Page 5 of A Very Happy Halloween

Three

Harry didn’t lie often, but when he did, he got a slight tremor in his voice that was a dead giveaway. Such as the time he claimed he hadn’t done his homework because he felt sick the whole weekend, but then it turned out that Steven and Luisa had taken both boys to a music festival on Saturday, and on Sunday, they’d all gone go-karting. Steven had posted about it on Facebook. I’d blocked him, of course, but then my divorce lawyer told me we needed to keep an eye on his spending, so I’d set up a new profile for “Martha Fokker,” added a picture of a random blonde with plenty of cleavage, and waited three point five seconds for Steven to click the “Accept friend request” button. So far, I’d watched him buy a new Jaguar, gift Luisa a pair of diamond earrings, and take a holiday to the Algarve, all with money he claimed he didn’t have. To be fair, that might have been true. He was a big fan of credit cards.

Annnnnnd I was getting angry again…

Deep breaths.

The hospital wasn’t the place for this battle, and nor was it sensible to call Harry out over the phone. Firstly, Shawn’s mum would be there to witness my parenting fail, and secondly, my darling son would be able to hang up on me.

“Well, Alfie’s almost done here, and I’ll pick you up as soon as I can.”

“It’s fine. Shawn’s mum said she’d order pizza.”

Pizza? Then of course he’d want to stay. Pizza was a rare treat for us, usually when Marissa came over with Liam. But if I had to pay to replace a stranger’s door, then Harry would be on a pizza ban for, say, the next decade.

“Promise me you’ll be good.”

He did promise, and then he hung up, and I sat in the chair beside Alfie’s bed wondering if his brother had just told me another lie. This was hard, so hard. Most of the popular parenting blogs conveniently left out the depression and despair and focused on crafts, fun days out, and ways to keep your home perfect with kids around. Even the sites that touched on the downsides thought yoga and mindfulness was the answer. How was I supposed to shepherd two boys towards adulthood when some days, I barely had the energy to get out of bed?

Honestly, I’d wanted to stop at one child, but Steven had worn me down over the years. He’d been so lonely growing up, he said. He’d always wished for a sibling, so it would be cruel to deprive Harry of that joy. My second pregnancy had been even worse than the first. Months of puking and waddling, followed by twelve hours of labour and a torn perineum. And the worst part? Steven had missed the actual birth thanks to a work call, then arrived back in time to take an unflattering picture of me with tear-streaked cheeks and hair plastered to my face and post it on his LinkedIn account with the caption “We just had a baby boy!”

We?

We?

I could cope with the pain, but not with that asshat taking credit for my hard work. One minute of pleasure for him, nine months of discomfort for me. The moment the painkillers wore off, I’d booked an appointment to have my tubes tied. Steven had grumbled about that, but when I pointed out that the alternative was him having a vasectomy, he quickly agreed.

And then went out to wet the baby’s head with his buddies.

After I threw a bedpan at him—the nurse told me I had great aim—he’d promised to help more with the children, but of course, he’d broken that promise within two weeks of Alfie’s birth. While I dealt with housework and baby colic, he went on a golfing weekend with his work pals and then escaped to the office for twelve hours a day. My worst nightmare was that Harry would grow up and turn into his father.

But I couldn’t turn back the clock.

And nor could I avoid calling the stranger whose property Harry had most likely damaged earlier this evening. If nothing else, I needed to get the facts straight before I confronted Harry later. And when I said “confront,” I meant in a positive and constructive way, obviously.

“Mum, I’m hungry,” Alfie said.

So was I. Starving. I’d run out of time for breakfast after Harry spilled Rice Krispies all over the floor, and then missed lunch thanks to Alfie’s accident.

“I’ll see if I can find a vending machine. You stay right here, okay?”

“Okay.”

The vending machine in the alcove off the waiting room dispensed one cereal bar, then promptly ate the rest of my change and flashed up an error code. The lady behind the desk, who looked almost as harried as I felt, offered to call the maintenance team. Her grimace suggested they wouldn’t be along any time soon.

Great.

But with the machine out of action, the alcove did offer a quiet spot to call the stranger, and I gave a heavy sigh as I dialled Harry’s phone again. At least I was prepared this time.

He answered almost immediately. “Thought you were going to ghost me.”

“Look, I’m having a really bad day, so can we just get this over with?”

“Sure.” He sounded remarkably agreeable. “Give me your number. You show up as ‘Mum’ on your boy’s phone.”

Thankfully, Harry had set a PIN, so at least this stranger couldn’t snoop through private photos and contacts. Small mercies. A part of me wanted to tell the man to keep the phone, hang up, and pretend Harry hadn’t snuck out while Shawn’s mum watched Whispers in Willowbrook. Steven would have done exactly that. But unfortunately, my parents had drilled some morals into me, so I read out my number.

“This had better not be a scam. If you send me porn, I’m calling the police.”

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