Out on a Limb (13 page)

We spen d a moment in silent contemplation of each other, because neither of us knows what to say. ‘Are they good?’ he ventures eventually, while the bangs and bumps resolve themselves into the unmistakeable sound – and then vision – of an amp being lugged down the stairs.

‘They’re very good,’ I tell him. ‘Hamish – sorry, Oliver – has a beautiful voice.’ Hamish, halfway down now, hears this, and blushes. ‘But you know that already, I guess.’

‘Not really,’ he says. He smiles at his son, and I’m beginning to get all choked up at the wonder that the sweet, polite boy who has been coming here just lately – has become my own son’s
friend
– is the actual, physical, flesh and blood child of the man who I’ve been so horribly infatuated with. It’s a strange and unsettling web of relationships, and a strange and unsettling feeling. A feeling I don’t know quite what to do with. The boys hit the hall and we move out of the way to let them out through the front door to put Hamish’s amp in Charlie’s car. He hands his son his car keys as he passes, then watches them both go down the front path. He is visibly proud and it makes me catch my breath. I’ve never seen him in his role as a father. ‘He’s very reticent about his singing at home,’ he says. ‘Doesn’t warble in the bath or anything.’

‘They’ve got their first gig planned, you know,’ I find myself saying without thinking. ‘Tom’s sister works at Club One. You know? In town? Actually, perhaps you don’t. But anyway, she arranged it. October, I think. They have these teen nights. They’re very excited.’ And then a thought pops into my head. ‘God, Charlie, how did we never talk about this?’

‘What?’

‘
This
. The fact that you have a son who sings. And plays the guitar – no, I lie, you did mention that once, I think – but, you know,
them
. Our children. Just the fact of who they are,
what
they are. You know?’

He shrugs. And it all suddenly seems like such a terrible shame. But it’s a shame with a point to it. A shame with a reason. Our lives were never,
could
never be, connected like that. We were just each other’s guilty secret, and so we didn’t want to dwell. Which thought makes me want to hug him even more. I wish he looked better. Looked happier. Looked more just, well,
okay
.

‘Well I never did! Mr Scott-Downing!’

My mother, with timing that could outdo an atomic clock, appears in the hall at this point. Actually, I’m rather glad of it. I’m beginning to feel terribly tearful. And if Charlie were to spot it, repercussions would ensue. Grave repercussions. Giving in and moaning kind of repercussions, most probably.
Que Sera
into his neck

‘Diana!’ He feigns a comparable look of wonder. ‘What a night for surprises this is turning out to be! How’s that knee doing? Still managing to keep it in one piece?’

She nods and she tinkles. ‘Gracious, doctor. Is this a house call?’ Then she tinkles some more. Because she’s never learned you really shouldn’t laugh at your own jokes.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ he says. ‘I’ve – we’ve – just found out that my son has joined your grandson’s band. How about that?’

Mum looks from him to me. ‘Well, what are the chances of
that
? How delightful!’

And she means it. She always did have a thing about doctors. The only man to break her heart (which apparently happened between husband number one and my father) was a Consultant Cardiologist. Cruel irony, that. And he didn’t even offer to fix it.

And, well, l ike mother like daughter, perhaps? Except it’s not my heart that’s broken. It’s his.

Jake comes back in now, while Hamish hovers on the doorstep. ‘All set, Dad,’ he says. Then he turns to me. ‘Thanks for having me,’ he says shyly. He’s so sweet.

‘Best be off, then,’ says Charlie. ‘Nice to see you again, Diana. And er…Abbie.’ He turns to Jake and holds out his hand. ‘And you too, mate.’ Jake shakes it self-consciously. And then they’re back off down the path.

Charlie turns to wave before getting into the driver’s seat. I wave back. So does Jake. ‘He’s pretty safe, isn’t he?’ he says.

‘Safe? That’s a new one,’ says Mum. ‘What does ‘safe’ mean?’

‘Cool. A good bloke. Okay. That sort of thing.’

Yes, he’s probably all those. But not safe. Not Charlie. Not to
be
around anyway. Not for me.

Chapter 13

H
URRAH, HURRAH
! A
TEXT
at last!

Yep ok u can open them. Txt me back l8r… Sxx

I don’t of course. I’m way too excited. Though I know he only sent the text to stop his mobile from warbling at him (and in fairness, he does sound as if he’s sitting at the bottom of a pond with caddis fly larvae up each nostril) I am way too euphoric for w8ing till l8r. I need 2 spk 2 him NOW.

‘Maths – A! – Yessss!!!! D.T. – A! – Yessss!!!! History – B – well, no worries, B is
fine
, darling,
fine
. General Studies – A! – A
again!!!
. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! Oh, darling, this is brilliant!’

Sebastian says , ‘bleurrgh.’

‘Oh, I am
so
proud of you, darling!’

Sebastian says, ‘bleurrgh.’

‘You see? I
knew
you could do it. I just knew!’

‘Bleurrrgh,’ says Sebastian again.

A few more bleurrrghs into the conversation and I am persuaded that though he is indeed thrilled with his A level results he has insufficient brain capacity to express very much more than bleurrrghs in response until such time that his hangover has receded sufficiently that he is capable of sentient thought.

‘I’ll ring you back later, then, shall I?’ I ask him. ‘But in the meantime, can I tell everyone else? Can I? And what about dad? Shall I call him as well for you? Oh, this is fantastic, Seb! Oh, I’m so
happy
!’

And I am, too. Three As and a B. Three As and a B! THREE As and a B! THREE As!!!!!!!!!

‘Actually, mainly, I’m just so relieved,’ I am telling Dee fifteen minutes later, after I’ve woken Jake up and told him, ditto Mum, ditto Spike, ditto the lady on the corner when I walked him, plus called Pru, Seb’s father in Marseilles, his nana in Dublin, my auntie Phyllis and my cousin Sarah. Plus advised the man who came to drop off a pack of council black bags. ‘Thrilled, yes, of
course
. But it’s mainly just
such
a relief. Funny isn’t it? You sometimes don’t realise just how much you’ve been fretting about something until the moment you don’t have to fret about it any more. Poof! All gone! It was like the first time I’d breathed out in months. Anyway, sorry to prattle. I’m just a bit hyper this morning. And you’re busy, of course, so I won’t keep you.’

‘No problems. I’m absolutely thrilled for you. Of course I am. Send him my congratulations too, won’t you?’

‘Anyway,
anyway
, enough of me, frankly. Much more to the point, how are YOU?’

I haven’t seen much of Dee since the vinegar debacle. Not even for badminton, because she’s been ill. ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she says brightly, so she’s obviously better. ‘I’m…er…actually, Abs, I’m glad you called. Are you doing anything later?’

‘God, you must have read my mind! I’ve got to take Mum’s wheelchair back to the hospital as it happens, and pick up some stuff, so I was thinking, as it’s such a lovely day, why don’t I scoop you up while I’m at it, and we can go off and have some lunch and a proper chat, yes? I promise I won’t drone at you.’

‘Don’t be daft. You can drone all you like. But I can’t do lunch because I have an appointment. At one. At the solicitors. To, well, get things moving, as it were. I was going to ring and ask you. Would you, you know, come with me and hold my hand?’

My God. So she’s actually going to do it then, is she? I’m shocked. I know there was lots of fighting talk last time I saw her. But I never actually thought she’d go through with it. Seems I thought wrong. ‘Oh, Dee, of
course
I will. God, I feel awful. Here am I prattling on about Seb, and you’ve got all this to deal with. I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be, Abs. Really. Nothing to be sorry about, believe me. Making that appointment was the best thing I’ve done in years.’

Except it’s not really. How can it be? That much I do know. I’ve done a divorce. The only thing, maybe, the right thing, admittedly, but the best thing. Noooo. It’s not that. It’s painful and dispiriting and tragic and sad. Still, at least there are no children involved.

Which is ironic. Had there been children, I think, perhaps she wouldn’t even be here. Perhaps Malcolm wouldn’t either. Who knows?

But what else can she do? She really couldn’t have tried harder. I resolve that no, I
won’t
drone. What she needs is a friend. Not a klaxon.

I’m actually quite shocked, therefore, when I find her in outpatients. She’s not only looking healthy, she’s positively glowing. Clearly the decision she’s made has been the making of her. In the short term at least, and for that we must be thankful. She shrugs on her jacket and picks up her bag.

‘You probably think I’m such a wuss,’ she says, not sounding it in the least. ‘But I just felt I needed a bit of moral support.’

Moral support is perhaps the last thing she needs. Support, yes, but no one could accuse Dee of ever trying to do anything but the right thing. The moral thing. Dee’s morals have always been architecturally sound. ‘You’ve got it,’ I say anyway. She squeezes my arm. She’s had her hair cut and straightened, and the look really suits her. And she’s wearing mascara, which is an uncommon occurrence. And a sure sign she’s not planning on doing any crying, because that’s why she generally doesn’t bother.

Once we’re in my car, she pulls an envelope from her handbag, and pops it in the tray above the glove compartment.

‘Card for Seb,’ she explains. ‘Though as soon as I went and got it, it occurred to me that he’s not here to open it, is he? Still, no matter, eh? Be something for when he gets back.’

‘You are
so
thoughtful,’ I tell her, touched by her kindness. ‘That’s really sweet of you. And I can get it to him. Not right away, obviously. But I’m sending stuff on to his Dad for him, so he’ll get it in October, at least.’

Seb ’s going to stay with his Father in Marseilles in October. He’s got him a work experience placement at his engineering firm, where he’s going to stay and work till early spring. Which feels like a very long time at the best of times, but a particularly long time today.

‘Of course,’ Dee answers. ‘I’d forgotten about that. There we are, then. All sorted.’ She turns towards me. ‘You must be missing him right now, eh?’ she adds.

I nod. ‘I am.’ I will continue to do so. And worse than that, and something that’s never far from my thoughts, is that Jake’s going there for Christmas, as well. Which will make this only the second Christmas I’ve not had them with me. Which will be strange. Just Spike and I. Oh, God. And most likely my mother as well, now. I wonder if I can go too?

I say so to Dee.

‘Or you could come and spend Christmas with me!’ she says. ‘That would be fun, wouldn’t it?’

B ut the words, so lightly spoken, hang heavy in the air space between us, and the weight of the ensuing silence brings me up short. I’m sure that, like me, she is contemplating her life becoming suddenly so very different to the way it has been up to now.

Which is scary. I’ve been here before. And exactly the sort of anxious ruminating about the future that is the last thing she needs to be doing right now. ‘I must say,’ I observe brightly, as we round the last bend on the approach to the car park. ‘You’re looking great. Absolutely great.’

‘Am I?’ she says, fiddling with the strap of the handbag in her lap. ‘Well, I thought I better make an effort.’

In contrast to her earlier jaunty tone, now we’re almost there, she’s become tense and preoccupied. As she would, I guess. It’s not the easiest of appointments to be showing up for. As with the dentist, the closer you get, the harder it is to keep calm. I reach over and squeeze her right hand. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

She exhales. ‘My stomach’s in knots about the whole thing, to be honest. It’s such a big step to take. I mean I know I’m doing the right thing, but even so, I can’t help but feel churned up about it all. Doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I mustn’t, I can’t help but worry about him, Abs. I mean, what’s going to happen to him now?’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘And I absolutely understand. But you have to move on. And so does he, for that matter. All the while you take responsibility for him, he’s not taking responsibility for himself. You know what the doctor said. And you’ve been so close to this so many times already. And not going through with it’s not got either of you anywhere, has it?’

She almost seems to squirm in her seat. ‘No,’ she says, and then I see her chin jut. ‘But this time I
am
going through with it. I
am
.’

‘Good for you,’ I reassure her. ‘And you know, this really is the worst bit. Once you’ve crossed this hurdle, you’ll feel so much stronger, believe me.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ she says.

‘I am.’

‘Because I’m sure going to need to be.’

‘And you will –’

‘Abs?’ she says suddenly, turning in her seat and looking straight at me.

I swivel my head round. ‘
What
? What is it?’

‘There’s something really important I have to tell you. I…’

‘What?’

She fiddles some more with her bag strap. ‘Abs…oh, dear… it’s, well… Abs, I’m pregnant.’

I’m so stunned I almost crash the car into the barrier. ‘You’re
pregnant
? Good God!’ And then I almost drop the ticket I’ve just pulled out of the machine too, because trying to assimilate this new news with this morning’s news and make any sense of the one in relation to the other is nigh on impossible. Being pregnant is all she’s ever wanted, all she’s longed for. The one thing that’s kept her going over years of unhappiness and Malcolm’s various infidelities. The one thing that’s kept her married to him, in fact. Hope. That if they had a child everything would be okay again. That’s about the size of it. Just sheer hope.

And now she
is
pregnant and she’s about to divorce him. God, could there ever be a worse time to find out something like this? What on earth is she going to do now?

‘How pregnant?’ I ask her.

‘Eleven weeks.’

No wonder she’s been ill. And sick. Of
course
. Eleven weeks pregnant! ‘God, Dee. Have I lost the thread here? I thought you and he were no longer…well. But, look, I mean, we’re going to the solicitors, right?’

H er hands are still in her lap. She’s looking straight ahead, impassive, but even out of the corner of my eye I can see – no, more kind of sense – something odd in her expression. ‘Right.’

‘To see about a divorce, right?’

Still she’s motionless. ‘Right.’

‘But what about the baby, Dee? I mean, are you
sure
about this? And what’s Malcolm said about it? Does he know where you’re off to today?’

‘No.’

‘But he knows about the baby, right?’

‘Wrong.’

I pull into a space then kill the engine and twist around to look at her properly. ‘You haven’t
told
him?’ She shakes her head. But
why
hasn’t she told him? Then I have a horrible thought. ‘Dee, you’re not planning to…you know…’

She’s one step ahead of me. ‘Have an abortion? God, no!’

‘So why haven’t you told Malcolm? It’s not like he’s not going to find out before long, and –’

She takes a long slow breath before answering. ‘I haven’t told him about it for a very good reason. Abs, I haven’t told him because it isn’t
his
.’

I remove the key from the ignition and gawp at her. ‘You’re kidding!’ Then I shake my head. No, that’s stupid. Of
course
she’s not kidding. Who’d kid about something like that? ‘God, Dee,’ I say. ‘Whose is it, then?’

It occurs to me then that it needn’t be anyone’s. Well, it must be someone’s, obviously, but is this a real person or a virtual one? Has she been down to a sperm bank? Gone off and had IVF? What? Or just paid someone to… My brain whirrs. The problem was Malcolm’s, after all. Not hers. They had every kind of test. In the early days they did, anyway. In the last couple of years it’s been academic anyway. She and he haven’t even been sleeping in the same bedroom… So what
has
she done? It’s all too much to take in. But she’s smiling now and shaking her head. Reading my thoughts. ‘He’s not someone you know.’

I can tell by her voice anyway; there is clearly very much a ‘him’ in this equation. And if that’s so, how did I not know about it? How didn’t I
guess
? It’s suddenly so blindingly
obvious
. The face I see is animated in ways I haven’t seen it move in for years. As if she’s got muscles in it she’s only just discovered. Cat who’s got the cream ones. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I say, because I really don’t.

Much of the tension has drained from her now, and I realise it wasn’t about seeing the solicitor. It was mostly about telling me her news. ‘I’m so sorry I haven’t told you before,’ she says earnestly, as if not having told me is her greatest crime in all this. As if I have any right to know.

‘Dee, you don’t have to –’

‘It’s just, well,
you
know, don’t you? What it’s like, and all that. I’ve felt so
awful
about it. So guilty. So grubby. So
bad
. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but somehow I’ve never seemed to be able to –’

I’m about to point out that it was Malcolm and not her who broke their marriage vows first, when a sudden chilling thought occurs to me. ‘God, Dee. He’s not married, is he? Please, please,
please
don’t tell me he’s married.’

She smiles again. Shakes her head. ‘He’s not married.’

‘Are you absolutely sure?’

‘He’s not married. He’s been divorced for five years. He’s thirty-eight. He has a daughter of ten who lives in Swansea with her mother.’

‘But where did you meet him? At work?’

‘No. At Al-anon, actually. Crazy, isn’t it? That I should meet him there, of all places.’

‘But you said he –’

She shakes her head again. ‘His brother. He goes with his sister-in-law. You know, to support her.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘And, well… we got talking, and…well, here we are.’

‘How long have you been seeing him?’

‘Oh, off and on, about…well, about five months all told.’

Five whole months. And she’s slept with him, too. And I never even twigged. Mind you, I have been somewhat preoccupied, I suppose. ‘And it’s serious?’