When Freud saw his son come into this world his heart melted and ached and opened like a boiled mussel. A great sense of transition overcame him, as he shifted into the second half of his life. He had lived only for himself, oh and of course for Marianne, but she didn’t look up to him like Joseph would. Little Joseph was but a screaming mole rat. Freud felt dizzy, watching from above as a third person, seeing too, himself, the doctor - as if from God’s perspective. Turning to the door he shuffled out of the room in a flash, his vision still trailing behind, still as God’s vision, though descending slowly into himself. His legs wobbled as he sat down.

“Freud”, the doctor smiled and put his hand on Freud’s shoulder. “Congratulations”. He too must have been a father. His eyes searched Freud’s and there was an understanding in the doctor’s eyes that consoled Freud and so gave him the strength to return to his wife.

Marianne looked up at Freud with a beaming smile; a mother at last. They had been trying to get pregnant for many years. They were always furious at each other, not really blaming each other, but rather taking out on each other the frustrations of furious love. It was a passionate marriage, far from an old bickering couple. Would it deteriorate after Joseph was born? He knew stories of wives who had become obsessed with their newborn. Forgetting their husband, their love was concentrated solely on the baby. Life from now on was built around the baby. Five years of nappies and bed-time stories. His was a dubious feeling. Was it excitement or fear?

When Marianne was settled back at home things developed as so. His wife no longer was interested in him. Freud would hear her call ‘Freud?’ and he would hope to God that it was one of her strange questions he had liked so much. Ah who was he kidding? ‘Will you put the milk in the microwave, Joseph needs feeding’. Of course he wouldn’t complain. He wouldn’t dare. He would not even let on when she would ask ‘are you sure you’re okay?’ Once she had asked him this and he was almost going to confess all his troubles when she interrupted ‘Shit, he’s crying!’ dashing for his crib. And so it went like this, the weeks multiplying into months, tumbling over and approaching one year, and Freud grew sullen and quiet. Freud grew deeply depressed.

‘Freud Christmas is approaching and my parents are coming for lunch. I only beg you to put on a smile. At least look as if you’re enjoying yourself. Anyone would think you had post-natal depression’ and she burst into a laughter that absolutely disgusted Freud. He continued to go about the house, carrying out jobs for Marianne. Since the baby came along his boss had told him to work from home. ‘Help the wife, I know how it is’ he had said, as he rearranged Freud’s dear office, putting things in boxes.

Sometimes Freud wished Joseph had not come into this world. He looked down at him one night when he was changing his nappy. ‘You little brute you’ve taken her from me’ he whispered. He felt awful for saying it. He wasn’t a religious man, but he needed to confess, he needed to let it out, but to whom? All Marianne did was laugh at him. A mother makes for a nasty wife. Maybe she would go back to her usual self. Maybe they would go back to their usual selves, when Joseph was older, surely?

Freud went to the bathroom one morning and stared at his reflection in the mirror. How had Marianne not noticed his suffering? Freud was balding, and his eyes were red and yellow. There were permanent bruises for bags under his eyes. He thought back to when he was eighteen. He had broken up with a girl. She was not just any girl. His heart had throbbed like hot coals. He had realised he wanted her more than anything when he couldn’t have her. Such a terrible trick for nature to play in relationships, taking the other for granted. It was this carelessness in taking things for granted that made him lose her. After those years of his life he was sure there would never again be anything quite of that sort, that groping sadness. This feeling inside him truly exceeded it. The doorbell rang and he wished it were his own parents and not hers. Tucking in his shirt and heeding her call, he opened the door.

“Freud dear”. Marianne’s mother flung her arms about his neck, kissing him with lipstick still wet.

“Bill” he said to her father, shaking his hand.

“Where are your lovely paintings?” she asked. “What about the Picasso we gave you? I’ll have you know it could be an original” They spilled into the living room where the sun lit the room so thoroughly that in summer Marianne would shift the paintings from its dulling ability to fade all things.

“Marianne shifts things all the time. She claims the sun will damage them.”

“Nonsense” said Bill shaking his head seriously, and bowing to conceal his trembling jowls. “In fact the paint is really quite resilient to the heat.” He launched into a description of the fine chemicals that were added to the pot, helping to create the resilience of the paint, explaining to Freud, without noticing his disinterest, that the paint was of a certain material. Freud allowed this time to observe the garden out the window, noting how messy it had grown. Marianne’s mother had seen his distraction and spun around to where he was looking.

“Oh! The lawn’s a mess. You should be out there Freud. Now that you work from home you have time to do these things,” and she raised her eyebrows to receive his reply.

“I may work from home but I still work as hard.”

Her eyes turned to marbles. She spun towards the doorway where Marianne stood with the baby. “Ooh here he is.” Freud was relieved to see that it brought joy to his mother-in-law. Marianne’s father stood back, smiling but keeping his distance.

“Do you wanna hold him Dad?”

“Oh no, really it’s fine. I am happy to watch.”

“Come on Bill you used to be quite able and willing with Marianne when she was little” said Judy.

“Oh but really it’s fine.” Judy was already passing the baby onto Bill as he stumbled on his words, full of overly polite and gentle protestations. Becoming panicky that Judy would let go, he embraced it awkwardly. Freud saw a look in his eyes. The man was remembering his days he fathered a baby. His shoulders lowered from his ears and the corners of his taut mouth eased closer together almost to the shape of a kiss. And then his mouth expanded into a full smile as if a distant memory passed over him.

“See! He’s loving it” said Judy. Marianne was prattling on to her mother as she always did. Freud’s anguish was almost gone when he saw Bill with the baby. He wanted to hold the baby, but he daren’t disturb Bill’s reverie. The spell was broken by a knock at the door.

“Ah Freud will you get it?” said Marianne.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked his mother upon opening the door. She was struggling to form her words. “Ah Freud” she said, smiling sadly, “he’s left me.”

“What?”

“Yes. He had had enough. We were fighting a lot these past few months. I didn’t want to tell you.”

The noise in the other room fell silent. She wiped her eyes and let out a deep-winded sigh.

“We’ll talk about it later. I saw it coming you know” she whispered. “And where is my little grandson?” She went into the lounge to greet the others. There was a change in the face of Bill, a fresh vitality in his eyes.

“Lovely to see you Sheryl” said Judy.

“Yes, how have you been Judy? And Bill?”

“Marvellous” Bill boomed.

“And here is the little one” she said, tiptoeing towards the baby. He lay cradled in Bill’s arms. They all leaned in to look.

Freud kept staring at his son. With an overpowering urge he took him from Bill’s arms. “Oh deary me look what you’ve done” said Marianne, as Joseph started to cry. He was determined to reach that calm that Bill had with the baby. He walked around the dining table and into the bedroom. He sat on the bed and jiggled Joseph. The baby had reduced to snuffling. Freud watched Marianne through the bedroom doorway. Her cheeks were enflamed with patches of red. Her eyes were trembling with a new spirit that he hadn’t seen in her before she was a mother. Bill rubbed his wife’s back. Freud’s poor mother made an effort to appear interested and curious at the conversation that passed around the group, nodding eagerly with forced laughter. Bill exchanged words with Marianne and they went away to the kitchen. Judy and his mother were left to make small chat. He saw his mother’s face clouded in a melancholy air. She still wore her wedding ring, but something told him it was nothing but a scrap of hope. She wasn’t likely to fight for her husband’s return. Hers was a nature that stirred in people a pity that is felt upon seeing a fat person eating, expressionless and unhappy.

The baby lay in his arms glancing curiously around the room. He smiled. For the first time Freud felt something for the boy clam up inside him. He suddenly saw his mother’s eyes in the baby, and the line going down his nose was like Marianne’s. A duty was instilled in him. To Freud he was no longer the baby, he was no longer an ‘it’. Freud’s anguish, though it was deep and long, changed utterly to a different pain. ‘Joseph, my son’ he said.