The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2)

by Field, Stacey

  I thought about Emma’s proposition carefully. If I made the wrong decision it could change Adam’s entire future and cause him additional pain. I felt it was my duty to do what was best for him. Maybe this was the second chance that he needed, a chance to be a better husband and father. I knew that if I went for a meal with Emma there was a good chance the romance between her and Adam would be rekindled. I just didn’t know whether this was something he would want. Then I thought about his young son Ben and told myself this could be an ideal opportunity for him to have his father in his life again.

  “OK… that sounds… fine,” I mumbled, still unsure whether I’d made the right decision.”

  “Really?” Emma said, grinning widely.

  “Sure.” I smiled back at her.

  After a certain amount of awkwardness we set a date for a few days’ time, an evening she was likely to get a babysitter, and after declaring that she should pick Ben up, she left.

  I entered the house and picked up the diary in preparation for what was to come.

  Chapter Fifteen

  12 October 2012

  Another AA meeting over and I can’t seem to shake the thought that I’m leading a double life. I attend the meetings, I confidently chant the serenity prayer, I make promises and support others – and all the while I’m skulking in the shadows. Still pretending. Still an alcoholic. I hide it with breath mints and body spray and I’ve learned how to be incredibly good at acting sober – so good, in fact, that so far nobody suspects a thing.

  In private, I recognise that I am a fake and a liar. I lie to my family, to my wife and to my AA comrades. I am leading two lives; the doting husband and father and the desperate waster, who turns to drink for reasons even he can’t fathom. I dread the day my secret is found out, as inevitably it will be.

  I was doing so well, I hadn’t touched a drop in almost two months, but there are certain events in your life that are just too hard to face while sober. My mother, who raised me and my brother single-handed and to whom I am devoted, called me one afternoon and asked me to visit her. She had been suffering flu symptoms for weeks and so I was not shocked by the hoarse tone to her usually merry voice. When I arrived she presented me with a piece of homemade carrot cake and a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea. I told her she shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me and she replied that the cake was my favourite and so she couldn’t help herself.

  I didn’t see it coming. How could I? This was just a normal, everyday visit.

  “Besides, it takes my mind of some terrible news I’ve been given,” she said, with all the nonchalance of a teenager.

  My anxiety increased but outwardly I faked a calm I didn’t feel. I probed her for more information. Eventually she told me that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer, which had spread to both lungs as well as her voice box and windpipe. I heard the words Stage Four and immediately began to crumble. She held my hand as I sobbed and stared out of the living-room window blankly. She was going to die, there was nothing left to say.

  Two weeks ago she collapsed while out shopping in the village and after that followed a hospital stay for tests. A fact I was unaware of. On my journey home from my mother’s house I stopped at the village store and bought a bottle of vodka. Fortunately, Emma and Ben weren’t in the house, they had gone away for the weekend to see one of Emma’s university friends and I had the place to myself. That evening, all the promises I’d made to my wife were shattered once again.

  Afterwards, the guilt crept in and I quickly disposed of the empty bottle before Emma came home. She took one look at me and knew instantly there was something wrong. When I told her the sad news she showed sympathy and concern for the first time in an age. But since then I have become enmeshed in my own self-destructive behaviour. I drink every day in secret. I teach my classes while under the influence. I am in charge of vulnerable teenagers and their futures, but this isn’t enough to stop me from destroying myself. Sometimes I think of all the pupils I have let down, the futures I have ruined. I don’t feel strong enough to get through this without alcohol. It’s the only way to numb my fears, my only way to live.

  20 December 2012

  Today finds me melancholy. A time of year that provokes excitement in children and contentment in adults has triggered a sense of loss deep within me. The death of my mother three weeks ago has left a void in my life.

  At first Emma was sympathetic, gentle and careful not to upset me. Now, however, it would seem that my moping has got too much for her and there are some days when I am sure she detests me. I sometimes forget that her life continues as usual while mine is constantly in turmoil.

  My drinking has increased and I know that I’m just one step away from making a bad mistake. It’s very hard to act responsibly at the moment; I seem to lack the ability to carry on regardless of the circumstances. Perhaps that means I’m not a strong person. Deep down I feel that I am weak and foolish.

  I am beginning to think that Emma suspects something. She asks me many questions when I get in from work: Where have you been? Were you on your own? Why is it up to you to oversee detention? Of course I reply with lies and tell myself it’s better that she doesn’t know the truth. Yesterday I caught her going through the kitchen cupboards, and afterwards, the cupboard in our bedroom. But I’m smarter than that, I hide my bottles in my locker at work.

  Lately, she has been sleeping in the spare room on the old sofa bed we bought for family visits. There was no explanation for it and her defection to the spare room hasn’t been discussed. I hate the lack of communication between us, the monosyllabic exchanges and avoidance of eye contact. I hate the loathing she appears to feel for me and her reluctance to tell me why.

  As I write this I can see Ben through a crack in the doorway to the lounge. He is watching a cartoon with a Christmas theme and it triggers a memory of my own childhood. A happy Christmas with my mother and brother but no male role model to speak of. Could that be my problem? The reason I turned to drink? No. I was brought up to accept the consequences of my actions and I will do so. There are no excuses for my actions or for who I am.

  Even now, as I watch my son giggle at the colourful characters on the television screen, my mind turns to drink. The thirst is strong and I oblige it.

  15 March 2012

  It’s been many months since my last entry. After Christmas ended the tension between Emma and me increased and by New Year’s Day we were barely talking to one another. Of course, we kept up a front for friends and family. In that way we are similar, except for the fact that my game of pretend was for a very different reason.

  I have decided to quit my AA meetings. I feel too much of a phoney to support others in their battle with drink, especially as I often drain a small bottle of vodka before I attend. I feel like a failure and I know I’ve let the rest of the group down as well as my family, but it felt too hard. Now it is even harder.

  I came home from work one day in January to find Emma sitting at the kitchen table in silence, tears streaming down her face. At first I thought there was something wrong with Ben.

  “What’s happened?” I said, rushing to her side. She glared at me.

  “I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know, Adam.”

  I stared at her blankly as my heartrate quickened.

  “I know you’re drinking again.” She wiped tears from her face. “I saw you the other day, when you said you were going to an AA meeting. Sarah and I followed you in her car. I saw the bottles in the carrier bag as you came out of the shop in the village.”

  I sighed and grasped her hand; she pulled it away roughly.

  “I’d been hearing rumours. You know what this village is like for gossip, nothing is ever sacred when you live in such a tight-knit community. I would hear stories about you buying vodka at the shop, bottle after bottle. Up to five times a week I would hear these stories, and do you know what? I defended you. ‘Not my h
usband,’ I would say, and I would pity them and their need to create idle gossip for entertainment. But it wasn’t just gossip, was it, Adam? Those rumours were true, truer than any of the lies you’ve been feeding me.”

  “Please let me explain—”

  “I don’t understand how you can do this to your own son, that’s something I’ll never get my head around. You have a little boy who adores you, Adam. How do you think this looks to Ben? To our friends?”

  “Oh, so that’s what this is really about – your pompous friends with their lavish lifestyles. Heaven forbid anyone should have any personal issues, any real problems that they can’t overcome, eh?” I raised my voice in disgust. “No, everything’s perfect in their world, right? They throw dinner parties and buy expensive wine and they lead their perfect little lives without a care in the world. Well, that’s just not real, Emma. You need to live in this world instead, the one that has people in it who need you!” I slammed my fist down on the table then left the room.

  I made my way upstairs to watch over my sleeping son. Emma came up behind me and pulled me into our bedroom before closing the door silently to protect Ben from our arguing.

  “I have stood by you for many months now. I got you the help you need. If it weren’t for me you would never have set foot in an AA meeting.”

  “Oh, so now you’re an altruist, thinking of others before yourself? Except you weren’t, were you? You were thinking of those friends of yours and what they would think of you if they knew your husband was an alcoholic. All the fancy dinners you’d miss out on and the embarrassment it would cause you.” My attempt to keep my voice low was failing and I had to remind myself of my sleeping son to gain some control. Emma threw her hands up in the air and stared at me blankly.

  “You don’t understand anything about me. So what if I want us to move up in society and surround ourselves with successful people?”

  “The successful people you speak of are the same ones who greet you with false pleasantries while spreading lies about you through the whole village. Do you really want to spend your time with people who are so disloyal? People who think only of themselves and don’t have your best interests at heart?”

  Emma made an exasperated sound and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Oh, and you do?”

  “I know I’ve hit a curve in the road but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  “Well, it seems to me you’ve chosen the one true love in your life and that’s alcohol. It will always be alcohol, and Ben and I will suffer a lifetime of being in second place if I stay with you.”

  I stared at her in shock as her words sank in.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I want you gone. This isn’t your home anymore,” she said calmly before turning away from me and leaving the room. She closed the door quietly and I heard her soft footsteps on the stairs.

  There was just one thought spinning around repeatedly in my head: how had it come to this?

  7 April 2012

  As I sit at the dining table, in a house that doesn’t yet feel like a home, I wonder how things ended up the way they did. How can one ordinary man get things so wrong? I had a family, a good job, a nice house… and now what do I have?

  I rent a small terraced cottage in a quiet area of the village, I’ve been suspended from my job pending an investigation into my competence to be a guardian of children, and I am responsible for a terrible accident. To make matters worse, Emma has filed for divorce and, due to recent events coming to light, no longer sees me as capable of looking after Ben and is preventing me from seeing my son.

  I should probably explain what has happened in the last few months, though it’s something I’m never likely to forget. A month ago it came to light that a school trip had been arranged for the year nines and that, as their head of year, it was my duty to accompany them. It was a weekend affair with team-building in mind and activities such as abseiling, canoeing, archery and other such exercises scheduled. Ever since Emma had thrown me out of the family home my drinking had increased greatly but I had also become increasingly good at acting sober. Neither my pupils nor my colleagues suspected a thing.

  Before the trip I went shopping for supplies; mainly meals and snacks for the kids and the other teachers who had been roped into coming along. I walked past the alcoholic beverages section with my eyes averted, determined to ignore the urge that pulled me towards the colourful bottles like a magnet. I stood in the frozen section, absentmindedly staring at a hefty stack of pizzas through the frosted door, when I heard a voice behind me say my name. As I turned around I realised it belonged to Mrs Willow, a former receptionist at my school. She retired a year ago but still enjoys reminiscing about the good old days..

  After the usual pleasantries were out of the way she asked me about Ben. I answered her as best I could without giving away the fact that I’ve moved out. She told me she saw Emma with a “young man” while she was on her usual walk that morning and asked me if I knew who he was. I realised her question was an innocent one but it rattled me. I made my excuses and headed for the checkout area. On the way out I noticed an offer on spirits and didn’t hesitate to put a few bottles in my basket. I told myself they were just for backup, that I wouldn’t take them on the trip, but afterwards, while I sat at home thinking about the man Mrs Willow had mentioned, I packed them in my suitcase and told myself it was just an extra boost to get me through the weekend.

  We’d arranged to stay in a hostel in Bedale. The sun had come out and caused the kids to become giddy and foolish. I watched as a group of thirteen year olds chased one another around the lake in the hostel’s grounds. The sound of the girls’ screams filled the air as I and the rest of the teachers went through the timetable for the next day. It was decided that we would get up bright and early and take the kids abseiling. As soon as I entered my room I unpacked the bottles and placed them in a nearby cupboard. I took a long swig of whisky and savoured its taste in my mouth. As it slid down my throat I felt it enter my bloodstream and immediately I began to relax.

  I managed to get through the evening without any hiccups but was distracted and a few questions that were aimed at me needed to be asked twice before I replied. My mind was on Emma and how much I missed my old life. None of my colleagues knew of our separation. I’d soon learned that as long as I kept quiet, I was ignored. When I retired to my room later that evening I started swigging whisky straight from the bottle and didn’t stop until I passed out.

  The next morning was a blur. I remember feeling a dull ache in my head as well as a strong urge to vomit. I avoided the other teachers by getting up early. By the time they wandered into the kitchen area, I was on my fourth coffee. I had also devoured two packets of mints. Despite this I felt unsteady on my feet and my mind was sluggish.

  I spent some time juggling with the idea of backing out of the day’s activity, using illness as an excuse. In the end, though, I worried that this could arouse suspicion in the adults so I continued with the day’s events. Looking back, I know I made the wrong decision.

  I joined the students and other teachers on the bus waiting outside the hostel. The loud voices of thirty teenagers worsened the relentless pounding in my head. I rubbed my temples and tried to focus on anything other than the shouts and arguments that surrounded me. By the time we had reached our destination the pounding in my head had developed into an intense ache that radiated out from behind my eyes.

  After parking the bus nearby we made our way to the rockface where an instructor was going through the safety procedures and warnings. As hard as I tried to concentrate, the banging in my head was a distraction and I missed most of the presentation. Due to the fact that I had abseiled in previous years, I didn’t worry about my ability to cope.

  It was decided that the kids would go first and that the teachers, being responsible adults, would be in charge of tying the harness knots. First in the queue was a shy boy named Liam. He had scruffy blond hair and freckles; he was incre
dibly smart but lacked confidence in many areas. His parents were pushy and constantly put pressure on him to do well. He was a favourite of mine, a pupil I respected and felt affection for. I could always count on Liam to complete his homework and answer questions correctly in class. He had a flair for words and a secret desire to become a writer. However, his parents were pushing him towards a career in science and I thought it was shameful that they refused to encourage such a colourful imagination and rare talent.

  I watched him approach and noticed he was looking at his feet as he shuffled towards me. Some of the other boys laughed as they pushed him into my path. I scolded them for acting irresponsibly next to a cliff edge and they backed away sheepishly. I felt like a hypocrite, demanding they act their age when I was still drunk from the night before.

  Before I tied his harness, Liam told me that he didn’t want to abseil. I managed to convince him to go ahead with it by telling him that he’d regret it later, this sort of opportunity didn’t come around every day and that it would be a big boost of confidence for him. I could tell he wasn’t convinced but he let me tie the harness all the same. As I worked on the knot my fingers felt sluggish, like they were being dragged through mud. I stumbled a few times and my legs felt weak, as though they couldn’t support my weight. A few of the other teachers noticed and called out to ask if I was OK. I brushed them off with a joke about vertigo and they turned their attention back to the students.

  I don’t remember tying the knot, but I do remember Liam’s face as he climbed over the edge of the cliff, full of worry and uncertainty. The terrifying sound of his scream as he fell to his death and the loud thump of his body as it made contact with the ground still echo in my ears months later.