced myself that having kids didn’t matter one jot.
So, I went to a wedding. Penelope’s wedding. It was the same day as my thirtieth birthday – a double celebration. And…
And there was Dev. Dressed in his usher garb looking completely edible; what a hunk.
…I met someone. I’m sure you don’t want the detail.
He came into the posh ladies’ powder room claiming he’d made a mistake, but I knew he’d followed me in. We ended up in one of the cubicles, stifling our giggles every time someone came in to use the loos. I honestly hadn’t known he was married with children. I mean, he didn’t wear a ring and there was no sign of any wife at the reception.
Several weeks later, when I found out I was pregnant, I wasn’t so much filled with dismay as utter disbelief. It only took the space of a few hours to know with absolute certainty I wanted to have this child.
And you were the result. A wonderful result. Your father is called Dev, but I found out he was already in a relationship, and I decided to go it alone.
I got Dev’s number from Penelope – told her I had a work-related question. He was horrified to hear from me.
‘Calm down, Dev. You need to know this pregnancy was a complete fluke.’
‘Right.’
‘I was told I’d never have children. I have a severe type of Polycystic ovary syndrome. Found out in my early twenties. Look, Dev, I know it was just a fling. I know that. But this is my one and only chance to be a mother, so I’m going through with it.’
‘Right.’
‘I just thought you should know.’
‘I don’t know what to say to you, Ruby. I’m married. Our second baby is due next month. I can’t… I can’t…’
‘Dev, it’s fine. I neither want nor need your permission, and given that you’re a bit of a shit, I certainly don’t want your involvement. I’ve told you. Now we’re done.’
We didn’t discuss anything else. It was the first and last conversation I had with him, and it suited me down to the ground. My decision, my baby, my call.
I can’t tell you much about him other than he has his own family, so I never got in contact with him.
Do I tell Will Dev was one of a long line of one-night stands? That’d go down well – not. Or that Dev knew full well he was going to be a father but opted out? I don’t want Will to view himself as some sort of reject when nothing could be further from the truth.
Oh, it’s so frigging difficult to know what to do for the best. Fourteen is a delicate age. His emotions are on a knife-edge as it is. One of my ex-workmates told me – in his thick Bristolian accent – ‘Neither man nor boy, but hobbledehoy.’ So frigging true.
