by Linda Green
‘And you,’ she said, forcing a smile.
We’d kept in touch, of course. Emailing or texting every day at first and, more lately, weekly. She’d told me how her revision was going. Bits and pieces about stuff going on at school. But mostly just about how much she was missing Josh. How she thought about him all the time. Wondered where he was, what he was doing. How chuffed he must be that he’d managed to get out of doing his exams. She’d said it with a smiley face emoticon, clearly trying to do her bit to raise my spirits. But she’d still texted me a few minutes after sending it. Worried that I might have taken it the wrong way.
‘Matilda, you go up and make sure your bedroom’s tidy. And clear a proper space for Caitlin. She’ll be up in a minute.’
Matilda nodded, for once not bothering to argue about the need to tidy her room, and bounded upstairs.
‘How did your last exams go?’ I asked.
‘Pretty good, I think. I guess I’ll just have to wait for August to find out for sure.’
I smiled and nodded. I remembered how long that wait had seemed when I was her age. It wouldn’t really be a drag for her at all now. She had grown used to waiting. We all had.
‘You’re looking well, anyway,’ I said.
‘We went away at half term. My parents have got a place in Tuscany.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ I said, suspecting Josh would have gone, had he still been here. That it would have been their first holiday together.
‘Yeah,’ she said, though I suspected it hadn’t been much of a holiday for her.
‘Can I get you a drink of anything before you start?’ I asked.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Honestly.’
‘Let’s go and see how she’s doing, then.’
Caitlin followed me upstairs.
I started to walk past Josh’s bedroom, then turned round, realising that Caitlin’s footsteps had faltered. She was staring at the closed door. All the light had disappeared from her face.
‘May I go in?’ she asked.
‘If you’re sure,’ I said.
She nodded.
I put my hand on the door knob and pushed it open for her, standing back to let her go inside. She stepped forward uncertainly, like a child who’d asked to go on a fairground ride but, now the request had been granted, was having second thoughts. I took her hand and walked in with her.
I could do it because I still went in most days. Opened the window, shut it again at night. Keeping things aired, that’s what I told myself. Though really it was my way of keeping the memories alive.
Everything was just as he’d left it. I understood why people did that now. It was like Mrs Darling leaving the nursery window open. You never knew when they might come back, and you wanted everything to be just as it had been, almost as if no time had passed at all. I hadn’t even washed the sheets on the bed. So I could still kid myself that I could smell him.
Caitlin’s bottom lip started to tremble.
I squeezed her hand tighter. ‘He will come back,’ I said. ‘And when he does, everything will be waiting ready for him.’
‘It’s the not knowing I can’t handle,’ she said, a solitary tear running down her face. ‘Where he is or what he’s doing. Whether he’s even thinking about me.’
‘That’s the only thing I am sure of,’ I said, ‘that wherever he is, and whatever he’s doing, he’s thinking about you. And when he comes back, he’s not going to come back because of me, or his dad, or even Matilda. He’s going to come back because of you.’
I wiped the tears away from the corners of her eyes with my fingers.
‘You can come here whenever you want,’ I said. ‘If you simply want to sit in here and feel close to him, that’s fine. I do it all the time.’
‘Maybe when I come to do Matilda’s lessons,’ she said, ‘I could come a bit early or stay a little later.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Whatever helps.’
‘Mummy, when are we going to start?’ Matilda called from her bedroom.
Caitlin smiled.
‘Are you sure you’re up to doing this?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ she replied. ‘I want to. I really do.’
I nodded and squeezed her hand one last time before she left the room. I stayed sitting there a while longer. Heard the first tortured sounds emanate from Matilda’s room, Caitlin’s voice offering encouragement.
Josh would have been pissing himself laughing. And would have been very proud of them both at the same time.
* * *
Chris got home from work not long after Caitlin had left. He worked a lot of Saturdays these days. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d been genuinely busy, but that didn’t appear to be the case. I got the impression he was editing a lot of stuff on his Mac which could easily have been done at home. The phrase ‘avoidance tactic’ sprung to mind.
I couldn’t say that, of course. I couldn’t say anything to him. When you make a mistake as monumental as the one I had made, the price you paid was that you were rendered impotent on any matter of concern over the next six months, maybe longer. He didn’t even have to say it in so many words, he could simply look at me, a look which said, ‘Remind me again why I should listen to your opinion?’
‘Good day?’ I asked as he unpacked his gear in the downstairs study.
I didn’t mean ‘good’ as in normal people’s definition of the word. We didn’t have good days now, we hadn’t done for three months. What I actually meant was, ‘You look down. Did anything bad happen at work, or is it just your usual down?’
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘The family from last week only ordered one photo. The group I did today were hard work, the kids kept messing around. And I’ve got very little booked in for next week.’
I nodded. Orders had been down for a while now. And bookings had fallen off a bit too. Our bank balance was looking far from healthy, although I knew better than to raise this with Chris.
‘Matilda’s had her violin lesson,’ I said, thinking that changing the subject might be the best idea. ‘Caitlin said she did really well.’
Chris nodded but said nothing. Even the mention of Caitlin’s name was enough to bring down the shutters on his face.
‘I’ll make you a tea,’ I said. ‘The kettle’s not long boiled.’
When I returned to the study with his mug a few minutes later, he was scrolling through some photos, presumably of the sitting earlier that day. I stood in the doorway behind him and watched as he pulled each one up in turn. They were sharp – Chris’s photos were always sharp – but they were not quirky or charming. They were joyless, going-through-the-motions photos, taken by a joyless, going-through-the-motions photographer.
‘Are these from today?’ I asked as I put down his mug.
He nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘Happy with them?’
I didn’t say it to be nasty. I wanted to check whether he could see it himself, or whether he was too wrapped up in his own misery to notice.
‘They’re OK,’ he replied, not taking his eyes off the screen.
‘You always wanted to do better than OK,’ I said.
‘Look, the kids were being annoying. It wasn’t easy.’
‘Were they having fun?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Only you can’t see it in these photos. You can’t see any sense of fun or joy, like you usually can with your work.’
Chris turned to face me. ‘Well, thanks, Ali. That’s made me feel a whole lot better.’
‘I’m not having a go, love. I’m just saying it’s missing. And I totally understand why it’s missing. But the parents of these kids won’t, and maybe that’s why orders are down.’
‘So you’re saying I’m a crap photographer now?’
‘No, I’m saying you’re hurting and I can see your hurt in your photos.’
‘So what am I supposed to do about that exactly? Turn up for work in a clown outfit?’
‘Come on, I’m trying to help. I want you
to let me in, instead of shutting me out like this. I’m hurting too, you know.’
‘Not as much as me, you’re not.’
‘Well, tell me, then. Tell me how you feel.’
‘Why?’ asked Chris. ‘So you can try to make me better? So you can fix me like you fixed everything else?’
I hovered in the doorway for a moment, feeling the knife twist inside me. I heard a sound in the hallway. I poked my head outside and saw Matilda standing there, tears streaming down her face.
‘You’re arguing again,’ she said. ‘Why can’t you both stop arguing?’
I crouched down and took hold of her, the words echoing inside. Her tears wet on my face. Merging into my own.
* * *
I almost felt bad for taking Bob’s money. Like some prostitute who he kept turning up to see, simply to talk. I was aware that he wasn’t getting his full entitlement. And that someone else might have been better qualified to help him.
But the fact was, Bob didn’t have anyone else. The only male friends he had were either husbands of Jayne’s friends or people he played golf with, and he clearly wasn’t going to discuss his marriage with any of them.
I’d asked him, of course, whether he was sure he wanted to carry on seeing me now that Jayne was refusing to come. I asked him every month when he came to see me, and he always answered the same way. That if one of them was still trying to save their marriage it had to be better than neither of them.
On this particular occasion, I knew as soon as he walked in that things were bad. He didn’t even go through the polite pretence of the cheerful greetings.
‘Jayne’s not good,’ he said, sitting straight down and looking at me. ‘She’s not good at all.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘She’s been to doctor. He’s got her on these antidepressants. Don’t agree with it myself, but she reckons it’s the only way to cope.’
‘Cope with what?’
‘Cassie’s pregnant.’
‘I thought that would be a good thing?’
Bob shook his head. ‘Jayne burst into tears the minute she told her. She pretended to Cassie that she were pleased for her – excited, like – but it didn’t look that way to me.’
‘I suppose it means Cassie won’t be over any time soon.’
‘Baby’s due in November, so there’s no way she’ll be over for Christmas, is there?’
‘But Jayne could go over, surely?’
‘She says she doesn’t want to. Not on her own.’
‘I take it you still don’t think you could fly there?’
Bob shook his head. ‘Makes me stomach turn just thinking about it. I know that must sound daft to you.’
‘It’s not daft. Lots of people have phobias. You can get help for it, though. There are fear of flying courses you can go on, hypnotherapy, all sorts of things.’
‘I couldn’t do it here, with you, like?’
I smiled at Bob. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Not something I’m qualified for.’
He nodded and looked down.
I was touched, to be honest. To have won his trust so much.
‘Have you got a computer?’ I asked. ‘You could get Skype set up or something. She’d be able to see the baby onscreen then. It’s not the same as holding it, I know, but it would be something.’
‘Aye, maybe we could look into that. Find someone who knows how to do it.’
‘Good. It might be a boost for Jayne. To feel that she’s connected. That she can still see her first grandchild.’
‘I’m quite chuffed myself,’ he said. ‘Becoming a grandad for first time. It’s a big deal. Just a pity I can’t really share excitement with Jayne.’
‘If there’s any way you can get her back here,’ I said. ‘Any way we can get her talking again.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Bob. ‘But I don’t hold out much hope.’
I only watch Strictly for the dresses, not that there’s that much of them to look at these days, Come Dancing used to be so much nicer. Anyway, he would watch it with me, he’s always liked Brucie, you see. I mean, you can’t not like Brucie, can you?
Only one evening we were watching it and I happened to glance at him, and he was practically salivating looking at that girl Ola, or whatever her name is, and I realised like a great lemon that he didn’t watch it for Brucie at all. And I felt so silly about that and so sad because we don’t, you know, do it any more, and we haven’t for a long time, and I used to think that was because he was too old and he simply didn’t want to. But, of course, it wasn’t that at all, it was that he didn’t find me attractive any more, me with my wrinkles and saggy bits.
22
Luke was on his own. It wasn’t his turn to be on his own; I’d already seen him and Kelly individually, and we’d been back to joint visits for a while.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked, as he came in.
Luke looked at the floor for a long time before answering. ‘No. Not really.’
‘Did Kelly not want to come?’ I asked, seeing I was going to have to help him out here.
‘No. It’s not that,’ he said. ‘She’s got an appointment. At hospital, like.’
‘Oh. Nothing serious, I hope.’
He stared at the floor some more.
I let him take his time.
‘She found a lump,’ he said. ‘In her, you know, breast.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘And the GP’s referred her to hospital?’
He nodded, swallowing hard as he did so.
‘And that’s where she is now, is it?’
Luke looked at his watch. ‘Yeah, well, she will be in about half an hour.’
‘Who’s got the kids?’ I asked. ‘She hasn’t got them with her?’
‘No. Me mam’s got them.’
I looked at him. He may have been twenty-six, but on occasions I swore he was still sixteen years old.
‘So why are you here, Luke?’
‘I have got the right day, haven’t I?’ he asked.
‘Yes, you have. And you were here bang on time. But your wife’s about to go for an appointment with a breast cancer specialist. Why on earth didn’t you just call me to cancel?’
‘I didn’t want to mess you about, like,’ he said.
I looked at him. My eyebrows raised expectantly.
‘She wouldn’t have wanted me with her, anyway,’ he said.
‘Did you ask her?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
He shuffled his feet, his trainers squeaking together as he did so. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
‘Because she might have said yes.’
I was thrown for a second. I didn’t have him down as a bastard. I really didn’t.
‘You didn’t want to be with her?’
‘Of course I did,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think it would have been, you know, a good idea.’
He swallowed hard again. Sat on the shaking fingers of his left hand. That was when I realised.
‘You couldn’t bear it, could you? If it was bad news, I mean.’
He shook his head. His eyes filled with tears.
‘I think I’d crack up,’ he said. ‘I’d be a jibbering mess on floor. Guys are supposed to be strong at times like this, aren’t they? I don’t want her to see how weak I am.’
‘You’re not weak, Luke. You love her to bits, that’s all. And right now she needs to know that. Hopefully it won’t be bad news and, even if it is, the survival rates are really good these days. But whatever happens, she needs you with her.’
Luke sighed and held his head in his hands. ‘I’ve been a right eejit, haven’t I?’
‘Yep. But the good news is, you’ve still got time to put things right.’
Luke looked at his watch. ‘Do you think I’ll get there in time?’
‘You will if you get a move on. I don’t often say this to clients, Luke, but will you please get the hell out of here?’
He scrambled to his feet
before stopping suddenly. ‘I haven’t paid you.’
‘You don’t need to. This wasn’t a counselling session, it was a kick up the arse. And they come free.’
He smiled. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘Now go. And let me know how she gets on, OK?’
He nodded and ran out of the room.
* * *
I usually loved the countdown to the school holidays. The children demob happy, the chance for all of us to get away and spend some time together without the usual distractions at home. We always went away for the first week of the holidays. I couldn’t understand those people who opted to save it for the end of August. There was something glorious about the children coming home from school, having everything packed and ready, throwing it all into the car and heading off, knowing we had the whole summer stretching ahead of us.
Except this year, of course. This year it felt like the most torturous prison sentence was about to begin. If it had been just me and Chris, we’d have cancelled it, I knew that. But neither of us had wanted to disappoint Matilda. And I was certainly keen to keep some semblance of normality in her life.
The worst part of it was that we had let Josh pick where we were going to stay, as it would probably have been his last holiday with us. And Josh being Josh, he’d managed to find an old lighthouse which had been converted into a holiday cottage sitting high above the harbour at Whitby. So it wasn’t even as if we could try to forget about the missing member of our party; it was going to be in our face the whole time. We were going to be staying at Josh’s perfect holiday hideaway. Only Josh wasn’t going to be there.
‘Have you got your camera?’ I asked Chris, as we stood in the hallway surrounded by suitcases, waterproofs and boxes of food.
‘No. I’m not bothering.’
I frowned. He might as well have been leaving behind a prosthetic leg, his camera was that much a part of him.
‘You always bring the camera.’
‘Yeah, well. Busman’s holiday and all that.’
‘But we won’t have any photos to remember it by.’