You, Me and Him

by Alice Peterson

  Listening to Mum, I feel angry but guilty too. Subconsciously I’ve held Clarky back from building his own life. Who doesn’t want someone who is always there for them, like a security blanket? I have used him. ‘I haven’t spoken to him since George’s Sports Day. I think we need some time apart,’ I tell her.

  ‘When you two were growing up you were inseparable, like twins. Your father and I wondered if you’d ever get together.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The thing is, I take the old-fashioned view. If you know someone so well before you’ve even married, well, it’s almost like starting the journey at the end. What do you have to discover about one another along the way? I only knew your dad for a couple of months before we got engaged. I like Clarky but it can’t be easy for Finn when another man is always around. It’s time Justin found himself a good woman who’s not you.’

  ‘He has, I just hope I haven’t wrecked it for him. You’re right,’ I tell her. ‘My behaviour these last few months, well, it’s left a lot to be desired. It’s not only Finn who needs to change. It’s me as well.’

  *

  ‘’Night, George.’

  ‘Where’s Dad? Who’s going to switch my brain off?’

  ‘I can.’

  He pushes my hand away from his head irritably. ‘I want Mrs Jammie Dodger.’

  ‘Your father’s on-call this weekend.’

  ‘Are you and Dad fighting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dad hates Clarky.’

  ‘No. It’s complicated, George, but I promise you there will be no more fights.’

  I do an impersonation of Mrs Jammie Dodger. ‘You can’t do it,’ he protests. ‘It’s Sunday tomorrow. Who’s going to cook breakfast with me?’

  ‘I’m sure Grandpa will help.’

  ‘I WANT MRS JAMMIE DODGER!’ He starts to cry, hitting his pillow hard. ‘I want Dad. Why isn’t he here?’

  Downstairs, I ring Finn. ‘He misses you. We all do,’ I say, leaving a message on his voicemail.

  *

  I wake up early the following morning. I didn’t sleep at all because I can’t stop thinking about what Mum said to me. Sunlight streams through the bedroom window. The birds are singing. I can hear Harvey the parrot already squawking in his cage, and Rocky and Holly, Mum’s rescue sheep dog, are barking for their breakfast. I can smell Dad’s coffee and toast. He’s an early riser. When Mum’s not in the house he gets up at five. I pull back the curtains, lift Scarlett from her cot. Her eyes are closed; her little hands move slowly and gracefully in front of her as if she is trying to feel her way now she is in my arms. Her eyes flicker at the noise, shutting themselves even more tightly. It must be strange being cocooned in warm dark liquid for nine months, where all you can hear is a reassuring heartbeat, and then being exposed to an environment of noise and light where there’s no liquid, just air.

  She smells so perfect, the crown of her head soft and vulnerable. I can’t believe this little person is mine.

  I look out of the window and see George in the field with Mum. She’s trying, in vain, to show him how to tack up Rowan. If we leave him to do it on his own, he hurls the saddle onto Rowan and takes off at a gallop, clinging on desperately. This is why Finn hates the idea of him jumping. ‘It’s an accident waiting to happen,’ he says.

  I watch Mum handing him the apples. They get on so well because they have Rowan in common. Mum gave him a grooming kit last Christmas with his name engraved on it. George isn’t that hot at grooming Rowan, might do one side very well and then get bored and leave the other, but he treasures the present like a box of gold. Inside is a body brush, dandy brush, mane comb and hoof oil. Mum didn’t let him have the hoof pick. It’s the one thing he cleans and sorts out immaculately. Finn can’t understand why he can tidy the box so well but not his bedroom.

  After I’ve changed nappies, dressed and fed Scarlett, I join them outside with the pram. ‘You look much better,’ Mum says as I approach the fence and lean against it. I’m still in my maternity jeans and a bright red baggy jumper. I leave the pram in the shade of a tree. Tentatively I open the gate and walk up to them. I attempt to stroke Rowan but his nostrils flare and his ears prick back. The little shit looks like he wants to bite me so I back off. I think of Finn. He would be laughing by now. It’s funny the little things you miss about someone when they’re not around.

  George laughs instead. ‘He doesn’t like you, Mum,’ he kindly points out.

  ‘That’s only because I don’t feed him chocolates.’

  Mum tells me horses respond to the tone of your voice and body language. ‘They’re intuitive,’ she says. ‘Rowan doesn’t like you because he knows you don’t like him.’

  ‘Can I get on him now?’ George is jumping up and down on the spot, his long gangly legs in a pair of jodhpurs. He strokes Rowan impatiently, leans his head against his mane, kisses him and pats his coat. Rowan stands proudly as he digs one hoof into the ground. George lets go of his bridle and rushes over to me. ‘Mum!’ he wraps his arms around my back and clings on tightly. ‘Can I jump now?’

  I look at the small red and white jumps. ‘OK, but Granny and I are going to watch.’ He hugs me even more tightly. I kiss the top of his head. ‘Love you! Now put on your hat.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes!’ I grab him affectionately. ‘Or I’ll put it on for you. There.’ I tie the strap underneath his chin. ‘Be careful. No showing off. Just do one jump first and see how it goes.’

  George squints. ‘The jumps aren’t very high.’

  ‘They are,’ Mum says as she joins me. ‘I lowered them right down,’ she murmurs. ‘Thought it was better to put them up myself at a safe level.’

  I smile. The jumps are so small Rowan barely needs to lift his legs off the ground.

  Mum and I watch George mounting up and then trotting to the first jump. Rowan stops, thinks about it and then decides to attempt it. My son is still on the horse, but instead of holding the reins he is clutching the pony’s mane. We clap our hands. ‘Well done!’ I call out. ‘Take hold of the reins!’

  ‘It’ll be the Grand National next,’ Mum calls out.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Morning, darling. Clarky is on the telephone,’ he says somewhat tentatively. ‘Oh, and you received a letter this morning.’

  I take the envelope, redirected to Mum and Dad’s address in Finn’s handwriting. Even his writing in black ink makes me feel sad that he’s not here. I put the letter in my pocket. ‘Tell Clarky I’ll call him back.’

  ‘He says it’s urgent.’

  I look at Mum. ‘You’d better go,’ she tells me. ‘Clear the air once and for all. I’ll watch Scarlett.’

  I walk into the house with Dad. ‘Thanks,’ I say, taking the phone.

  ‘Josie?’

  ‘Hi.’ Clarky and I haven’t spoken since the birth.

  ‘Congratulations about the baby and …’ His voice is unfamiliar to me. Nervous.

  ‘You could have ruined everything,’ I tell him. ‘In fact, you might have done. Finn won’t see me.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking, that was the trouble. It was a terrible thing to do. It felt like my one last chance to make you see I was much more dependable than him. I wanted to hurt Finn, not you and certainly not Aggie.’

  ‘Well, you did that.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, J,’ he mutters, sounding deeply ashamed.

  ‘Clarky, we’ve been friends all our lives, supported each other through pretty much everything. If I’m honest I was jealous of you and Aggie, but us believing we were in love was based on all the wrong reasons. We’ve used each other as comfort blankets for too long.’

  ‘I know. In a funny way that punch-up with Finn was what we needed. My nose is OK, by the way, thankfully not broken so it hasn’t spoilt my pretty face.’

  I nearly smile. ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘We should have had a scrap when we were at Cambridge. The thing is, I think Finn and I could have liked one another if it hadn’t bee
n for you.’

  ‘Thanks!’ But I know he’s right.

  ‘I’m sorry, J, I really am, for lying. Do you want me to talk to Finn?’

  ‘No!’ I respond too quickly. ‘No, look, it’s up to us from now on, we have to sort it out on our own.’

  ‘Please forgive me?’

  ‘It’s OK. We’ve all made mistakes, especially me. Can you forgive me too?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For taking our friendship for granted for too long. You needed to tell me to stop bringing my problems to you all the time.’

  ‘I liked it, that was half the trouble.’

  ‘How’s Aggie?’

  ‘We’re moving in together.’

  ‘You’re what?’ My overwhelming emotion is relief that I haven’t mucked things up for her. That out of the wreckage there comes something positive.

  ‘I told her everything. She didn’t speak to me for days, she swore even more than usual. I was a fucking this and a fucking that and she wasn’t going to put any fucking money in the fucking tin.’ He laughs helplessly. ‘She told me I had made her feel second best, and I understand that was how it seemed.’

  ‘I’m happy you’ve worked it out, but how did you?’

  ‘I told her the truth. That I was so used to being in love with you, so busy chasing this ridiculous dream that you and I should be together against all the odds, I couldn’t see what a fabulous person I had right in front of me. When she told me she didn’t want anything more to do with me I felt like my heart had been crushed to pieces. If she’d taken me back without putting up a fight, though, I don’t think I’d have realised it. But I don’t want to lose her and …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘… we do have a future. Things can never go back to how they were, can they?’

  He already knew the answer to that question. They never could, and more importantly we couldn’t let them.

  *

  After the telephone call I sit down at the table and just think, enjoying the rare quietness. Some time passes before finally I open the letter.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be on e-mail there so I thought I’d write instead to say congratulations,’ Emma writes. ‘You and Finn must be delighted. I hope you’re both enjoying the late nights and lack of sleep again! Please send him my best love.’

  Oh, I would, if he was here.

  ‘You won’t believe this but Nat walked into the kitchen yesterday with the biggest smile on his face. “Guess how many boys I had in my car today?” he asked, followed by, “FIVE, MUM!”’ I can hear George running towards the house now, Mum close behind, shouting, ‘Take your boots off before you go inside! GEORGE!’ Quickly I finish reading the letter before the peace is shattered.

  ‘He only has a small clapped out Ford Fiesta. Probably not at all safe, but all I could think of was how normal this felt! Eighteen years on and my son has friends, he’s doing the things that other teenagers do. You should have seen him when he was on the phone to one of the other British Gas boys, Josie, talking about going to Alton Towers and booking into a fun hotel.’

  ‘Take your boots off! Do as Granny says,’ I tell my son. Already he has left a couple of muddy footprints in the kitchen.

  ‘But, Mum!’

  ‘Now!’

  He flings them off and runs past me, saying he’s dying for the loo. ‘Love you, Mum!’ he shouts.

  ‘Love you back,’ I say. I decide to keep the letter. It gives me hope deep down that George is going to be OK too. We’ll get through this.

  I touch Finn’s handwriting on the envelope; a few of the letters become smudged with my tears. The doorbell rings. Is it Finn? It could be. Each time there’s a knock my heart lifts as I rush to the door. There’s an Interflora van in our drive. I don’t want more flowers. I want Finn! I’m handed a beautiful bouquet with a small yellow card. I only want flowers if they’re from him.

  I rip open the envelope. ‘My boy misses you. Don’t break each other’s hearts. I miss you too. Fondest love, Granny.’

  We shouldn’t be apart, Granny, I tell her, as if she were standing right in front of me. I’m going to do something. I have to show him how much I want him back. I’m going to make this work. I won’t let you down, I promise her.

  *

  The car is crammed full with luggage, George’s riding boots, Einstein the monkey, Lego and other rubbish, and then there is all the baby equipment, Scarlett in her new car seat and Rocky sitting on George’s lap. Dad is behind the driver’s wheel, tapping it impatiently.

  I hug Mum. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  ‘Come and stay whenever you like. I’m always here for you.’

  ‘I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I?’

  ‘You’re following your heart.’

  I wish she’d simply say yes.

  I wave and wind down the window. ‘’Bye, Granny,’ says George. ‘’Bye, Rowan. ’Bye, tree house.’

  ‘Josie!’ Mum shouts now. ‘Stop!’

  ‘Oh, what is it now?’ Dad is weary. ‘We’re going to hit the rush hour. Have you left something behind?’ Reluctantly he stops the car.

  ‘What?’ I call out.

  ‘You are doing the right thing!’

  I blow a happy kiss and lean back in my seat.

  The thing is, I know I am too. He’s not expecting me home but all I want to do is see him. Make it up to him. Tell him that I’m never going to risk losing him again. I know he still loves me and we shall live happily ever after.

  I am going to give Finn such a surprise.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Nervously, I unlock the front door. Now that I am finally here my earlier idea of a blissful reunion has completely deserted me. The house is dark and deathly quiet. It smells musty, of stale cigarettes. Dad starts unloading the car and putting our luggage at the foot of the stairs. ‘Hello,’ I call out. ‘Finn?’ He could be in the bedroom. The shower. But the house feels empty. I switch a light on. I feel a painful thud of disappointment. Finn isn’t here.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ George asks loudly, running inside. ‘Where is he?’ he demands again as if I’ve hidden him in a cupboard.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be back soon,’ I say, trying hard not to show any fear. What if Finn is angry with me for just turning up like this? Should I have called? Maybe I’m the last person he wants to see. He said he’d need time. Is this too soon?

  Despite George talking and singing all the way home and constantly asking, ‘Are we nearly there?’ Scarlett is fast asleep. I take her upstairs and put her into our bedroom. The shutters are closed. The bed is made; in fact it looks as if no one’s been sleeping in it. Then I see a pillow and blanket on the floor, along with a glass of water and an empty sachet of headache tablets. It melts my heart. Oh, Finn. What have you been doing?

  I walk back downstairs and Dad tells me he needs to get home. ‘I don’t want to drive in the dark,’ really means, ‘I don’t want to interfere or see the fireworks when he comes home.’

  ‘Yes, you go, Dad. Thanks so much for driving us.’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ he tells me, clutching my hand. ‘Precious girl.’

  I feel teary when Dad has gone, like a small child saying goodbye at the school gates. Being cocooned at home has helped me get through this stretch of time. But I can’t hide away for ever. Finn has to see us.

  George tells me he’s hungry which is a great distraction. It’s nearly eight o’clock and I realise we haven’t eaten much at all today. I open the fridge but there’s nothing in it except for a few rubber cheese slices curling at the edges, some eggs, a couple of sprouting potatoes and some off milk. I make him a toasted cheese sandwich. Other than a couple of coffee mugs, a used cereal bowl and the most sad-looking baked bean tin with dry tomato sauce encrusted down one side and a plastic teaspoon in it, the kitchen is tidy. Finn hates baked beans. It’s strange coming into the house after only a fortnight. Already it has a different smell, even a different feel. There’s no mess due to the absenc
e of George and Rocky. It hasn’t been lived in. There’s a vase of dead lilies that Finn hasn’t bothered to throw out. How pathetic they look, drooping onto the table.

  Then there are all the things that remind me of a once happy home like the passport pictures of Finn, George and me that are pinned to the fridge by a strawberry magnet. There’s his familiar writing on the blackboard. An old message: ‘I love you if you’ll buy me some of that nice soda bread.’

  Finn’s record player sits in the corner of the room. Objects that once looked so familiar and now I hardly dare to touch them, frightened I’m an intruder.

  *

  ‘Is Dad here?’ shouts George. He was exhausted and cross that I hadn’t let him stay up. In the end we’d made a deal. If I gave him a mug of hot chocolate and a bourbon biscuit he would go upstairs. He opens his door and runs to the top of the stairs.

  ‘No, I was on the phone, go back to sleep.’ I’d just been talking to Christo who had said Finn could either be at the hospital or eating out because he hated coming back to an empty house. ‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything,’ he’d assured me.

  *

  Where is he? I’m pacing up and down the room. The longer he makes me wait, the more agitated I become. I’ve fed Scarlett and set up her cot and George is fast asleep, at last. I call Mrs B. ‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’

  ‘Josie, you’re back!’ she says happily. ‘You and Finn have sorted it all out. I knew you would. When Michael and I …’

  ‘Mrs B,’ I interrupt, ‘have you seen him at all in the last week?’

  ‘Not a word. I’ve been round but he’s never at home! I tried to give him a nice coronation chicken. Why?’ She eventually gets the gist. ‘Does he know you’re home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says thoughtfully, followed by a helpful, ‘I hope he’s OK. I don’t know where he could be.’

  I hang up and look at my watch again, wanting it to lie, tell me it’s not this late after all. But it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Calm down. It’s probably something completely straightforward. If he’s eaten out he has to be back soon, they don’t serve food now. But it’s not like Finn to sit in a pub all night. He could be at a club … I’m worried. What if he’s done something stupid? I open the curtains, desperate to see the reassuring lights of his car. All I want to hear is his key in the lock. Hear him say, ‘Hi, honey, I’m home,’ as he drops his briefcase on the floor and takes off his tie and shoes. Why isn’t he answering his mobile?