Letting You Go

by Anouska Knight

  ‘How are you feeling, Mum?’ Something had happened to Jem’s voice too. Ted’s face was grave, his oil-stained hands hanging at his sides, both thumbs rubbing relentlessly against their neighbouring fingers. He was clearing his throat again, over and over, trying to ready his voice like an engine on one of his cars, it was turning over but not quite ready to fire up like it should.

  Blythe murmured again, more decipherable this time, as if she were simply drunk or groggy from the dentist. ‘Hell-lo. My darl—’ Blythe stopped.

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ Jem whispered.

  Ted still wasn’t ready, his thumb still rubbing back and forth. Alex felt that drawstring in her throat tighten again. Her mum’s eyes shone with effort. Somebody had to return her pitiful attempt; someone had to validate it. It came from nowhere, an eruption of fortitude.

  ‘It’s all right, Mum. Everything’s going to be all right.’ Alex smiled, forcing her facial muscles to do what her mother’s couldn’t and bluff through this new horror that had descended on them. ‘We’re going to help you get back on your feet, Mum. You’re going to be OK.’ Alex felt herself default to work mode, it was like an outer body experience. She knew this role, the gentle encouragement, the championing of small steps back to something more familiar, more bearable. For a few sweet seconds Alex was galvanised, and then she caught sight of the small glistening trace of saliva escaping from one side of her mum’s mouth. Something began crumbling inside her. Blythe didn’t need a square meal and a few shopping bags of emergency food. It wasn’t Blythe’s financial situation that was broken. It was her self.

  CHAPTER 13

  Susannah Finn had left a chicken chasseur on the front porch. Two mercy meals in two nights. First Helen Fairbanks, now Finn’s mum. The chasseur had been repeating on Alex for the last hour. At first she’d thought it was the indigestion keeping her awake but she’d tried a glass of milk, two Rennies from the back of her mum’s medicine shelf in the pantry and, finally, the last dregs of a bottle of Gaviscon that been out of date for four months. Three trips downstairs, three clean-up operations each time the puppy had bounded towards Alex’s legs, peeing as she went.

  Alex sat in her dad’s chair, the puppy asleep in her lap. She looked out through the lounge window onto the darkness outside. The front path was lit pale by the moonlight. It must’ve looked the same to Susannah as it did the last time she’d brought a food parcel up to their house, the sherry trifle Susannah had made for them all the Christmas after Dill’s accident.

  It had started with a kindness. That was Helen and Susannah’s role, to help Alex’s mum, jolly Blythe’s family as best they could through the festive season. Helen had knitted Ted a Christmas jumper with a giant pudding on the front and wanted Alex and Jem’s reassurances that they’d make him wear it at least once. Susannah had made them all the trifle because she knew how the girls had enjoyed it the year before.

  Alex stared into the darkness and remembered Susannah and Finn pulling up to the house. Alex had stationed herself there at the window on snow watch. It had been trying all day. Alex had watched through the glass as Finn had carried the large crystal bowl up the path. Her dad had been out there on the porch, freezing despite Helen Fairbanks’ cheery jumper, his Christmas bottle of Jack Daniel’s already opened and half gone. When he’d stood, Alex had first thought it was to greet them.

  Alex squeezed her eyes closed and felt for Susannah all over again. Susannah hadn’t known what she was walking into, what she was walking Finn into. She must’ve thought about it earlier this evening when leaving that chasseur on the porch. Ted must’ve thought about it too, he hadn’t touched Susannah’s dinner tonight.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing bringing him to my house?’ Ted had slurred. Susannah hadn’t read the situation, hadn’t realised the danger. Why would she have? None of them had seen him that way, it wasn’t the norm. Alex remembered how she’d wanted to intercept, but she’d froze instead.

  Jem had heard Rodolfo bark and had gone outside to tell him off on the porch. Their dad’s voice had twisted. He’d waved his glass of JD and slurred at Jem, spilling some on his shoes. ‘Joy to the goddamned world! Mrs Finn has brought her little boy over. He probably wants to try his luck again with your sister. Perhaps you can go start a house fire, Jem? So he can watch us burn while he has another crack of the whip.’

  Susannah’s face had lapsed in horror.

  Blythe rushed from the house. ‘Ted, that’s enough. You’re upsetting the girls.’ But it had been the tremor in Blythe’s voice that had scared Alex the most. That was when Susannah and Finn had stopped walking, hovering halfway down the lawn like two rabbits spotted by a fox, as Ted stepped off the porch.

  ‘Ah, look, Blythe. They’ve brought dessert! Now I’m not saying I don’t like, what is that? Trifle? Now I’m not saying I don’t like trifle, Susannah, but I don’t think it’s really a fair swap now is it? My son, for your trifle? Lose a child, gain a pudding … I mean, call me ungrateful …’ They’d all watched in horror as he’d took another glug from his bottle.

  Alex made it out through the hallway and onto the porch. ‘Dad, don’t,’ she’d tried. They’d all tried. But he was like a juggernaut.

  Susannah had tried to turn Finn back towards the car. Jem, fearless Jem, had tried to hold her own father back, all on her own. A thirteen-year-old girl with skinny arms trying to stand against the biggest man in their lives. Blythe hadn’t thought twice, she’d taken no chances and had gone back in to call the police.

  ‘Stay away from my son, Ted. You’re upset, we all are.’

  ‘Can’t he talk for himself, Susannah? Fight his own battles?’

  ‘He’s eighteen years old.’

  ‘S’posed to be a man then. But you’re no man, are you?’ Alex rubbed the puppy in her lap more vigorously while she pictured her dad jabbing a finger into Finn’s chest. ‘You’re just like your father aren’t you, boy? He hid behind your mother too. You’re a coward, just like him.’

  ‘Don’t speak to my son like that. And don’t you dare touch him again!’

  ‘Take what you want from my family and then leave us to pick up the pieces. The consequences of your actions. Well you’re not coming near my family again, Finn.’

  ‘I’m warning you, Edward Foster.’

  Blythe rushed back out of the house then. ‘I’ve called the police, Susannah. I’m sorry. Please, take Finn home. Now.’ But the juggernaut just kept going.

  ‘I don’t expect you to see it, Susannah. You’re his mother. A mother can love anything. A mother’s love goes beyond all, it doesn’t matter what her son has done, or even what piece of shit fathered him.’

  Blythe began sobbing. ‘Ted, please.’

  ‘And what have you got, Susie? For all your unconditional love? A selfish little bastard who only cares about himself, and getting his end away WITH MY DAUGHTER!’

  That was when Finn had pushed his mother behind him, still managing somehow to hang on to the trifle.

  ‘I’m sorry for what my dad did to your business, Mr Foster. And I’m sorry I couldn’t get to Dillon quicker than I did. I tried. I promise you, I tried. But I don’t only care about myself, you’re wrong about that. I care about your daughter. A lot. Actually, Mr Foster … I’m pretty sure that … I love her.’

  He hadn’t meant to, but Finn had flipped the switch.

  ‘What did you say to me?’

  ‘Son, go wait in the car,’ Susannah tried again. Finn didn’t move.

  ‘I’m not leaving you here, Mum.’ Finn had straightened up; he’d looked older to Alex then. Not the lad she’d been wiling away free periods at college with, but a grown man, standing firm, a matter of feet from her father.

  Ted staggered further across the grass, closing the distance between them. ‘What did you just say about my daughter?’

  Finn seemed to reconsider. And then, ‘I said, I love her.’

  Alex heard the crack. Finn’s face exploded in a red riot. The blood was so much brighter
than everything else, redder than Ted’s Christmas jumper, redder than the strawberries that would pepper the path shortly afterwards.

  Ted snarled like a wild animal. ‘If you love my daughter, let me hear you say it again, boy!’

  Alex looked at Finn, the blood was streaming over his mouth. She shook her head, imploring him not to. Please, Finn … don’t, she mouthed. Alex saw something in his expression shift – step down. Finn looked beaten, in every sense.

  Ted stood over him, nostrils flared like a wild animal. ‘Didn’t think so.’

  CHAPTER 14

  Ted’s back was aching. Hunkering over car engines wasn’t a job for the over sixties, not even for spritely and dashing senior citizens like him, Blythe had teased. ‘A man with André Rieu’s hairline and the jaw of Michael Douglas shouldn’t always be caked in grease. Ted should allow himself more down time, he could learn to enjoy the garden with her, they could take trips away, go spend time with the girls. What Blythe had meant was that he couldn’t keep on slugging it out alone in the garage as the arthritis slowly advanced.

  Ted swirled the mug of coffee in his hand and repositioned himself against the flaking blue doorframe so the twinge in his muscles didn’t bite too deeply. It felt good to get out of that godforsaken hospital. It had been Alexandra’s idea. She’d turned into a mother hen yesterday, clucking around devising a plan of action they could all work with. It was good to hear her with a bit more life inside her. Not like her mother.

  Ted cleared his throat. Alex was right, it did make sense for the girls to stay at the hospital in the daytime. He needed to keep the garage ticking over, keep the money coming in. Keep out of everyone’s way. Then the girls could go back to the farmhouse and Ted could go to see Blythe then. The evenings would be just for the two of them.

  And what about the long term? What if she needs help? Well he wasn’t having a stranger to care for her. No chance in hell was that going to happen. Maybe it was time he started winding things down here. Stop putting it off and just accept it. It wasn’t going to be like when his old man hung up his wrench and handed it all over, the responsibility and the good family name. There was no-one Ted could pass the baton to. All those generations of Foster men who’d lived and grafted here in the Falls and now they were at the end of the line.

  Maybe Dillon wouldn’t have wanted to be a grease monkey anyway; the world worked differently these days. Sons didn’t always follow their fathers.

  Ted looked at the backs of his hands, veined and battered from years of work in the cold, a sixty-three year old man not knowing what it had all been for. To sell to some snot-nosed developer who’d knock the place down and stick something else for the tourists on here. Souvenirs of Ragnarok, or some other nonsense. He’d spent his whole life here, he’d fought for this place, this family business. This was the yard he’d unwittingly sent a young mother and her child from in a death-trap. The same yard he’d held on to by his blackened fingernails one desperate job at a time after the papers had used words like negligent and sloppy and people had stopped coming. Never again. Never again would he hire help after what Susannah Finn’s scumbag husband did. Now I’ve got to watch your goddamn son coming and going across the street.

  Over the road, Torben’s shop door swung open. Finn stepped out with another pot of paint and climbed the ladders back up to the new sign there. Finn had grown into a man, something Dillon would never do. Now here he was back again, strolling about the Falls without a care in the world while Dill lay perpetually sleeping in St Cuthbert’s. And why? Because that little bastard was pawing at my daughter in the nettles while her brother was fighting for his— Ted stopped himself. He’d promised Jem he’d try to keep a handle on his blood pressure after losing his temper with Malcolm Sinclair in the hospital. He could already feel it rising like mercury in his veins.

  Ted rubbed a rough hand over his bristles, annoyed at himself for inviting the mayor’s boy back into his thoughts. He let his grievances with Finn slip away while the more pressing issue crashed back into his mind. Did Malcolm know? After all this time? Ted had lain awake nearly half the night thinking about it. He knows all right, the whole sordid tale. Ted had seen it in Malcolm’s eyes at the hospital. He hadn’t meant to be so hostile towards Malcolm but it was a knee-jerk reaction. The urge to protect his girls from this dirty little secret, instantly there again.

  Ted rummaged through his pockets, but he’d promised her. He felt the packet of tobacco in his breast pocket but left it there. We don’t need any more secrets between us right now, Blythe.

  Over at the hardware store, Finn was painting out the lettering on Torben’s old sign. Ted began bothering at the rough skin on his thumb. Three goddamn days he’d spent up that ladder with his little artsy brushes, flashing that grin on the women as they stopped to admire his work. How had Alexandra ever fallen for all that, with his little pencils and pads, acting like some virtuoso? Ted scratched the back of his head. Stop winding yourself up, you old fool. He pushed himself off the doorframe and lobbed the last dregs of his drink onto the yard floor before heading back inside and down into the refuge of the garage pit.

  A familiar motor was pulling into the yard when Ted resurfaced for more coffee.

  Holy shit and damnation. The sharks were already circling. Ted waited for the silver Aston to find its spot.

  ‘Goddamn woman,’ he muttered.

  The petite elfin blonde pushed open her door and swung her knees out from the car as if she was Princess Stephanie of goddamn Monaco. Louisa Sinclair had smelled blood already. Ted looked away while she gathered her bag and gloves and sauntered through the blue doors careful not to brush her expensive clothes against anything that might soil her.

  ‘Hello, Edward.’

  Ted’s blood ran cool over the back of his neck. The backgammon boys down at the Cavern were all wild for the Mayor’s widow. Ted had thought her beautiful once, stunning even, now all he saw was a woman aged with bitterness and venom. All the lipstick and pearls in the world weren’t gonna save that.

  Ted snuggled his hands up into his armpits. ‘Louisa,’ he replied tentatively.

  ‘How are you, poor thing?’ Louisa drawled. Louisa Sinclair formed her words as if they were each a perfect little package, like those fancy canapés she used to have served at her awful dinner parties.

  ‘Something wrong with the Aston, Louisa?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she laughed, a small breathy sound, sharp and sickly like a puff of cheap perfume. Louisa wouldn’t bring her car here anyway.

  Ted sighed. ‘Well shall we cut to it then? Some of us have to work for a living.’

  ‘Oh don’t be like that, Edward. I’m only calling in on you to say how sorry I am to hear of Blythe’s ill health, poor thing. You must be worried sick.’

  Ted clenched his teeth. So little officer Malcolm had saved the day then reported back to his mother. Now Ted had to stand here and listen to Blythe’s name spoken in perfect, sickly sweet formation.

  ‘Blythe is going to be just fine,’ Ted replied mechanically, taking the rag from his pocket and wiping the oil from his hands, ‘thank you for asking. Is there anything else I can help you with, Louisa?’

  Louisa reached out to touch his hand but Ted drew it away before she could make contact. ‘Edward. I do believe you are being ungracious. I’m merely extending a courtesy to an old friend. Much in the same way I would expect you and Blythe to do. Which reminds me, we didn’t see you at Alfred’s funeral in January.’

  ‘Sorry for your loss,’ Ted remarked coolly, but they both knew Ted was glad Sinclair was good and dead. Louisa’s eyes hardened. ‘We were sick. Didn’t want to spread it around, Louisa. No-one would have thanked us for it. Anyway, Jem went, in our place.’ Blythe had said she felt sick, Ted had just played along.

  ‘Yes. I saw her. I have to admit, Ted, I didn’t recognise her at first glance. Jem looks quite the picture of femininity, now that she’s started dressing … appropriately.’

  Ted shifted. Dancing
around with a snake wasn’t going to stop it biting. ‘Wind your goddamn neck in, Louisa.’

  Louisa’s lips narrowed. ‘I was merely saying, Jem looks less the little tomboy now and—’

  ‘I couldn’t care less what you think, Louisa, of any of my children.’

  ‘Any of them? How many is that again, Ted? Such an ambiguous number, the amount of offspring a person has. So hard to keep an accurate tally in some families, no? I suppose Blythe knows exactly—’

  ‘Stop right there, you poisonous piece of work,’ Ted growled, closing the distance between them. ‘Just to be clear, Louisa, whatever you might think, Blythe is more the lady you’ve ever been. My girls are more the ladies you’ll ever be.’

  Louisa’s face held but Ted knew he’d hit home. She smiled anyway, it was her last stand. ‘Ah yes. It’s so sad, isn’t it? Tragic, really,’ Louisa said lightly crossing her arms over her handbag. ‘Am I ever going to stack up against a Foster woman? No apparently, by unanimous decision.’ Ted had heard this lilt in Louisa’s voice before, the thinly veiled anticipation before she delivered a sharp piercing wound with surgical precision.

  ‘Leave us alone, Louisa. And keep your boy away from my wife and girls.’

  ‘My boy probably saved your wife’s bacon, Ted. None of this is Malcolm’s fault.’ It was the first time she’d sounded genuine. Louisa was right. It wasn’t Malcolm’s fault, it had never been Malcolm’s fault – any of it. He was just another kid, another one, caught up in their mess. Ted felt sorry for Malcolm then, but that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t have Malcolm shouting his mouth off around Blythe and his girls.

  ‘Just keep him away, Louisa.’

  ‘Malcolm’s a police officer of this town. I can’t tell him where he can and can’t go!’ Louisa mocked. ‘I’m his mother! It’s just my job to steer him, as best I can.’