Free Turning Forty by Mike Gayle

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    Life would’ve been so different if everything had gone to plan. Maybe Lauren would be pregnant and looking forward to the autumn birth of our first child. How weird would that have been, to have a gorgeous little boy or girl? And how different would my life have ended up? Everyone says how hard it is saying goodbye to the child-free life but no one ever mentions how tough it is to say goodbye to the things you never had.
    Looking around Yvonne and Oliver’s house filled with photos of their life together hung on every wall of their home; listening to them tell stories of family holidays they had taken and hearing their plans for the future; watching the kids crawling in and out of their laps, asking for and on occasions demanding their attention and seeing the looks of love and frustration in their eyes as they gave in to their constant requests was like seeing family life incarnate. The sum total of two lives combined in order to make something new. Even my parents, who aren’t exactly the greatest social observers, felt it; I could see it in their eyes. There was a joy there, a real sense of pleasure at seeing my sister’s family in action in the present, while simultaneously recalling those cherished moments from their own family life. Over lunch I lost count of how many times something my nieces or nephews said or did reminded my parents of a story from our shared past back in the days when they themselves were parents of young children. And I could see that whenever they looked at me their eyes were filled not with disappointment – my parents’ appetite for grandkids had been more than sated by my siblings’ kids – but rather sadness that I was missing out on something that they felt should have been mine by rights.
     
    After a late lunch, Yvonne suggests that we go for a walk, so all of us apart from my mum, who wants to stay with Evie, put on our coats and head out to the fields behind the house. The boys look like miniature Michelin men in their overstuffed shiny winter jackets and they grab the biggest sticks they can find and begin battling each other so that Oliver and Yvonne constantly have to monitor them to ensure they don’t poke out each other’s eyes. Dad and I are left to our own devices and for the most part we walk in silence and take in the scenery. As we come to a stile my dad stops and looks out across the field.
    ‘It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?’
    ‘Stunning,’ I reply. ‘Yvonne and Oliver have done well getting a place like this.’
    ‘They’ve worked hard enough to make it happen. Yvonne was telling me there are some nights Oliver doesn’t get home until gone ten.’ He stops and points to a huge black bird sitting in a tree in the middle of the field. ‘Is that a rook or a crow?’
    ‘I’ve got no idea, Dad. Biology was never one of my strong suits.’
    He nods but I know he’s not listening. ‘I reckon it’s a rook.’
    ‘What’s the difference between a rook and a crow anyway? They look pretty similar to me.’
    Dad just shrugs. ‘Your mum wants me to check in with you, you know, make sure you’re all right and all that,’ he says.
    ‘I’m fine, Dad.’
    ‘She’s worried about you.’
    ‘I know and there’s no need.’
    ‘That’s what I said. I told her you’re a grown man and you’ve got to find your own way.’
    ‘And what did she say to that?’
    ‘You know your mother. When she’s got a bee in her bonnet she doesn’t listen to any opinion but her own. Can I tell her that you’re OK?’
    ‘It’d be more fun if you didn’t.’
    ‘True, but she’s a worrier, your mother. Always has been, always will be. Nothing’s going to change that. So shall I tell her you’ve got a plan?’
    ‘A plan?’
    ‘To sort yourself out.’
    For the first time in this conversation I realise that he isn’t articulating Mum’s worries, but his own. My mum would never ask if I had a plan when she’d be far happier to give me the benefit of her own.