The Man Who Forgot His Wife (17 page)

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’

‘No,’ said Maddy, with a half-smile. ‘You’ve got too much catching up to do to have me in the way.’

‘Well, I have a lot of catching up to do with you as well.’

Maddy raised her eyebrows as if to suggest that I was dangerously close to crossing the line. ‘See you at the pizza place at half seven.’ And the door was closed.

Inside the Hall of Mirrors I saw my distorted face smiling at the kids laughing and waving at our bizarre reflections. Jamie was stepping back and forward to change the length of his neck, and Dillie was putting her hands out and laughing as they stretched to the length of her body.

‘Of course, this might be what we actually look like,’ I ventured. ‘Maybe the mirrors we have at home are the crazy ones.’

‘No, because then our eyes would have to be wrong as well,’ pointed out Jamie, whose intelligent point was rather undermined by his forehead being longer than his legs.

‘Depends what our brain does with the info it receives. Maybe we just see everything the way we want to see it.’

In the mirror, I saw Dillie think about this for a second as she made eye contact with her distorted father.

‘Dad?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Did you really completely forget me and Jamie?’

‘Erm – well – it’s all still in there,’ I said, banging my forehead in an exaggerated comedy manner that brought a smile to her face. ‘But I just can’t find where I left everything. So at the moment I don’t remember lots of facts about you, but I haven’t forgotten how I feel about you.’ I felt excited enough to say it and it seemed important. ‘I haven’t forgotten … how much I love you.’

‘Aaaah,’ she said, touched by the sweetness of these words, while in the mirror I could see Jamie miming putting his fingers down his throat.

The only other visitors in there were an enormously fat couple who had presumably come in here to see themselves looking
normal.
They moved slowly from mirror to mirror without laughter or comment, remaining stony faced and utterly neutral in response to everything they saw. In contrast, Jamie and Dillie dashed about, jumping forwards and backwards, and even people walking past outside the tent must have been infected by their laughter. I stopped looking at my own distorted image and just watched my new son and daughter instead. They were so full of enthusiasm and energy, living in the moment, delighting in whatever the world offered next. They made me feel as if my lost past wasn’t important; it was right here, right now that really mattered.

‘Dad, your head has got another blob of head hovering above it.’

‘Oh yeah, I hate it when that happens. It’s so embarrassing.’

‘Urgh – look what’s happened to my body!’ shrieked Jamie.

‘That’s what I say to the mirror every morning.’

‘Aah no, Dad,’ said Dillie. ‘You’re in quite good shape. You know, for someone who’s, like, really old.’

I actually felt ten years younger today. The children’s energy and optimism was infectious, and although I still had no memory of them before my fugue, I felt a cocktail of pleasure, anxiety, responsibility and delight that I realized was how it must feel to be a parent. There was a tinge of sadness that there was no one I could excitedly call to announce the arrival of these children into my life. ‘Mum! Dad! It’s a boy! A hundred and forty pounds and three ounces! We’ve called him Jamie and he’s got blue eyes, quite a lot of hair and he’s already feeding really well. Candyfloss, mainly. Oh, and guess what? Maddy had a little girl as well! Yeah, Dillie – slightly smaller than her brother, but she’s already walking and talking. Talking quite a lot, actually.’

‘Dad can we go on the waltzer now?’

‘Sure, we’ll all go.’

The children looked unsure, and explained that I couldn’t go on rides like that because they used to make me throw up.

‘Really? Nah, that was the old Dad. You see, that’s what I was
trying
to say back there about our brains and preconceived ideas and everything. Maybe I used to be sick on the waltzer because that’s what my mind told my body I always did. But that expectation has been erased, and now I’ll probably really enjoy it.’

Five minutes later I staggered off the waltzer and puked up behind a generator.

‘Are you all right, Dad?’

‘Do you need a tissue?’

I was sick once more, and sat on the tow bar with my head in my hands, the sirens and the lights flashing in the dark adding to my nausea.

‘Do you want me to get you a bottle of water?’

‘No, it’s okay. Sorry,’ I groaned. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’

Maddy was already seated in Pizza Express when we arrived. She laughed when she saw her two kids; they had evidently prepared for dinner by seeing how much candy floss they could get stuck to their hair and faces. This response was surely a signal of approval, I thought. She could have been angry with me; a woman who was 100 per cent set on divorce would have interpreted this as evidence of my incompetence or irresponsibility. Over dinner she asked about my father, she took an interest in my return to work, she even laughed when I told her that Gary was now recording all his rows with Linda on his iPhone. ‘Honestly, what are some married couples like?’ suggested our shared laughter. ‘Why can’t they just sort it all out and get on with one another …’

The comfortable atmosphere prompted Dillie to ask if I was going to come and stay for Christmas, but Maddy took this opportunity to go to the Ladies. Her unwillingness to have this conversation in front of the children was not a good sign. Or maybe she was composing herself in the toilet right now, rehearsing the right words to suggest I move back home so that we could give the marriage another chance.

‘So, kids, let’s go out again soon. Or if your mum is busy one day, I could come round to the house and look after you.’

‘Hey yeah!’ said Dillie. ‘Or when Mum goes away after Christmas, you could come and stay instead of Granny. Please, Dad, please!!’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful. I’d love that.’

It was almost too perfect. I had somehow got myself invited to come and stay in the house, to live with them while Maddy was away.

‘So, where’s Mum going?’

‘She’s going to Venice with Ralph,’ said Dillie, as her brother shot her a look.

‘Ralph? Who’s Ralph?’

‘Durr! Ralph is Mum’s boyfriend.’

And Maddy returned to the table and took a sip of her wine.

‘Everything all right?’

Chapter 13

‘OH, VAUGHAN
IS
marvellous!’ said Maddy’s mother, Jean, as I carried a couple of dirty plates from the table and placed them vaguely near the dishwasher. ‘Look at that, Ron – now he’s clearing the plates. Isn’t he marvellous, Madeleine?’

‘It’s only a couple of plates, Mum. It was
me
who went out and bought all the food, made the stuffing and all the trimmings, set the table, made the gravy, and carved the turkey.’

‘Well, I think it’s wonderful when a man helps around the kitchen. Look at that! He’s scraping the plates into the bin. He
is
good.’

I said nothing, but couldn’t resist stirring things a little more by offering to make everyone coffee.

‘Oh, you are a dear. No, you sit down; you’ve done enough already. I’ll make the coffee. Madeleine, can you give me a hand, dear?’

Christmas dinner had been easier than I had expected. Everyone had admired the huge steaming turkey surrounded by bacon rolls and mini-sausages; especially the dog, who hung his head in disgrace at the sinful thoughts going through his head. ‘Oh, I am
so
ashamed, but oh, the moist tender meat so physically close to me yet so utterly out of reach; oh, God, I’m drooling again, I can’t stop myself, the indignity of it all …’

Maddy’s mother had shown no hostility to her estranged son-in-law; on the contrary, I found my apparently abundant qualities constantly highlighted, usually when Jean’s own husband was in earshot. ‘Vaughan has brought some Christmas crackers! How thoughtful. Did you see that, Ron? Vaughan brought crackers. That’s nice, to think of contributing something.’

It might have been more honest for Jean to hold up large cards explaining the sledgehammer subtext every time she spoke. ‘What a good dad he is! Did you hear that, Ron? Vaughan took the children to the funfair the other day. They are lucky children to have him …’ That would have come with the subtitle:
You never did anything with the children, Ron. Why couldn’t you have been more like Vaughan?
Or, ‘Your father never helped around the house, Madeleine. You must be finding it harder now, without Vaughan here to help?’ telegraphed the message:
My husband was much worse than yours, but I stuck with it
. And finally: ‘Why don’t you and Vaughan bring the children to stay this summer? It’ll be lovely to have all four of you together, and I can help Ron with some of the jobs on the house that he still hasn’t started …’ This angle of attack was too unsubtle for a mere sign; it should have come with a klaxon and flashing lights, as a police negotiator shouted through a megaphone: ‘DO NOT GET DIVORCED, MADELEINE! YOUR MOTHER WASN’T ALLOWED TO GET DIVORCED, SO WHY SHOULD YOU BE?!’

Maddy’s father, Ron, might have felt offended by the stream of unsubtle reminders of his apparent failings as a father and husband had he been listening to any of it. But long ago he had developed the skill of tuning out the background noise of his wife, reacting only to occasional trigger words that might be of interest to him.

‘Vaughan offered to make the coffee. That was nice of him, wasn’t it, Ron?’

‘Coffee? Oh, yes please.’

The whole day had gone reasonably well considering that most civil wars can trace their origins back to a difficult family Christmas. I gave the children their presents, having previously spent a happy afternoon at the shops so that Jamie could actually come with me to the cashpoint and choose his money himself. Dillie had wanted a little electronic diary into which you could type your secrets and no one could read them because only you knew how to access it. A bit like my brain, I thought, except that she hadn’t forgotten the password yet.

I had been unsure whether or not I should get Maddy anything. I was guessing that divorcing husbands don’t usually give their ex-wives Christmas presents; the house is usually enough. But I happened to stumble upon a beautiful but understated gold necklace after browsing through a number of jewellery shops. And I have to confess there was a satisfactory moment of tension after lunch when Madeleine unwrapped it, gasped, and murmured, ‘You shouldn’t have.’ I knew she really meant it. I had clearly spent a great deal of time and money choosing the perfect gift, which made it even worse. Right now Maddy would have preferred a useless present from her ex-partner, something that confirmed how wrong for her I really was. She shook her head when the children urged her to try it on, and put it back in the box, although later when she visited the bathroom, I noticed that the box went with her.

Jean was very effusive about what a lovely present the gold necklace was, as if somehow to suggest that she was not quite as thrilled with the shoe rack she had received from her husband.

‘What have you got Vaughan, Madeleine? Are you going to give Vaughan his present now?’

‘I didn’t get him a present, Mum. We’re getting divorced, remember?’

‘Well, he’s still your husband till then, dear. You could have made a bit of an effort …’

But my gift had clearly been more than a casual act of generosity and Maddy knew it. It was making a point; this was me showing my magnanimity, resolutely defending the moral high ground that I felt I had seized after discovering that she was seeing another man. (‘She’s not seeing
another
man,’ Gary had insisted when I had told him. ‘She’s just seeing a man.’)

So throughout Christmas Day I pointedly played the role of perfect son-in-law and attentive husband with my unexpected ally Jean, making the trip to Venice seem selfish and unnecessary. Jean was particularly worried about her daughter going on a boat after some of the stories she had seen on the news.

‘For God’s sake, Jean, Venice is in Europe,’ repeated her exasperated husband. ‘She is not going to be kidnapped by Somali pirates.’

‘She might be. Several Westerners have been taken hostage.’

‘Yes, off the Horn of Africa. Somali pirates are not going to sail all the way up the Red Sea, through the Suez Canal, across the Med and up the Adriatic just to kidnap a bloody gondola.’

‘Well, it’s all in the same direction, isn’t it? Venice, Somalia. They’re ruthless these people. In my day pirates were jolly, swashbuckling types, with parrots and wooden legs. I don’t know why they have to change everything.’

Undaunted by this obvious danger, Maddy would head off to the airport the following morning at six, and I would be left alone with my children. I had initially worried that my mother-in-law might be indignant that she was no longer required to look after her grand children, but it transpired that Jean thought the idea of me returning to the family home was an excellent one. ‘Isn’t it wonderful that Vaughan’s moving back in? We should have champagne!’

‘He’s not moving back in, Mum; he’s staying here while I’m away.’

‘And I’ll be sleeping in the spare room,’ I confirmed, with a glance to Maddy. ‘The double bed is strictly reserved for the dog.’

‘Still,’ said Jean, ‘it’ll be lovely for the children to have their father at home. So many children don’t have a father these days and I think it’s a terrible shame.’

The seasonal tradition of too much food was followed by the tradition of too much television, with the grandparents setting the volume to ‘Too Loud’ and turning the central heating to ‘Too Hot’. Ron initiated only two conversations: one asking after my father, to which I reported that he had been sleeping when I had seen him that morning in the hospital; and the other enquiring about my own condition, during which he surprised me by sharing a couple of books he had got from the library on amnesia and neuropsychology.

‘He doesn’t want to look at those, Ron,’ said Jean. ‘Christmas is supposed to be a happy time, not for reminding people they’ve gone mental.’