‘You do know that she’ll want to paint the whole thing pink?’ I said.
‘Then we’ll let her. As soon as we’ve got everything she wants for her room I’ll give the painter and decorator a call. I doubt the whole thing will take more than a day or so to do, carpet and all.’
‘Pink carpet and all, you mean,’ I reminded him.
‘Yes,’ he said gravely. ‘I have a hunch that you might be right.’
My mum looked taken aback by this announcement. ‘I suppose you’ll be coming by soon for all your stuff, then?’
I felt a little guilty when I looked at her. She was trying not to appear upset, but any fool could see that she was. I hadn’t seen her at all today, only when I swung by earlier to pick her up to eat with us tonight as she didn’t drive. Becky had insisted on coming with me as she was keen to see Granny. My mum had been subdued during the short car journey and I found very hard not to be snappy with her. She was supposed to be happy for me, not acting like a petulant teenager. If anyone was going to take on that role, I reasoned, it should be me.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We had planned on picking up a few things on the way back from B and Q.’
‘Oh. I see.’
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, where her hurt hung heavy in the air like a living, breathing thing. Aaron was the one to break the silence:
‘I’m so glad you’re here tonight, Margaret. I completely understand that this is a lot for you to take in. I mean, it’s happened so fast it’s made my head spin, too, but when you love someone, why waste time?’
I understood that it was a rhetorical question, but apparently my mother decided not to take it as such.
‘It’s not so much a question of wasting time, Aaron, but perhaps taking thing slowly. For Becky’s sake, if nothing else.’
I couldn’t believe that she had brought Becky into it.
‘Becky is happy with the way things are progressing. Surely you can see that?’ I said.
‘I just don’t want her to be hurt, that’s all.’
‘No one is going to get hurt, Margaret,’ Aaron said with far more softness than I felt my mother deserved in that moment. ‘In fact…’
His voice trailed off and he threw me an encouraging look. Go on then, it seemed to say. Tell her.
I took a deep breath. ‘Mum. We’re engaged,’ I blurted out far more harshly than I had intended to.
Well. That was subtle.
Maybe, on a subconscious level, I was punishing her for not giving me the emotional support in this decision that I so badly wanted from her.
She was silent for too long than was comfortable, her lips pursed. ‘Well, then I guess congratulations are in order.’
Both Aaron and murmured our thanks, me refusing to be swayed by her negativity. I reached into the front pocket of my jeans to fish out the little black box and placed it on the table in front of me. Opening the box, I slipped on the ring.
‘Gosh, that’s big,’ my mum said. ‘I take it Aaron chose it?’
I looked down at the showy diamond in the centre of the white-gold ring. My mum was right, it wasn’t necessarily the engagement ring I would’ve picked out for myself as it was too ostentatious for my tastes, but it was still a beautiful ring – it was just that it was a little too beautiful. A bit too much, in every sense of the word.
‘Yes, Mum, he did.’
She managed a small smile for my fiancé. ‘I’m impressed that you got the sizing right.’
‘Yes, with a little help from the shop assistant. Between us, we got there.’
He threw me the warmest, most loving smile, and my heart lurched in response.
‘Have you set a date?’
I glanced at Aaron, suddenly nervous. This was the bit that I was not looking forward to telling her the most.
‘What?’ my mum said, unfortunately picking up on the look that passed between us. ‘You’re not eloping to Australia or something, are you?’
‘No, no,’ I said quickly. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘We’re getting married in three weeks’ time,’ Aaron helpfully chipped in.
The shock on my mum’s face would have been funny if it had been the expression on an actor’s face in a comedy.
But this wasn’t a movie, this was my life.
‘We don’t want to waste time, Mum,’ I said softly.
‘Joyce is right,’ Aaron added. ‘It would be earlier if I had my way, but I suppose that three weeks gives us a bit of time to get things organised. I love Joyce, Margaret, and I want Becky to feel secure. Joyce is my world, my everything.’
He smiled at me as he said that, but my mum’s expression was still stony. ‘Have you told Becky yet?’ she asked in that same, monotone way.
‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘We wanted you to be the first to know.’
‘Oh. When were you planning on telling her?’
I looked at her helplessly and for a moment there, I fancied her expression thawed slightly.
‘As soon as possible, I guess. Probably today.’
‘Have you booked a venue?’
‘We’ve decided to hold it here, in the garden,’ Aaron said. ‘We don’t want to make a big fuss. We just want you there, and perhaps Linda and Gary, too.’
When we had discussed our wedding plans earlier, I had meant to say that I would’ve liked to invite Sally, too, despite the fact I had been so slack with keeping in touch with her. But just as I had been about to broach the subject, we had been interrupted by Becky and I had promptly forgotten. Falling in love with Aaron had made me realise that I was ready to start to living again. That I didn’t want to continue to shut people out. I decided to mention it again now while it was still fresh in my mind.
‘Yes, about the guest list, I was thinking that maybe I would invite Sally.’
‘Sally?’ Aaron said. ‘You mean that girl you used to work with in London. What did you say her surname was, again?’
‘Goldman.’
For a split second, I wondered why he was asking me what her surname was, then I thought no more of it as the conversation moved forward.
‘I think that’s a lovely idea,’ Mum said. ‘You should absolutely invite her, she’s a lovely girl.’
Mum had had met her when Sally had come to stay with us that one time after Becky had been born, and the two of them had hit it off.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Aaron quickly agreed. ‘I’d love to have her with us on our special day.’
‘What about you, Aaron? Will there be any more family of yours at the wedding?’
‘No, Margaret, there is no one.’
I snapped my head sharply round in Aaron’s direction. Was there a hard edge to his voice?
No, I must have imagined it.
I noticed that we had all finished eating, and I got up, intending to clear the plates away.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Aaron said. ‘I’ll clear the table and do Becky’s ice cream.’
My mum reached across the empty space between us and put her hand over mine. ‘I’m happy for you, darling. Really.’
She still didn’t look it, but she was trying to be, I could see that.
* * *
It was dark by the time I gave my mum a lift home. She still wasn’t speaking five minutes into the car ride; obviously, it was up to me to emotionally reach out to her. Why was she making this so hard?
‘Well?’ I said when I could stand it no longer. ‘Are you going to give me the silent treatment all the way home, or are you going to tell me what you really think? Aren’t you happy for me at all?’
I hadn’t meant to sound quite that bitter, but dammit, I needed my mum’s approval on this one.
‘Oh, sweetheart, I can see the attraction, really I can. Aaron is utterly charming. He’s gorgeous, clever, rich… But too good to be true, perhaps? I mean, how well do you know him really? I still think it’s too soon.’
‘Why does there always have to be a but with you? I love him, Mum.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘And I know what kind of man he is.’
‘How can you? You’ve known him less than a fortnight.’
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, feeling myself move beyond irritated into the realm of anger. I took a deep breath, determined not to give into it, reminding myself that my mum loved me, that she was only saying these things because she was concerned for me. I knew she would come round when she got to know him; I just had to be patient.
It was difficult.
‘I know enough. He’s a good man, Mum. And you could see how pleased Becky was with the news.’
That much was true. The three of us had traipsed into the living-room with pudding for Becky and a pot of coffee for us and I had broken the news to her. She hadn’t said much, but she had given me a cuddle and had seemed happy.
‘She’s too young to understand the concept of marriage,’ my mum pointed out. ‘I’m not sure she even knew what you were telling her. All she heard was that she’s going to make her bedroom look pretty tomorrow.’
‘She knew.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
I lapsed into silence. I was sure; of course I was.
‘Something happened yesterday,’ my mum said so softly I almost didn’t hear her.
The statement was so unexpected that my head snapped in her direction. I couldn’t read her expression because the interior of the car was so dark and besides, I had to keep my eye on the road on this dark evening.
‘Happened? How do you mean?’
She was silent for so long that I didn’t think she was going to answer. ‘I think someone’s been watching me.’
I very nearly steered the car into the hedgerow at that. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘When I went to bed last night, and I chanced to look out the bedroom window as I drew the curtains, there was a man on the opposite side of the road. He was leaning against his car door, smoking a cigarette and he looked right up at me.’
‘So? The sudden twitch of the curtains probably drew his eye.’
‘No. He was watching me.’
I let out a shaky sigh. This was so not good. Up until this very moment, she had displayed no outward signs of her Alzheimer’s – none that I was aware of, anyway.
‘He probably wasn’t.’
‘I’m telling you he was. And that’s not all. He was there again this morning, but this time he was just sitting in his car, watching me when I left the house to pop into town.’
‘Was this person’s car there when I picked you up earlier?’
‘No.’
How convenient, was the kneejerk thought. ‘Have you seen this guy before? Is he a new neighbour, or something?’
‘No, he was a stranger. He was just there to spy on me, I’m sure of it.’
My heart sank. This was bad. Really bad. It looked like me and Aaron were going to have a long chat later about my mother. It appeared that she was going to need a lot of care a lot sooner than I had anticipated.
‘You think I’m mad, don’t you? You think this is the wretched Alzheimer’s speaking. Well, I’m not and it’s not. I’m a bit forgetful sometimes, I’ll grant you, and I’m not so great anymore at remembering people’s names, but I’m not crazy.’
‘I didn’t say you were.’
‘You didn’t have to.’
I sighed deeply, deciding to humour her. ‘Well, can you remember what car it was?’
I was thinking that maybe I could throw light on her “mystery spying man”. Having lived with her for four years now, and being a driver myself, I was familiar with the cars that the immediate neighbours drove. I was also reasonably familiar with the cars of the friends and neighbours that turned up once in a while. I might not have necessarily known who drove them and who they were visiting, but I mostly recognised the cars.
‘I don’t know, you know what I’m like with cars. It was smallish, black I think. Kind of ordinary. Just a car.’
I could feel my eyes rolling in my head. Just a car.
‘It’s probably just someone visiting a neighbour. Or an emmet. Christ, you know how crap parking is in St Ives and that the tourists will park anywhere they can find.’
‘It isn’t even emmet season yet – the carparks are still half empty. And please don’t blaspheme.’
My eyes travelled heavenward again. ‘Don’t you think that maybe you’re overreacting just the tiniest bit?’
‘I might have agreed with you there if I hadn’t have seen him in town again today. I popped into church in the afternoon to help Esther with the flower arrangements, and when I was walking home through Fore Street I saw him again. And he looked right at me as he walked past me.’
To my dismay, I found that I had to blink away tears. It was so hard not to scoff at her and I made a huge effort to keep my voice steady when I spoke:
‘What did this man look like, then?’
‘Like nothing.’
‘Huh?’ I said, not getting what she meant at all.
‘He looked like nothing and no one. He could’ve been anywhere between early thirties to late forties, his hair was short and darkish. He was wearing dark clothes, nothing that sticks in the mind, and when I passed him in the street he was wearing sunglasses.’
‘How did you know he was looking at you, then, if he was wearing sunglasses?’
‘Because I just knew.’
‘Mum…’ I began, unsure how to continue.
‘It doesn’t matter, you just think I’m crazy. Forget I said anything.’
We didn’t speak anymore for the remainder of the car ride.
‘Is that car here, then?’ I asked when I pulled up outside the house.
It’s not my home anymore, came the stark realisation. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that and I put it to one side to ruminate over later.
‘No, it’s not. You’re right, I’m sure it was nothing. Thanks for the lift and I guess I’ll see you some time tomorrow when you come by to pick up your stuff.’
She had already thrown open the car door and had one leg out of the door.
‘Don’t you want me to come in for a moment?’
‘No, it’s late, you have to go home and put Becky to bed.’
She was right, I did; it was well past her bedtime. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Yes. Quite sure. Goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight,’ I called after her, but she didn’t look round.
It was with a sense of sadness that I watched her walk up the driveway and enter the house. Only when the door closed behind her did I drive away.
Not once did she look back.
* * *
After I had put Becky to bed, Aaron was entirely philosophical when I told him all about my mother’s “sighting”.
‘Well, if she comes to live with us sooner than anticipated, then so be it. We’re a team, whatever life throws at us, we’ll face it together.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, cuddling him all the harder on the sofa.
The warm, cosy hug quickly turned into something more. He pushed me back on the sofa, his hands sliding up my jumper as he kissed me passionately.
‘I love you, Joyce,’ he whispered.
And then we didn’t talk anymore.
TWENTY-THREE
My wedding day was simply wonderful, even if my old friend Sally hadn’t returned any of my emails and phone-calls telling her that I was getting married and inviting her to my wedding. I tried not to let it upset me because it was all my fault, after all. I had brought it upon myself by ignoring her too many times in the past. It was small wonder that she had finally washed her hands off me, that she had given up on our friendship.
Sally’s absence aside, the day was perfect. Even Spring had exploded in all its warmth and abundance of soft, pastel colours, as if it too were celebrating the start of my new, fabulous life.
‘…I now pronounce you husband and wife,’ the wedding officiant said – an older woman who usually married o
ff couples at Penzance registry office.
Aaron smiled deeply into my eyes beneath the floral arch and pulled me in close for a lingering kiss. I allowed myself to melt against him, thinking of nothing except how blissfully happy I was.
Behind me, I heard my mum sob. Aaron and I broke off the kiss and I twisted round to look at her. She was dabbing at her eyes with a hankie but managed a small smile for me through the tears. Next to her on the other white-painted, wooden, fold-up garden chair sat Becky. On the other side of the aisle on the other two chairs, sat Linda and Gary. Behind them a small distance, the wedding photographer loitered, on his feet and snapping away. He was a youngish man dressed all in black who seemed to have perfected the art of blending in, even though his job was, by nature, entirely invasive. Aaron had insisted on paying top dollar for a photographer even though I was happy with my mum taking a few snapshots on her phone.
But whenever I caught the wedding photographer’s movements out of the corner of my eye, the strangest feeling curdled in my stomach. For some reason, it made me think of what my mum had said three weeks ago in the car about her “nothing” man, as I had come to christen him in my mind. She hadn’t mentioned the non-descript guy who she claimed had been on spying on her since then and she had shown no other signs of losing her mind.
I hoped beyond all hope that it had been a one off.
Pushing aside the dark thoughts that were threatening to ruin my perfect day, I paused to admire the beautiful design of my outdoor wedding. The whole thing had been erected this morning, and as I had stayed at Mum’s last night, I hadn’t seen it until now. The arch we were standing under, against the backdrop of the ocean, was really something else. It appeared to be made of intertwined branches, through which pink and white roses were woven, as well as a long length of a white, gauzy material that fluttered softly in the breeze. White rose petals ran in two parallel lines leading up to the arch, denoting the sides of the aisle. The centre of the aisle had been liberally sprinkled with pink rose petals, courtesy of my adorable little flower girl, Becky. Mum had walked me down the aisle with Becky skipping before us, having a whale of a time scattering the pink rose petals from her Little-Red-Riding-Hood-style wicker basket, swinging gaily from one arm.
The Silenced Wife Page 17