by Ali Mercer
She takes Aidan by the hand, as Viv used to do, and he doesn’t resist. He is a good hand holder; his touch is warm and firm, and, to her surprise, immediately comforting. She hadn’t expected the reassurance to be mutual.
They pass through the arched wooden doors into the startlingly cavernous vaulted interior of the church. Here the air is cool and still and the light is soft, as at daybreak or sundown; it gleams from the stained glass and is absorbed by dark wood and old stone.
A woman Rachel hasn’t met before is standing just inside, clasping a handful of leaflets on which the order of service has been printed. She’s tall and fair and slightly rigid, as if standing to attention, and greets them with an anxious smile.
‘Excellent, excellent, you made it in good time,’ she says to Elaine. ‘The girls have been fine. They’re over there, at the front, in the pews reserved for family.’
‘You must be Louise,’ Rachel says. ‘I’m Rachel, and this is Becca, my daughter. I was a friend of your mother’s.’
She holds out her hand for Louise to shake. Louise takes it, clenches it tightly for a minute, then drops it and turns to Aidan.
‘You must be Aidan.’
Louise’s smile is now so stiff it hurts to look at it. She holds out her hand; Aidan looks at her aghast and turns away.
‘Can we sit down now?’ he asks Rachel plaintively.
‘Yes, yes, you go on,’ Louise says, thrusting an order of service into Rachel’s hands.
Rachel needs no further encouragement. As she ushers Aidan and Becca into the church she hears Louise asking Elaine, ‘Couldn’t you at least have got him to wear something a little more suitable?’ and can only hope that Aidan has neither heard nor understood.
Once they have settled in a pew Aidan seems quite happy again, and falls to studying the circle of bronze pendant lights suspended across the nave in front of them.
Elaine is on his other side, with her teenage daughters – shy girls who look a bit overwhelmed by the occasion – next to her; beyond them is the space reserved for Louise. Elaine’s ex-husband hasn’t come; he’s away on holiday with his new partner, and the tone of Elaine’s voice and the look on her face as she’d explained this had conveyed exactly how she felt about the pair of them.
Becca is squashed into the corner next to Rachel. Behind them, the church gradually fills up, and hums with restrained conversation. It is going to be quite a turnout.
Rachel inspects the order of service. The picture on the front makes her heart sink: it’s a black and white photocopy of a posed studio portrait of Viv as a young married woman, with her husband and their daughters. It is immediately obvious that Louise takes after her father. There is no sign of Aidan.
Aidan notices Rachel looking at the order of service and she quickly opens it to hide the picture; he promptly swivels to look at Elaine’s, which she’s holding on her lap. But he shows no sign of being bothered. It’s as if he either doesn’t understand that a decision has been made to exclude him, or wouldn’t expect anything else.
The organ launches into some jaunty introductory music – Elaine must have decided to go for something upbeat – and Aidan begins to rock exaggeratedly in time. Louise slips into her place on the far side of the pew. Rachel turns and catches sight of Leona several rows behind, wearing a little pillbox hat with a froth of net. Rachel gives her a tiny wave, and Leona smiles uncertainly back. Maybe they will have the chance to catch up later on.
Then she spots Mary Chadstone on the other side of the church, sitting with a group of women she doesn’t recognise. So Mary must have known Viv, somehow or other. Through church, perhaps, or good works in the community; they were both the kind of woman who ends up on committees. No sign of Hugh or the children: they must have opted out.
Rachel quickly turns away. Mary is the last person she feels like facing today; the sight of her is all it takes to conjure up the old, bad feelings of a year ago. Of course Mary will be perfectly civil to her, as usual, which is more than Rachel has any right to expect after accusing Mitch of having an affair with her and attacking him on her doorstep.
How could she have got it so wrong? If only she’d given Mitch time – if she hadn’t flown into a rage, ended up out of control, just as he’d said – he could have given her a perfectly reasonable explanation for being there.
Better than reasonable. A good reason. A loving reason. He had been there to help Becca celebrate her birthday, at a time when Rachel, under normal circumstances, would not have been able to join them.
She hadn’t been well; she’d not been in her right mind. She’d been lost in the Deep. Still, it was terrifying how quickly and completely she’d convinced herself that her fears were justified. And then she’d wrecked everything. It took so long to make a family… and it had taken her next to no time to destroy it.
The vicar comes out into the space between them and the altar, and the tempo of the music changes and becomes more urgent. It is time for the first hymn.
The congregation rises, and belatedly Aidan does, too. Everyone around them begins to sing: Dear Lord and Father of mankind…
The tune is vaguely familiar; Rachel attempts to sing it, and Aidan sways gently from side to side. The music has the same effect on her that it often has, of drawing out emotions she has been trying not to give into. Her eyes well up, and she stops singing and discreetly blows her nose. Then she realises Aidan is no longer surveying the lights and arches of the church, but has fallen to studying her instead.
He seems to be curious rather than concerned; he doesn’t ask, What’s wrong? but his eyes say it for him, and the slight apprehension she sees there is her warning to pull herself together. She doesn’t want to upset him. She tries to smile at him reassuringly and wills the tears away.
When the hymn is over and they’re seated again he says, ‘You want to go home,’ just loudly enough for her to be sure that everyone sitting near them has heard.
It could be a question rather than a statement; he doesn’t really know how to ask questions. On the other hand, he could be right.
But where would she actually want to go back to? She finds herself thinking, not of the bedsit nor even of Rose Cottage, but of Viv’s living room with the French windows open to the garden, and the sun coming through. The house Aidan had spent his first years in, then had never been back to.
‘We’ll both go home in a little while,’ she whispers, but Aidan doesn’t seem to hear her, and is absorbed in gazing at the lights again.
In turn, both Louise and Elaine speak about their mother, and as with all eulogies, their addresses are as revealing about them as about their subject.
Louise’s tribute is formal and lengthy; she recalls Viv’s churchgoing, her faith and her long and happy marriage, refers to unspecified difficulties that she had overcome in life, and tells a light-hearted anecdote about her baking prowess, which prompts a polite, delicate titter of laughter. It is impossible to tell how much of this Aidan manages to follow, or whether he realises who Louise is talking about; hopefully, he has no idea that he is the difficulty Louise has referred to.
Louise’s voice is rather hard to listen to – it is a touch flat, even slightly whining – and Rachel finds her attention drifting. When she has finished Aidan stretches and yawns audibly as if to say, Thank goodness that’s over, and it is such a precise reflection of Rachel’s own thoughts that she has to suppress the urge to giggle.
Elaine opens with a description of Viv that scrupulously avoids the subject of Aidan and dovetails with Louise’s account. Viv is presented as a mother who was always busy, whether in the kitchen, the garden, or with various causes, and yet who always kept her house spotless and her hair immaculately curled.
Just when it seems that Elaine is about to wind up, she changes tack.
‘It’s wonderful to see so many people here – a reminder of how much our mother meant to so many. I’m glad and grateful that her son, my brother Aidan, is with us, and if she could look down and see
us I’m sure she would be happy, too.’
Elaine looks directly at Aidan, who sighs and wriggles as if unsure what all the fuss is about. The congregation stirs as if rustled by a strong breeze. Elaine starts back towards their pew and the organ strikes up, and they stand for the next hymn.
The music takes over, its heavy cadences making an irrelevance of old secrets and unanswered questions and washing away everything but the consciousness that Viv has gone, and all of them, in the here and now, have come to remember her.
After a final address from the vicar, it is over. Amid the general shuffling forward, people gravitate towards Elaine and Louise to offer condolences. Aidan, in his blue T-shirt, with his rolling, ship-board gait, is not approached by anybody. But at least there is recognition in the glances that slide over him and away.
Thirty-Nine
The service may be over, but they’re not yet out of the woods. Aidan takes one look at the crowd gathering in the annexe for refreshments and dashes back along the path towards the church.
When Rachel catches up with him he has stopped in his tracks and is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet with his fist jammed in his mouth, groaning unrestrainedly. His expression is one of abstract horror.
Thankfully, Becca has had the nous to follow them. Rachel dispatches her to fetch Elaine. It hadn’t occurred to her that Becca’s presence might actually be helpful, but right now she’s thankful to have her at hand.
Aidan allows Rachel to steer him towards a bench, where he sits gently rocking and gnawing at his fingers, attracting pitying and alarmed looks from those who are still on their way from the church to the annexe.
Elaine and Becca appear, and Rachel stands to greet them. She says, ‘Would it be OK if we took Aidan for a little walk? I think it would help him calm down. He doesn’t want to go into the annexe.’
Elaine agrees, though she looks slightly unsure about the arrangement, in the way that one might when leaving a small child with a new babysitter. But she doesn’t wrestle with it for long before beating a swift retreat.
The three of them walk through the graveyard and go down to the river together. They find a place to sit and to Rachel’s relief, Aidan seems quite happy to contemplate the sky, the far bank and the water.
Boats chug past, joggers and dog walkers make their way along the towpath on the opposite bank, and ducks circle before realising the three humans on the bench have no bread and giving up on them. To their left, the river narrows to flow under the bridge that is one of the main routes in and out of the town; it’s just about possible to see the cars passing over it. Here, though, the traffic is almost inaudible. The sun shines in bright streaks on the slowly moving water and the steady pace of the river holds sway. It seems to seep into them, calming and soothing them all.
After a while they walk to the nearby vantage point where the river Kett, a tributary of the Thames, has been split into two streams to reduce the risk of flooding. The triangular patch of grass at the fork in the river is deserted now, but a scattering of cigarette butts and an empty, dented bottle of cider are evidence of recent occupation.
‘Looks like some of your contemporaries have been making merry,’ Rachel says to Becca, nudging the bottle with her toe.
‘Could have been elderly layabouts,’ Becca objects.
‘Sweet cider? Come on.’
Rachel takes the bottle away with them, and finds a bin for it on the way back to the church. As it drops in among the rubbish she thinks of messages sent out at sea, and how sometimes there’s no way of knowing whether what you wanted to say has got through. Did Viv think of Aidan as her heart gave way, and if she did, was it with fear or hope?
This time, Aidan consents to go into the annexe.
It has emptied out but retains the heat of a crowd, and has the wrung-out atmosphere of a children’s party venue at going-home time. It is still too busy and confusing for Aidan’s liking. He clamps his hands over his ears and begins to hum. Rachel steers him into a corner and sends Becca off to fetch Elaine, who is on the far side of the room, talking to the Kettlebridge librarian.
There is no sign of Leona – she must have gone already. But Mary Chadstone is still there. Oh God, she’s bearing down on them. Aidan starts humming even louder.
‘Rachel! I didn’t expect to see you here. Wonderful to see so many people. Such a special occasion. A fitting tribute, I think.’
Mary extends her hand to Aidan; he resolutely ignores her and she drops it with a forgiving smile.
‘Good to see you, too, Mary,’ Rachel says.
Aidan is humming louder than ever; a few people turn round to look for the source of the unexpected noise, then turn away. Mary surreptitiously looks him up and down, takes in the blue T-shirt and the jogging bottoms and the Velcro-fastened shoes.
‘So do you volunteer…?’ Mary enquires, with a sweep of the hand in Aidan’s direction.
‘Aidan is my friend,’ Rachel says firmly. The words surprise her, but once they’re out she knows they’re true. ‘We met because Viv had to give up driving and I started giving her a lift to visit him.’
Mary nods understandingly. ‘It must have been so hard for her. Did you know her well?’
Aidan flings his hands down from his ears. He stares at Mary angrily and emits a strange piercing sound, as aggressively pitched as a fire alarm. Mary winces but maintains a resolute smile.
‘I didn’t know her for all that long,’ Rachel says. ‘But I’m really glad I got the chance to spend some time with her.’
‘I’m sure. Well, I’d best let you get on. I see you have your hands full. Well done you for helping out. I see Becca’s here, too – I’m sure Amelia would say hello.’
She withdraws and Aidan falls silent. His posture has suddenly become rigid, and his face is scrunched up in discomfort.
Elaine and Becca come over. Elaine looks Aidan up and down and says to Rachel, ‘So how are we doing?’
Aidan’s eyes fly open. So blue, so like Viv’s, but blank with uncomprehending terror.
Then there is the unmistakable sound of someone emitting a long, intense fart.
Aidan relaxes and beams with relief. The smell is noticeable. One or two people glance at them in dismay, but Aidan doesn’t notice.
‘I need to go to the home,’ he says.
‘Good plan,’ Becca agrees.
Elaine hurries off to say goodbye to her daughters, who are to be left with Louise while they take Aidan back to the home. Returning, she glances reprovingly at Aidan, who remains oblivious.
On the way back, like a tired child, Aidan promptly falls asleep. The car is filled with the soft sound of his relaxed breathing.
He doesn’t stir until they arrive; although he seems dazed and baffled he offers no resistance as Rachel coaxes him out of the car, and goes readily enough with them to the visitors’ room.
‘It’s time for us to say goodbye, Aidan,’ Rachel tells him. ‘But I’ll be back to see you tomorrow. Like normal.’
Aidan peers down at his T-shirt as if he doesn’t really understand why it’s still on him.
‘I’m not going to wear this one any more,’ he announces. ‘It’s finished.’
He doesn’t let Rachel hug him goodbye – as soon as she steps towards him he jams his fist in his mouth and groans, and she thinks better of it. Elaine doesn’t even try. But as they go out Becca gives him a little wave and a smile and says, ‘Goodbye, Aidan, it was nice to meet you,’ and even though Aidan doesn’t respond Rachel is grateful to her.
Then they’re on their way back to Kettlebridge, with Elaine next to Rachel and Becca alone in the back. When Aidan was with them it was almost possible to imagine they were an oddly constituted family of four; this arrangement – the two adults, the lone child – is much more familiar.
Out of the blue, Elaine says, ‘You know, I can’t help wondering if he could maybe have coped with life in the outside world.’
Is she looking for absolution – reassurance that
there’s no way such a thing could ever have been possible? Rachel doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know how to.
Elaine seems to feel the need to explain. ‘I was just thinking about it because I know that around the time Mum gave him up, some parents in the same kind of situation opted to keep their children with them. But I’m not sure Dad would have stood for it. Anyway, he’s obviously thoroughly institutionalised now. He’s so settled, there’s no way I would want to uproot him, and Louise feels the same way. Did Mum ever talk about all that with you?’
‘Maybe she felt the same as you do,’ Rachel says. ‘She did once tell me she’d wondered if things could have been different. But I think she felt he was happy and well cared for, and that was what mattered most.’
Perhaps Rachel should have tried harder, encouraged Viv to open up about the decision she’d made. Yet it would have seemed tactless to do so. Worse than tactless – an intrusion. Viv had been so gentle with her, so respectful of the things she didn’t want to talk about, that it had seemed necessary to take the same approach herself.
Back at Park Place Elaine says, ‘I forgot to say – I think I found the thing you mentioned. If you wait here a moment, I’ll bring it out to you.’
She disappears into the house. Becca says, ‘What’s she talking about?’
‘Oh… it’s nothing very important,’ Rachel says. Then, because this is not true: ‘All right, this will sound weird. It’s a pinboard with some photos on it, one of which is of you.’
‘Of me?’
‘Viv and I used to meet sometimes with this other friend of ours, called Leona, and talk about our children. We aimed to get together about once a month.’
‘With photos on a pinboard? Why?’
‘We missed you. I missed you, and I know Viv missed Aidan and Leona missed her daughter. It was a way of having you there.’
‘But you see me every week.’
‘I know. But I still miss you in between times.’