TEN CHAPTERS

CHAPTER ONE

I push the door open and it swings gently on oiled hinges. The eggshell paint is still looking fresh and the ‘Oliver’s Room’ hand painted sign is pinned to the top panel. The carpet is soft and warm under my naked feet. It’s dark in the room as the curtains are closed to allow Oliver to sleep in the sunny afternoon. I enter quietly into the nursery carrying Oliver’s bottle of milk, walking towards the window that looks out over the flower bed, I slowly open the curtains and pull the blackout blind.

On tip toes I walk up to the side of his cot. I notice again he has fidgeted during his sleep so that his toes are hanging over the ill fitting mattress. His tiny toes. Tomorrow is Oliver’s first birthday. Nothing plastic. That is what we have told his few friends who will be joining us tomorrow, bringing presents, nothing plastic. At this age we chose Oliver’s friends for him. Cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents and neighbours will all share the cake that holds one candle.

As for now, Oliver sleeps soundly, his hands out stretched in either direction, a faint silent smile on his small round face. I kneel by his bed and look down at my son. The mattress was a gift whilst Sarah was in hospital, from her sister, and the cot was my brothers, used as a first bed for his three children. I decorated the room the same week as Sarah went into hospital. We knew our little baby was going to be a boy. We are both old now, we wanted to know, we know this will be our only child. But it didn’t matter. Oliver was going to be Olivia if he was born a she.

The amateurish dinosaur transfers on the wall above the cot have already begun to peel, one year on. The colour on the wall is fading, the shelves holding the countless cuddly toys are still holding. The only thing in the room that looks as if I did it yesterday. The price of the furnishings starts to show. I look up to notice one transfer has come away completely, Sarah must have taken it from the cot, the final resting place for our amateurish diplodocus.

I reach down to gently rub Oliver’s belly. The zip on the bright orange one piece he is wearing is broken. It closes just over half way so that I can get my hand in to rub Oliver’s chest without opening the zip. I stay kneeled down and continue to stare, to rub his belly, gently. The smile on his face grows and his mouth opens a little, I can see his gums. I continue to rub him and gently rock him forward and back, his mouth opens more and I can see his eyes smiling, trying to open, but not ready to surrender the sleep that has them locked in a dream.

The room was painted pale blue, colours left over from my oldest brother’s refit of his 4 bedroom house. His winding stairwell and hallway were painted in eggshell pale blue, allowing the light from the recently added skylight to bounce around the walls.

The coat is thin on the walls in Oliver’s nursery. I had to water the paint down to make sure I had enough to complete the job. The room is the largest in the house. The back bedroom, along a corridor that has no natural light, a large room that could happily house two, or three children. Oliver is the only one we will be having. Sarah was perhaps too old to have this one.

Oliver lets out a little gurgle laugh as I rub his belly one more time. He is awake now, smiling with his mouth and eyes. I reach for his left hand but hold my arm just above his chest. He reaches for my hand but I pull it away quickly. He smiles at this and throws his feet in the air in delight. I repeat the action and again he smiles and, clasping his hands together, he sucks the back of his left hand. I do it a third time and let him grab hold of my arm. This doesn’t gain as much attention as not capturing my arm so Oliver’s interest wanes. He looks over his head at the end of the bed. His favourite teddy bear is sat at that end and I reach for it. Placing it on the rail of the cot I make the teddy bear dance, holding onto the arms and swaying it this way and back again to the tune of a lullaby that Sarah sings to Oliver when he goes to bed. This makes him clasp his hands once more and suck the back of his left hand. I place the teddy on Oliver’s belly and continue the dance as he reaches for it and holds it tight.

I stand up and reach down into the borrowed cot. I pick up both Oliver and Teddy, holding them tight and rocking them gently. I had put the bottle of milk on the floor, I bend down with both Oliver and teddy and make a whirling noise as I do it to make it into a game for Oliver who turns one tomorrow. I notice he is smiling at this so I do it again, making the same noise, as I come up this second time I bang my head on the cot. Oliver thinks this is part of the game and smiles his gurgle laugh. I bite my tongue and try to smile back at my son, who is almost one year old.

With baby, teddy and milk bottle I leave the room and make my way to where Sarah is preparing the birthday cake in the kitchen. As I close the bedroom door softly with my foot, unknown to anyone, I scrape the paint from the door edge and the flakes land gently on the soft carpet.