‘I feel so sad,’ she stuttered. She spoke as if she were claiming the feeling.
‘What about, honey – is it the drama club?’
‘No, that’s done with.’ Her life moved so quickly; how could I be expected to keep up? ‘It’s nothing and it’s everything,’ she said. ‘That’s what makes it feel so bad.’
For a few seconds I felt the heat of anger fill my chest. I felt like shouting, ‘Look at you! You have everything!’ I wanted to tell her she could have a mother who flirted with her teachers and forgot to collect her from school. I felt like saying, ‘I’ll give you something to feel sad about.’ And that thought seemed so silly and meaningless and parodically parental that the anger dissipated. I saw the first tear – a huge, singular drop – work its way steadily down the right side of her face. When she first started school she would wake me in the night with complaints of stomach pain, and she looked just the same back then. I touched her lightly. She jolted and wiped her face with her palm. Of course she could have everything and feel sad – I knew that.
‘You know what I think might help?’ She shook her head. ‘Ice cream.’
‘That’s so stupid,’ she said, but I heard the beginnings of a smile.
‘So stupid it just might work.’
Dylan told the girls they could have anything they wanted: ‘No holes barred.’ I cringed but didn’t correct him. The girls piled every topping available on to their sundaes. Ruby admitted that the results weren’t that palatable, but Chloe announced that it had been the ‘best day ever’. If that were the case I was sort of annoyed that I’d spent all that money taking them to Disneyland, but mostly it made me really happy. Ruby listened patiently as Chloe recounted her performance. Dylan did a re-enactment of the audience’s reaction to her many deaths. He was taking the mickey out of her, but we all knew that was the way he showed his love.
When we were side by side at the sinks in the toilet, Ruby said to me, ‘It was stupid but it did kind of work.’
As we walked back to the car, I felt my phone quivering in my pocket. Before he could speak, I said, ‘I can’t do this.’
‘Alison,’ he started, and I cut him off, certain that whatever he said would send me back to the brink.
‘I’m sorry.’ I stopped the call. I paused before catching up with Dylan and the girls. He swung Chloe over his shoulder; Ruby clapped her hands in delight as her sister shrieked. I realized the truly frightening thought was that they might be fine without me.
25
‘YOU’VE GOT TO help me with your dad before I kill him,’ said Mum. She was calling Eddie ‘Dad’ to manipulate me into going over, and infuriatingly it worked. I had spent two days making up for my sketchy work hours and too-frequent breaks for text sessions with Frank, but I still had a pile of unread emails blinking at me menacingly.
‘Can you give me an hour?’
‘As soon as you can spare some time for your family.’ She hung up without saying goodbye.
‘Fuck,’ I whispered. Annie appeared at my desk, her tragedy sensor immediately alerting her to crisis.
‘Everything all right?’ she chirruped.
‘Great, but I have to leave early,’ I told her begrudgingly.
‘Client?’ If I said yes, she’d ask which one. She’d want the details and I wouldn’t have them.
‘Family emergency,’ I said, in a ‘don’t probe’ tone.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can get on with whilst you’re out.’ Her face was a composite of responsibility and concern but I detected something in her voice, a slight inflection that if I had to guess I would identify as glee.
I let myself into Eddie’s flat with the key he’d given me ‘for emergencies’. He and my mother and brother were in the living room. It looked like a scene from a Pinter play. Eddie sat in an armchair, wearing a shirt and boxers, his greying head in his hands; my mother stood across the room, one hand on her hip, the other holding a glass of dark liquid; and between them my brother lay on the sofa.
‘Why am I here?’ They all became animated when I spoke. Eddie shouted at my mother and waved his hands frenetically; Mum was shouting at me but I couldn’t make out the words above Eddie. I could only see Henry’s mouth moving, but I could tell he was greeting me jovially.
‘Stop!’ I shouted, and they did. ‘Mum, why am I here when Henry’s here already?’ Mum gestured towards my brother, now sitting up and picking at the toenails of his right foot. Her expression asked me if I was crazy. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Dad, what happened?’ Eddie sighed; for a heart-stopping second, I thought he might cry.
‘I was going to work,’ he said slowly, carefully, as though trying to convince himself.
‘You don’t work any more, Eddie!’ cried Mum. Now it was Eddie’s turn to shout ‘stop’. He covered his ears and shook his head.
‘Mum, sit down.’ She hesitated. ‘Sit.’ She finished her drink and placed the glass on the mantelpiece before taking a seat next to Henry. ‘Someone, start.’ They all began to speak at once. I raised my hands and they stopped. ‘Dad, start. Slowly.’
‘I was just going to work,’ he said. I waited for more; he had no more to give.
‘Mum,’ I said.
‘This idiot—’
‘Mum.’
‘Eddie decided, despite his debilitating condition and the fact he’s been retired for years, that he wanted to rejoin the workforce.’
‘OK,’ I said. I glanced at Eddie to gauge his reaction as she spoke. He was looking away from me, towards the kitchen or something beyond it.
‘So, he drags himself and his oxygen tank and some kitchen scissors, and starts pruning next door’s garden.’
‘I don’t understand, Dad – you were a sales rep.’
‘He did gardening when he finished school. You’re missing the point. He went into someone else’s garden and started … started bloody gardening.’
‘I don’t understand – that sounds helpful.’
‘That’s what I said,’ said Henry, nudging Mum. If I was on the same page as Henry, I had missed several paragraphs.
‘It might have been helpful if he had been asked, and it might have been helpful if he wasn’t standing in a stranger’s front garden in his underpants.’
‘Jesus,’ I said. I looked at Eddie. He lowered his head.
‘The neighbour’s husband thought he was getting his kicks, not that he could, and they’ve called the police. The guy is built like a brick shithouse. If I hadn’t come over he’d have knocked him out cold.’ Eddie muttered something. ‘What was that?’ snapped Mum.
‘They’re not married,’ he said.
‘Yep, that’s the important bit.’
‘What did the police say?’
‘They haven’t come. I said I would take him home and they told me someone would call round.’
‘And they haven’t yet. So, it’s not that serious. Don’t worry, Dad, they have more important things to deal with.’ I knelt down next to him. He didn’t respond. I put my hand over one of his and he eased it away.
‘I just wanted to feel useful,’ he said quietly.
I’d left my jacket at the office, and as I stood on the station platform waiting for a train back to central London, I could feel my skin goosepimpling. I crossed my arms over my chest and rubbed them with my hands. The man next to me peered in my direction over his glasses.
‘Well that was a good summer,’ he said, followed by a confident chuckle. I ignored him. I heard the rustle of a newspaper, and when I glanced back he seemed engrossed in the text, but I noticed his face had turned crimson. I felt bad; he was trying to inject some warmth into a cold, stale morning and I had denied him that. I caught his eye and offered a smile, but he shook the paper haughtily and turned his body away. How quickly men turn when they are denied. Who teaches them it is their right to receive attention and validation whenever they demand it? As a train approached, he folded his paper and offered it to a woman behind him. She to
ok it and smiled gratefully. As the train doors closed, I watched her place the paper on a bench behind her, and understood that the ones who teach them that are women.
I let the first tube go past. It was rammed, and I wanted a seat and space to think. The next one wasn’t much better, but if I waited any longer I would give Annie cause to comment. As the door opened, my phone rang and it was him. I let people jostle me as they pushed their way on, and as the carriages pulled away, I answered.
‘I can’t talk now. I’m going to be late.’ I checked the digital display. ‘I’m already late.’
‘Don’t go. Come here.’ I should have hung up. I wanted to but I didn’t.
‘Where’s here?’
‘My house.’ And how could I say no when he was asking me in?
He lived in a posh bit of North London nestled between two crap ones. He opened the door in jeans and a thinning, purple T-shirt. This was him off-duty. I felt like I was catching him unawares, even though he knew I was coming. The house was pretty; it had a glossy red door and a well-kept front garden. I couldn’t help but compare it to my own scrap of concrete and weeds. He opened the door just enough that I could slip in. I felt like an intruder. The hallway was wide and clear; the walls were painted a soft mint green, a colour that even a man as stylish as Frank wouldn’t have picked. On the left-hand side was a white chest of drawers; I imagined it was filled with useful things. On top was a cut-glass vase overflowing with pink peonies.
‘I’m sorry I cut you off like that. It seemed like the best thing to do. All I can see is this getting really messy, for everyone.’ He stepped towards me. I moved away until my back met the door. Frank came closer. I felt trapped but not by him, by myself. He put his hand up to my face.
‘I want things to be messy,’ he said. He kissed me and I couldn’t remember why I hadn’t wanted to come. We had sex in the hallway, like they do in films. When I watched those scenes I thought, but where has she put her feet? And why don’t they topple over? But you manage. For a minute I worried he would get tired holding me up, but then I forgot myself – it was that forgetting that kept me coming back to him.
Afterwards he led the way upstairs. I left my dress in the hall and followed. He took me to a bedroom. It was too anonymous to be theirs but I still looked for clues. A stack of interiors magazines in a rack in the corner, a box of tissues next to the bed – she was thoughtful. Frank left me alone and I got under the sheets. They smelled amazing; it was probably just fabric conditioner, but every time I moved the air was filled with a floral scent. Frank returned with two glasses of orange juice. He handed one to me before getting in beside me.
‘Thank you,’ I said. The first swig made me cough.
‘It’s a screwdriver. I thought we both might need it.’
‘Give a girl a clue.’
‘And I want you to speak freely.’
‘I will. I always do.’ He turned towards me and pushed my hair back from my face.
‘Good. Never stop.’ He slipped his arm round my shoulder and his proximity made me fret about my bra, which was once white but had turned grey after too many machine washes. I looked at the waxed wood floors. The woman who maintained them probably hand-washed her bras.
‘What’s she like? Really,’ I asked.
Frank held the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. ‘Will it help to know?’
I pulled the duvet up over my chest. ‘I don’t know.’
Frank made small circles on my arm with his fingers. ‘All you need to understand is I don’t think I love her any more. When you told me you wanted to end things it really brought that home.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ I said.
‘I’m not on my own in this, am I? Tell me it was a nightmare for you too.’ He didn’t seem nervous that I would say otherwise, but I reassured him that being disconnected was torture for me too.
‘But it’s hard being with you as well. I don’t like doing this behind everyone’s back. I hate being in her house.’ I felt his body grow tense beside me.
‘Are you saying you want to be out in the open? Make things official?’ I realized that without being able to see him, I wasn’t sure of how I should answer.
‘Is that what you want?’ I asked. I thought about living in his space, not the physical space but the realm of being comforted and adored, and I thought maybe I wanted it, whatever the cost. Frank kissed my shoulder. ‘I don’t know if I can, you know, live with Dylan and see you as well. It’s not fair on him or us.’
‘Dylan,’ said Frank, rolling the word around his mouth like a new flavour.
We had sex again. Was it just about sex? I had asked myself so many times. And if the answer was yes, was that all bad? Sex was better with Frank because I was better. I felt younger, lither when I was with him; he made me feel more like me or perhaps, more accurately, he amplified a part of me that I liked.
We were still entwined when he said, ‘I’ve been thinking about leaving her. Even before the baby, I was looking at places. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to feel under pressure.’ I couldn’t remember the last time someone tried to relieve me of pressure, and now that he had, I was more than happy to take it on.
‘You need to chase your own happiness,’ I told him. He pulled me on to his lap.
‘Are you quoting me?’ I buried my face into his shoulder. ‘Are you quoting me?’ he said again, his voice mocking but loving and still sexy.
‘When were you going to leave?’ I whispered.
‘Soon, maybe the next couple of months. But, listen – I don’t want you to worry that this is about you.’ But I wasn’t worried; I was elated.
‘Mrs Meecham?’ I had almost not answered my phone; withheld numbers usually mean young men with northern accents asking me about a mythical accident I have recently had. Frank and I had napped together, nestled into the afternoon as if we had all the time in the world; I wasn’t eager to disturb that, but paranoia was a constant companion, and I accepted the call in case not doing so initiated a chain of events that led to our discovery. As it turned out, it might have. ‘Mrs Meecham, I’m glad I got you.’
‘It’s Ms Meecham,’ I said.
‘Yes, Mrs Meecham. I’m calling from school. I’m afraid to say we have a bit of an issue here. Is it possible you could come and collect Ruby?’
‘Is she sick?’
‘No, she’s fine. We just have an issue, and we need you to come and collect her.’
‘If she’s not sick, what’s going on? Is she OK?’ Frank started to rub my back and I shrugged him away. I wasn’t ready for those two parts of my life to coexist.
‘I think it would be better if we discuss it when you come down.’
‘I’ll be there in …’ I faltered, unsure how long it would take me to get there from where I was, scared that highlighting the distance might reveal something. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ I got out of bed, scanning the room frantically for my belongings. ‘Fuck, where’s my dress!’
‘By the front door,’ said Frank. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘No, it’s not OK. Nothing’s OK. I think something’s wrong with Ruby.’ He sat on the stairs and watched me dress in the hallway. I was too agitated to feel embarrassed, but I did take a second to think about how different I felt when the dress was coming off – despite how they’re created, kids take the sex out of everything.
The receptionist asked me to write my name in a visitors’ book, and although she had been nothing but amiable, I detested her for keeping me from my child. I scrawled my name on the page and handed it back to her. She gave me a visitor’s pass in exchange.
‘Have a seat and I’ll take you to the head’s office.’
‘I know the way,’ I said.
‘It’s policy,’ she simpered. I couldn’t sit; I paced tiny circles on the russet carpet. I could hear her answering the phone and giving laboured directions to the school.
‘Look for the huge building full of kids,’ I m
uttered. She turned and gave me that infuriating ‘one second’ finger signal. I watched her end the call and organize herself at evolutionary pace. Finally, she left her little Perspex-windowed box and walked out to where I stood.
‘Follow me, Mrs Meecham,’ she said. We wandered the hallways. It was suspiciously quiet, like they had drugged the children or gagged them. The receptionist stopped before we reached the room and let me take the last few steps alone. I peered in through a small glass window; it had never occurred to me before how much high school was like prison. Ruby sat in her uniform, head down. I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell by her posture she’d been crying or was about to. The headmaster, Mr Kindeace, a middle-aged man who always looked as though he was on his way to a Spandau Ballet tribute band audition, was sitting in a chair opposite her. His shiny suit trousers bunched awkwardly as he crossed his legs. I pushed open the door and Ruby looked up at me. She had two wonky black streaks running down her face, which meant I had to add wearing make-up to school to her list of crimes.
There was an empty chair next to her. As I sat, she shuffled away from me. I reached towards her and when she didn’t move, I took hold of her hand. When she was young and had stolen biscuits or broken the washing machine trying to clean one of her toys, I would hold her hands as she confessed. ‘Whatever you say can’t make me love you any less,’ I would assure her.
‘Thanks for coming so quickly,’ said Mr Kindeace.
‘Of course, no problem.’ The windows were open but I felt hot.
‘I’m afraid Ruby hasn’t been making the best use of her time here.’ I looked to my daughter, who shook her head quickly.
‘Ruby used false details to befriend her form tutor Ms Davison on social media. Following that, she found some, um, provocative pictures and distributed them amongst the student body. With annotations.’
‘Right …’ I had heard all the words but was struggling to understand what they meant in that specific order. I tried shuffling the sentence round in my head. I felt Ruby’s hand go limp in mine.
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