by Jane Green
“Poor Linda.”
“I know. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.”
“What are you going to do? You’re not going to tell her, are you?” Trish looks horrified.
“God, no!” I reach over and steal a chip from Tom’s paper plate. “But I think I might call her. Just to see how she is. I know this sounds bizarre, but I suddenly feel protective toward her.”
Trish smiles. “I don’t think it’s bizarre at all. I think it’s really nice. And God knows she’d love to hear from you. Wasn’t that the whole problem, that she wanted you to be another daughter?”
I nod. Why does that suddenly feel not so strange after all?
“Linda? It’s Ellie.”
A gasp. Then silence as she recovers her composure. “Hello, Ellie,” she says, in as cold a voice as I have ever heard. “What can I do for you?”
Well, what did I expect? That she’d burst into tears and tell me how much she’s missed me? How grateful she is that I’ve finally extended the branch of peace? Well, yes, actually. I had expected something like that, and it’s a shock to hear how cold and unresponsive she is.
Although this is the woman I’ve refused to speak to for months. Months.
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” I say it quietly, and, as I say it, I feel tears well up in my throat.
“Sorry for what?” Linda says, her voice still icy.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I say, and manage to break down completely. I sit sobbing into the phone, and keep trying to speak but every time I try, I start to cry again, and when I finally manage to regain my composure I don’t even know if she’s still there.
“Linda? Are you still there?”
“Yes, Ellie,” she says, and her voice is soft now. “I’m still here.”
“Can we talk?” I say, even though I hadn’t planned for that. “Can we meet? Maybe for lunch?”
There’s a long silence. I pray that she says yes, that she doesn’t just put the phone down on me, although I don’t deserve any more than that, and she’d be absolutely within her rights to refuse.
“Yes,” she says eventually. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”
29
I don’t know what to do about Lisa,” admits Trish as we wheel the strollers around the park.
“What about her?” I growl.
“We can’t just cut her off,” Trish says. “You can’t just cut her off. I’m also appalled by her behaviour, but she’s a good friend, and you can’t judge her because of this mistake.”
“Mistake?” I stop and look at Trish, aghast. “Mistake? Is that what you call it?”
“Okay, it’s bigger than a mistake, but think of all the good things about Lisa. Think about how good a friend she is to both of us, how amazing you always say she’s been since Dan left. It just feels wrong to blame her. She isn’t that bad a person.”
“Well she’s not that good a person,” I interject sourly.
“I know,” Trish sighs. “I’m just trying not to get too involved, trying not to make a choice.”
“Look.” I stop and turn to face her. “Seriously, I’m not asking you to make a choice. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t want anything more to do with her, and yes, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t mind if you carried on being friends with her, but I also know how childish that would be, so don’t stop talking to her for my sake. The only thing I’d ask is that you don’t tell me about her, because right now I don’t want to hear anything.”
Trish muses for a while as we keep walking. “I’m probably worrying over nothing,” she says finally. “She hasn’t returned my calls anyway. Are you really done with her?”
“Done and dusted,” I say with finality. “As far as I’m concerned, my mother-in-law was right.”
“And what about your father-in-law?” Trish asks. “What do you think will happen there?”
As it happens, I do know what will happen there. I know what will happen because three days after I walked in on Lisa and Michael, he rang. Naturally he rang from the safety of his chambers, clearly uncomfortable, and my voice was cold as I listened to what he had to say.
Even though I said I wasn’t interested, that was a lie.
“I wanted to explain,” he started, clearing his throat.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I said. “I think it was all perfectly clear.”
“Ellie, please. I know you’re having lunch with Linda, and I have to explain, have to ask you not to say anything to Linda. Please.” I could hear the fear in his voice. “Please don’t tell Linda about Lisa.”
“I suppose you’re now going to say something ridiculously clichéd like Lisa doesn’t mean anything to you, or that you’ve been unhappy.”
Michael sighed deeply at the sarcasm in my voice. “Ellie, life doesn’t always go in the direction you expect it to, and sometimes we make mistakes, and sometimes we do things that we’re not proud of, but the only way to learn is to make those mistakes…”
I interrupted him, irritated by his piousness. “Michael, I’m really not interested. I’m happy that you’ve found a way to justify your affair to yourself, but I don’t—”
“I haven’t,” he said firmly.
“You haven’t what?”
“I haven’t found a way to justify it to myself. I just…” He sighed. “I just couldn’t resist her. Oh, God, I really am sorry, Ellie. I’m sorry because I didn’t mean to upset you, or hurt Linda, or get involved. I swear to you I had no intention of having an affair, I was just flattered by her attention, she’s so young, and…”
For a fraction of a second I felt sorry for him.
No. I would not feel sorry for him. But my curiosity was now piqued. I had imagined Michael to be the seducer, the instigator, the one who had led the betrayal. Could I have been that wrong?
“Flattered by her attention? What do you mean?”
Michael, clever man that he is, detected the chink in my armor and leaped in with the whole sorry story.
Lisa was, it seems, the one to initiate the flirting. He wasn’t unhappy with Linda, but hadn’t really been happy either, not for many years. He had been disbelieving at first, when Lisa had made a suggestive comment and held his gaze longer than was necessary, longer than a young, beautiful woman had held his gaze in years.
It had happened in the south of France. Before the accident, clearly. A series of suggestive comments from Lisa, comments that Michael tried to ignore, but he couldn’t help being flattered. My God, how could we have missed all of this? How could Linda have missed all of this—for, as suspicious as she was of Lisa, she never thought Michael would be the target.
He was used to his intellect being flattered, he explained. His skills in the courtroom, his knowledge, his quick mind. But he had not been praised for his looks, or his prowess, himself, for years.
“Was she the first?” I asked at one point. Not that it was any of my business. Not that I was even expecting him to answer.
There was a long pause. “You have to understand,” Michael sighed. “I’ve been married for thirty-five years. It’s a long time.” He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t have to.
Poor Linda.
Lisa had phoned Michael after the accident. Had found his number in chambers from the Internet. Had phoned to say how sorry she was; and was there anything she could do to help; and if he ever wanted to talk, she’d be happy to meet him.
That bitch. Using my son as the means to start an affair with my father-in-law.
For I have no doubt in my mind that this was entirely premeditated. That she had decided Michael was exactly what she was looking for. That she would move mountains, if that was what it would take, to ensure he would somehow have an affair and presumably leave his wife for her.
So. Lunch. An innocent lunch, Michael said, for he did need to talk, Linda being a mess of tears and emotion. I kept quiet at that point; I didn’t need to add anything about how I felt.
And lunch,
he said, led to the inevitable.
“Do you love her?” I asked. I thought I didn’t want to know, claimed I wasn’t interested, but now that I knew, I needed to know more.
“I love the way she makes me feel,” he said softly. “I love that I feel like a young man when I’m with her. But conversely I hate the guilt. For every wonderful moment there’s an equally terrible one. I hate the guilt and I hate myself for having succumbed to such obvious ploys.”
I was silent. There was nothing left to say.
“It’s over with Lisa,” he added. “I love my family. I don’t want to hurt them. This was a terrible mistake, and again, Ellie, I’m sorry.”
“Does Lisa know?”
“I think so. We had a long talk after you left. I’m not sure she believes it, though. But it is. It’s over.”
“I’m not going to say anything to Linda,” I said. “I mean, I wasn’t, even before you phoned.”
“Thank you.” I can hear the relief in his voice. “Thank you, Ellie.”
“That’s okay,” I said, because to have said it was a pleasure would have been a lie.
Trish and I reach the playground, and as we clear the trees I see Lisa, sitting on her own on a bench, talking into her mobile as Amy toddles around the sandpit.
“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing Trish’s arm and pulling her back behind the safety of the trees.
“What?” Trish, as always, is oblivious.
“It’s Lisa. She didn’t see us. I can’t. I just can’t handle it.”
Trish nods. “Come on,” she says, “let’s go back to my place.”
“Oh, God,” I groan, as we scurry away like teenagers. “Do you think we’ll have to move?”
“I hear Muswell Hill’s very nice,” Trish says, and for the first time that day I laugh out loud.
Then I stop laughing abruptly, because not only has Lisa clearly seen us, she’s on her way over.
And there’s nowhere to hide.
“Hi,” she says, walking over and looking at me.
“Hi, Lisa.” Trish smiles brightly, trying to sound as normal as possible. “How are you?”
“Okay,” Lisa shrugs. “Hi, Ellie.”
“Hi, Lisa,” I mutter, managing to meet her eye for a second, then looking away.
“Ellie,” Lisa says, “could we go somewhere and talk?”
“I’ll stay here with the kids,” Trish offers quickly. “Why don’t you two go off for a walk?” I flash her a furious glance, but Trish pretends not to see, and Lisa leads me off down the path.
We walk silently for a while, and then Lisa says quietly, “It’s over, you know.”
“Yes,” I say. “I did know.”
“And there I was, thinking this was different.” She sighs heavily. “Thinking he’d leave his wife for me. Thinking I’d finally found real happiness.”
“Lisa…” I start, about to say that I don’t want to hear about it, or talk about it anymore, but then I see there’s a tear rolling down her cheek. I stop, amazed at seeing Lisa this vulnerable, and suddenly realize that this wasn’t about betraying me. That this was about Lisa falling in love, and now being hurt.
This is not about me at all.
And I find myself reaching out and hugging Lisa, and as I hold her and she cries, she apologizes for hurting me, says she never meant to cause me any pain, and she tells me I’m her best friend, and she’d do anything to make things okay between us again.
She can just about deal with losing Michael, she says, smiling through her tears, but she can’t deal with losing her best friend as well.
I didn’t think I had it in me to forgive her. I thought I would never speak to her again, but I realize she is only human; that we all make mistakes; that I have been judgmental enough with Linda, and that it is not fair to do the same thing to Lisa.
“It’s okay.” I rub her back. “I understand. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for judging you, for not giving you a chance. I’m sorry.” And I really am. “Of course we’re still friends.”
As we pull apart and Lisa smiles at me, I understand there’s only one thing left to do. Now I have to apologize to Linda.
I’ll admit I’m nervous. As nervous, and possibly slightly more nervous, than the first time I ever met Linda—that day Dan brought me over for Sunday lunch, when I thought I had found the perfect man, the perfect family.
I feel as if I’m on a first date, desperate for her approval, which is such a strange feeling, particularly with Linda. I never had to fight for her approval before, not since that first meeting. The fighting came in trying to push her away, trying to keep her at arm’s length, finding a way to incorporate us into her family and her family into ours without letting her consume us.
And I couldn’t do it. Not then. I didn’t know how to let her in, a little at a time, and she didn’t know how to build our relationship slowly but surely. So she came running toward me with arms open wide, and I leaped out of the way and erected a barrier she didn’t have a hope of crossing.
I often wonder whether things would have been different if we hadn’t had the accident. Whether we would have reached this point regardless, whether the tension between Dan’s family and me was so strong that something else would have blown up, something else would have come between us, would have sent me running away.
The last few days I’ve wondered whether I would have softened this much if I hadn’t discovered what I know now, whether I would be sitting here at all if I didn’t now see Linda as a victim, feel sorry for her, want to help her.
And want to be friends with her.
I may not be ready to be her daughter. I may not ever be her daughter, especially since Dan and I are now separated, and right now the situation doesn’t look as if it’s going to change at any point in the foreseeable future. But I’m willing to be her friend.
Or at any rate, I’m willing to try.
I look at my watch. She’s late. Unlike her. Linda is always early for everything. I look over to the doorway and then I see her. I stand and half wave, and my heart pounds nervously.
Oh, relax, for God’s sake. It’s only your mother-in-law.
She looks old. Older than I remembered. She’s wearing just as much makeup as she always did, but I don’t remember those lines being there, or perhaps being quite so pronounced.
She bumps into a chair on her way through to reach our table, and apologizes, and in that instant I know I’ll never see Linda as the omnipotent matriarch of the family again. She’s human, and frail, and vulnerable.
Why didn’t I ever see this side of her before?
She stands in front of me and smiles, and—oh God, when did I turn into such a bloody crybaby?—I feel the lump in my throat and my eyes well up, and then she puts her arms around me and hugs me, and I think that although she may not be my mother, she’s not a bad second, and I am so, so sorry for everything.
And we sit down.
It is the first time I have sensed any coldness from Linda. After the initial hug I had assumed we would fall back into our roles, but she is polite while maintaining her reserve, and it throws me. It is a side of her I have never seen, and I realize that the hug did not mean she had forgiven me, that all was fine and I was once again part of her family.
That hug was only meant to comfort, a Pavlovian response to tears, I realize, and sitting here in this restaurant, toying with a bowl of salad and making small talk, I would do anything, anything to take this cool Linda away and bring back the Linda I used to know, the Linda I thought I hated. The Linda I now understand I have missed.
So I talk about Tom. A surefire way to soften her up. I tell her everything I possibly can about Tom. I know she sees him on weekends, but she doesn’t see him at his Gymboree classes, or with his friends, or hear about all the funny things he comes out with, and so I bombard her with stories about Tom, and I can see it starts to work.
She gradually starts to soften, and, as we sit nursing cappuccinos, I tell her again how sorry I am, and start to
explain why I couldn’t talk to her, why I blamed her, but I stop. There is nothing left to say. I don’t even know myself why I felt so strongly. The anger has disappeared so completely and so thoroughly that it hasn’t even left a shadow, and I know that nothing in the world could justify to her why I refused to see her, or stopped her from being part of our family for so long.
“So how’s Dan?” I say instead, breaking the awkward silence, trying to sound as nonchalant as I can. I wonder whether she might offer anything I don’t know, whether she knows about Lola, knows what Dan is thinking, or feeling, or planning to do about us.
Whether in fact there’s any us to speak of anymore.
Linda stirs sugar into her coffee and we watch as the surface swirls around, and then eventually Linda looks at me.
“He’s as well as can be expected,” she says, looking at me pointedly.
“I miss him,” I say quietly, and I realize that this is the magic key. Not the beloved grandson, but the beloved son.
And she seems to visibly relax before my eyes. An hour and a half after walking into the restaurant, her face finally softens, and I see the real Linda. The Linda I used to know.
“You do?” she says, and I see the hope in her eyes.
I nod. “I really, really miss him. And Tom misses him. And we want him to come home. But I don’t think he wants us anymore.”
“Oh, Ellie. Of course he wants you. He adores you both. I don’t understand any of it. I can’t understand why you’re separated.” She makes a face as she utters the word and I see how much she dislikes this situation, whatever she may have thought of me.
“But I’ve tried to talk to him and he doesn’t say anything, and if he wanted to come home why doesn’t he say so?”
Linda rolls her eyes, and she is truly now the Linda I know, except today it doesn’t irritate me. If anything, I find it endearing. “Oh, Ellie, don’t be so naive,” she clucks. “He may be my son and the most precious thing in the world to me, but he’s also a man. Dan’s never been the best at communication when he’s hurt. He’s always done exactly what he’s doing now. He withdraws, curls up into a ball, and hides away until the pain disappears.”