by kendra Smith
Izzy looked up at her and started to fiddle with the end of her plait. ‘Can Pickle sleep in my bed tonight?’
As she left Izzy’s room with the promise of a puppy to be by her side tonight, Izzy was visibly happier. Jake was just bounding up the stairs two at a time when she passed him.
‘Pickle did a poo! Classic. I helped Grandad cover it up with kitchen roll! It’s still there in a pile. He was using air freshener to spray all over it! Don’t look at me like that, Mum, I found the lavender one, the one you like,’ he said proudly and then raced up the rest of the stairs.
She wished she could remember more about her kids. And as for her marriage – where to start? She glanced at a picture on the wall – it was taken when they were on holiday in Morocco before she got pregnant – they were trying to get pregnant, she recalled, smiling to herself. She remembered that holiday, how she’d look over at him across the dimly lit table and think he’s gorgeous, or at times we’re married, that sense of belonging. The silly look he’d give her when he tucked a napkin into his shirt, the way he could find his way round all the backstreets whereas she would get lost just turning out of her hotel. Where was that feeling now? It was miles away, buried under years of hurt, it looked like. She gripped the handrail. There was a bark from downstairs. ‘Vicky, love?’ her dad called out.
She sighed. It was time to deal with lavender-scented dog mess.
Victoria was on her hands and knees on the floor in the hall, next to the lounge door, spraying sanitizer on the floor and inwardly rolling her eyes about potty training pups. Pickle was by the door, nudging it open. Victoria put the pup on her lap and he let her tickle his tummy. She kissed the top of his head. Just as she was about to put him down she heard her name. The door to the lounge was ajar and she could hear voices, urgent whispering.
‘I don’t know what to do Dad, she doesn’t remember anything!’ It was Lulu.
‘How bad did it get?’
‘There wasn’t one kind of “bang”, it was more a slow fizzle. I mean, after the miscarriage things got bad. She was on anti-depressants for a while, poor thing. And she and James, I don’t know, they just somehow grew apart. She turned her attention on herself, on things she could control; they both just lost sight of what they had, I suppose. They were both hurting. But she can’t remember. She thinks it’s all sweetness and light now. But it’s not.’
‘I can see that.’ Her dad’s voice gentle, the sound of a log falling inside the fire.
Miscarriage? The word hit her like a thunderbolt. The pink ribbon, the dull ache. It all started to make sense now. A family of five. She used to hold the secret to herself, she remembered now. Another baby after several years of trying. The twins had been so easy then – nothing. She held Pickle close as tears seemed to come from nowhere along with flashes of half-formed memories: the blood one morning on her sheets, the pain in her stomach, the hospital with James, him crying? She heard the fire crackle and pop, she stroked Pickle’s head.
‘When she got pregnant, I think they both thought that would be a fresh start – I mean there was nothing really wrong, just, you know, life. But then when she lost the baby – well.’
There it was again: the miscarriage. How much damage had it done to her, between her and James? How much pain was pent up and had been vented elsewhere? She leant against the wall as Pickle licked her face.
‘What have the doctors said?’ Her dad’s worried whisper.
‘That she’ll regain some memory but not all of it. It’s weird because she can drive, set the alarm but doesn’t remember stuff like where the kids went to school, her wedding day, the big stuff. Yet she does remember the twins being born, their seventh birthday party; it’s kind of pot luck, her memory, that is.’
‘I’m sure most of it will come back, but it’s hard for her. James seems very wary. But you know, Lu, she seems, well, I don’t know how to say this, but I feel I’ve got my old Vicky back. My girl.’
There was a silence. Victoria’s heart was thudding. ‘I know what you mean,’ Lulu said, and she heard the clink of a teaspoon on a saucer.
Victoria held her breath.
‘I know she was upset about the miscarriage, I know there was pain there, but she sort of “switched off” from the kids for a bit.’ She heard Lulu sigh, ‘It’s like she’s wound the clock back – but the others haven’t. Everybody needs to remember what’s gone on. Do you think they’ll split up? It would be such a shame.’
She heard her dad cough. ‘I hope not. I’ll speak to James. But really, Lu, it’s up to the two of them to piece these things together and work it out for themselves.’
24 Lulu
‘Oh, sorry.’ James is standing by my chair with a cup of tea. ‘I didn’t know you were in here.’
I smile. ‘I must have nodded off – quite a feat with Dad snoring over there.’ We both glance at Eric who is making harrumphing noises every second breath. Pickle is by his feet, next to the fire.
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I can make you some more tea?’ He glances at our pot on the small table, it must be cold now.
‘That would be lovely.’ I feel drowsy, it’s probably all the wine and it’s so nice to sit in companionable silence with Dad. When James comes back with a steaming cup of tea, I stare out the window to the pretty borders in the garden, little splodges of vivid pink amid the green bushes.
James clears his throat. ‘You must be excited about the wedding?’
A pang of guilt overwhelms me because people keep asking that. ‘Yes,’ I beam at him, because, really, I don’t want James to feel awkward. My ring glistens in the dim light of the lounge and we both sit in silence for a while, the only noise the soothing crackle of the fire. A log tumbles in the grate, and James reaches over to reposition it and throws another one on.
I decide to dive straight in.
‘How are you and Vicky?’
He jerks his head up to me and as he looks at me, there’s a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there at lunch. ‘Well, it’s complicated.’
I nod. ‘I’m sure it is. Her memory is like playing Russian Roulette. One minute she remembers an event, and then next, when I speak to her, she hasn’t a clue what I’m talking about.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Must make it hard for you two to discuss the future, you know, and what’s going to happen?’ My voice rises at the end – I’m wondering if he’ll talk to me about it.
He sighs. ‘Well, nothing’s certain, she’s – well, she’s different.’
‘You mean like she was before you two drifted apart? Good different?’ I hold my breath.
He stares at me and I’m not sure if he’s going to get up and walk away. ‘Yes and no. It’s like I’ve got a stranger – well, an old friend – back, actually. It’s a bit unnerving.’ He leans forward and puts his head in his hands and looks up at me. ‘It’s so confusing to be honest, Lulu. I, we, well let’s just say there’s a lot of water under the bridge and I don’t know if we can go back to how we were – I know she thinks we can.’ There’s a long pause and Pickle flips on to the other side by Dad’s feet. ‘But I’m not so sure.’
I take a sip of tea and wait for a moment before I speak. ‘You should have seen her at the hospital, James. When I told her you were getting divorced – it was like wounding a baby seal. She just stared at me, like I’d said the most terrible thing.’
James stares out of the window, the only sound between us is Dad’s light snoring.
‘We just lost our way,’ James says eventually.
There’s a rustle of paper and the newspaper falls off Dad’s lap and he startles, then the snoring resumes.
‘But I do feel sorry for her, even if I don’t show it.’
I sit up. ‘She doesn’t want your pity, James, she needs – I don’t know, her marriage back.’
‘Easier said than done, Lulu, after everything that’s gone on. I know she needs our support right now, I realis
e that, but sometimes I just think a clean break would be better. Before the accident, well – I lost the Vicky I married, let’s put it that way.’
‘And have you not got her back, son?’ It’s Dad; he’s awake. James glances over to him.
‘Well, I have in one way, Eric, but—’ he rubs his temples. ‘I’m just so confused.’
‘I can see she’s changed, back to my old Vicky.’ Dad coughs. ‘Listen, I need you to take what I’m about to say in the right spirit, son.’ He picks up the paper and folds it in his lap.
‘What’s that?’ James lets out a long breath.
‘It takes two to give up on a marriage. Just ask yourself if it’s what you really want.’
James doesn’t say anything for a while. Instead, he gets up and crosses the room to the fire. There, he kneels on the floor, picks up a nearby poker and starts to prod the glowing logs.
‘She’d always wanted a big family, James – she used to say she could tell you’d be a good dad, you know, before you two got married, and she was right.’ Dad pauses. ‘But not being able to have any more kids, that would have hurt her.’
‘I know,’ James says quietly, standing up and going back to his seat. ‘It hurt me too,’ he says sitting down and running a hand through his hair.
Dad sighs and turns to me. ‘I’d give anything, anything to have Maggie back, you know.’ I can hear my dad’s voice catch.
‘I know, Dad.’
‘Don’t make the mistake I made, you two.’
James tilts his head to one side and looks from Dad to the fire, then he looks down at his lap.
‘To assume you’ve got forever. Life’s short. If there’s one thing that Maggie passing has taught me, it’s that. You never really know what’s ahead of you. Imagine if Vicky hadn’t walked away from that accident?’
‘Dad!’
‘It’s true, Lulu.’
I shiver because I just don’t want to think about it. ‘I think this calls for more tea,’ I say, standing up and stretching, glad to leave the room.
25 Victoria
‘I think this one is lovely.’
They were back at My Little Wedding Dress shop and Marjory was fussing over Lulu at the back of the shop – handing her a tiara, which Lulu dutifully placed on top of her bouncy curls. ‘The final touches,’ as Marjory had said. With the wedding only a week away, Marjory was brimming with excitement.
Victoria was sitting on one of the gilt-edged chairs at the side of the room. Miscarriage? Her mind kept flashing back to that word. But she didn’t want to spoil Lulu’s day. It was her job as big sister to be brave. She took a deep breath, pushed the feelings down and studied Lulu who was beaming at Marjory and the shop assistant. And then, when they weren’t looking, she glanced at Victoria and rolled her eyes. She’d always been a great actress, Victoria smiled to herself. She was looking, well, like Lulu, but not quite ‘the radiant bride’ in her ripped denim jacket over a skater skirt with cowboy boots. Her slim legs were encased in purple fishnet tights. Simon seemed like a really nice bloke. But that was the problem. Victoria stood up and went over to a rail of dresses, felt the soft fabric between her fingers then turned around and looked at the cubicle door. Lulu had never gone for nice blokes. She’d gone for the edgier ones. The bad boys, Lulu used to say, with a smirk as Mum and Dad would ask where she was off to, and she’d come back, hours later, smelling of cigarette smoke and cheap cider, telling Victoria about the ‘gig’, who’d signed an autograph for her. Once, Victoria remembered, her and Lulu were in stitches in the family bathroom desperately trying to remove indelible pen from Lulu’s cleavage where a band member had signed his name. Lulu kept hiccupping, Mum will kill me! Then bursting into laughter. But maybe things had changed, too, with Lulu – the last six years were a mystery to her, after all.
‘What do you think?’ Lulu was standing just outside the changing room in a beautiful flowing veil with her hands on her hips. She looked demure, she did look bridal finally.
‘It’s very nice.’
‘Hmm, that’s the problem,’ she peered into the mirror. ‘I’m not really striving for nice.’ She cocked her head to one side.
‘Well, gorgeous, then,’ said Victoria fussing with the veil. ‘What will you do with your hair?’
‘That wedding hair try-out I had was a disaster!’ Lulu sighed, fiddling with her veil, ‘Markie could barely talk to me, he was pissing himself so much!’
‘Markie? Why does it matter what he thinks?’
Lulu stopped tugging at her veil and looked in the mirror at her. Victoria caught a flicker of something in her face. Then she turned around, and stuck her tongue out at her. ‘Nice’ she mimicked in the mirror and they both started laughing.
‘What’s the joke, girls?’ Marjory waddled up to them, looking between the two of them as the assistant bustled over and started to fiddle with the hairgrip on the veil. Suddenly Lulu said, ‘Hold on, I’ve got an idea – let’s see what it looks like on you.’ She whipped the veil off and placed it on Victoria’s head.
The assistant was pulling the veil this way and that and for a fleeting moment Victoria felt bridal. A flutter of nerves rippled over her. Imagine getting married again? To James? To start all over. It would be enough to just hold James’s hand, quite frankly.
Marjory stood back. ‘Oh my word, it does look amazing on you, Victoria, with your beautiful mahogany hair. What was your veil like when you got married, sweetie? I bet it was stunning. Right, I’m going to look at the shoes. Join me in a minute, will you, Lulu darling?’ And she toddled out of the room with a swish of the curtains.
That was just the problem, thought Victoria, staring in the mirror. When she searched for a wedding memory, it was like hauling out pictures from a water-damaged photo album: they were just there, but fuzzy. She stared at her reflection, the veil, the way it hid her face, and had a flash of memory – a cathedral? She remembered James winking at her, a glimpse of his grin, something about the wind, the sweet smell of honeysuckle. She should look for a video, a DVD. Jog her memory. Try on her veil – see if it unearthed something. She pushed the veil back and rubbed her forehead. Marjory was out of earshot, looking at shoes in a glass case by the window. ‘Lulu, what happened? I mean what really happened between me and James?’
Lulu’s cheeks flushed. ‘We don’t actually know, sweetheart.’
‘I think I might have been having an affair!’ whispered Victoria, glad of the veil to cover her burning cheeks.
‘What?’
‘I found some messages on my phone, Lulu, actual messages.’ Victoria spluttered.
‘From who?’
‘I don’t know, that’s the problem!’ Victoria hissed, then glanced at Marjory who turned round. Victoria waved at her, then leant in to Lulu again. ‘I think they’re from someone called Andy. Do I know any Andys?’
‘Ah, here’s another one.’ The assistant came up behind Lulu and placed another, shorter veil on her head. ‘I think this is the one.’ She held onto Lulu’s shoulders and beamed at her, then walked briskly off.
‘And Lulu,’ Victoria couldn’t help it. She had to understand, ‘did I have a miscarriage?’
Her sister stared silently at her from behind her veil. She couldn’t make out her expression hidden beneath the netting. Then she started to nod slowly as Victoria tried to ignore the nauseous snake winding its way around her stomach.
Lulu reached out and took both her hands in hers. ‘Talk to James, Vicky,’ she squeezed her hands tight. ‘You two need to talk, to talk through the pain.’
26 Victoria
So many emotions filtered through Victoria’s mind on the way home from the wedding shop; she knew that box under her bed held many memories, good and painful. She pulled on her handbrake and parked the car by the garage. Perhaps another trip down memory lane would jog some memories.
She bolted upstairs and nearly tripped over Pickle at the top of the stairs. He was wagging his tail, barking at her, with one of Izzy’s bras in his
mouth. She scooped him up and tried to rescue the tangled bit of white lace from his jaw. ‘Hello, Mr Fluff!’ She cuddled him and tickled him under his chin, then he scampered off.
‘Dad!’ she called to her father, wondering where he was.
‘What is it, love?’ His voice came out of the spare room.
‘Dad, we can’t have him upstairs! He’s pulling things out of Izzy’s drawers!’
‘Sorry, pet,’ he said, shuffling out the doorway, his hair standing on end, and glanced at Izzy’s room. ‘Or from her floor!’ He grinned at Victoria. ‘I was just lying down for a little nap and he crawled up beside me.’ Pickle was now by her feet; she bent down and tickled him under the chin. When she stood up, she followed her dad’s eyes.
He was looking over to her bedroom. ‘And is that James’s bed in there too – or there?’ He nodded to the box room, the one with the single bed, the one you slept in only if you really had no other choice, where all the suitcases were kept under the bed, and children’s school folders were piled up, destined for sorting out; he’d moved in there when her dad had arrived. Her heart sunk. Her dad wasn’t stupid after all.
‘You noticed.’
‘You need to sort it out, Vicky, love.’
‘I know.’
‘Why don’t you talk to him? There’s a lot that went on, some of it you don’t remember, I know, but try to talk.’
‘I’m trying.’ As she said it, her heart sunk. Suddenly Pickle charged down the stairs.
‘I’ll go after him, Vicky. Why don’t you go lie down, pet, you look a bit peaky? I’ll get someone to bring you up some tea.’
Peaky. People kept saying that. She remembered what the consultant had said. Tired. Fatigue. But she couldn’t give up. She needed to find a way of not just re-energising herself, but connecting with James. To keep loving him until there was enough love around for him to believe her, to fill up his heart and hers too, so that he felt whole and could trust her again. Only, it would help if she knew what she had actually done.