April 3: Shopping and Spells

Father-to-be comes over. This is his idea. He has offered his services for shopping, which is a good step forward. Yes, come over I say. We can go and buy things for Bump and tick some jobs off. There's traffic on the M4. An Easter smash-up. He's late, arrives at 4pm.
Mothercare is - compared the one previous terrible time I dragged him there - decidedly more successful. He had a certain level of input. Tells me that red is a crap colour for a buggy and that I should buy a black one. I bought the red one. But I let him choose the colour of the car seat (he chose red that time). Let him buy them all, slapping them on Visa. And a base for the car seat so I don't have to bother with faff-tastic seat-belts.
My big sister is having dinner at her house in Bath. Dad is there, with his 'American daughter' (he dated a yank for a while, and grew close to her kids, who are now in their thirties too). So I decide to take FTB. This isn't a deliberate plan. Mainly, I would quite like to go to the dinner to see dad, who I've not seen for ages. And, I suppose part of me wants to introduce FTB to my sister and her husband - both of whom have never met him. Policy of inclusion, isn't that what the Big C called it?
My sister deserves a medal for niceness. She came to the door, said hello, gave FTB a big kiss, told him to come in, took his coat, poured him a glass of wine. Brother in law was uber-welcoming. The kids played with him - flicking elastic bands around the room in a very health-hazard have-your-eyes-out way.
It was all fine. FTB asked questions. People answered. They asked them back. No one said: 'So, FTB. Tell me, do your family really want to murder their own grandchild or has it all been blown out of proportion.'
At one point, we got onto which child in the family is the favourite. We all had different views. FTB said: 'The eldest child (himself) is always the mother's favourite.'
Dad - by now slightly merry - laughed and said: 'Not you anymore though, FTB. Sounds like you've been relegated.'
He didn't say much to that.
Later, we talked. I feel that we're getting back into a dangerous position. When he comes over and it's just the two of us, it's almost like we could be a couple again. I remember the good bits. So does he. There is no one to intervene. No outside world. Despite the 'cultural clashes' we get along when it is just us two. It's easy. But then, my brain clicks into reality and reminds me that this 'stolen time' is a fantasy land. A snatched moment. Soon, the whistle will blow and my time will be up.
He asks me what I want. I say that if perhaps we could try to make a go of it again, then we should. If not, then I want all the support I can get, for me and for Bump.
I say to him: 'Bump and I are going to Spain in August. I could invite you. We're going to Scotland for a week in October. I could invite you. Shall I invite you?'
But he says no.
He says he wants to be with me, with Bump, but the decision is out of his hands. He can't inflict the 'shame and stigma' upon his family. They have to be willing to take it, which they are not.
Such is the extent of the sister's particular venom, she has put her lawyer brain into action. When FTB tells me this, I'm shit-scared, thinking she wants to steal the baby or something. But no. Silly me. Quite the opposite. The family have quite a few businesses, properties and the such like to bring in money. Most of them are in FTB's name, being the eldest son. She is busy taking his name off all the papers so, presumably, if I go for maintenance through a legal channel, I won't be able to claim for them. Or if FTB dies randomly (through an honour killing?) Bump won't be entitled to any inheritance, if inheritance works that way... I don't know.
All I can do is laugh really when he tells me this. She's terrified of me. Terrified of Bump. Terrified of this wicked, evil world FTB has got embroiled in. But it doesn't make a load of sense. If I did want to claim for all that money on top of his salary too, well, I know all about them. I know which businesses are where, largely. FTB has promised to do his 'duty' by his child. Why would he deny him money? Not that money has been discussed as of yet so we shall have to wait and see if he sticks by his word.
The mother - superstitious as many Indians are, apparently - has also recently asked FTB for my date of birth. FTB, thankfully, refused to give it her. But he says she has been cheerful the last few days so he knows she is up to something. Has she found out? Has she put a curse on me? Has she put a hex over Bump's head? Has some soothsayer told her that her little secret will be kept forever?
FTB also says he wants to be there at the birth if possible. Be here for his two weeks' paternity leave - presumably disguised as a holiday so colleagues don't find out. His boss - who knows me and knows the situation and thinks FTB is a prick as far as I can gather - has offered him a month off to try and sort things out. I say: 'Come for a month.' But he recoils at the idea.
I'm exhausted. What is his plan? To be involved to a degree? To pick and choose the bits he wants? To watch his child be born, feel he's involved and supportive, feel he's done his bit, then bugger off back to India land? I don't know what to think. I'm momentarily lifted by his presence, by having him here, by having a hug, by talking to him, by having some sort of relationship back. Then I'm slammed back down to earth as he walks out of my door, starts up his car and heads north to the family. Just so upsetting. I'm upset to the core of my being. I couldn't be any more upset if I'd been physically assaulted. Never liked rollercoasters.