Let your daughter live with your mother, Peter said. We need some time to settle into each other, and the child is a distraction. Just take her there for a couple of days, wont you?
Peter, weve already gone over this a hundred times, I sighed. Im not going to give her up for a few days, or even an hour.
Not give her up! he winced. Good heavens, Christine, youre being unreasonable. Im not a monster. Think about itwere both thirtyfive, weve finally found each other and now I want to travel with you, take you to the theatre, to fine restaurants. I want weekends to start at noon and spend the whole day in bed together. With a child, all that becomes impossible, doesnt it?
Impossible? I shot back. Is a happy life with a child impossible, then?
He said nothing, but the look on his face told me Id hit a sore spot.
Peter had drifted into my world only a few months earlier. We collidedliterallyin the supermarket by the yoghurt row. He knocked into me, blushed, apologized profusely, then, as a peace offering, invited me for coffee to make up for the moralphysical damage. I accepted. His smile was disarming.
He courted me charmingly and got along surprisingly well with my little girl, Lucy. He played board games with her, taught her to rollerblade, and even helped with her homework now and then.
After three dreary years of solitude, that encounter was like a splash of water in a desert.
Three months after we met, I accepted his proposal of marriage. My mother frowned, feeling it was too early; she claimed I hardly knew him. I, however, was convinced I didknew him to be kind, caring, loving.
—
Three weeks ago Peter first suggested temporarily sending Lucy to my mother. At first he said it was only for school holidays, then muttered that it would be nice if
Well, think it over, he rambled, the school there is good, the air cleaner, and in general
And in general shes a bother to you, I warned him halfjokingly.
He didnt argue. He met my eyes, stayed silent, and that unnerved me. Yet I was in love and told myself it would be fine; he would get used to it. After all, he had no children of his own.
By the way, Lucy is my treasure, not just a child. Shes eight, bright and beautifula gem left from my first marriage. My exhusband, Andrew, remarried and now has twin boys, but he still thinks of Lucy, takes her on weekends to the cinema, spoils her. All as it should be, one might say.
One winter Lucy caught a cold and ran a fever. Like any sick child, she was irritable. Peter grew tense. He didnt show it outright, but I saw his face tighten at the sound of her cough, his eyes roll when I fetched a thermometer.
Maybe your mother could come over? he offered at breakfast. Shes retired, nothing much for her to do.
I dont think Mom would understand if I asked her to look after a sick Lucy when I could, I replied.
Peter muttered something under his breath. I brushed it offperhaps he was just tired.
—
Soon Peter began to be irritated by Lucys toys strewn about, by the cartoon noises on the TV, by her laugh. When she brought friends home, his patience snapped.
Christine, enough is enough! he exploded. I work all week and I just want a proper Sunday to relax!
And where am I supposed to put her? I snapped. Lock her in the cupboard? Tie her up and gag her?
Just take her to the park, maybe! he barked.
I had to constantly adjust so he could get a decent nights sleep.
—
When Lucys holiday break started, Peter announced that he had bought two seaside holiday vouchers.
What about Lucy? I asked.
Shell stay with her grandmother, he replied, as if that settled everything.
Peter, but were a family, I protested.
He gave me a strange look, then softened.
Christine, this is our honeymoon! Theres no child on a honeymoon, is there?
We never went to the coast. I refused to travel without Lucy; Peter took offence and, in a fit of spite, handed the vouchers back. He sulked for a week, then seemed to thaw.
—
Peter, I asked one evening, do you want your own children?
Of course! he brightened. A boy. Or maybe two!
And Lucy? I pressed. Shes well, your child now, too.
He fell silent, then cautiously replied, Christine, you know how it iswhats yours is yours. I try, I buy her toys, I take her to clubs and such
Right, I thought. Hes helping as if it were a favour.
A few days later Lucy came home with a certificate from schoolfirst place in a recitation competition. She was beaming, eager to show it to Peter.
He arrived home angry, his day at work having gone badly. Lucy thrust the certificate at him, and he simply brushed it off.
Later, Lucy, later youll show me your nonsense, he said dryly.
I saw the light leave her eyes. She slipped the paper into her pocket and retreated to her room in silence.
—
Peter, what on earth are you doing? I erupted. Why would you speak to her like that?
Christine, can we not do this? he winced. Im exhausted! I dont have time for childrens awards!
Its not just a childs award. Its our daughters achievement!
Its not my daughter! he blurted, then stopped.
We sat in stunned silence. I stared at the tiny roses on the wallpaperpattern I had chosen before he moved inand counted them: one, two, three
What does that make it then? I asked calmly.
Peter covered his face with his hands.
Christine, Im sorry. I didnt mean what I said. Listen, lets be honest. I love you. Madly. I thought that, over time, wed live for ourselves, then have children togetherour own. As for Lucy let her stay with her grandmother, thats fine Or, you know, we could let her father take her forever, since legally hes her dad anyway.
The words hit me like a cold slap. My vision dimmed.
Get out, I whispered.
What?
Out of my house. Now.
Youve gone mad, Christine? Peter stared, bewildered. This is our flat!
This is my flat, I said coldly. It came to me from my mother. Youre no longer welcome here.
He left, calling me ungrateful and foolish, swearing I would regret it.
I never regretted it. Not once.
Later I thought a great deal about how I could have been so wrong. I realised I had been looking for the perfect man, ignoring every red flag, because I was tired of being alone and longed, even if only briefly, to be loved.
