It was clear Max wasn’t only talking about prospective employers.
Later that evening we cozied up together on the sofa, sipped our wine and listened to music.
“You know Max, I’m so pleased to be meeting him at last. I can’t wait to see how alike you both are, and to Louis and Lyssa as well.”
His body stiffened, and he looked as hurt as if I’d slapped him in the face.
“I mean to look at. Obviously, I realise you’re both completely different character wise,” I added swiftly, and draped an arm across his shoulder. I kissed him lightly on the lips, and he obviously forgave me because he kissed me back unreservedly.
Max was on tenterhooks all week, fretting about the piles of clothes and clutter in the guest room, being unusually keen to hoover and tidy the house, and even doing the supermarket shop to ensure we had plenty of nice food in. On the Friday morning when Max left for work, I ran around the house doing a last minute tidy up. In Max’s office the waste paper bin was overflowing. I tipped the contents into the bin liner and spilled a couple of scrunched up pieces of paper onto the floor. As I picked them up, I noticed my name written on one and so I unfolded it. Max had written a list of things that didn’t look like work. It read:
Introductions
Tour of house – Inside & out
Eco features, wind turbine, solar etc.
Dinner, free range roast chicken & Yorkshire puddings
Play music - Rolling Stones, Dusty Springfield, Pink Floyd
Tired - early night!
Saturday
Breakfast - porridge, bacon sandwiches
Play with kids
Lunch - soup & crusty bread, pork pie, salad
Drive to show Dad the office
Butchers
Dinner - lamb shanks & mash
Sunday
If weather OK - picnic – including Guinness Champagne
If bad weather - play trains, cards or game of life!
Leave 3 pm!
There were several other similar lists, all discarded. Poor Max, I thought, having to list what he was going to do with his dad. He must be feeling horribly anxious about it all. It unnerved me, as he was usually so laid back about having people to stay, or the general untidiness of the house. I began to wonder what his dad must be like, to make him so apprehensive about seeing him again.
Iona and Brian arrived punctually at a quarter past six. I welcomed them in and introduced Brian to Louis and Lyssa, now six and two respectively. Brian got down on his knees to speak to them and chatted away in a deep Irish drawl, and when I turned away he sounded so much like Max, even using one or two Max’isms as I called them. He kissed me on the cheek and asked me a few harmless questions about myself and the kids, and I felt myself begin to warm to him despite my initial unease at meeting him, driven by Max’s obvious apprehension.
At six-foot-tall, Brian was a couple of inches shorter than Max, but much stockier, which I figured must be due to his lengthy stay in prison without a great deal of activity. I could see he had once been handsome, though his thinning hair was completely grey and his face was bloated and ruddy, which veiled his features somewhat. The blue shirt he was wearing clearly dated back to pre-prison, slimmer times with its pointed concord collar and buttoned front that gaped a touch across his protruding belly. Hard though his lengthy stay in prison must have been, he certainly hadn’t been on any hunger strikes, I thought. He shared Max’s generous mouth and broad shoulders, and overall, it was clear to see Max was a fine blend of both of his parents.
Max arrived back from work a short while later, and I met him in the hallway.
“Darling,” I kissed him on the cheek. “Your parents are in the living room playing with Louis and Lyssa,” I confided quietly. “Your dad is quite charming. Louis and Lyssa have really taken to him. I think we’re going to have a wonderful time, honestly.”
“I need a whisky Kat. I feel sick.” His brow furrowed as he glanced anxiously up the stairs.
“It’s been so long since you saw him, you know, properly, and the first time he’s been here or seen the children. It’s natural to feel nervous.” I took his hand.
“Hello, son. Been a while, eh?” Brian stood half way up the stairs with Lyssa on his hip.
“Daddy,” squealed Lyssa.
Max gave a wave to Lyssa. “Dad. Good to see you.” He walked slowly up the stairs and on drawing level, they continued together up the final few steps.
I ran up behind them.
Up in the living room, I said, “I’ll fetch us some drinks.”
I watched as Max and his dad exchanged looks of acquaintances rather than of father and son.
“A wee dram perhaps, Brian, Iona? You won’t have had chance for much of the good stuff when you were in pr . . . I mean, for a while.” I bent over, cringed at my faux pas, and removed a Lego man from Lyssa’s mouth.
“No, no, we don’t drink spirits do we?” He grimaced as though I’d offered him something illegal. Brian turned to look at Iona, who nodded agreement. “A beer or a Guinness if you have any?”
I turned to Iona.
“Yes, the same for me. Thank you Katriina.”
“OK, of course. Max?”
“Sure, that’d be grand.” Max sounded bright enough, but still looked decidedly uptight.
I returned a couple of minutes later to find Iona alone in the living room with Louis and Lyssa. They were playing ring-o-ring-o-roses, and both children giggled hysterically each time they fell down.
“Max is giving Brian the house tour. He’s been itching to see it and has always asked me so much about it. But really you can’t do it justice, describing it.” Iona took Lyssa’s hand. “I suppose I should have taken more photos, but I always end up taking so many of the children.”
“Again, again Granny,” shrieked Lyssa.
As I watched them play, I smiled, and felt happy with the way things were going; the children bonding with their grandparents, and Max finally renewing his relationship with his father.
When I stepped out onto the landing with the drinks I overheard Max and Brian talking in the office. Something made me hesitate.
“I’m proud of you son. This is what I planned for you. Your own business… decent money, a family, and you even managed to give me a grandson first.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m proud of Katriina and the kids too.” Max sounded more upbeat.
“Now aren’t you glad I pushed you to do well at school? If I hadn’t, who knows what you’d be doing now. Probably working in Burgers 4U,” he said. “And I can’t imagine you would have caught a cracking lassie like Katriina, eh?” He let out a sleazy chortle.
My blood was beginning to boil; digs, cleverly disguised as compliments. I continued eavesdropping.
“But Dad, you haven’t been in my life for so long, and it’s been tough for Mam. Can’t you see she’s exhausted? And she’s stuck by you, despite everything.”
“I know son. And I’m going to make it up to her, earn some decent money so she can give up work. I promise you.” His voice was full of false confidence and bluster.
I’d heard enough, and I returned to the living room, drinks still in hand.
It wasn’t until I had bathed and settled the kids into their beds, on my own, that I saw Max again. I searched his face for clues as to how he was feeling. He didn’t look like the honoured son, proud of his achievements, glad to have his father back. He sat slumped on the sofa and as he talked to his parents, he looked edgy and tired. And I could suddenly see what had made Max so driven these past few years, driven to succeed in first building our house and then to put in the endless hours needed to make the business a success. I guessed much of it was done to gain approval from his dad. Though I knew Max was happy with me, with the children, I knew it wasn’t making him happy to have his father slap him on the back, for it was clear to see any respect he once felt for him had well and truly departed.
As we ate dinner, I rested my hand on Max’s thigh in
between mouthfuls. I touched his arm and tried to bolster his mood and reassure him with my presence. Straightaway, I noticed that the way Brian spoke to Iona veered between patronising one minute to flattering the next as though to make amends for an earlier remark. Beside Brian, Iona was much quieter than the bright and self-assured woman I’d grown to know, demure almost, and she never bit back at anything he said that was a little dig or an attempt to put her down. I tried hard not show my irritation or interfere, but I couldn’t help but add a careful observation here and there in favour of either Max or Iona.
At bedtime, Max curled up and faced away from me. He yawned as I got into bed.
“Are you tired?” I whispered. He didn’t answer so I snuggled up and pressed myself against his back, tucking my knees in behind his. I slid my hand over his hip and shifted his inner thighs.
“Mmmm,” he mumbled softly.
“You OK?”
“Sure. You?”
“Yeah,” I paused. “I can see why you were a bit worried about seeing your dad again. He’s kinda complex.”
“He hasn’t got a clue what it’s been like for us, for Mam, all these years. At least I’ve moved on, but poor Mam, I think she might be happier if he’d never come home.”
“Oh Max, you can’t mean that. I’m sure she must still love him.”
“I think she did, but I also think she’s got used to him not being around. And now he’s back he’s not even nice to her. Did you hear his spiteful comment about buying clothes too young for her?”
“It was unkind and humiliating, wasn’t it?” I kissed the back of Max’s neck. “And in front of us. How did he get onto the subject?”
“It was ‘cus Mam said she liked your shorts and asked where you shopped.”
“Oh yeah.”
“I liked your subtle retort. ‘The thing is, when you’re nice and slim it’s such a pleasure to buy new clothes that you know will suit you.’ Nicely off the cuff, my love.”
“It’s true anyway,” I said. “Your mum is beautiful.”
“I wish Mam would put him in his place. But she won’t say a word against him. When I was showing him round, he said he was pleased he’d pushed me at school. He tried to take the credit for what I’ve achieved, for what we’ve achieved here.” Max huffed. “He’s conveniently forgotten he wasn’t around through high-school, A-levels, Uni. To me, he feels more like a stranger.”
As Max talked, I planted soft kisses on the bare slope of his shoulder.
“Dad was so competitive when I was young. Pushy, and made me feel bad if I didn’t come top in tests or win races on sports day. Anyway, once Dad was in prison, it was down to Mam to help me with school work. He didn’t have any input then, how could he?”
He turned to face me, reached over and stroked my back and ran his hand over my bottom.
“And another thing… he promised to write and wanted me to write back, tell him what I’d been doing at school. But after a couple of months, he gave up replying.” Absentmindedly, Max fondled my breasts. “I carried on for a bit, but I gave up too. Mam has always written, but he rarely wrote back, said he preferred to talk face to face.”
“Mmm.” I struggled to concentrate. “It must have been tough…like he’d deserted you.”
“Exactly. Mam defended him. She said it was hard in prison, that it affected him mentally and made him depressed.” Max snorted in disbelief.
“Mmm, yes well it probably was vile in there - rapists, paedophiles, drug dealers, wife beaters for company. Did you visit much?”
“Mam made me go most months, but I hated it. I was angry. He put himself there. He didn’t need to steal. It’s not like we were poor.”
“True, but he’s more than paid the price for it, surely? Maybe he needs to readjust to life outside.”
“Maybe.”
“It’ll help when he’s working. I imagine he feels guilty about your mum having to support him. It can dent a man’s ego if he’s not providing. Imagine how you’d feel?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put you down publicly, humiliate you, make you feel bad just because I did.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I said, and kissed him. “You and he are different men Max. Maybe him being out of your life for all these years has made you a stronger, better person. I dunno. It’s hard isn’t it?”
“You’re not kidding.” He stroked my inner thigh. “Anyway, I’m tired of talking about him. I know what will make me feel better.”
“Oh? What’s that?” I ran my hand through his hair and snuggled up.
We kissed and caressed one another, and just as things were heating up, there came a long, high-pitched scream.
“Lyssa. That’s Lyssa.” I threw back the duvet and flew out of bed. Her cries sounded far more urgent than her usual half-hearted shouting, so I ran down the corridor and pulled my robe about me. As I reached her door, Brian walked out of her room. I brushed past him and switched on the lamp above the bed. Lyssa was sitting up and crying hysterically. I scooped her up.
“It’s OK baby. Mummy’s here.”
I heard a movement behind me, turned and bumped into Brian.
Lyssa cried harder.
“I’m sorry Katriina, I went to the toilet and came in. Only to watch her sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her.” He smiled and tickled Lyssa under the arm.
I felt Lyssa shrink from his touch and I stepped back. “It’s fine, she’ll settle in a minute. She doesn’t know you well enough. Shh. It’s OK petal.” I looked straight at Brian. “You must have startled her. Go back to bed, she’ll be fine.”
After he had apologised again, he returned to his room.
What a complete prat, I thought, coming in and scaring her. Poor Lyssa was inconsolable. She sobbed and clutched onto me, so I took her upstairs and warmed some milk.
When we returned to her room, I lay in her bed, with Lyssa hooked in my arms like a new-born. Her little hands gripped her Minnie Mouse beaker, and she gazed up at me with adoring, sleep filled eyes. I stroked her glossy brown curls, and she soon closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Instead of returning to my bed, I looked in on Louis who slept peacefully, then I went back to Lyssa’s room and snuggled down next to her. I knew she had been badly shaken by Brian’s night-time appearance, and I wanted her to feel fully reassured.
Just after seven, I awoke to Lyssa singing and stroking my face.
“Wo wo wo your boat, gently down the stweam.
Mewily mewily mewily mewily life is but a dweam.”
“Morning sweetness,” I said, and stretched. “Sleep well?”
“Yes, Mummy. I like sharing my bed.”
“I do too petal. Now, how about we read a story?”
A short while later, we sat around the breakfast table.
“What was up with Lyssa last night? Bad dream was it?” asked Max.
“Something like that.” I glanced at Lyssa sitting on her booster seat, as she happily spread far too much butter on her toast. “I decided to stay with her. She was rather unsettled.” I caught Brian’s eye.
Unfazed and clearly deciding that no explanation on his part was necessary, Brian brazenly winked and continued to shovel down his breakfast.
Inside I seethed, but I reigned it in and resolved to diplomatically ask that he didn’t go into the children’s bedrooms during the night. I also felt it would be prudent not to mention it to Max, to avoid creating any further tension between the two of them.
As the weather was dry, we filled a picnic basket to take up the hillside, though I didn’t expect us to get all that far. Lyssa walked well, but generally when we attempted to go for family walks, she would become temperamental, especially when a hill was involved, which was impossible to avoid around here. I knew Max or I would end up carrying her some, if not all of the way.
Brian took Louis’ hand, and they walked up the stony path as the rest of us followed behind. Max and I had walked up that stretch with the children dozens of times and each journey had been d
ifferent, as they always discovered new things to look at, touch and experience along the way. The long summer grass tilted slightly, laden with dew, and the heather and undergrowth either side of the path held beautifully intricate webs, covered with fine dewdrops. Max stopped beneath a birch tree and broke off a couple of twigs. He stripped them back, shaped them like catapults and held them out in front of him.
“What are those for?” I asked. “Are you going to teach them how to catapult?”
“Not exactly. Louis, Lyss, come here. I’ve got something for you.”
“It’s a stick Daddy.” Lyssa took one and held it up to examine it.
“D’ya see this little web, all covered with teeny, tiny water droplets?” He guided Lyssa’s hand and brought the Y-shaped stick up under the web to gather it gently across the gap. “Hold it up, and you’ll see all the delicate threads the spider has spun.”
“Ooh Daddy, it’s so pwetty.” She gazed and tilted it at different angles. “But where’s the spider gone?”
“He’s crawled off to weave some more webs. You need to catch another dewy web, and then some others and you’ll end up with hundreds of tiny webs all laced together, like a miniature lace blanket.”
Louis had already moved off amongst the heather and gathered little webs as he went. “Daddy look. I’ve found a massive one,” he called out.
Max marched over to take a look. “Now that is huge. Must have been a big spider to weave that one. We have to keep moving up the hill though Lou. I think the best webs will be a bit further up.”
I took Max’s hand. “Why haven’t you shown me this trick before? It’s beautiful, and they’re loving it.”
“Because I’ve only just remembered doing it. I sometimes did it with Mam and Dad. You know, it’s bringing back memories.” He smiled and squeezed my hand.
I don’t think the diversion helped us to travel any greater distance that morning, but no one complained about tired legs.
When we stopped for lunch I realised I’d left the drinks on the kitchen table, and so I volunteered to fetch them. I grabbed the jute shopping bag with glasses, a bottle of champagne, pear cider and orange juice cartons, then slogged back up the hillside. It was as I rounded the edge of the rocks that I heard the children’s shrieks and laughter echoing all around me, and even before they came into view the sound triggered the reoccurrence of a memory held dormant for several years. As I drew near, I saw Louis and Lyssa, with Iona and Brian nearby. I watched my two beautiful children balance stones one on top of the other, then squeal with excitement as they fell into a heap.
A Family By Design Page 18