The Marriage Mender (22 page)

‘He went for a walk. He’ll be back soon,’ I said, repeating Barbara’s assurance.

Matilda looked about as convinced as I had been.

The doorbell rang. The first guest had arrived. I switched to super-efficient party-host mode. But, inside, the knot was getting tighter and tighter.

It was Debbie and Sophie, both of them dressed in their finest witches’ regalia. Matilda and Sophie ran off together into the lounge.

‘Love it,’ Debbie said, admiring my costume. ‘The wig suits you.’

‘I’m just hoping no one pulls it off,’ I said. ‘Only I wasn’t prepared to go the whole hog and shave off my hair as well.’

‘You disappoint me,’ said Debbie. ‘So much for attention to detail. Anyway, where’s Mr Stringer the hotel manager? I thought he was supposed to be welcoming guests?’

‘He’s not back yet.’ I said.

‘Where from?’

‘Being out.’

Debbie looked at me and nodded. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, rubbing my shoulder. ‘I’m very happy to double as Mr Stringer if needed.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I might have to give you the camera, actually. He was supposed to be taking the photos as well.’

‘Sure,’ said Debbie. ‘They won’t be as good as his, mind.’

‘I know,’ I replied. ‘But they’ll be a damn sight better than nothing.’

The rest of the guests started to arrive. The one good thing about being dressed as the Grand High Witch was that I had no choice but to carry on. It wasn’t her husband who had gone AWOL, it was mine. So I cackled and screeched and did everything required of a Grand High Witch while all the time, inside me, the time bomb ticked away.

The children sat down to their witches’ tea. He was still not back. They ploughed through sandwiches, taking three bites of each and then moving on to something more interesting. Crisps were demolished, pizzas disappeared
no sooner than they were put on the table, the witch’s hat cupcakes were admired and devoured in record time. They had eaten too fast. They weren’t supposed to be at this point yet. Debbie glanced at me. I looked at Matilda’s birthday cake sitting on the kitchen counter, a number nine sparkling candle stuck in the brim. Maybe just a few more minutes. Someone knocked a drink over. A couple of the children got down to go to the toilet. They were starting to get restless.

‘After you’ve done the cake, I’ll cut it up and wrap it in serviettes for you, love,’ Barbara said. ‘So you can get it into the party bags in time.’

She would have been good in the war, Barbara. There’d have been no need to tell her to calm down and carry on.

I looked again at the clock. Only ten minutes until the end of the party. The other parents would be coming back to pick their children up at any moment. I squeezed through to the far end of the table where Matilda was sitting.

‘I’m going to do your cake now, love,’ I said.

She looked at me, her eyes hot and teary. ‘But Daddy’s not back yet.’

‘I know, love, but it’s nearly going home time. Your friends’ parents will be here in a minute.’

‘I don’t want to do the candles without Daddy.’

‘Nor do I. But we’ve got no choice, sweetie.’

‘No,’ she said, her voice louder and shriller. ‘I want to wait for Daddy.’

‘We’ll do them again when he gets back,’ I said.

‘But we can’t, the cake will have gone. We’re putting it in the party bags, you said so.’

‘I’ll make you another one, then.’

‘It won’t be the same.’

She was right. It wouldn’t be the same. Not the same at all.

I walked back to the kitchen and picked up the matches. My fingers were shaking too much to be able to light one. Barbara took the box from me and did the honours. The candles sparked instantly into life. I picked up the cake board and walked back towards the table with it. Debbie started the singing. I joined in, my voice struggling not to break. I put the cake down in front of Matilda. The light from the candle lit up her face. Caught the first tear as it trickled down her cheek. A camera flashed behind me. I turned quickly but it was Debbie taking the photograph. Capturing the moment for posterity.

I could make another cake, light another candle, take another photo. But the one which had just been taken would always be Matilda’s ninth birthday party. In my mind, at least.

Presumably I switched to automatic pilot. People do in those sorts of circumstances. Because the next thing I remember, when sensation started to return to me, was standing in the kitchen, surrounded by debris from the party, with Matilda and Sophie being the only children left.

‘The cake?’ I asked.

‘In the party bags,’ said Barbara. ‘We ran out of black serviettes so we used a couple of white ones instead.’

I nodded and looked out of the window. A small, dark figure was visible in the distance, along the brow of the hill. He would dip down out of sight in a minute, before re-emerging at the track leading to our lane.

‘Why don’t I take Matilda back with me for a bit?’ Debbie asked. ‘Give you a chance to get yourself sorted.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That would be a real help.’

Debbie went to gather Matilda and Sophie. She got them ready quickly, obviously aware of the need to get her away from the house before Chris arrived back. I gave Matilda a kiss. Her eyes were still rimmed with red.

‘There’s some birthday cake here for when you get home,’ I said. ‘We’ll get cleared up and you can open your presents when you get back.’

‘Will Daddy be home then?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He’ll be here.’

She nodded uncertainly.

Debbie took her hand and hurried her out of the house and up towards the lane. I shut the door and went back through to the kitchen.

Barbara was scraping plates into the compost bin. ‘I’ve made you both a cup of tea,’ she said, pointing to the counter. ‘I’m going to run the Hoover over the lounge before it all gets trodden in.’

I glanced up at the window. Chris had emerged over the hill. He would be here in a couple of minutes.

‘I understand that you’re angry, love,’ said Barbara. ‘I’m angry with him too. But please don’t be too hard on him. He loves you all very much.’

‘Well, he’s got a funny way of showing it,’ I said.

Barbara left the room. A few moments later, I heard the Hoover start up, swiftly followed by the sound of the front door shutting. Chris walked into the kitchen. He still had his boots on. His face was pale.

‘I’ve missed it, haven’t I?’ he said.

I nodded.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I walked and walked and walked and I simply lost track of time.’

‘Bollocks,’ I said.

Chris appeared taken aback. ‘There’s no need for that.’

‘There’s every need for it. You didn’t lose track of time. You couldn’t face the party so you made sure you weren’t here. You put your misery above everyone else’s.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘I think you’ll find it is. I’ll show you the photo, shall I?’ I said, picking up the camera. ‘Matilda in tears with her birthday cake. That’ll make a lovely one for the album, that will. Maybe we can put a caption on it. Pretend that they were tears of joy rather than mention that she was bawling her eyes out because her own father didn’t show at her birthday party.’

‘I’m sorry, OK?’ said Chris.

The Hoover stopped. Chris appeared suddenly aware of other people in the house.

‘It’s your mum. She’s been helping me. Or did you forget she was coming too?’

‘Where’s Tilda?’ he asked. ‘I’ll go and talk to her.’

‘You can’t. She’s at Debbie’s. She needed some time out. We all did.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to her.’

I shook my head. ‘You can’t, Chris. The moment’s been and gone, but she’ll remember it for the rest of her life. You weren’t there when she needed you. When I needed you. I know you’re hurting, we’re all hurting, but if you’re not careful you’re going to push away the only family you’ve got left.’

He stared at me. His eyes trying desperately not to let the truth in. Then he turned on his heel and walked out.

‘You can’t keep running away, Chris,’ I called after him. ‘At some point you’ve got to face up to things.’

The door slammed shut behind him. I sat down at the table and started to cry. A moment later, I felt Barbara’s hand on my shoulder. I turned round and let her pull me close, hold me the way she held Matilda. The way she must have held Chris when he was little.

‘I’m losing him,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t seem to break through. One of these days he won’t come back, just like Josh.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘He won’t leave you. He worships you.’

‘So why does he keep pushing me away? Why won’t he talk to me? Why won’t he share what he’s going through?’

‘Because it’s coming from deep inside. A place he’s never let you go to.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, looking up at her.

Barbara’s eyes were wet with tears. She sighed and shook her head. ‘He didn’t want you to know,’ she said. ‘He made me swear never to tell you. The only reason I’m
going to tell you now is because I’m worried this thing with Josh is going to push him over the edge. And you’re the only one who can help him.’

I nodded. The tone in her voice was scaring me. So was the idea that I didn’t know my own husband.

Barbara sat down next to me and clenched her hands on the table. ‘Chris isn’t my birth son,’ she said. ‘He was adopted.’

I stared at her. Barbara wasn’t who I thought she was. And nor was Chris.

‘I had no idea.’

‘No. He didn’t want anyone to know.’

‘Why? I mean, lots of people are adopted, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘Because of the circumstances,’ said Barbara.

‘What circumstances?’

She sighed. ‘He were abandoned right after he were born. Someone found him wrapped up in a blanket outside a GP’s surgery. It were a doctor’s receptionist, called Christine. That’s how he got his name.’

Our neatly potted family history exploded around me. Nothing was how I’d thought it was. Chris had no idea who he was. Where he had come from.

‘What about his birth mother?’

‘She were never traced,’ said Barbara. ‘We adopted him when he were six months old. He’d been with foster parents before that. We couldn’t believe our luck, to be honest. We’d been trying for a baby for years. There were something wrong with me ovaries. Nowt they could do in them days.’

I nodded and squeezed Barbara’s hand. My mind was rushing ahead. Piecing it all together.

‘Lydia knew, didn’t she?’ I asked.

Barbara nodded. ‘And yet she still did the same thing to Josh. That’s how nasty she really is.’

‘And when she told Chris that Josh wasn’t his –’

‘There’s only so much someone can take, isn’t there?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ I said, standing up. ‘I’m going after him.’

‘Thank you, love,’ said Barbara. ‘He so needs you right now.’

I don’t want to blame the baby for what’s happened, but you can’t get away from the fact that that’s when the problems started. I had no idea I was going to feel like I did. I mean, nobody tells you, do they? Nobody says you’re going to be blown out of the water like that by how much you love them and that every waking moment will be taken up with making sure the baby is OK.

Don’t get me wrong, I tried. I put a Post-it note on the fridge telling me to remember to smile at Neil and one on the bathroom mirror to remind me to say something nice to him every day. Some days I’d forget all about him, you see. All that mattered was that she was OK. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation that was to blame. It certainly didn’t help. I’d lie in bed at night, gripping the sheet with my fingers. I was always so tense because I knew that at any moment she’d wake up and that would be it for another couple of hours while I fed her and got her back down. And the thing that really did it was that he used to sleep through it. I mean, how is that even possible? It really used to piss me off and then, I suppose, there just came a point when I realised I didn’t have any love left for him. I’d used it all up on the baby.

I ran across the field and started to climb the rocky track up the hill. He always went the same way. At least, I thought he did. He certainly seemed to come back from the same direction, anyway.

I thought of Hansel dropping a trail of white pebbles so he could find his way home. Only, in Chris’s case, I was following a trail of hurt. Hurt so powerful I could almost smell it.

I blinked and shook my head but I couldn’t get rid of it. The image of Chris as a baby, wrapped in a blanket, crying and alone. Somebody did that to him. The person who was supposed to love him most in the world. How could you ever recover from that? How could you ever see the world through anything but a prism of rejection?

I thought of my own mother, a woman who I barely ever saw, who was distant and removed from my life. She was
little more than a woman I knew who happened to have given birth to me. But she had given birth to me, and she was my mother, and although she may have failed me in many ways, I knew who she was and where to find her if I needed to. Chris had never had that. Only the sense of abandonment. Of loss.

The afternoon was cooling slightly, and there was a clear sky above me. I stumbled over a rock but quickly righted myself. The urge to get to him was overwhelming. Hurt compounding hurt. Layers upon layers of it squashed down and built up over the years. Then stamped on by me. Because I hadn’t known. I hadn’t understood. I hadn’t been invited in.

I kept going. The terrain started to become more unfamiliar. It was a long time since I’d walked this far from home; Matilda would usually have complained that her legs were too tired by now. The sun had slipped behind a cloud. The breeze picked up as I climbed. Still no sign of him. He walked too fast. I wouldn’t get to him, even at this half-run pace. The best I could hope for was to meet him on the way back. Supposing he did come back.

And then I saw him. The figure sitting on a rock on the next ridge along, staring out across the moors. I couldn’t see his face but I knew it was him. He had his back to me, which was good. I was scared he would run off if he saw me coming. I slowed down a little, trying to get my breath back, to compose myself. To work out in my head what I was going to say.

But as I drew closer my pace quickened again. The need
to get to him was too great. I stumbled as I neared him. He looked over his shoulder and saw me. For a split second I wondered if he might turn and run in the opposite direction. But he was tired of running, I could see it in his face. And I think he sensed that he didn’t have to run any longer. Because I had run to him.

He stood up. I careered straight into him. Threw my arms around his body. Held him so tightly that I thought, at first, it was he who was gasping for breath. It wasn’t, it was me. Gasping and sobbing and holding him to me.

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m here now. I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

He looked down at me, frowning a little. ‘Mum told you.’

I nodded. ‘She had to. She was worried. She wanted someone to be there for you.’

His body started to shake.

I held him tighter still. ‘It’s OK,’ I said, over and over again. ‘Let it out. You can let it all out now.’

His tears mixed with mine. One soggy strand of hair stuck to another. We were joined. Reconnected. I breathed out. I let him cry for a long time, wanting to wring him like a sponge to squeeze every last tear out of him.

‘I’m sorry I never told you,’ he said, finally.

‘I just wish I could have helped you.’

‘I know. But I couldn’t tell you. Not after what she did.’

‘What happened? The day she left you.’

He sat down on the rock. I sat next to him, holding his hand. Waiting for him to be ready.

‘She hadn’t been drinking. All the way through the pregnancy she hadn’t touched a drop. And not after he
was born either, because she was breastfeeding. She found it hard, I think. Not drinking. But not as hard as the responsibility of being a parent. Of not being able to take off when she wanted to. Go to a club, let her hair down. She missed work too. The people she used to be around, the whole scene.’

‘Did she have post-natal depression?’

Chris shrugged. ‘Maybe. I’d come home from work sometimes and she’d be sitting in the window, staring out into the blackness. It was almost like she was a caged animal. It didn’t suit her, being cooped up at home with a baby. I guess she’d realised that. I tried to get her to go to the doctor, but she wouldn’t. Said there wasn’t a problem.

‘The night before she left, when I’d come home, I could tell she’d been drinking. I had no proof. There was nothing to smell on her breath. It was probably vodka. But she had been drinking when she was supposed to be looking after our son.’

‘Did you confront her?’

‘Yeah. She denied it, of course. We had a massive row. She said I had no idea what it was like. That I ought to try looking after him. Said I was expecting her to turn into Mother fucking Teresa just because she’d had a baby …’

He paused.

I could hear Lydia saying it as well. See her finger jabbing into Chris’s face. ‘But she didn’t threaten to leave or anything?’

‘No. We actually had sex the next morning, before I went to work. It was how she made up, with sex. I had no
idea it was how she said goodbye as well. I went to work. Had a pretty busy day, didn’t really have time to think about it. And then I came home –’

He stopped.

I saw him swallow and shut his eyes for a second.

‘How long was it before you realised?’ I asked.

‘Straight away. I knew pretty much straight away. Josh was crying. Really crying. I knew she wouldn’t have left him screaming like that if she’d been in the house. She hated it when he cried. I ran through to the kitchen. We kept his cot in there, because it was the warmest room in the house. Josh was lying there screaming, his little fists flailing in the air. His face scrunched up and almost purple. I could hear it as I picked him up. The sound of my own crying too. Only, in my head, it was a baby’s cry. The same as Josh’s.’ He looked down, brushed a tear away from the corner of his eye.

I rubbed my hand up and down his arm. ‘How long had he been there?’

‘I don’t know. His nappy was sodden, I remember that. And he was obviously starving.’

‘Did she leave a note?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. Said she wasn’t cut out for motherhood, just as my birth mother hadn’t been. And it would be better for Josh if, like me, he didn’t remember his mother at all.’

‘Jeez,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘Exactly. And you wondered why I flipped when she came back.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And then when she said Josh wasn’t mine –’

‘It was like his whole life had been a lie as well as yours.’

Chris turned to look at me. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It was.’

‘Did you ever think of telling Josh? About your birth mother, I mean.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t have been fair to Mum. She’s my mother. And Josh’s grandmother. And I didn’t want him to think anything else.’

‘When did she tell you?’ I asked.

‘When I was about eight or nine she told me that I was adopted. She made it sound like it was a very special thing. That they had chosen me to be their only child. I just accepted it. I guess you do when you’re that age. But later, when I was a teenager, I started asking questions about my birth parents. That’s when she told me. About me being abandoned.’

‘And how did you take it?’

‘Pretty badly. It’s not an easy thing to hear. That the person who gave birth to you dumped you soon afterwards.’

‘No one would do that lightly, though. She must have been really desperate.’

‘I know. It doesn’t make it any easier, though. I guess the only thing that did help was the fact that I’d been left at a doctor’s surgery. Somewhere I was going to be found and looked after. You hear cases of babies being abandoned at rubbish tips. I can’t imagine what that would do to you.’

‘So where was the surgery?’

‘Halifax. Illingworth, I think she said.’

‘And you’ve never tried to find out any more?’

‘There wasn’t anything to find. Mum told me I was wrapped in a white blanket. There was no note. The police appealed for information but nobody ever came forward. End of story.’

‘You could put an appeal in the paper to trace her. Or online. There must be websites for that sort of thing.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because it might help you to deal with it all.’

Chris shook his head. ‘No. I don’t want to rake it all back up again. Some things are best left in the past.’

‘Not if they affect your present.’

‘Please don’t start this again, Ali. You can’t make this better, you know.’

‘Well, someone’s got to. Someone’s got to put this family back together again. Look at us. In bits. All of us.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

I hesitated before replying, guessing what his reaction would be. ‘I think we should consider going for counselling.’

Chris rolled his eyes. ‘That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?’

‘No, it’s my answer when people are tearing each other apart. Not talking, not communicating. Unable to see a way forward.’

‘We’ll be fine.’

‘What, even if Josh doesn’t come back? We’ll carry on like this, will we? You with your open wounds. Me always seeming to make everything worse. Matilda bawling her eyes out.’

Chris put his head down and sighed. ‘I’m scared,’ he said.

‘Scared of what?’

‘Of loving Matilda too much. In case I lose her, like I’ve lost everyone else I love.’

‘You’ve still got me,’ I said, looking away so he couldn’t see my face.

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Well, how did you mean it, then?’

‘I know I’ll always have you.’

‘You make me sound like a congenital disease.’

Chris managed a half-smile. ‘Maybe you could help us,’ he said. ‘Help put us back together again.’

I shook my head. ‘No. You can’t do it, not from the inside. I’m too close to it all to see clearly.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘Relationship counselling. Not at my place. Somewhere else. With someone who doesn’t know anything about us.’

Chris looked up at the sky. ‘You do know that sounds like my idea of torture?’

‘Yes, but what’s the alternative? This is pretty much my idea of torture. We can’t carry on like this, Chris. We’ve both got too much to lose.’

‘It won’t change things. It won’t bring Josh back. It won’t turn back the clock.’

‘I know. And that’s exactly why we need to do it. To find a way forward from where we are now.’

Chris sat for a while. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said eventually.

‘Thank you,’ I said. I glanced at my watch. ‘We’d better be getting back. I said Matilda could open her presents when she got home.’

Chris nodded.

We both stood up. We walked back down the hill together.

* * *

Kelly and Luke came into my room. They were smiling. And holding hands.

‘Hello,’ I said, giving Kelly a hug. ‘I’m so glad it was good news.’

‘Me too,’ she said. ‘Turns out all the women in my family have had cysts. Me mam told me.’

‘Your mum?’

‘Yeah,’ said Kelly. ‘The doctors wanted to know about any family history of breast cancer. So I got in touch with her.’

‘And?’

‘I’ve been to see her,’ Kelly said. ‘And she’s coming over to see the kids this weekend.’

‘That’s great,’ I said.

‘Yeah. She’s said sorry and that. She was surprised, I think. That me and Luke are still together. That we’ve made a go of it, like.’

‘See,’ I said, turning to Luke. ‘You’ve proved a lot of people wrong, you two.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I guess we have.’

‘Right,’ I said as they sat down. ‘We need to talk about where we go from here, then. How’s the plan been going?’

‘Yeah. Good,’ said Kelly. ‘We’ve been out together on a Friday night. Just the two of us. It were good, actually. We had a right laugh.’

‘Great.’

‘And Luke’s mam said she’ll have the twins one morning a week, so I’ve switched my hours at work so I get one evening off.’

‘OK, so that’s another positive. How are you feeling about the end of August, then? Is that still a date you feel you can work towards for Luke moving back in?’

Kelly looked at Luke. They smiled at each other.

‘Actually,’ said Luke, ‘I’ve already moved back in.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Pretty much after the hospital appointment,’ said Luke. ‘It’s still hard work and all that, and I know it always will be. At least while the kids are little. But the thing with Kelly, it just made me realise what a lucky bastard I am.’

I nodded, unable to speak.

‘I know we were supposed to be doing the plan,’ said Kelly. ‘And making all those changes and stuff. I’m sorry if we’ve messed your chart up and that.’

I looked down at the piece of paper in my hand. The spreadsheet with goals and objectives on it. Everything numbered and in date order.

‘Do you know what?’ I said. ‘I’ve never been happier to do this.’ I scrunched it up and threw it in the waste-paper basket.

They looked at each other. Kelly started to giggle.

‘Sometimes,’ I said. ‘People don’t actually need me.
They just need to be reminded of why they got together in the first place.’

Kelly’s lip started to tremble.

‘Now go, before you get me started,’ I said, smiling at them. ‘I’ll be here if you need me. I don’t think you will, though.’