Can't Live Without

by Joanne Phillips

  It seems I’m not the only one who’s had a bad day.

  ‘Mum,’ I say a little louder.

  I try to pull back the covers but she’s clutching them tightly to her face. She is also crying, a faint but unmistakeable sound like the mewing of a kitten. At least she’s conscious. I look down at the bottles, thinking how much worse this could have been.

  I tap the lump lightly. ‘Mum. What’s wrong?’

  Still no response. The mewing continues softly, muffled by covers. For some reason my mother has decided to forgo the benefits of the duvet and stick with an arrangement of sheets and blankets and something she calls an eiderdown. When we were kids and our beds were made this way I suffered panic attacks when I was tucked in at night. The weight of all those layers on top of me felt suffocating.

  ‘Mum, come on now. Come out of there and talk to me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.’

  I pause and wait. The mewing stops, which I take as an encouraging sign. ‘Something’s happened to upset you and you’ve had a bit of a drink. It’s not the end of the world. You just need some painkillers and something to eat.’ My stomach rumbles right on cue. I think about the shepherd’s pie sitting in my fridge and am glad I remembered to text Lipsy and tell her to eat without me. This could go on for some time.

  I make myself comfortable and tell the lump that I’m not going anywhere until I find out what’s going on.

  ‘Bloody hell, Mum, you phoned me,’ I grumble. ‘And now I’m here you’re hiding under the covers!’

  Eventually my mother begins to emerge. First one eye, then the other. Next a snotty nose, followed by a mouth, blurred from crying.

  ‘Hey!’ I say cheerfully. ‘They said the Loch Ness Monster was a myth.’

  She smiles feebly and sniffs. I fetch her some tissues from a box on the dressing table and make to open the curtains.

  ‘No,’ she shrieks, ‘leave them closed. I look terrible.’

  ‘It speaks!’ I joke, but do as she says and leave the curtains alone.

  While she sorts herself out I go downstairs to make a drink and find some food – I won’t be a help to anyone if I starve to death. When I come back with a tray of tea and biscuits my mother is sitting up in bed and has at least managed to stop crying. She has also brushed her hair and blown her nose. There is a growing pile of tissues by the bed; this crying thing has clearly been going on for some time.

  I pour the tea and she takes it from me with shaky hands.

  ‘Come on then. What’s happened?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, Stella. You’ll be so angry.’

  ‘Have you gone ahead and ordered that new bathroom suite?’ I say, maybe a little harshly.

  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. For goodness sake, Stella, is money all you ever think about?’

  Well, excuse me! The unfairness of this statement renders me momentarily speechless.

  ‘Alistair has moved out,’ she says, sniffing. ‘He left yesterday. When I came back from the shops he’d packed all his stuff and just gone. No note, nothing.’ She plays with her teaspoon, stirring the tea one way and then the other. She won’t meet my eyes.

  ‘But isn’t that a good thing? You said I’d be angry. I don’t understand – I was the one who told you to kick him out. Why would I be angry that he’s gone?’

  ‘Stella, promise you won’t shout?’ I nod my head mutely, although a promise like this is made to be broken. She carries on in a small voice. ‘You were right about Alistair.’ Well, duh! ‘He hardly ever paid rent, always said he’d have it for me next week, next week. It wasn’t just the last two months like I told you, it was longer than that. And he ate so much food! Never contributed to the shopping budget, even when I asked him to, which wasn’t often, I admit.

  ‘The truth is, Stella, I liked having him around. He was a good laugh and it was just company for me, that was all. Lipsy was always off with that fella of hers and you have your own life. I’ve got no one. Don’t you think I get lonely sometimes?’ She thrusts her face into mine. ‘Do you ever think about that, Stella?’

  ‘What about your friends? Anna and Janet from up the road? All the people you used to have lunch with when you went to the gym or played golf?’ I know the answer though. I only say it to mask my own embarrassment.

  She is right. I have never thought about the possibility she might be lonely. I would argue that it isn’t my job to worry about her social life but that argument seems a bit pointless now.

  ‘Those people stopped being my friends two years ago. I haven’t gone to a gym or played golf for a long time, Stella, and you know it. You just chose not to think about it, just like you chose not to think about your father rotting away in prison all this time. Well, I have been lonely and I make no apologies for it. So what if I’ve been a bit of a soft touch, a bit of a mug. Alistair was a laugh, he was good company, he was …’

  I grab her arm, spilling tea all over the eiderdown. ‘You’re not saying … please don’t tell me you … with Alistair?’

  ‘Of course not!’ she shouts over the sound of my retching. ‘I wouldn’t do that to your father. But yes, I was a little flattered, who wouldn’t be? Don’t you judge me, madam.’

  Through new eyes I look at my mother and wonder if she’s telling me the truth. Would she have responded to Alistair’s advances? Was she that lonely and susceptible? Maybe she really was just flattered, a middle-aged woman, to all intents and purposes alone in the world. Maybe that was the reason she liked having him around – the only reason. It would explain why she’d tolerated his rent-free presence. It would also explain the smug smile on his face and why he’d thought he had the right to interfere in our arguments, even though he had been the cause of them half the time.

  I have no choice but to believe her. And as the slimy toad has gone now it doesn’t really matter anyway. Her love for my dad can’t be questioned. She still cries over photographs of him, still shops obsessively for that one elusive object that could give her so much pleasure it might take away the pain of missing him. I notice, possibly for the first time in my adult life, that my mother is really quite beautiful: her face heart-shaped with high cheekbones, her eyes, although red and puffy from crying, still clear and expressive.

  ‘Mum,’ I say, passing her yet another tissue, ‘I just don’t understand why you’re so upset. OK, you maybe feel like a bit of a fool, being taken for a ride and all that. And I guess this brings up some feelings, some stuff, that is quite painful.’ But I don’t want you to tell me about it, I nearly add. ‘All that’s understandable. But why are you crying like your world has ended? Unless you were in love with him or something …’ She howls a denial and I wave my hands to calm her. ‘OK, OK. Not that. So what, Mum? What’s so terrible that you’re still in bed on a Sunday evening with half of Thresher’s under the blanket?’

  Boy, do I regret pushing for the truth. Because, and I hate to say I told you so, as predicted it was about money after all. Alistair hadn’t only left her with the feeling that there’s no fool like an old fool, he’d also left her with an empty purse, making off with her savings: the £300 she’d squirreled away for emergencies, the most pressing of which was this month’s mortgage. While I hold her tightly and stroke her hair, I entertain brief fantasies of finding the man and rubbing his face against a pebble-dashed wall.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ I tell her. ‘We’ll think of something. I’m sure we can all scrape together enough for the mortgage between us. It’s not the end of the world.’

  My words are met by a fresh bout of sobbing and I really am at my wit’s end now. Her anguish is giving me the collywobbles, the kind where you can sense there’s something coming and you know you can’t avoid it so you want to make the most of those last few moments when your life feels normal.

  ‘What is wrong with you, Mum?’ I ask for the hundredth time. ‘There’s something else you’re not telling me, isn’t there? Something bad.’

  I’m n
ot known for my intuition. Usually I’m a bit dense. This time, I’m sad to say, I am spot on.

  My mother wails some more and I catch the words ‘not worthy’ and ‘never forgive me’. Did she have an affair with Alistair after all? Was she behind Lipsy’s pregnancy all along, egging her on, encouraging her? Surely not. But what the hell could it be? The woman is clearly beside herself; this is not about an AWOL lodger and some missing money.

  ‘Please, Mum,’ I say, stroking her hair again to calm her down. ‘Whatever it is, just tell me.’

  She pushes me away roughly. ‘Don’t be nice to me, Stella,’ she says between sobs. ‘Not that. I don’t deserve that. After I tell you what I’ve done you won’t even want to know me, let alone be nice to me. But…’ She takes a deep breath and tries to level her voice. ‘Just remember that I love you, and Billy and Lipsy. And I love your father. I made a mistake, Stella. I just made a mistake.’

  ‘For God’s sake, just tell me!’ I’m nearly crying too now. I can’t stand it any longer.

  When it finally comes out, it comes in a rush, one long sentence, unprepared and unprepared for. My mother takes my hand and says, in a voice I hardly recognise, ‘I had an affair with your father’s accountant and it was him who stole the money and defrauded the tax man, not your dad, but your dad forgave me and kept it to himself to protect us all.’ She takes a breath and then looks away from my horrified expression. ‘It was all my fault, Stella, not your dad’s. I’m the reason he’s in prison.’

  Chapter 19

  Two weeks after my first visit I’m back in prison. Not, thankfully, as an inmate. “Just visiting” as they say in Monopoly.

  This time my father looks even more unsure of himself. Maybe he’s been wondering if I’ll turn up at all – maybe he half-hoped I wouldn’t after the grilling I gave him last time.

  To put his mind at rest I immediately give him a huge hug, and he looks shocked and pleased in equal measure. We sit and I hold his hand, and we talk about everything and nothing, with no breaks and no awkward silences. I tell him about the house, about my idea for renovating properties. I tell him about Café Crème and how hard I’m working to make up for my mistakes.

  And I tell him about Lipsy; how I’m supporting her decision and how proud I am of how she’s handling it all. My dad stares at me throughout with a stunned expression on his face, then he shakes his head and tells me he is proud of me too. I am a chip off the old block, he says. A month ago this would have sent me apoplectic; now it feels like the best compliment I’ve ever had.

  What my mum confessed to me has, for some reason, set me free. Free to have my father back, free to show my true feelings and free to let him into my life again.

  I’ve missed him. I don’t think I realised how much until now.

  I tell him about Paul, about my newly discovered feelings and the fact that I ruined it by making a clumsy, ill-timed pass at him. I don’t tell him about Lipsy’s theory that Paul does have feelings for me after all – I’m not quite sure what to think about that myself. I gloss over the reappearance of John Dean, stressing only that it’s good for Lipsy to have him back in her life. My father’s face darkens at the mention of my ex, but he listens carefully and then reaches over to smooth a piece of my hair out of my face.

  ‘You are so beautiful, Stella.’

  I immediately burst into tears. He looks up at the guard who nods grimly, giving my father permission to lean across the table and hold me in his arms while I sob.

  The sadness at what I’ve missed out on while he’s been in here explodes out of me like lava while he strokes my head and says kind words that only I can hear. When I finally look up I see that his eyes are red too, but I am glad he’s managing to hold it together. It really scared me last time when he let his emotions run wild and I’ve worried about him getting beaten up ever since.

  ‘Has it been terrible for you in here, Dad?’ I ask, blowing my nose noisily on a screwed-up tissue.

  He thinks about it before answering. ‘Not really. It was bad at first but then they moved me here and this place is OK. I haven’t been beaten up or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  It was and I nod, relieved.

  ‘The worst thing,’ he says, ‘was being away from your mother and you and Billy. And Lipsy. All of you. That’s what’s been terrible, Stella, missing out on so much. And knowing that you hated me, thought the worst of me.’

  ‘I didn’t hate you,’ I cry. And I wish to God that it was true.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ he says kindly. ‘With good reason. I should have told you the truth. I should have trusted you. I take it you know the whole truth now, then? You’ve spoken to your mother?’

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

  ‘She was the one who wanted to tell you; she said she couldn’t live with it any longer. We both want a fresh start when I get out of here. You mustn’t be too hard on her, Stella, she had her reasons. I wasn’t perfect, and God knows I gave her enough cause to be unfaithful. It was wrong and she’s sorry, and I forgave her a long time ago. There’s no point in punishing her now. She’s suffered enough, don’t you think?’

  I’m not entirely sure but I nod again. ‘How often does she visit you?’

  ‘As often as she can. She always has, right from the start. She’s stuck by me.’

  Is he saying I haven’t? I push the thought away. ‘Does Billy come too?’

  ‘Yes. Not as regularly as your mum but he does come. And he writes. Often. Didn’t you know? I suppose they didn’t want to tell you because you were so angry with me and they didn’t want you to feel betrayed. Your family love you very much.’

  ‘You’re not the only one who’s missed out for two years.’ I smile weakly and my dad’s face creases into a grin.

  ‘No, I guess I’m not am I? Did I bring you up to be so stubborn?’

  ‘Yes. And to be loyal. I’ll never let you down again, Dad, I promise.’

  ‘Ah, Stella. My Stella.’ He reaches over again to touch my cheek. ‘You haven’t let me down. You mustn’t think like that. The past is the past and now it’s just that, OK. Passed.’

  I smile and nod, putting my hand over his hand on my face.

  We talk about the trial, about what he wishes he could change and the lessons he’s learned. ‘I was to blame for what happened in many ways, Stella,’ he says, scraping his fingers through non-existent hair, a gesture so familiar it makes my heart hurt. ‘I was so intent on making money and building this huge business empire that I didn’t pay attention to what was going on around me. In more ways than one.’

  ‘But you didn’t do it, did you? You weren’t laundering money. You weren’t corrupt.’ Or any of the other things they’d called him at the trial.

  ‘No. I wasn’t. Just incredibly stupid and naive.’

  ‘Then why did you plead guilty?’ This is something I still don’t understand. ‘You let everyone think you were a bad person, Dad. You even let me think it. Didn’t I deserve the truth?’

  ‘I was trying to protect you all, Stella. From the scandal.’ I laugh and he says, ‘I know, I know. There was quite a scandal anyway, wasn’t there? But I still think it would have been worse if it had come out about the affair. It would have been worse for you, and Billy too. With my bloody accountant of all people. And as for that bastard, Gerald had done a bunk by the time the Inland Revenue were called in. He did a good job of covering his tracks and implicating me – he was a clever little shit, I’ll give him that.’ My dad runs his hands over his scalp again. ‘I’m not sure why I pleaded guilty in the end. Maybe there seemed to be no other way. Maybe I wanted to be punished. For letting you all down. Does that make any sense to you, Stella?’

  I tell him it does and we hold hands quietly, just thinking.

  ‘Will you come again in a fortnight?’ he asks me.

  ‘You just try and stop me,’ I say. ‘Although, I think I’ll come with the others next time, if it’s all the same to you. This journey is a bloody
nightmare!’

  ‘Stella!’ He calls after me as I make my way to the door with the other visitors. I rush back to his table, thinking he needs one more hug. I know I do.

  ‘I just wanted to ask you something.’ He takes my hands in his again and looks into my eyes. He’s handsome, my dad, and I’m proud of him, is what I’m thinking at this precise moment. ‘When I get out of here, which won’t be long now, I was wondering…’

  ‘Yes,’ I prompt with a squeeze of my hand.

  ‘Would you like me to help you with your property developing? I might be a bit of use along the way, if you could bear it. How would you feel about having your old dad as a business partner?’

  I’m smiling from ear to ear but he hasn’t noticed yet.

  ‘I mean,’ he says shyly, ‘do you think you could trust me, Stella?’

  The only answer I can think of is yet more hugs and kisses. I just hope he understands that this means Yes in every sense of the word.

  ***

  ‘If you have the Beige Wool it will go with anything.’

  Late Friday morning and Paul was listening to Susan’s rather conservative views on carpets. Stella had brought in some samples from Clever Carpets and was struggling over which shade to choose.

  ‘Mocha Loop is best. It will be more hard-wearing for your stairs and your hallway. That’s what we went for in our house,’ Loretta said without looking up.

  Paul peeked out of his office, smiling to himself as Stella rolled her eyes. He knew she would be discarding Mocha Loop immediately as a matter of principle.

  ‘You wanna get laminated, Stella. That’s the way to go these days. Everybody’s doin it.’

  ‘Yes, thanks Joe,’ Stella said patiently. ‘But I think I would prefer carpets in the bedrooms and the lounge. For comfort, you know?’

  Joe shrugged and returned to his magazine. There was a picture of a six-packed man on the front cover.

  ‘Good magazine, Joe?’ Paul called from behind his screen of filing cabinets.