by Hilary Boyd
‘That must have been scary,’ Jack said, after a moment during which they both stared awkwardly at each other.
Arthur shrieked and ran to her, clinging to her pyjama’d legs. She picked him up and kissed him all over his face and head until he pushed her away in protest.
‘I can’t tell you how scary,’ she replied to Jack. ‘Stupid, that was so bloody stupid. I feel like a complete idiot. And Arthur—’
‘You don’t need to explain.’ He took their grandson from her. ‘Come on, let’s go and make Bibi a nice strong cup of coffee. She looks as if she could do with one.’
Stella and Jack, sitting out on the stone terrace with a large cafetière between them and a pile of buttered toast, were laughing. Not just polite laughter, but a breathless, uncontrollable cracking up that neither of them even tried to stop, although nobody had said anything particularly funny. But her relief at being rescued, at Arthur being safe once more, made her weak and floppy and prone to that rare, bubbling hilarity you can share with only a few people. And Jack was finding the situation thoroughly amusing.
‘You’d probably have squeezed through,’ he said. They both looked up at the bathroom window, getting their breath.
‘How kind. But then what?’
His grin, as he considered her question, was characteristically cheeky. Jack, she thought, had not aged badly, despite her previous assessment. She could see why Lisa had fallen for him. He was not classically good-looking, there was more of a craggy, Harrison Ford thing going on, his nose a bit crooked from a football accident in his teens, jaw strong, inquisitive blue eyes and a smile that instantly charmed – he had a lived-in face that drew the eye. Her eye, at least, she remembered, all those years ago, when she’d sat next to him on the plane to Dundee. She was going up to Scotland to direct an outside broadcast for the BBC at the home of the famous Arbroath smokies – smoked haddocks – while Jack was on a mission to interview the incumbent Solicitor General at his home, north of Dundee. He hadn’t drawn breath for the hour and a half duration of the flight, and by the time they had reached Dundee, Stella was hooked.
‘You could have swung from the sill,’ he was saying now, face deadpan, ‘got your foot on that down pipe …’
‘Possibly. Or climbed up, leapt for that telegraph pole over there and somersaulted to the ground. I can see the headlines.’
‘Mad old gran found clinging to oast-house roof in her pyjamas,’ Jack supplied. ‘Said she couldn’t find the bathroom door.’
‘Now I know why you’re considered such a brilliant journalist!’ she teased.
‘More of a superhero, I’d say.’
‘Take a shoulder to the door and you’re a superhero?’ Stella placed a hand on his arm. ‘Actually, you are, Jack. Imagine the humiliation of being rescued by a fireman? Having the police ask questions about my competency to look after my grandson?’
They both looked across at Arthur, who had seemingly forgotten the whole drama and was sitting on his haunches watching a snail on the path with total fascination.
‘They wouldn’t do that.’
‘They might. Dementia’s hot right now.’
She smiled, but then her expression fell. ‘Things like this morning make me feel a bit incapable, Jack. In an old sort of way.’
He looked puzzled. ‘Come on. It’s not your fault you got locked in the bathroom.’
‘I suppose not.’
He gazed at her for a second. ‘You’re perhaps a bit more …’ he paused, ‘sensitive about that sort of thing.’
There was a soft silence as neither looked at the other. Keen to divert him, Stella asked, ‘So … where’s Lisa?’
‘At the cottage. In fact, I should call her, let her know everything’s fine.’
But Jack didn’t move, didn’t reach in his pocket for his phone.
‘I was going to ask you …’ He stopped, fiddled with the handle of his mug, running his finger up and down the white china curve. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘Never mind.’
‘What?’
He shook his head again, stretched his long arms over his head and emitted a groan. ‘No, nothing. You’ve made your position perfectly clear. I don’t want you to get cross again.’
Stella was surprised to note that she did not feel even the tiniest bit cross with the man on the other side of the garden table. Which was probably a first, certainly in the last twenty years. But she was too weak, too grateful to protest. She didn’t want to listen, but she said, nonetheless, ‘Tell me.’
Jack hesitated and bit his lip. ‘OK. Hear me out before you say anything.’ He glanced at her, but she did not reply, so he went on, ‘I thought, since it will be the thirtieth anniversary of Jonny’s birthday on the twenty-second, and since we haven’t commemorated him, not properly, not … Anyway, I thought we ought to do something. Not “ought”. I thought I, at least, would like to do something.’
Stella’s heart was fluttering uncomfortably. Mixed emotions surged through her and she didn’t know what to make of them. There was annoyance that she was being made to focus on Jonny again; panic at the threat of the inevitable heartache; puzzlement about what Jack had in mind; disbelief that this would have been Jonny’s thirtieth; and also something else, something she hadn’t felt before.
It was as if her willpower to press the painful memories to the bottom of her consciousness was gradually weakening – perhaps brought on by Jack’s persistence. Or maybe the melt had begun with Arthur pushing through her defences as a tiny baby – she never tried to stop him as he tore at her heart and required her, unquestioningly, to love him.
Whatever the catalyst, Stella realized now that she was tired of the fight. She had buried her agony at first because she didn’t know what else to do; because she was too cowardly to look it in the face. That hadn’t changed. Repression had not worked, however. Over the years, she’d sensed her feelings slowly dying, like exposed flesh attacked by frostbite, until she found herself frightened to get close to anyone – Iain; her dear friend, Rosie; even Eve – just in case they inadvertently touched the point of pain. She knew it made her detached, reserved, hard to reach. But it was safer in the zone that she controlled. Safer, but not better – not by a long chalk.
As she sat silently, listening to Jack speak, the thawing of her feelings seemed almost more excruciating than the original pain, if that were possible.
‘What do you want to do?’ she asked, her voice trembling. I can walk away, she thought as she waited for him to reply.
Jack shrugged, ‘Well, we could have a sort of family thing.’ He didn’t sound certain. ‘Or … I don’t know, we could go somewhere …’ She saw him gulp. ‘Stella, you still have his ashes.’
She looked down. The ashes. The bamboo box, wrapped in Jonny’s blanket.
‘Could we, I mean … if we could find a place …’
Her phone, which she would never let out of her sight ever again as long as she lived, began to ring. Eve.
‘Hi, sweetheart.’
‘They say I can go home,’ her daughter said, voice brimming with relief.
‘Oh, that’s great.’ The relief she heard in Eve’s voice was matched by her own at being rescued from Jack’s tentative appeal. ‘We’re on our way. See you in about half an hour.’
She looked at Jack. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Seems like it. I’m sure she’ll ring you later.’ Stella got up. ‘Arthur! We’re going to pick up Mummy now.’
The boy leapt to his feet with a whoop and came running towards them. ‘Going to see Mumma!’ He tugged Jack’s hand. ‘You come too, Grandad.’
‘Uh, no, sweetheart. You go with Bibi and maybe we’ll see you tomorrow?’ He looked at Stella. ‘Lunch maybe? We could go to the pub.’
She nodded, wanting to say something, wanting to give Jack an answer of sorts. But she didn’t have the words.
‘I suppose I’d better be off too. Lisa will be wondering.’
/> He reached out and briefly touched her bare arm. His touch sent soft shivers down her spine. ‘Think about it, will you?’
And Stella found herself nodding again.
21
July 1990
Stella
She has no idea how she came to be here. The place is unfamiliar; the dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows makes it hard to identify her surroundings. There must be some mistake. Then she sees it. Achingly small, a pale-wood coffin resting on wooden trestles, a spray of white lilies lying along its length. Who chose lilies? she wonders. She’s always hated their acrid heaviness.
She smooths a finger lightly along the coffin’s polished lid. It’s cool to her touch. Too cool. The mournful notes of the Albinoni adagio, although serene on the air, are threatening to pull her down where she does not want to be. All just a dream, she tells herself firmly.
She can feel her blue cotton dress, damp with sweat, sticking to her skin. It isn’t even hot today, but there is no air in the chapel, no air at all. She’s not sure she can breathe for much longer. She must go, get out, get away from the stares she can feel boring into her back. What are they staring at? She is not – cannot – be here.
But his hand rests firm and strong around her own, keeping her in place, preventing her from leaving. And she knows that if she lets go, she will fall. But she resents him in that moment. Resents him for bringing her here, resents him for making her get out of bed this morning … resents him for being the person on whom she has to lean.
As the notes die away and she feels his large hand in her back, turning her gently towards the door, she looks around, searching, searching. But she cannot see his dear little face anywhere.
Jack
As they leave the chapel, he thinks he might just collapse there and then on the well-manicured lawn outside the crematorium. Just curl up into a ball by the border of pink, white and red flowers and stop thinking, stop feeling, stop … just stop. He has held on thus far, steeling himself to survive till they are on the other side of today. But he knows he can’t keep going.
Patsy has been amazing. She is the one who talked to the undertakers, chose the coffin, organized the cars, the flowers and picked out the box for the ashes. He, as far as he is able, has made himself responsible for Stella. But he cannot get through to her. She seems locked somewhere so far away from him that he has no access now the initial eruption of tears have been shed, the feelings silenced. He feels almost jealous of her ability to zone out. And a little hurt. He needs her right now. Needs her more than he has ever needed anyone in his life. She clings to him, but she is not there.
There is still disbelief. Utter bewilderment. His mind keeps refusing to process the sheer impossibility of never seeing his son again. It’s as if he’s caught in a lacuna, suspended above reality. Time can change things, surely? Go back, try again and get it right so that Jonny is still warm and breathing in his arms. The emptiness he feels is beyond tears.
22
‘Was he OK?’ Eve asked as they began their journey home from the hospital. Arthur was zonked out in his car seat, head lolling uncomfortably to one side.
‘He was an angel. Wide awake when we got back, but then he slept till nearly eight.’ Stella paused as she negotiated a roundabout. ‘So what did they say?’
‘Just the same old, same old. Don’t have sex – as if! Don’t lift anything. Don’t be alone. Rest, rest, rest. Like I didn’t hear them the first ten times.’
‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Given you were worried it would be so much worse?’ Stella asked, picking up on her daughter’s frustration.
‘No, Mum, it’s not “good”.’ Eve spoke sharply. ‘Good would be the placenta moving out of the way.’
The responsibility of it all suddenly hit Stella and she found herself saying, ‘Don’t you think you should tell Eric now?’ He should be here, she thought.
‘No!’ Eve said. ‘He’ll be home in five weeks, anyway.’
‘Yes, but you said it can be a nightmare getting out of the place. Supposing he’s delayed because of bad weather. Shouldn’t you warn him and let him make the decision? It’s not as if he hasn’t had months to do his thing there.’ She paused, nervous of further distressing Eve but wanting to take this opportunity, sharpened by the night in hospital, to drive home her point. ‘He’s going to be incredibly upset if something happens and he’s not here.’
‘Oh, well, thanks a lot, Mum. Thanks for making me feel even worse than I already do.’
Stella sighed inwardly, held her peace. She just didn’t understand her daughter’s reluctance to tell Eric about the placenta praevia. Stella liked her son-in-law, admired his dedication, but she felt Eve was way too reverential about Eric’s work. And why hadn’t he cut his trip short anyway, knowing Eve was almost in the last trimester of pregnancy and coping with a lively toddler? Climate change might be important, she chided an absent Eric, but save your family before the planet, Dr McArdle.
Stella opened a can of tomato soup and turned the grill on for some cheese on toast. Comfort food, she decided, was the best way to soothe her crabby daughter. Arthur, waking up to the welcome sight of his mother, had been temporarily overjoyed, jumping around her like an excited puppy. But his mood had quickly turned niggly as he clung to Eve, wanting to get on to her lap as soon as she sat down and refusing to get off. He was clearly upset with her for leaving him, but her daughter was in no mood to placate him.
‘Come on, Arthur, Bibi’s made lunch. Be a good boy and sit in your chair now.’ But the boy was having none of it and began to cry. ‘Arthur! You can’t eat lunch on my lap.’ She took him to his chair again, but the screams got louder, Arthur throwing himself on to the floor, face bright red, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Stella went and picked him up, tried to give him a cuddle, but he fought her too. ‘Want Mummaaaaa!’ he yelled, twisting out of his grandmother’s arms.
By the time the two women had calmed Arthur down and he was sitting forlornly, his breath coming in staccato sobs, on Stella’s knee – thumb in mouth, refusing to eat a thing – both Stella and Eve were frazzled, enervated from lack of sleep and tension. They ate lunch in silence, Arthur finally accepting a finger of cheese on toast from his grandmother’s plate.
‘Bibi did get shut in the bathroom, Mumma.’ Arthur suddenly came to life.
‘Did she, sweetheart?’ Eve smiled absent-mindedly at her son, but clearly wasn’t listening, her eyes glazed with tiredness.
‘And Grandad came and bashed the door down and Bibi did come out, didn’t you, Bibi?’ He grinned up at Stella with satisfaction.
‘Grandad?’ Arthur finally had his mother’s attention. She frowned, looked at Stella. ‘Dad was here? When?’
‘Umm, yeah. I didn’t know what else to do. The door handle just went round and round. It was jammed tight at the top, I couldn’t get any purchase.’ She waited for Eve to laugh, but she was staring at her, clearly puzzled.
‘Why did you lock the door?’
‘I didn’t. The window was open and a gust of wind sent it crashing shut.’
‘I got Bibi’s phone, Mumma. I pushed it under the door,’ Arthur piped up, looking very pleased with himself.
‘Bibi’s phone?’ Tired as she was, Eve was obviously struggling to understand. ‘Wait a minute. Explain from the top, Mum. You and Arthur were trapped in the bathroom …’
‘No, I was trapped. Arthur was outside. That was the problem.’
Eve’s eyes widened. ‘Arthur was on his own in the house?’ She took a deep breath. ‘Oh my God. That could have been so dangerous.’ She stared at Stella. ‘You mean he was loose, wandering about?’
Stella nodded. ‘Your father was brilliant. He came round straightaway and put his shoulder to the door, didn’t he, Arthur?’
‘So why didn’t you tell me?’ There was an edge to Eve’s voice.
‘I didn’t want to worry you when you were in hospital and couldn’t do anything about it.’
‘I don’t mean then, Mum. We’ve been back for hours. If Arthur hadn’t said anything, would you have told me?’
‘Of course I would. It’s just we’re all so tired …’
Eve got up and paced over to the sink, where she turned and leaned her bottom against the draining board, arms crossed. Talking almost to herself, she said, ‘Anything could have happened. He could have wandered out on to the road. He could’ve fallen on the stairs or pulled something off the side in the kitchen … Like … like a knife. Or a boiling kettle.’ She turned to face Stella, her face set.
‘Believe me, I was well aware of the dangers.’
‘But you sent him to look for your phone? He could have gone anywhere.’
‘What choice did I have? There’d be no point shouting for help, unless the postman or somebody came by. And I didn’t know how long it would take for you to raise the alarm.’
Her daughter scowled at the floor.
‘I didn’t do this on purpose, Evie.’
‘I knew I shouldn’t have gone to the stupid hospital,’ Eve said.
‘What do you mean? Are you saying you don’t trust me with Arthur?’
Eve wouldn’t look at her. She just shrugged, her eyebrows raised for a moment, mouth working.
Arthur had slid down off Stella’s lap and gone to lean against his mother’s yellow cotton skirt. He knew something was up and was staring at his grandmother, a solemn expression on his face.
‘That’s not fair, Evie,’ she protested. ‘The latch was broken.’
‘You really can’t take your eyes off Arthur, Mum. You know how vulnerable a small child is. They move so fast at this age and they don’t have any clue about the dangers out there.’
Stella felt as if Eve had slapped her, even though she knew her daughter was overreacting. Agonizing self-blame, as sharp today as it was that summer Sunday, pierced her guts. It still made her gasp for breath. If only. If only. If only she had not taken her eyes off her own three-year-old boy.