Is She Really Going Out with Him?

Chapter 29

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On Thursday morning, on my way into work, I see Will pacing in the street. He’s talking on the phone, gesticulating wildly. He looks annoyed. All I hear is him saying, “No, I need to do it, they’re counting on me.” I don’t linger as I don’t want him to think I am eavesdropping. Was that about the job? Maybe he didn’t get it. Part of me hopes he didn’t, but then I feel guilty, for putting my desire over his ambition.

When he finally comes in and sits at his desk, he doesn’t e-mail about the archive all morning. I’m busy working on a story so I’m happy to wait him out. Then, at midday, while I’m making coffee in the shared kitchen, I turn to find him standing in the doorway. He rarely comes in here, equipped as he is with his own thermos of gourmet coffee.

“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight awkwardly, clearing his throat. Today, I see none of the confidence or command he conveys upstairs.

“Hey,” I reply, self-conscious. I stir milk into my coffee just to give my hands something to do. Will hovers by the door. I hear him tap his foot against the sideboard.

“The Times is pushing our piece back to later in the summer, so we don’t need to submit a draft until next month now,” he says.

“Good, it might take me that long to work out what to write,” I say, giving him a lopsided smile. He shoots me one right back.

“I also have a favor I need to ask,” he says.

“Oh?”

“I’m involved with this inclusive choir. It’s a charity, I’m on the board with Loretta.” I nod, remembering he mentioned it when we ran into them. “It’s a huge part of Simon’s life. They’re having funding issues, they might lose access to the space where they rehearse. If he lost the choir…”

“How can I help?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee and realizing this is the first non-work-related, fully clothed conversation we’ve had since the bus stop.

“The choir is singing at the abbey tonight. I said I would film it, shoot some interviews, edit it together to make a fundraising video. It’s a simple job, but my cameraman is now stuck in Birmingham.” He pauses, looking at me guiltily. “I’ve rented a decent camera, I just need someone who knows how to use it. I was remembering…you did a news journalism degree, so maybe you do?”

“Yes, but I’m rusty, I haven’t shot anything for years,” I say, but pivot as his face falls. “But I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“I wouldn’t ask, sorry. I know you’re busy, I just can’t let Simon down, not right now.”

“It’s fine. Just tell me where to be and when.” I turn my back on him to put the milk back in the fridge, and when I turn around, he’s taken a few steps toward me.

“Anna.” His eyes hold mine. I stand still, watching his face, trying to read his mind while he tries to read mine. He closes the space between us and tentatively reaches for my face. The tip of his finger grazes my chin before a voice behind him fractures the moment. Karl and Steph have come into the kitchen, chatting noisily, and Will moves his hand away, gives me a curt nod, and leaves the room. Turning around to face the fridge, I press my tingling palms against the door.

Back at my desk, I find I have two missed calls from Dan. I call him back, worried something might be wrong.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m near your office. Free for a coffee? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure, I can nip out. Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Yes. I’ll be there in five minutos.”

He hangs up before I can ask him to wait in the street. I don’t need him being a source of speculation among my colleagues. But as I’m gathering my things to intercept him, I see Dan already loitering in the hallway.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, hurrying over to meet him.

“Fine. I already said. Don’t stress,” he says, and now I’m annoyed that I’ve agreed to spend my lunch break with him when I have work piling up.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” he says as we turn a corner to walk up toward the Circus. “I never see you on your own now, so I was passing your work and—”

“Tell me what?” I ask.

“Sylvie is pregnant.”

Sylvie is pregnant? “Oh, wow,” I say. “That was quick.” I’m surprised, but no wave of emotion follows. I feel strangely neutral about the news.

“She didn’t want me to be an old git in the dads’ race at school. She said if we were going to do it, she wanted to get on with it.”

“You’ve only been together a few months.”

“It’s been a bit longer than that. We’re happy, Anna.” There’s a warning note in his tone. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you first, as a courtesy.”

“Great. Good. I’m pleased for you,” I say, feeling a jolt of injustice. I was only pointing out the facts, not making a judgment.

“It’s early days, but Sylvie wants to tell the kids now, I don’t what them to feel…” Dan trails off.

“Replaced?” I offer.

“Right.” He frowns, then shakes his head. “No, not replaced, left out.” We walk past a sign for a pub and Dan nods toward it. “I might need something stronger than a coffee.”

“I thought you didn’t drink anymore,” I say, but Dan is already halfway down the steps. The pub is empty, having only just opened. After ordering a pint for Dan and an orange juice for me, we find a table in a dark corner. He takes the chair that faces out toward the room, then sits down and gazes into his pint. His face is pinched with tension, and I wonder if this might be about more than just the baby.

“It’s a big deal, me having another child. I didn’t want you to feel weird about it,” he says, fingers swiping at the condensation on his pint glass.

“I don’t feel weird about it,” I reassure him, and as I say it, I realize it’s true. A month ago, Dan moving in with Sylvie felt like a massive deal, but now, with this much bigger news, I feel surprisingly unaffected. It will be significant for the children, of course. Jess will be delighted; she always wanted another sibling. Ethan might struggle, especially if it’s a boy. But it doesn’t feel like it affects me that much. I don’t feel sad that it is not me having Dan’s third child. If anything, I feel relieved. I don’t think I realized it until now, but I don’t want any more children; that part of my life is well and truly done.

“Congratulations,” I say, raising my glass to Dan’s with a wide smile. “Sylvie must be thrilled.”

“She is. She’s had me glugging this fertility juice, full of spirulina or some bullshit, so at least that can stop.” He looks across at me and smiles, and it’s the first joke we’ve shared in a while, certainly the first at Sylvie’s expense. Dan shakes his head. I notice his hunched body language, his fingers tapping against the table.

“You’re allowed to be a bit scared, you know,” I say gently.

“I am happy about it, I am,” he says, shifting in his seat. “It’s what we both want, it’s just…” I leave the silence, waiting for him to speak. “The baby stage is tough.”

“It is.”

“They’re so much easier now, the kids. Maybe it’s bad for me to say this, but I get on with them so much better now, since the divorce. When we were married, they always preferred you. Now, when they’re at mine, they ask me to do stuff with them, they talk to me. I like how things are, I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

“You won’t,” I say, and reach across the table to squeeze his arm.

“I don’t miss the sleepless nights, the nappies, the lack of…well, I like it just being me and Sylvie.”

As he’s talking, I realize that he’s here because he wanted to confide in someone. Dan has a lot of friends but not many he would be able to admit these vulnerabilities to.

“That’s understandable. You haven’t been together long. You want to enjoy the honeymoon period a little longer,” I say.

Dan looks sheepish. “Is it weird that I’m talking to you about this?”

“Maybe, but I’m glad you feel you can.”

Dan leans back against the pub bench and runs a hand across his scalp. His shaved hair is growing back, making it more obvious how far his hairline has receded. There are new lines around his jaw and forehead. Despite all the new muscles and dental work, he is still not aging backward. No one can.

“What’s going on with you?” Dan asks. “Anything worthwhile come out of this dating column? What happened with Ryan Stirling?”

“Turns out, he’s not as nice as his character on screen. The column’s a bit of a gimmick, I’m not really looking to meet someone.”

Dan nods, and for the first time I think he understands—I’m not single because I’m still heartbroken, I am alone because there’s also joy in being single.

“It’s a good column, you’re always funny when you write about yourself. I liked the one about the twenty-two-year-old,” Dan says, shooting me a genuine smile that I haven’t seen in a while. I blush, embarrassed that he’s read it. “Who’d have thought you’d be the one off dating twenty-somethings, partying till all hours, and I’d be signing up for another eighteen years of parenting,” he laughs, but there’s a flicker of remorse about it.

“The grass is always greener,” I say, resorting to cliché. Dan takes another swig of beer, his forehead creasing into a frown as he thumps down his empty pint glass.

“I love Sylvie, I do. She’s great, it’s all great…” He trails off again, and I watch him struggling to find the right words. “But, well. You look like you’re having a lot of fun. What if I missed my chance to mess about a bit more?”

A glow of satisfaction seeps in, and I gently kick him beneath the table.

“Sorry, but no, you don’t get to say that. Your doting girlfriend is pregnant. Come on, Dan, don’t be an arsehole.”

“Sorry, I know.” He shrinks down, shoulders slumping, like an admonished child. “I don’t mean that. I don’t know why I said that. Stuff in that department with Sylvie, it’s—”

“Whoa there! Let’s have some boundaries.” I put my hands over my ears, which makes him laugh.

“Sorry.” He covers his face with his hands, embarrassed. “Remember that first night we came back from the hospital with Jess?” Dan says, looking more relaxed. “We were so tired, we couldn’t even make it up the stairs, we just slept in the living room in this nest of duvets, next to her cot. I remember walking up and down all night when she had reflux. We listened to The Great Gatsby on audiobook, do you remember? It was hell, but also, it wasn’t. You and me in the trenches together.”

“They were the best of times and the worst of times,” I say, reaching out to put a hand over his.

“They were the best,” he says firmly, pausing, looking me in the eye now. “Thank you, for being cool about this. Sylvie thought you might be weird about it.”

Of course she did. “Why would I be weird about it?” I ask, jaw clenched beneath my smile.

“She thinks…” He clears his throat. “And this isn’t me saying this, this is her. She thinks subconsciously, you thought we might get back together one day.”

“Ha,” I say, blowing air through my lips, but now that I look at Dan properly I see he’s watching me with curiosity. Did he think that too? “I don’t think that. I don’t want that,” I tell him. “But we’ve shared half our lives, Dan, we’re responsible for two humans, that’s not something that ever goes away.”

“I know. She’ll get her head around it.” He cracks a smile. “Sylvie’s made all these ‘parenting mood boards.’ I don’t think she realizes it’s mainly changing nappies, being knackered, wearing tracksuits with milk stains down them. I can’t see her being good at all that—she has a seven-step cleansing routine.”

“I heard. But she’ll figure it out,” I reassure him. Watching Dan’s face, I realize he looks different. His expression open, the tension gone. “While we’re being so honest, can I say something?”

“Sure.”

“I need you to help more with the boring stuff, the kids’ washing, their homework, remembering to pack Ethan’s shin pads and gum guard for hockey. I can’t have them come back to my house with black bin liners full of washing.”

Dan’s body language grows defensive as I’m talking. “It’s hardly worth me washing their clothes when they’re only with me two days. Plus when I’m at work all day, how am I supposed to—”

“Dan,” I cut him off. “I know it’s not always going to be possible, but I need you to try. I work full time now too, remember.”

He pinches his lips closed, then nods once. “Can I say something too? I know the lawyers agreed on all this, so it would be up to you…”

“What?” I ask nervously.

“I don’t love that they come for a night midweek and then only two nights every other weekend. They hardly have time to settle in, and it always feels like they’re living out of an overnight bag. I’d rather see them after school on a Wednesday, then have them stay for three or four nights together every other week.” He pauses. “I think they might prefer that too.”

“Have they said that?” I ask.

“Not in so many words.”

“I don’t know, that’s a big change.”

“It wouldn’t be any extra nights, just more nights together. Think about it? If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I’m just putting it out there.”

I nod; I’ll think about it. “Since we’re being so open, can I say something else that bothers me—” I pause. “Sylvie said something about the kids having two mums now.”

“I know, it’s too much. I’ll talk to her—” Dan says.

“I don’t want to be precious, it’s just—”

“You’re their mother, Anna,” Dan says, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. “You’re a great mum, you always have been.” He lifts his glass to take another drink before realizing it is already empty. “I’m sorry, for how things were at the end. I know I must have been hard to live with. You were right about me being depressed. It wasn’t your job to fix me, I see that now.”

Dan has never apologized, never acknowledged that his mental health impacted our relationship. I’m so genuinely surprised I don’t know how to respond. Eventually, I say, “Thank you. I don’t think either of us were good at communicating.” I smile across the table at him, and his mouth smiles back, but his eyes look sad.

“I know you blame me for ending us, but when I started getting depressed, it wasn’t just about work or whatever. I could see something had gone for you, as far back as when Ethan was a toddler.”

“That’s not true,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yes, it is. You stopped loving me before I stopped loving you, though you’d never admit that, not even to yourself.” His words burn, and I swallow a lump in my throat as he squeezes a hand over mine. “Sometimes I wonder, if we hadn’t met so young…you know.”

“It was still worth having, wasn’t it?” I say.

“It was.”

Then he reaches for my hand and lifts it to his mouth to give me a friendly peck. His eyes look glassy as he quickly wipes at them with his other hand. We exchange a meaningful look, a bridge built over something that was broken.

Stepping out of the pub into daylight, I take a moment to enjoy the feeling of sun on my face. Dan walks me back to my office and we say good-bye in the hall. He leans in to hug me, a real hug. “Thank you,” he whispers in my ear before turning to go. I don’t know if I’ve fully digested this news about the baby, but that’s the most honest, constructive conversation we’ve had since the divorce. If that’s what our relationship can look like going forward, then it’s a cause for celebration.

Walking back to my desk, I realize my long hug with Dan was visible to the whole office. Glancing across at Will, I see he’s watching me. There’s a flash of something—jealousy? Something he wants to hide, because he swiftly pulls his gaze away. That afternoon, neither of us e-mails about the archive.