‘Didn’t you think I had a right to know? If it is mine, that is.’
‘Of course it’s yours,’ flares Ruth, ‘whose did you think it was?’
‘I thought maybe your ex-boyfriend… Peter.’
‘I haven’t slept with him for ten years.’
‘It’s not his then,’ says Nelson with a slight smile.
‘No, it’s definitely yours.’ There is another silence broken only by the minicabs behind starting a strident chorus of hooting. Nelson swears and puts the car in gear. They drive in silence through the Norwich backstreets. It’s Sunday morning and everything is quiet, people are emerging from newsagents with giant Sunday papers under their arms and cafe owners are putting tables out on the pavements. As they pass through the centre of the city, they can hear church bells ringing.
‘What are you going to do?’ asks Nelson, breaking sharply at a zebra crossing.
‘Have the baby,’ says Ruth determinedly, ‘bring it up on my own.’
‘I want to help.’
‘Help? What do you mean “help”?’
‘You know… financially. And other things. I want to be involved.’
‘How involved? Are you going to tell Michelle?’
Nelson says nothing but Ruth sees his eyes narrow. Eventually, he says, ‘Look, Ruth. This isn’t easy. I’m married. I don’t want to break up my family. The girls-’
‘Don’t think for one second that I want to marry you. That’s the last thing I want.’
She thinks Nelson relaxes slightly and when he speaks again his tone is gentler. ‘What do you want from me then?’
‘I don’t know.’ She doesn’t. Of course, on one level she does want a totally committed partner who will come with her to the birth and bring up the baby with her. But that isn’t on offer. ‘I just want someone to talk to, I suppose,’ she says.
‘Well, you can talk to me. Have you had a scan yet?’
‘Yes, he’s got long legs apparently.’
‘He?’
‘I think it’s a boy. I’m calling him Toby.’
‘Toby!’ The car swerves. ‘Toby! You can’t call him Toby.’
‘Why not?’
Nelson hesitates. Ruth waits for him to say ‘because it’s a poof’s name’ but supposes that, even for Nelson, this is a step too far.
‘I suppose you think I should call him Harry,’ says Ruth.
‘Harry? No. Ever since Harry bloody Potter that’s been a nightmare. But couldn’t you name him after… What’s your dad’s name?’
‘Ernest.’
‘Well, maybe not.’
‘I could ask Cathbad.’
‘Jesus. He’ll want to call him Jupiter Moon Grumbleweed or something. Why not just give the poor kid a normal name. Like Tom.’
‘Or Dick. Or Harry.’
She and Nelson are never together very long without arguing, reflects Ruth. But all the same she is happy, almost exhilarated. Talking about the baby, discussing names, has made her pregnancy seem more real than at any time since the first scan. No, it’s not the pregnancy that seems real, it’s the baby. Or rather, it’s the idea that the baby will grow up to be a child, a
They are on the ring road now. Nelson is driving too fast as usual. Ruth sometimes thinks he only became a policeman to avoid speeding fines.
But it seems that he also has been thinking. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it,’ he says, overtaking a lorry, ‘we don’t know each other that well, but we’re having a baby together.’
‘We’re not “having a baby together”,’ says Ruth.
‘Yes we are,’
‘But we’re not “together”. You’re not going to come to parent-teacher evenings, are you?’
‘That’s a bit of a way off, Ruth.’
‘I just mean, I’m having the baby on my own but you’re the father. That’s all.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You should be pleased I’m not making all sorts of demands.’
‘You should be pleased I’m not running for the hills.’
The ridiculousness of this exchange makes them both laugh.
‘What about your parents?’ asks Nelson. ‘Are they supportive?’ He says this as if he is proud to have thought of such a PC term.
‘Not exactly,’ says Ruth, ‘they’re Born Again Christians. They think I’m going to burn in hell.’
‘Nice. They might come round when the baby’s born though.’
‘They might, I suppose.’
‘Have you got brothers or sisters?’
Nelson is right, thinks Ruth, it
‘I’ve got a brother. He’s OK but we’re not close. He lives in London.’
‘Has he got children?’
‘Yes. Two.’
Toby will have cousins. That has never occurred to her before either.
‘Are you going to carry on working?’ asks Nelson.
‘Of course. I’ve got to support the baby, haven’t I?’
‘I told you, I want to help.’
‘I know, but realistically, if you don’t tell Michelle, you’re not going to be able to do very much. That’s OK though. I don’t want help. You can buy him a bicycle or something.’
‘His first football.’
‘You’re not going to insist he supports some ridiculous northern team are you?’
‘Blackpool. Of course.’
‘What if I want him to support…’ She wracks her brain for the most annoying choice. ‘Arsenal?’
‘Then I’ll apply for custody.’ After a short silence, Nelson says, ‘What will you tell about me? I don’t want him growing up not knowing who his father is.’
‘I don’t know,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’ But the bridge looks more like a rickety plank across the Niagara Falls. If Michelle doesn’t know, how can she possibly tell her baby that Nelson is his father?
They are on the Saltmarsh road now. The tide is in, forming sparkling blue pools between the islands of long grass. Ruth opens her window and breathes in the salty sea smell.
Nelson watches her. ‘You love this place, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then there’s no point in me saying it’s an isolated spot to bring up a baby?’
‘No.’
Nelson parks outside Ruth’s cottage. ‘Do you want to come in?’ she asks.
He looks awkward. ‘I ought to get back. I said I’d take Michelle to the garden centre.’
‘Oh, all right.’
Ruth gets out and scrabbles in her bag for her key. Nelson watches her from the car. For some reason, the sight of her standing there on her doorstep in her crumpled shirt, a bandage over her left eye, makes his throat constrict.
‘Ruth!’ he calls.
She turns.
‘Take care.’
