The Marriage Mender

by Linda Green

  ‘Right, then.’ I smiled. ‘I suppose we’d better go downstairs and see if we’ve got any presents for nine-year-olds.’

  Matilda was up and out of the room before either of us had moved an inch.

  I turned to Chris. ‘Look, I know it’s going to be tough. But let’s make a real effort for her today.’

  He nodded but said nothing.

  I got up, threw on my dressing gown and went downstairs. I’d got the presents sorted myself. I’d run through some suggestions with Chris, but as I’d got nothing more than a ‘Whatever you think’ in response I’d decided to go it alone. Not that buying presents for Matilda was difficult. It was simply that I’d have liked to have felt there was somebody else on board the parenting train with me when I pulled out of the station.

  Matilda was sitting in the hallway going through the pile of cards which I’d left on the mat the night before. I knew that I was helping to perpetuate the myth that posties still delivered their mail at the crack of dawn, when actually it was more like two thirty in the afternoon, but I did it all the same.

  She looked up at me. The smile had slipped off her face.

  I realised she hadn’t been counting the cards. She’d been doing the very same thing I’d done over the past few days every time I’d picked up the post.

  ‘Where’s Josh’s card?’ she asked.

  ‘It doesn’t look like he’s had a chance to send one, love,’ I said.

  ‘Is it because he’s in a different country?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said.

  ‘So it might just be late. It might still come next week?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see, eh?’ I said.

  I heard the creak of the stairs behind me as Chris followed me down.

  ‘Josh’s card might be a bit late,’ Matilda announced to him.

  Chris looked at me. I shrugged.

  Matilda picked up the rest of the cards and carried them into the kitchen.

  * * *

  At the point when you agree to having nineteen children come to your house for a themed birthday party, it never seems like a bad idea. You find yourself saying things like, ‘It’s so nice to do it at home rather than a soulless soft-play centre,’ or even, ‘We’ll make up party games and I’ll tell stories, we won’t even need to get an entertainer.’ You tend to blot out the likelihood that your favourite rug will have Ribena spilt over it, one child will cry and another will be sick, and you will be up past midnight the night before making witch’s hat cupcakes and witches’ broomsticks out of Twiglets tied around breadsticks with liquorice strings.

  And you certainly don’t imagine that you will find it nigh on impossible to get through the day because your stepson will have gone missing, your husband blames you entirely and your marriage is in serious trouble.

  What had seemed like a good idea in April now appeared to have turned into a ridiculous thing to put ourselves through, given the circumstances. Backing out wasn’t an option, though. There was no way I was going to disappoint Matilda.

  Chris came into the kitchen and picked up the piece of paper on the worktop next to where I was preparing the buttercream.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

  ‘The to-do list. I need to get the rest of it done in the next hour before Debbie brings Matilda back.’

  He scanned it and shook his head. ‘Why do you always make things so hard for yourself?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘She’d be happy if you just let them run around the house and gave them a plate of jam sandwiches.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not after the last few years.’

  The Roald Dahl party thing had started on her fifth birthday. Matilda had been the first one – fittingly, of course, given that she’d been named after her. There’d been a book tower, storytelling and even a hammer-throwing competition. We’d done Charlie and the Chocolate Factory next, followed by James and the Giant Peach and The BFG. Chris had made a joke last year that there was no way he was going to get a gun licence and shoot pheasants for a Danny the Champion of the World party. I thought of mentioning it now but decided against it. I didn’t think he’d find it amusing any more.

  ‘Isn’t it a bit much? Nobody else seems to go to all this trouble.’

  I felt the mercury rising inside me. It seemed I could do no right these days.

  ‘You used to love all this,’ I said.

  ‘I just think she’s getting a bit old for it.’

  ‘Josh had one on his tenth birthday. He loved it, said it was the best party ever.’

  Chris looked up at the ceiling. I saw him swallow. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it, but I was tired of walking on eggshells.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I remember.’

  ‘What else do you remember?’ I asked, putting down the wooden spoon and wiping a floury hand across my forehead.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘About Josh. I’m wondering what you remember. Only you don’t talk about him any more. It’s like he never existed.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he didn’t, did he? Turned out he was somebody else’s son.’

  ‘Don’t do this to yourself, Chris.’

  ‘What’s the alternative? Cling on to the hope that he’s mine? What good would that do? He’s not here, anyway.’

  ‘He’ll come back.’

  ‘You’ve been saying that for over three months now.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen.’

  ‘It means it’s less likely.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘It says so on the Missing People website. Ninety-one per cent of cases reported are closed within forty-eight hours.’

  I stared at him. ‘Why don’t you talk to me about it?’

  ‘I’m doing that now, aren’t I?’

  ‘Only because I brought it up. You make it very clear you don’t want to talk about Josh, and yet you’re going online reading up about stuff.’

  ‘I’m entitled to do that, aren’t I? What are you now, the internet police?’

  ‘There’s no need to be like that. I was trying to say that I want to talk about Josh with you. We should be going through this together, not taking it out on each other.’

  ‘And what if I don’t want to share what I’m going through?’

  I shrugged. ‘Well, it makes it hard for me. I want to support you, but you’re not letting me.’

  ‘Because, believe me, you don’t want to know what’s going on inside my head.’

  ‘It’s probably very similar to the stuff going on in mine.’

  Chris shook his head. ‘No. You have no idea what I’m dealing with.’

  ‘So let me in, and I can find out.’

  ‘What, and try to fix me like you try to fix everything else?’

  ‘That’s not fair, Chris.’

  ‘No. I’ve lost a son. That’s what’s not fucking fair.’ He turned and left the kitchen.

  I stood there, trying to compose myself. Trying not to cry into the buttercream.

  A few minutes later, I heard the front door bang shut behind him. It was becoming all too familiar. Being walked out on. I toyed with the idea of going after him, pleading with him to talk to me. But there were only so many times you could pick yourself up off the floor knowing you were going to be knocked straight back down again.

  Besides, I had witches’ hats to stick on cupcakes.

  * * *

  Chris still wasn’t back when Barbara arrived. She’d insisted on coming by bus. Said we’d be far too busy with the preparations to pick her up. She’d never missed one of Matilda’s parties. Or one of Josh’s either, apparently. And, aside from her grandmother credentials, she was a welcome guest due to being remarkably unflappable in the face of chaos and particularly good at making sandwiches.

  Matilda, who was approaching the outer limits of excitability, rushed to throw her arms around her.

  ‘We’re doing The Witches and we’ve got broomsticks and frog juice and pretend mice. And Mum
my’s being the Grand High Witch.’

  ‘That’s lovely, dear,’ said Barbara, in true grandmotherly fashion.

  ‘And you can be the grandmother because there is one and then you won’t even need to dress up because you just have to look old.’

  Barbara smiled at Matilda. ‘And what are you being?’ she asked.

  ‘A witch. A really mean one.’

  ‘Well, isn’t it about time you went and got your costume on, then? Your friends will be here soon.’

  Matilda nodded and disappeared upstairs.

  Barbara turned to me. ‘Anything I can do, love?’ she asked.

  ‘Sandwiches, please,’ I said. ‘I haven’t even started on the sandwiches.’

  Barbara nodded and walked into the kitchen. She stopped when she saw that Chris wasn’t there. ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

  ‘He went out for a walk,’ I replied.

  Barbara looked hard at me. She knew him too well.

  ‘He’s finding it difficult,’ I said. ‘Very difficult indeed.’

  ‘He’ll be back soon,’ said Barbara, patting me on my arm.

  He wasn’t, though. Matilda got dressed. I put the finishing touches to the witch’s hat cupcakes and got changed, and he still wasn’t back.

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘He went for a walk. He’ll be back soon,’ I said, repeating Barbara’s assurance.

  Matilda looked about as convinced as I had been.

  The doorbell rang. The first guest had arrived. I switched to super-efficient party-host mode. But, inside, the knot was getting tighter and tighter.

  It was Debbie and Sophie, both of them dressed in their finest witches’ regalia. Matilda and Sophie ran off together into the lounge.

  ‘Love it,’ Debbie said, admiring my costume. ‘The wig suits you.’

  ‘I’m just hoping no one pulls it off,’ I said. ‘Only I wasn’t prepared to go the whole hog and shave off my hair as well.’

  ‘You disappoint me,’ said Debbie. ‘So much for attention to detail. Anyway, where’s Mr Stringer the hotel manager? I thought he was supposed to be welcoming guests?’

  ‘He’s not back yet.’ I said.

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘Being out.’

  Debbie looked at me and nodded. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, rubbing my shoulder. ‘I’m very happy to double as Mr Stringer if needed.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I might have to give you the camera, actually. He was supposed to be taking the photos as well.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Debbie. ‘They won’t be as good as his, mind.’

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘But they’ll be a damn sight better than nothing.’

  The rest of the guests started to arrive. The one good thing about being dressed as the Grand High Witch was that I had no choice but to carry on. It wasn’t her husband who had gone AWOL, it was mine. So I cackled and screeched and did everything required of a Grand High Witch while all the time, inside me, the time bomb ticked away.

  The children sat down to their witches’ tea. He was still not back. They ploughed through sandwiches, taking three bites of each and then moving on to something more interesting. Crisps were demolished, pizzas disappeared no sooner than they were put on the table, the witch’s hat cupcakes were admired and devoured in record time. They had eaten too fast. They weren’t supposed to be at this point yet. Debbie glanced at me. I looked at Matilda’s birthday cake sitting on the kitchen counter, a number nine sparkling candle stuck in the brim. Maybe just a few more minutes. Someone knocked a drink over. A couple of the children got down to go to the toilet. They were starting to get restless.

  ‘After you’ve done the cake, I’ll cut it up and wrap it in serviettes for you, love,’ Barbara said. ‘So you can get it into the party bags in time.’

  She would have been good in the war, Barbara. There’d have been no need to tell her to calm down and carry on.

  I looked again at the clock. Only ten minutes until the end of the party. The other parents would be coming back to pick their children up at any moment. I squeezed through to the far end of the table where Matilda was sitting.

  ‘I’m going to do your cake now, love,’ I said.

  She looked at me, her eyes hot and teary. ‘But Daddy’s not back yet.’

  ‘I know, love, but it’s nearly going home time. Your friends’ parents will be here in a minute.’

  ‘I don’t want to do the candles without Daddy.’

  ‘Nor do I. But we’ve got no choice, sweetie.’

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice louder and shriller. ‘I want to wait for Daddy.’

  ‘We’ll do them again when he gets back,’ I said.

  ‘But we can’t, the cake will have gone. We’re putting it in the party bags, you said so.’

  ‘I’ll make you another one, then.’

  ‘It won’t be the same.’

  She was right. It wouldn’t be the same. Not the same at all.

  I walked back to the kitchen and picked up the matches. My fingers were shaking too much to be able to light one. Barbara took the box from me and did the honours. The candles sparked instantly into life. I picked up the cake board and walked back towards the table with it. Debbie started the singing. I joined in, my voice struggling not to break. I put the cake down in front of Matilda. The light from the candle lit up her face. Caught the first tear as it trickled down her cheek. A camera flashed behind me. I turned quickly but it was Debbie taking the photograph. Capturing the moment for posterity.

  I could make another cake, light another candle, take another photo. But the one which had just been taken would always be Matilda’s ninth birthday party. In my mind, at least.

  Presumably I switched to automatic pilot. People do in those sorts of circumstances. Because the next thing I remember, when sensation started to return to me, was standing in the kitchen, surrounded by debris from the party, with Matilda and Sophie being the only children left.

  ‘The cake?’ I asked.

  ‘In the party bags,’ said Barbara. ‘We ran out of black serviettes so we used a couple of white ones instead.’

  I nodded and looked out of the window. A small, dark figure was visible in the distance, along the brow of the hill. He would dip down out of sight in a minute, before re-emerging at the track leading to our lane.

  ‘Why don’t I take Matilda back with me for a bit?’ Debbie asked. ‘Give you a chance to get yourself sorted.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That would be a real help.’

  Debbie went to gather Matilda and Sophie. She got them ready quickly, obviously aware of the need to get her away from the house before Chris arrived back. I gave Matilda a kiss. Her eyes were still rimmed with red.

  ‘There’s some birthday cake here for when you get home,’ I said. ‘We’ll get cleared up and you can open your presents when you get back.’

  ‘Will Daddy be home then?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He’ll be here.’

  She nodded uncertainly.

  Debbie took her hand and hurried her out of the house and up towards the lane. I shut the door and went back through to the kitchen.

  Barbara was scraping plates into the compost bin. ‘I’ve made you both a cup of tea,’ she said, pointing to the counter. ‘I’m going to run the Hoover over the lounge before it all gets trodden in.’

  I glanced up at the window. Chris had emerged over the hill. He would be here in a couple of minutes.

  ‘I understand that you’re angry, love,’ said Barbara. ‘I’m angry with him too. But please don’t be too hard on him. He loves you all very much.’

  ‘Well, he’s got a funny way of showing it,’ I said.

  Barbara left the room. A few moments later, I heard the Hoover start up, swiftly followed by the sound of the front door shutting. Chris walked into the kitchen. He still had his boots on. His face was pale.

  ‘I’ve missed it, haven’t I?’ he said.

  I nodded.

&nbs
p; ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I walked and walked and walked and I simply lost track of time.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ I said.

  Chris appeared taken aback. ‘There’s no need for that.’

  ‘There’s every need for it. You didn’t lose track of time. You couldn’t face the party so you made sure you weren’t here. You put your misery above everyone else’s.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it is. I’ll show you the photo, shall I?’ I said, picking up the camera. ‘Matilda in tears with her birthday cake. That’ll make a lovely one for the album, that will. Maybe we can put a caption on it. Pretend that they were tears of joy rather than mention that she was bawling her eyes out because her own father didn’t show at her birthday party.’

  ‘I’m sorry, OK?’ said Chris.

  The Hoover stopped. Chris appeared suddenly aware of other people in the house.

  ‘It’s your mum. She’s been helping me. Or did you forget she was coming too?’

  ‘Where’s Tilda?’ he asked. ‘I’ll go and talk to her.’

  ‘You can’t. She’s at Debbie’s. She needed some time out. We all did.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to her.’

  I shook my head. ‘You can’t, Chris. The moment’s been and gone, but she’ll remember it for the rest of her life. You weren’t there when she needed you. When I needed you. I know you’re hurting, we’re all hurting, but if you’re not careful you’re going to push away the only family you’ve got left.’

  He stared at me. His eyes trying desperately not to let the truth in. Then he turned on his heel and walked out.

  ‘You can’t keep running away, Chris,’ I called after him. ‘At some point you’ve got to face up to things.’

  The door slammed shut behind him. I sat down at the table and started to cry. A moment later, I felt Barbara’s hand on my shoulder. I turned round and let her pull me close, hold me the way she held Matilda. The way she must have held Chris when he was little.

  ‘I’m losing him,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t seem to break through. One of these days he won’t come back, just like Josh.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘He won’t leave you. He worships you.’

  ‘So why does he keep pushing me away? Why won’t he talk to me? Why won’t he share what he’s going through?’