Chapter 5: Five Boys and a Question
The house was lit up when I pulled into the drive.
It was past midnight, but every downstairs light was on.
Through the front window I could see the shapes of my boys moving around in the living room — restless, awake, waiting.
My mother's car was parked at the kerb.
She'd come over when Claire went into labour, to stay with the boys.
I hadn't called her since.
I sat in the car for a moment before going in.
Then the front door opened and Ethan was standing in the frame, still in his school hoodie, watching me walk up the path.
"Dad."
"Hey, mate."
He looked at my face.
He was twelve, but he read expressions the way some kids read books — fast, accurately, without being taught.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong with the baby.
She's healthy."
"I didn't ask about the baby."
I put my hand on his shoulder and moved him gently back inside.
The others were in the living room — Noah, ten; Sam, eight; the twins, Joel and Finn, both six.
My mother was on the sofa with the twins either side of her.
She looked up when I came in, and her eyes did the same thing Ethan's had done.
"Boys," I said.
"Baby sister's arrived.
She's doing well.
Mum's doing well."
The twins erupted.
Joel launched himself at me and I caught him, and for a moment I just held him — held the warm, solid weight of him — and breathed.
"What's her name?" Sam asked.
"We haven't decided yet."
"Can I pick?" said Finn.
"No," said Ethan, from the doorway.
My mother stood up.
"Right, you lot.
Back to bed.
You can see the photos in the morning."
There was the usual negotiation, the usual protests.
I let her handle it.
She was better at it than I was on a good night, and this was not a good night.
When the younger four were upstairs, my mother came back to the living room.
She closed the door behind her.
"Sit down," she said.
"Mum—"
"Sit down, Daniel."
I sat.
She sat across from me, in the armchair she always took when she visited.
Her hands were folded in her lap.
She didn't say anything for a moment.
"How bad is it?" she asked.
"I don't know yet."
"Is the baby yours?"
The question hit me cleanly, no softening.
That was my mother.
She had always believed that a sharp question was kinder than a slow one.
"I don't know," I said.
"Claire thinks she might not be.
We'd need a test to be sure."
My mother nodded once, slowly.
"And Claire?
How is she?"
"She's..." I stopped.
"She's at the hospital with our daughter.
Or with someone's daughter.
I don't know what to call her right now."
"Call her your daughter until you know otherwise."
"Mum."
"I mean it, Daniel.
That baby has done nothing.
Whatever Claire has done, whatever the truth turns out to be — that child is not the problem."
I looked at the carpet.
"I know that."
"Do you?
Because you've been sitting in your car for ten minutes and you haven't asked me once how the boys are."
That landed.
I looked up.
"How are the boys?"
"Ethan knows something is wrong.
The others are too excited about the baby to notice.
But Ethan—" She paused.
"He asked me if you and Mum were going to be alright."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I didn't know.
Because I don't.
And he's old enough to hear that."
I rubbed my face with both hands.
The tiredness was coming in now, the kind that sits behind the eyes.
"I confronted Marcus tonight," I said.
My mother went very still.
"Marcus Hale."
"Yes."
A long silence.
"How long?"
"Eight months.
It ended eight months ago."
She didn't say anything for a moment.
Then: "That man came to your Christmas dinner three years running."
"I know."
"He sat at your table."
"I know, Mum."
She stood up.
She went to the kitchen and I heard the tap run and the quiet sounds of her making tea she didn't need.
When she came back she set a mug in front of me and sat down again.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I don't know yet.
I need the test first.
I need to know."
"And if she's yours?"
"Then I need to decide what that means."
"And if she's not?"
I wrapped both hands around the mug.
The heat was grounding.
"Then I still need to decide what that means."
My mother looked at me for a long moment.
"You're a good man, Daniel.
I want you to remember that while you're deciding."
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Then Ethan's voice, quiet, through the ceiling: "Dad?"
I looked up.
"Yeah, mate?"
"Is Mum coming home tomorrow?"
I looked at my mother.
She looked back at me.
"Yeah," I called up.
"She's coming home tomorrow."
The floorboard creaked again as he went back to bed.
My phone lit up on the cushion beside me.
A text from Claire.
*I'm sorry.
I know that's not enough.
I'm so sorry.*
I turned the phone face-down.
In the morning I would call the clinic about the DNA test.
In the morning I would drive back to the hospital and look at my daughter's face in the daylight.
May you like
In the morning there would be decisions to make and words to find and a family to hold together or to let go of.
But for now I sat in my mother's company and drank tea that was too hot and listened to the house settle around me, and I let the night be what it was.
