by Ruth Jones
He offered to go round there and check, asking Hetty to look after Tallulah while he did.
There was no answer. But after some persuading, the concierge agreed to use his pass key to let Matt into the apartment, on condition he stood by to check nothing untoward went on. ‘She’s famous, y’know!’ he said to Matt. Matt was tempted to say, Yes, and I used to be married to her, but he thought it just sounded mealy-mouthed and petty.
The TV was on and the apartment stank of cigarettes. He’d not noticed it when he’d come around the time before, and Kate always swore she didn’t smoke indoors because of Tallulah. With the concierge two feet behind him, he looked first in the bathroom and then in the bedroom, but the bed hadn’t been slept in. Then he ventured into the living room.
And that’s when he saw her.
Slumped face-down on the sofa. The empty gin bottles lay on their side next to her. ‘Jesus!’ He ran over to her and turned her round.
‘Shall I call an ambulance?’ the concierge said, panicked.
Matt ignored him, trying to get a response out of Kate. ‘Kate! Kate, can you hear me?’
Slowly she opened her eyes and smiled. ‘Hey Matt! Whassup?’
Matt turned to the concierge. ‘She’s fine. You can go now.’
‘I’m not sure, y’know, I shouldn’t really—’
‘She clearly knows me – she just said my name. Now please.’
Begrudgingly – because he wanted to make the most of the drama – the concierge left, and Matt managed to sit Kate up. ‘I’m gonna get you a drink, OK?’
‘OK,’ she whispered, her head flopped down, arms in front of her.
When he returned a minute later with a jug of water, she was still in the same position. He poured her a glass and she began sipping very slowly.
‘That’s it.’
And they sat like that for a good twenty minutes, him stroking her back, watching as she took the water down, sip by hungover sip, dry-retching in between. There was no need for words, the two of them unmoving, save for the stroking and the sipping. Eventually, he spoke.
‘Hey, y’know what I did the other day?’ he ventured softly. ‘I started sorting out the attic.’ Kate stayed silent, becalmed by the soothing familiarity of Matt’s gentle voice, as if he was telling her a bedtime story. ‘Very cathartic. Boxes and boxes of … just stuff.’
The glass shook uncontrollably in her hands and he took it from her, resting it on the floor. Kate leant her head on his shoulder.
‘I found some of your old theatre programmes in there, all the shows you’ve been in. There were loads.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You were in Snow White, weren’t you? At Coventry Belgrade. Nineteen eighty …’ He struggled to remember the date.
‘Nineteen eighty-five,’ she mumbled, barely audible. ‘My first job.’
‘Well, I worked it out. You and me … we met before, y’know! We met that day you auditioned – don’t know how we didn’t realize before!’
She turned to him now, confused, unable to process what he was saying.
‘I was getting some props and stuff for this show at uni, and you were waiting to audition. I tested you on your lines. D’you remember?’
Kate shook her head and a big tear, fat with sorrow, rolled down her cheek.
‘Such a small world, eh? Our paths crossing like that.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘I wished you luck.’ And he drew her to him and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll always wish you luck, Kate.’
‘Me and Callum are finished.’
‘Oh sweetheart.’
‘I bet you’re glad, aren’t you?’
He sighed. ‘No. No, it’s really sad.’ And he meant it.
She was finding it difficult to speak, the effects of the gin slowing down her enunciation, her mouth sticky with dehydration. He poured her some more water from the jug. Obediently she drank it.
‘Maybe I should come back with you. Come home for a bit,’ she said.
Matt thought how strange life was – that had she said those words even two months ago, his heart would have burst with joy.
‘Babe, you know that can’t happen.’
‘Why?’ She couldn’t focus through both eyes, so she put her hand over one and tried to look at him. ‘I know I’ve been really stupid,’ she said. ‘I know that. And I know it’ll take a while, but I’ll get some help. I’ll go back to the counsellor – he’ll help me.’
‘Well, I think that would be a really good idea, mate.’
‘Yeah, and we’ll get through it like we did before. And I promise you … I promise you I won’t be such an idiot again.’
Matt looked at the ugly, sorrowful mess his beautiful wife had become and stroked her face. Never had he felt such compassion for her as he did right now.
‘Listen to me … Kate, listen to me. You’re not coming back with me.’ Despite his words, there was no malice in what he was saying, no self-righteousness. ‘Our marriage is over now. You have to see that.’
‘No!’
‘Yes, it is.’ And he pulled her to him even tighter. ‘I love you.’ It was his turn to cry. ‘I’ll never stop doing that …’
‘So take me home!’
‘… and I will help you as much as I can. But your mother is on her way to London. I’ll stay with you until she arrives and then she’ll look after you. Till you get yourself straight.’
‘But I want you to look after me.’
And he kissed her head again, rocking her gently, comforting her child-like sobs. ‘It’s not my job any more, pet. Sorry.’
2017
‘You should’ve brought the selfie stick, you moron!’ Fourteen-year-old Jack was berating his twin sister Dorcas as she tried desperately to squeeze all three of them into the shot.
‘Just get my dad to take it, dopey!’ Tallulah laughed. She adored the twins, and had always treated them like her kid brother and sister, despite the absence of any blood connection. She’d always considered Hetty to be a close relative, so it made sense that she’d think the same of Hetty’s offspring. She’d known them all her life, and, being an only child, enjoyed the power of this pseudo sibling relationship, as well as the authority afforded her by being six years their senior.
‘Dad! Take a photo!’ She handed her mobile to Matt. He duly obliged, faking ignorance as to which way round the handset should be held.
‘Uncle Matt! Stop it!’ Dorcas giggled.
Age suited Matt. The laughter lines that had come with the passing of time and a long-found contentment with his second wife Carrie – Tallulah’s beloved stepmother – had been more than kind to his already handsome face.
It was a joyous occasion – Tallulah’s graduation from UCL and a happy, happy day. Kate had not long left them. She’d stood proudly alongside Matt in the grand hall, cheering on their clever daughter as she lined up with the hundred or so other graduands to accept her degree in Economics.
‘God knows where she got it from, eh Matt?’ Kate had whispered, tears in their eyes as they applauded their little girl, now nearly twenty-one, and watched as she stepped up to the stage to receive her mock scroll from the university’s Chancellor.
It was easy between Kate and Matt now. The hurt long healed, their lives long moved on.
‘You sure you won’t join us?’ Matt said. Hetty and Ivor had booked them a table at Chez Martin as a treat to celebrate Tallulah’s special day.
‘Ah no. Things to do, places to go, people to see!’
Matt knew better than to try to persuade her. Although Kate had been sober for years, she still found big social occasions a challenge, and preferred to slip away quietly, letting the revelry carry on without her. He also knew that today was a big day for her, too. And not just because of Tallulah’s graduation. He engulfed her in a big hug before she left.
‘I’m on the end of the phone, remember. So is Carrie.’ They’d looked over to where Matt’s second wife stood talking to Ivor and Hetty. She had such remarkable poise: poise that at another time in
her life Kate would’ve envied. Now, when she looked at Carrie she felt relieved. And secure. That the father of her little girl had finally found a woman who loved him, a woman who deserved him.
‘I’ll let you know how it goes, OK?’
Matt smiled at her and winked. ‘Good luck!’
Kate blew kisses to the excited party and headed off to the Tube.
Ailsa was still at her mother’s house. She’d popped over that morning for a catch-up. The doorbell went and she made her way into the hallway to answer it – it took her a little longer these days, her ever-progressing pregnancy slowing her down.
‘Mummy, can I get it?’ four-year-old Alfie asked, not waiting for the answer and running ahead to look through the letter box.
‘Can you see who it is?’ she said.
‘It’s Grampa!’
Ailsa opened the door to let Callum in. ‘Hi Dad.’
‘Nice surprise!’
‘Yeah, Mum had this one for a couple of hours while I had a kip. I’m absolutely knackered.’
‘Not long now, sweetheart. Good curry, that’s what you need,’ and he kissed his daughter before picking up his grandson. ‘Where’s your Nana then, son?’
‘She’s in the bedroom. She said she’s putting her face on.’
Callum laughed.
‘Hey Alf, don’t be giving away a lady’s secrets!’ Ailsa smiled at her dad. ‘So where you taking her today?’
‘Thought we’d drive into the centre and walk up Arthur’s Seat. Haven’t been up there in years and it’s on our bloody doorstep!’
‘You sure your knees are up to it?’
‘I’ve taken an Ibuprofen.’ He winked at her.
She looked at her seventy-one-year-old father and smiled. She had to hand it to him, the man had perseverance oozing from his pores. Once a week, for nearly fourteen years, he’d taken her mother out on a ‘date’. Sometimes it was the cinema, sometimes it was a stroll up to the castle; when the Festival was on it might be to see some new comedian or a concert in the Assembly Rooms, and whenever he could get tickets for the internationals at Murrayfield, of course they’d go and watch Scotland play. Whatever it was, he never gave up. Always striving to restore the faith he’d long since extinguished from their marriage.
Belinda had made it clear to Callum that she would never take him back again and they would certainly never remarry, but if he wanted to woo her for the rest of his days, or until he got bored, she’d grant him permission. ‘Just don’t expect anything more than my scintillating company and unwavering friendship,’ she’d said. ‘’Cos that’s all you’re ever gonna get.’
Ailsa’s accident had made them all rethink. It had taken eighteen months for her to make a full recovery. Then, when Callum had moved back to Portobello – to a one-bedroom flat, not the family home – Belinda had been glad to see the rift mend between him and his three children. She in turn grew to forgive him. But she would never, ever forget. ‘Not twice, Callum,’ she’d sadly smiled. ‘What d’you think I am?’
For the first year he’d begged her and pleaded with her, thinking he’d eventually grind her down and persuade her to give in. But the day came when she had to put him straight, laying the deal down on the table and telling him it was either friendship or nothing at all.
And as time went on, and Ben and Cory and Ailsa started families of their own, Callum and Belinda learnt to be grandparents with a difference: they probably got on better than many non-divorced couples their age. She knew if she said the word, he would marry her tomorrow. But it just wasn’t ever going to happen. And finally he’d accepted it.
Belinda came downstairs now, looking smart. She always made an effort for their weekly dates. At the age of sixty-nine she still looked after herself, just adding a bit of glam with a touch of mascara and a smidge of lipstick.
And every week he’d say to her, ‘You look lovely, Bel.’
And every week, with a twinkle in her eye, she’d reply, ‘Well don’t get your hopes up, MacGregor, ’cos you’re not gonna shag me, OK?’ Only she didn’t say it this week because little Alfie was there, and it wouldn’t be nice for him to hear his Nana being so rude. She was a respectable old lady now, after all.
‘Is it cold out?’ she asked him.
‘It’s Scotland, woman, what d’you expect?’ And he held her coat out for her to put on, Ailsa watching them and smiling.
‘Right, don’t be going into labour till we get back, young lady,’ Belinda said as they headed out of the door.
‘Oh don’t worry, I’m off home now. Tom’s doing tortillas.’ And she watched her parents wander down the drive towards Callum’s car, chattering away like they’d always done, looking for all the world like they had done forty-three years ago on that international day when they’d first met.
‘I got my special coin last night, look.’
She held it out to Maria, the counsellor, who took it and admired it. ‘Fourteen years sober. That’s pretty amazing, Kate.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re still getting to meetings regularly then?’
‘At least twice a week. I’m being a good girl, don’t worry.’
Kate hadn’t seen Maria for a while. They caught up with each other once every few months these days, just to ‘check in’, or whenever Kate needed to see her.
‘Well, you’re looking good.’
‘Don’t worry, I know you don’t mean fat!’ Kate laughed.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Kate knew this was the way it went. When she’d first started seeing a therapist – a different one way back when – she used to despise the silences and feel obliged to fill them. But she was a different person in those days, less honest, less in touch with what was really going on inside.
She knew the rules now. They could sit in silence till the hour was up if that’s what she wanted. But it wasn’t. She’d also learnt over the years, through the pain of getting sober and the endless hours she’d sat in AA meetings crying her heart out, or listening to other people crying their hearts out, that it was always better out than in.
‘Tallulah graduated from uni this morning,’ she said, the tears of a proud mum springing to her eyes.
‘That’s a bit of a milestone,’ Maria said. ‘How did you feel?’
‘Amazing. Obvs.’ She laughed. ‘A tiny bit of guilt crept in when I saw her on the stage thingy being handed her scroll, but then I thought, fuck it, she’s turned out OK, has Lules, despite my early attempts to mess things up for her. I’ve done my time on the old self-pity, haven’t I?’
‘I would say so, yes.’
More silence. ‘It was nice standing there with Matt and Carrie. Who’d’ve thought it, eh? Me and them, the best of friends, cheering on our little girl. We’re the shining example of what’s apparently called a “blended family”.’
And again more silence. ‘So …’ Maria gently edged the conversation forward to where she sensed Kate wanted to take it. ‘Big day today?’
‘Yep.’
‘Where are you meeting him?’
‘Secret Garden Café in Regent’s Park.’
‘Nice and neutral.’
‘Nice and neutral,’ Kate repeated and bit her bottom lip in a vain attempt to stop the tears of fear. But then she knew they’d have to come out at some point, so she may as well open the floodgates now and let them flow.
She arrived an hour early just in case she couldn’t find it, and drank three coffees in quick succession. She was shaking. But it wasn’t down to the caffeine.
She looked at her watch. Again.
He wasn’t late.
Not yet.
She could just walk away, of course. She didn’t have to put herself through this. But then how would it feel to never know, to never find out?
And then she heard it. His voice.
‘Kate?’
She looked up and there he stood. Smiling. Scared.
Thirty-one years of age.
He looked just like his father
.
And instantly she loved him.
‘Luca.’
‘It’s really good to meet you, Mum.’
Song credits
Lyrics here from ‘Careless Whisper’ written by George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley
Lyrics here from ‘Lord Of The Dance’ written by Sydney Carter
Lyrics here from ‘Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)’ written by Kate Bush
Lyrics here from ‘Got To Have Your Love’ written by Bryce ‘Luvah’ Wilson, Kurtis el Khaleel and Johnny D. Rodriguez
Lyrics here from ‘There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart)’ written by Annie Lennox and David A. Stewart
Lyrics here from ‘Come On Eileen’ written by Kevin Rowland, Jimmy Paterson and Billy Adams
Lyrics here from ‘Your Love Is King’ written by Sade Adu and Stuart Matthewman
Lyrics here from ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’ written by Roy Wood
Lyrics here from ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ written by Mariah Carey and Walter Afanasieff
Lyrics here from ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ written by Paul McCartney
Acknowledgements
What a lovely journey into the world of novel-writing this has been … I’d like to thank my fellow travellers at Transworld, especially Frankie Gray my editor for her astonishing patience, creativity and optimism, Alison Barrow, Vicky Palmer, Bill Scott-Kerr and Larry Finlay for their gorgeous support and enthusiasm. And Kate Samano for putting up with my grammar tantrums!
To the team at Curtis Brown a massive thank-you, but especially to Jonny Geller, for his invaluable advice from the very start and for just taking a punt on me as a novelist.
To Les Edwards, my A-level English teacher at Porthcawl Comprehensive – now departed this world, but who gave me a love for literature for which I’ll always be grateful. I want your family to know that, Les. You were the coolest teacher.