More Than Us

by Dawn Barker

  Thirty-Nine

  Emily

  After we got home from the pub, barely speaking to each other, I stayed up for a while, watching TV with Cameron. Paul said he was tired and immediately went to bed; I didn’t argue. I couldn’t stop glancing at Cameron, trying to reassure myself that now, both my children were with me. He fell asleep in front of the TV; I woke him gently and helped him to bed.

  I undressed and put my pyjamas on in the bathroom. In the bedroom, Paul was curled up on his side under the blankets. The light was out but the lamp by my side of the bed was on.

  ‘You sleeping?’ I had said, louder than I knew was appropriate. How could he just get into bed and sleep like he didn’t have a care in the world?

  ‘I was,’ he said, curtly, without opening his eyes.

  I sighed, put my pile of clothes on the top of my suitcase in the corner of the room, then dug around in my handbag for my Kindle. My eyelids were like sandbags; my eyes stung like grains of sand had trickled out to scratch them, but I hoped that reading would settle my mind and distract me from my feelings about Paul. Even being in the bed next to him felt wrong, especially after that argument in the pub. I didn’t know what stage our relationship was at. I felt the edge of my e-reader in my bag, pulled it out then got into bed.

  As soon as I lay down, my body seemed to give up and I sank down into the soft mattress, heavy as a boulder sinking to the bottom of the cold river. Paul was so still that I knew he was waiting to see what I would do. If he thought I was going to reach for him, he was deluded.

  I pressed the power switch on my Kindle and a text box appeared with a picture of a power cord and an empty battery. I screwed up my eyes as my breath became shallow. Of course, I had no idea where the charger was and if I did, I needed a power adaptor for the UK sockets. I dropped it on the carpeted floor, turned out the light then lay on my back and pulled the blankets up to my chin. My shoulders heaved as I tried not to let the tears escape because then they might flood me.

  Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t fall asleep. It was pitch black outside, but it felt oppressive instead of comforting. I felt sick, and underneath my nausea, my stomach tightened with hunger, my appetite still confused by jet lag. Eventually, Paul’s breathing deepened: obviously, he could relax enough to sleep. I began to turn onto my side but the worn old springs creaked with every movement. Marjorie had insisted on us having her room while she slept on a sofa bed in the third bedroom. I would have rather not, but it would have caused more trouble to refuse.

  * * *

  I must have fallen asleep because when my eyes pinged open, I felt rested. I wondered if last night had been a dream. But as my senses all stirred, I knew it was exactly as I had feared. I wondered If Tilly had slept. I slipped out of bed, and the room. I checked on both children, still asleep, then used the bathroom.

  There was no point going back to bed. I felt the urge to go for a run, to sprint until my lungs ached and burned, to force out all the old, stale air that I had breathed in during this nightmare and fill it with clean, crisp oxygen. But my running shoes were somewhere in my suitcase along with everything else.

  I tiptoed down the hallway into the kitchen area and filled the kettle, wincing at the roaring of the water. As it began to boil, I slowly pulled open the top kitchen drawer and got a teaspoon out, the metal grating as the cutlery moved. The tea bags were in a tin on the bench top. I made a cup of tea, then went through to the living room and closed the door.

  I sipped my tea, flicking through yesterday’s paper, which was still sitting on the arm of the sofa. There were so many articles about soccer in the sports pages. I’d forgotten how huge it was here.

  After a while, the central heating clunked on, and the living room door creaked open. I jumped.

  ‘Marjorie! You frightened me,’ I said in a loud whisper as I saw Paul’s mum entering, with a quilted pink dressing gown on.

  She smiled. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’m so sorry if I woke you, I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Ach, no. I’m up at half five most days. That’s the thing when you get older, you don’t need so much sleep. I used to think I’d sleep in every day when the kids left home but since they were bairns, I’ve got in the habit of being an early riser.’

  ‘Catches the worms, eh?’ I smiled.

  ‘Aye.’ She nodded. ‘Did ye sleep okay?’

  I nodded. ‘Great. Took me a while to fall asleep but then I slept well, except for waking up so early! My body still thinks I’m in Australia. It’ll take a couple more days until I adjust.’

  ‘You must be hungry.’

  I was starving. ‘I’m okay. I’ll wait until the others are up, I don’t want to wake the kids.’

  She nodded, then sat down on an armchair. ‘Is Cameron off to his group today?’

  I sighed. ‘He told me about that. I haven’t had much say in it to be honest. Paul… he’s arranged it all.’

  ‘Cameron’s gone a few times. Paul drops him off and picks him up.’

  I sat forwards. I knew I shouldn’t be getting information from Marjorie but I could tell that she wanted to talk. ‘What does Paul do?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s usually out too, he doesn’t say much. You know, I don’t know what you think about it, but all this mumbo jumbo about food and TV seems a bit much.’

  I leaned back on the couch and looked at the swirling Artex patterns on the ceiling, ‘Oh Marge, I just don’t know what to do about it. It seemed harmless in one way, you know, but now, I don’t think it’s sustainable. When Paul first started it, I thought he’d go crazy over it for a while, but that he’d come to his senses. Like going on the Atkins diet or something. But now, with Cameron, I don’t know.’ I did know what I thought, but I wasn’t sure if I could confide yet in Marjorie.

  ‘But you’ve never believed in any of that stuff. Neither has Paul. Neither have I, and I grew up in a generation where people still went to church. This is…’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve told him, I think it’s a load of rubbish and he’s not to spout any of that stuff in my house. He needs to face his problems and deal with them himself. I’ve told him that! I’m his ma, and I know that’s what he’s doing.’

  ‘You’re right. But these groups, they did help Paul a lot. I don’t know what he’s told you, but he was struggling a bit, when he had to give up soccer.’ Why was I defending him? I felt exactly the same way she did, and it was such a relief to know that she was on my side. She was right: Paul was running away from having to do the hard work and face what was wrong. I wondered if Marjorie knew about the gambling. Had he told her? Or had Alasdair? ‘He went through a pretty rough time.’

  I looked at her, giving her every opportunity to ask me more.

  Marjorie paused, and gazed back at me. Her eyes were sad. I could tell that she knew, or at least, knew enough. I didn’t need to hurt her any more by telling her all the sordid details.

  ‘Football was everything to him,’ she said, quietly.

  I nodded. ‘It was.’

  ‘And now…’ Her voice trailed off. I looked over at her; she was slowly shaking her head. ‘He’s a good man, Emily. You and those kids are everything to him now. It’s all he’s got.’

  ‘I know.’ But we weren’t all he had. Phoenix had replaced us; he looked to them to support him and give him advice, not us. But I didn’t know if I had the energy to fight our way back in, or even whether I wanted to.

  As the morning light crept up, Cameron padded through to the living room. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, his hair ruffled and his face puffy with sleep. I stood up as he entered and opened my arms to him, and he melted into me.

  ‘I missed you when you were sleeping,’ I mumbled into his shoulder.

  ‘Me too.’

  We sat on the sofa and I pulled him into me. It was like he was a child again, the cuddly little boy who, when he wasn’t raging, was so dependent on me. I should never have let the conflict and the clashes overshadow the quiet, unremarkable, times that
really should have been the most remarkable of all.

  ‘You hungry?’ I said. ‘I can make you some toast.’

  ‘Grandma’s been buying butteries for me.’

  ‘Butteries! I haven’t had those since I was a kid. An Aberdeen special.’

  ‘They taste like a flat croissant!’

  I smiled and laughed quietly. ‘Not very good for you, but yummy. Has your dad been letting you eat them?’

  I felt his head nod on my shoulder. ‘I think he’s scared of telling Grandma he doesn’t agree with unhealthy food.’

  ‘Maybe we should get your sister to eat some.’ I regretted it as soon as I said it.

  ‘Mum,’ he said, sitting up and looking at me. ‘Can I stay with you today?’

  ‘Of course you can, darling. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘I’m meant to go to the group.’

  ‘How’s it been going there? What do you do?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘You can tell me. I won’t tell Dad. I think I know already.’

  He looked down at his lap. ‘They go on and on about all the bad things in the world. It’s hard, Mum, because it’s all the things that are normal for me. We need the internet for school, and I thought we did eat healthy, and everyone watches TV.’

  ‘Oh sweetie, those things are normal. It’s Phoenix that’s not normal.’

  ‘Then why is Dad making me go?’

  ‘I guess they just helped him at a time when he needed it.’

  ‘They say that people who don’t believe in Phoenix can’t be trusted.’

  My heart sped up. I forced a laugh. ‘What, like me?’

  He shrugged again. ‘I said you weren’t like that.’

  I hugged him tight, holding back my fury at Paul, and Damian and all those idiots in Phoenix. ‘Cameron. I love you more than anything. You can completely trust me.’

  He pulled out of my grip, then glanced at the door. ‘They said that medication is bad, too. But I didn’t stop them because of dad, or anything like that, I just didn’t like how they were making me feel and I hated feeling like there was something wrong with me…’ He blinked rapidly; I looked away to allow him to wipe his eyes.

  When he was composed, I put a hand on each of his shoulders and looked into his eyes. ‘Cameron. I am so sorry that I betrayed that when I gave you your medication without telling you. I shouldn’t have done that, even though I did it because I thought you needed it. It was wrong, and I breached your trust. I promise that from now on, we’ll talk about everything. You can trust me, completely. And, as for that group, you’re not going today. You’re not going back there ever again.’

  ‘But Dad—’

  ‘Do you want to go?’

  ‘No. I want to stay here.’

  ‘Then that’s what you’ll do. Leave your dad to me. You’re old enough to start making your own decisions now.’

  ‘He said we were going camping. When we came. He said we were going camping together. He didn’t say I had to go to Phoenix. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.’ His voice wavered and I felt my own tears well up.

  ‘I know, sweetie.’ Oh, how I had to hold myself back. I had let Paul get away with this for too long. ‘I think maybe Dad had planned that, but then you got here and were probably both a bit tired.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, hesitating. ‘Maybe.’

  He knew.

  ‘What would you like to do today? We can do anything you want to.’

  ‘Can we go to a movie?’

  ‘Definitely. I might fall asleep, I’ve been up for hours and this jet lag will hit me, so as long as you don’t mind me snoring.’ I hugged him again and went to make breakfast and prepare myself for Paul.

  When everyone was up, we sat around the glass dining table in the small dining area off the kitchen. I had another cup of tea, though I craved a flat white. Marjorie had instant coffee but I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. We’d go for a drive soon and find a decent coffee. I felt strangely disconnected from the chatter around the table. I ate some toast: white bread with strawberry jam, and watched as Tilly had a few spoons of Rice Krispies and a sip of her orange juice. At least Marjorie only had full-fat milk in the house. Tilly was eating enough, just.

  I drained my cup. ‘Kids, I’m going to go for a quick walk to stretch my legs.’ I turned to Paul, smiling. ‘Would you like to come?’

  He looked at his watch, then at Cameron, and was about to open his mouth.

  ‘Och, Paul,’ said Marjorie. ‘Let him have a day off, his mum and sister have just arrived.’

  I smiled at her, then looked back at Paul, who said nothing but narrowed his eyes. ‘Cammie’s not going to that group any more, Paul. I said I’ll take him to a movie. I’m just going to get my shoes on, are you coming?’

  His jaw was set. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Wait for me.’

  * * *

  We walked behind the housing estate, one of many that had sprung up in the eighties with the oil boom in the North-East of Scotland, then past the old stone cottages squatting atop the cliff from the time this was a fishing village. Beneath us, down a winding path, slippery with scree, was a bay, the boats pulled up on the shelly beach, with a mosaic of mussels covering their warped woods. A net was strewn along the sand, and small buoys bobbed in the grey water. The wind hurtled past us. I zipped up my running top and pulled the sleeves down over my hands before putting them in my pockets. Paul was better dressed, in a puffed vest over his tracksuit top.

  Neither of us spoke as we followed the worn path, the long grass tickling my ankles as we walked, then whipping as the wind gusts picked up. I waited for him to say something. He didn’t.

  ‘I don’t want to fight, Paul,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not fighting.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s unreasonable for him to spend some time with me today. Do you? He never even got to say goodbye.’

  ‘He’s part of a programme. He has to go three times a week. It’s helping him.’

  ‘Really?’ I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. ‘What differences have you noticed?’

  He shrugged. ‘I thought you didn’t want to fight.’

  I shook my head and kept walking. He walked ahead of me. ‘Why I am the enemy, Paul? What have I done that’s so wrong? You are the one who kidnapped him—’

  ‘Don’t be dramatic. I hardly kidnapped him.’ He turned back to look at me, then shook his head and walked even faster.

  I ran a few steps then grabbed his arm. He stopped and turned around. ‘Paul, what else would you call it when you take a child out of the hospital without telling me, then fly to the other side of the world with him?’

  ‘I did tell you.’

  ‘Afterwards, Paul! Only when I had called you a hundred times and searched for him and gone to the police! You terrified me! Have you any idea what that was like for me? Have you? Or for him?’ My voice broke and I quickly wiped away my tears, hoping he’d think it was just spray from the waves crashing below us. I was having to shout just to be heard. When I looked up again, he was looking at me and for a moment, I saw doubt in his face. I looked into his eyes, those eyes that had looked into mine a hundred times and spoke more softly.

  ‘He’s not going back there, Paul. He doesn’t want to. You tricked him. You told him you were going camping. He wants you, not some strangers. They’ve taken you away from us, Paul.’

  ‘No.’ He was looking down now, shaking his head.

  I rubbed at my face. I was so tired of this conversation. When I looked at Paul, I could see he was too. His cheeks sagged and he hung his head. I wanted to reach out and touch him, make a joke, laugh. That’s what we would have done before if our arguments got to this point: rehashed, automatic. We would have laughed and then it would have all been forgotten.

  ‘Paul, what I believe is the same as almost everyone else in the world.’

  ‘Not everyone—’

  I waved my hand at him. ‘Fine, fine, not absolutely everyone in the entire world. But
in our world. The normal, everyday, boring world we lived in before you… well, before you chose to leave it.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean that they’re right. Look at the people in North Korea or in China, they all thought the same thing but they weren’t right.’

  ‘You’ll be bringing up the Nazis next. Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not the same at all.’

  ‘We are destroying ourselves, our children with—’

  I let out a groan of exasperation. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Paul. I can’t listen to this. If you could hear yourself… Remember how you used to react if some religious nutter came to the door? That’s what you’re like now. There’s no point arguing because you’re not using logic. That’s the difference between you and me. I can see your point of view, I can understand your philosophy and even agree with some of it but—’

  He jabbed at his chest with his finger. ‘I’m still wrong. That’s what you were going to say. I don’t see how that’s seeing my point of view at all.’ He shook his head.

  I sighed, let go of his arm then walked over to some rocks and sat down. My legs were tired. I was tired of arguing about this. All we were doing was tramping over old ground, along the well-worn path between us that was all too easy to follow. And it led nowhere.

  ‘We just need to find some middle ground, Paul. For the kids. I’m willing to—’

  ‘Oh, don’t start all that about how you can compromise – you’re prepared to stop them watching TV but not to make the changes that would matter the most. To accept that we have to do something radical to fix this.’

  ‘You’ve done some pretty radical things already.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘So have you.’

  I closed my eyes. No more tangling ourselves up in the same old knots; those knots were so tight that it was time to cut through them. I opened my eyes again and looked into Paul’s.

  ‘I can’t do this anymore. We, as a couple, can’t go on like this.’

  His shoulders dropped. ‘I know.’

  We both sat in silence. I wanted Paul to be the one who either made that final cut, or to fight for us. He said nothing but I could see by the way his lips were drawn into a thin, tight line, that he was torn too. He was looking down at his knees, his right leg tapping.