Page 73 of Into the Dark
Her mum’s mouth opens wide like her dad’s eyes. “You have a son? Really?” Eve says. “You were married?”
“Mum, they don’t need to go hand-in-hand these days, you know…” Alex sighs.
“I know that, Alexandra,” she says.
“I was never married to his mum, no.” I shake my head. “We aren’t really suited, to be honest. But we’ve known each other a long time,” I explain for some reason. Maybe because I don’t want her thinking I knocked up some girl after a one-night stand. Which, to be honest, when I think about Vicky, is what I wish she fucking was.
What the hell is Alex doing? Why did she feel the need to tell her parents about Caleb? But I guess lying and hiding shit is my way of doing things, not hers. Of course she’d tell her parents I have a child. Because she doesn’t keep secrets.
“But yeah, he’s great,” I say. “Smartest three-year-old in the world, I think. Nothing gets past him, you know.”
“Sounds like another three-year-old I used to know,” her dad says, smiling at Alex.
“Nothing’s changed there, trust me,” I reply, which earns me a soft nod.
“So he lives with his mother?” her mum asks.
I nod. “But his mum and I have talked about him living with me. She’s done her best for the past three years, but I’d love him with me now.” Last thing I want is them thinking I’m one of those dads who doesn’t give a shit.
“I see.” She nods, picking up her wine again. “Children are a huge commitment. They change your life in ways you can’t even predict. Both parents have to be completely in it together.”
“Yeah. I couldn’t agree more.” I nod. “I wasn’t prepared for him when he arrived—not at all. It’s not something his mum and I discussed.” I look at Alex, scared I’ve overstepped the mark talking about this shit with her parents. She looks pale, a little shellshocked even. “But with Alex, it’s definitely something we’ll decide on together, completely.” I can’t seem to stop talking now. It’s the first time I’ve even thought about it beyond the superficial notion of wanting a family with her. When I look back at her parents, they look less shocked than I thought they would. Alex looks more startled. “But it’s a long way off for us. And not something we’ve talked about yet.”
After we’re done eating and Alex stands to help clear the plates, I thank her mum for what is definitely the best home-cooked meal I’ve ever had. Eve shoos us both away from the kitchen, demanding her dad help instead, and so Alex pulls me up from the table and leads me through an archway into the large living room facing out onto the back of the house.
“Do you want to see my old bedroom?” she asks with a small smile. There’s still this heaviness behind her eyes that I can’t read properly, which I’m hoping is due to me talking about having children with her the night I met her parents for the first time rather than some French fuckwit called Laurent.
“Definitely.” I nod.
As we pass the kitchen, she shouts through to say she’s giving me a tour of the house before starting up the wide set of stairs to the first floor. At the top, it breaks into a half-landing, from which I can see out to the back of the house through a long rectangular window. It’s getting dark outside, but I can still make out that the garden is huge. Neatly trimmed grass, flowers running up either side, and a large white gazebo at the far end. My eyes could be fucking with me, but I’m pretty sure there’s a stream at the bottom of it. A fucking stream.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure I had a dream about this place back in Bridgeford children’s home.
We climb a smaller set of stairs and walk along an L-shaped corridor that runs along the front of the house. Here, the thick-carpeted hallway splits off in two directions, and I follow Alex down the corridor to the left. When we reach the door at the end she puts her hand on the handle and stops, taking a deep breath before pushing open the door.
The first thing I see is a big wooden bed. It has a thick red bedspread and lots of pillows. It’s a big room—bigger than the one I shared with seven boys. She walks over to the bed and switches on a lamp, giving the room a warm orange glow. Alex looks about as if she’s trying to reacquaint herself with the place, but it’s probably more so she doesn’t have to look at me.
“The room I grew up in,” she says quietly. “The room I cried over boys in. It looks a bit different now, mind you…” She looks at me then, and a sad smile settles over her face.
As I stare back at her I imagine a teenage Alex and feel something like loss. Never in a million years would my path have crossed with hers. As she stares back at me I wonder what the fuck it is she sees. What the fuck is it about me she loves? I’ve never understood it. I still don’t. She’s always looked at me the same way, desire and want and need clear in those green eyes. It makes me feel like the luckiest fucker in the world. Tonight, I feel like an idiot though. I feel small and not good enough and like a fucking idiot.
“Who is he?” I ask her. My voice is calm but I don’t feel it. Because I’ve an image in my head. It makes my hands curl into fists: Alex on her back with some French guy between her legs. Rage courses quietly through my veins, waiting.
“It’s not what you think,” she says after a minute.
“And what am I thinking, Alex?” I bite the inside of my cheek because if I don’t I’ll say something I regret.
“You’re thinking the worst, Jake. You always think the worst.”
I curb the urge to laugh. “Yeah, well, when you’ve seen the shit I’ve seen, Alex, your outlook tends to lean toward the negative.”
She nods, looking sad now. “I’m sorry.”
The soft bubble of rage gets a little more violent. “You’re still not telling me who the fuck he is, baby. What he means.”
Her head springs up. “Nothing! He means nothing, for god’s sake. He’s just…he was our neighbor in France. I had dinner with him…I—”
“You introduced him to your parents.” I cut her off. “Serious, was it?”