Something in Common (34 page)
‘We just arrived,’ he said. ‘I was hoping for a word. I thought you’d be here.’
He wanted to see the children more than once a week; he wanted more than one overnight visit a fortnight. She’d been dreading it but she’d assumed it would come. He was their father. He had every right, even if he’d smashed their mother’s heart in pieces.
‘You could have said whatever it was on the phone,’ she told him, hearing how brittle her voice sounded. ‘You didn’t have to come in person.’
‘Five minutes,’ he said, getting to his feet and depositing Stephen on his vacated chair. ‘That’s all, honestly.’
She couldn’t very well refuse, with the children in the room, with Martha, no doubt, taking it all in. She got Stephen’s tub of Lego from a press and placed it on the table in front of him. She filled two plastic beakers with juice, then peeled and sliced an apple and divided it between two plates.
‘I’m just going to talk to Daddy for a minute,’ she told them, crossing to the back door. ‘I’ll be out here.’
‘I’ll’, not ‘we’ll’. There was no ‘we’ any more.
In the garden she sat on the wooden bench and waited to hear what was coming, her eyes fixed steadily on the cherry tree.
‘D’you mind if I sit?’ he asked, and she slid over without replying. He stayed at the opposite end, leaving a good two feet between them. For a minute there was silence, which Sarah determined not to break. He was the one who wanted to talk.
Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Sarah,’ he said, and she realised that he was nervous. She kept looking straight ahead, although she was aware that he had turned sideways to face her.
‘I just wanted you to know,’ he went on, ‘that I’ve moved out of Noreen’s house.’
This was so utterly unexpected that she swung her head to look at him.
‘We made a mistake – I made a mistake. It should never have happened.’
She couldn’t
believe it. Moved out of Noreen’s house. A mistake. She dropped her gaze, turned away to stare at the bottom of the garden again, trying to take it in.
‘I’m so sorry. I know I hurt you badly. I behaved abominably and I will never forgive myself for that.’
The grass around the tree trunk had grown to almost a foot high. She’d get the clippers to it after dinner. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
‘I’m living with my mother. I just thought you should know.’
Living with Nuala, less than ten minutes down the road.
He got to his feet. ‘Well, that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.’
Sarah looked up at him. ‘You can see yourself out. Leave the children in the kitchen.’
After he’d gone she sat on, digesting this new turn of events. He’d left Noreen and moved in with his mother. He’d made a mistake – did that mean he’d never actually been in love with Noreen? And if that were the case, where did that leave Neil and Sarah now?
She stood, smoothing her dress over her thighs. It left them exactly where he’d put them last November: it left them separated. This new development didn’t change a thing. He hadn’t said he still loved Sarah, he hadn’t pleaded with her to take him back. He’d given no sign that he wanted a reconciliation, which was just as well, since she had no intention of allowing him back into her life.
She’d keep up the driving lessons. She’d show him that she and the children could manage fine without him. She’d say nothing to Christine or her father about this latest development: for now she wanted to keep it to herself, and get used to it.
Noreen was gone. She
was out of their lives, hopefully forever. Neil was alone. That would take some getting used to.
S
arah
Commiserations on the driving test. If it’s any consolation it took me two attempts – an ex taught me, which didn’t help – but I’m a whiz behind the wheel now. Sending a Blondie CD to cheer you up, in the hope that you’ve got yourself a CD player by now. I love Blondie, which must mean I’m mellowing in my old age. When I was in my twenties I was such a rock chick you wouldn’t believe: Suzi Quatro was the only woman for me.
Sounds like your kiddie cookbook is taking shape. You might be right about it suiting a series, but I wouldn’t worry about that at this stage – time enough to sort a format when you’ve bagged a publisher. Yes, I said when. I’ve got this feeling that you’re on to a winner here, girl – and I even have someone in mind who might be interested. He’s a publisher – he works for a UK company but he’s based here, sort of their man in Ireland – who often sends me books to review. Let me know when you’re happy to have him look at it and I’ll give him
a shout.
Frank is surviving the cohabitation, which has shot him up in my estimation. Any man who can cope with living with yours truly deserves a medal. He’s talking about us going to Scotland for Christmas, taking a house and inviting Alice and Jackie to join us. Trouble is, he wants my mother to come too, says we can’t leave her on her own. I know, I know, I’m a rotten daughter, but I can’t see us having a merry old time with her there. He’s right though, damn it.
Brace yourself: the cat died. No idea how old it was, but I’m guessing it had a few years on Rip Van Winkle. Frank, old softie, buried it out the back, planted a rose bush on top of it. Probably bloom like crazy, just to spite me.
You haven’t mentioned Neil and his hussy in a while. Presume things are unchanged on that front, although it would be nice if one of them had a non-life-threatening accident that laid them up for weeks to get on the other’s nerves. Good on you for moving on, and do stick with the driving – you’ll get there, and you’ll wonder what took you so long.
H x
Hey there
I know it’s still
months away, but I wanted to mention it in case you two were booking tickets to Ireland for Christmas. Frank has had this corny idea of spending it in Scotland, and was wondering if you and Jackie would join us. He wants to rent a house, so we need to know if you’re interested. He’s threatening to write to you himself. You have been warned.
Hope all’s well. How’s work? Did you get the new heater? If you spent that cheque on gin I’ll cut you out of the will. I mean it.
Let us know about Scotland. Could be fun.
Mum x
PS Granny will be invited too, so if she says yes, you and J would have to be just pals in her company. At eighty-four, I’m pretty sure the truth would be a bridge too far.
Dear Alice
Hope all is well in Cardiff. Frank here, just dropping a line to invite you and Jackie to spend Christmas with your mother and me – and hopefully your grandmother – in Scotland. I thought it might be nice to take a house there for a week or so. I’ve never been to Scotland, and would enjoy seeing it.
Of course, you may have your own plans, and if that’s the case, no problem, but I know your mother would love to see you both, and so would I. We could pull a few more crackers, and I could make my special eggnog, which nobody can resist.
Looking forward to your response
,
All the best
,
Frank
Dear Mum and Frank
We’d love to
come to Scotland, thanks for the invite. Jackie’s been a few times, she says it’s great. Let us know the plans as soon as they’re in place. Presume we’ll make our way to whatever airport you’re flying to, and travel on from there.
Mum, we bought a heater, and we had enough left over for a bottle of gin! (Joke, just the heater.) Thanks again for the cheque – and the good news is that I’ve got another rise at work, just a fiver extra a week but it all helps.
Jackie says hi, and asked me to tell Frank that she LOVES eggnog. I foresee some sore heads this Christmas.
Alice xxx
PS You make such
a lovely couple, har har.
‘A
n older brother of one of Aidan’s pals got one of those Morrison visas for America. He’s moving over in the summer. It’s a great opportunity for him.’
‘Mmm.’
‘He has an uncle there, or maybe it’s a cousin. They’ll put him up anyway till he finds a job. He did engineering in college, so he’ll probably get something easily enough. I’d hate to see any of mine going to live abroad though – I’m praying they all stay in Ireland. Does that make me really selfish?’
‘What? No, of course not.’
‘Did I tell you Aidan is saying he’d like to do medicine? I know he’s only thirteen, he’ll probably change his mind a dozen times, but wouldn’t it be great to have a doctor in the family?’
‘It would.’
‘He was always a good student. I never had any problem getting him to do his homework. Not like the other two: it’s a battle with Tom every night, and Paddy would spend his life daydreaming if I let him.’
‘I know.’
Christine took
another custard cream from the plate. ‘So the cookery book is nearly done then.’
‘Yes, nearly there.’
‘You must be excited.’
‘I am.’
‘And Helen is going to talk to a publisher.’
‘So she says.’
Christine lowered the biscuit into her tea. ‘You don’t sound too excited. Are you all right?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Sorry, just tired, that’s all.’
‘Are you upset about failing the driving test again?’
‘I am a bit – but I didn’t deserve to pass, I was hopeless. I went totally to pieces and forgot everything I’d learnt, just like the first time.’
‘Have you applied again?’
‘Not yet, but I will. I have to.’
‘Good for you. Third time lucky. You know I’ll sit in with you, anytime you want to go for a spin. Or Brian would – he’d probably be better.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And there’s nothing else?’
‘No … I just didn’t sleep very well.’
Getting a good night’s sleep, which Sarah had always taken for granted, was becoming more and more of a challenge. She fell asleep like she’d always done, but lately she’d begun waking around two or three, and it seemed to take an eternity before she dropped off again.
Maybe it was getting older, although forty was hardly old. Maybe it had to do with the cookery book, whose title she couldn’t settle on, whose format she still wasn’t sure about. Maybe she was mourning Martina, who had finally left them a few weeks ago.
Acerbic, contrary
Martina, who’d squeezed her hand when she’d gone into early labour with Stephen, who’d told her fiercely that she was going to be fine as they’d waited for Dan to come with the van. Martina, who’d gone on clipping the hedges Charlie had begun to tame, who’d scoffed at the notion of a cookery book for children. Martina, who’d died as she’d lived, all alone, in the middle of the night.
‘Look,’ Sarah said, ‘there’s something I want to tell you.’
Because of course she knew what was keeping her awake, and maybe sharing it would help, after all.
Christine frowned. ‘I hate when someone says that. It’s usually something bad.’
‘No, this isn’t bad – at least … it’s not bad, and it’s not good. It’s just something that happened, that’s all.’
‘Go on.’
A beat passed. A bird flew with a soft thump into the window before swerving away again.
‘It’s Neil,’ Sarah said.
Christine’s eyes narrowed immediately. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘It didn’t work out between him and … her. He’s back living with his mother.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m not.’
‘When?’
‘A couple of months ago.’
Christine looked at her in disbelief. ‘A couple of months ago? When did you find out?’
‘He told me when it happened,’ Sarah said, ‘but I didn’t—’
‘Hang on – you’ve known about this ages, and you said nothing?’
‘Christine,’ Sarah said sharply, ‘it was our business, mine and Neil’s. I didn’t have to tell anyone. I didn’t have to tell you now, but I chose to.’
Christine clamped her mouth closed. For a handful of seconds there was a tense silence. From the garden Sarah heard Martha calling, ‘My turn.’
‘Sorry,’ Christine said then, ‘you’re right. It’s none of my business. It’s just that I don’t want to see you getting hurt again.’
‘I won’t
get hurt,’ Sarah replied. ‘He hasn’t – we’re not getting back together, that’s not the issue. It makes things easier, that’s all, for the children, I mean. He’s closer, and they get to see Nuala when he takes them at the weekend. And she’s out of the picture, hopefully for good.’
Christine picked biscuit crumbs from the plate. ‘Did he tell you what happened?’
‘He just said he’d made a mistake.’
‘Have you told Dad?’
‘No. I will.’
Another short silence.
‘More tea?’ Christine asked.
‘No thanks.’ Sarah stood and unhooked her bag from the back of the chair. ‘We should be going, we’ll be late.’ They were meeting her father in town to do the weekly shop.
‘Sarah, don’t take him back,’ Christine said quickly. ‘If he asks, I mean. Say no, OK?’
Sarah slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Of course I’ll say no. I told you, it hasn’t come up. There’s no question of us getting back together.’
‘Good … You sure I can’t drive you into town? It’s no bother.’
‘No need, we’re fine. Thanks.’
They walked the ten minutes to the bus stop and waited with a stout elderly woman in a cream coat, who nodded at Sarah and smiled at the children, and a teenage girl, whose headphones beat out a tinny rhythm that her left foot copied. Sarah sat on the narrow wooden seat, Martha on her lap, and rolled the buggy to and fro as she replayed her conversation with Christine.
So adamant her sister had been:
Don’t take him back
, she’d said. As if Sarah had a choice, as if Neil had asked to come back.
Why hadn’t he asked? If he and Noreen had been a mistake, why didn’t that mean that he still loved Sarah? Why wasn’t he begging her to forgive him? Why didn’t he want to try again?
Because that was the crux, wasn’t it? That was what had her tossing and turning at night. He’d left the woman who had broken up his marriage, but he hadn’t even hinted at reconciliation with his wife. No wonder she was having trouble sleeping.