Everything and Nothing (23 page)

‘I went home and I got on with it because there wasn’t any other choice. But it didn’t mean that the feelings went away. I used to take you to the park every day out of some stupid belief that babies had to have fresh air and I’d be pushing you up the hill and I’d feel like I was getting smaller and smaller so that in the end I’d fade away and there’d be no one there to push you.’

Ruth didn’t know how to respond, she felt she was on unfamiliar territory with her mother and she didn’t know how far she could let her in. Surely her mother hadn’t felt the same way she had, surely she couldn’t tell her mother that she was worried her bones were turning to jelly. ‘I didn’t know you ever felt like that.’

‘You’re not the first woman to find motherhood hard, Ruth. We all do, you know. But your generation have been fooled into thinking you can have it all, when that’s bollocks. We all have to make choices, you have to make choices.’

‘You mean choose between my children and my career?’

‘Not that literally. But you and Christian seem to think you can fit it all in, when you can’t. You could easily live on one of your salaries if you gave up certain things. My generation never went on holidays or had new cars or ate expensive food, that’s how we survived.’

Ruth knew there was a logic to this argument, but she couldn’t quite place it in her head. Now would probably be a good time to tell her mother her doubts about Aggie, maybe even what was going on with Christian, but she didn’t want to give her too much information. Instead she said something silly. ‘Some women have it all.’

‘Like who?’

‘I don’t know. Bloody Nigella Lawson.’

Her mother laughed. ‘Oh please, Ruth, are you joking? Don’t tell me you think her life is like her stupid TV series? And even if it was, who do you think is looking after her kids while she’s on the telly making those bloody cupcakes? It’s not real, you know, none of it is.’

‘I don’t know what you’re saying, Mum.’

‘I’m saying that you expect too much. You’ve always been the same and the world we live in certainly doesn’t help. Don’t get so sucked in by it all. Let go a bit. Take a second off and look around you, you might find something that makes you happy. And before you accuse me of being sexist, I’m talking about both you and Christian.’

Ruth sat back. Her skin felt tight on her face. ‘Are you worried about me, Mum?’

‘Not especially. But Dad and I do think you seem very tired and it’s as if you’re not having any fun. Life isn’t just to be got through, you know. It’s not an endurance test.’

Ruth felt as though she might cry and she didn’t want to. ‘Isn’t it?’

Her mother sounded urgent now. ‘No, Ruth, it’s not. Don’t be frightened about giving up on something if it isn’t working.’

‘Even if that includes my marriage?’ Ruth wished she hadn’t said it as soon as the words left her mouth.

But her mother sounded surprisingly sanguine. ‘Whatever it is, sweetheart. Just don’t be hasty in the decision. What seems to be the problem at first might easily turn out not to be. It hasn’t always been plain sailing for Dad and me, but we worked through it and I’m glad we did. I’m not saying that’s right for everyone, but I do think there’s a lot of giving up nowadays. Your generation replace everything, even when it’s not broken. You want something and you go out and buy it. It’s impossible for that not to have influenced how you see your relationships. We mended and made do and, I know it sounds silly, but there’s a comfort in that. Newness can sometimes be a bit scary, it certainly doesn’t feel familiar.’

‘Familiar sounds like a pair of slippers.’

‘I love my slippers.’

Ruth smiled at her mother. She had an answer for everything, but her mother had made her feel lighter, if that was the right word. ‘Come on, Mum. Let’s get that coffee before we drown in clichés.’

They didn’t get back until half past six. Half past six! Agatha had looked out of the window so many times she’d stopped seeing what was in the street. Everything out there was only an image of reality and until Hal reappeared it would remain that way. She’d picked up the phone countless times to call Ruth but hadn’t dared in case it made her angry. She couldn’t even be sure if she’d be called if there was an accident. Obviously they’d let her know in the end, but in the rush to get to hospital, a call to Agatha would be very low down on the list. It was one of the many reasons that they had to leave in the morning. She didn’t want to stay low down on the list.

Agatha had noticed that you get to a point in waiting where you stop believing that the thing you’re waiting for will ever happen. A watched kettle never boils, her mother used to say, but Agatha had always thought that to be a stupid saying because a kettle boiled whether you watched it or not. People, on the other hand, came and went and behaved in entirely unpredictable fashions however closely you watched them or however hard you tried to ignore them.

She hadn’t managed to sleep but the Nurofen or the pillow or maybe the lying down had worked because slowly her body had cooled down and the noise had quietened and she’d been able to get up. She’d boxed up the cooled biscuits and made the cake and sorted out and put away Betty’s toys. She’d even had a chance to make a final sweep of her room and get Hal’s stuff sorted and hide their bag in the airing cupboard outside the attic bedroom. Even the letter was written. It was perfectly neat. Now all it needed was Hal.

Agatha had been in the kitchen when she finally heard the key turn in the lock and Betty’s over-excited chattering wonderfully pulling them all through the front door. She went into the hall, unable to contain her desire to see the little boy who held her heart. He was nearly asleep in his buggy, his face dirty.

‘Guess what, Aggie, Hal ate a bit of chocolate ice cream,’ said Ruth.

Agatha kept her smile neutral. ‘Did he? That’s wonderful.’

‘He loved it,’ said Betty.

Agatha tried to read Ruth’s face, but she seemed caught up in the chaos of the situation. ‘Today ice cream, tomorrow vegetables,’ she was saying to her parents and they were laughing because they were stupid. Agatha was filled with hatred for them all.

‘Shall I give them a bath? They must be exhausted.’

‘Oh, would you, Aggie. It is his party tomorrow, after all,’ said Ruth.

Yes, you stupid woman, thought Agatha, so why did you take him out and get him over-excited the day before? She reached down to unstrap Hal and he smiled up at her. She lifted his tired body and it flopped into her, all his smells wafting up her nose. He laid his head on her shoulder and she felt her heart loosen and her breath flow easily for the first time since he’d gone out that afternoon. It was becoming increasingly obvious that they had an understanding, her and Hal, that they had been made for each other.

Ruth felt light-headed. She should have been feeling terrible, but somehow she felt exhilarated and she couldn’t work out why. Maybe it was Hal’s eating the ice cream, or how happy Betty had been to see her grandparents, or the very unusual conversation she’d had with her mother in the park. Or perhaps it was the message Christian had left for her that morning. She hadn’t listened to it until Betty had needed the loo in the restaurant and she’d checked her phone while she was waiting outside the cubicle and seen the message still flashing at her.

Ruth listened with a cavalier attitude, expecting some half-hearted apology along the ‘but it wasn’t me’ line which Christian so specialised in. But what he said was reassuringly surprising. She had to listen to it twice. He was sorry that he hadn’t understood what she’d been saying better, maybe they’d got it wrong? Even his voice sounded different, like he’d been muted. Was it conceivable that he’d finally got what life was about? Or at least life as she saw it. Which wasn’t necessarily right, but perhaps more right than his version.

Ruth had to turn and look into the mirror as she listened to her husband for the second time. She looked grey, but she had two spots of red high up on her cheeks. She ruffled her hair and tried to feel resolute. She had made up her mind about Christian and she almost didn’t want him to worm his way back in. There was, Ruth suspected, probably a strange satisfaction in doing it all yourself. In keeping everything neat and contained and having everyone look at you and wonder how you managed. In the end though Ruth supposed that you would probably have a nervous breakdown as too much self-sacrifice was never good for the soul.

Christian wasn’t home yet and Ruth found herself feeling excited to see him for the first time in years. She wanted to see whether the message had been an aberration or if her husband had fundamentally changed. But even if he had, she didn’t know if she could she trust it or be sure that he wouldn’t revert to his same brash self a year or two down the line.

Ruth went to the kitchen to start on supper after Aggie had taken the kids up and her parents were safely dispatched to chairs in the garden with large glasses of wine. She was a good cook but she hardly ever did it properly any more. She still knocked up pasta sauces and salad dressings, but they were easy. Since Aggie had arrived she had hardly even done that and cooking was a bit like childcare, you got out of the habit so easily. Now, as she chopped herbs and rubbed them into the salmon, she realised that she’d missed it. That all of these little routines and rituals were good for you, kept you grounded and sane, gave you a place in the world. A thought butted her mind like a bird at a window: were all the things that made life easier actually making it harder?

The door slammed and she turned to see Christian. He came through into the kitchen and he looked as deflated as he’d sounded on the phone. As if he’d lost weight since she’d seen him that morning, which of course wasn’t possible. He was pale and the bags under his eyes were dark and visible.

‘Hello,’ he said and as he spoke she knew what it was she was seeing; Christian was nervous, properly scared for maybe the first time in his life.

Ruth’s initial response was to make him feel better, but she checked herself. ‘Hi.’ Her excitement from earlier fluttered in her chest, but something which resembled embarrassment held back her words. If they had both realised something new today then did that make them different people?

‘Have you had a good day?’

Ruth tried to answer him, but her cheeks flushed and she turned away to stop him seeing.

‘I’ll just go up and say goodnight to the kids before I see your parents.’

Ruth let him leave the room and wondered what was going on.

Christian hadn’t had any idea what to expect as he made his way home. Ruth hadn’t called him back, which he guessed was nothing more than he deserved, but it still hurt. The realisation that his wife had probably stopped loving him made him feel as if he’d swallowed a rock. He had rehearsed some speeches on the way home but even as he was running through them in his head he knew he wouldn’t be able to say any of them. He was dreading sitting round a table with Ruth’s parents as if nothing was wrong. He supposed it would be worse if Ruth had told them, but he knew his wife well enough to know how unlikely that was.

Christian turned the door knob to his daughter’s room and saw that Betty was already asleep. She looked so pretty lying with such abandon in her bed it made him smile. He wanted to give her a kiss but he was worried it would wake her, so he shut the door again and looked in on Hal, who was also asleep. He went on into his bedroom to change.

It was undeniably odd, his life. What was it all for if you didn’t even get to see your children once a day? If the only complete time you ever spent with them was once a year on a fortnight’s holiday in some over-priced European country when you tried to re-introduce yourself to them.

As he exchanged one set of clothes for another he looked at the tree which stood majestically outside their home, fluttering constantly in the view from their bedroom window. It was one of many, positioned like soldiers down their road, guarding time. It was huge, probably hundreds of years old. Christian sat on the bed, his socks lamely still on his feet, his stomach folding over onto itself. The tree would be there for so much longer than he would, it would outlast even his children, maybe the house itself. For the first time he was aware of the others who had lived within these walls, the ghosts of all the past lives in his home. He felt as insubstantial as an evaporating puddle on the floor of a forest. He was falling and no one was there to catch him.

Eventually Christian went downstairs to greet his in-laws. Ruth was sitting outside with them and he could smell something lovely on the warmth of the air. Their greetings were effusive, she definitely hadn’t told them.

‘Sit down,’ said his father-in-law, ‘and let me pour you a glass of this rather fine red I brought.’

‘No thanks, George. I’m just going to have some juice.’ Ruth turned to look at him. ‘Juice?’ she repeated and he was pained by her surprise. ‘Are you ill?’

‘No, I don’t feel like drinking.’ That was another thing Christian had decided during the day, to cut down, maybe even stop drinking altogether. And to defi nitely stop smoking. He couldn’t explain his train of thought. He was pretty sure he didn’t have a problem with any substance, but he definitely used them to control himself in some way. Or maybe that was wrong, maybe he used them to allow himself to legitimately lose control, to negate responsibility. It resonated with what Ruth had said to him the previous night. It was potentially something else she was right about. He had yet to decide.

Supper would have been enjoyable if he hadn’t had an executioner’s noose hanging over him all night. Ruth looked incongruously relaxed and she drank more than her usual two glasses so that even her shoulders seemed to drop a bit. But she also looked undeniably tired and Christian was relieved when she announced she had to go to bed at ten, so releasing all of them. It took another twenty minutes to negotiate his life before he found himself lying next to his wife, who seemed to be already asleep. He lay on his back with his arms behind his head, desperate to say something, but not sure what that thing should be.

But Ruth spoke, with her back still turned to him. ‘That was an odd message you left me.’