by Penny Parkes
‘What was I supposed to do with them?’ she asked, standing up from the sofa and walking through to the kitchen. She was grateful that Hattie’s visit had given her a much-needed boost of energy and resolve.
‘I thought you’d call me,’ he said, hardly sounding like himself at all. ‘I honestly thought you’d call me and yell at me and tell me I was making a huge mistake. That they needed their dad in their lives. They’re my boys, Holly. You let me walk away, and now—’
She flinched against the barrage of his words, his uncharacteristic anxiety making her feel all the more in control. ‘I didn’t let you do anything, Milo. You created this situation and I’m truly sorry if you don’t like the consequences, but—’
‘I can’t believe you signed them,’ he said again.
Holly checked that the twins were still engrossed in their movie and slipped into the laundry room. How ironic, she thought, to have returned to the very scene of so many of their disagreements. ‘Stop saying that. Just stop. It makes you sound disingenuous or, possibly ignorant, and if there’s one thing you’re not it’s ignorant, Milo. So come on, let’s start how we mean to go on.’ Her tone was deliberately measured and open, and Holly found that the longer she spoke, the more her confidence was growing, the anger morphing into quiet resolve. ‘The boys are happy here, Milo, and I presume you’re happy with this film deal thing you’ve got going on?’
‘You know about that?’ He sounded genuinely surprised. ‘And you signed anyway?’
‘I know about that,’ she answered simply. ‘And no, I don’t want your money. I do want my kids to be happy though, and now we’re actually talking, we could discuss how we’re going to do this.’
‘It’s already done. Apparently,’ Milo replied, his tone laden with resentment.
Holly slowly exhaled, forcing herself to breathe. It was all very well spending hours thinking about how she would like to handle their future interactions, to talk of leading not following, but their twisted dynamic had been set in stone for so long, Holly felt genuinely unnerved by the task ahead of her. It was no small ask, but it was yet another thing that had been eating away at her dawn hours all week at Ben’s bedside.
This was no time to be passive. This was no time to let Milo dictate the terms of their un-married relationship, the way he had domineered her as his wife. Even taking into account his discombobulating and mercurial mood swings, it was never going to be easy to rewrite the very tenets of their relationship – she knew that. But here and now, she actually had an opportunity to give it a try and she was damned if she was going to pass that up.
She slipped up onto the worktop and let her legs swing down. ‘It’s true. That was the end of our marriage, but it was also the beginning of the rest of our lives, our boys’ lives. And assuming there’s still a part of you that can look beyond what you need and see that they have needs too, I’ll do what I can to keep a relationship going between you. Not custody. I think we both know that’s not the answer, but – well, something, at least.’ The relief from saying it aloud was almost tangible. It was the right thing to do; the bitter after-taste from signing those papers gone in a moment.
‘I love them,’ he said simply in reply.
‘I know you do, in your own way,’ Holly said unbowed. ‘But you need to show them that too . . . Thinking it, thinking about them? Assuming they know? It just isn’t enough, Milo.’
‘But I try—’ he made to interrupt, but Holly was having none of it.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, you don’t. Not really. For God’s sake, Milo, you offered up their custody as a negotiating tool. Your go-to instinct was to give them up to save yourself some money! So, let’s at least be sensible here. You have burned an awful lot of bridges and it’s great that you’ve picked up the phone, but this? This is where the effort part has to kick in.’
There was silence at the end of the phone and Holly began to wonder whether he’d hung up halfway through her impassioned speech.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said eventually, quietly. ‘Do you remember, Holly, how it used to be between us? It was good, wasn’t it? When they were babies and we used to sit up with them at night and plan their futures together?’
‘I remember,’ she said softly, braced for a wave of hurt and anger. And then stopped.
Nothing. She felt nothing for him, except possibly pity. Maybe there really was only so far that he could push her, before whatever tangible bond that remained had simply frayed away and given out. The sense of freedom was almost palpable and it made the next step somehow easier.
However lousy a husband Milo had been, and however she felt about him, Holly still firmly believed that he would regret not being the father he had always claimed he wanted to be. She owed it to her boys to at least keep this door unlocked – not gaping open with two-way toxic traffic – but even the notion of possibility was so powerful to a child . . . She didn’t believe it was fair to deny them that.
‘Look, Milo. This doesn’t have to be difficult. I know you have a whole new life over there, but if you want your children to know you love them, that you value them, then you have to tell them that with everything you do – they don’t have to be your number one priority, but they have to be up there somewhere north of your job or your car.’
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I do. It’s just—’ His voice had taken on a slightly petulant quality and Holly allowed her expectations to settle somewhere around basement level. There was only so much that she could do, after all, before ultimately the relationship he had with his sons would be the one he deserved.
‘Think about it,’ she suggested. ‘I’m not going to force this. But if you want to talk to them, to Skype, to come over and visit them even, the door is open.’ For a brief moment, she pressed one hand to her chest, where it suddenly felt as though a bubble of acid were eroding at her hard-won determination and resilience. The very idea of inviting him over might be madness, but she had to try, even if only to salve her own conscience. ‘Don’t make me a fool, Milo – it may be over between us – but don’t make me a fool for having believed in you in the first place,’ she said tightly.
‘You don’t like me very much, do you?’ he said after a moment’s hesitation.
‘I don’t have to like you, Milo, that’s the beauty of divorce, but you are father to our beautiful boys – we just have to work out where to go from here.’
‘I miss you, Holly,’ he said, his despondency now almost audible down the phone line. ‘When I heard about Ben, it was all I could do not to jump on the next plane to be with you.’ The switch back to intimacy was too much, felt too contrived and invasive, as though he were still trying to manipulate her and Holly felt her hackles rise. She’d gone out on a limb for this man, with this offer, and still she felt as though he was trying to control her.
‘What exactly do you want from me?’ said Holly.
‘I want you to like me again,’ he whispered.
‘And I just can’t give you that,’ she said, sharing her moment of clarity with brutal honesty. She paused as the thought occurred to her, ‘Maybe we could work towards respect, but you are going to have to earn it.’
‘I’m trying, Holly. Please believe me – I just – you seem so different, I don’t know what you need.’
‘What the boys need,’ she corrected him firmly. ‘I’m good, actually.’
And for the first time in a long time, she meant it.
Chapter 44
Julia slipped the Unicef letter from its envelope again. It had become something of a ritual. As she scanned the words, the telephone call that had followed replayed in her mind. It was so beguiling, to be courted like this – not for her looks or her figure, but for what she personally could bring to the table. For her own particular experiences and how they had shaped her view of the world.
In a way, it was the kind of courtship that Julia had always secretly dreamed of. She could acknowledge now, that as a perfectionist with validation issues, it had be
en all too easy in the past to be influenced by other people’s opinions of her and how they ‘saw’ her. It was becoming increasingly clear though, that superficial motivations led to superficial relationships. Was it actually okay to wish for more?
For the first time in months, Julia felt the hairs at the back of her neck prickle with new possibilities, as she ran her thumb over the embossed Unicef logo for the umpteenth time, the sensation of the raised circles speaking to her on an almost visceral level. It was as though Julia’s subconscious had a mind of its own – so to speak.
She had become so adept at pushing her instincts aside, it had become second nature to apply logic over emotion. Take away the logic and she was lost.
Could she really dare to take such a huge step and choose her own personal fulfilment over all the commitments and responsibilities that currently filled her time? Even if that meant facing the inevitable criticism of selfishness head on?
She paused then to consider the source of that little gem. Was it actually selfish at all, or just the echoes of her mother’s voice over the years, every time Julia made a decision that didn’t suit Candace’s personal agenda?
Julia closed her eyes and tried to imagine a future for herself, where doing ‘the right thing’ meant putting herself first – blatantly and unapologetically, without caring what it looked like to the world. How long had ‘the right thing’ meant appeasing other people’s needs, not her own, she wondered.
It made her head spin just to consider the logistics of what she was actually considering. Dan, The Practice, her mother, Quentin . . . The list of responsibilities went on, and she could recognise that, whatever the outcome, there would be a pall of guilt overshadowing this decision.
Perhaps she simply didn’t have the emotional software that Holly did, she thought, as she slipped the letter neatly away. Popping in to visit last night had been a huge mistake. Watching her friend and colleague willingly putting every aspect of her life on hold to care for her son had been an unwelcome demonstration of selfless dedication.
And if she were honest with herself for just a moment, Julia knew that wasn’t something she herself could realistically do without resenting every moment. Maybe she really was just wired differently, she thought, unable to connect on an intimate level but so totally engaged by the prospect of a broader circle of influence.
Watching Holly and Taffy dealing so adeptly with the twins had felt like reaching for a word or a name that remained stubbornly out of reach. She knew what she was supposed to be experiencing at a time like this – the emotions had names and descriptions; they just didn’t correlate with anything she was currently feeling.
Tucked away in her favourite corner of the doctors’ lounge, Julia sipped at her vibrant purple smoothie, and tried not to be annoyed when Alice Walker sat down beside her to chat.
Alice looked awkwardly around the room. ‘I know this is probably going to sound incredibly callous, but do you have any idea when Holly might be back at work?’
Julia shrugged, deftly sliding the letter into her handbag. ‘Indefinite leave was mentioned.’
Alice nodded, her neck flushed and red. ‘So, it could be ages? I mean, obviously we all hope Ben makes a full and speedy recovery, but in all likelihood . . . ?’
‘Ages,’ nodded Julia, intrigued to see the normally kindhearted Alice having what appeared to be her first moral dilemma. Julia didn’t want to feel secretly pleased at this apparent weakness in Alice’s otherwise flawless personality, but she couldn’t deny it was oddly satisfying.
Alice sat back in the armchair and sighed. ‘Holly was helping me with Coco, you see. The trainer – Jamie – you might have seen him? Well, he seems to be running out of options and Holly mentioned that she’d had a few thoughts . . .’ She ground to a halt and looked embarrassed. ‘You probably think I’m a heartless witch for thinking about Coco, when Ben’s been so poorly.’
Julia shook her head, thrown by the echoes of her own internal struggle. ‘Coco is your priority; Ben is Holly’s. I don’t think there’s a right or wrong to it. We all have our own issues to deal with.’
‘Do you really mean it?’ asked Alice, a hint of insecurity making her all the more likeable in Julia’s eyes.
‘I do. But then anyone around here will tell you that I have my priorities all wrong – I’d be the person putting work first every time. All that deathbed malarkey – I’d be the person thanking my lucky stars that all my patient notes and tax returns were up to date.’ Julia managed a strangled laugh. Clearly the stress had got to her more than she had realised over the last few days.
Alice laughed too, a little uncomfortably. ‘I so need to get Coco back on track, it’s colouring my judgement of everything. Thank God we’re crazy busy here covering shifts or I’d be going quite mad. It’s almost a relief to have something else to think about . . .’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean it quite like that!’
Julia smiled and stood up. ‘I don’t mind how you meant it, Alice. Honestly. We’re all just doing the best we can.’
As she walked through to her consulting rooms, Julia replayed that sentence in her head. There was that dis-connect again, that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Was she, in all honesty, doing the best she could? Being the best she could be? Julia opened the file for her clinic and ran her eyes down the list of patients awaiting her attention, the thought that she was trying to bend herself around like a pretzel to fit into somebody else’s idea of ‘the best she could be’ wedged firmly in the back of her mind.
Clearly, going to that AA meeting with her mother had had more of an impact than she realised. That bloody Serenity Prayer was still whistling around inside her head like a wasp in a jar. Accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can . . . And the wisdom to know the difference. ‘Well if I knew that, I wouldn’t have an issue, now would I?’ she muttered, wondering when and how she might actually find some clarity herself.
After a morning of filtering her thoughts, being compassionate, and generally finding it hard to muster the enthusiasm for yet another asthmatic who forgot to take their inhaler, an athlete who refused to rest an injury and an obese gentleman who had come in with pizza sauce still dribbled on his chin, Julia felt she could do with a little serenity about now.
Her wish was clearly not about to be granted, she thought, as Quentin bundled into her office as if he owned the place. ‘Morning, Gorgeous. Where were you last night?’
Julia felt that trickle of unease again – the one she’d been dodging for the last few days. She had known deep down that her relationship with Dan was on the rocks and, with the benefit of hindsight, there were easier, less cowardly ways for her to have ended things. She wasn’t even sure what had persuaded her into Quentin’s bed, other than a longing to feel desirable and in control when it felt like the whole world was against her.
He stroked her hair back from her eyes and she did her best not to flinch away. Dan had known how uncomfortable she was with any public display of affection and yet here was Quentin, throwing away his hipster cool just because they’d slept together.
‘Don’t do those Bambi eyes on me, Angel . . .’ he leaned in and kissed her slowly, the trickle of unease fast becoming a tsunami as his beard scratched at her skin. Where had he picked up his bedroom lingo anyway – was ’70s porn the go-to setting for the hipster generation?
She pushed her chair back suddenly. ‘Not here, Quinn.’
He frowned. ‘It’s a little bit late to start playing hard to get, Princess. One little letter from Unicef does not make you the next Mother Teresa, you know.’
She tried not to rise, to replay the lovely sentiments expressed in the letter in her head instead, blocking out Quentin, who was busy making dismissive jokes about how rubbish she would be when it came to helping children, since she didn’t especially appear to like them very much.
Julia didn’t even bother to tell him to stop; he clearly thought this whole invitation was hi
larious.
Why bother correcting Quentin in his assumption that she didn’t like children very much? Everyone around here had jumped to pretty much the same conclusion. How were they to know that the apple-cheeked, bright-eyed children in Larkford made her intensely uncomfortable simply because their lives were so damned easy? In all her time at The Practice, the only children she’d felt anything for had been the sorry, bedraggled ones from the Pickwick Estate – a place that brought the meaning of ‘sinkhole’ to entirely new depths.
‘Come on,’ said Quentin, narked that he hadn’t been able to provoke a reaction, ‘let’s photocopy that and stick it on the noticeboard for a laugh. After all, it’s not as though you’re going to accept it, is it? We could even tweet about it! Hashtag fail. I mean – can you imagine?’ He stopped then and stared at her, unnerved by her absolute composure. ‘You’re not seriously considering this are you?’
Julia said nothing, just looked at the man in front of her, almost as though he were a stranger. How had this man inveigled his way into being one of her responsibilities, when all she was to him was a punchline?
‘It’s an amazing opportunity,’ said Julia quietly.
‘It’s an amazing cock-up, is what it is,’ he said, even as the laughter slowly dried in his voice. ‘You do know you’d be utterly out of your depth with this? You’d have to get your pretty little hands dirty for a start.’
She couldn’t blame him for thinking that. After all, wasn’t that exactly the persona she had chosen to embody? If she’d been dishonest in how she portrayed herself, was it really fair to hold him accountable?
This sudden epiphany that getting her hands dirty might be exactly what she needed wasn’t Quentin’s fault. Having spent her entire adult life sanitising every aspect of her world, from her bathtub to her relationships to her work, the idea of a peck of dirt was suddenly incredibly appealing. And maybe in the dirt, she thought, there might even be room for a little spontaneity and growth. Sterile, after all, had more than one meaning.