The World Made Yonder Pt. 05

'Okay, then,' said Jeremy. 'How about divorcing Celia because there are better women out there?'

'Of course there are better women out there!' said Joey. 'I knew that when I married her! There are better men than me out there as well! But I also know that no matter how wonderful a woman might be, she will never love my son as much as Celia does.'

'Well, of course not! That goes without saying.'

'No, Jez,' said Joey. 'It needs to be said.'

***************************

It was home time at Stephen's school. He stood in the classroom doorway, Ms Olsen's hand on his shoulder, as she scanned the parents gathered in the playground outside. Stephen spotted his smartly-dressed mother between two sets of overweight grown-ups, walking with her phone to her ear.

'All right, Stephen,' said Ms Olsen, removing her hand. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

Stephen walked towards his approaching mother. As he reached her, he heard her say, 'Listen, Jackie, I have to go.' Celia gave the boy her sorry-about-this face as her friend said a few last words, then she ended the call. She slid the phone into her pocket and bent down to give the boy a hug.

'Who's Jackie?' said Stephen.

'Old friend of mine,' said his mother. 'She met you a couple of times, although you were probably too young to remember.'

The two of them walked across the crowded playground, heading back towards the car park. Stephen frowned as a memory came up.

'Was she the one who told me I was not bad for a boy?' he said.

'Um ... maybe.'

'She was kind of fat with spiky hair...'

'All right! Let's get to the car.'

There was a sharpness to her voice which shut Stephen up. He kept quiet all the way to the car and watched his mother's face as she strapped him into the back seat. Her lips were pressed closed and her eyes stared intensely at the seat belt buckle. Celia noticed her son's wariness and kissed his forehead, but he knew his mother well enough to simply smile and say nothing.

As they drove home in a silence broken only by Celia cursing traffic, Stephen remembered that morning when Daddy had driven him to school. They had also said nothing, but that silence was different—it was the silence of two people not talking. But this silence with his mother was the silence of being in a room with an unexploded bomb. Stephen could sense something was upsetting his mummy and he began to cry in a keening whimper.

'Oh, Stephen, please...' protested Celia from the driver's seat.

'I'm sorry, Mummy,' sniffled Stephen, but her annoyance upset him and he cried even harder.

Celia sat clutching the steering wheel, mentally repeating, 'He's just a child ... he's just a child...' as her knuckles turned white. Why was that boy so goddamn sensitive? Why didn't his father do more to toughen him up? The more Stephen wailed, the more Celia thought that Jackie was right—that Joey had left Celia to do all the real parenting and that it was long past time for a reckoning. His neglect was forcing her to do what she had to do.

When they got home, Celia managed to stop Stephen crying by letting him watch Disney's Hercules for the umpteenth time.

'Do you want to watch it with me?' he said.

'No, thank you,' said Celia. 'I have to...'

Stephen's face crumpled and the keening whimper began. Celia closed her eyes.

'All right!' she said. 'I'll stay for the first half, okay? But you have to stop crying!'

She sat with her son for half an hour before her phone rang, giving her the excuse to leave the room. Stephen continued watching the film. As it came to an end, he was vaguely aware that his mother had turned on some music in the kitchen and was probably not coming back. He sat pondering for a moment, then clicked the remote to replay the movie and started watching it again from the beginning.

It was getting dark when Joey opened the front door. He heard the music coming from the kitchen-dining room and a resounding cry of 'Daddy!' before Stephen came running out of the living room. Joey lifted the boy into his arms and held him there.

'Hello, son,' he said.

It was the first time Joey had referred to Stephen as 'son' since his wife's confession. The boy may not have known that, but he felt something in his father and the two stayed in the hall hugging each other, Stephen's arms tight around his daddy as he was held. Joey felt the boy's body and smelled his hair, and he felt a lump grew in his throat.

My God, he thought, what a difference this makes. To know—to really know­—that this boy is my son. Joey thought of all the TV and magazine interviews he had seen and read in which adoptive fathers insisted that biological paternity made no difference. That the only thing which mattered was their love for the child. At the time, Joey even thought he agreed with them. But as he held Stephen, breathing in that sweaty child smell and feeling the fair hair against his cheek, Joey realised that he had been lying to himself. It did matter. It made all the difference in the world. And Joey wanted to bury his face in the boy's neck and cry for joy.

Stephen broke the embrace to look at his father.

'Daddy, I'm watching Hercules!' he said.

'Again?'

'Yeah! Do you want to watch it with me?'

'I'd love to.'

Joey let Stephen lead him into the living room. They settled onto the couch together and, as Stephen leant against his father's chest, there was the faint crumple of a sheet of folded paper in Joey's inside jacket pocket. It was an A4 printout of the paternity test results. Joey wondered whether to share the information with Stephen and decided no.

He wanted to show Celia first.

Joey could still remember the night she had looked him in the eye and told him she wanted to have Bjorn's child. It would be interesting to see if that were really true—to see her very first reaction to the report.

But, meanwhile, he was going to watch Hercules with his son.

***************************

The family dinner that evening was awkward and stilted. Both Celia and Joey were on edge, and yet both were on best behaviour in front of Stephen. Stephen himself felt the tension, but his father's warmth towards him was so tangible, he was able to handle it. When Joey took the boy upstairs to bed, they spent over an hour together, reading a story and talking about it afterwards. Even when Stephen lay down to sleep, his father sat on the bed in the darkness, in no hurry to leave.

Eventually, Joey tiptoed out of his son's room and quietly closed the door. It was time to go downstairs for his meeting with Celia. As he walked along the hallway to the kitchen-dining room, he patted his jacket on the place where the folded piece of paper waited. He smiled at the thought of how soon he'd be showing it to his wife.

But the moment Joey came in through the door, he saw that Celia had plans of her own. All the supper things had been cleared away and she sat behind the dining table like a bank manager waiting for a loan applicant. Her laptop was open, there were printouts on the side, and she had a spiral notebook in front of her. There was an additional notebook and biro opposite her on the table, clearly meant for Joey. As he approached, Celia poured him a glass of water from a carafe and then poured one for herself.

'Wow,' said Joey. 'You got organised!'

'Well, one of us had to.'

Joey looked at Celia, taking care to keep his expression neutral. He recognised the tactics. She was preparing to do something unpleasant, but wanted to provoke him into rudeness so she could blame the unpleasantness on him. Joey considered showing her the paternity report and ending this nonsense right away, but curiosity got the better of him. He took the seat his wife had prepared for him and politely sipped his water.

'So, what's on the agenda?' said Joey.

'Well,' said Celia, 'I thought we could begin by establishing what we want to achieve with this conversation.'

'Okay.'

Joey sat back and crossed one leg over the other. Celia glared at him.

'Oh, you want me to begin?' said Joey. 'All right. Um ... okay, here's my thinking: when it comes to divorce, I think the best thing would be an agreement which is fair to all sides—to you, to me, and to Stephen.'

'And what exactly do you mean by "fair"?'

'Well, my definition of fair is—'

'I don't want definitions, Joey! I want concrete examples!'

'Like what?'

'Well ... child support, for instance.'

Joey took another drink of water and glanced at the papers on Celia's side of the table. He now had a feeling he knew where they came from.

'All right, here's my position on child support,' he said. 'If we divorce and you have chief custody, I believe it's fair for you to get child support from Stephen's biological father.'

Celia made a sour face. Joey gave her an innocent smile and gestured towards her.

'What do you believe is fair?' he said.

'Well...' said Celia, referring to the laptop. 'According to the law, the man whom the child regards as their father is legally responsible for paying child support.'

'Do you mean me?'

'Yes, Joey. I mean you.'

'And you believe that's fair?'

'It's the law.'

'Yes, but do you believe the law is fair?'

'It's the law, Joey!'

'Yes, but what do you believe?'

'It doesn't matter what I believe! It's the law!'

Celia glared at Joey as though he were the one being obtuse. Joey looked at her, wondering whether this was an act or whether she genuinely didn't see what she was doing.

'Celia...' he said. 'I am fully aware that the law could force me to pay child support for Bjorn's kid. But you could refuse to use it.'

'Why would I do that?'

'Because it's unfair and immoral! Because you love me too much to screw me like that! Because forcing me to pay for a child who isn't mine would cripple my chances of starting a family of my own...'

'That's not my problem!'

Joey stared at her. Celia's face and neck were red and she couldn't look Joey in the eye. After a moment, she clasped her hands together and forced herself to look him in the face.

'My first responsibility is to Stephen!' she said. 'I'm sorry if you think that's unfair, but I have to be practical now! He's a child, you're a grown-up and that's all there is to it!'

'Do you really mean that?'

'Of course I mean it!'

'No, Celia.' Joey leaned forward and spoke slowly and deliberately. 'Do you ... really ... mean that?'

Celia looked like she was about to implode. He eyeballs bulged and the tendons in her neck stood out like wires. Joey looked at her calmly, remembering how she had once said she was at war with herself. He saw that now, two forces within her, each struggling for dominance. And when he saw her features relax and her eyes turn cold, Joey knew which side had won even before she opened her mouth.

'I know what you're doing,' she said coolly. 'You're trying to get me to admit some kind of "moral argument" so that I'll let you off the hook. Well, it won't work. Stephen is the real victim here, not you. So, to answer your question ... yes, I really mean it.'

Joey looked at her. He let out a sigh and nodded sadly. He finished his water and put the empty glass onto the table with a 'clack' of finality.

'All right, Celia,' he said. 'In that case, I will pay child support.'

'Really?'

'Yes. In fact, I shall pay exactly the same amount as if I were his biological father.'

Celia's face lost its coldness and she looked at Joey with warmth and even affection. He saw tears in her eyes.

'Oh, Joey, thank you!' she said. 'You have no idea how worried I was that—'

Joey stood up. He took a folded piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of her. Celia frowned at it.

'What's this?' she said.

'Something which meant something until ten minutes ago,' said Joey. 'Good night, Celia.'

Joey turned and walked out of the room. He was putting on his coat when he heard the scream. Celia burst out of the room and ran down the hall just as he was collecting his keys from the key holder.

'Joey! Joey! He's your son!'

Joey saw with heart-rending clarity that Celia was genuinely excited, genuinely happy. The paper was flying in one hand and she was about to throw her arms around him. Joey ducked back and to the side.

'Don't you touch me!' he hissed.

Celia recoiled in shock. She suddenly noticed that he was wearing his coat and had his car key in his hand.

'Where are you going?' she said.

'To stay the night at Jeremy's,' said Joey. 'Or a hotel. Anywhere but here.'

'But...'

Celia lifted the piece of paper plaintively. Joey looked at it, then looked at her. He stretched his arm and pointed the finger in the direction of the kitchen-dining room.

'That wasn't you in there,' he said. 'That was Jackie-fucking-Warren. And if there is one thing I know for sure, it's that I do not want to be married to Jackie-fucking-Warren.'

Celia opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Joey put his hands on his hips and glared at her.

'How long had she had a voice in this marriage, Celia?' he said. 'How long has Jackie been the invisible presence in the background?'

'Joey...'

'You know, this is actually worse than what you did with Bjorn. I mean, fucking another man is bad, but at least I understand the motivation. It's exciting to have an affair. Having done it myself, I get it.

'But this? To listen to Jackie rather than your own conscience? To screw me for money and then claim you're doing it for Stephen? Jesus Christ, woman! What are you?!'

Joey turned and left the house, slamming the front door. Celia stood in the hall trembling, still not quite comprehending what had just happened.

***************************

Jeremy had a spare room, although the creaking single bed was under piles of boxes and magazines. By the time he and Joey had stacked everything against the wall, the air was full of dust and the two men went downstairs to drink beer and talk while it settled.

Meanwhile, Celia sat on the stairs in the hall, clutching her stomach and crying in despair. She tried telling herself that Joey would have walked out anyway, that even if she had said nothing, things would have gone the same way. But her memory kept playing back the way Joey was smiling at Stephen that evening—how he had watched Hercules again as soon as he got home from work and how long he stayed upstairs when putting Stephen to bed. It spoke of a man reconnecting with his son, not preparing to abandon him. Everything pointed to Joey having decided to give the marriage a second chance and she had royally fucked it up.

The following morning, Joey went in to work early to do some last-minute research. When Kayla arrived, the two of them gathered their things and drove off in Joey's BMW to their business appointment. Meanwhile, Celia called in sick to work and—after dropping Stephen off at school—sat at the dining table before her laptop doing her own form of research.

She googled 'Bjorn Eklund' and found his LinkedIn profile. That led her to a large boat rental business in Gothenburg and a website with a telephone number. She gave the number a call.

'No, he's not in the office,' said a man who spoke English with a strong Swedish accent. 'But I can give you his mobile number.'

'That would be great,' said Celia.

She jotted down the number, thanked the man and ended the call. She took three deep breaths, then entered Bjorn's number into her phone and tapped the call icon. It rang five times before it was picked up.

'Hallo?'

The man's voice was both strange and yet so very, very familiar. There were café noises in the background and Celia's heart was racing.

'Bjorn?' she said. 'It's Celia.'

'Sealant? You want sealant for a boat?'

'No, Celia. We were at art college—'

'Celia! My God! Celia Sinclair-Jones!'

'Johnson.'

'Johnson, yes! My God!'

Bjorn pronounced God 'Gud' but otherwise his English was as proficient as she remembered it. He let out a long, happy sigh.

'Wow, Celia!' he said. 'This is wonderful! It must be at least four years!'

'Seven.'

'Seven! My God! This is amazing!'

'How are you, Bjorn?'

Bjorn launched into a monologue about his work as a skipper and boat repairman—wealthy tourists in the summer and maintenance work in the winter. 'And the winters here are very long,' he said. Celia listened, warmed by his enthusiasm for his work, yet noticing that he never mentioned his daughter. Celia was on the verge of asking, then changed her mind. She only knew about Annelise because of Facebook and she didn't want Bjorn to think she was a stalker.

'So, Celia,' he said eventually. 'Is there a meaning behind this call?'

'Well ... I wanted to ask you a question.'

'What question?'

'It's about Jackie Warren.'

'Ah ... Jackie. She's getting a bit big, isn't she?'

Ever the gentleman, thought Celia.

'Yes...' she said. 'Well, when you and I were at art college ... you know, as boyfriend-girlfriend ... did you think Jackie interfered in our relationship?'

Bjorn's laughter burst out of the phone. Celia had to move it away from her ear. She heard a sound suspiciously like a man slapping his leg. She frowned, her lips pressed together.

'I'll take that as a yes,' she said.

'Oh, don't be upset,' said Bjorn. 'We were young and it was a long time ago.'

'Yes, but ... was it part of the reason you broke up with me?'

'No! It was annoying, maybe. You came out with feministic things I knew came from her. But it wasn't so bad. And, let's face it, our friend Jackie is a bit of a hypocrite.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Oh, come on, Celia! You already know!'

'Know what?'

'Jackie made a big fuss about how I wanted non-exclusive relationships. Said I was "exploring women".'

'Exploiting.'

'Yes, that's the word. But when she and I have sex, she's completely okay with it.'

Celia stared at the wall, phone in hand. She felt like her insides were frozen and her throat had closed up. When Bjorn next spoke, his voice was lowered.

'Celia...' he said. 'Jackie said that she told you. She said that you and her had a big laugh about how you were such good friends, you shared everything.'

Celia shook her head. Then she realised that Bjorn couldn't hear a head-shake and said:

'No.'

She heard Bjorn curse in Swedish. Celia swallowed and managed to speak.

'How often?' she said.

'Celia, you and me finished a long time—'

'How often?'

Bjorn sighed heavily.

'A couple of times at art college,' he said. 'After we broke up. Then Jackie kept in touch when I went back to Sweden and—years later—when I got a job delivering a boat to the UK, we'd meet up for a couple of nights and have some fun.'

'And what about her birthday party?'

'Was that when you and me...?'

'Yes.'

Celia heard another heavy sigh. Bjorn continued.

'Celia, I honestly believed that we were going to have a threesome that night. But then Jackie took me to one side and told me that you were going through a crisis. That your husband was cheating on you and you needed "cheering up". And she also told me not to say anything because you'd told her in confidence and she didn't want to betray your trust.'

Celia's head was feeling so heavy, she could barely hold it upright. For some reason, she couldn't cry, but her face felt limp and saggy.

'Celia, I'm very sorry,' said Bjorn. 'I think she has lied to both of us.'

Celia swallowed and said: 'She told me she'd bumped into you at an art gallery and that's how you got invited to the party.'

'No,' said Bjorn. 'She paid for my flights to and from Sweden. And, in return, I gave her a "Happy Birthday".'