by Lulu Taylor
‘Of course. Listen, I can heat up some casserole I’ve got in the fridge, and we’ll have some supper. We’ll feel better after that.’
‘Okay.’ Johnnie took a big gulp of his wine. ‘Thanks, Al. That’s probably what I need.’
They ate together, swapping their news as they did. They were connected, as most people were, by webs of social media. Alex saw pictures of Johnnie’s three boys at their various schools and football matches, and he saw Scarlett and Jasmine’s progress; he liked their World Book Day costumes and their baking attempts and their sporting triumphs. He wrote encouraging comments under photos of them playing their recorders or singing in the choir and said well done when Alex flagged up another achievement.
And yet, the pictures were curated highlights, not the real story.
‘Scarlett isn’t coping with the divorce as well as Jasmine,’ Alex confided. ‘She’s been a bit tearful lately, and she’s getting anxious about moving between the two houses for some reason. I’m trying to help her, Tim’s being good about it too, but I suppose she’ll take time to settle. It doesn’t help there’s a new woman on the scene.’
Johnnie raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Quick work. He’s moved on then?’
‘Yes – and that’s fine. But I’m worried that’s the cause of Scarlett feeling uncomfortable.’
‘I suppose it might be,’ Johnnie said. He smiled at his sister. ‘You’re so much happier without him, Al, you definitely did the right thing. But I get how she might make things awkward. Have you met her?’
‘Just once, last night. She seemed all right.’
‘It had to happen. And it will definitely happen for you too, at some point. As long as you and Tim can reassure the girls they’ll always come first, I’m sure they’ll cope. They might even thrive.’
A wave of melancholy swept over her. ‘Of course. That’s what I need to do.’ She smiled at him, not wanting him to see how sad she suddenly felt. He might think I’m jealous, or that I regret splitting up with Tim, and it’s not that. ‘How’s Bertie?’
‘He’s okay.’ Johnnie picked over his casserole with the tines of his fork. ‘Well . . . you know.’
Alex nodded. ‘But he’s still in his school, right?’
‘Yup. We won that battle, thank God.’ Johnnie and Netta had recently taken their local council to court when it proposed moving Bertie from his current school, where he was happy and settled, to another that was much closer, saving on his travel costs, which were publicly funded. They had won, but the whole thing had been exhausting and fraught with worry. Johnnie had suspected that it was a ploy to get out of paying for Bertie’s schooling altogether, and landing the cost of his education with them. The special school that Bertie attended, with one member of staff for every pupil, cost about sixty thousand a year. Impossible. ‘But one day he’s going to be out of full-time education.’
‘That’s a way off, though.’
‘Yes, but the law might change, funding might stop. We have to think about the future. Once he leaves school, there are various options for a couple of years after that – then we’re on our own. It’s up to us to occupy him and look after him for the rest of his life.’
Alex didn’t know what to say. When she told friends that she had an autistic nephew, they often had stories of autistic children they knew, usually those who were in their child’s class at school. She had to explain that Bertie was a bit beyond what was normally understood by autistic. He wasn’t ill at ease in social situations, or unhappy with overstimulation, or obsessed with numbers, or any of those things. He was non-verbal and would never speak, and had no need of anything much beyond his basic wants. Music, pictures, people meant nothing to him, he was far away inside his own head and without inhibitions or a sense of danger. He had to be locked into his bedroom for his own protection and that of the house, and the family, because there was no telling what he might do left to himself – without malice, but also without awareness. He still required, at twelve, to be taken to the loo, and cleaned up afterwards. He needed stimulation, but not much: staring out of the window, clicking his fingers, could keep him happy for long stretches, punctuated by dashes to the sink to run taps, and drink from them. Even so, he needed constant supervision. Alex had watched as, over the years, Johnnie and Netta had realised the extent of their son’s condition. Their first impulse was to fight it. They’d invested all their savings and a great deal of time in therapy and education for Bertie – Netta gave up work and trained herself as a therapist – believing at first that they would be able to overcome his autism, which stood between them and him like a steel door. All they had to do was fight hard enough, and in the end, the door would open. Their delight over progress was infectious, and Alex had begun to believe too that one day Bertie would communicate with them.
It was true that he had changed a little. The therapy did make inroads into his condition. He learned to understand certain things and obey some instructions, with the help of many rewards and positive reinforcement. He was able to recognise his family, though he ignored his brothers for a long time, only acknowledging them when they were about four. He knew what home was. Most of all, he loved food and was clever at finding it, and operating anything to do with it, and had limitless appetite for cereal, cheese, chocolate and ice cream, which had to be locked away in case he gorged on them. But in the end, all of them had quietly accepted that there was not much point in going on trying to make Bertie speak. He was happy, he was loved and he was well looked after. There wouldn’t be any more than that.
Johnnie leaned back in his chair. From that angle, he looked suddenly like the photograph of their mother that Alex, as a girl, had taken and hidden in her room in case it was made to disappear, like all the other pictures of her mother had been. Johnnie’s hooded green-brown eyes looked like the ones in the photograph, and so did his thick hair, blond with a touch of ginger. Alex had longed for years to look like her mother – so striking and beautiful – instead of her boring dark hair and blue eyes. But then, as she grew older, she was glad to have her father’s colouring, as a kind of reminder to him that she was his daughter, his real family, not his pretend family. Perhaps if Johnnie had looked less like Mum, Sally might not have disliked him so much.
‘So Bertie will live with you and Netta once he leaves school,’ Alex said. She said it as a statement because she didn’t see any other alternative. Bertie would never grow up and leave: he was a lifelong commitment.
‘It’s what Netta wants.’
She gave him a questioning look. ‘Don’t you?’
Johnnie took another swig of his wine and sighed. Then he looked up at his sister, his eyes troubled. ‘I wish I could say I do. I love Bertie, of course, and I’ll provide for him as long as he lives. The thing is, he isn’t a baby anymore. When he was a child, it was easier – he was beautiful, and small, easy to pick up and carry, and when people stared in the street, they thought, That kid’s a bit badly behaved, and then moved on. But now . . . he’s growing up, Al. I can suddenly see the man he’s going to be. He’s already tall and getting stronger. Soon he’ll have hair and hormones and all the rest of it. People look wary or even scared when they realise he’s different. What’s okay in a child is not in a grown man.’
‘What are you saying? That he’s dangerous?’
‘He doesn’t mean to be, and he doesn’t intend any harm. But you should see Netta try and restrain him when he’s going for the cereal or wants to get outside when he’s not dressed. She almost can’t anymore.’
Alex could imagine that: Netta was tiny and birdlike, small-featured with close-cropped dark hair. Alex thought she could put her hands around Netta’s middle and her fingers would meet. The strain of looking after Bertie for so long probably had something to do with Netta’s slenderness; she hadn’t taken much time for herself, even to eat, for years. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I see that.’
‘He’s got everything a young man should have, except the ability to understand anything at all.’ Johnni
e brushed his hand over his face. ‘I thought we’d been through the worst. But seeing the beginnings of the man he could have been if it weren’t for whatever is wrong with his brain . . . God, it hurts.’
Alex reached over and took her brother’s hand and squeezed it. ‘You’ve made such a good life for him. He’s happy.’
‘He is. Yes.’ Johnnie sighed again. ‘But what about the rest of us?’
‘How are the twins coping?’
Johnnie bit his lip. ‘Fine. They accept him, I think they even love him, but they also shut him out of their world sometimes. Thank goodness they have each other. And I worry that they’ll have the burden of caring for him if something happens to Netta and me. But all in all, they just get on with it.’
‘They’re wonderful boys.’ Alex got up to clear the plates. ‘But you’re worried about Bertie staying at home in the future?’
‘I don’t see how he can. He’s going to need proper carers. Netta just won’t be able to cope. And it’s not fair on the twins. But she can’t see it.’
Alex started to load the dishwasher. ‘It sounds like you think he needs to go into an institution or something.’
‘We have to think about the future, that’s all I’m saying. Bertie is strong and healthy, he’s going to be around a long time. We might not be equipped to give him everything he needs.’
‘Does Netta know how you feel?’
Johnnie felt uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure. Sort of.’ He knew that wasn’t really true. ‘We do need to discuss it.’
Alex sighed. ‘You’ve all had such a hard time.’
‘I’m not the only one. You’ve been through a divorce, for God’s sake.’
‘Yes, but that’s over now. I’m through the worst. I thought it was time something good happened. And now there’s this.’ She turned around, leaning against the kitchen counter. ‘We’ve got to get Pa through it somehow. We will, won’t we, Johnnie?’
He looked up at her and smiled, though she could see it was an effort for him. She sensed the inner struggle. Johnnie was known for being smiling and good-tempered but she knew that inside, he was constantly fighting against a dark gloominess threatening to engulf him. ‘Yes. We’re going to do our best, that’s for sure.’ He emptied his wine glass. ‘Oh, and just to put the icing on the cake, Sally said she’s rung Mundo. She said she had to let him know.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Alex said it without thinking, and it came out with sharp-edged vehemence. ‘That’s all we need.’
‘I know.’
Neither of them liked Sally’s son, who sat between them in age, and who had grown up at Tawray with them once Sally moved in for good. They each had their own reasons for disliking Mundo so much, but they were united in the emotion.
‘I can’t bear to think of him sliming around here,’ Johnnie said.
Alex gave a grimace of distaste. ‘He’s not coming, is he?’
‘Bound to be. If Sally has told him how serious it is, he’s going to be on his way.’
Alex went to the window, lifted the curtain back a little and stared out at the night. She could see the lights of Tawray glowing in the darkness. That was where it had all happened: the dramas of their lives, the interactions and the events that had brought them here, with Pa in hospital, Sally at his side, and Mundo on his way back.
She dropped the curtain and shut out the night.
Chapter Nine
It was always strange to wake up without the girls at home. Alex missed the sounds of their voices, and the bustle of their activity. She got up and showered, thinking about them over at Tim’s house. Had Chloe stayed the night? Maybe she was pouring juice and making toast for the girls right now. Something about that left a bitter taste in her mouth. But it wasn’t so bad imagining her looking after the girls. Harder was imagining Chloe ignoring them, or even treating them badly. It churned her up inside and set all her protective impulses firing off. Calm down, she told herself. It’s okay. They’re fine, Tim’s there.
But as soon as she got downstairs, she texted Tim and didn’t feel happy until she’d got a reply.
They’re fine. Jazzy’s having muesli, Scarlett’s eating toast. I’m taking them to school in a minute. How’s your father?
Alex replied:
He’s okay for now. I’ll tell you more later. Thanks for taking them. I might need to call on you a bit, depending on what happens with Pa.
She was tempted to ask how Chloe had coped with the girls, but resisted it. She’d made an internal promise that she would stay mature over all the future arrangements with the girls. There were several years ahead when they would need their parents to be there for them, stable and secure and focused on their needs. Alex couldn’t risk sparking off trouble between her and Tim just when things ought to be calm, and she felt that, in the aftermath of the divorce, it wouldn’t take much to set it off.
Johnnie came in, sniffing appreciatively at the scent of freshly brewed coffee in the air. He looked better after a sleep, his tawny hair still damp from the shower. ‘Are the girls home today? I’d love to see them.’
‘Yes, I’ll get them after school. I’m going to have to tell them about Pa’s condition, maybe take them in to see him. They’re going to be really cut up.’
Johnnie nodded. ‘Nathan and Joe as well. They all love him, don’t they?’
Alex poured out the coffee for him. ‘I think it’s easier to be a grandparent than a parent.’
‘You said it.’ Johnnie took the mug. ‘Thanks, Al. You must miss the girls when they’re away.’
‘Yes, I do, of course. But the peace and quiet isn’t so bad. It gives me a chance to get some work done.’ She told him about her contracts for the Christmas decorations. ‘The only thing I’m not sure about is if I should schedule in some time for doing the Tawray display.’
Johnnie frowned. ‘Are they going to keep the tradition going?’
‘That’s the thing, I don’t know. Perhaps no one told them about opening the house so people can see the flowers. I think I’ll go up there and ask. I ought to introduce myself in any case. They’ve been in a few weeks now.
Johnnie looked grim. ‘Don’t remind me. There’s a lot I’ll never forgive Sally for, but selling Tawray has to be at the top.’
‘She couldn’t have done it without Pa’s say-so. He was the owner.’
‘What about us? That was our house. It was Mum’s so it should have come to us, not gone to Pa.’
Alex shook her head, wrapping her hands around her steaming mug to warm them. ‘Don’t go down that path, Johnnie, it’s not worth it. It’s all been done. If Mum had lived, it would have been different, but she didn’t.’
‘And we know why,’ Johnnie said with a kind of growl in his voice.
‘Yes. She was ill.’
‘Come on, Al. You don’t believe that, do you? That’s Sally’s line!’ Johnnie pulled a face and made a mocking attempt at Sally’s voice. ‘“Your poor mother, we loved her so much! But she was ill. Depression is a terrible thing!”’
‘Of course it was depression, you know that. Pa told us that from the start.’
‘Yes, but why was she depressed?’ Johnnie leaned towards her. ‘It must have been kind of depressing finding out that your best friend is sleeping with your husband.’
Alex went still and stared at him, a coldness settling round her shoulders. He’d never said anything so stark before. Once or twice he’d made barbed remarks about the speed with which Sally had moved in on their father once he was widowed, but not this. ‘You mean . . . you think Sally was having an affair with Pa? While Mum was alive?’
‘Come on, Al! Of course she was. Think about it.’ Johnnie jabbed his finger onto the kitchen table for emphasis. ‘She lived about two minutes away, she was always at the house. And Pa was barely with us that last summer, remember?’
Alex tried to remember, but she’d been so young. That summer was fuzzy, distant. It only came into focus with Mum’s death.
Johnnie went on: ‘Sa
lly came onto the scene far too fast. She was in like Flynn.’
‘She was Mum’s friend, she already knew Pa. She came to help him through it all. That’s how it started.’
‘But she moved in almost immediately. Come on. She must have been sleeping with him. I bet that’s what made Mum do it. She found out, and she couldn’t stand the betrayal.’
Alex stared at him, her mouth open. Johnnie had never talked like this before. The emotion of the last twenty-four hours must have got to him. He had always found it difficult to deal with his feelings about Sally, and now they had boiled to the surface in this ugly accusation. ‘We don’t know that,’ she said slowly. ‘We really don’t.’
‘You don’t have to be bloody Sherlock to work it out, though.’ Johnnie shook his head. ‘She’s ruthless, she always has been. She wanted Pa and she got him. She wanted Mundo to oust us and she almost managed that too. That’s probably why she’s getting him back here – so that if Pa recovers consciousness, guess whose face he’ll be staring into? Dear old Mundo’s. Forget the fact that we’re his actual children and Mundo is just the cuckoo in the nest.’
Alex put down her coffee cup. ‘But you don’t know for sure, and we never will. Come on, we’d better get to the hospital now. I really need to see Pa.’
Alex drove them both to the hospital and they went up to Pa’s ward. He was just as he’d been yesterday, lying motionless in his bed, hooked up to his trolley of machines and drips, with no discernible difference at all. They sat by his bed, Alex holding her father’s cool hand and occasionally rubbing her own over the back of it.
‘He could stay like this for a long time,’ Johnnie said gravely, looking at his father’s still face. ‘Weeks even.’ He glanced over at Alex. ‘I’m going to have to make some decisions about how long I stay.’
‘Let’s wait until we’ve spoken to the consultant again,’ Alex said. ‘There’s no need to decide right now.’ She didn’t want to talk like this in case her father could hear and got the impression that they wished he would hurry up and go either to recovery or to death, so they could get on with things.