The Day I lost You

by Fionnuala Kearney

  Theo moved from the edge of the opposite sofa into its middle, chewed on a hangnail under his thumb.

  ‘Last night, when he was asleep, I took his laptop.’

  Theo groaned. ‘I’m not going to like this, am I?’

  ‘Look, I know. I value Finn’s privacy too, but I really didn’t even recognize him when he let go. It was like he was possessed! This isn’t just pre-teenage shit. Nor is this because he distrusts his mother.’ She narrowed her eyes at Theo. ‘Anyway, there wasn’t anything obvious until I checked his viewing history.’

  Upstairs, right above them in Finn’s room, came the booming sound of loud music.

  ‘Shit, Theo, he’s eleven. I wasn’t expecting this crap until at least thirteen.’

  ‘He wasn’t expecting what he has either.’ Theo shrugged. ‘I think the combination of you leaving and Anna dying—’

  ‘About Anna …’ Harriet stood, pulled her phone from her front jeans pocket and sat again. ‘Crap, I can’t—’

  Theo handed her his reading glasses.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, and scrolled through her phone.

  ‘What about Anna?’ he asked.

  Harriet came and sat on the coffee table. Two feet from him, Theo was surprised at the proximity, almost flinched.

  ‘Look.’ She angled the phone towards him. ‘This is what I found. Since last October, Finn has visited this website almost daily.’

  Theo removed his glasses from his wife’s head. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It was Anna’s blog. She ran a blog. I mean, it’s not obviously hers at first, but when I questioned him about it, asked why he was reading it, he went absolutely ape-shit.’ She shook her head. ‘So I read it into the night – she was having an affair, Theo …’

  Theo scratched the stubble on his chin, stood, and edged past her. ‘I’m getting a drink. Just don’t say another word.’

  He removed another wine glass from the cupboard, filled it halfway, and cursed the fact that the surgery was testing a new scheme for weekend out-of-hours services. During the trial period, the GPs had to cover one weekend in every four. His weekend for a possible call-out. He took one large gulp and headed back to Harriet, ignoring the loud racket booming down the stairwell.

  He sat next to her on the sofa and took her phone in his hand. ‘Let me see.’

  Within only two minutes he could tell it was indeed Anna. Names had been hidden or changed but it was Anna. Anna, who was fanatical about her privacy, talking about her life on a public blog.

  Harriet smoothed her long hair down each side of her head with the back of both of her hands. ‘He was obsessed with the site. I wanted to know why, so I spent most of last night reading it. Look, do you mind if I crash here tonight? We have a lot to talk about and I really don’t feel like driving back. I’ll take the sofa.’

  Theo nodded. ‘You have the bed. I’ll—’

  ‘No. I’ll be fine here.’ She kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the coffee table. ‘He has an email account.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Finn. He calls himself “Solarbomb”.’

  Theo recalled his real pride when Finn had shown him a school project on the very subject.

  ‘I haven’t had time to read it all, but he has definitely commented on some blog posts.’

  ‘Christ.’ Theo ran a hand through his hair, looked up to the ceiling. ‘How would, how does he even know it exists?’

  ‘He told me today that the last time Anna babysat here – do you remember it was when we went out to dinner at Ed and Jules’s place in November?’

  Theo remembered it well. He had drunk too much and Harriet had said far too little about that after the fact, the rot already well established in their decaying marriage.

  ‘Anna took a call on her mobile, went into the kitchen to take it, and he looked at what she had been typing here on the laptop.’ Harriet looked around the room. ‘Right here … Anyway, he memorized the website and has fixated on it ever since.’

  ‘But why …?’

  ‘That’s where you come in. You have to ask. He’s mad as fuck at me for invading his laptop, as he calls it.’ She shook her head. ‘Maybe he was a bit in love with her. It happens. Eleven-year-old boy, beautiful young woman …’

  Theo sighed, removed his glasses and tossed them on the table. ‘I’ll talk to him. Maybe not tonight but—’

  ‘I think we should both do it and I think it should be tonight.’

  ‘Harriet, he’s not going anywhere, he’s—’

  ‘When I said we have a problem, I meant it. He says he’s going to tell Jess, and that Jess should know she’s been lied to. When he was crying, he talked about Rose. He’s fond of her. It’s all so fucked up in his head and I think he wishes he knew none of it.’

  Theo looked at the ceiling, thought of Finn upstairs, confused and angry, tried to imagine what was going on in his head.

  ‘This is wrapped up in you, whether you like it or not.’ He deliberately looked straight ahead, avoiding Harriet’s eyes. ‘Anna was Rose’s mum and she died, left Rose. Anna, it seems, told lies. Come on, Harriet. Look at this from his point of view. It’s not great when he loved you both and both of you left and lied …’

  ‘Thanks for that.’ She glared at him.

  Theo shrugged. ‘I’m not saying he’s right. I’m saying I think it’s what he thinks, how he feels.’

  Harriet drained the glass.

  ‘Even I see that day as a turning point. Anna died then, Harriet, everyone knew it but no one wanted to face it. I lost you too that day.’ He waved away the objection that she was going to make. ‘I know we were in trouble beforehand, but I lost you that day. Finn lost you and, since then, he’s confused and it’s up to us to help him find his way again.’

  She sighed, resigned. ‘You’re probably right.’

  Neither spoke for a minute before she said: ‘Jess. He’s determined to tell her and I know how you feel about Jess …’

  ‘Not this again, Harriet, really?’ Theo shook his head.

  She put a hand on his knee. ‘You’re right about what’s going on in our son’s head, so no recriminations. I’m saying this out of concern for Jess. I know there’s no comparison to you having a kiss with Jess way back whenever and what I’ve done to our family. I know that. I’m sorry I poked you in the ribs with it when we were rowing the other day on the phone.’ She sat back in the chair. ‘It was guilt. There’s not a day goes by where I don’t feel guilty, where I don’t wonder if my happiness is coming at too high a price. It’s shameless guilt and I’m sorry.’ She laid her head against his shoulder.

  ‘I just know you’d want the best for Jess and I’m not convinced reading this stuff about Anna would be good for her right now.’

  No, Theo thought. Not right now. And probably never. He looked down at Harriet’s phone, at the image of Anna’s blog, and knew what he too would be reading through the night.

  ‘Shall we go up?’ she asked.

  Theo blew out the full contents of his lungs. ‘If you think we should both do it, now is the time …’

  Within a few minutes, Theo had unplugged the music in his son’s bedroom.

  Harriet hovered behind him, barefoot. ‘We both want to talk to you,’ she said.

  Finn was lying down, his knees angled, his fingers laced behind his head. ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘Well.’ Theo took a seat on the edge of the bed while Harriet stood hugging her arms. ‘If you won’t talk, you’re going to have to listen.’

  Finn reached for his earphones and placed them slowly on his head. Theo glanced at Harriet, shrugged, then swooped forward and pulled them from him, yanking them from his iPod at the same time.

  ‘You will either talk or listen. Which is it to be?’ he asked, coiling the white wire around his hand. Finn remained still and silent.

  ‘Right. Listening it is. Whatever it is you think you’ve learned about Anna, just remember the person you loved. Remember the woman that you’ve
been telling Rose about, the woman who sang, who looked after you, who has shared Christmas here with us. That was Anna. You’ve been encouraging Rose, Finn, because you’re old enough to understand her loss. She’s a little girl, just a little girl.’ He edged himself nearer his son and Finn glared, moved away deliberately.

  ‘None of us are simple. We’re made up of so many different parts. You’re always talking about aliens being more evolved. Maybe they are; maybe they’ve managed to remove emotion from their race – things would probably be a lot easier. Anna was all of the things I’ve just said and, yes, she was also more. She made choices that upset you. They upset her too, I’m sure, but she still made them. And they’re part of her too, Finn.’ He shook his head. ‘None of us are simple.’

  Harriet sniffed behind him and he turned to look at her, patted the bed beside him. She came and sat close, leaned against him. ‘We both love you,’ Theo continued. ‘Both of us are here. Both of us ready to listen to anything at all you have to say. Talk. Please, Finn.’

  He saw tears gather in his son’s eyes, resisted the urge to reach forward and hold him.

  ‘Grown-ups lie,’ Finn whispered.

  ‘Some of us do,’ Theo replied.

  ‘All my life, you and Mum drumming into me not to lie. But you lied to Dad, Mum. Roland.’ The last word came with spittle and Harriet flinched, gripped Theo’s arm with her hidden fingers.

  ‘She didn’t actually. She never lied.’ Theo shook his head. ‘Your mum told me she had feelings for someone else. We tried really hard to work it out, but those feelings grew stronger and eventually … Your mother fell in love with someone else, but I have always known and she never lied.’ He leaned forward. ‘And you want to know why we tried so hard? For you, Finn. Neither of us ever wanted this for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Finn.’ Harriet licked her silent tears from her top lip. Theo reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. ‘I can’t tell you how much I wish I was still at home here with you and your dad. How much easier it would have been; but it wouldn’t have been fair on any of us.’

  ‘This, Finn,’ Theo said, ‘is what you have. You have two parents who love you, one living in town and one living here with you. It’s time to try to move on with that.’

  Finn bit his bottom lip.

  ‘And,’ Theo added, ‘please try not to judge Anna. You still only know parts of her. It’s always the parts that we don’t know, that we can’t see, that finish the picture. She was someone you loved.’ He looked at Harriet, then back at Finn before taking his hand. ‘Someone we all loved, and you cannot take it upon yourself to tell Jess things that you think she should know. They may hurt her. They may hurt Rose. That’s not up to you.’

  Finn burst into tears. Theo reached for him and Harriet passed to the other side of his bed and did the same. Together the three of them clung to each other, the child sobbing, his parents controlling their tears. Theo’s arm, wrapped around Finn, touched Harriet’s hand. Her eyes open, she laced her fingers through his, mouthed the words, Thank you, at him. He blinked hard and nodded.

  With Finn settled, Theo made tea, put two large mugs down on the coffee table.

  Harriet placed her stockinged feet next to them.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ Theo laughed.

  She grinned. ‘It feels a bit weird,’ she said. ‘Being back here. Feels it for me, so must be really weird for you.’

  ‘It is a bit like old times.’

  ‘I know.’ Harriet looked around the room. ‘All of our things, they’re comforting, familiar.’

  ‘Any regrets?’ Theo asked.

  She hadn’t hesitated a second in her reply. ‘Hurting you and Finn is awful, but I am happy … You?’

  ‘Do I regret you leaving me?’

  Her cheeks flushed red and he laughed. ‘Relax. Actually, no, no I don’t.’

  ‘Good. Thank you for what you said up there.’

  Theo stretched his long limbs, tried to rub the tightness he felt in his chest with his hand. ‘It was what he needed to hear.’

  ‘Not the full truth, though.’

  ‘Full truth, it would appear, is overrated.’

  She shook her head. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I mean it doesn’t matter. I know you lied – I don’t know when. It doesn’t matter any more.’

  ‘You handled it brilliantly upstairs. You’ve always been good with Finn.’ She deftly changed the subject.

  ‘Yeah, well, if this is him at “almost twelve”, I reckon it’ll come in handy.’

  ‘Do you think Jess knows?’

  He frowned. ‘She knows Anna was involved with a married man. She doesn’t know who, nor does she need to, just as she is coming to terms with Anna being gone.’

  Theo felt his wife’s nut-brown eyes bore into him. ‘When are you going to admit you have feelings for Jess?’

  He coughed loudly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  ‘It’s not so ridiculous, and before you go getting defensive, I’m not saying there was ever anything going on, in real life or in your mind. I just know you’ve always loved her as a friend and maybe, just maybe, that’s changed as circumstances have.’

  Theo shifted beside her. ‘I’m seeing someone,’ he said, not sure that he was at all. ‘Not Jess. Jess is a friend.’

  ‘Oh.’ Harriet tilted her head in surprise. ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘Jacqueline Benoit? She works at The Wall.’

  ‘Not the tutor, the tiny one?’

  Theo nodded.

  ‘She’s half your age!’

  ‘She is thirty-four.’ His expression was indignant.

  ‘She’ll want babies.’ Harriet wagged a finger. ‘Be careful. She’ll add another ten years onto your working life.’

  ‘Jesus, you’re incorrigible.’ Theo drained the end of his mug.

  She smiled. ‘I’m sorry, really, for everything.’ She leaned forward, her hair falling each side of her face.

  He pulled her back by the shoulder, so that she fell into the crook of his arm. ‘Stop punishing yourself, Harriet. You and me and Finn, we’ll be fine, however scary it all looks.’

  Theo breathed deep, inhaled the scent of her – coconut and spiced orange – and closed his eyes.

  36. Jess

  John at St John’s recognizes me when I take a seat in the varnished oak pew. I’m sure I see a tic-like nod of acknowledgement. I’m late – the service has started, the first hymn in full flow. Rose hasn’t a clue what’s going on and she’s fidgeting beside me, picking at something that looks like a knot in the wood. Perhaps this was a mistake. I read the Sunday order of service and the words blur before me. This was a mistake. Rose has found her way onto my lap. She’s sucking on some of her hair which I left loose today. Its fragrant scent of citrus shampoo makes me sneeze.

  I scramble through my handbag for a tissue, start to cough so much that Rose has to sit back down beside me. People are starting to stare. My fingers find the letter from the bank; the one that was in the same postal delivery as Aimee Gardner’s card. I let my fingers rest on it, look around the church for her, sure from the tone of her letter that Mrs Gardner is a churchgoer, and that she has a faith I wish I did. I find the tissues, close the bag, blow my nose and Rose jumps up on me again.

  Doug, true to his word, has taken care of all the paperwork with Anna’s employers. The letter, a settlement statement from them confirming the insurance payout, also confirms that I will soon have two hundred and eight thousand pounds in the bank. Last night, when I read it, I let out a small, low, out-of-tune whistle. It’s a fortune to me, but I know if it’s to last, if it’s to be there for Rose, I’ll have to be careful. My eyes shut as I try to pray. Words of hope flit across my brain. I can’t quite find words of thanks. Most times, I am still angry at any God who takes my daughter from me and expects my granddaughter to make up for her loss. Not so long ago, I had them both.

  I pray that I will be able to let go of the anger. I pray for Rose. I pray
for Sean and his family. And, just before a coughing fit forces me to leave five minutes after arriving, I pray that I can forget the man who signed the letter in my bag was James Elliot.

  Outside. I’m trying a three-point turn in the crowded car park when Rose pipes up from the back. ‘Can we have one of those in the garden, Nanny?’

  ‘I’ll look in just a moment, love. Hold on.’

  I’ve almost broken into a sweat by the time I’ve straightened up and can turn around. ‘What love, one of what?’

  ‘Those.’ She points to a fir tree, maybe about ten feet tall. ‘We could have Christmas all the time!’

  I smile. Christmas all the time does sound like a lovely idea; I have no idea how to tell a child that Christmas trees in March aren’t that easy to come by.

  I’m going to do a proper food shop today. Feeling buoyed up, determined to shake this flu-like feeling, I’ve actually made a list. Rose is already in dance class, and I’m standing in the middle aisle of the supermarket knowing I have an hour to get this done.

  Reading the list means glasses perched on the end of my nose, peering over them to see where I’m going; making sure I don’t mow anyone down with the trolley; peering through them to see what I’m actually putting in it. My forty-eight-year-old eyes can’t function nowadays without them. I’m checking the sugar content of a new cereal when someone says hello and I have to do the whole looking down and peering over manoeuvre to see who’s talking to me.

  ‘Sam, hello …’ I say, a little awkwardly. I don’t know him well enough to give him a hug. ‘Sorry, glasses …’ I push them up onto the top of my head.

  ‘How are you?’ he asks. ‘A silly question, I know.’ Something makes me look in his shopping basket as I give Anna’s old choirmaster the rote reply. ‘Oh, okay. Some days good, some days bad. Most are getting better.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ He sighs a troubled sigh. ‘It’s a very strange world we live in when our young are taken away from us.’

  Something tugs at the edge of my memory, something from way back – Anna telling me that he and his wife had lost twins, stillbirths, before the birth of their son years later. So, I know he knows and that helps, when people really know, when people have borne a similar grief. We’re standing at the preserve section and my eyes land on Anna’s favourite honey. She would pile it onto a doorstep of fresh bread and munch away.