How ironic is that, considering all the time I’ve wasted giving in to my OCD? Naive or what? It was easy to have no regrets when nothing major had gone wrong in my life. Then I lost you – my daughter, my firstborn, my flesh and blood – and my world collapsed. How could it not? I carried you inside me for nine months. No parent should ever have to bury their child. It’s unnatural.
There I go again getting all worked up about the past when I said I wouldn’t. Sorry, but it’s hard not to, as it feels like I’m finally able to talk to you, and there’s just so much I want to say.
The point is that my life is very different now from my days as a solicitor in the city. Back then, I used to think that building my career was so important. I’d justify being away from you and Ruby so much by telling myself it was only for the time being. That I’d make it up to you later, once I was established. That I was doing it for our family, to give us a better life. But in truth I was doing it for myself, to prove that I could have a successful career alongside a husband and two children. I put my own wants and needs above those of you and your sister, living to work when I should have been working to live, which was unforgivable. I know that, believe me. I’ve lived with it every day since you left us and I always will.
It’s 10 a.m. In the old days that would have meant I was two or three hours into a shift at the office that might not finish until 8 p.m. In the new world order, I’m sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee, writing to you and looking forward to picking up Ruby after school. I hope she manages with her arm. I spoke to her teacher this morning when I dropped her off and she promised to keep a close eye on her. I spent the journey home from school worrying about how she’d manage and then, as soon as I walked through the front door, I started thinking again about how she fell in the first place. That’s the only problem with having all this time on my hands nowadays and being alone so frequently. It means there are a lot more windows of opportunity for my OCD to strike.
I was on my hands and knees again, checking that the carpet was properly fixed down. Then I noticed it was worn in a few places and decided the safest course of action was to replace it. This would also mean changing the landing carpet, at considerable cost, but nonetheless I found myself taking measurements and browsing carpets online.
I was on the cusp of jumping in the car to go and visit some carpet showrooms when I heard the voice of Rosie, my counsellor, urging me to question what I was doing.
Don’t worry, Sam, I didn’t literally hear her voice in my head. I’m not that far gone. I imagined what she might say to me if she was there. ‘Is this a real problem or is it OCD?’
‘It’s OCD,’ I said to the empty house. I walked to the stairs and stared at the carpet as I told myself: ‘It doesn’t need replacing. Ruby breaking her arm was an accident. You can’t control everything.’
Then I switched off the computer and sat down with my notepad to write this letter. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was to tear myself away, but I was determined and, eventually, the pangs subsided. I think it’s the combination of the physical act of putting pen to paper and the mental process of stringing together my thoughts. Whatever, it helps.
Being in the clutches of an OCD episode must be hard to understand for someone without the condition. Once it has you under its spell, you do things that defy logic, like a junkie chasing a fix to a problem that doesn’t exist; usually in a bid to avoid a larger issue that does. Giving in to the urges it presents only makes things worse. You scratch the itch and it becomes a rash; you scratch the rash and it gets infected, and so on. But it’s so easy to give in. Like I did with the carpet this morning. And look how that snowballed.
I’ll give you another example – and it’s a hard one for me to admit to you, Sam. A few months after you died, I had what I now understand was an OCD episode regarding all the photos of you on display around the house. It was New Year’s Eve and I was home alone for a few hours. We’d just got through our first Christmas without you, which had been incredibly tough.
Left alone with my thoughts, I decided that I’d never be able to come to terms with your death when there were reminders of your life everywhere I looked. So I went around the house, obsessively removing every photo of you. I didn’t destroy them or anything. I could never do that, darling. I just moved them all to your bedroom, so I could look at them when I chose to. Neither Dan nor Ruby was happy with the arrangement, but I was insistent to the point of shouting and screaming, so I got my way.
Eventually, Dan convinced me to let poor Ruby have one photo in her bedroom: a lovely snap of the two of you with your arms around each other. It was taken on that fabulous holiday we had in North Wales. However, I’m embarrassed to admit that it’s still the only exception. I do always carry a photo of you in my purse and I often look at the ones I moved to your room, but I’ve not yet got to the stage when I can put them back around the house. That’ll be a big step for me. And yet I do hope it will happen one day soon. Writing these letters and working with Rosie is all about overcoming such challenges.
I’m definitely making progress. Look how I’ve managed to deal with my nutty notion of replacing the carpet. I’ve just about beaten that now. And yet, frustratingly, I know that another inspection of the stairs is all it would take for me to get back there. Sometimes, to overcome it, you’re supposed to do that: deliberately spark an urge but not respond. Take the pain until it subsides, thereby reducing its impact next time. Maybe I’ll try that after I finish this letter, although the idea scares me.
Now I hope you’re still with me, Sam, as I’ve something significant to tell you about your sister. We had a big discussion last night, you see. It all started because she lost a baby tooth earlier in the day. Not long after I finished my last letter, actually. It was late afternoon and I gave her an apple as a snack. The tooth had been loose for a couple of weeks and eating that piece of fruit was what finally shifted it.
When it came to bedtime, she put it in the special purse she has for leaving her teeth for the tooth fairy. She placed it on the end of the bed before giving me a serious look. ‘Mummy, can I ask you something?’ she said, at which point I realised what was coming and took a deep breath.
‘Yes, of course, darling,’ I replied. ‘What is it?’
‘Um, is the tooth fairy real?’
I felt an inane smile trying to form itself on my lips – embarrassment, I suppose – but I squeezed them together; forced myself to keep a straight face, for her sake.
‘Why do you ask?’ I hedged, in two minds as to what to do. I knew I could keep the magic going a bit longer if I chose to, but eight seemed about the right age to tell her the truth. I was surprised she’d believed for so long in this modern age of scepticism and constantly flowing information. But part of me didn’t want to let go of the innocence that stayed alive within her while she did.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We were talking about it at school and some of my friends said they don’t believe any more.’
‘I see. Well, what do you think?’
As those words came out of my mouth, I knew they could only take the conversation one way. But what the hell, I thought: it’s just the tooth fairy.
Only it wasn’t. Once we’d talked through the ins and outs of what actually happened to her teeth and who left the money, she fired another question at me. ‘What about Father Christmas, Mummy? Is he real?’
I hesitated, realising this had now become a more significant moment.
Do you remember how you found out, Sam? It wasn’t all in one go. I told you about the tooth fairy when you were seven. We’d been to the dentist and he’d made some comment about it being an expensive time for me, because you’d lost several teeth. Later you asked me what he meant, so I had no choice but to explain. But that was that. No further questions. You didn’t stop believing in Father Christmas until a couple of years later. Yes, I’m pretty sure you were nine. I didn’t tell you, did I? It was your father. I remember coming in from a lat
e night at work and hearing about it. You’d watched some Christmas movie together, hadn’t you? Something had sparked the question and Dan told you the truth, making you swear not to spoil it for your sister. I don’t think you got too upset. You’d guessed as much already.
Ruby wasn’t so well prepared.
‘What do you think?’ was my eventual response to her question. Instead of replying, she covered her face with one of her teddy bears.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, I asked her if she was all right. She nodded but I could see the tears swelling in the corners of her eyes. I did consider backing down and sustaining the illusion in this case, but it felt dishonest. They say children don’t ask until they’re ready for the truth, so although my heart felt like bursting, I held firm and left the direction of the conversation in her hands. There was more uncomfortable silence, but eventually she spoke again. ‘He’s not real either, is he?’
‘No, darling, he isn’t.’
‘So who brings the presents? And who drinks the sherry and eats the mince pie that we leave by the fireplace?’
‘Your father and I do,’ I said, looking away from her to hide the tears flowing down my own face.
When I’d composed myself enough to turn to her again, she looked embarrassed. Her eyes seemed to be saying: ‘What an idiot I am. What a silly little kid.’
That was probably the most heartbreaking thing of all. I took her into my arms and gave her a huge hug.
‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked. She nodded, but her eyes were still red and I could see fresh tears waiting in the wings.
‘It’s a bit disappointing, isn’t it?’ I added, scrabbling to say something meaningful and failing miserably. ‘But it doesn’t mean you can’t still enjoy Christmas. Everyone believes as a child, but you get to a certain age and start to wonder. You ask questions and then, well, you have a conversation like the one we’re having now. I had the same conversation with my mummy too.’
‘Did Sam know?’
I nodded. ‘She agreed to keep quiet, so as not to spoil it for you. But she believed when she was younger, of course. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Finding out is part of growing up. You’re getting to be a big girl now and I’m very proud of you.’
She didn’t want to talk about it after that. I think she needed time to process the—
Sorry about that. I had to get the phone. Normally I’d have let it go to voicemail, as you get so many of those annoying call centres ringing up, but I was worried it might be Ruby’s school. In fact it was Dan.
‘How’s the wounded soldier?’ he asked. ‘Has she gone to school?’
‘Yes. I spoke to her teacher when I dropped her off. She’s going to watch over her. Hopefully she’ll be fine.’
It wasn’t the first time we’d spoken – or seen each other – since having that awful row last week. He’d phoned up and popped in a couple of times in the interim, but Ruby being around meant we’d hardly had to talk to each other. We’d been civil for her sake, but there was definite tension. This time there was no way of avoiding the subject.
After an awkward gap in the conversation, Dan spoke. ‘I, um, I know you’re not a fan of apologies, which is why I’ve not said anything already. But I feel like I have to because, well, it’s awkward between us now, isn’t it?’
I said nothing, waiting for him to continue. ‘The thing is, Maria, I am sorry for what I said. I don’t know why I got so worked up.’
‘Which part are you sorry for: calling me twisted or asking for a divorce?’
I heard him sigh. Or he could have been exhaling a lungful of smoke. I pictured him outside having a cigarette break. He’s like a chimney nowadays. I wish he wouldn’t do it, for Ruby’s sake if not his own, but there’s no telling him.
I was tempted to tell him to shove his apology, but I stayed quiet instead. What he said had hurt me, but I know from personal experience that you don’t always mean what comes out in anger.
‘I’m sorry for it all, Maria,’ he went on. ‘The whole rant. I was tired after work and then the long wait at the hospital. I didn’t mean it.’ He paused, his voice softening. ‘You know I never wanted us to split up in the first place.’
‘You sounded pretty happy with the arrangement the other night.’
Dan sighed – or exhaled – again. ‘I’m a million miles from happy, Maria. That’s probably why I said what I did, because I’m so frustrated. I miss being with my family. I miss living in my home. I want things to be like they used to be. I know that’s impossible without Sam, but maybe we could get part of the way there. I think the three of us could still be happy together.’
‘Stop. This is too much. I can’t handle it, Dan. A few days ago you were pushing for a divorce.’
‘I never really wanted a divorce, Maria! I was just trying to get a rise out of you. I don’t know what else to say.’
I didn’t either. My feelings were all over the place. They still are. So instead I told him about last night’s conversation with Ruby, which was enough of a revelation to divert his attention.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Our little girl’s growing up. How did it go?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The conversation. Was it all right?’
‘Of course. Why not?’
‘So what did you tell her?’
‘The truth. What do you think?’
I’m not sure why I was so offhand with him. I suppose I was still feeling sore about the last row. I also had the feeling he was about to accuse me of not doing it properly. The problem is I’m so used to arguing with Dan these days, I slip into rows by default. I see quarrels where there are none.
‘That’s very informative, Maria,’ he replied. ‘Thanks for sharing. I was only trying to make sure we’re both singing from the same hymn sheet. I don’t want her to hear something from me that doesn’t tally with what you’ve said.’
He hung up before I had a chance to say anything else, leaving me feeling bad. I do still love your dad, Sam. But things have got so complicated. At times I still think there might be a chance for us. Then we fall out. It’s always one step forward, two steps back.
Part of me wants us to be able to fix things – for Ruby’s sake, especially – although they say you shouldn’t do it for that reason alone. A bad marriage can be worse for a child than a split, apparently. Another part of me wants to call it a day; to move on. Hence the attraction to Rick and the allure of something new.
Speaking of Rick, he texted me earlier. He asked if I fancied having lunch with him one day this week, just the two of us. He even ended the message with a kiss. He’s asking me on a date, right? What else could it be? Somehow, despite the whole gravy and red wine incident, he’s still interested. I was going to say yes, but after speaking to Dan I’m not sure. I know we’re not together, but I’ve suddenly got the feeling I’d be betraying him if I went. I’m going to have to give it some thought. If only you could write back. It would be amazing to know your opinion.
Love as always,
M
Xx
CHAPTER 16
BEFORE
Sunday, 25 December 2016
Dan’s alarm sounded. He thumped it off and stared, blurry-eyed, at the red LED lines telling him it was 8 a.m.
It took him a moment to remember where he was. Not the spare room. No, the master bedroom in his fantastic new apartment. Otherwise known as the room he slept in at his crappy new flat in the suburbs. Him and his two ‘flatmates’: damp and depressing.
What on earth had he been thinking when he agreed to rent this place? That it was cheap and in a location that suited him. Not much else. If he’d been able to jump forward in time to this awful moment – waking up here, alone on Christmas morning – would he have still signed the rental agreement? Probably, if he was honest. That was actually one of the things that had appealed most about the flat: the fact it only tied him in for three months. He still hoped he wouldn’t need any longer than that.
How was this fair: him going out to work five days a week, supporting the family, but having to live here? It wasn’t. He stared up at the ceiling, at the unsightly cracks meandering across the white paint. If he wanted a chance of getting back with Maria, what choice did he have?
She’d pushed him further and further away since Sam’s death and this was where he’d ended up. He feared she blamed him for what had happened to Sam. He blamed himself, so why not? That would at least explain why she’d grown so cold towards him. It was more than that, though. More even than the horrific, never-ending grief he’d felt since that horrendous day.
It was like something had broken within his wife’s mind. As if she could no longer function properly. She did her best to hide it, but he’d seen the way she would repeat things over and over again when she thought no-one was watching, as though it was some kind of weird ritual. On the few occasions when he’d interrupted her or tried to help in some way, her response had been one of ferocious denial, pushing him yet further away.
The first time he’d tried to talk to her about it, he’d ended up banished to the spare room, never to return. They’d explained this to Ruby by saying that his snoring had been keeping Maria awake, but Dan suspected that Ruby knew it was more significant than that.
He hadn’t dared say anything more for a long time afterwards, hoping it was part of his wife’s grieving process and that she would gradually improve. But of course she didn’t. Eventually, after skirting around the issue for far too long, he’d tried again to broach the matter. He’d suggested, as tactfully as he could, that she might want to seek help. He’d even been on the Internet and found her the name of a local counsellor.
If Ever I Fall Page 13