He wanders through the nightlit streets of London, swaying badly after a generous swig of gin. Where he ends up doesnt matter to him; the city is his home and his feet will eventually lead him back. He is preoccupied with something more pressing he talks to himself out loud.
Why, why is my life like this? Im twentyseven. My mates kids are already starting school, and every girl I meet disappears after a month, tops it all. Rough? Im not rough actually I am. Thats the sort of bloke Im supposed to be, Nick smiles. The only thing Ive nailed is my business. Im far from a millionaire, but I can afford a decent life.
Suddenly he stops, grabs his head, and tears spill from his eyes.
Ive paid a fortune to that doctor, and all he says is, I cant help you. Heres the address of a London celebrity who might have a solution, though I doubt it. Ill go see that celebrity tomorrow.
He reaches a bridge and looks down at the dark water of the Thames.
Should I drown? The rivers deep everything ends up underwater, he thinks, then shakes his head. No, I wont drown. Its cold, and even Socrates the cat isnt fed. Ill go home.
He steps onto the bridge when a very young woman appears in the middle of it, a small baby snuggled in a backpack against her chest. She stares at the water, then climbs onto the rail, spreads her arms on the top railing and Nick lunges at her. He grabs her waist, pulls her close, and they both tumble onto the dusty bridge deck. The baby wails.
Are you an idiot? Nick shouts, suddenly sober.
What do you want? Why are you meddling where youre not asked? she cries.
I just got the feeling youre dying too early, he says, nodding at the sobbing infant. And him even more so. Get up, go home to your husband or your mother! Whos waiting for you?
I have no home, no husband, no mother. Ive got nobody!
Now youre on my hands, he says, setting her and the baby down. Lets go.
Im not going anywhere with you. What if youre a lunatic?
Drownings always an option, love. And with a lunatic, its terrifying, right? he pulls her hand. Come on!
They trek through the city under the babys cries. At last Nick cant take it any longer.
Why is he crying all the time?
Hungry? the woman presses the child to her chest.
Give him some milk.
Ive got neither milk nor money.
And no brains either, Nick mutters, spotting a 24hour grocery store. Lets get some milk.
The shopkeeper and the security guard eye the latenight customers suspiciously, but Nick grabs a basket and nods at his companion.
Wheres the milk? he asks the cashier.
Its over there, she points.
He steps up to the display.
Grab as much as you need, he orders.
She picks a small packet.
Take more. Take as much as you want, he says, waiting while she loads the basket. Anything else?
Diapers.
What are diapers? he asks.
She smiles. Theyre right there.
Take them.
Can I have wet wipes too?
Sure.
At the till Nick swipes his card.
We only take cash, the cashier says.
Nick pulls out a crumpled bundle of twentypound notes and hands over one.
No change, the cashier replies.
Give the change to the chocolate, Nick snaps, pointing. That one over there.
They enter the flat. The woman looks around, shaking her head in surprise. The owner slips off his shoes, darts to the fridge, pulls out a piece of fish and tosses it to a waiting cat, then grabs a bottle of juice and gulps it down. After drinking, he walks over to his guest.
Youll sleep in that room, he says, pointing. Kitchen, loo, bathroom. Im off to bed. He heads to another room, stops, turns around.
Whats your name?
Gwen.
Seems youre not a lunatic after all, she mutters, turning on the gas hob and setting a kettle to boil. Stupid me! I almost drowned! If only that madman hadnt been here. What would Ruslan and I have done out there in the cold? Tomorrow hell still drive me out. At least well be warm today.
The kettle whistles. She rushes to the room Nick indicated, lays the wailing infant on the bed, pulls a bottle from her backpack, and darts back to the kitchen. She washes, fills the bottle with milk diluted with warm water. The baby drinks greedily, then starts to drift off. She pats him with a wet wipe, fits a diaper, and he sleeps.
She uses the toilet, washes again, returns to the kitchen, and realizes she hasnt eaten. She opens the fridge, grabs a slice of smoked sausage, chews it while slicing a bit of bread, cheese, and more sausage. When her hunger eases, she feels a little guilty about the mess, waves her hand, climbs onto the bed beside her son, and falls asleep instantly.
Morning comes. She wakes a few times during the night to feed her son, who is eight months old and constantly hungry. She hears the owner stirring in the kitchen and, careful not to wake the baby, gets up. It cant go on forever, she whispers to herself.
Hes cooking at the stove. She washes quickly and slips into the kitchen.
Sit down! he says, gesturing to a chair. Ill make you some scrambled eggs.
No, you sit! she pushes him gently away from the hob.
She chops fresh dill, scatters it over the eggs, checks the glasses, washes them thoroughly, and brews a mug of coffee. He spends the whole time on the phone, ordering people around, arguing. Gwen feels he barely notices her. He eats, drinks his coffee, and gets up.
She tenses, waiting.
Listen, Gwen, Im heading to London for a week. Make sure you feed the cat, Socrates, and dont give him any cheap cat food! He wants fresh fish, fresh meat. Stay out of my study! In the other rooms you can do whatever you like.
A cry erupts from the bedroom. Gwen jumps from the chair, looks at him questioningly.
Go! he nods.
A few minutes later she returns with the baby in her arms. On the table lie several twentypound notes.
I think this will be enough for a week, he says, pointing at the cash. Im off.
He steps toward the door, but the little boy reaches out with tiny hands and babbles something like papa. It hits Nicks heart harder than he expected. He will never be a father.
Gwen, can I hold him? he asks, surprised by his own words.
Take him! she hands over the child, a smile flickering on her face. Never held a baby before?
Exactly like this!
The infant coos happily, waving his hands. Nick watches, enchanted. Ill never have a son, he thinks, his face darkening as he hands the child back to Gwen and walks out.
He walks back home, still reeling from the London celebritys warning that hell never have children. His mood is bleak: Why do I have all this money, a fourbedroom flat, a family car? A man should earn for his family. My flat is always a mess, and the car seats seven. He enters his own flat, which is spotless, and sees a womans apologetic smile.
Papa! the babys tiny hands flash before his eyes. His bag hits the floor, and his hands instinctively reach for the child
