‘I’m sure my sister has exaggerated,’ he said.
‘I hope so,’ Bettina said firmly, ‘because we’ve got work to do and there’s no time for games.’ Henry nodded obediently. ‘But first, let’s have a drink.’ We shared a bottle of red. Henry and Bettina had an unexpected rapport; he was happy to tolerate the schoolmarm tone she took with him and diligently recorded all the ideas she threw out. I knew the evening should have been enjoyable, but for some reason I felt like I was a spectator, watching it unfold.
40
HENRY WITH HIS battered backpack; Nush with her monogrammed trunk; Bettina with her matching brown leather bags; and me with the big suitcase that carried my life. We were a team, maybe one on the brink of relegation, but united. Doing my best to avert disaster from the offset, I’d fibbed to Nush about the departure time and had everyone meet me an hour early.
I took the lead, steering us all through security. It felt not unlike going away with Dylan and the girls. Bettina, never a morning person, was giving Ruby a run for her money in surliness; Nush was as excitable as Chloe; and Henry exactly like Dylan at airports – lost. We hadn’t been on holiday for a couple of years; the redundancy and my sense of unease at work had made me cautious about spending money. When I’d got my promotion and didn’t yet know how doomed it was, I celebrated by booking us a holiday, forgetting that a holiday for a mother isn’t really a holiday. There were the weeks of research and then days of getting everyone organized and then sorting out the practicalities of getting to the airport. By the time we arrived at Gatwick, I wanted to leave them all behind and have my holiday at home alone. I told Dylan I was going to buy sunscreen, and then read the backs of the bottles in Boots until they called our plane. This time I sat with my makeshift family at the gate.
At Schönefeld, Henry gave the driver the name of the hotel, and twenty minutes later we arrived at the sleek, modern building.
‘I approve,’ I said, as I took a bottle of still water from a basket on the reception desk.
‘It was the best for our budget,’ said Henry.
‘Well done,’ I said. He looked down at the chequered floor bashfully, then distributed the keys; we were all on the same corridor.
‘Let’s freshen up and then have our first planning meeting at four. Why don’t you guys get something to eat and I’ll check in on the venue.’
‘Is there a gym?’ asked Nush.
‘Yeah,’ said Henry. ‘It’s open till ten.’
‘I’m off then,’ said Nush. She was starting to impress me. I began to think that underneath the lashes and histrionics was a focused and disciplined woman. ‘That’s where the fit guys will be,’ she added.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Bettina asked me.
‘No, thanks. Why don’t you and Henry eat and get started on reconfirming the guest list. I won’t be long.’
‘Great,’ said Bettina. ‘This is so exciting, Alison. Call me if you need anything, but if not we’ll see you in the bar at four?’
‘Brilliant. And don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’ As I walked away, I heard Bettina telling Henry about the website. It had been a black screen with the word ‘Rebel’ in white until she launched it the night before. It was great to hear her so animated and know that I was responsible for it, but I wasn’t excited – I was uneasy, because from the moment we landed in Germany my thoughts had turned to Frank.
I left my bag with the concierge, and grabbed a taxi to a hotel that was in the same chain as the one we’d stayed at in Birmingham. I figured I could see him, have our confrontation, and continue with the preparation for the show unburdened and clear headed. The reception was decorated with the same fixtures as its Brummie sibling, and it felt like stepping back. I entertained the possibility that if he was there, we could also step back to how we felt.
The receptionist didn’t share my dream; she refused to tell me if Frank was staying. She said, ‘It’s against the rules, I’m afraid,’ although she was young and elegant and exuded confidence, and I didn’t believe she was afraid of anything.
‘I understand, but he’s my partner and he’s forgotten something important, something he really needs.’ She looked behind me, where a party of middle-aged men were waiting impatiently.
‘Why don’t you call him?’ She was right. I envied the fact that she was comfortable with that and had no desire to please. ‘Would you mind moving aside?’ She gestured to her right and I followed her cue. After days and late nights of frantic planning, the tiredness I had been keeping at bay took hold. I rested my arms on the counter and tried to align my thoughts. To come this far and fail was unthinkable. I didn’t want to move until I had a plan because not having a plan would feel like giving up. The men checking in bombarded the receptionist with questions. She seemed much happier to assist them than she had me. Their quips and queries were incessant and jarring.
‘How far are the clubs?’
‘What you doing tonight?
‘You gonna have a fry-up or that continental crap?’
And then from the back, ‘Where can we watch the game?’ And it occurred to me that these were men, men who liked to watch other men chase a small spherical object – as was Frank. I waited until they’d checked in, pretending to scan my phone as they made their arrangements and handed their luggage to the concierge, then I followed. I didn’t do it covertly. I trailed behind them like I was a younger sibling forced to accompany her elders, but they didn’t seem to notice. They led me to a bar, populated almost entirely with men. The men were a variety of shades and shapes, some glowing with the sheen of boyhood, others dulled by the years, but all holding a glass of amber liquid and staring at a wall-sized screen on which the game, the game that needed no name, was being projected. I looked for some time, examined them all; none was Frank. I tugged the sleeve of the man next to me. His eyes didn’t leave the screen. The days when I could compete with eleven men were long gone.
‘Is this the only place showing the game?’ I asked. I thought about the things that Frank might desire. ‘Somewhere quieter, where I could get food?’ The man looked at me then.
‘This match?’ he confirmed. I guess he didn’t understand why I would want to look for what I already had. I didn’t let his doubt disarm me; a seed of an idea had been planted and grown into an oak. I was sure that Frank was somewhere in the city watching that match, and he didn’t yet know it but he was waiting for me. I would find him, and from that he would remember that I understood him, and would no longer be afraid of whatever had scared him shitless. I was sure of it. The man said that there was another bar down the road. He didn’t know the name but he was sure there was food. I thanked him and he snorted in reply.
Outside, it had started to darken and the air was heavy with promised rain. There was something mysterious about the city, dark corners and doorways looking to hold secrets. I’d like to blame Berlin and its mystery for keeping me on my ridiculous quest. When I reached the end of the road and found nothing but apartment buildings, I walked to the next; that corner was home to a metro station and it occurred to me that I had been had. I was furious – that I had trusted another man and yet another man had let me down. My anger fuelled me. I no longer wanted to just find Frank, I wanted to find him and unleash hell. I wanted him to feel the force of my hurt through my words; I wanted him to know that my life was not a game that he could toss away when the levels got too complicated. I would tell him that women, all women, including his wife, should be honoured and adored, and that if he couldn’t offer that he didn’t deserve anyone. I wanted to tell him he was a total penis and that his actual penis was not much to write home about, and I wanted to tell him loudly and in public because I wanted to share some of the humiliation I had been living with.
I found another bar. It was small and dusty, not at all the sort of place I would associate with Frank, but then did I really know him enough to say? The television sat above the bar, and the picture was so pixelated it was hard to tell what was showing
from the entrance. I moved closer and the barman spoke sharply in German.
‘I’m sorry, I’m English,’ I said. He shook his head and served an older man sitting at the end of the bar. After giving his order, he turned to me.
‘Pay no mind to Bart. He had a fight with his wife tonight.’ His voice was friendly and lived-in, every word sounding as if it concealed a laugh. ‘Here, I get you a beer.’
‘No, no thank you. I’m looking for someone.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said, and his eyes sparkled. ‘Tell me. Maybe I know them.’ I could hear he was hungry for distraction. The barman set down a pint and pushed the glass across the bar in my direction.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, backing away.
‘No. Sit. I’m Albert.’ I was tired and thirsty and so sober, more sober than I had ever felt, and the thought of blurring the edges was very tempting. I climbed on to the stool next to him. He chuckled as he watched me take several mouthfuls of beer. ‘See, you need drink. Who has got away from you?’ I knew it was unintentional but the words were crushing; even this stranger knew that someone needed to run from me. ‘It must be a lover,’ said Albert when I didn’t respond. ‘A man, I assume.’
‘He … I thought he loved me,’ I said. I looked into Albert’s eyes, dark blue with yellowing whites; they looked like they might have seen enough to understand. He placed a hand over mine. His skin was leathery and cracked but still soft.
‘If a man doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be,’ he said. ‘You must not cry.’ I wiped my face with my sleeve, unaware I was.
‘It’s fine. I’m tired,’ I told him. I was – tired of so many things. The balls of my feet hurt, my phone had run out of battery, and my heart felt so broken I could barely understand how blood kept pumping around my body. I asked him where I could find my hotel. After some discussion with the surly bartender, he informed me that I was on the right road but warned that the road was very, very long. I thanked him for the drink and his wisdom and left.
The road was long. Parts were lined with bars and restaurants; much more of it was dim and desolate. I should have felt afraid but I had nothing left to lose. Despite what Albert had said, I kept looking. I slowed down to peer into every bar window and scan each hotel reception. Age didn’t mean that he knew what was true. I was the oldest I had ever been and less sure of myself then ever.
At the hotel, Bettina was in the lobby. She had her legs crossed in front of her and a laptop balanced on top of them. Her hair was tied back in a bun and her long, pale neck was exposed as she leaned forward to examine the screen. She looked comfortable and capable and beautiful; I didn’t really want to speak to her. But as I watched she looked up, and I felt unable to walk away.
‘What happened to you?’ she asked, as I sat next to her on the sofa. ‘I’ve been calling and calling.’
‘It’s dead,’ I said, and threw my mobile on to the hardwood floor.
‘Is everything OK with the venue?’ The venue could have burned to the ground for all I cared. I nodded. ‘The balcony is usable, right?’ I scanned the room for someone who could bring me alcohol.
‘Do they come over or do I have to go to the bar?’
‘The balcony?’
I sat back in the sofa; it was so big that my feet dangled off the edge. I used one foot and then the other to push my shoes off, and let my head fall back so that all I could see was the sparkling chandeliers.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know? The art’s arriving in the morning. We don’t have insurance – if one of Charlie’s wacky installations falls through the ceiling, we’re fucked.’
‘Yes. I mean, I know it is, but no.’
‘Can you mean something that makes sense?’ It became too much, all of it. I felt groggy and confused. Like when you wake up from a dream in which you’re running and running but not sure if you’re heading towards something or being chased.
‘I didn’t go.’ Bettina placed her laptop on the table in front of us.
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t have time.’
‘Then what the hell have you been doing? If you were planning to bunk off and go sightseeing, you should at least have taken me with you.’
‘I wasn’t sightseeing. I was trying … I needed …’ Bettina reached out for me, and the action made tears come again.
‘Jesus, you’re stressed. There’s so much buzz about the show, you don’t need to worry. It will be great. Let me get you up to speed.’ I was backed into a corner and all I had left was honesty.
‘Bettina, I need to tell you something.’
‘Well, that sounds ominous.’ I considered retracting the statement, but she noticed my hesitation and squeezed my thigh. ‘I’m joking, don’t worry. You can tell me anything.’ She said this so solemnly that I thought maybe she could be imagining far worse than what had happened; that maybe in my own mind I had inflated it all. After the briefest of pauses, I began with the book launch.
‘That was ages ago,’ she said, after I tried to recount the night Frank and I met.
‘Not really, it’s gone so quickly.’
‘It was. It was before I met Tristan.’
‘I guess so.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘It caught me off guard. I didn’t know what was happening, and then he took me for dinner and I thought that would be it, but—’
‘Did you sleep with him?!’ In her question was all the judgement I had feared.
‘Yes, but please listen, it wasn’t sex. I got caught up in something bigger than me, do you know what I mean?’ Her face told me that she didn’t. ‘Please. Please, Bettina, let me explain.’
I told her everything – about the boat, the break-up and the wife, and finally why I’d chosen Berlin for our joint endeavour. Bettina sat silently, open mouthed and blinking. When I’d finished she shook her head.
‘You’re here for a man?’
‘I mean, sort of, not really. I’m here for the show but also for closure.’ She moved to the edge of the sofa. I could no longer see her expression but what I imagined wasn’t good.
‘Basically, we’re all here because of some random man. You’ve taken me away from my work and my life so you can chase a dude.’
‘No. No. Try to understand. He took my life from me.’ She moved enough that I could see her profile – naturally thick lashes, full lips, and a small bump on her nose that she always tried to hide in photos.
‘No, Alison,’ she said, ‘you handed it to him. And then you bring me on, claim you want to work together, and you’re doing it for a man?’ I could hear her anger gaining momentum with each word. ‘Which is bad enough, but made far worse by the fact that you already have one!’
‘No,’ I whispered, ‘I wanted to do it, work with you I mean, I always have. I genuinely think you’re brilliant, but also … I needed a way to get close to him. I wanted him to see me as successful.’
‘Successful? Successful as what? A crazy person? For God’s sake, what does that even mean?’
‘I don’t know, making things happen, being in control …’ Yet I felt completely untethered.
‘What do you need to make happen? You have everything. Lovely house, husband, kids.’
‘Yes, yes.’ How could I explain that I did have everything but something was still missing? ‘But Betty, I didn’t feel—’
‘Fuck feelings. You’re so ungrateful. You had it all and you risked that for a man. And you already have a man – a good one!’ I couldn’t hide my frustration. I needed her to see how entangled everything was.
I pulled at her arm as I said, ‘You don’t know Dylan. You see the tiniest bit of our life. It’s not that easy, Bettina. You don’t trick some bloke into marrying you and then all your problems are gone. Like poof, the ring is on and I’m happily ever after.’ Bettina looked like I had slapped her, or maybe like she wanted to slap me. ‘I mean, I met someone, someone else. I was in love when I married Dylan, but then I met Frank a
nd thought maybe I’d found the one.’ She shook her head so fast her bun started to slide down from its perch.
‘Jesus, Alison, you’re not twelve. There’s no such thing as the one. If there was, surely you wouldn’t have to go through all this for him?’
‘He isn’t taking my calls and I wanted to be here on my own terms. You know? I didn’t want him to think I was chasing him.’
‘But you are!’ she shouted. The lobby went silent, and I waited until the low murmurs of conversation restarted before I spoke again.
‘It’s not like that, you don’t understand.’
‘How could I? No one wants to marry me.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘You know, I always thought you were pitying me or patronizing me. When I would talk to you about being single or how fucking tedious the search is, I could detect this sadness, which made me feel like shit but I accepted it because, really, it is quite sad. But what you’ve done is so much more pathetic.’ I shuffled to the edge of the sofa, to address her face to face.
‘I don’t get why you’re so angry. Yes, I’ve fucked up, but I really wasn’t using you or anybody. You know I want the show to be a success.’
‘I don’t know anything because you don’t tell me.’ She slammed her laptop closed. ‘I had other work I could be doing. I thought you wanted to start something with me, and you were trying to start something with a bloke.’
‘I did want to work with you. I do.’
‘Why would I believe you? You’ve been lying to me this whole time.’
‘I wasn’t lying, Bettina. Yes, I kept some parts of my life private, but to be fair we’re colleagues – it’s not healthy to share everything.’
‘We’re colleagues, right. Got it.’ She slurped loudly from a glass of wine resting on the table.
‘You want another?’
More Than a Mum Page 28