by Linda Green
Chris nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed doing a portrait so much. And it wasn’t just because it was Tilda. I’ve got loads of ideas of places I could shoot. And I could offer them some really nice canvas prints and black and white prints and everything.’
‘There you are, then. Go for it. Make it your thing.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I think I will. Thank you.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘No, I mean it. Thanks.’ He got up and kissed me ever so lightly on the lips.
I smiled at him and went out to make the coffee.
* * *
It was my turn. I knew that. I understood how these things worked. Chris had talked about his childhood the previous session. Or rather, Tania had coaxed him into letting go of snippets of information. Building up a picture. Of one side of the story, at least.
I sat upright in my chair, wishing I was in hers. That it was me asking the questions, soliciting information, allowing couples the space to reflect.
‘So, Alison,’ she said, turning to me, ‘tell me about your parents.’
I nodded. I could see Chris looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I realised, perhaps for the first time, how little I had discussed it with him too. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d played things close to his chest. It was hard to know where to start. I opted for the easy bit.
‘My mum was a nurse and my dad was a train driver. I guess they ticked those boxes on the “What do you want to do when you grow up?” list and never changed their minds.’
Tania smiled at me. ‘And what was their relationship like?’
‘They argued a lot. They were both really busy at work, they kind of juggled shifts to look after me, so they weren’t actually home together that much. But when they were, they argued.’
‘What about?’
‘Mostly Dad not doing the things Mum had asked him to do while she was at work. He was pretty rubbish at helping out around the house. I used to follow him around, tidying up and putting things away, so it didn’t cause another row.’
‘So you saw it as your job to smooth things over?’
I shrugged. ‘Damage limitation, I guess.’
‘And when they did argue, what did you do?’
‘I went to my bedroom. Read books. It was my way of escaping, of blocking everything out.’
‘Were you worried they might split up?’
I nodded and found myself swallowing, rather than managing to get the words out.
‘Take all the time you need,’ said Tania.
I glanced at Chris. His eyes were fixed on my face, his eyes reflecting the hurt in mine.
‘I worried about it all the time,’ I said. ‘And then, when I was fourteen, they sat me down and said they were splitting up, which kind of validated all the worrying. Dad moved into a flat and I only got to see him at weekends. I really missed him. He was much warmer than my mum. She wasn’t really like a mum at all.’
‘And how long did that last?’
‘Until I was fifteen, when Mum got offered a job as a ward sister at a hospital in Portsmouth. Maybe she did it on purpose, because she knew I wasn’t happy. I mean, you don’t just apply for a job hundreds of miles away without thinking through the consequences, do you? Anyway, she moved down there. So Dad sold the flat and came back to live in our house with me.’
‘And how often did you see your mum?’
‘Once a month, at first. She’d come up and stay with a friend for the weekend. But it soon got to the point where we only saw each other a few times a year.’
‘And did that bother you?’
‘Not really, because we didn’t seem to have anything to say to each other even then.’
‘And your relationship with your parents now?’ asked Tania.
I looked down at my hands. ‘My dad died three years ago,’ I said. ‘Heart attack. I haven’t seen my mum for years.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tania.
I shrugged. ‘Not everyone lives happily ever after, do they?’
‘And then Chris came along and gave you a chance to do just that.’
‘Yeah.’ I glanced over at him.
He managed a hint of a smile.
‘It must have been hard, though,’ said Tania. ‘Making that commitment after what you’d been through. Especially when Chris already had a son. You were taking on a lot.’
‘I loved him. It was as simple as that. Anyway, Josh was a delight to have around.’
‘You took Lydia on as well.’
‘No. She was long gone.’
‘Physically, yes, but emotionally?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said.
Tania looked at me in a way which suggested she didn’t believe the assertion any more than I did.
‘Sometimes it’s harder taking on the absence of someone and the emotional baggage they’ve left behind, than the person themselves.’
‘I didn’t think of it like that. Not at the time.’
She nodded again and turned to Chris. ‘Why did you ask Alison to move into the house you’d once shared with Lydia?’
‘It was where we were living.’
‘Did you think about how hard that would be for Alison? Not only was she taking on your son, she was moving into the house you’d lived in with his mother.’
‘She was happy to do it,’ said Chris. ‘I asked her. She said it would be best not to uproot Josh.’
‘I understand that,’ said Tania. ‘And it’s admirable that she put him first. But sometimes we put others first at our own cost, and sometimes it’s too high a price to pay. Maybe Alison’s still paying that price today.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Chris.
‘I mean that Alison has spent a long time living in Lydia’s shadow, physically and emotionally. Perhaps it’s time you helped her step out into the light.’
‘And you think moving house would do that?’
‘It might do.’
‘It’s not as if there’s anything of hers left there.’
‘When people have their houses exorcised there’s nothing visible, is there? It’s a feeling they’re trying to get rid of. An atmosphere.’
‘You’re saying she haunts us now?’ said Chris, raising an eyebrow.
‘I’m saying her presence hangs very heavily over you both.’
‘So how do you propose we get rid of it?’
‘You exorcise her from you lives. And that starts with admitting your feelings for her.’
‘The only feelings I have for her are negative ones.’
‘And what about before?’ asked Tania.
Chris hesitated before replying. ‘I wasn’t still in love with her when Alison moved in, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘But you had loved her, hadn’t you?’
Chris nodded.
‘I need to hear it, Chris.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think Alison needs to hear it. Because I think she’s lived with that silently hanging over her for long enough.’
Chris looked at me.
I blinked hard and fiddled with the button on my cardigan.
‘Yes, I loved Lydia,’ said Chris. ‘I loved her more than I’d ever loved anyone and she hurt me so badly that I didn’t think I could ever love again.’
I stared at the wall opposite and tried to stop my bottom lip from quivering.
‘But you did, though, didn’t you?’ said Tania.
‘Yes. Because I found someone who was so much better than her that she blew Lydia out of the water.’
‘He’s talking about you, Alison,’ said Tania.
I looked at her and nodded.
‘And now you have to believe it,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘And the reason you don’t is because you’ve spent the last eleven years comparing yourself with her. It’s not easy for a woman to compete with an ex, is it?’
‘I wasn’t competing with h
er.’
‘Only because you didn’t think you were even in the same league. And it turns out you were right. Though not in the way you thought.’
I managed a watery smile. Chris reached over and squeezed my hand.
‘Chocolates and flowers on the way home,’ Tania told him. ‘The biggest and best you can find. She deserves nothing less.’
We go to Bognor Regis every year on holiday, have done since we were married. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like Bognor Regis, but sometimes you can’t help thinking it would be nice to go somewhere else for a change.
So one year I suggested Eastbourne. He gave me a look like I’d lost my mind and asked if they did day trips to Bognor Regis from there.
27
It was something Josh had once said which made me think of it. He’d told me that Lydia didn’t do breakfast. She was one of those people who couldn’t stomach anything before ten thirty in the morning. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if she even got up before ten thirty most mornings, people working in the music industry probably didn’t. She did brunch instead. Coffee and a croissant or something chocolatey. I could only conclude that she had one of those metabolisms which sucked up calories and blew them out into the atmosphere, where they were inhaled by people like me walking past unsuspectingly.
And despite the proliferation of cafes in Hebden Bridge, there was one blindingly obvious place to start. The cafe in the record shop on Market Street. A proper independent record shop. One that, admittedly, had racks of CDs now, but which still managed to smell of the vinyl that had once lined the walls.
Lydia had taken Josh there loads of times. I think it was the only cafe they ever went to. Josh had come back the first time telling me he’d had a hot chocolate which, according to the menu, was ‘richer than Pink Floyd, smoother than George Benson and more luxurious than Sade’. I’d even impressed him a little by digging out a Sade album to prove that I had not only heard of her but had the LP to prove it.
I hesitated outside the door, aware that I was effectively stalking her and also that I had no idea what I was going to say if I did find her. I knew I had to do it, though. I couldn’t put it off any longer.
I walked in and smiled an acknowledgement at the waistcoated man with long, grey-streaked hair at the counter at the far end, aware that I probably didn’t look like one of his usual clients. No doubt he had already written me off as a cafe-only customer. I ordered a hot chocolate, as Josh must have done on numerous occasions, and opted for a small table for two near the counter, rather than one of the stools facing out of the window towards the street.
A song was playing which I didn’t recognise. Something suitably edgy and alternative. I imagined Josh poking fun at me for not knowing who it was. Lydia would know it, of course. Lydia knew all those sorts of things.
I sat for a long time. Sipping the hot chocolate, wondering whether Josh used to sit at this table when he came here with her, unsure quite how long it was acceptable to make one hot chocolate last.
A steady trickle of people came in, some for a coffee, others to browse the CDs, several simply to have a chat with the guy at the counter. That was when I realised he probably knew Josh, by sight if not by name. And that he would definitely know Lydia. They had probably shared many stories together. Tales of who she’d met and what she’d got up to. She would have shown him the signed guitar, I was sure of it, before she gave it to Josh.
I looked at my watch. It had been almost an hour. Maybe she’d left Hebden. Done a runner at the same time as Josh. Too distraught over what she’d done to be able to face him again. Or maybe she was with him. Maybe he had forgiven her and they were together somewhere now. London, perhaps, hanging out with her friends in the music business. She might have pulled in a favour or two to get him a job.
It was no good. I was going to have to ask. It was crazy to waste time sitting here if she wasn’t even still around. I stood up, pushed my chair back and wandered up to the counter. I decided not to even make a pretence of browsing the CDs.
The guy behind the counter looked up.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘My stepson was right, you do a great hot chocolate.’
He nodded his thanks, seemingly still a bit wary.
‘He used to come here with his mum,’ I continued. ‘She was one of your regulars. Long dark hair, works in the music business. Lydia, her name is.’
The man’s face flickered into life as if he’d just tuned into a radio station that was worth listening to. ‘Still is one of my regulars,’ he said. ‘She’s usually here by now as well. She’s got her name on that stool,’ he said, pointing to the counter nearest him. ‘Reckons our espressos are the best cure for a hangover, and she has a fair few of those.’
I nodded and smiled, as if I found that as endearing as he clearly did.
‘And she’s usually in most days?’ I asked.
‘Yep. Think Wednesdays might be her laundry day, mind. She’s usually a bit later. Comes in while her wash is doing.’
I nodded. I didn’t want to sit back down now. It would make it too obvious. ‘Right. Well, thanks again,’ I said, turning to leave.
‘Who shall I say was asking after her?’
I hesitated before turning back. ‘Don’t worry, thanks. I’ll catch up with her myself.’
He nodded.
I left the shop. He’d made it easy for me. There was only one launderette in town. I walked over the bridge and turned left, my pumps soundless on the cobbles, like a cat silently stalking its prey. I stopped at the door of the launderette. She was in there. I could see her through the window, cramming the last of some clothes into a machine. It was a dark wash, of course. I couldn’t imagine Lydia doing whites. Part of me felt uneasy. That it was somehow wrong to be doing this here, when my prey was most vulnerable, innocently brandishing her smalls. There was nothing innocent about Lydia, though. I knew that already.
I opened the door. I don’t know why Lydia looked round. It’s not as if you would expect someone to come looking for you in a launderette. I wondered if the guy from the record shop had phoned her. Warned her someone had been asking questions. She stared at me. I half expected her to put her hands up in the air. To wave a pillowcase in surrender. There was no white flag, though. Just a steely glare.
I walked a few paces closer to her. The woman who had caused so much grief. So much pain. I wanted to hate her. I also wanted to hurt her. I couldn’t do either, though. Because I was Alison. The woman who fixed things. Tried to make them better.
‘Hi,’ I said.
She eyed me warily, a box of washing powder in one hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘I wanted to see you,’ I said. ‘I wondered if you knew where Josh was?’
A slight frown creased her brow. I knew instantly that she didn’t. If you were going to try to fake surprise, you would do it much better than that.
‘Why should I know where he is?’ she asked.
‘He ran away,’ I said. ‘The morning after you came round.’
She stared at me, the frown increasing. ‘You’ve not heard from him?’
I shook my head. The washing powder was shaking in her hand. I walked up and took it from her. Placed it on top of the machine. Her hand shook even more now that it was empty.
‘I thought he might have been in touch,’ I said.
She went on staring. I noticed for the first time how rough she looked. Her hair was lank and needed washing. Her face gaunt. Her eyes heavily made up, as ever, but heavier still with shadows.
‘Is that everything?’ I asked, pointing towards the machine.
She nodded.
I picked up the powder and poured some into the dispenser tray. Shut it, turned the knob to forty degrees and pulled it out. The machine whirred into action. The water started hissing in, spitting venom at the dirt. Laughing as it smothered it.
‘Is there somewhere we can go to talk?’ I asked, hoping she wouldn’t say the cafe.
She nodded. ‘My plac
e,’ she said. ‘You’d better come back to my place.’
We didn’t speak on the walk there. It was as if we were both saving it up, keeping the words in our heads until we found some walls for them to bounce back off. She only lived a few streets away. There were kids playing in the road outside. Kicking a ball about in what appeared to be a concerted effort to disprove the theory that children didn’t do that any more.
She stopped outside a battered blue wooden door and fumbled in her pocket for the key. Her hand was still shaking as she turned it in the lock. I followed her inside, into a gloomy hallway. The whole place was going to be gloomy. She was on the wrong side of the valley to catch the light.
‘It’s through there,’ she said, pointing to another door at the end of the hall.
The room beyond was pretty unremarkable in the way that rented flats are. Cream-painted walls, a rug on the wooden floor which may have been her own and a worn green sofa with a throw over it beneath the window. A hallway ran off it to three further wooden doors, one of which would have been the room where she’d slept with Tom.
‘Do you mind?’ asked Lydia, holding up a packet of cigarettes which had been lying on the table.
I shook my head. I did mind, but I was in her flat. These were her rules.
She lit it, took a long, slow drag and looked at me. ‘Did he take his stuff with him?’ she asked.
‘About half of his clothes, and various bits and pieces in his rucksack.’
‘Passport?’
‘Yeah. We’ve got no way of knowing if he’s used it, of course.’
‘Are the cops not looking for him?’
‘We registered him as missing with them. But at the end of the day he’s sixteen, and he left of his own accord. His details are on their database, but they haven’t got the resources to do anything more than that.’
Lydia blew out. ‘Fucking hell,’ she said.
‘I take it he hasn’t been in touch, then.’
‘Nothing since I came round. I texted him and called all that night and the next day. It just went to voicemail.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Me too.’