Page 40 of The Last Train Home
He doesn’t move. Just looks at me, waiting.
‘And if you’re not, then a little baby will grow up with two parents who start despising each other, having trapped one another into a loveless marriage. This is your life, Tom. And Samantha’s. And a baby’s. Don’t rush in. Why don’t you think about it?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it for months,’ he says.
My eyes open so wide. ‘Months?’
It happened before you and I met. Just. Only I didn’tknow. Samantha didn’t either, until … I found out she was pregnant that night in my flat.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘What? When? Before we started …’ I trail off, trying to work this out. ‘Your phone?’
He nods, slowly. ‘She – Samantha,’ he makes a pointed effort to use her name, ‘messaged me earlier in the day telling me she was late and I didn’t understand what she was on about. I was too busy to comprehend. Late for what? And besides, we’d broken up. And then I was with you. And finally she messaged me when you and I – you know – saying,I’m pregnant.’
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. Tom’s wittering on about baby scans and the health of his unborn child, and I’m replaying that night in my head, every hot and heavy minute of it, from magic tricks to wine, ice cream to kissing, our clothes coming off, him reaching for a condom.
Did he forget with Samantha – is that why they’re in this situation? Was she on the pill? I want to know. Or maybe I don’t. I pick up my wine and drink, grateful this isn’t happening to me. I don’t want to be a parent at my age. I look at Tom as he talks about his baby, with a perpetual look of confusion on his face. I empty my wine glass into my mouth. When I next see Sean, we’re going to discuss this at length and we are never,everhaving unprotected sex. I am never,everskipping taking my pill. Ever.
‘She’s due in July,’ he says. I’ve missed everything he’s said before that. ‘Time’s running out,’ he finishes.
I don’t think I can argue with that. Tom is going to be a dad. ‘My God,’ I say and reach for my empty glass. These 175-millilitre glasses are too small.
‘Do you want another?’ he asks. He’s barely touched his pint.
‘Yes, I do.’ I think I need it. He gets up to buy another round, even though it’s my turn. I feel a bit numb and I can’t work out why. Maybe if he was happier about all this, I’d be happier. I watch Tom at the bar, waiting his turn, fiddling with the contents of his wallet. In five months he’s going to be a dad. This. Is. Unbelievable.
He hasn’t told me he’s happy, but he hasn’t told me he’s unhappy, either, and I watch his face when he returns and sits opposite me. ‘Thanks,’ I mumble when he places my drink down.
‘There’s a part of me,’ he starts up again, ‘that thinks,This is it – this is the family life. I’ve never really had that.’
‘I know,’ I say.
‘Do you?’ He looks surprised.
‘You got shipped off to boarding school at age seven, Tom. I get it.’
He bristles, clearly hates me referencing it again. ‘I understand, in part, that you feel you need to create a family environment, when one presents itself to you. But …’
‘But what?’
It’s not my place to say,But it’s all wrong. This is all wrong. Is it wrong because somewhere deep inside me thoughts of Tom and this Samantha girl, and their unborn baby, creating a Happy Ever After isn’t the way I thought this would all end between us. Looking back, I thought Tom and I would be together, but the upshot of it all ending so sourly is that it ended for a reason. A big reason, it now transpires. And more importantly,it has ended. Now that I know why, it’s like some sort of closure that I wasn’t sure I needed has arisen from theashes of that night. We’ve both gone in different directions. He’s having a baby and getting married, and I’m with Sean and I’mhappywith Sean, I’m genuinely happy. So it’s not fair of me to stop Tom looking for happiness too, even if I don’t think he’s necessarily looking in the right direction.
‘But what?’ he asks again. He’s waiting for an answer. I don’t have one. Not one I can say out loud. Not one he’d like.
‘I hope …’ Tom fills the silence, ‘that it’s going to be so cool, such an adventure. And there’s this other part that thinks,I’m twenty-seven. I’m too young to be a dad.’
‘You’re going to have to grow up then,’ I say and it sounds mean, the way I’ve shot that out of my mouth. ‘Or you’ll be forced to grow up.’
‘I know,’ he says.
‘I suppose I should say congratulations.’ I force a bright smile onto my face, because this is happening. Tom’s on board with having a baby, so I suppose I should be, too. ‘To family life and getting married.’
I raise my glass and he raises his. He is making the biggest mistake of his life, but he seems set on this path of self-destruction – and what is Tom to me any more, anyway? What was he to me before that night at his? I didn’t even know him this time last year. Our friendship was fast, intense and then I thought it was over.
‘I hope you’re happy, or that you will be happy,’ I say, because I can’t resist getting a little nudge of doubt into his mind. Just in case he’s not too far gone. But he doesn’t take the bait, merely smiles genuinely at me.
‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘Thanks for being a friend. Thanks for talking to me. Thanks for not riding off on your bike the moment you saw me yesterday.’
I laugh. ‘I considered it.’
