How to Be a Good Wife (21 page)

I can’t believe he is going to leave me in here.

‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ he says. ‘When I couldn’t sleep last night, I looked up the name you mentioned on the Internet, to see if I could find anything out.’

‘Oh, Kylan,’ I say. ‘What did you find? If we can prove it, I can get out of here . . .’

He puts his hand over mine. ‘I couldn’t find anything, Mum,’ he says.

I feel my mouth fall open. ‘Where did you look?’

‘I searched the Internet for the name, and nothing relevant came up.’

‘Did you call the police?’ I say. ‘The police must have records of it.’

‘No,’ Kylan says. ‘If it were true, there would be something on the Internet about it.’

‘Maybe you were looking in the wrong places,’ I say. ‘We need to ask the police.’

‘Mum,’ Kylan says, his voice raw, ‘you need to stop this now. I looked, and I couldn’t find anything. I think you need to accept it.’

I stare at him: his red eyes, and messy hair, and grey skin. I have done this to him, I think. But I know he would have found something if he looked hard enough, if he spelt the name correctly.

Then I think that maybe he doesn’t want to, maybe he didn’t even look. If he did, he would have to admit that his father did those terrible things. Hector, who, despite everything, has been a good father. He would have to report him, or help me to. And then Hector would go to jail, and Kylan would be visiting him instead of me, locked in a room worse than this.

If I push this, I will ruin Kylan’s life, and I don’t want to do that. I would rather stay here for ever than make him unhappy.

I swallow, and nod my head.

Kylan squeezes my hand. ‘I know it can’t be easy,’ he says, ‘and we’re going to get you all the help you need. It would just be a lot easier if you stop fighting us on it.’ He pauses. ‘I’ll speak to the doctor and see if we can’t get you moved from here.’

He gets up then.

‘Will you come back soon?’ I ask him as he reaches the door.

‘I’ll be back at the weekend. Look after yourself, Mum.’

‘Kylan,’ I say when he is at the door, ‘can you ask them again if I can have a clock? They’ve taken my watch away.’

He looks so sad. I feel something shift in my chest.

When he is gone, the tears rise up in my eyes. And I know then what I need to do.

The light flashes brightly into the room, and I open my eyes. Laura is at the window, pulling back the thick blue curtains so I can see the garden. She turns and smiles at me.

‘Today’s the day,’ she says.

I sit up in the big comfortable bed with its blue sheets and solid white headboard. There is a picture of Kylan and me on the bedside table, beside a lamp with an ugly flowered lampshade.

All the rooms are like this: homely, so it seems like we are safe.

There’s a large alarm clock which glows all through the night. I’m not allowed to set the alarm for fear of disturbing the other residents. It reads 9:00: the time they always wake us.

Laura comes over with a tray and rests it on my knees. I’m glad I don’t have to iron her crisp white uniform.

Cereal with milk: something I chose myself. They tell us we have lots of choices. Toast, cereal, eggs at the weekends. I had never had breakfast in bed before I came here, and now I have it every day.

There are two bowls on the tray, and Laura slides one off onto her own knee.

‘You’re eating with me?’ I ask.

‘I told you we would do everything together today.’

We eat in silence, and when we are finished, Laura clears our bowls away.

‘I’ll leave you to get ready,’ she says. ‘We need to be out by eleven.’

‘I’ll meet you in the lobby,’ I say.

I get out of bed and go over to the window. Outside, the lawn stretches over a little hill and towards the lake. There are trees around the edges, weeping willows, their branches trembling along the surface of the water. Everything is bright and green; the sun is shining. It is spring now.

In the bathroom, my navy suit is hanging on the back of the door. After my shower, I dry myself and pull it on. I sit at the dressing table, covered with the framed pictures of Kylan. They asked me if I wanted anything brought here from the old house, and I made a list. These photographs from the hallway, my remaining clothes, and my book:
How To Be a Good Wife.
These are the only things in the room that are really mine. Sometimes, I imagine that this is my room, but it isn’t really. I know it could be taken away if the fees stop being paid. I don’t have any of my own money to keep paying them, and sometimes I wonder how long it will last.

I take out the hairdryer. The warmth is pleasant, and I shut my eyes. When I open them, I see my mother behind me in the mirror. Gently, she pulls my hair back and dries it. Her fingers are deft and gentle on my scalp, reminding me of long car journeys as a child when she would play with my hair until I fell asleep.

This is what it’s like now. They come and they go, without warning. I hold on to them while they are here but it becomes harder and harder to let them go.

And there are the bad moments too, the black flashes that come so forcefully and vividly, it is as if I am there again. I don’t see the girl any more: it is me that is trapped in that room, with my aching body and empty stomach. Sometimes, I wake up screaming: I hate to make the nurses come running. The flashes mostly come at night, or from something unexpected: the smell of a cleaning product, or the creaking of a bed spring. I am learning what to avoid. Hector is always there: even when I cannot see him.

At 10:55, before I leave the room, I pick up the present from the table by the door. I wrapped it myself, in the paper they gave me when I asked. It is brown and plain, not what I would have chosen, but it is better than nothing.

In the lobby, Laura is waiting for me. She has changed out of her uniform into a pretty pink dress. I have never seen her dark hair down before: out of her regulation bun, it reaches her shoulders.

‘You look lovely, Elise,’ she says.

I smile. ‘So do you.’

‘Well,’ she says. ‘Are you ready?’

I walk towards the open front door, into the square of sunlight.

*

There is a black car waiting for us. It’s different to the vehicle I arrived here in, and I wonder if it is one of the staff’s, or if they hired it specially. Everything has been carefully planned for today so that it runs smoothly. It is rare, they told me, for us to be allowed out, but they can make exceptions, on special occasions.

We drive out along the gravel path, through an avenue of tall green trees, their silver bark catching the light. When I arrived, it was hard to see out of the small windows of the van. I remember the heavy fear, my hands gripping the shiny faux-leather seat, but when I stepped out and saw the building, I was surprised. It was an old stone house, with faded blue paintwork and white shutters. There were lots of big, wide windows, and a grand stone porch, surrounded by decorative columns. It looked out over a small lake, with open fields beyond.

I had imagined somewhere small with artificial light, like the room I had been put in at the facility. I suppose I am lucky, that I am being taken care of.

The drive is long. I look out of the window at the sunlight dappling the fields. When I feel nervous, I look over at Laura, and feel better. I have told her about Hector. I’m not sure whether she believed me or not, but she kept her face so flat and calm, nodding in all the right places so that it didn’t seem to matter. She and the other doctors listen to me when I talk. They call me by my real name. In the beginning, they tried to show me how to control the memories, how to stop them, but I made it clear that I wanted to remember. It is all I live for now. I take the good with the bad.

There is a light airy library in the house where I like to sit. The room has huge windows overlooking the lake, and patio doors that they open in the mornings now that it is warmer, so that we can go outside when we feel like it. It’s nice, to watch the ducks gliding on the surface, to feel the sun on my face, but there are limits, just as in there were in the valley. I must not leave the grounds, or go into the woodland beyond the lake.

I sit by the window and remember. There is nothing to do now, nothing to distract me, but I am glad: I want the memories now. Sometimes they are the same as ones I have had before, and sometimes they are new, or slightly different. Each time, they are so vibrant and bright that I don’t want to come back from the past. I want to stay there, with those people, but I know that isn’t possible.

I haven’t made many friends, but I suppose I am out of practice. Sometimes I smile at the other residents, and they smile back. I suppose I have Laura, though I know it is her job to be nice to me.

Kylan comes to see me once a week. After our conversation in the facility, I don’t try to explain any more, about what happened. I tell him what I have had for breakfast, about craft classes and group-therapy sessions: my daily routine. I listen to him talk about the wedding, the house they are thinking of buying. He never mentions his father, unless I ask him. Sometimes, when he goes home, my face aches from smiling.

I watch the fields and forests fly past the window. I must have slept for a while, because soon, Laura is tapping me on my shoulder, and telling me we are here.

*

By the church clock, it is 12:25 when we arrive. As I pull myself out of the car, I am startled by the number of people in the churchyard. They seem crammed onto the flagstones, a mass of writhing colour. I feel the faces turn to look at me, and I long to slip back into the car and let it drive me away. Then I feel Laura’s hand on my arm: the car door shutting behind me.

I see Kylan, standing on the pavement before the church gates, looking for someone. Just as I am wondering who, he turns and sees me and starts walking towards us.

‘You’re here,’ he says, pulling me into a hug.

‘We just arrived,’ I say.

‘You look lovely, Mum,’ he says.

I smile. ‘So do you,’ I say, looking at his stiff morning suit.

‘I’m a bit uncomfortable,’ he says. ‘I didn’t think it would be this warm in April.’

The old crease deepens between his eyes, and I realize he is nervous. ‘It’s going to be wonderful,’ I say.

He squeezes my arm. ‘I hope so,’ he says. ‘I’ll show you to your seat.’

He leads me through the churchyard towards the door, and people move apart to let us through. I look for the familiar thinning brown hair, the walking stick, but he is nowhere to be seen.

As Kylan leads me through the entrance of the church, my eyes adjust to the dimness, and for a moment, I can’t make out anything inside. I feel myself grip his arm.

‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ Kylan says. ‘Dad isn’t here yet.’

I breathe out. Laura is right behind me. I wonder if they planned for Hector to arrive later: how much additional stress this must have caused. I see how hard it will be for Kylan, to juggle us for the rest of his life. I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to worry: I am determined to stay calm, not to ruin the day.

Kylan leads me to the front of the church, to a sign marked ‘Reserved’ in the front pew.

‘Best seats in the house,’ Laura says, and Kylan smiles at her.

‘You should be able to see everything from here,’ he says.

‘Thanks, Kylan,’ I say. ‘This is perfect.’

‘Dad will be on the other side,’ he says. ‘I hope that’s all right.’

‘We’ll be great here, won’t we, Elise?’ Laura says.

Kylan balks at the name, and Laura blushes.

‘I’m fine, Kylan,’ I say. ‘Honestly. Go and enjoy your day. And stop worrying about me.’

Kylan looks at me, and I pull him into a hug. ‘You look so good,’ I whisper.

As I let him go, I see him smile, and for a moment, he is a little boy again, nervous about running the hundred-metres race at the school sports day. He walks down the aisle and back towards the entrance of the church, stopping to talk to some people along the way. I see him shake hands with an old school friend, laughing at something the man says, and I realize how proud I am of him.

‘He’s a lovely man,’ Laura says.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘You’ve done a good job with him,’ she says, and I smile.

*

It is warm in the church: people fan themselves with their orders of service, and there’s a buzz of chatter in the air. I keep an eye out: every time I turn around, I am momentarily disorientated by the menagerie of bright hats and dresses.

When the church is almost full, I turn my head and see Hector and his mother walking down the aisle, arm in arm. Hector is without his stick, but he is still a little stooped, and I am struck by how small he looks. Kylan told me that Matilda has moved back into the house with him, to take her old job back, I suppose. She must be happy about that. I take hold of Laura’s hand.

‘Is that him?’ she whispers, and I nod.

A few minutes pass before I risk another glance at him. He is sitting across the wide aisle, boxed into the pew by his mother and a group of people I don’t know. As I turn my head, I see that he is staring at me, a still, flat look on his face that makes me tremble. He doesn’t look angry, or sad. There is a blankness that I find more disconcerting.

Hector looks away, towards the front of the church, and as I follow his gaze I see that Kylan is entering from the side chapel with his best man. They take their places at the altar rail, and Kylan shakes his friend’s hand. He rocks backward on his heels, glancing behind him.

Just then, the organ starts up, and everyone turns to the back of the church. I see a white shadow in the doorway, lit up by the sunshine outside. Slowly, arm in arm with a sturdy grey-haired man, she walks forward. The wedding march begins.
Step left, step together, step right.
A gauzy veil covers her face, and for a moment, the man at her side falls away, and it is me again, walking down the aisle towards Hector. I want to reach out for her, to tell her to get out of the church and run as fast as she can, but as I look down at Laura’s hand over mine, I know I am too late for that. It is Katya, underneath that veil, and even through the material, I can see she is smiling.