‘Hello you.’
‘Hey.’
‘What are you up to?’
Livvy’s eyes scanned the open tabs at the top of her browser. ‘Nothing much. Just scrolling through Facebook.’
Dominic rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, Squidge. I thought you weren’t doing Facebook any more?’
‘I’m not. It’s just nice to see what other people are up to.’
Dominic laughed, low and dry. ‘You mean what other people choose to tell you they’re up to? You know it’s all curated nonsense.’
Livvy’s finger slid across the trackpad, closed down the Facebook tab. ‘I know. I hardly ever look at it these days.’
She watched Dominic unscrew a bottle of water, take a glug, decided not to remind him of the environmental havoc wreaked by single-use plastics.
‘So how’s my little man been today? It feels like aeons since I left on Monday.’
‘He’s fine. He was as good as gold at my meeting with Aisha.’
‘Of course. How was it?’
Livvy turned the question over in her mind, thought about how unexpected the meeting had been, how much she was looking forward to returning to work. ‘It was good. Really good. Aisha dropped a bit of a bombshell though. She’s leaving.’
‘Really? I thought she was wedded to the place?’
‘So did I. But she’s off to Namibia with Stewart to work for an NGO.’
Dominic took another swig of water. ‘Won’t that make your return a bit tricky – getting used to working for someone new?’
Livvy’s eyes flicked towards the baby monitor, where Leo was lying on his back in his dinosaur sleeping bag. ‘Well, that’s the other bit of news. They’ve offered me Aisha’s job. Christian’s keen for me to do it, apparently. I’m having lunch with them next week to talk it through.’
‘That’s fantastic, sweetheart. Congratulations. You absolutely deserve that kind of recognition.’ He paused, glanced over the top of his laptop fleetingly, then back at the screen. ‘But are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?’
‘What do you mean?’
Dominic sat forward in his chair, a stack of cardboard folders to one side of him, a window behind placing his face in near-shadow. ‘It’s just that I know how desperate you were to be a mum. I’d hate for you to feel pressured to take on a big promotion if what you really want is to have more time with Leo.’
Livvy recalled the euphoria she’d felt when Aisha had offered her the job, the certainty that this was what she wanted. ‘I don’t feel pressured at all. I’m keen to get back.’
‘But if you take the promotion, won’t you be working even longer hours than before? You’ll be frazzled.’
‘I’ll be fine. And you’ll be back by then, so we’ll be sharing pick-ups and drop-offs at nursery.’
Dominic fiddled with his trackpad. ‘I’m just worried it’s not great timing for you, that’s all.’
Livvy tried to swallow her impatience, didn’t want to have a row on Zoom when it was still two days until he’d be home. ‘To be fair, it’s not ideal timing you being away four nights a week when we’ve got a six-month-old baby, but it was a great opportunity for you and I wanted to support you in that. This is no different.’
‘I get that, and of course I want to be supportive. But I look at Leo and . . . I don’t know . . . He’s still so tiny. Can you really see yourself feeling happy leaving him with a complete stranger in a couple of months’ time?’
‘It’s four months. He’ll be almost a year by the time I go back—’
‘He’ll be ten months.’
‘And that’s pretty standard for women going back after maternity leave.’
‘Just because it’s standard, doesn’t mean you have to do it.’
‘Well, if you feel that strongly about it, why don’t you take some paternity leave and look after him yourself when I go back?’ Livvy’s voice was harsher than she had intended, and she watched the muscle at the edge of Dominic’s left eyebrow twitch, a tic she had come to read over the past eighteen months as well as a tell in a game of poker. She curbed her irritation, softened her voice. ‘What’s really wrong?’
There was an almost imperceptible shaking of Dominic’s head. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose it’s just not what I imagined for Leo – being brought up by strangers when he’s still so little. I hoped we’d give him the kind of stability and security I never had. I just want him to have a better childhood than I did.’ He picked up a pen, prised open the lid, shut it again.
Livvy felt her annoyance slacken. ‘I’m sorry too. I didn’t realise it was pushing buttons for you in that way. But Leo’s upbringing is completely different to yours. You must know that. You’re not your dad. I’m not your mum. Leo’s loved and cherished and adored. And you know I’d never leave him with someone I didn’t trust completely. The nursery I spoke to today sounded really great—’
‘And you’ve done that without even discussing it with me?’ There was hurt in Dominic’s tone, like the chafed skin of a grazed knee.
Livvy tenderised her voice further. ‘It only happened this afternoon. I wanted to talk to you about it in person, not on text. Nothing’s been decided yet.’
He looked at her through the screen, eyebrows raised. ‘So you’re not planning on making all these decisions unilaterally without me?’
‘Of course not. It’s all up for discussion.’
A noise at Dominic’s end caused him to look up and frown. He paused before turning back to Livvy. ‘I’m sorry – someone here wants a word. I’ll have to go. But, really, well done on the job offer. It’s a fantastic achievement. I just want to be sure you make the right decision for you.’ He glanced down at his watch and Livvy told him to go, that they’d speak in the morning.
Closing the lid of the laptop and shifting it onto the sofa, she looked at the baby video monitor where Leo was deep in slumber, feeling the particular surge of love for him she always experienced when she watched him sleep. She thought about her return to work, about leaving Leo at a nursery; she knew it would be hard for them both at first. But not accepting the promotion was unthinkable. She’d worked too hard, for too many years, to turn it down. Whatever Dominic’s reservations, she would just have to convince him it was the right decision for all of them.
ANNA
LONDON
I walk along quiet residential streets between rows of cottages identical to ours, keeping a mental note of where I am going, ensuring to walk in straight lines until I hit a junction and am forced into a decision as to which way to turn.
Within a few minutes I reach a busy road, feel the traffic fumes hit the back of my throat as a bus trundles past. Without knowing where either direction leads, I turn right, try to memorise the name of the street I have just left and the one I am now entering.
The road I’m walking along is noisier, dirtier than the neighbourhood I’d envisaged we lived in. Graffiti daubs the metal shutters of a charity shop, litter spills from bins, an angry bassline thumps from a cracked window above a tattoo parlour. I keep walking, the street a jumble of contradictions: an elegant delicatessen is nestled between a kebab shop and a hardware store, while vintage clothing boutiques fight for space with grimy carpet shops and pound stores.