‘You cut your hair off!’ Holly shouted, as she rushed up to hold her sister in a tight hug.
‘Yep.’
‘What happened to your long hair?’ Carrie yelled, as she found a gap and wiggled in to join the huddle.
‘She cut it off.’ Holly answered for her.
‘Oh, will you look at that, Lionel! All my little girls together. All together again.’ Their mum unfurled the tissue that had been scrunched inside her palm and blotted her tears.
Lionel stood at his wife’s shoulder. Romilly caught his eye and smiled. Her dad looked much, much older and a little stooped, but his expression was the same as it always had been; he was glad his girl was home.
Romilly settled back on the familiar sofa while her sisters sat on the floor and her mum and dad took the two chairs opposite. All four stared at her. After a second or two, she coughed. ‘I know I look very different. I suppose I am very different.’ Her tongue darted to the gaps in her mouth.
‘You look grand, Romilly.’ Her dad winked.
‘Yes, but you do look different,’ Holly started. ‘Though not in a bad way. I mean, you need to put on some weight, but not as much as Carrie, obviously.’
Carrie punched her twin on the arm.
‘You look better, calmer. Not totally bonkers crazy like you used to.’
‘For God’s sake, Holly!’ Pat tutted.
‘No, it’s fine, Mum. It’s good to be open about everything. I’ve learnt that.’
‘Are you staying? You can stay as long as you want, you know that,’ Pat said quickly, as if to counter the implication that the family had been less than frank with Romilly.
‘Thanks, Mum. I will for a bit, while I get things sorted in Bristol.’
She noted the snatched breaths and the wave of unease that rippled around the room at her mention of Bristol.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mean Stoke Bishop; not home.’ It felt odd calling Stoke Bishop ‘home’. ‘Just Bristol, where I’ll try and get a job and somewhere to stay and things.’ To be nearer my girl, my beautiful girl. To build a bridge that might help her find her way back to me…
Pat clapped. ‘I think this calls for a little celebration!’ she said. Then her face dropped. ‘Oh God! I didn’t mean… you know… I just meant a cup of tea and a slice of Victoria sponge.’ She looked close to tears, mortified.
‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Romilly reassured her. ‘You can say the word “alcohol”, and you guys can have a drink if you want to. I just won’t. I can’t and I never will be able to. It’ll kill me and I’ve come too far to let that be an option.’ She didn’t want to burden her parents with the details of her liver damage and the other health problems caused by her drinking, but it was good to be upfront, set the rules.
‘Do you still want a drink, or have you been cured of that?’ Holly asked.
‘No, Holl, I can’t be cured, sadly. I’m an alcoholic.’ She let the word linger. ‘But I’ve learnt to live cleanly, without being dependent on booze. I guess I’ve broken the habit and I really want to keep it that way. The longer I don’t drink, the more I feel positive that I never will.’
‘So can you just have a drink at Christmas or your birthday or whatever?’
‘No. Not ever. It’s toxic to me.’ She looked at her sister, saw her horrified expression. ‘Like a poison, an allergy, and that’s just the way it is.’
‘Like one of those people who’s allergic to peanuts and puffs up like a balloon if they get within three feet of a Snickers?’
‘A bit like that.’ She smiled.
The following week, Romilly was pushing the trolley up the aisle in Pewsey’s supermarket, trying to find the Fig Rolls that her dad liked with his afternoon cuppa; her mum’s goodies cupboard was running low. Her new phone beeped in her hand. It was a number she didn’t recognise. Opening the text message, she read the words and gripped the handle of the trolley. Would be good idea to meet up. Are you in Bristol any time? David.
She read and reread the message, scouring the fourteen rather formal words for subtext. The fact that he hadn’t used her name was strangely hurtful; there was no Hey Rom! or R. The temptation to call him back immediately, to hear his voice and bombard him with questions about Celeste was strong. Her pulse raced.
She inhaled deeply and focused on her breathing and keeping her head clear. The technique came quite easily to her now. Closing her eyes briefly, she managed to slow her pulse as she pictured herself floating above the clouds, soaring high and looking down on the world. She saw the verdant patchwork of fields below, the hedgerows and flowers, and a large rectangular pond with the sun glinting off its surface, where a woman and her child dipped sticks into the murky green water and laughed and laughed. This helicopter view helped her make decisions, helped her see consequences and look further down the line, rather than reach for the instant gratification that lurked three aisles away and came in stoppered bottles.
She clutched the phone and slowly composed her reply.
*
Romilly sat at the little metal table by the path, enjoying the view of the water tower and the Downs beyond. There was something wonderful about being in a place that was so familiar to her, but there was a lot of sadness too. She pictured herself walking out of the café a dozen years ago, with Celeste gripping her hand, stealing a few licks of the ice cream before passing it to her daughter. She let her gaze wander down the road that led to Stoke Bishop, just a couple of miles away; to the house whose front-door key she’d owned and whose wallpaper she’d chosen.
A cough from behind interrupted her thoughts. Romilly closed her eyes for a second and tried to compose herself. Suddenly, there he was, by her side. The years since she’d last seen him fell away and the flip to her stomach was the same as it had been on the steps of the Wills Memorial Building a couple of decades before.
He had aged, of course, but was still her handsome man. His eyes still crinkled in the same kindly way, his jaw was still chiselled, despite the beginnings of a small pouch under the centre of his chin. The smattering of grey hair that peppered his temples only made him look distinguished. She didn’t recognise the suit he was wearing and that made her heart skip a beat. It was something obvious yet unconsidered by her, that the clothes she always pictured him in, his smart slacks, washed jeans and favourite jersey, would have been replaced by new items, chosen by a person who had supplanted her, clothes that had not felt the touch of her hand.
Smiling a little awkwardly, David bent and grazed her cheek with a formal, fleeting kiss that was more heartbreaking to her than if he hadn’t kissed her at all. As if she were a grandma, a whiskery aunt or an elderly neighbour.
‘Well, this feels a bit strange, doesn’t it?’ he began. She had forgotten the soothing velvety tone to his voice.
He sat in the chair opposite and took in her short hair, weathered face and no doubt the missing teeth. She cupped her right hand over her mouth, inadvertently drawing attention to them.
‘It is strange. You look well, David.’
‘It’s good to see you, Rom. You look a lot better than the last time we sat here.’
All she could really remember about that day, the day she’d decided to leave Bristol for good, was the pull of the bottle in her bag, and the look of revulsion on his face.
‘I am. Thank you.’
The formality was hard to stomach. Who would have believed the two of them had once rolled naked under the sheets, had bathed together in their grotty student bath, and had held hands, crying in unison, as they were delivered of a daughter.
‘How’s Celeste?’ She swallowed, keeping her tears at bay by sounding a little colder than she intended. This was a technique she’d learnt and it was far better than collapsing in front of onlookers, and David.
‘She’s… you know, so grown-up! I expect your mum’s told you about her love of learning. It always makes me think of you, to see her with her face buried in a book, studying some obscure data about a rock or something.’ He sm
iled. ‘She’s hoping to study geography at Southampton University, if she gets the grades. Fingers crossed. She should be fine – you know, the harder you work, the luckier you get!’
She smiled at him, recalling his mantra from the early days of their marriage. ‘University! God, it doesn’t seem possible.’ They looked at each other, both of them thinking about their own uni days, a mere hop from where they now sat, a heartbeat ago.
I miss her so much, it makes my heart hurt…
‘Can I see her? Do you think she’d want to see me?’ Her tone had softened a little and with it her composure slipped a fraction. She sat up straight.
He gave a slow nod and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. ‘She knows I’m seeing you today and she did as she always does, took it all in and will think about it, talk it through and then come up with questions. She’s quite analytical and very level-headed. Mature, really.’
‘She must take after you. Did she get my letter?’
‘Yes.’ He shifted in his seat, coughed and flattened his lapel, ‘yes she did.’
‘I wanted to tell her how I felt and what it’s been like for me.’
He nodded, ‘it did that. She was a little frightened, thought it sounded a bit like a final note…’
She held his eye and smiled, shyly; he had no idea how this was nearly true. ‘So do you think she might want to see me?’
He sat back in his seat. ‘I think the answer is, all in good time, Rom. You know? Let’s not rush her. When she’s ready, she’ll come to you and she knows she won’t meet any resistance from me.’
‘Thank you for that.’ Her voice cracked a little. She was grateful. A different man might have advised their daughter differently.
‘That said, I don’t want her to get hurt.’ He looked at the sky, as if searching for the words. ‘She’s in the middle of her A levels and I don’t want anything to throw her off course.’
Romilly nodded. ‘I do understand. I’m not drinking, David. Haven’t for a few years.’
‘Yes,’ he said, already in receipt of this knowledge. ‘But…’
She took a deep breath. ‘You’re right, it is a “but”. It’s a daily battle, but one that I’m winning and I want to keep on winning.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you.’ He held her eye.
Don’t say you’re proud of me; don’t be too nice to me. I don’t want to cry in front of you, not today.
‘I expect you’re wondering why I wanted us to meet up?’ He coughed again, as he did when he was nervous or tired. ‘The thing is, Rom, as you know, I met someone a while ago…’
No! No! No! Please, David, not this.
‘She’s called Annie and she’s great. You’d like her.’ He looked up, as though he’d just remembered who he was talking to. ‘And the thing is, we’re looking at our future. None of us are getting any younger, are we?’ He gave a small smile. ‘And, well, I do want a divorce, Rom. I mean, we were done a long time ago and I want to move on. I regret sending that letter when you weren’t ready to receive it. I’m sorry. But I think now it’s time we properly moved forward. It’s what I want and I’m sure you do too…’
She knew he was speaking, but the words were muddled in her mind. I used to think that one day I’d be back at that sink, washing out the cups, making us tea, ironing your shirts. I guess I thought I would slip back in, seamlessly and fully repaired, back into my old life, and you and I would laugh at how far we’d come and all the things we’d been through. Your Bug Girl, back in your arms. I can see how odd that must sound, but that’s what I thought. I have thought about your note on so many nights and I concluded in my own muddled way that you must have meant that this woman was ‘incidental’ of no great importance. It got me through many a dark night, lying against a magnolia-painted wall, thinking it was only temporary, just until I was better and I could come home…
‘So what do you think?’ He sighed, clearly relieved to have delivered the words that he had no doubt been practising for some days.
‘I think you’re right, David. I just want you to be happy.’ She tried her best to smile. I guess I knew it was never going to last. I always knew that someone better than me would come along and steal you away.
He nodded.
Her voice, when she found it, had an unmistakeable quiver. ‘I… I would like to see Celeste, but I do understand. I don’t want to push her or scare her or unsettle her in any way. But I really, really would like to see her.’ And then her tears broke their banks, her control was lost and she wept.
*
David’s request swirled through her head as she walked the length of Blackboy Hill and along Whiteladies Road. It was hard for her to imagine him writing messages to another woman, declaring ‘proper love’. She felt diminished. Even during their years of separation, she’d still been his wife, the wife of the beautiful David Arthur Wells. He had picked her! And that had given her some sort of status. But now that was coming to an end. He and his Annie would be a proper couple and Celeste would be part of that and where did that leave her?
Romilly came to a standstill on the pavement and realised that this had already happened. They were a unit, and any piece of paper would be a mere formality. She looked across the street to where the sign for The Vittoria pub creaked in the wind; it seemed to be calling her.
She loitered at the bar, looking from the dark-wood furniture and low-hanging lights to the door through which she’d just walked, wondering whether to leave or stay.
‘Yes, love?’ The young man with the goatee beard leant towards her with his eyebrows raised.
‘A double vodka, please.’ She nodded. Yes, a double vodka.
‘Anything with it?’ He was in a hurry.
‘Orange.’ She averted her eyes guiltily as she searched for her purse.
With the drink in her hand, she made her way to a table in the corner and placed the glass in front of her. Tiny beads of moisture ran down its smooth sides and onto the beer mat. Placing both hands on the cold glass, she tensed her fingers and her jaw, imagining what it might feel like in the next few seconds to place the hard rim against her lip and let the booze flow into her veins. Her stomach hopped and her brain fired shots of ecstasy in anticipation. Her mouth was dry and her hand shook. Raising the glass, she inhaled the scent of the sweet orange and the subtle tang of vodka.
She held it there and closed her eyes. Father Brian’s image came into her head and he was smiling at her. ‘I’ve just provided the tools, but you’ve had to work hard with them and you have and you still are. You are a strong woman.’ She pictured waking with her head next to the bin, the feel of the man’s breath on the nape of her neck. And she thought about her daughter, who was the prize, her reward for staying clean.
Romilly placed the drink back on the table, left the pub and ran. She ran all the way to the Royal West of England Academy, past the Triangle and on to the Wills Memorial building. She panted her way up the steps and stood looking down Park Street. She was smiling and then laughing.
‘I’m winning!’ she shouted at the top of her lungs. Her head was thrown back and her tears fell. ‘I’m winning!’
‘Good for you, love!’ the man in the van hollered back from the line of traffic, just before he pulled away.
I’m going to be okay. I am. I’m going to be okay. She turned her head and for a second she saw the image of a young woman and a young man, students, standing a little way behind her; they were young and happy and her beautiful long red hair cascaded down her back.
Celeste
It wasn’t long after receiving her letter that I first saw her again. If I’m being honest, it was a shock. I won’t say I wouldn’t have recognised her, that’s not strictly true, but I was surprised by how much she’d changed. Her skin was yellowy, quite different from the creamy, English-rose complexion with the lovely blush to her cheeks that I remembered. Her eyes were more sunken, her lips were thinner. She looked… She looked like she’d had a really hard tim
e, which of course she had. Her hair was short – again, quite the opposite of how it was in my imagination. Some of her teeth were missing, and the teeth she did have were dark. I felt sad for this woman who, according to my dad and her sisters, had once shone so brightly. I was sad for her and sad for me.
It was an awkward encounter. She wanted to hug me, I could tell. I did give her a small hug, but it felt a bit forced. She sat too close to me and I kept taking little shift to the right to move further away. She touched my hair and it creeped me out a little. I understood her desire to do that, but it didn’t feel comfortable for me. The conversation was just horrible. How do you catch up? How do you exchange information on so many missing years? There’s too much to cover and it felt like too much of an effort, almost like it was easier not to.
And… this makes me sound like a horrible person, and I don’t mean it to, but Dad and Annie and I were so happy that I almost wished Mum hadn’t come back into my life. It was like it was too late, like she was just rocking a very steady, happy boat.
*
I couldn’t wait to get home and talk to Annie. She was amazing about all that. I started opening up to her about Mum and how I felt, and Annie was her usual lovely self. She encouraged me to try and see things from Mum’s perspective, to be more sympathetic. She was almost like a go-between for a bit. The biggest thing, though, was that she made me realise I didn’t have to choose between them, that it wasn’t a question of having either her or Mum in my life. It was possible to have them both.
Twenty-Two
Romilly trod the path and put the last of her bags into the back of Carrie’s car, slamming the door on the rather bulky load.
‘Promise to call me when you get there. And when you’re settled, your dad and I will be over as soon you give us the nod.’ Her mum fussed in the doorway.
‘I will, Mum.’ She smiled.
‘Flippin’ ’eck, she’s only moving to Bristol, not the other side of the world!’ Carrie tutted.
‘I know. But I’ve got used to having her here.’ Pat was a little tearful. She turned and hollered up the hallway. ‘Lionel, she’s off!’
Another Love Page 26