Page 94 of The Last Train Home
He speaks slowly, thinking while he’s talking. ‘Why don’t you go home, if that’s where you want to be.’
‘It is where I want to be, Sean, it really is.’
He nods, squeezes my hand in return. ‘OK. So you go home and then, to make it work with paternity leave andall that, why don’t you message me to say you’re going into labour? I’ll get on the first available flight. I won’t spend any days of my paternity hanging around London, waiting for the baby to appear. This way, it’s much more time-efficient.’
He’s joking, surely. Only he looks serious.
I loosen my grip on his hand. ‘But you’ll miss the birth.’
‘I’ve been thinking about this,’ he says and I wait, expectantly, because I cannot fathom what words are possibly going to come out of his mouth next. ‘I don’t think you’re going to need me at the birth. It’s not the best use of what limited time I have.’
My head jolts so quickly that a sudden pain forms behind my eyes.
‘Sean …’ But I can’t speak for a moment. I try to collect myself and then a whisper is all that emerges. ‘You’re not going to be at the birth?’
‘I don’t see how I can be, what with you being on the other side of the world. And I’ll be honest, Abbie. I don’t think I can stomach seeing a baby come out of your vagina.’
The pain deepens, sears itself into me.
‘I read in a magazine that it’s a bit like watching your favourite pub being blown up,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Watching a baby rip your wife’s vagina to shreds – it’s like watching your favourite pub exploding.’ He laughs.
I’m not laughing.
But he’s on this trajectory and he continues, despite seeing my horror and all-out confusion. ‘And then you have to look at this baby and know that he or she is the very thing that caused your sex life to turn to rubble, probably for ever.’
I can’t quite catch my breath. I let go of Sean’s hand entirely.
‘You wouldn’t be there for the birth … even if I was having the baby in Singapore?’
He makes a face. ‘I’d really rather not,’ he replies, as if I was asking him if he wanted sugar in his tea, instead of asking if he’s going to be present to usher our newborn into the world.
‘I’ll be there in spirit,’ he offers as the worst kind of consolation prize.
I count to ten, because if I say what I really want to, I can’t see a way back. And then I reach ten and I say it anyway. ‘Fuck off, Sean.’
‘What?’ he splutters.
‘How can you say that to me?’ I explode. ‘How can you sit there and tell me you don’t want to be there when I have your baby – that you don’t even want to be in the same country, let alone the same room. I can understand that your job is busy and important. I can, just about, understand why you’re not taking your entire paternity entitlement. Just about. But I can’t understand your attitude. You wanted a baby. You wantedthisbaby. But now you don’t. You’re going to let me go to London alone, have this baby alone, you’re not coming to Natasha’s wedding and, even if I was staying right here, you still wouldn’t be there to hold my hand and tell me everything was going to be OK while I squeeze your baby out of me.’
I don’t know why I expect Sean to placate me and tell me everything’s going to be OK right now, because he’s just told me he’s not going to be there to do any of that, at the exact moment I’ll need it most. But I’m still surprised when hesnaps, ‘This is my solution to the problem. It’s the best I’ve got. I’m willing to hear a better one.’
‘Problem?’ I say. ‘Problem? Am I the problem, Sean? Or is it the baby? Is the baby aproblem?’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ he says. ‘Although the baby isn’t a problem per se, it’s not even here yet and it’s already messing with our lives. What’s it going to be like when it’s born?’
‘Messingwith our lives?’ I can’t stop repeating everything he says. He’s setting off fires everywhere and I can’t put them out quickly enough. I stand up. ‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘You’re right. What is it going to be like when it’s actually here?’
He nods, but he’s misunderstood my meaning.
‘I don’t think I can do this any more,’ I say. I’m exhausted.
‘What do you mean?’ he asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
‘I think …’ I start and I count to ten again, because if I suggest this, I don’t think I could take it back. ‘I think I need some space.’
