You, Me and Other People (8 page)

I’ve been dreaming about Simon. We’re playing in a tree house and he falls out. When I climb down to the bottom, he’s dead, his curls damp on his forehead but, somehow, he’s still smiling. Back in her office, I tell Caroline this and show her a couple of the photographs I’ve found at home. There’s one of the four of us on holiday, Mum and Dad towering behind Simon and me. I have my arm around him – a protective, proud arm. Touching this sepia image, I can smell the seaweed, I can hear the gulls squawking; taste the whipped ice cream that drips from a cone in his hand.

‘There are loads like that.’ My shoulders twitch. ‘And a lot less like this.’ I hand her one of the few that I’ve found of our family taken after his death. It shows the three of us, and a big empty space where Simon used to be.

‘They just stopped taking photographs.’ I take it back and put them both in my bag. Caroline, I can tell, is going to make me fill the empty pauses today. I swallow half a glass of water in front of me. ‘She turned up out of the blue the other night. Mum. Meg had told her about Adam leaving.’

‘Oh …’

‘Yes, “Oh …”, She was great, actually. Arrived with her manicure kit, made me feel like pink nails was all I needed to make me better.’

‘Your mother probably understands loss,’ Caroline responds.

‘She does … and she did help me come to the conclusion that my marriage is possibly over.’

Caroline doesn’t move – not even a flicker of an eye.

‘See,’ I lean forward and hunch over my knees, ‘I think I’ve decided it’s over. I think I want to live without him and I think I can move on. But can I really? Or am I still just pissed off at him, wanting to make him suffer, maybe giving him time to miss me and beg me to take him back …’ I take a break to breathe. I rub the centre of my left palm with my right thumb. ‘I do know that this anger’s not healthy. If I don’t move on, ideally forgive him and move on, it’ll eat me up and spit me out.’

My therapist is nodding, a vigorous nod, as though she’s pleased at my light-bulb moment. Encouraged, I remove a notebook from my bag. ‘I’ve made a list of some goals like you asked me to.’

Caroline’s face breaks into a wide smile. Teacher is thrilled with me today and I find myself smiling too, a rare event in this office. ‘Okay, number one is to go to Los Angeles.’ I meet her eyes. ‘Josh, my agent, is always trying to get me to go. He says I need to actually meet the publishers already interested in my work. Number two. I need to get a local job – just part time.’ I hesitate a moment, then look up from my notebook. ‘Adam’s playing ball now – moneywise – but, honestly, I don’t know how long that will last. My royalties are very erratic and I need to earn more regular money, which brings me to number three …’ I close the notebook. ‘I’m going to get the house valued. I truly love my home and won’t give it up without a fight but, that said, I need to know the facts of life. You know, what I’d be left with if the shit really hit the fan.’

I shove the book back in the bag, my fingers grazing the photos. ‘I’ve just thought of a number four.’ I remove and wave the holiday one at her. ‘I’m going to frame this and hang it up at home, with all my other family shots. I’ve only got one shot of Simon there. We need more.’ I chew my cheek. ‘And I’m going to find the hammer and nails and hang it myself.’

‘I’d give you three gold stars if you were a toddler,’ Caroline smiles.

‘Only three?’

‘That’s the max available. One hundred per cent …’

‘Okay then.’ I grin. ‘That’ll do. Three gold stars, eh? Babushka
will
be pleased.’

I’ve just found an old letter from Adam. It’s handwritten, dated early 2004. That was during the bad times – well, the last bad times, when Adam dropped his pants for one night with another woman. I was devastated, but never asked him to leave. It had been once only and I had a daughter who loved him nearly as much as I did. The last line of the letter, in his spidery handwriting, seems to have a voice of its own as I read it – ‘Thank you, my darling Beth, for loving me enough to fight for me.’ I feel those words today like a punch in the gut.

I did. I really loved him enough. Content in the knowledge that it had been one minor lapse in all our years together, I ignored the whispering doubts in my head. I never asked any questions, believing naively that what we had was bigger and worth fighting for. Now, almost a decade later, I have no fight left. If I did, I’m not sure who I’d be fighting. Emma? I barely know the woman’s name … I fold the letter back on its crease and slip it into a drawer.

Part of me, though, can’t help wondering as I contemplate the demise of my marriage, what would have happened if I hadn’t told him to leave this time. Would his affair with Emma have fizzled out? Curious, I open up Google and search the restaurant where I know she works, though not, according to my best friend Karen, as a waitress. I’d tried Facebook ages ago to find out what she looked like, but it told me I had to be her friend. The chances of that happening were as likely as snowballs in hell. But now, thanks to Karen’s Intel … I open the ‘About Us’ tab on the Pear Tree restaurant. It reveals the two partners, Abe Colvin and Emma Shine.

‘Shine?’ I say aloud. ‘Her surname’s “Shine”?’ I stare at her photo. She’s pretty, but then, I knew she would be. She’s blonde, but so much so I doubt it’s real. She looks happy, her arm linked through Abe’s. I close the laptop, pondering the nagging question of fighting to save our marriage, and feel a new sadness seep into my very being. Yes, I’ve probably decided not to fight for him any more, but why the hell is he not fighting for me? The harsh truth is that – with or without Ms Shine in his life – Adam simply doesn’t love me enough.

Karen and I are chopping vegetables. It’s Friday night and she’s come down from London for a sleepover. She’s brought champagne and matching Humpty Dumpty pyjamas. After insisting I put them on there and then in the middle of the kitchen, she told me that those king’s horses and king’s men were crap – and that she will help put me together again.

She now has ‘I Will Survive’ playing from a specially created playlist of tracks on her iPhone. It’s sitting in Adam’s docking station next to the kettle and, in between chopping red peppers, Karen is doing some weird dance that seems to have a lot of slamming door action in it. I’m laughing out loud for the first time in ages and it feels so good. I put the knife down and join in her moves until Gloria Gaynor has exhausted herself and us. I hug Karen, tell her I love her. She holds me tight and whispers: ‘You more …’

We are interrupted by the sudden sound of the front doorbell.

‘We could just ignore it,’ she says, turning the sound down on the iPhone, as if this alone will make whoever is at the door go away.

‘It might be Sylvia.’ I glance at the neon numbers on the oven. ‘After nine, who else?’

‘It’s probably Adam.’ Karen has made her way to the hall.

‘Shit!’ I reach across and turn the music up again. If Adam is at the door, we really should have Gloria on repeat. I wait until she’s in full flow, then signal to Karen to open the door.

‘Shit!’ I repeat louder at the sight of the figure in the doorway. The man, carrying a rucksack on his back, breaks into a wide grin and holds his arms out wide.

‘Lizzie!’ he cries. ‘You’re in! I was afraid I’d come all this way and you wouldn’t be.’

I can’t help it. Tears cascade down my face as I walk towards him and am engulfed by his huge hug. It’s the unexpected sight of him – all six foot four of him. It’s the familiar sound of his voice. It’s the way he calls me ‘Lizzie’, when everyone else abbreviates my name to Beth. He smells musky, in a just-showered musky way. I pull back and stare up at his face. His skin has become tanned and his hair is naturally highlighted by a year spent in the sun. Reaching up, I tug on a lock. ‘It’s longer.’ I sniffle. ‘It suits you.’

‘You okay?’ He blinks at me, seeming a little confused by my apparent overreaction.

I nod, but I’m not sure. Gloria is waxing lyrical about all the strength she needed not to fall apart and, in my head, my inner saboteur Lucy Fir is telling me I’ll never be okay again, that I just might fall apart, right here, right now.

Karen coughs, a tiny interrupting sound, letting me know she’s there. ‘God, sorry …’ I reach across for her elbow and pull her to me. ‘Karen, remember Ben, Adam’s brother?’

Ben takes her offered right hand and shakes it firmly.

Karen smiles. ‘Good to meet you again, Ben. It’s been years.’

‘Too many.’ He grins, and slides the rucksack onto the floor. ‘I went to the flat first, thought I’d catch Adam, then cadge a lift back here with him to see everyone. Think I missed him, though, so I just threw the bags in, grabbed a shower, got the train and here I am. He not home yet?’

I don’t reply and instead link arms with Ben, steering him past the hallway art as we walk into the kitchen. Karen walks ahead, turns the music back down again, then holds two bottles aloft. ‘Red or white?’

‘White,’ I say, ‘a large glass.’

‘Or beer?’ Karen frowns. ‘I’m sure you have beer somewhere, Beth?’

I know she’s talking deliberately, nervously filling in the speaking space before we have to state the obvious.

‘Wine’s fine.’ Ben glances around downstairs. ‘I’ll have white too. I tried calling Adam, but his phone just goes straight to voicemail.’

He takes a seat at the breakfast bar and smiles as Karen hands him a glass. ‘Have I interrupted a girls’ night?’ He nods to our matching pyjamas.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Well, yes, but it doesn’t matter. It’s good to see you, really.’

‘Ahh,’ he takes a sip. ‘Sorry for intruding, ladies. Tell you what, just tell me which bar he’s in and I’ll join him. Surprise him … Out with your boyfriend, is he?’ Ben is looking at Karen, really looking at Karen, eyeball-to-eyeball looking at Karen. She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and smiles. It is far too shy a smile for Karen, and I notice a tiny flush of red seep into her cheeks. ‘No, not my boyfriend, no—’ Her voice is unusually coy.

‘Karen’s single.’ I interrupt their moment. ‘Adam’s not out with her boyfriend, but I guess …’ I take a large gulp of wine. ‘I guess he could be out with his girlfriend.’

Ben’s face seems to freeze-frame and turn towards me in slow motion. ‘He … what?’

‘I’ll start the spag bol,’ Karen mutters. She turns the gas on, pours some oil in the pan and throws the already chopped onions and peppers in. She turns them slowly with a wooden spoon. We are silent but for the dulcet tones of Adele. Tears threaten again so I glare at Karen for such an apt playlist.

I take the breakfast stool next to Ben’s. Adele’s lyrics tell an ex how she will never let him get close enough to hurt her again.

‘What’s going on, Lizzie?’ His eyes look down into his glass, afraid to meet mine.

‘He’s gone. Her name’s Emma. Emma Shine, actually. She part-owns a restaurant in town. She’s blonde, pretty, young … well, younger than me. Meg tells me she has a son. So, yes … Adam’s gone. Vamoosed. Left. In love with Emma. Left me, yes, no more Adam and Beth …’

Ben is chewing his cheek as he listens. He reaches across and pinches a slice of red pepper from Karen’s pile of vegetables, nibbles on it instead. ‘Do you think that spag bol will stretch to three people?’ His eyes, carefully avoiding mine, meet Karen’s.

‘Sure,’ she says.

Then he turns to me and takes my hand in his. ‘Adam … That explains the tears,’ he says and that’s it, I’m off again. He puts an arm around my shoulders and rests his forehead on me. ‘Idiot,’ he murmurs, and Karen and I both nod.

‘Yes, but you know, I’m okay. Really,’ I squeeze his hand. ‘It’s taken months. It’s taken therapy.’ I give a snotty giggle. ‘But I’m there. I think I can finally move on.’

‘Months?’ Ben’s face wrinkles in horror. ‘Christ, how long ago did this happen? How long? Move on? Beth … I—’

‘More wine?’ Karen reaches across and tops his glass up without waiting for a reply.

‘Is it that serious? I mean …’

I smile through my distress. ‘I don’t care any more, Ben. That’s the saddest thing. I really don’t care if it’s serious, if she’s the love of his life or just another of his stupid mistakes. I’ve had to look after me, and now I’m ready to live without him.’

Ben is quiet. I notice a tiny tear form in his left eye. I reach across with my thumb to smudge it away.

‘But you’re his glue, Lizzie … Even though he’s always been too stupid to know that. You’re his glue. You’re his missing part and he was lucky to find you. You’re his glue,’ he repeats, shaking his head.

‘Not any more …’

‘Idiot.’ Ben seems unable to hide the disgust in his voice.

‘Totally,’ Karen agrees. ‘I hope you like it cheesy.’ She addresses my brother-in-law, who is now slumped across the breakfast bar, before she tosses several spoons of Parmesan into the pan. ‘“Shine”, by the way?’ She makes a face as she stirs the mixture vigorously. ‘Stupid name … And she has a son? I didn’t know that.’

‘Apparently so … Okay, enough about her. You’ll stay the night?’ I give Ben’s hand another squeeze. ‘There’s lots of room.’

Ben nods. ‘Yes please. I can’t go home. If he’s there, I’ll kill him.’

We don’t speak for a moment, until the music changes and, yet again, I glance at Karen. The Hollies – ‘He Ain’t Heavy’. I know she chose this song since I’d shared with her recently how I’ve been feeling about Simon, but somehow, right now, it takes on another meaning.

‘Stupid song …’ Both Ben and Karen speak in total synchronicity, then immediately giggle at each other.

I look from one to the other, notice the sparks of physical attraction as if they were visible fireflies, and I fill my glass, swallowing the lump in my throat. Feeling a pang of loneliness, I wonder briefly where Adam is, who he’s with, what he’s doing, and if Ben is right. If I really am the glue, will he fall apart without me?

Lately, I feel as though I’m falling apart, as if somehow I’ve become detached from whatever used to anchor me. Today, I’m sure of it. I’ve become a floating thing – floating around the life I used to lead. I want to reach out, grab something to tether me, but I can’t. On my way to Clapham, I’m trying not to dwell on Kiera’s news – the most likely reason for my separation from life as I knew it.

Meg is still pissed off, despite another grovelling apology. It was only when I begged her to forgive me, told her how sorry I am for forgetting she’s got exams looming, reminded her she still needs to eat and said ‘hashtagyes‌dadisanass holebuthe’sasorryasshole’ that she laughed and finally relented to have supper with me.

We’ve come next door but two from her flat. She has given me sixty minutes of her time and I’m hoping Pizza Express is up to the challenge. We order quickly. I apologize again and she glares at me with my own eyes.

‘For – what – exact – ly?’ Her staccato words jab the air.

‘Everything. I’m an idiot.’

‘You can never put toothpaste back in the tube.’ She removes her phone from her bag, stares at the screen and begins to thumb a message.

My own particular brand of toothpaste has caused one big fat mess that’s about to get messier. ‘I needed to see you.’

‘Well, your needs are all-important.’ She stops texting and looks up.

‘There are things you couldn’t possibly understand.’

‘Oh, puh-lease. Don’t be so patronizing. I don’t need to understand any more than I do. You cheated on Mum. She told you she wouldn’t forgive your repeat performance. You left her. What bit am I missing?’

I grab her hand across the table and, though she tries to pull away, I refuse to let it go. ‘Listen, Meg. I screwed up. If I could turn back time—’

‘Dad,’ she yanks her hand from mine. ‘Have you any clue what you’ve done to me? Do you realize what having a parent who thinks of you last does to you?’

Yes, my darling Meg, yes I do 
… My eyes blink rapidly. I lick my lips before speaking. ‘I’ve let you down. Believe it or not, it’s the one thing I hate doing, letting people down. Most of the time, Meg, I got it right with you. Right up until this, this thing, I think I got it right with you.’

She looks off to her left, sniffs rhythmically and rolls her tongue over her top lip. Her head in her phone, we don’t speak.

As we share a pizza, I’m first to break the silence. ‘Things are awful, Meg, and they may get worse before they get better. I wanted to see you tonight to say one thing. I love you. I love you with all my heart.’

She chews, stares at me. ‘Things may get worse? Are you div-orc-ing Mum?’

I shake my head. ‘No, no, I don’t mean … Of course not … Look, I just mean I know you have a hard time forgiving me. That’s all.’ My phone pings a text. It’s Kiera. Not a good moment, but I motion to Meg that I need to read it. She shrugs.

The text is neither good nor bad news, just a status update. Meg is watching me and, as her face breaks into a smile, I wonder if this might, in fact, be the right time.

‘You’re like a magpie, Dad, attracted by anything that’s shiny and new for all of five minutes. I love you too, but right now it’s hard to remember the best of you.’

I nod. Grateful for the small lifeline. I wonder if it will be enough to secure me. I want to ask her here and now to rein me in, hold me tight and never let me go. No sooner does the thought cross my mind that I remind myself that this is not my daughter’s job. It’s my job to reassure her, to hold her, to make her feel safe. So, no, this is not the right time.

‘I have nightmares,’ she says, ‘dreams of you and Mum never speaking, and I’m stuck in the middle, loving you both. I wake up and want to phone you and scream that you just have to get back together, even if it’s just for me, for my sake.’

I close my eyes.

‘Then I think what I’d do if I were Mum. Would I forgive you, even for my daughter’s sake?’

I have a bitter taste in my mouth, like metal, and I realize I’ve bitten my cheek.

‘But she’s done that already, hasn’t she, that last time?’ Meg goes on.

It’s a question that doesn’t need an answer.

‘Then I think: what should you be doing? What are you doing to at least try and persuade her that you want her back? You do want her back, don’t you?’

I can’t speak so I just nod.

‘You say that, but you do nothing. Nothing at all – I don’t get that?’

It appears she’s on a roll.

‘And in the middle of all of this confusion, I’ve met a guy. He’s a nice guy, yet I’m holding back. I tell him it’s because of my exams, but the truth is I’m not sure I can trust him. I grew up watching you and Mum love each other. And, since that was a lie, I don’t think I’ll ever trust again.’ Meg pushes her plate away, food practically untouched.

‘Your mum and I were never a lie.’ My voice is louder than I intend and a couple next to us turn to stare. ‘I loved her, love her still …’

She hesitates, then nods softly.

‘Don’t be afraid to love someone, Meg. Don’t lose that because of me?’ I see her check her watch and I wave for the bill.

Still sitting, she wraps her coat around her. ‘Maybe you should just try harder, Dad. Try to fight for her.’

My daughter’s face is suddenly filled with hope, a Disney-like hope for a happy ending, like in all the childhood films we watched together. All the saccharine finales that have nothing to do with real life – nothing to do with Beth and me and all the messy toothpaste that won’t ever go back in the tube.

‘Your nana thinks the same,’ I say. ‘She left a message on my phone earlier.’

Meg grins for the first time tonight. ‘Can I hear it? Did she shout at you?’

‘No, it’s typical of Sybil. Says what it needs to say.’ I find it on my phone, press play and pass it to Meg.

‘Adam, this is Sybil. My, my, you’ve been stupid, haven’t you? That said, the time has come for forgiveness, and I can forgive you if Beth can. You need to work harder on that. Fight for my daughter. You know she’s worth it.’

Meg chuckles. ‘Only Nana … Straight to the point.’

The walk back to her flat is forty-five steps. Meg links her arm through mine and I have less than a minute to say something that can make a difference without murdering her hopes. ‘I’m not sure she can actually forgive me, Meg.’

She turns to me. ‘And I’m quite sure that you haven’t even tried. Both Nana and I think you need to fight. C’mon, Dad! A grand gesture or two. Just do something to get her talking.’

‘I’ll try,’ I hear myself telling Meg. And I’m still amazed how lies can breed lies. Even as she’s hugging me goodbye, the contact I’ve yearned for, the shades of forgiveness already forming in her eyes, I can feel myself let go. When she pulls from the embrace, I slip away, feel the tenuous lifeline she’d offered slide from my grip. And I’m floating again. Untethered. Insecure. Isolated …

As I unlock the car, a siren sounds in the next street – someone else is in trouble. I balance myself against a lamppost, remove my buzzing phone from my pocket. A text from Emma, wanting to know where I am, if I’m coming around.

‘Not tonite’ is my reply.

I am aware of a cold feeling. ‘What the—?’ I leap upwards in the bed.

‘Morning, sunshine.’

Rubbing my damp face, I blink a few times, unable to believe that my brother Ben is standing above me, with what seems like an empty glass of water in his hand.

‘Ben?’ My brain registers him being there, but that’s impossible – he’s not due back for another fortnight.

‘You total bloody idiot,’ he says. His tone is angry and I know then that he’s really here and that he’s been to Weybridge. I slump backwards, pulling one of the pillows over my head.

‘A prize idiot …’

I hear his muted voice and beg it to be gone. Pray for it to be a bad dream. Pray for it all to be one bad dream that I can learn from and wake up being a better man. I hear him move to the kitchen, clatter about with the kettle, and I toss the pillow to the floor.

He puts his head around the door. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.’

‘You’re an idiot, Adam. Beth is what holds you together and what do you do? Screw it up large.’

I use the second pillow to drown him out again. ‘I missed you.’ I shout again through the cotton, his words reverberating in my head. Beth is what holds me together. And Beth will never forgive me. Kiera skips through my brain. ‘Beth will never forgive me Noah.’ I realize I must have been speaking aloud when Ben lifts the corner of the pillow upwards, stares at me and says:

‘Who the hell is Noah?’