Playing Nice Page 6

  Eventually Miles says, “Shall we…?” and we all turn back to the kitchen. Pete and I sit on high stools on one side of the enormous island, with Miles and Lucy on the other. It feels weirdly like a business meeting at some trendy production company.

  “So,” Miles begins, “thank you for coming today. And please don’t feel there’s any pressure from us to make any long-term plans yet. As far as we’re concerned, we just wanted the boys to meet, and for us adults to say a proper hello.” He pushes the lock of black hair back out of his eyes. “The important thing is, we’re talking. In itself, that’s a good first step.”

  Although he seems diffident, even nervous, it strikes me how good at this he is. Charming without coming across as narcissistic, confident without being arrogant. Good-looking, too, but in a boyish, engaging way that stops it being threatening. I can see how he might be worth the enormous salary he’s presumably paid, in order to afford such a spectacular house. And he has some of Theo’s pent-up energy, too.

  The subtext of his words is, That’s enough emotion for one day. Let’s leave it there, shall we? He’s thinking of Lucy, I suspect—she still seems very tense; much more so than she ever did two years ago in the NICU. I’ve noticed he’s very protective of her. When they were handing out the tea, for example, I saw how he quietly corrected her when she forgot whether Pete or I was the one who took milk, but under his breath, without making a big deal of it.

  For a moment I feel disappointed. When I’ve geared myself up for a tricky conversation, I find it frustrating not to have it. But Miles is probably right—no point in rushing things.

  Pete doesn’t read the situation the same way, though, or perhaps he’s simply so tense he can’t help himself. He glances at me, then back at Miles and Lucy. “You’ve had longer than us to think about this,” he says bluntly. “You must have some idea what you think the right course of action is.”

  There’s a long silence. Miles and Lucy don’t look at each other.

  “Of course, if you don’t want to say…” he adds.

  “No, it’s not—” Miles begins, just as Lucy says, “Well, to us—”

  They both stop. “You go,” Miles says, turning to her.

  “I couldn’t bear to lose him,” Lucy says in a rush. She looks directly at me, mother-to-mother. “It doesn’t really matter which of our wombs they came out of, does it? It’s being the one who cares for them day after day that counts. And when they have problems, like David…well, some people say it makes you overprotective. Perhaps that’s part of it.” She glances at her husband. “It certainly makes the bond even more special.”

  “Actually, darling, it’s Pete who’s Theo’s main carer,” Miles says quietly.

  “Well, then you both must know what I’m talking about.” She looks defiantly from me to Pete and back. “Miles and I would love to be part of Theo’s life. We would love for the two of them to see each other as family. As for the details, we haven’t gotten that far. But we couldn’t bear to swap them back. Just couldn’t bear it.”

  “We feel exactly the same,” Pete says. He looks at me, and I nod to show I’m right behind him. “Both of us do.”

  Lucy puts one hand to her chest. “Oh, thank God. I thought for a moment I might be ruining everything, blurting it out like that—”

  Miles puts his hand on her knee. “You did very well.”

  “We’ve talked about it, too,” Pete says. He lowers his voice so that Theo, in the playroom, won’t overhear. “We were trying not to rush the decision, just like you said, but we both feel—instinctively—that it’s the right thing for Theo and David not to be ejected from their current families. But we absolutely second what you said about the two of them being part of each other’s lives. We wondered if you’d like to be Theo’s godparents, for example. And we could be David’s.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Lucy says.

  “Although actually, David already has godparents,” Miles interjects apologetically. “Billy Cortauld—the Saracens captain—and Lucy’s friend Gemma. And I’m pretty sure the Church of England doesn’t allow you to add more after the christening. Lifelong commitment and all that. I can check, though…” He’s tapping his phone screen as he speaks. “No, you can’t. Sorry to be the voice of practicality. But we’d be honored to be Theo’s, if you haven’t chosen any yet.”

  Pete nods. “And we were thinking about setting up regular playdates, and telling Theo that David’s his cousin. We don’t have much in the way of family here in London—Maddie’s are all in Australia, and mine are up north. So this could actually be a blessing, or at least a silver lining. It’s Easter soon—maybe we could all spend the day together. That’s just an example, obviously. I mean, it’s all got to be worked out properly, hasn’t it, but the point is, we can sort this.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Miles says. He looks at Lucy. “Lucy-loo?”

  “Absolutely.” She clasps her hands. “You know, really we’re so lucky. That it’s us and you, I mean. Someone else might not have seen it the same way.”

  “Well,” Miles says. He looks at his watch. “I know it’s early, but I think this calls for a glass of something special.”

  * * *

  —

  THE FEELING OF RELIEF in the room is palpable. As if by mutual agreement, the discussion breaks up not long afterward. Pete makes an admiring comment about the house and Miles offers him a quick tour, while Lucy and I stay to watch the boys.

  “Can I hold him?” I hear myself say.

  “David? Of course.”

  I reach down and take David into my arms. He feels so slight after Theo—he must be at least three pounds lighter, like picking up a delicate little girl instead of a chunky, well-built boy. And while Theo, even on one of his quiet days, would wriggle and swing his legs and probably throw himself backward over my arm to see what would happen, David sits quietly, nestled in the crook of my elbow. After a moment he turns his head and examines me solemnly. His eyes are lighter than mine, but even so there’s something in them that feels eerily familiar. Involuntarily, I grin at him and bounce him gently on my arm. He doesn’t smile back, but he holds my gaze pensively, never looking away.

  “They each look so like one parent, don’t they?” Lucy comments. “Theo’s just like Miles, and David’s so like you.”

  “Yes.” I glance at her. “How did you find out, by the way? What made you first think David might not be yours?”

  “Oh.” Lucy reaches inside the collar of her shawl and frees a row of pearls that she rubs between her fingers a little nervously. “David’s problems have always been a bit of a mystery to the doctors. At one point, they wondered if there might be a defective gene involved. So they tested him and, although they didn’t find anything directly relevant, they did find an autosomal recessive—a gene inherited from both parents. But it turned out neither of us carried it. That’s when it became apparent he couldn’t be ours. Miles spoke to an investigator, who immediately homed in on the fact that I’d given birth in a private hospital. That was the weak link, he predicted—the transfer between there and St. Alexander’s. Even so, it took months to track you down. The hospitals refused to give out any names to begin with—trying to hide behind data-protection laws. But I remembered your first name and that our boys were born on the same day, so Don had something to work with.”

  “Pete said you’re suing the hospital.”

  Lucy nods. “It wasn’t really about the money, though. It was more about forcing them to give up the names.”

  “So you’ll drop it now?” A little reluctantly, I put David down so he can play with the baby gym again.

  “I’m not sure,” she says vaguely. “Miles still thinks they should pay for what they’ve done. To stop them from letting it happen again, I suppose, to somebody else. And even if we don’t absolutely need the money, it might come in useful for yo
u.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t Pete tell you? Miles has invited him to join the action.” She gives me a quick smile. “Of course, we probably won’t tell them we’re all getting on like a house on fire. Because it is distressing, isn’t it, however reasonable we’re all being. At the end of the day, we’ve both lost our real children. I’ve shed some tears over that, I can tell you.”

  * * *

  —

  “THAT WENT WELL,” PETE says when we’re in the car. He waves to Miles and Lucy, who’ve come to the front door to see us off.

  “Yes.”

  He looks at me, alerted by my hesitant tone. “What do you mean?”

  I pull my coat around me. “I don’t know, exactly. But while you were looking around, Lucy mentioned that David had been tested for a defective gene. That was the word she used—defective. I’m not an expert, but I think it means any more children we have could be at risk of being like David as well.”

  Pete’s silent a moment. “I guess we should get ourselves tested, too, then.”

  “She also talked about us all getting rich from the lawsuit.”

  “I know. Miles mentioned it when he came to see me. That doesn’t feel right, though, does it? Suing a hospital, if we’re happy the way we are.”

  “If it can help Theo’s future, maybe we should think about it. And who knows what problems David will have later on? He may need round-the-clock care. We can’t really get in their way.”

  “I guess not.” Pete glances at me as he pulls up for a red light. “You found it hard back there, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “Not them, particularly—they seem nice, and as Lucy said, we’re lucky that we’re all similar people who think the same way about this. But just now, walking out of there and leaving David behind…It felt like I was abandoning him. I keep thinking of myself in his position, being left all alone in a stranger’s house.”

  “But they’re not strangers. They’re his parents.”

  “We’re his parents.”

  “You know what I mean,” Pete says gently. “They’re the people he loves. It’s all good, Mads. We’re going to see lots of David as he grows up, and they’ll see lots of Theo.”

  “I know that’s the right thing to do. But I can’t help how I feel.” I look out the window. If I’m honest, I’m finding Pete’s insistence that not being Theo’s biological parent makes absolutely no difference a bit frustrating. Not because I disagree with the principle—love is what matters, and families aren’t made in people’s tummies but in their hearts, et cetera et cetera. But there is a genetic pull as well. It’s almost—I think disloyally—as if Pete actually relishes some aspect of this mix-up; or at least, the chance it gives him to prove that there’s nothing atavistic or proprietary about his devotion to Theo. He’s even shown me a study he found on the internet, proving that, on balance, adoptive parents take better care of their children than natural parents do.

  I add, “Back there, when I first saw David and realized there was something wrong with him, just for a moment, I thought…”

  “Thought what?” Pete’s voice is studiedly neutral, which is how I know he’d actually thought exactly the same thing.

  “How lucky we are. We’ve ended up with…” Theo’s drifting off to sleep in the back, but even so I choose my words carefully. “Everything normal, and they’ve got something much more challenging, haven’t they? You couldn’t blame them if, right now, they’re thinking that the situation isn’t very fair.”

  Pete snorts. “I doubt they’re thinking that. After all, they’re the ones with the big house, the brand-new BMW, and the live-in nanny. They’re exactly the sort of people who can take a child like David in their stride. And they clearly adore him. We should just thank our lucky stars we all see things the same way.”

  15

  PETE

  ON THE WAY HOME I did my best to reassure Maddie, repeating how fortunate we were that this had happened to people with such similar outlooks.

  And it was true—we were lucky, incredibly so. We could have done so much worse than Miles and Lucy. But even so, I could tell it wasn’t going to be plain sailing.

  When he showed me around, Miles took me down to the basement—his manshed, as he jokingly called it. It was vast. The previous owners had excavated the original cellar right out under the garden. There was an air-conditioned wine room down there, a gym, even a small swimming pool.

  “Wow,” I said, which seemed like the only possible reaction.

  “It’s all right, isn’t it?” Miles gazed around. “But it’s only material things, Pete. I’d give it all for David to be able to walk and talk properly.”

  “Is there any chance he’ll catch up?”

  He shrugged. “The doctors keep saying, Wait and see. Their best guess is that he’ll be mildly retarded. But he won’t be playing for the first eleven, put it that way.”

  Retarded. The word sounded so harsh. In the NICU they’d tended to use euphemisms like challenged or delayed.

  “We were lucky with Theo,” I said. “He seems to be progressing pretty well. In everything but his speech, anyway.”

  “Yes.” Miles hesitated. “Look, I wasn’t planning to mention this today, but since we’re all getting on so well…When Lucy was pregnant and we found out it was a boy, I put down a deposit for my old schools—Radley and the Dragon School. I know it sounds ridiculous, but you need to get their names down at birth to have the faintest chance of getting in these days. Both are out of the question for David now, of course, given how competitive the entrance is. I’d like to put the places into Theo’s name. He’s clearly bright enough, and you can tell he’s going to be sporty. I think he might benefit from the opportunity.”

  “Oh,” I said, taken aback. “That’s really kind, but I don’t think we’d ever consider sending Theo to a boarding school. We’ve actually got a really good C of E primary a few streets away. And we’ve started going to church.” Miles looked puzzled, so I added, “You know—On your knees to save the fees? The school’s massively oversubscribed, but if you’re a regular churchgoer, the vicar can allocate you a place.”

  “Ah.” Miles nodded. “Well, you’ve clearly got it all under control. Boarding and so on can seem a bit antiquated now, can’t it? But look, I might as well change the places to Theo’s name anyway, and they’ll be there if you ever change your mind. You never know, he might turn out to be a Harry Potter fan, and actually quite like the idea of going away.”

  I didn’t tell Maddie any of this in the car. I thought it was best to emphasize the positives. I suppose that’s something I’ve done for her ever since the NICU—being strong for her. People look at her and see someone who’s incredibly capable and tough. They don’t know about the struggles she had during the first year of Theo’s life, particularly after I did that charity ride. If I’m honest, that was one of the reasons I ended up becoming Theo’s main carer. Getting back to work was all part of Maddie’s recovery, and only I know how fragile she still is.

  16

  MADDIE

  FOR THE FIRST FOUR months after Theo’s birth, I held things together. My parents flew over from Australia to see us. The flights had originally been booked around my due dates, of course, and the tickets weren’t transferable. Although they’d offered to buy new ones and come when Theo was in the NICU, there hadn’t seemed much point. When they did come, of course they wanted to meet Theo—but there’s only so long even a doting grandfather can sit with a small baby, let alone a restless grandfather like Jack Wilson, and they wanted to tour the sights of London as well, which kept us all busy. At least they stayed in a hotel, so only Pete could see how sleep-deprived and stressed I was becoming. Time after time I felt myself getting angry with him for no reason, and although I’d been signed off for sex by my GP six weeks after the birth, there was absolutely no chanc
e that was going to happen. I didn’t even tell Pete the doctor had said it would be all right. I suspect he googled the timings, though, because one night when Theo was about three months old he tried to cuddle me. But when I went rigid, he stopped.

  “It’s all right. There’s no rush,” he said gently.

  “Too right there’s no fucking rush,” I snapped. Just for an instant, him telling me what was and wasn’t all right about my own body seemed like the most presumptuous, patronizing thing ever.

  He peered at me by the light of the bedside clock. “Mads? What’s up? I only meant, it’s not a problem.”

  But it was a problem, I knew—for me, not him. Sex meant childbirth, and people shouting Now and slicing my belly open with a scalpel. Sex meant small, monkeylike babies being fed with nasogastric tubes in the NICU. Sex meant exposing my C-section scar, and all the other scars that weren’t visible as well. Sex meant adrenaline flooding my veins, and a feeling of nameless dread clenching my insides.

  But I didn’t tell him any of that, because I didn’t want to talk about it.

  * * *

  —

  “I’M THINKING OF DOING a bike ride for the NICU,” Pete said, not long after my parents had flown back.

  “A what?”

  “There’s a Facebook group—Dads Behind the NICU. The idea is that we’ll all raise funds for the appeal.”

  I didn’t even know the NICU was having an appeal. “Why do they need funds? St. Alexander’s is part of the NHS.”

  “Yes, but they have a separate charity for nonessentials—the bits the NHS can’t pay for. The main one is, they want to buy a flat near the hospital for parents to stay in while their babies are in the unit. Bronagh and some of the other nurses did a sponsored fun run, but they’re still thirty thousand pounds short.”