by Dawn Goodwin
We’re thinking of getting a dog. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
How’s your writing coming along? If you like, you can send me some stories. I’d like to read them. You’ll be a famous writer one day and I’ll be the proudest dad in the world.
Anyway, it’s Easter and I’m sending you some money to get yourself a chocolate egg. I’m sure you still love chocolate, right? If not, get yourself whatever you want.
Keep well, love, and if you want to, send me a letter back. I’d love to hear from you.
Lots of love,
Dad
Each of the letters carried a similar message, little details about his life with Brenda and the cottage they’d apparently bought by the sea, the dog they went on to buy – a Labrador called Brian – and either cash or cheques made out to varying amounts of money stuffed into birthday and Christmas cards. It all added up to a substantial amount. He had been sending me money every month since he’d left.
I felt like I had fallen through a rabbit hole into another dimension where everyone was the same but different. Why hadn’t my mother said anything to me? She certainly hadn’t spent the money, but then hadn’t passed it or the letters and cards on to me either. The money stopped with my eighteenth birthday; the letters stopped five years ago.
I remembered that eighteenth birthday well. I had spent it on my own in a grotty YMCA youth hostel in London, fearing for my safety and worrying about whether I would get the barmaid job I had applied for. I had told my mother I was going out with some new friends I had met, but in actual fact I had hidden in my room and eaten a cheap McDonald’s burger that I warmed up on the radiator. That was the first of many lies I told my mother in the hope that she would think I had made the right decision to move, that she would forgive me for getting pregnant.
Those first few months of living alone in London were a period of time I tried hard not to think about. Grieving for a baby I had never got to know, mourning the loss of a relationship I should’ve escaped from much earlier than I did and trying to survive on my own for the first time. But I had been surviving, despite what Paul thought. I learnt early on which alleys hid the dustbins where the local shops threw their out-of-date sandwiches; I was putting in extra shifts at the restaurant to save every penny I could; my room in the flat was tiny but adequate once you got used to the constant aroma of tikka masala from the restaurant below that coated everything in a thin haze; and I was writing. Short stories, poems, anything I could think of. I would’ve been okay, but a helping hand financially would’ve taken some of the pressure off.
Perhaps if my mother had known I was eating past-their-best sandwiches from dustbins and weeping with joy at finding a tenner in the street, she would’ve told me about the money. Who knows? But I had lied to her so that she wouldn’t worry and she had thought I was doing fine without my dad’s help, was probably proud of that at least. Then Paul had come along and ‘saved’ me – or so he thought. Locked me in an emotional prison, more like.
I ran my fingers over the pile of letters as the truth rolled over me. My dad might’ve left Linda, but he hadn’t left me after all. I’d spent years trying to fill the void and I hadn’t needed to. I could’ve got to know him. My children could’ve known their grandfather.
I wanted to feel rage at my mother for keeping this from me, but I was hollow.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I needed to take control again, stop using the past as an excuse, stop letting everyone else make decisions for me.
I picked up my phone and called Paul’s number.
‘Katherine,’ he answered, but his voice sounded tight. I had expected more warmth, considering.
‘Paul, hi. How are you?’
‘Fine. How was the funeral?’
‘It was difficult, but she would’ve been pleased with it, I think. How are Jack and Lily?’
‘Fine, doing homework in the other room.’
‘I’ll be back on the train tomorrow. I think I should get in around lunchtime.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘We need to talk when I get home.’ The words rushed out of me.
‘You’re right, we do.’ His voice was crisp.
‘Is something wrong?’ Hang on, I was the one at my own mother’s funeral and I was still being made to feel like the naughty kid who was staring detention in the face.
‘You’ve had a delivery.’
‘Oh?’
‘Flowers. From your friend, Sam.’ He added unnecessary emphasis to the word ‘friend’.
‘That was kind of him.’
‘Quite. I have to go. The children need me.’ I knew that was a lie.
‘Okay, I’ll let you know when my train gets in—’
He had cut the call.
Ice inched across my skin. Why was he so angry?
Then the ice turned to fire as I realised that I was still doing it, letting him dictate how I felt, what I did.
Hadn’t I just decided to take control?
I couldn’t do this any more. I felt like every time my feet felt planted and I knew which path I should take, the ground kept shifting beneath me, knocking me off balance. It was time I stood on my own two feet again – without Paul, maybe even without Viola and Sam. If only I hadn’t signed that contract so quickly. Surely if one agent was keen, others might have been too?
I needed to take two big steps away from all of this because it was all getting so twisted in my head and I needed space and clarity, time to accept the mistakes of my past, take stock of my present and decide what shape I wanted my future to have. The idea of standing on my own two feet – just me, Jack and Lily – was terrifying but intoxicatingly liberating too. Could I do it? After all these years of being told that I wasn’t strong enough, it was hard to convince myself that I could, but hadn’t I been raising my two children single-handedly as it was? Sure, Paul provided me with financial security, but now that I had some money of my own and a chance to make something of myself, the idea was not completely ludicrous.
I owed it to myself and to my children to start living my own life for once. Maybe that was the lesson my mother had been trying to teach me all along.
23
After a surprisingly emotional farewell with Norma, I spent the entire train journey home putting plans in place in my head and working out the next steps, rehearsing what I would say to Paul.
If I was honest with myself – and I was trying to be just that as the train hurtled back to London – I would admit that I had used Paul as a convenient invisibility cloak and it had suited me. I had known from the moment I had met him what he was like. Even in the early days of our relationship, he would correct me when I offered an opinion, order off the menu for me, even pick out my outfits or tell me if he thought my choice was too outlandish. But I suppose I had wanted someone to take care of me for a change. After all those years of feeling like I had been abandoned by my father and needing to be able to either cope on my own or take care of my mother depending on what mood she was in, having someone there to make all of my decisions for me and to lift the heavy anvil of responsibility from my back was a relief.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as the train pulled into the station, then took slow, heavy steps towards the house. I needed to be strong so that I wasn’t sucked back under the tidal wave of self-doubt that had engulfed me for so long. I had made one careless mistake over a decade ago and I had done my time. Now I was ready to be released from my guilt. I couldn’t let him hold it over me any longer.
The house was quiet as I pushed open the door and pulled the key from the lock with a rasp. It had a sense of abandonment, as though the air had expelled all the latent energy and was resting.
‘I’m home,’ I called, even though I knew no one was here.
Even Bo was absent.
I wandered into the lounge, which was full of the evidence of my family: discarded shoes; a newspaper tossed on the coffee table; a half-empty glass of water; a school jumper flung nonchalan
tly on the back of the couch.
I had told Paul I would be on the morning train. I was expecting him and the kids to be here, waiting for me. I’d even called him from the station, but he hadn’t answered.
I headed into the kitchen, took stock of the dirty plates in the sink and the takeaway dishes on the counter. So much for keeping an eye on the children’s diet. Cereal bowls were left where they’d been served, the milk souring in the bottom and cereal crusting the sides. I gathered them up and stashed them with the other dishes, then filled the kettle and turned it on, ignoring the thump of anxiety as it settled into the pit of my stomach.
As I listened to the water bubble, my eyes fell on a bouquet of buttery yellow roses wilting on the corner of the table. They’d been left in their cellophane without any water and the petals were desolate and shrivelled at the edges, the leaves looking like they were gasping at the air. The least Paul could’ve done was put them in water.
A card lay next to the bouquet, the words shouting into the silence:
So sorry to hear about your loss. Thinking of you always. Special love, Sam x
I exhaled slowly and picked up the card. The edge of the white paper cut sharply into the skin on my index finger and I hissed, dropping it onto the table. Blood immediately pooled along the cut and a single bead dropped in slow motion onto the card. I brought my finger to my mouth and watched the blood pooling on the stark white background like a macabre teardrop. I wiped the blood drop with my thumb, leaving a smear across the penmanship. The cut began to sting. I grabbed a tissue to wrap around my finger.
Where were they? A lurch of panic rippled through me. Had Paul taken the children and left me? All because of a bunch of flowers? He wouldn’t, would he?
My hands started to shake and I ran to my bag, which I’d dropped in the hallway, scrabbling around in it for my phone. I called his mobile number first, but it went straight to voicemail.
With panic coating my tongue, I then called Helen. It rang a couple of times and I was about to hang up and try Paul again when she answered.
‘Hi Katherine, you okay?’
‘Oh god, Hels, I think he’s taken the kids. There’s no one here and he’s upset about some stupid flowers Sam sent and I think he’s taken them somewhere, but I don’t know where and I can’t get hold of him—’ My voice was like a machine gun firing in all directions, the words clipped as I paced the room.
‘Woah, Katherine, slow down, I can’t make out what you’re saying!’
‘Paul – he’s not here, nor are the kids. Have you seen him?’
‘Oh, yes, he asked me to have the kids and Bo for a bit this morning. He’s gone for a cycle. Are you okay? You don’t sound so good.’
The air escaped from my lungs in a rush. ‘Oh god!’
‘Look, you’ve had a bit of a long week, to say the least, so I’ll come over and bring the kids and we’ll have a chat. Okay?’
‘Yeah, okay. Thanks, Hels.’ I closed my eyes as I hung up the phone, then felt exhaustion pull at my legs. I slumped into the nearest chair, willing the minutes to pass so that I could physically see my children in front of me and believe it was true. The tissue fell from the paper cut and wafted down to the tiled floor and I watched its descent, feeling disconnected.
The tiniest little thing had just threatened to derail me from reality. How could I possibly think I would be okay on my own? My emotions swung like a pendulum on any given day and for most of the last ten years I had been chemically grounded by little white pills. I was indeed my mother’s daughter.
I looked over at the yellow roses again and reached out to touch them, but the papercut left a red smudge on the petals, as through the flowers themselves were bleeding.
Minutes passed and I was starting to feel more composed when the doorbell rang insistently. I fixed a plastic smile on my face.
‘Hi guys,’ I said brightly, feeling immense love as I looked down into their familiar faces. They rushed to embrace me and I breathed them in before they could dart away. Bo bounced up and down, his claws digging into my legs. I fussed over him as Jack unclipped his lead.
Helen then leaned in and gave me a fierce hug. I pushed into her, then straightened up and closed the door behind her. We walked without speaking down the hallway and I made cups of tea before placing them in front of us at the table as the kids bounded upstairs.
‘So how are you holding up?’ Helen asked.
‘I thought I was okay, but the way I overreacted just now…’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Helen waved it off.
‘I just… I told Paul I was going to be on the early train, so I assumed he would be here, but he was so… cold when I spoke to him yesterday and I panicked.’
‘He didn’t say anything when he dropped the kids off. He was his usual uncommunicative self. Did you argue about something?’
‘I think he wasn’t happy about the flowers from Sam.’ I indicated the withered roses at the end of the table.
Helen got up and went to read the card. ‘Well, that doesn’t mean anything. That could just be a good friend being supportive. Yellow roses do symbolise friendship after all.’
‘I don’t think he sees it like that. He’s not very happy with my association with them as it is. He’s like you. He thinks I can’t do it, that my book would fail and I won’t be able to cope.’
‘That’s not what I think,’ she objected.
‘Yes, it is. You said as much the other day.’ I fiddled with the hairband on my wrist, then felt suddenly like it was cutting off the blood to my arm, so I pulled it off and flung it onto the table. Bo jumped up onto my lap and I hugged him to me.
Helen was quiet for a moment, then said in a low voice, ‘Look, I’m sorry, I should’ve been more supportive. I guess I’m jealous.’
‘Of what? My pathetic life?’
‘But you’re not pathetic, are you? You’ve had plenty to deal with and you’re slowly putting yourself back together. You’ve written a book, for god’s sake! I can’t even stick to a diet for more than a few days. Everyone talks about how they could do it, but you’ve actually done it and now someone wants to represent it and you’ve got prospects, somewhere to go with your life. I guess I was jealous because I’m not going anywhere. And I was worried that you’d pull away and leave me behind.’ She sounded close to tears.
‘Hels, that’s not true. I’m not pulling away. I’ve just been busy trying to juggle everything, but I haven’t been fair to you.’ I took her hand in mine. ‘We’ve had each other’s backs for a long time now and that’s not going to change.’
‘You’ll invite me to the film premier then?’
‘Of course, especially since I won’t be able to invite Paul.’ I took a deep breath. She was right. It might’ve taken me a while, but I was getting my shit together and I should be proud of what I had achieved already. ‘I’m leaving him.’
‘Woah, what?’
‘I’ve had time to think and if he’s not on board with me pursuing my dream, then I’ll do it on my own.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, think about what you’re giving up. You have a very comfortable life in a lovely home all paid for by a man who wants to take care of you.’
‘No, he wants to control me, keep me in a box on the shelf, only coming out when something needs cleaning or a meal needs preparing, and it’s stifling. I can’t breathe any more. I’m suffocating.’
‘But—’
We both heard the front door open. Helen jumped to her feet and Bo rushed off my lap.
‘I’ll give you some space, but don’t do anything rash, Katherine. You’ve got a good thing going on here, remember that.’
Paul wheeled his bike into the kitchen, his cycling shoes clacking on the tiles.
‘Paul,’ Helen said as she passed him.
‘Helen. Thanks for watching the children.’
‘No problem, they were angels as usual.’
I heard the door close behind her as she left.
Paul busie
d himself with taking his bike outside to his lock-up shed. I sat unmoving until he returned.
‘Paul, we need to talk.’
‘We do, but I need to shower.’
‘Please.’
He sat opposite and began to remove his cycling shoes and helmet, leaving them all where they lay. I tried not to let my irritation get a rise out of me.
‘Okay, let’s hear what you have to say,’ he said finally, leaning back in his chair, his legs spread and his arms folded. His helmet had left a red mark on his forehead and I concentrated on that.
‘There is nothing going on between Sam and me. He is my mentor and friend. He knew about my mother and he was merely expressing his condolences.’
His eyes were disbelieving. ‘I’m running out of patience, Katherine. I don’t know who you are any more. You’ve lied to me before and I don’t think you’re being straight with me now.’ He got to his feet and walked over to a drawer in the kitchen. With his back to me, he retrieved something, then turned and flung it on the table.
My pills.
‘You didn’t take them to Newcastle with you.’
‘No, I’m not taking them. I told you that.’
‘That will explain your erratic behaviour then. You know what a mess you were before you started taking them.’
‘That was because of what happened! I’m different now. I’ve put it behind me!’ The same old argument. Here we go again.
‘Katherine, I found you passed out on the couch smelling of your own urine the other morning. That’s hardly a sign of a stable adult.’
‘That was a mistake and I admit that I lost control.’
‘I will not talk about this any longer. I’ve made an appointment with Dr Hathaway for next week and if you need some time in hospital again, we can arrange that. I can’t watch you self-destruct any longer.’ He got to his feet and moved to walk away.
‘NO!’
He stopped in his tracks.
‘I am not going back into hospital and I am not going to let you control me any longer.’