It’s a frosty day and Riley tells me the trees look as though they’re sparkling. I cook her favourite dinner – fish fingers and potato waffles – and she only asks about her father once.
It’s a little taster of how simple, joyous and happy life could be, if only she was mine alone, but I know it won’t last.
The next morning, I am back sitting next to Robin’s bed in the hospital. Despite the fact he’s gravely injured I can’t bring myself to even touch his hand. I stare at his face. My mind is a complex mess of feelings, and I can’t even begin to untangle them.
‘Mrs Morgan?’
I look up. Robin’s consultant is standing behind me.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Hello . . . hi.’
‘We’ve had the results back from your husband’s latest tests,’ she says softly. ‘I’m afraid they’re not particularly encouraging. The bleed to his brain was significant and at present, he’s still unable to breathe for himself. That’s why he’s on the ventilator. He’s also on medication to keep his blood pressure elevated. However, his condition doesn’t seem to be improving . . .’
‘What . . . what does it mean?’
‘At present,’ she says, ‘the machines and medication are keeping your husband alive. Without them, his body would not be able to function. Also, I see from his history that ten years ago he had a heart attack brought about by prolonged cocaine use. As a result his heart isn’t as strong as we would hope, and it’s not coping as well as we’d like for someone his age. I’m very sorry.’
A heart attack?
‘I didn’t know that,’ I say, sniffing. ‘I thought he’d just . . . had a scare. I didn’t realise he’d actually had a heart attack.’
The consultant looks uncomfortable.
‘It was before I met him . . . Sorry, what were you saying?’ I ask.
‘Your husband is very poorly,’ she says, smiling sympathetically. ‘And at the moment, unless something changes, I’m afraid he is unlikely to recover from his injuries. We’re doing everything we can, and he’s stable for now. It’s just a case of waiting to see if he fights back.’
I nod and try to imagine what would happen if he did recover. Would he be confined to a wheelchair? Would I have to be his carer? I am his wife, after all. I’m his next of kin. He’s my responsibility.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘If it’s OK, I’d like to sit with him for a little bit longer.’
‘Of course.’
She leaves the room, but seconds later the door opens again. I look up. It’s Kim. Her face is so impossibly pale I almost don’t recognise her.
‘Kim!’ I say. ‘I tried calling you.’
‘I know, I got your messages.’
‘Where have you . . . where have you been?’
‘On the sixth floor,’ she says, smiling grimly. ‘Visiting old friends. It’s where I’ve been having my treatment.’
She walks over to me and pulls a chair up beside me, staring at Robin.
‘God, the hours I’ve spent in this place,’ she says. ‘I might as well get my post redirected here.’
I laugh. The break in the atmosphere is a relief.
‘I’m sure.’
‘Where is Riley?’
‘Rob’s parents are looking after her,’ I reply. ‘Don’t worry.’
She nods.
‘Shit, man,’ she says. ‘He looks worse than me, and that’s saying something.’
‘They think he’s going to die,’ I say, and I don’t even care if he can hear me, if he understands. ‘The doctor just told me. Well, not in so many words but . . . He’s very unlikely to recover from his injuries. Without the ventilator, he can’t breathe. Also, his heart is weak. He had a heart attack years ago. He’s stable for now, but what happens long-term? I can’t actually . . .’
I start to cry.
‘I mean, I don’t know what to think,’ I say. ‘After everything, everything I’ve found out about him . . . and now . . . this. I mostly just feel anger. I’m so angry that he’s done this, that he’s put us in this situation. I don’t even get the chance to have it out with him. To sort it out. It’s not fair. This isn’t a level playing field. How am I supposed to feel? What am I supposed to think?’
Kim says nothing.
‘I loved him so much,’ I say. ‘For so long. And then . . . I don’t even know what he thought of me, in the end. Did he ever love me? Was he just using me? And what . . . what will happen to Riley if he dies? She adored him. He was so good to her. He loved her so much . . .’
‘Listen to me,’ Kim says, gripping my wrists and twisting me round to look at her. ‘You’re a good mother. Riley loves you. You will get through this. And you will be fine. I promise you. I wouldn’t . . . I wouldn’t leave my daughter behind unless I knew she was going to be OK. And she will be, with you to take care of her.’
I bite my lip.
‘And as for Robin . . .’ she says, her voice softening slightly. ‘You can still love him. He was your husband. And he cared about you – of course he did. He was a messed up man, but he loved you and he loved Riley. You can still grieve for him, you can still be sad.’
I sniff again.
‘It’s just hard . . .’ I say. ‘On the one hand wishing . . . no, not wishing, but just knowing how much easier it would all be if he went away. But on the other . . . how can I think like that? How can I want Riley to lose her father? What kind of mother does that make me?’
I rub my face with my hands.
‘God,’ I say, pulling myself together. ‘I don’t want that. Of course I don’t. I’m so sorry. I haven’t slept well . . . Robin’s parents were very, very upset last night. It was hard, they expected me to be too but I just . . .’
Kim frowns and gives a short sigh.
‘Listen,’ she says, leaning forward. ‘Why don’t you take a quick break? Go to the loo and wash your face. Then get us both a strong coffee. I really need one. And you just need a few seconds to get your head together. I’ll sit here with him until you come back.’ She glances over at Robin. ‘He’s not going to care, is he?’
I nod and stand, looking back at her.
‘Thanks,’ I say, and she smiles, and she shoos me out of the door.
There is a queue at the coffee machine. I feel agitated as I wait, even though I’d give anything not to have to go back in that room.
Ten minutes later, I stop short, two coffees in hand, as I approach Robin’s room. Kim is standing outside the door, peering in through the glass in the window.
‘What’s happening?’ I ask, rushing towards her. Through the window I can see four or five people huddled around his bed, fiddling with machines, shouting commands at one another.
‘He just . . .’ she says, staring at me with her huge wide eyes. ‘The machine stopped working. Then the alarm started and they all rushed in. It was . . . weird.’
I frown at her, staring through the pane of glass as I watch the medical team at work. It feels like I’m watching a scene from a television show. How can this be me? How can I be standing here, watching these events unfold?
‘But it doesn’t make sense! He was on a ventilator . . . They said he was stable!’ I say.
She shrugs, looking down.
‘I don’t understand!’ I say. ‘He was . . . he was just fine.’
Through the window I see the consultant lay a hand across her colleague’s arm. He gives a brief shake of his head and she stops what she’s doing.
‘Perhaps he didn’t like being alone with me, after all,’ Kim says, her voice so quiet it’s almost inaudible.
My head snaps round to stare at her.
‘Can’t blame him, I guess,’ she says.
And then she looks down at the floor and shrugs again, refusing to meet my eye.
Afterwards, I go back to the house. I give Kim our address before I le
ave, tell her to come over and see Riley whenever she likes. They have missed so much time together. When I get home, Robin’s parents are sitting at the kitchen island. They can tell by my face what’s happened.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, ‘he had a massive heart attack. They said there was nothing they could do.’
I feel numb as I watch Sandra’s face collapse in front of me. Mike looks shell-shocked, but he puts his arm around Sandra as she leans on his shoulder.
‘It’s my fault. It has to be. I just don’t know where we went wrong,’ Mike says, and I see him for what he is: a father, unable to understand his son. Just like I was a wife, unable to understand her husband.
‘He was always so troubled,’ Sandra says, and her eyes well up again. ‘But he was a good boy! He was a good boy deep down!’
I stare at them. Sandra sobs.
‘Where’s Riley? I ask.
‘She’s having a nap,’ Mike says. ‘She seemed very tired. I suppose being at the hospital was a lot for her to process.’
I nod.
Later when Riley wakes, we tell her together that Daddy has gone to heaven, all sitting round her in the living room like some strange committee. She doesn’t really know what’s going on, but she understands our tears and she hugs us all in turn, bringing us each one of her soft toys as a comforter. I am stunned by her empathy. For someone so young, she’s so wise.
I am so very proud of her.
Esther
Sandra offers to stay for a few days to help with Riley, but I tell her it’s not needed. I can see she’s relieved. I know she wants to be back in her own home, to grieve in private. Of all of us, she seems to be finding it the hardest.
I wave them off at the door, Riley in my arms, wondering when I’ll see them again. They’ve never felt like family, not really, but they are Riley’s grandparents, and I know they love her.
I watch their car pull away at the bottom of our road and I turn to go back into the house, closing the door behind me. But before I’ve made it back to the kitchen, the doorbell rings.
I put Riley down as I go to answer it, assuming Robin’s parents must have left something behind.
But it’s not Sandra and Mike.
‘Kim!’ I say, surprised.
‘Is it OK if I come in?’ she asks. ‘I was . . . waiting for them to leave.’
‘Of course.’ I swallow. She looks down at Riley, smiling, and my heart begins to pound.
‘Hello,’ she says, crouching down until she’s at Riley’s level. ‘I don’t know if you remember me, little one. I’m your Auntie Kim.’
Riley stares at her for a few seconds, then throws her arms around Kim’s shoulders, almost sending her toppling backwards.
‘I like your hair,’ Riley says, patting it. ‘Like Moana’s.’
Kim laughs.
‘Shall I tell you a secret?’
Riley nods.
‘It’s not my real hair. My real hair is yellow. Like yours.’
Riley gasps and Kim cuddles her again. When they break apart, I see Kim’s eyes are damp with tears.
In the living room, we sit on the rug and play with Riley’s favourite toys: her ever-growing collection of musical instruments. Her particular obsession at the moment is a tiny keyboard, and she presses each note in turn, watching for Kim’s reaction as they sound out.
‘She’s really musical,’ I say, smiling. ‘The second she hears music she starts bopping about and trying to sing. We were hoping . . . I mean, I want to get her lessons as soon as she’s old enough. Piano, probably, to start. Or maybe recorder. I’m not sure exactly, I’ll ask what’s best.’
Kim nods. Despite the smile on her face, she looks so tired.
‘Can I make you another cup of tea?’ I say.
‘No thanks,’ she says, ‘but I better just shift position. Sitting still for too long makes various bits of me ache. I’m sorry. I might have to head off soon.’
‘Of course.’
She rolls onto her knees, wincing slightly at the movement, then stands slowly, reaching for the sofa to pull herself up.
‘You have a lovely house,’ she says, looking around.
‘Thanks. We only just finished doing it up.’
‘Aren’t you a lucky girl Miss Riley?’ Kim says, ‘living in such a nice house?’
‘In the summer Mummy said we get a padding pool,’ Riley replies, still focused on her toy keyboard. ‘For the garden.’
I laugh.
‘Yes, I did,’ I say. ‘She remembers everything.’
Riley looks up.
‘Will you come Auntie Kim? In the padding pool?’
Kim smiles and strokes Riley’s head.
‘I would love that,’ she says. ‘If I can. Let’s see, shall we, poppet? Let’s see how things work out.’
I look away, blinking back the tears.
The next morning Amanda from next door takes Riley to her favourite softplay, while I stay at home and try to come to terms with everything. I try to remember what my last words to Robin were. The man I had married, the man I had loved, the man who had broken my heart.
My phone buzzes on the island in front of me as I stare out at the frosty garden. It’s been buzzing repeatedly with sympathetic messages from friends, but this time it’s different. The message simply says,
Meet me on Putney Bridge at twelve. Don’t bring Riley.
I stare down at the phone. Kim’s given me twenty minutes to get there.
I shove my feet into a pair of trainers, pull on my coat and wrap a huge scarf around my neck before heading out. My hair is wild and my face unwashed and blotchy with crying. People are staring at me as I trudge through the snow to the Tube but I don’t care.
At Putney Bridge, it takes me a few minutes to spot her. She’s leaning against the concrete, hunched.
‘Hi,’ I say, as I approach.
She turns to face me and as our eyes lock together, I stare at her.
‘How’s Riley today?’ she asks.
‘Fine,’ I reply. ‘A bit confused, but she’s OK. She talked about you non-stop after you left last night.’
‘I wish I had asked you to bring her now. But it wouldn’t have been fair on her. It’s so cold.’
She turns her head to look across at the river.
‘You can come and visit her again tomorrow,’ I say. ‘She would love that.’
Kim shakes her head. Her eyes are still fixed on the Thames.
‘No,’ she says. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
I stare at her.
‘What’s the matter?’ I say. ‘Why . . . why did you call me all the way out here?’
‘I wanted to explain,’ she says, turning her head back and meeting my eyes again. ‘I wanted to explain why I did what I did.’
I frown.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I had no choice. I couldn’t leave knowing everything was in limbo like that. I did it for her.’
‘What are you saying?’ I ask, my voice rising.
‘Robin. I helped him on his way,’ she replies. ‘Like I wish someone would be brave enough to do for me. You get to learn quite a lot of stuff about the machines when you spend as much time in hospital as I have.’
My hand flies to my face.
‘What are you telling me, Kim?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replies. ‘I did what I had to. I did what was right.’
I can’t speak. There’s no appropriate response to this confession. I feel utterly wrung out, exhausted, as though every emotion I ever had has been sucked out of me.
‘I never told you how my mum died, did I?’ she says, leaning against the side of the bridge. I take a step closer to her. The wind is brittle in my ears. I wish I had a hat.
‘No,’ I say. ‘You d
idn’t.’
Of course you didn’t, I barely know you.
‘She was great, my mum. The life and soul. A real character. But she had her problems. Bad taste in men.’
‘Oh.’
‘She met my stepfather when I was thirteen. I hated him from the start, but she wouldn’t listen. He was a bully. Controlling. Violent. She loved him. He could be funny and he was handsome, but he was also an insecure twat. I moved out just before my sixteenth birthday, went to live with my dad. I couldn’t stand the way he treated her. But she wouldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t listen. Anyway, he killed her when I was seventeen. Stabbed her in our kitchen. Then tried to claim it was an accident, that he didn’t “mean to do it”.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘That’s why I had to do it, you see,’ she says, staring at me. ‘I couldn’t go, I couldn’t leave her, risk it.’
‘He would never have hurt her,’ I say. ‘He wasn’t like that. I mean, not with Riley . . .’
Kim stares at me, her lip curling.
‘That’s what they all say. That’s what my mum said. The truth is, you don’t know. You don’t know what he was capable of, and you don’t know how his brain injury might have affected him, if he’d got better. Too many risks. Too many unknowns. And the pressure of you having to take care of him, if he’d been stuck in hospital or needed full-time care for the rest of his life – where would that have left Riley? With one stressed-out parent? Trust me, kids need more than that. Kids deserve more than that. I’m sorry that it had to be this way. But it’s for the best.’
‘He texted me, just before he died,’ I say. ‘Sorry. That’s all it said. I’m so angry with him. I’m so, so angry. I wanted to know, Kim. I wanted answers.’
I shake my head.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry that you’re in pain. But I had to put Riley first. Just promise you won’t tell her about me until she’s an adult. She’ll idolise her dad for not being there. She doesn’t need that bubble bursting, doesn’t need to know what a mess we all made of things.’
The Perfect Father: the most gripping and twisty thriller you'll read in 2020 Page 25