Page 17 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
Jason was his single Londoner mate who always held Will’s hand and led him down the wrong path. I had assumed Will was late because of work but I don’t want to question it. Scrap that, I don’t have the energy. I can’t work out whether the emotion is jealousy or anger so I let it slide.
‘I made it to dinner with Paddy,’ I say.
‘Oh, the anniversary thing. How is he?’
‘He was fine. Quick question, remember that couple from the NCT group, the one who asked you to help draw up that extension? What came of that?’
‘He emails me once a week to remind me.’
‘I saw his wife today. They did end up calling their baby Valencia.’
‘That’s a very good football team. And you were upset that I wanted to call the baby Gascoigne. I ignore the emails. He’s a posh twat. Get rich, stay rich by grabbing freebies and not treating people very well.’
‘Good,’ I reply. ‘Also, something strange happened in the pub… We got approached by a guy who was a creative media type and he asked if he could borrow Joe for some shoot he’s doing for a rapper’s album cover. It was mental.’
Will perks up for a moment. You can tell he’s thinking his son may be as famous as the NirvanaNevermindbaby.
‘I Instagrammed her already. Her name is Special K. Up and coming British rap,’ I carry on.
‘Special K as in ketamine or the cereal?’
‘Neither. Her real name is Kimmie, it was her dad’s nickname for her growing up.’
I meet a lot of teens through my line of work as a teacher but I liked this one. She was polite and engaging and for a seventeen-year-old had a confidence that was way beyond her years, way beyond even someone like me.
‘So yeah, we did it,’ I say.
It was a crazy half an hour. After we agreed to be involved, we got led out to a studio across the road. They changed Joe into a new T-shirt, putting miniature earphones around his neck while a couple of people dragged some oil drums and rusty BMX bikes into view. I handed Joe over to Special K and he was entranced by her braids and big statement earrings. Why have a baby on a rap album cover? I was told it was a nod to youth, birth and innocence except I knew from Joe’s face that he was peeing in his nappy as she cradled him, so not so innocent at all. I then watched as he smiled, they got the photos Giles wanted and he offered us payment.
‘You didn’t take payment?’ asks Will.
‘It felt a bit wrong. Like I’d pimped him out.’
Will has his phone out to examine what this girl is all about and finds a video of her music. I’ve already had a listen. A touch of nineties garage with a strong bass and a meaningful rap vocal.
‘You’re in her Instagram stories already,’ he says. ‘She refers to someone called JoJo, is that our son?’
‘I guess. The director bloke also invited us in for other work. Baby modelling.’
Wills laughs, taking off his bag and earphones and lying next to his infant son. He does this every night when he’s not been here to wish him good night, putting his head next to our baby’s chest and watching it rise and fall.
‘Well, people keep telling me he’s cute. Magnus at work brought in pictures of his new baby. It’s sweet and all but it looks very shocked in all the photos,’ says Will.
‘I think it’s a bit awful judging a baby on its looks.’
‘I was an ugly baby. I had a giant head like a marshmallow. It was very square.’
‘And yet look how you blossomed,’ I reply.
‘’Tis a mystery.’
Will smiles at me and starts to disrobe, heading to the bathroom to relieve himself. Inside, he splashes his face with water like he’s trying to bring it back to life and jumps in the shower. He left at 6.30 this morning – it’s clearly been a day. And it’ll start all over again tomorrow. Will returns to the room, a towel around his midriff, drying himself in the way that you do when you’ve been with someone for nearly a decade, casual, knowing I won’t care that he stands there for a moment to give his balls a good scratch.
‘What you watching?’ he says, nodding at my laptop.
‘Crime thing. Those detectives are shagging but he’s married. They’re chasing a serial killer who likes to collect eyes.’
‘Who goes on the top deck of an empty night bus? That’s just asking for trouble.’
