Rob, seated across the dining table from Sash and picking at the vegetables in his lasagne, bristles at every word Thomas says. He took an instant dislike to him the moment Thomas swaggered through our front door, a long arm around our daughter, looking at least a decade older than her. He’s an inch taller than Rob too, an advantage my husband usually enjoys. Thomas, an over-confident smile on his face, immediately dropped a complimentary but inappropriate comment about my relatively low-cut dress. I blushed deeply, Rob grimacing behind Thomas’s back as he’d picked up the moth-balled coat our guest had deposited on the hall table. I don’t blame Rob for feeling put out, Thomas is being deliberately provocative, but we have to accept he’s Sash’s choice of boyfriend and as such it is up to us to make the effort until hopefully she tires of him or, perhaps more likely, he moves on to someone else. Parenting is full of injustices, the inequalities always falling in favour of the child. Sometimes, we have to swallow our opinions and make the best of it.
‘Sash tells us you manage a wine bar in town,’ I say to Thomas.
He’s seated opposite me at the dining table, Sash’s arm linked through his, her eyes only for Thomas, or perhaps she’s simply avoiding the pointed stares of her father. I glance sideways at Rob to check he’s behaving himself. His jaw is set, brow furrowed, but at least he’s keeping quiet.
Thomas lifts his chin and regards me from under his long fringe; there is a protracted silence before he responds. ‘Yes, The Limes. Do you know it?’
‘I think so – it’s in the centre of town?’ I’m recalling a run-down establishment which has changed its name many times over the years; the kind of place Rob and I would never frequent; full of hardened drinkers who stand outside to smoke.
‘Yeah, you should come in some time, have a drink.’ He smiles at me; that self-assured, almost daring grin, then he looks across the table at Rob. ‘Both of you.’
I pick up my wine glass, nudging Rob at my side. ‘We’d like that, wouldn’t we?’
‘Must be unsocial hours,’ Rob mutters. ‘Bar work.’
‘Yes,’ Thomas replies. ‘But I live in the flat above, so long lie-ins.’
He smiles at Sash and she colours a little, not something I recall ever seeing her do before. I also notice the return of her smug smile, the one I’d first seen in the park, a twitch at the corner of her dark red lips. She’s sleeping with him, that’s obvious. They constantly find ways to touch one another: hands held under the table, arms linked. But sex means nothing. It’s transient. I look at Rob, trying to recall how we were at that stage in our relationship, but it’s too long ago, layers and layers of life obscuring my view of the past. A stab of something akin to jealousy surfaces, then I look at my daughter, her face so young, so innocent, despite the heavy make-up. I want to ask her, ‘Do you love him?’ because I know he’s handsome in an unconventional kind of way, and charming, and older than her, confident, which is always attractive. But he’s also no good. You must see that, Sash.
‘Mum.’ Sash recalls me to the conversation. ‘I asked how are you enjoying your work at the drop-in centre?’
‘It’s early days, but I like it.’ I return her smile, avoiding Rob’s expression, which I can imagine. ‘I’m already quite involved.’
I think of Nick and Rose, how they’ve both become such firm friends in a short period of time; and how at times I’ve found myself thinking of Nick when I’m away from him, smiling at his obvious regard for me.
‘The place next to Sash’s work?’ Thomas asks, helping himself to salad.
‘Yes, I understand you two met there?’ I say, avoiding his gaze and looking at my daughter instead.
I notice Sash’s discomfort as she says yes, although she doesn’t elaborate further; no romantic tale of how their eyes met across the washing-up. It’s obvious Thomas has a past, and it’s therefore not too much of a leap to work out why he was really at the drop-in centre; certainly not as a volunteer. I look across at Rob, his jaw clenched even tighter, and I send him a silent plea to suppress his opinion. He already disapproves of my voluntary work, and now he has another reason to despise the place as it has brought Thomas into our lives. I notice Sash is looking at her father too, her smile fixed and unnatural.
‘Do you still volunteer?’ I ask Thomas, offering him focaccia, although my line of questioning is devious, not the kind to break bread over. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.’
‘It saw me through some dark days,’ he replies, enigmatically.
He’s clearly unfazed by my excavation of his personal history, or concerned by Sash’s obvious embarrassment, her cheeks flaming as she looks down at her food.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Rob asks. ‘Dark days.’
Thomas ignores Rob and tells me he hasn’t been to the drop-in centre for a while as he’s been crazy-busy at work. He looks at Sash, his face moving closer to hers. ‘And this one keeps me busy at home.’
‘Thomas, don’t!’ Sash laughs, but I can tell she’s uncomfortable.
Thomas looks across at me. ‘But well done, Jo. Gotta give something back.’ He looks around the room – a designer kitchen at one end and our bacchanalian feast at the other – his steady gaze then falling on Rob. ‘We all have so much. It’s immoral, don’t you think?’
‘Any news of baby bro?’ Sash asks, before her father has time to reply.
‘Not much,’ I tell her. ‘You heard anything from him?’
‘Of course not! Fin doesn’t message me,’ Sash replies, using the tone she reserves for any mention of her brother. ‘But I told him to keep in touch with you.’
‘Maybe there’s a girl involved,’ I reply, smiling at Sash. Fin’s always been too shy to ask anyone out, but I know he’s had plenty of admirers.
‘A partner,’ Thomas corrects me, the smile temporarily gone, his expression serious. ‘It’s important to allow your son the freedom to explore his sexuality.’
‘What the—’ Rob says, sitting up straight in his chair, but Sash interrupts him again. ‘Ooh, Mum! I almost forgot your present.’ She reaches down to the rucksack by her feet. ‘Sorry about, you know, missing your meal.’
‘It’s fine,’ I reply, looking away from her.
I’ve tried over the last two weeks to rationalise her deceit, but there’s really no excuse for telling me she was too ill to join us for my birthday meal when she’d clearly had a better offer. I haven’t challenged her on it since, despite Rob’s suggestion that I should if it’s still upsetting me. It’s true, with no card or present forthcoming the hurt has remained, but there seemed little point in pursuing it; the damage was done. I suppose I’d hoped she would be the one to make amends. I take the gift bag Sash is holding out and peek inside. ‘A book?’
‘Not just any book,’ she replies, her face full of anticipation. ‘An amazing book.’
She tells me to read the gift tag and I remark on how it’s from both of them, the longed-for acknowledgement of my missed birthday already losing its shine. Thomas smiles, then shakes his head and leans in to kiss my daughter again. I look away from them; the continuing displays of affection are becoming tiresome. Rob and I exchange a look of mutual exasperation.
‘It’s a self-help book,’ I say, removing the book from the gift bag and turning it over to read the back cover.
‘Thomas lent me his copy and I read it in one sitting, Mum,’ Sash explains, pulling away from Thomas’s continuing advances. ‘It makes you think in an entirely different way. It’s so empowering. You should read it too, Dad.’ She looks at her father who is now tapping away on his phone, probably sending a message judging by the rapid movement of his thumb across the keys. I’d asked him not to bring his phone to the table, his work becoming more intrusive of late, but if it keeps the peace I’m prepared to put up with it for now.
‘What’s it about?’ Rob asks, switching off his phone to take the book from me. ‘Feminist clap-trap by the looks of it.’
‘Not a feminist, Rob?’ Thomas lean
s towards Rob, his palm supporting his chin, looking up at him from under his dark fringe. ‘Because I’m proud to say that I am.’
‘I bet you are,’ Rob replies, leaning forward too.
‘More vegetarian lasagne anyone?’ I ask, my voice unnaturally high. ‘There’s plenty.’
‘No thanks,’ Thomas replies, relaxing back in his seat, his foot almost touching mine under the table, so I snatch mine back, tucking my bare toes under my chair. ‘I think I’m done here,’ he says, clearly amused by my reaction.
‘Dessert then,’ I say, standing up. ‘I’ve made a tropical fruit salad. Hope that’s okay with everyone?’
‘Fine with me,’ Sash replies, helping me clear the table.
‘Tell Dad to go easy on him,’ Sash hisses as she passes me the dirty plates to stack in the dishwasher, our heads bent over the task as we mouth our conversation to one another. ‘He’s being really difficult; as usual.’
I look down the room at Rob, his back to me, then take a quick glance at Thomas, both of them silent at the table, the long open-plan kitchen-diner crackling with tension. ‘Thomas is provoking him,’ I whisper back.
Sash rolls her eyes, then tells me, in that you’re-being-so-annoying tone she has, that Thomas is being fine; lovely in fact. This is a big ask for him, apparently. He doesn’t normally do the parent thing, but he knows it’s important to her that we like him. I look at Sash’s face, still so young, the disappointment obvious in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ I reply, touching the side of her cheek with my hand. ‘I’ll try harder.’
‘It’s not you,’ she says. ‘Although you are being a bit weird.’ She stares at the back of her father’s head. ‘It’s him.’
‘Dessert anyone?’ I ask, carrying the crystal bowl to the table. ‘Sash, can you grab the pot of crème fraîche from the fridge please, darling?’
‘No cream for me,’ Thomas says. ‘Unless you have any coconut, or soy?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I do,’ I reply, looking at Sash.
‘Sorry,’ she tells Thomas, plonking the tub down in front of her father, so heavily I look across at him to make sure he’s not spattered with dollops of thick cream.
‘What?’ Rob asks, and I shake my head, telling him it’s nothing.
‘The milk and cheese in the lasagne weren’t vegan either,’ Sash is saying to Thomas. ‘Thanks for eating it, babe.’ She smiles at him as if he’s made a huge sacrifice on her behalf.
‘You seemed to enjoy it,’ Rob points out.
‘I was being polite,’ Thomas replies.
‘Oh there’s nothing polite about you, is there Thomas?’ Rob says, locking eyes with him.
‘Rob, don’t!’ I say, giving him a warning look, but Rob isn’t done.
‘You flirt with my wife, drink my wine and sleep with my daughter, but you turn your nose up at our food? Bloody priceless.’ He slumps back in his chair and folds his arms, his eyes almost closed.
‘Dad!’ Sash says, looking mortified.
‘Fruit salad anyone?’ I ask, the words sounding ridiculous as I say them, Thomas the only one even looking at me as Sash stares at her father.
‘Sorry, Mum. I think we should go,’ Sash announces, standing up. ‘We’ve clearly outstayed our welcome.’
‘But you haven’t seen what we’ve done with your bedroom,’ I say, pleading with her to stay, but she avoids catching my eye, head down as she walks out of the room.
Thomas shrugs and stands too, his movements languorous as though his long limbs need to be stretched and unfurled. His display is all for me as Rob is still in the same position, arms crossed, eyes all but closed, his only movement a slight tap of his foot against the table leg.
‘It was a lovely meal, Jo,’ Thomas says as he follows Sash out of the dining room. ‘Hopefully see you soon.’
I hear him pick up his coat from the end of the bannister where Rob hung it, the large buttons clattering against the newel post, then he mumbles something to Sash who has opened the front door, the cold air now reaching Rob and me in the dining room. There’s a moment’s silence, then a loud slam as the heavy door shuts behind them.
‘Rob, do something!’ I tell him. ‘We can’t let them go like this.’
At first I think he won’t move, his arms still folded tightly across his chest, chin down, then he jumps up and runs out of the kitchen. Instantly I regret encouraging him to go after them. I run too, calling for him to stop, that he’ll make it worse, but he throws open the just-slammed door and is outside before I can reach him.
I hear Rob shout, ‘Leave my daughter alone; you’re a bloody waste of space!’ Then I’m at the open door, watching the scene unfold before me, my bare feet hugging the icy step as though to venture on to the frost-covered gravel would show I’d taken Rob’s side. I glance at Sash, who is sitting behind the wheel of her car, watching her father and boyfriend as they square up to one another. Rob reaches up to grasp the lapel of Thomas’s moth-eaten coat in one hand, the other clenched in a fist at his side. Thomas is smiling back at my husband, daring him to throw the first punch.
‘What is it you’re after?’ Rob asks, spittle thickening his words, his face an inch from Thomas’s maddening grin. ‘Money is it? How much do you want?’
‘Dad, don’t!’ Sash is out of her car now, running towards them as she screams at her father. ‘Get off him! I hate you for this! I hate you!’
I’m shouting too. ‘Don’t, Sash! Leave them! You’ll get hurt!’ I dash towards her across the painful spiky gravel as she tries to prise her father’s hand from Thomas’s coat.
Thomas easily pushes Rob away and then encircles Sash to protect her with his enfolding arms, her face to his chest, his hands buried in her hair which is lifted from her neck to wrap around them both, long tendrils of blonde, like ropes of silk which bind them together, white against the black of his enormous coat. She’s crying now, wracking sobs into Thomas’s chest; no need for me or her father. Rob backs away, his hands still clenched at his sides, and when he turns to me I see that he’s entirely defeated.
‘Come inside,’ I say, stepping forward to touch his arm. ‘We can mend this later. Just go inside, it’s freezing out here.’
He looks at me and I can see my words have penetrated his despair, then his expression falls into one of further humiliation as he shrugs me off and walks back into the house.
‘Sash, darling.’ I walk towards her, but Thomas is holding her so tightly I’m afraid she won’t hear me. Then she turns from him, looks straight through me and walks to her car, her head down as she climbs inside. Thomas gets into the passenger seat, his knees almost up to his chin in the small space, and they leave, the blue Fiat pulling away at speed. The last glimpse I have of them is Thomas’s face at the window, his sly smile spreading into a wide grin.
9
Five Days After The Fall
I’d almost forgotten Sash was coming to visit me until I hear her car arrive; a little faster than I would like, the tyres sliding on the gravel, then loud music expelled as she opens the driver door. Rob had mentioned something about her popping in to check on me during her lunch break, but it had been so early when he’d left for work this morning that his words had barely registered, especially as I’d dragged the duvet over my head to shut them out. I was exhausted, yes, but since I met Rose yesterday my feelings of distrust towards Rob have intensified, my retreat into myself even greater. I suppose I could have asked him outright why he hadn’t said anything to me about the drop-in-centre, but I had no idea how to frame an accusation about which I’m still so uncertain. Either Rob had known I was a volunteer there and had deliberately concealed it from me, or he hadn’t known anything about it at all, which means I’d kept it secret from him. I’ve decided it’s best I work out which scenario is correct before I tackle him. There is so much to be sorted out in my head. I need to deal with one problem at a time, not least the troubling issue of the man I saw through the café window.
I hear a
key in the door, then Sash calls up to me, ‘Mum? You decent?’
‘I’m still in bed,’ I reply. ‘Come on up.’
I smooth my bed-hair down with my palms and run my tongue over my un-brushed teeth, dismayed as I look at the neon numbers on Rob’s alarm clock to see it’s already afternoon.
‘Lazy-bones, did you forget I was coming?’ Sash asks, her heavy boots pounding out her progress across the room as she moves past the bed towards the window.
Sash’s appearance is still a shock to me, my recollection and the reality of it so different. I miss the long silky strands of hair that would fall through my fingers and the make-up-free face, her own colouring infinitely preferable to the harsh shades she now applies. She’s filled out, too; more of a woman than a girl. But I don’t mind her taking charge; it’s a novelty having her fuss over me.
‘I have a brain injury; I’m allowed to forget things,’ I reply, lifting myself up in bed as I smile at my daughter; observing to myself how she’s still my girl, despite the rebellious attempts to cover up her natural beauty. ‘And I’m allowed to be lazy.’ I squint into the bright sunlight as Sash opens the blind. ‘I’m recuperating.’
‘I don’t have long,’ she tells me. ‘Food or shower first?’
‘You didn’t need to check on me; I’m fine.’ I smile at her. ‘Did your dad bully you into coming?’
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