The Second Baby is a Boy!

The second child turned out to be a husbandno, not a wife at all a housemaid, a cook Do not be distracted.

At a gathering I mentioned Blythe in fact, her husband.

Not a wife? A cook? What a twist!

Blythes cheeks went white.

Even her friends were strangers to her. The men turned, eager to see who had interrupted their tea. They sat upright, as solemn as ministers at a cabinet meeting. What kind of friends were these, whose wives knew nothing about them?

Charles, flipping his chair back, leapt up and rushed to Blythe, trying to whisk her away from the eyes of his companions. His lofty peers exchanged bewildered glances. A soft murmur slipped through: What does he have to say to a maid? Everyone snorted, crooked smiles playing on their lips.

Only a tall gentleman occupying the farthest seat remained indifferent.

Maiden? Cook? Blythe whispered behind the closed doors. What do you mean by wife?

Youre hardly respectable in those threadbare jeans to be thought of as a wife, Charles said, as if speaking a truth Blythe should already know. We have respectable gentlemen here.

Decent jeans.

The seams frayed, but they didnt catch the eye.

Decent enough for a workhorse, but the wife of a successful businessman cannot walk like a beggar!

A successful businessman? Did you conjure that out of thin air? Where did you get them?

I was at the snooker hall on Oxford Street today and beat the lotfive of them! They admired my skill and offered a stiff drink. I asked about work, and they said they could finance my cardealership project. Investors, they called themselves.

All your investors play dominoes behind the garage doors.

That day Blythe saw how her husband regarded hernot as a partner, but as service. She might not be a cook, yet she kept the household afloat. Financial service, she thought, bringing in the money, then disappearing like a mouse under the baseboard.

She muttered about dominoes.

If you cant trust your husband, how can you later complain that he doesnt believe in himself or work? How could you build a successful career when your own wife puts you down?

That afternoon they agreed he would take her suits to the dry cleaners. Blythe, a devotee of classic tailoring, wore those suits to important meetings, while on ordinary days she favoured a wellworn pair of jeans.

Did you drop off the suits?

No! When did I? I was trying to charm the investors

Where? At the snooker hall?

Cant I have a rest?

When I handled the finances, you handled the home.

But I told you I needed time for my hobbies and selfrealisation.

You have more than enough of that! Theres no time for the house. I pay for cleaning, eat wherever, and you order sushi or pizza in the evenings! Wheres the domestic bliss you dreamed of when you moved in? You dreamed of snooker from dawn till dusk!

Lower your voice, love, he covered her mouth. If my investors hear you, well lose a profitable venture.

Theyll never see profit, for tomorrow those investors will be asleep and forget your name.

Blythe envied her colleagues who went to work, escaping the monotony of housewifery, earning their own wages. Those women didnt stay late polishing floors, nor did they haul reports home to compare figures in the dead of night. Though their firms were cutting staff, Blythe imagined they would fall into despair; instead, they sipped tea and chattered as always. If they were let go, their husbandssome earning less than the womenwould still be at home, so losing a job was no disaster.

Blythe fled the prospect of redundancy like a fire. She worked harder, faster, more productively than anyone, yet the strain remained.

Charles huffed disdainfully, You, my dear, are a novice negotiator. Go on, laugh with your new friends about the careless cook who mixed everything up and forgot his suits from the cleaners.

Blythe stayed silent. If she spoke up, Charles would bring up divorce again.

They were only beginning to think about a child

The flat they lived in was a newbuild in a suburb of Manchester, with a threedoor vestibule leading to a spacious lounge and a balcony that overlooked the communal garden. Blythe stepped onto that shared balcony.

Even I once had a wife, a voice called from below.

Blythe shrieked! Charles and his guests, lost in their laughter, heard nothing, so no one rushed to her.

It turned out the tall investor, whod not smiled at the ambiguous talk about a maid, loomed over her.

Do you hear voices? And you think were having a lively debate? Blythe asked, her fury rising at his brazen tone. Whats that remark about a wife when I never spoke to you? Im not interested in who was there.

He was unmoved.

I, too, had a wife.

Ah?

She was a housewife, he said. She didnt work, we had no children, and I often ordered cleaning for her. The difference? She welcomed me with joy.

Im not a housewife.

No, I wasnt speaking of you. I meant the man you mistakenly called a husband. In my family I earned money, built a business, while my wife tended the home and her hobbies. I never blamed her. I was on cloud nine, able to give her a life where she never wondered where her next slice of bread would come from. Yet, if my beloved had called me a servant and bragged about it to her friends, she would have become my ex in an instantnot on paper, but in my heart. Many things can be forgiven, but not contempt from the one youd give your life for. My wife loved me.

What then tore you apart, if you loved each other so?

A drunken, halflearned trader from the snooker hall, spotted by Charles, offered an answer.

Divorce isnt about the words of a drunk. You must walk anothers shoes to truly understand. Thats what Charles muttered in his tipsy state because of a divorce? They were planning a child, and Blythe had always wanted one who else would she pick as a father at thirtyseven?

Cancer. It split us.

Forgive me

Its all right, Tamsin, never let anyone treat you without respectespecially not a husband. Where theres no respect, theres no love.

A family therapist, perhaps.

No, Im a programmer.

What did you lose among those merry investors and the one trying to squeeze money from them?

Im not poor; I could fund something myself, but Ive been loitering with them for company. My home feels empty, desolate. So when Im not working, I wander. Sorry, had I known youd come, I wouldnt have let you in. Yet I dont regret meeting you. Youre delightful.

You never introduced yourself.

Edward, he said, calming the boisterous crowd with a single sweep and sending them home.

Tamsin was right. The next morning, when Charles phoned his new investor pals, they could not recall his name or even what theyd drunk the night before.

Not a hint of regret.

Charles merely mimed grand business dreams. He needed nothing. Working for someone else wasnt his aim; he was an entrepreneur. Yet he kept up appearances, a thin veneer of legitimacy.

Didnt answer, didnt answer. Theyll chase me later.

Charles, what about my maternity leave?

Huh?

If I go on leave, how will we live?

Youll only be on leave brieflyone month before the birth and about three after. Then a nanny will take over.

You said okay when I suggested you either support the family or sit with the child.

I said okay, not I promise. Where does the child fit? Im not a nanny. Youre the mother. Figure it out yourself.

So youll find a job?

Well see

Do you have any answers besides well see?

Blythe! Youve ruined my appetite this morning! Dont burden me with this child. It will happen. Tomorrow well start working on it.

And they tried.

Blythe was pregnant.

She planned to find a nanny and work parttime during her leave, but soon discovered that nobody at her firm was waiting for her return.

The firms going bust! announced Anna.

How so?

In a month well all be jobless.

But Im pregnant You cant fire a pregnant woman.

If the firm collapses, how can anyone stay employed?

Despair settled over Blythe. She ate nothing, avoided people, until a faint hope sparkedthat perhaps her husbands moment of glory would finally arrive, that Charles, seeing her plight, would become the man of the house.

Charles looked at his wife with scepticism.

If I work, the money will be laughably small, nowhere near what you earned. I have a huge gap in my résumé, my skills are rusty, my education is patchy. Blythe, I cant shoulder that responsibility.

But I need time to find a job, and there isnt much left a few months and the baby will be visible.

How many weeks now?

Ten.

Ten, eh? Still enough time.

What do you mean?

On a crutch! Dont rush the birth. I called my mother; shes horrified by your recklessness. You cant go on leave with so much on your shoulders. We must feed ourselves. I cant work now. Our parents expect us to help with the fence and the bills. They wont gift us pretty eyes. Mother says theres no talk of a child yet. She doesnt even know you wont take maternity leave, that youll be jobless. No, no, dear, that number wont pass.

But you also said it was time to become parents.

Thats because you tangled my head up with that child. When hes born hell take the whole blanket. Must I become destitute because the last of our money goes to a baby? Its a heavy burden. Be sensible, hurry. We must meet the deadline, or misery will follow.

Blythe trudged to collect her belongings.

Her boss, the one who warned her about the bankruptcy, was also packing.

Did they send you on a break?

Yes.

What did they say?

That we cant make it.

Cant make it, or you cant make two children?

I dont know about the job yet; I must find something fast to get any maternity pay or do as Charles wishes. If I decide to have the baby, hell divorce me. I know hell file. Or if he doesnt, hell leave. How do I live without work, a child and without a husband?

Without a husband who doesnt earn? Your logic has gone astray. Surviving on benefits with a child is hard enough. With a nonworking husband, its even harder.

Well, he isnt working now, but if

Then what?

Nothing. The disaster had already struck. Blythe was pregnant and facing redundancy. Yet that didnt move Charles to labour.

She needed to sprint from interview to interview.

She could not lie about her pregnancy if asked, but perhaps no one would ask

Determined, Blythe marched home, sent out CVs, and waited to see what would come back.

Hello, housewives! the tall man joked as he passed her.

Was he from her building?

Im not a housewife, she retorted.

Charles claimed otherwise. Youre now unemployed.

Were you in our flat?

No, I tried to get up, but I ran into Charles on the landing. I caught him just as he was hauling his I hope only his, belongings. He seems to be filing for divorce.

Clearly, Charles was drifting off a sinking ship.

Resolve fled.

Unemployed and abandoned, Blythe said.

Well, I can provide work if you wish.

Did Charles ever tell you Im pregnant?

He did. First his panic, then himself. How will that affect your professional abilities? Ive heard of your tireless work ethic. I think youd suit a modest post. Ill put in a good wordTamsin, Ive always longed for a child. My wife never bore one I could not help her. Why cant I help you? Come tomorrow to my friends office. Ill be there too, so you wont feel out of place. I hope this isnt our last meeting.

And I hope the same.

Later Tamsin gave birth to a daughter, then a son, then another son. Though the first girl was technically a stepchild, Harold never drew a line between them. He never reminded Blythe of the distinction.

Harold, however, never ceased reminding Charles of how Blythe had slipped away, ringing through the family like a relentless bell.