Lockie pulled back the duvet and patted the mattress.
‘I was thinking . . .’ he started.
‘Oh no, you know that never ends well.’ She laughed as she hopped into bed.
‘Ha, ha!’ He feigned offence. ‘How about we go crazy and book up to go and see Hugh and Melissa?
‘In Florida?’
‘No, Freya, didn’t you hear, they’ve moved to Margate!’
‘Well, aren’t you on fire tonight!’ She jabbed his ribs, making him yelp.
Lockie pulled her towards him and anchored her against his chest.
‘I just think we’ve had the most horrible year, and what better way to put it all behind us than to go and sit on that glorious beach and watch that incredible sunset with people we love.’
Freya closed her eyes. ‘That does sound good.’
‘Shall we? When else are we going to have the money or the time? Charlotte will be off to uni, Lexi working to catch up what she’s missed at school. It feels like now is the perfect opportunity.’
‘They’d love it, wouldn’t they, the girls? Do you remember going out on Hugh’s boat, eating ice cream, just strolling in the sun and his beautiful house . . . ?’ She let her mind drift in memory.
‘I think we should do it!’ He crushed her to him in a hug.
‘Okay!’ She giggled. ‘But let’s agree not to tell them until after Charlotte’s exams and when Lexi is a bit stronger. I think we need to take things slowly, no undue excitement.’
‘Can’t guarantee that, I’m afraid. I am already excited!’ He kicked his heels against the mattress, before bending his head to kiss his wife. It had been a while since the two had shared a moment of intimacy like this, and both welcomed it, lying skin to skin; it was an exquisite sign of how they were all healing.
Freya slept well that night. She woke, as ever, at 5 a.m., but now with a smile on her face and feeling rested, a state that she had almost forgotten.
As Charlotte was on study leave, Freya did her best to move quietly, knowing she would have worked until late into the night. She tiptoed across the landing towards the stairs and was drawn by a squeaking sound coming from Lexi’s room. An image of the bags lined up in the bottom of Lexi’s bed flashed in her head, replaced instantly with a memo of self-recrimination; Lexi was doing great and deserved credit. More likely it was only Brewster, trying to get out.
Twisting the handle gently, she eased the door open, looking at the floor, expecting to see Brewster’s upturned nose, giving her his usual look of disdain. Instead, her eyes flew to the floor of the bedroom, where Lexi sat with her feet in thick socks, hooked under the bed, pumping up and down in vigorous sit-ups.
‘Lexi!’ she breathed.
Her daughter turned to her, her eyes flashing anger at being interrupted and shame at the discovery. She tried to speak, but couldn’t; with her body bent forward she fought for breath.
‘Oh my God . . . Lexi!’
Freya rushed forward and placed her hand on her back. It felt strangely padded. She then realised that her daughter was wearing two hooded sweatshirts, leggings and jogging bottoms, and there was a scarf wrapped around her neck, all designed to make her sweat whilst partaking in the vigorous exercise. Her face was ashen, her mouth slack, and her eyes seemed to have sunk back into her head.
‘Why?’ Freya cried. ‘Why, Lex? You are doing so well!’
She sat on the floor, staring at her child, who was slowly recovering enough to talk.
‘I . . . I have to,’ she breathed.
‘You don’t have to! You don’t!’ Freya shouted. Her distress sat like a sharp thing below her breastbone. ‘Do you want to go back to Larchcombe, to tube feeding? Because that’s what will happen! It will! I can’t believe this.’ She sat back against the bed.
‘You are wrong, Freya.’ Lockie’s voice floated from the landing. They both looked up at him.
‘It’s not what will happen, it’s what is happening. She’s going back, the moment they have a place.’ He gritted his teeth in anger.
‘No . . .’ Lexi shook her head. ‘It was just . . . just one night,’ she managed.
‘I don’t believe you!’ he shouted. ‘You are clearly not able to be here, Lexi.’
‘She’s doing really well, Lockie, this is just a blip!’ Freya took sides, trying, as ever to protect her little girl.
Lockie’s eyes flashed a look of hurt. In that second Freya realised that the cracks that had formed under their feet were far from filled: they had merely been papered over during the distraction of happiness, and now once again they were standing on the edge of the ravine.
‘Just a blip? Do you know how many times you have used that excuse? Face it, Freya, we are failing! Good God, if this is where we are today then the whole of the last few months has been pointless!’
‘What’s all the shouting about?’ Charlotte squinted from her door. ‘I have an exam today! An A level! And you are all up at the crack of dawn, shouting? Don’t I count? This is one of the most important days of my life so far! This is so unfair!’ She slammed her door shut.
Lockie looked at his wife. ‘She’s right. It is unfair; it’s unfair on all of us. I’ll call Larchcombe as soon as I can.’
‘No!’ Lexi screamed. ‘Please don’t, Dad!’
‘Yes, Lexi!’ he countered. ‘Look at you! What is the point? What is the point of everyone running around and trying to make you better when the first chance you get you undo all that work? It’s like banging your head against a wall. Eventually you figure out that it hurts a lot less if you stop. And this is where we stop!’
He raced down the room, away from Lexi’s sobbing. Freya put her to bed and tried to calm her. ‘It’s okay, darling, please don’t cry. I will go and talk to Daddy. He’s right, though, Lexi, we can’t go on like this. But try not to worry, sleep now . . .’
Freya closed the kitchen door behind her. She and Lockie stood either side of the table.
And then it happened: the stopper that had kept their true feelings at bay popped. And all the things that they had wanted to say over the last few tumultuous months bubbled from them like the champagne froth with which they celebrated so many family occasions, only unlike the bubbles, the words would not evaporate so quickly, but would live in Freya’s memory always.
‘I’d rather you didn’t contact Larchcombe immediately.’ She sighed.
‘I can and I will.’ He paced around the table, fury and disbelief firing his movement.
‘You’re right; if we are back to square one we need to find alternatives. But Larchcombe obviously didn’t work. We nearly lost her in there, Lockie!’
‘We are losing her here!’ he cut in, shouting now. ‘How many times do you want to go back to square one? It’s like a never-ending game of snakes and ladders, and you can’t see it. You think that by wrapping her in a duvet and pandering to her every outburst you can make everything okay, but you can’t!’
‘Sometimes that makes everything feel better. Sometimes I can comfort her and that makes her feel stronger so that she can cope!’
‘Oh God! Listen to yourself! That’s like giving an alcoholic a drink – yes, it might make them feel better for a while, but it doesn’t help! It is the opposite of helping.’
‘I am not to blame here!’
‘You want to talk about blame? You want to talk about exclusion and division?’
‘What are you talking about?’ She shook her head.
‘I am talking about how you shut me out from day one, her very first doctor’s appointment. I sat at home, on the sidelines, excluded, because Freya knew best! And that is how it’s been during this whole nightmare – you leading the dance and me left wondering if I am keeping time.’
‘Well, is that any wonder? Good God, Lockie, you thought she might be making the whole thing up, asked if we were just indulging her. “Is it really a thing?” Remember saying that? And for your information, the reason I have led, taken the burden, was to make things easier for her an
d for you. I just wanted to protect her, to look after her!’
He laughed as he paced back and forth. ‘That’s bullshit, Freya. It wasn’t about relieving my burden; it was about control!’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘Yes,’ he spat. ‘You shy away from making the hard decisions and doing the right thing because you are way more concerned with being the good guy!’
There was a second or two of silence while both mentally reloaded. Freya felt a surge of sadness laced with anger, knowing that there was more than a grain of truth in his words, but also overwhelmed by the fact that her husband did not understand why. When she next spoke, her words were more calmly delivered.
‘I’m her mum.’ She swallowed. ‘I carried her inside my body for nine months, I fed her, she lived on nothing but my milk for the first six months of her life. I puréed her food, built her up, and watched her grow. It’s my job to feed my child and make her better! My job!’
He shook his head, enraged by her assertion. ‘And what about my job? I’m her dad, does that not count?’
‘It’s different!’ she fired back, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.
Lockie was quite taken aback. ‘What a thing to say to me. I’m her dad, how is it different?’
‘It just is,’ she almost whispered.
‘No, Freya, you don’t get to make a statement like that and justify it with “It just is”. You are attacking my fundamental rights and role as her father, making me the outsider and the bad guy rolled into one!’ He banged the tabletop.
She stared at the floor with her shoulders rounded, trying to make herself small, trying to keep everything in.
‘Come on, Freya, explain it to me, because I am struggling here!’
‘You’re struggling?’ she screamed, shouting louder and with more force than she knew she possessed. ‘Don’t you get it, Lockie? I need to fix it! I need to make her better because it’s my fault! It’s all my fault. I’m her mum and I went into that school nearly a year ago and you’re right, I thought I knew best but I didn’t, why didn’t I do something then? Why didn’t I listen? I was so confident, arrogant, and now I’m paying the price. I could have got to it sooner, could have acted, intervened. And we might lose her and it’s all my fault.’ She felt her body cave as she leant forward, her hands resting on her thighs.
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘Because I couldn’t believe that anything so awful could possibly be part of my little girl’s life. That was not how I planned it!’
Lockie stared at her. His words when they came shook them both. ‘I’m not saying you are to blame for her illness, not at all. I think it’s more complicated and multilayered than any of us can grasp, but . . .’ He paused, as if aiming the verbal arrows he was about to fire. ‘I think in many ways her lack of progress and even her deterioration at times has been because you have found it too difficult to take the hard line. I think a more robust, tough regimen in the beginning might have stopped things advancing in the way they have, and I think you could have done better.’
‘I . . .’ She tried to speak, but her throat closed and her words faltered. Her shaking body folded and she slipped down into a dining chair. They were both quiet while the air around them settled.
It was Lockie who broke the silence.
‘I’m going to go and stay at my mum’s for a bit.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t run out on us!’
‘I’m not running out on you.’ He sighed. ‘I’m giving you the space you need to get your head straight. Mine too.’
‘But . . . but we need you!’
Lockie laughed. ‘Well, that’ll be a first.’
‘Don’t be so selfish, Lockie! You can’t just run out when things get tough!’
‘Things aren’t getting tough, Freya: things have been tough for a very long time. I said living with her illness was like walking barefoot surrounded by broken glass, but it’s not!’ He shook his head. ‘It’s like walking barefoot surrounded by broken glass, while juggling with sharpened razors and the building is on fire and I’m shouting that we have to jump while you close up all the windows and arrange the curtains!’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘It’s impossible for us to do this and come out unscathed.’
‘We have no choice!’ she screamed.
Lockie held his wife’s gaze and waited for a moment of calm before speaking. ‘We have plenty of choices, it’s just a case of whether you are open to making them and whether you are going to let me help. If Lexi was choking you’d do anything, cut her throat, break her bones, anything to stop her dying. But with this . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It might be called anorexia, Freya, but make no mistake, she is slowly choking, and if it was left solely to me I would be breaking her bones and cutting her throat to remove the obstruction, I’d do anything.’
‘And I will do anything! Of course!’ she cried.
‘I’m not sure that’s true. I’m not sure you can.’ He dripped the words like poison and her reaction was to cry even harder.
‘How dare you! Of course I will do anything – but it’s you who’s forgotten that she’s still a little girl, that’s all she is, a little girl!’
‘A little girl with a mental illness,’ he reminded her.
‘God, Lockie, I don’t know what to say to you, but I have to keep battling and defending her. I don’t expect you to understand.’
‘And that, Freya, is why I am going to my mum’s.’
One hour, thirty minutes . . .
Lockie sat in his favourite chair at the long kitchen table, with Freya by his side and her hand resting gently on his leg.
Charlotte placed the pen and pad in front of him. She flipped it open to a crisp blank page and nodded at him.
Lockie coughed and picked up the pen, rolling it between his fingers. He sniffed up his tears and looked up towards the ceiling, before pulling his glasses from the top of his head and starting.
Well, Lexi, it’s your dad here.
Haven’t thought exactly about what to write, so am just going to see what flows. I love you, that’s the most important thing to tell you.
Lockie paused and swiped the tears from his cheeks and coughed again before resuming.
I love you and I always have. My baby girl. I can’t think of you over the last year. If I picture you, which I do a lot, I see your smiling face, laughing at the most ridiculous things. Like any time I order poppadums and call them ‘ploppadums’ and it sends you into fits of giggles. I don’t think anyone laughs at my rubbish jokes quite as much as you.
I have a note that you wrote for me when you were little. I carry it with me in my camera case. It’s quite short, poignant, and makes me smile every time I see it. It says ‘Bring me back a comic’. At least that’s what it’s supposed to say, but it’s in Lexi speak, so it’s written back to front and upside down and a little muddled, but I love it nonetheless. It reminds me of a simpler time when that was all it took to make you happy: a comic and a cuddle from your dad.
Lockie paused again and smiled at his wife before continuing.
I think I let you down, Lexi, and for that I am really, truly sorry.
I’m not good when I’m out of sync with your mum, never have been. She’s always been the anchor, keeping this rocky old ship steady.
Lockie stopped again as the next bout of tears came.
I am, Lexi, really, truly sorry . . .
SEVENTEEN
Charlotte had cornered her on the landing as she headed for the shower. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked casually, looking over her mum’s shoulder and down the stairs, as if expecting him to pop up.
‘He’s gone to stay at Gran’s.’ Her chin wobbled in an effort to contain her sadness; speaking the fact aloud made it no more palatable.
‘Why?’ Her nose wrinkled quizzically.
‘He’s gone to cool off, I guess.’
‘When’s he coming back?’
‘I don’t know, Charlotte!’ Her tone was
a little sharper than she had intended and once again her eldest daughter was on the receiving end of an emotion that should have been directed elsewhere.
Charlotte turned on her heel and slammed the bathroom door behind her. Freya hid her face in her hands and stood behind it, speaking to the glossy wood. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry, love.’ Her apology sounded hollow, even to her own ears.
‘Mum?’ Lexi called, alerted by their exchange. Freya wandered across the hallway to once again inhale the stale air of sickness. ‘Where’s Dad gone?’ She levered herself up on to creaky elbows.
Freya felt the pulse of a lively headache behind her eyes; she rubbed at her temples to no avail. ‘He’s gone to stay at Gran’s.’
‘Were you fighting because of me?’ Her tears came quickly, and Freya silently cursed, fearful that even tears might take valuable sustenance from Lexi’s body.
‘Not really . . .’ She considered. ‘It’s complicated. It’s not your fault.’ She tried out a conciliatory smile.
‘Will he come back soon?’
‘I don’t know, Lex.’ Her delivery was soft and calm.
Lexi shrank back against her pillows, clearly unsettled by the discord.
As she left the room, she pictured Charlotte, no doubt crying in the shower, and her heart sank.
Freya wandered the house, touching her fingers to handles and listening at doors, in the vain hope that Lockie might have snuck back in to take refuge on a sofa or behind his desk. She wanted to talk to him. His abandoned coffee cup sat in the sink, his discarded laundry in a small pile in the corner of the bathroom, and his cameras were on the table, but he was not there. This was so out of character for him, but then their whole lives were out of character, as if they were living someone else’s life, and one they could not have imagined only a year ago. She felt swamped by loneliness, admitting that a Lockie with whom she was quarrelling was better than no Lockie at all.
The Food of Love Page 28