Page 34 of Ship of Fools

Me? I love that he trims and waxes and is obsessed with the tiny chest hairs that sometimes appear around his nipples.

He finally comes through the hallway like an out-of-control whirlwind, full of chatter and a bag getting thrown on the floor as he kicks off his shoes and throws himself into my outstretched arms.

“I’m so happy to be home.” He says into my chest. “Had the most shite day. Bloody horrid customers, and I left a £300 part off an invoice. Laura in Accounts was not amused.”

“Laura in Accounts is never amused.” I say softly, stroking his hair out of his face.

His fringe is too long. The hair on his neck is too short. I don’t know why, but I love it, whatever he does to the mop of curls that grow like weeds on his head. It’s him. All him, and he’s somehow become…

It’s hard to describe what we have created. I suppose to people on the outside we are just a normal couple, living together in a flat, and just making a life together. But to me? We’re so much more than that.

“Dinner is ready. Bea, can you lay the table, honey?” Mum calls out, as Bea groans where she is sitting on the sofa with her six-month-old clinging to her nipple.

“Boob alert!” She shouts, with a disgruntled sigh. “I can’t feed the baby and lay the table. And anyway, since when do we lay tables around here? You grab a plate, get the food and sit down. Easy.”

“I thought we would try to be a nice, civilised family for once.” Mum grunts, placing a stack of plates on the dining table.

“Nice, civilised families eat at the kitchen table.” I say to Mum, who just sighs.

“I’m not moving my stuff off the kitchen table. We’re going to sit down and eat at the dinner table tonight. Dad’s made lasagne. It’s Andreas’ favourite.”

“Yum.” Andreas says against my chest. “And you know you are my favourite too, Mama.”

I can hear my Mum giggle. She loves Andreas.

“Mum, sometimes I think you love Andreas more than you love your own children.” Bea teases.

“Calm down, baby mama.” My boyfriend snaps back, and goes over to fuss over the baby in Bea’s arms in his best baby language.

“I should have put your name on the birth certificate.” Bea sighs. “At least then I would have had maintenance payments from my baby daddy.”

“Whatever you need I will give you.” my boyfriend coos. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but you know. A nice car. Luxury flat. A bit of peace and quiet. Those are all things a good baby daddy should provide.”

“I’m your very own fake baby daddy, not your sugar daddy, sweetie.” he says in his silliest voice, as I grab his arm and pull him back into my embrace.

It’s a tiny bit of jealousy. A massive chunk of need. Because I need him, I need to smell him and hug him and get my fix after spending the whole day without him. It’s a bit crazy I know, but I can’t help it. He’s my drug of choice, and I’m an addict. I love him, truly, madly and incredibly deeply.

He’s the captain of our ship, the force majeure in our lives. He pulls and he pushes, books us trips to Manchester, and holidays to far-flung places I never thought I wanted to visit. We’re going on holiday to Thailand next month, and I’m half having full-blown panics about it, and half hoping we can just go right now. Pack the bags that he’s ordered online, and just disappear out of this town and go lie on those beaches he’s shown me on his iPad.

He’s also a part of our family, like a missing piece we didn’t know had been lost. He’s just slotted into our lives like he’s always been there, turning up for dinner in the evenings, throwing his jacket on the floor in the hallway, and letting Dad scold him for his scruffy shoes and the trail of muddy patches he leaves behind on the carpet.

My parents love him. Bea adores him. Anna rings him to discuss the financial market and get advice on her masters’ paper. He apparently has a degree in Mathematics, and how he ended up selling cars is still beyond me.

He says he always liked cars, and believe me, he knows what he’s talking about. Dad let him loose under the bonnet of one of his racers, and I held my breath as he swiftly grabbed a spanner and spotted the loose connection on the starter engine.

Dad was impressed. I told him I loved him. Andreas just laughed.

Dad calls him his Boy Wonder, and I haven’t dared tell him how fitting that name is.

He’s a wonder, a wonder indeed.

It hasn’t been an easy ride, because we… are us. We both have this complicated idea of sex—something I never really understood until now. I like what I like. And Andreas likes what he likes. Together? We have done things we perhaps shouldn’t have, and it’s just the way it is. Andreas has tried to push me too far. I’ve tried to please him when I shouldn’t have. We are both learning as we go, and the mistakes we have made? We made them. There is nothing we can do to change the fact that I once made Andreas cry. I once hurt him, completely by accident. Another time pushed me so far over the edge, that I lost it and l burst into tears. I have a scar from his attempt at tying my hand to the bedpost. Andreas still laughs about that little mishap, and we have never attempted bondage again. I know we will make more mistakes, but it doesn’t terrify me as it used to.

He says we are fools, and I wholeheartedly agree as I place cutlery around the table, and smile as my sister brings out a jug of water, balancing a stack of glasses under her chin.

“You okay?” she asks, as I wipe a tear from my eye.

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