The Marriage Mender

by Linda Green

  He shrugged. I realised he didn’t want to remember. He wanted to blot the whole thing from his mind. Wanted each second to unfold and be instantly gone.

  ‘For Matilda’s sake,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got my mobile. I can take any pictures she wants on that.’

  It wasn’t the same, and he knew it. They were instant photos, the modern-day equivalent of a Polaroid. You didn’t frame those kinds of photos or stick them lovingly in photo albums.

  ‘Please.’ My eyes locked on to his for a second.

  He sighed, disappeared back into the study and came out again with his camera bag.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know how we’re going to find the space to pack it,’ he said. ‘We always have too much stuff.’

  ‘We can put it on the back seat, next to Matilda.’

  I said it softly, knowing he hadn’t thought it through. That Josh’s absence would leave a Josh-sized space on the back seat of the car. Not to mention a sizeable hole in the boot where all his stuff usually went.

  Chris closed his eyes for a second. I went to put my hand on his shoulder. But before it actually made contact, he turned, picked up the suitcase and carried it out to the car.

  Matilda emerged from her bedroom carrying her Dora the Explorer pull-along trolley. She was a bit old for it now, I knew that. But she hadn’t complained. And as the next step up appeared to be a One Direction trolley, I was relieved not to have to go there just yet.

  She paused on the landing and glanced in the direction of Josh’s room. I put down the bags I was holding and hurried upstairs.

  ‘I know it’s hard,’ I said, taking her hand. ‘But Josh wouldn’t want him not being here to spoil things for you, would he?’

  ‘Why hasn’t he emailed?’ she asked. ‘Or texted, or something.’

  I stroked her hair. Maybe it was time we told her the truth. But if we couldn’t cope with it, I didn’t think it fair to expect her to.

  ‘I guess he’s busy,’ I said. ‘It’s not easy to keep in touch when you’re travelling.’

  ‘Is he in a foreign country?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘He could be. We don’t know for sure.’

  ‘Is he going to get in trouble when he gets back?’

  ‘No, love,’ I said. ‘I think we’ll all just be glad to see him.’

  She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answers.

  At least for now.

  * * *

  It was early evening when we arrived. The sun was dipping slightly in the sky, positioning itself perfectly for its dramatic exit later on. The temperature had dropped a degree or two, which was welcome as none of us were any good in the heat. We weren’t in the lighthouse itself but in one of the two lighthouse keepers’ cottages which nestled alongside it at the bottom of a narrow lane, a matter of yards from the cliff edge.

  ‘Wow!’ said Matilda as Chris pulled up outside. ‘Are we really staying here?’

  ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘That one there,’ pointing to the cottage on the right.

  Matilda jumped out of the car and ran down on to the grassy bank which surrounded our cottage, twirling around with her arms outstretched like Julie Andrews in the opening sequence of The Sound of Music.

  ‘It’s brilliant!’ she shouted, her long hair flying out behind her as she twirled. For a moment her enthusiasm was strong enough to cut through the ache inside me. I decided to get the things from the boot of the car while the mood was right. Anything to prolong her sense of excitement a little longer. Chris was still sitting in the driver’s seat, seemingly unable, or unwilling, to move.

  ‘Come on,’ I said to him gently. ‘It’ll be OK.’

  He looked at me without replying, opened the driver’s door and got out. Matilda immediately ran over to him, took him by the hand and pulled him down to the garden wall, from where you could look out over the sea and the cliffs below.

  I started getting the things out of the boot: the round wicker basket, the red and white checked tea towel, the rope and the large metal butcher’s hook which I’d managed to find on eBay. Fortunately, Matilda was too engrossed in trying to spot dolphins to pay any attention to what I was doing until I was ready.

  ‘Come on, then,’ I yelled. ‘The lighthouse keeper’s tea is ready.’

  Matilda spun round.

  As she did so, I pushed the basket from the rim halfway up the lighthouse where I had tied the rope, and it slid on the hook all the way down to the balustrade on the decking area where I’d fastened the other end.

  Matilda squealed and ran over to the basket, pulling off the tea towel to reveal the sandwiches, fruit and iced lighthouse biscuits beneath. She looked up at me, her smile threatening to disappear off the edge of the cliffs.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘This is so brilliant. It’s just like the book.’

  I pulled out the rather dog-eared copy of The Lighthouse Keeper’s Lunch, which I’d been hiding in my bag.

  ‘And after we’ve eaten I’ll read you the story,’ I said.

  I caught Chris’s eye as I looked up. There was a time when he would have been smiling. When he would have said something along the lines of ‘Once a librarian, always a librarian.’ When he would have recounted a tale of one of the book events I’d organised which he’d brought Josh to at the library. He didn’t do any of those things now, though.

  ‘Look,’ said Matilda, opening the book. ‘It’s still got Josh’s name in it.’ She held the book up to reveal the ‘This Book Belongs To’ bookplate on which Josh had written his name in spidery letters.

  I nodded and managed to force out a smile for her.

  Chris turned his back and looked straight out to sea. It may have been the coastal breeze making his eyes water. But somehow I doubted it.

  * * *

  By the third day it was becoming unbearable. I understood that he was finding it hard. I understood that entirely. I even understood why he was taking it out on me. What I could not understand was why he was pushing Matilda away too.

  ‘Right, then,’ I said, as we set off up the steps to Whitby Abbey from the harbour. ‘We’ll count as we go.’

  Matilda glanced over her shoulder. Chris was lagging behind us, seemingly unwilling to be part of it. Or be part of this family.

  ‘Come on, Daddy!’ Matilda called. ‘I’m going to beat you to the top.’

  Chris quickened his pace for a moment but soon fell behind again. It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep up. He could have run up the steps before we’d made it to the halfway point. It appeared to be more a case of not wanting to risk having fun.

  ‘Thirty-nine, forty,’ Matilda counted out loud.

  I turned around again. His eyes were fixed on the steps. His face was somewhere else entirely, though. And wherever he was, he certainly wasn’t with us. I turned back and carried on. It didn’t get any easier. Each step was harder than the last.

  ‘One hundred and ninety-nine!’ Matilda made it to the top first. She did a little jig of celebration in order to ram home the point. I laughed as I came up the last few steps, blowing much more than I would have liked.

  ‘Come on, Daddy!’ called Matilda. ‘Even Mummy’s beaten you.’

  Chris climbed up the remaining steps. He wasn’t out of breath at all. He had hung back through choice, I knew that. He may have been physically on this holiday but he was not here in spirit.

  ‘Let’s go and look at the Abbey, Matilda,’ I said. ‘We can find out all about its history.’

  Matilda ran off towards the ruins.

  I started after her, then turned to look at Chris, who hadn’t moved. ‘Are you coming?’ I asked.

  ‘No, it’s OK. You two go ahead. I’ve seen it before.’

  I stared at him. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with me.

  ‘Matilda hasn’t, though,’ I said, before walking away.

  * * *

  I shut the lounge door behind me. Putting Matilda to bed had taken longer than usual because she had begged
me to read an extra chapter of her Mr Gum book and had then laughed herself very much awake. I glanced at the mug of tea on the table.

  ‘Sorry. It’s probably cold by now,’ said Chris, looking up from his Mac. ‘Do you want me to make another one?’

  I shook my head, picked it up and took a sip. It was cold, but I drank it anyway.

  I had a couple of options open to me. I could get my book out and sit in silence opposite Chris, as I had done for the past three nights. Or I could try to talk to him. Really talk to him, in an attempt to salvage what was left of the holiday.

  ‘Where would you like to go tomorrow?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t mind. Wherever you think,’ said Chris, not looking up from his screen.

  ‘It’s just that, you know, because it’s our anniversary, I want it to be somewhere you’ll actually enjoy.’

  He did look up this time. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Just what I said. I want you to have a nice day. I want us all to have a nice day.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry if I’m not the life and soul of this holiday, OK?’

  ‘Even if you don’t want to make an effort on my behalf,’ I said, ‘you could do it for Matilda.’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s having a great time.’

  ‘No thanks to you.’

  ‘What do you expect me to do?’

  ‘I want you to act like you care. To take a bit of interest.’

  ‘And that will make everything all right, will it?’

  ‘No. But it will make her happier.’

  Chris looked up at the ceiling. The flashing of the light outside could be seen through the curtains. As if we needed reminding of how rocky the terrain was.

  ‘Look. Whitby isn’t the easiest place for me to visit, OK?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I used to come here with Lydia.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Because Josh wanted to come here.’

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  ‘He will come back,’ I said.

  Chris shook his head. ‘No. Not now.’

  ‘Please don’t give up hope, Chris.’

  He stood up and pushed back his chair. ‘What’s the alternative? Live some deluded existence, like this lot?’ he said, pointing to his computer screen. ‘I don’t think so.’

  He left the room. I heard him go into the bathroom. I realised he was going straight to bed. I stood up, walked round to the other side of the coffee table and sat down in front of his screen. He’d been looking at the online forum on the Missing People website. I’d given him the login details after I’d registered Josh as missing. I had no idea he’d ever looked at the site, let alone read what other people in a similar situation were saying.

  I scrolled down. Lots of people: mothers, wives, sons, girlfriends. All of them clinging on to the hope that their loved ones would come home. That they would see them again one day. Or, at the very least, that they were still alive.

  I searched for Josh’s details again. I wanted to see his face on the screen, the picture I’d sent them taken on our summer holiday last year. He smiled out at me. Not a care in the world. Having no idea of what was about to hit him. To hit all of us.

  I wiped my eyes. ‘Night, love,’ I whispered. ‘Thank you. It’s a great place. You’d have loved it here.’

  The next morning there was an envelope with my name on it waiting for me on the kitchen table. For a moment I thought it was a leaving note, that he’d gone too. Until I saw him through the window, staring out towards the sea. I opened the anniversary card. It was his usual, understated style. Nothing flashy. Just a small heart on the front underneath ‘Happy Anniversary’ in an elegant font. I looked at the heart closely. Just in case I could see the crack where it had broken.

  I went downstairs one morning and he’d made me toast, and he never makes toast, so I suppose I should have known, and he sat down on the breakfast stool opposite me and said, ‘I’ve met someone else. It’s serious. I’m going to come home early from work and pack up my stuff and I’ll be gone by the time you come home. No hard feelings, eh?’

  And I just sat there staring at him, wondering if he was for real. I mean, you live with someone for five years and then ditch her out of the blue like that and think there’s going to be no hard feelings?

  I’m thirty-five, well past my sell-by date. What are the chances now of me meeting someone else and having children with him? Pretty non-existent, I should have thought.

  I should have slapped him around the face. Or, better still, taken him to court for time-wasting and taking away my chance to be a mum. You should be able to press charges for something like that, surely?

  23

  It was a different woman who was sitting in the coffee shop waiting for me. The same elegant, sophisticated exterior but shining through it an inner confidence which I hadn’t seen before. Even her skin seemed to have relaxed.

  She was wearing a short-sleeved dress.

  I smiled at her. ‘Hi, Catherine,’ I said, ‘you’re looking really well.’

  She stood up and kissed me on both cheeks.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I feel pretty good too.’

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, pointing to the coffee in front of her.

  I ordered a pot of tea at the counter and sat down opposite her. ‘So, how’s it all going?’ I asked. ‘I feel like I’ve got so much to catch up on. When did you actually leave?’

  ‘A few days after I last saw you. Once I’d made the decision, there didn’t seem to be much point hanging around.’

  ‘You just walked out?’

  She nodded. ‘It was surprisingly easy in the end. I came home from work early and packed my stuff, loaded it all into Simon’s van outside. I was going to leave before Nathan got home, but I actually decided to wait. I wanted him to see me go. I didn’t want there to be anything deceitful or underhand about it. Simon was in the van outside, in case there were any problems, but I told him there wouldn’t be.’

  ‘I take it Nathan had no idea?’

  ‘None at all. He came in and he didn’t even notice all my stuff was missing. I told him I had something to tell him. I think he thought I was going to say I’d changed my mind. About trying for a baby, I mean. When I told him I was leaving, he just stared at me. He couldn’t seem to take it in. I was almost beginning to feel sorry for him. Then he had the audacity to ask why. That’s when I knew, really knew, that I was doing the right thing.’

  ‘Did he try to stop you?’

  ‘No. I just walked. I didn’t say another word. He didn’t either.’

  ‘And have you heard from him since?’

  ‘No. Not a thing.’ She looked down into her coffee.

  ‘And what about the police?’

  ‘I reported it to them the day after I left. I phoned the woman whose number you gave me. She was good. Really supportive. She didn’t make me feel like it was my fault at all.’

  ‘That’s because it wasn’t.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m slowly starting to believe it too.’

  ‘Have they interviewed Nathan?’

  ‘Yeah. Apparently, he denied everything at first. Claimed I’d made it all up because he’d chucked me out. And then they showed him the photos. He cracked then. Broke down and admitted the whole thing. So I’m not even going to have to go through a trial.’

  ‘What a relief.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She looked down again as she said it.

  ‘You’re worried about him, aren’t you?’

  She nodded slowly. ‘That must sound completely ridiculous to you.’

  ‘No. Not really. He was a massive part of your life.’

  ‘I don’t actually wish anything bad on him, you see. I’m glad I got out. Very glad. And I know I had to report it to stop him doing it to another woman. But I can’t see how he’ll survive prison, if he does get sent down. I don’t think he�
��s strong enough.’

  ‘Weird, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘You were actually the strong one all along. You just didn’t know it.’

  ‘I guess so. I actually wonder sometimes whether deep down that was why he asked me to go to counselling. If he wanted to get found out. Maybe it was the only way he thought he could stop.’

  ‘You’re probably being overgenerous to him there.’

  ‘Maybe. But in an odd way I won’t actually mind if he doesn’t get sent down. He’s admitted it, that’s all I ever wanted. Because if he accepts it happened, he might actually do something about it.’

  I nodded. She’d come such a long way since first walking into my room.

  ‘And is it working out, staying at Simon’s?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s been lovely. He’s always fussing over me. I mean, I will get a place of my own at some point, when I’m properly back on my feet. But for now it suits me just fine.’

  I nodded. She seemed very calm, very assured. She’d been down, down to a place a lot of people had never even experienced, and she’d hauled herself back up again.

  ‘You should be so proud of what you’ve done,’ I said.

  She smiled at me. ‘I am,’ she replied. ‘And I’m also very grateful to you for all your help. For picking me up off the floor, literally.’

  ‘You’re very welcome,’ I said. ‘But all I really did was hold a mirror up.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Catherine, ‘that’s all people need.’

  * * *

  ‘I’m nine years old!’ shouted Matilda from her bedroom the next morning.

  There was a pause of a few seconds before our door was flung open and she launched herself on to our bed.

  ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ I said, giving her a hug.

  She climbed over on to Chris.

  He kissed her on the forehead. ‘Happy birthday, love.’ It was barely more than a whisper.

  I realised we hadn’t really been tested yet. Everybody said the same thing when you heard them interviewed. That it was the special family occasions when you really missed your loved ones who weren’t there. We’d struggled enough on ordinary days. I had no idea how we were going to cope with today.

  Matilda was looking at us both expectantly.