You, Me and Other People (21 page)

It’s a week since the procedure and Meg has insisted on going back to her housemates and to Jack, back to the student house in Clapham she calls ‘home’. I’m not sure if that’s because I’m adamant that this one is going on the market and she feels as though she no longer has a home. Hashtag Guilty Mum, as she would say … I’m wandering around the rooms in the house. The cleaners I pay once a month to come in for a few hours and blitz the place have been in this morning and it all looks shiny and new and … homely. I have a sudden doubt. Why? I never wanted to sell the house. Why, when I was in LA, did it seem like the right thing to do?

Sighing deeply, I sit on the edge of my bed. This is why the house should be sold. The bed’s not mine. It’s Adam’s and my bed. It’s Adam’s and my bedroom, and the house is a permanent reminder of the breakdown of our marriage. The simple fact is he’s not here and, even though I don’t want him to be, the whole thing feels wrong, like something that’s been untethered from its secure holding. This house is off kilter with just me in it.

So, I’m meeting him for a drink in an hour to tell him my decision. I don’t expect him to object. He knows he’s never coming back here, and splitting the equity in the house seems a fairer way of moving forward. Giles already has some buyers lined up – just awaiting the go-ahead from Adam.

Giles … He so wants to share this bed – or any bed – with me. It’s never going to happen and I’ve told him as much. In as kind a manner as I could. I lied – told him that I’m just not ready and can’t imagine being ready for a very long time. He’s such a nice man that I can’t tell him I simply don’t fancy him. Karen says I need my head examined, that Giles is local and loving and to give him a chance. But in my head Giles is a local, loving man whom I never want to kiss again, so sex is out of the question. And, following my Pink experience, I now know I need sex …

Pink … The man is in my head. In every crease and fold of my skin. In my bodily fluids, in my mouth. I think of him all the time. Not in an ‘I wish he was here’ way, nor in a ‘Shall I call him?’ way, just in a more wondrous way. Like, I can’t really believe any of it happened. Did I really have this encounter? Is it really that simple to have uncomplicated, no-strings, fabulous sex? Am I really booty-call material? Perhaps I’ll ask Adam later. If anyone knows, he would.

An hour later, I’m sitting in a bistro two minutes outside Clapham Junction train station. Adam is driving, since Meg has agreed to see him and he’s going over to hers for supper afterwards. She did ask me but I declined. Now is not the time to play Happy Families with Adam.

The bar area is decorated for the season, with tiny white lights weaving through the rafters, and potted, scarlet poinsettias scattered around. The windows have snow-sprayed images – stars, angels, parcels and lanterns – and the tables are adorned with festive cloths and napkins.

While I wait, I make notes in my daybook. I’ve taken to keeping a record of all the things I need to do and things I’ve already done. It’s not a diary, but it does help keep me organized. Today’s last entry, made this morning, consisted of notes taken during my telephone conversation with Josh. He has the final recording of ‘Fall Apart’, and wants me to come in to hear it in his office rather than just send me the link. I have scribbled down, ‘Why?’ A niggling worry crosses my mind and I wonder if they’ve changed the middle eight dramatically?

I look up and see Adam approach and close my daybook. I’ll worry about it later. Seeing him, I hope we can put our last meeting at the hospital behind us. I just want to move forward. He leans down to me, kisses me on the cheek, and I think of Giles and Pink together. Adam is a good kisser. In fact, he’s a very good kisser – probably the best kisser I’ve known, if we’re just talking kissing.

‘What are you drinking?’ He beckons a waiter over.

‘I’ll have a G&T, please.’

His eyebrows arch and his mouth curves. ‘Really?’

The waiter arrives, pen and notepad in hand.

‘I’ll have a Tanqueray gin with Fever-Tree tonic, lemon and lime twists and a couple of juniper berries, please.’ The waiter writes it all down, nods, then looks at Adam.

‘I’ll have a Diet Coke.’ He smiles. ‘When did you start drinking gin?’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter when. What matters is that I like it now. I guess times move on, I’m different.’

‘Yeah, well, don’t change too much. You were pretty good as you were.’

I’m not sure how to take this. I’ve never been very good at accepting compliments, especially from Adam. Maybe because, as soon as he ever started to compliment me, I knew he was up to something. He’s playing with his red and gold napkin, making an origami something out of it.

‘What was it you wanted to talk about?’ he asks, head down, his brow furrowed in concentration over an emerging mouse or goat or whatever shape he’s going for.

‘I think we should sell the house.’ I let the initial shock remark sit mid-air for a moment before continuing. ‘It’s a good time to sell, the market has risen in the last year. We could both buy something decent when we halve the proceeds. Giles, the manager where I work, says it will sell easily and that we should get top dollar at the moment.’

Adam is now looking up and focusing directly on me. His origami attempt discarded, I stare back and notice how he’s aged. Just a few more lines around his eyes. Dark under-shadows, which used to be a sign of him being temporarily overtired, are now permanent residents.

‘Well? What do you think?’ I press him for a response.

‘I think you seem to have it all worked out.’

‘Adam, I asked you here to talk about it. Let’s face it, months ago when you left to shag Miss Restaurant Owner, you’d have bitten my arm off to get me to sell the house.’ I can’t help myself. Even when I try and rein it in, he brings this out in me. ‘Look, I’m aware that you’re still paying for most of its running costs and, honestly, I don’t want that to continue. I don’t see why you should have the worry, especially at the moment. I also want my independence.’

Our drinks have arrived. I stir mine and take a large gulp.

‘Why “especially at the moment”?’

‘You’ve just had a heart scare. Stress is a factor. Bad as you are, I really don’t want you keeling over on us.’

He shrugs. ‘Why not? Seems to me you’d get all of the house then.’

My teeth bite into my lower lip. ‘Only if we’re still married.’

He stares at me over the rim of his soft drink. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’

I shake my head. ‘I’m not sure. There’s really no going back, is there? I mean really? Our marriage is over, Adam. We’re both still young and we should both be free to move on.’

I can see my words wound him and I take no pleasure in this.

‘Ben thinks I need help. That I should see someone professional.’

It’s such a complete one-eighty change of subject that I sit back in my chair, unsure how to respond.

‘He’s probably right. I can’t remember how he put it, but when he paraphrased my life for me, I sounded like a nut job in the making. And he doesn’t know the half of it.’

I reach across for his hand, an unconscious move. ‘You will know if and when the time is right; you will know if you need help. I did. And it did help, really.’

He stares down at the table, at his hand under mine. ‘Feels nice,’ he says.

I take my hand back. ‘Can we put the house on the market? We don’t have to talk about anything else right now.’ I can’t do it. I cannot push the divorce point at this moment. Besides, I may be ninety per cent sure it’s what I want, but I need to be one hundred, and when it comes to the complete dissolution of a marriage – it’s still early days. ‘It makes sense – we could both buy again and it takes a lot of pressure off you.’

He nods, lifts my glass and tastes. ‘Good version of the G&T,’ he says. ‘Did you discover it in LA?’

Alarm bells start to ring in my head. Now is probably not the time to discuss my LA discoveries, so I do a one-eighty back on him. The words surprise me as I hear myself speak them. ‘How is Noah?’

He seems startled, probably remembering the way I spoke to him at the hospital, but he seems grateful that I asked. ‘I saw him last night. Kiera and Gordon let me play chess with him.’

‘At their home? Do you think that’s a good idea?’ I blurt. ‘I mean, is it fair on Noah? It’s not as though his parents are going to tell him anything.’

‘Not at home – he’s still in Great Ormond Street. He’s such a bright kid. I think he’s worked it out for himself.’

I sit back in my chair and think about this. ‘Be careful. There are a lot of people who could get hurt, Adam. Please be careful.’

‘I am being. He’s the only person in the world who doesn’t judge me, Beth. The only person in the world who has a chat with me about my day. Beats the hell out of me every time we play chess.’

I want to say that he’s only a child. That he doesn’t know Adam the way I do. That’s why he doesn’t judge.

‘Has it worked? The donation?’ is what I do say.

‘Who knows? We’ve just got to hope … I should go soon, get to Meg’s. She’s cooking supper.’

I nod. ‘Have you plans for Christmas?’ It’s only ten days away and I haven’t really allowed myself to think about it yet, but Meg has asked if Jack can come. It seems he’d rather spend it with her than go to the Lake District with his family. Since it’s probably my last Christmas in the house, of course I’ve agreed. My mother will, as usual, attend. The only missing person will be Adam.

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I haven’t thought about it. Ben mentioned something about him, Karen and me all going to a restaurant.’

I can tell he’s thinking about our home – the house and the memories of Christmases past that it holds.

‘Just wait until the new year, will you?’ he asks. ‘Before putting it on the market? You don’t want people traipsing in and out over Christmas, and another few weeks won’t matter. You’re right. We need to sell it, but I just need some time to get used to the idea.’

‘That’s fine. It can wait until then.’ I drain my glass and stand up, wrap myself up in my bubble coat. It’s freezing outside. ‘Be careful on the roads. There’s going to be a heavy frost tonight.’

‘I didn’t know you cared.’ He smiles a closed-mouth smile. It’s the same smile that I fell for decades ago.

‘I care.’ I lean up to him and kiss his cheek. ‘Some part of me will always care.’

He holds the back of my head, just for a moment. I know he wants to linger but I pull away.

‘Just one word of advice?’ I say. ‘When you get to Meg’s, please make the evening about her. She’s been through a lot. Don’t mention that you’ve been playing chess with Noah. It won’t go down well.’ I don’t bother mentioning that it hasn’t really gone down well with me either.

His face wrinkles. ‘I don’t want to lie any more.’

‘She’s not going to ask. Just don’t bring it up?’

He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t get it. In his head, Meg knows of Noah’s existence. She’s given him potentially life-saving stem cells. She wants him to live, possibly sometime have a relationship with him. She should know that Adam is trying for the same. This is how Adam sees it.

It is not how Meg sees it. Meg is horrified that her father has deceived us both for a decade. She is appalled to find another sibling that she has never had the chance to know. She feels she
had
to do the right thing, because she would never forgive herself had she not. But none of it is all right with her. Tonight is just the beginning of healing her fractured relationship with her ‘motherfucking father’, as she calls him.

I tap Adam’s arm. ‘Trust me on this, Adam. Just make it about her. She needs to believe she’s the centre of your universe.’

‘She is. You are.’

He looks sad when he says those words; looks as though he really believes them and, hearing them, it’s easy to forget what a selfish shit he can be.

‘But, she’d be okay with the chess thing, surely?’ he asks again.

I shake my head and am left wondering, yet again – selfish or stupid or both?

Today is the twelfth day since my son received stem cells from my daughter. During this time, a small amount of time really, my life has changed irrevocably. I move through the offices in work, doing what I do. I talk to people who expect me to talk to them, in the same way I always have. I call my daughter every day and let her know that I love her. She is melting a little towards me, slowly but surely. I see my son every second day. We play chess together and, each time I visit, I’m hoping and praying for an improvement in him. During this time, we both pretend that I’m a friend of Uncle Tim’s from university. Hell, pretence is second nature to me, but I’m not pretending when I admit I love him. I have grown to love this little boy …

Today is also five days to Christmas, and Noah is being allowed home for a fortnight. The hospital room and outside corridors are a hive of activity. I’m trying to stay out of the way while he’s being prepared for transportation in the ambulance and while drugs coming from the pharmacy are being waited on. Kiera and Gordon have stepped away for a break and Noah and I are alone. I have asked him what he would like to be when he grows up.

‘A pilot,’ he says with all the confidence of someone who already is.

‘That’s brilliant,’ I tell him, as he leans forward. I automatically move to fluff up his pillows. ‘You can have flying lessons from about the age of sixteen, I think.’ I decide to check this out on Google later.

‘Just five and a half more years,’ he says brightly. ‘I can do that.’

I squeeze his hand. ‘Of course you can.’

‘What did you want to be when you were my age?’

‘Not what I am.’ I muse, thinking more about my character than my career choice. ‘I think I remember wanting to be a policeman.’

Noah is nodding. ‘If I can’t be a pilot, I’d like that instead. Where are your mum and dad?’ he asks suddenly.

I’m surprised by the change of subject and I’m not quite sure how to answer.

‘Dad’s mum is alive,’ Noah goes on, ‘and Mum’s dad is alive, so between them I have one set of grandparents. They’re both really old.’

I laugh. I know nothing about Gordon’s mother, but I do know that old man Granger is only about seventy and he’s as sharp as a tack.

‘So where do your parents live, Adam?’

My mouth is dry. My eyes linger on his for just a moment, but it’s a moment too long. He knows who I am. And he knows that I know he knows.

‘I’d like to meet them someday,’ he says.

‘I—’

‘There’s no hurry,’ he adds quickly, a pink flush appearing on his cheeks. ‘Tell me about when you and your dad played chess when you were little?’

He is so adept at changing the subject that my son puts even me to shame and his question jolts a memory.

Dad has let me win again. I tell him I know what he’s doing and he just laughs. He tells me he wants to talk to me about Mum and, as I pack the chess pieces away, I’m immediately on my guard. He tells me that I’m an adult now that I’m eighteen. He tells me that I need to try to understand Mum more, cut her a little slack, and asks me if I ever wonder what it must be like to be her. I listen as my father tells me all about my mother’s manic highs and depressive lows and her in-betweens. I listen, nod a lot, and do not take him on. My father will not have a word said against my mother and it upsets me. She might be ill but she’s also an accomplished goddamned liar.

‘Adam?’ Noah’s voice brings me back. ‘Did you play often?’

‘Yes.’ I smile at him. ‘Not as often as you and I are going to though.’

At that moment, the moment when I perhaps have said something I shouldn’t have, something that could be construed as a confirmation of his suspicions, he rewards me with the biggest smile I have ever seen. A lump catches in the back of my throat.

A nurse comes by to check his blood pressure.

‘I’m just going to grab a coffee,’ I say. ‘Be back in a minute. Do you want anything?’

He shakes his head.

Outside the room, around the corner, I find Gordon and Kiera sitting in a soft-chair ‘family’ area. They’re seated together on a sofa and, opposite them, holding Kiera’s hand, is a woman. It’s only when I get near that I recognize her voice. I stop, taking the scene in, as Kiera looks up.

‘Adam,’ she says.

Meg turns her head and stands, her hands immediately smoothing out her jeans. ‘Dad, I’ve come to visit Noah. Though obviously not on the best day, what with him being moved home …’

I’m speechless, and aware that Gordon looks distinctly uncomfortable.

‘Kiera and Gordon have agreed that I just meet him as an anonymous donor,’ Meg explains. ‘We don’t want to confuse him.’

‘I’ll stay out here, I was just off for a coffee.’

Kiera looks grateful. She doesn’t want Noah seeing Meg and me in the same room together and I don’t want to tell her that she’s too late. I don’t want to be the one to tell her that Noah has definitely pieced some of this together. He has worked out who I am, but thinks I’m the donor. Introduce Meg and he’ll go off deducing more facts. I say nothing, reach across for Meg and give her a hug. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper in her ear. She doesn’t pull away.

Ten minutes later, Meg exits Noah’s room. The fingers on my left hand are laced through my right ones, clasped together, making them numb and white. She approaches, sits beside me. ‘I guess I was curious.’ She shrugs. ‘He’s a nice kid.’

‘He is.’ I stare at my wan knuckles.

‘Had loads of questions for me … Who I am? What my family is like, where I live? I just kept it all vague. Told him that the register had contacted me because I’m a match …’ She turns to face me. Her coat, lying across her lap, falls to the floor, and I pick it up, pass it back to her.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘He looks like you.’ Her head is bobbing, as if to reassure herself it’s really a fact.

‘I know …’

‘He told me he’s had a friend playing chess with him this morning. Is that you?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s good. He’s a sweet kid.’ Meg’s voice cracks. Tears threaten to fill her eyes. ‘He looks so sick …’ She stands, seems embarrassed by her emotions, leans down and air-brushes my cheek with her lips. ‘Don’t tell Mum I’ve been here, okay?’ With that, she puts her coat on and walks away.

And, for once, I have no words. None at all …

Today is Christmas Eve. Kiera called me earlier and asked me not to come for what had been a scheduled visit. Noah has a worsening cold and visitors aren’t allowed. I stare at the hand-carved chess set that I stopped wrapping when I got the call. It’s only the latest in a long line of presents bought for Noah. Every year, just before Christmas, I buy him a present, his birthday too. I choose it, wrap it, do a drive-by past the house in Hampstead. I think about knocking on the door and asking Kiera to give it to him, but I never have. I’ve always bottled out, thinking of the wounds I would open. This was going to be the first one I could actually give him.

So I give to those I can. Last night, I drove to what I now call Beth’s house and dropped off presents for her and Meg and Sybil. Karen and Ben’s lie wrapped on the sofa, ready for when I head over there later.

Kiera’s words roll around in my brain. Fear sets in and I wonder if she’s lying just to keep me away over Christmas. I will never be part of their family. It doesn’t matter how I feel about Noah, or even how he might feel about me. I suspect this is Gordon’s doing. He has tolerated me being around, because he’s had to. Yes, it’s bloody Gordon’s doing.

I don’t want to go to Karen and Ben’s. Paranoia about Gordon’s plan to get rid of me has set in. I am not in a mood for paper hats and a plastic turkey dinner in their local restaurant, perched on grimy chairs. I’m not in the mood for drinking enough to merit the fact that the restaurant has been chosen, not for the fantastic Christmas fare, but because of its stumbling distance from Karen’s flat.

My phone vibrates and falls from the coffee table to the floor. I pick it up and connect the call. Meg.

‘Hi Dad.’

‘Hi love, how’re you?’

‘Good. We’re all here—’

She just stops short of saying ‘except you …’ ‘I have something for you. Will I see you over the next few days?’

‘That’s up to your mum, love. I don’t want to intrude.’

‘She says come over for a drink on Boxing Day. Later on.’

Not for lunch then. I suppose a cheating bastard should be grateful for small mercies.

‘I’ll pop in for a quick one Boxing Day evening. Have a lovely day tomorrow, darling. I hope Santa’s good to you, that you get everything you want.’

It’s an expression from her childhood, but her silence tells me it’s unlikely.

‘Have fun with Ben and Karen, Dad.’ She hesitates. ‘Love you,’ she adds.

Meg loves me. I’m sure Ben loves me, but would never tell me. I think Noah is fond of me. It’s enough, I tell myself. Keep it together. Push on, keep going. It’s Christmas …

I wrap up warmly, take the bag carrying Ben and Karen’s presents, some booze, chocolates and some overnight clothes. I leave the chess set, my fingers lingering on the beautifully carved king. In a parallel universe, I know that Noah would have loved me. I convince myself that it still might be possible. Maybe if I love him enough, even from afar, maybe love will ripple across the airwaves to me.

I lock the flat and head downstairs to the garage. Outside, there is a frost and a light dusting of snow. It doesn’t look as though it will settle, so the bookies will have a bright, rather than white, Christmas.

Karen has obviously been warned to be nice to me. I can almost hear the conversation that would have happened. Ben would have reminded her about everything I’ve been through, everything I’m now going through, as I wait for someone to tell me that Noah is going to be allowed to grow up. Karen would at that point probably have reminded him that most of my problems are of my own creation. But, for now, she’s being so nice to me – I’ll take it.

They have cleared the spare bedroom, where they both work from. All of their office equipment has been moved to one tight corner. In the centre of the room, they’ve made up the sofa bed and provided a bedside light. Not quite home, but I give them a grateful smile.

We’re drinking champagne. I try and join in the celebratory spirit of Christmas, but I feel empty. It’s an emptiness I don’t recognize and struggle with. My life, as I knew it, has gone. Where there was once a home, there is a blank space. Where there was once a family, there is a gaping void. I’m looking at Ben and Karen gazing lovingly at each other. She doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to ask her to marry him tomorrow. The irony of this is lost completely on my brother. I try and be happy for them. I am. I’m not jealous of their happiness. I just find it hard to watch, when my own seems a distant memory.

I break away early, give them some time together. Sitting on the edge of the sofa bed, my head in my hands, I try and imagine a bright future. What does it look like? Beth and I in cottages in Weybridge – maybe next door to each other? Meg, working in her dream job – something that allows her to study mad minds; Noah playing football or rugby, with me and Gordon next to each other on the sidelines.

None of it fits. Nothing fits into the shape that my life is any more. My phone pings with a text and I look at the screen. Kiera.

The words seem to flash in neon at me. ‘Noah’s got bad chest infection, heading back to the hospital. Def no visitors. Will keep in touch. Kiera.’

I sit very still for a while. I can’t go there. I can’t drive because I’ve been drinking and, even if I could, even I know I shouldn’t. My next instinct is to pray, but I have no idea where to start. The last time I prayed properly was when Mum and Dad died. Shivering, I rub my arms warm, try and summon some words from my childhood. Words that will plead with the Higher Powers. I ask whoever is listening to please help him. I ask whoever is listening to help Kiera and Gordon. I ask whoever is listening to please help me. Help me get through Christmas without allowing the black hole inside of me to consume me. Please …

It’s two o’clock on Christmas Day. There is radio silence from Kiera, despite my texts, and I’m antsy. Karen, Ben and I are seated at a table for three in the corner of her local bistro. The white wine is warmer than the food, but food, at this point, is only fuel to keep me breathing. My phone is on the table, though I’ve already been asked by Karen to put it away. In the end, like a resentful teenager, I told her why I needed it out and asked sarcastically for her permission. She doesn’t deserve this, yet here I am, doling it out.

There are children running around our table and I’m trying not to lose it. Why do parents not keep their children in check in public?

I turn to the couple two tables away and ask them politely to stop their children darting around us. Harrison and Georgia are both called by their parents. For now, they return, with their noisy toys in tow, to the folds of their family.

‘You all right?’ Ben puts a hand over mine.

Yes, is the appropriate answer, but I can’t say it. I’m not. I feel an overpowering sense of negativity engulf me. I nod in his direction and take a sip of tepid wine. Trying to think of anything other than where I am and why – I wonder why the ring hasn’t appeared yet. I would have thought it would be a ‘first thing in the morning’ gesture, but I say nothing, just in case I ruin that too.

‘Anything yet?’ Karen jerks her head towards my phone, nesting neatly next to my cutlery.

‘No, not yet.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ she says chirpily, and I want to smack her. He has cancer. He’s just had a stem cell donation. An infection is not good news. I say nothing as Harrison and Georgia run by my chair once more. One of their toys, a remote control car, has got its antenna stuck under my chair.

‘I have to get out of here.’ I stand suddenly, take my coat from the back of my chair. ‘I’m sorry but I need some air.’

Outside, I sit on a freezing breeze-block wall. The icy cold seeps through my jeans and infiltrates my bones. Ealing high street, just opposite me, is busy. This astounds me. Why are all these people driving on Christmas afternoon? Why are they all not nestled in the bosoms of their families? Most families, I remind myself, are not like the one I had. Most are probably like the one I have. Broken, split, fractured …