Out of Love

by Hazel Hayes

  ‘So,’ I say, ‘how far along are you?’ and the sweetest little smile creeps across her face. She looks at Darren and he just nods, exasperated.

  ‘Four months!’ she exclaims and I squeal. I actually squeal. I never thought I would react this way, but here I am, squealing. Maya squeals back. Darren just sits there with a big goofy grin, trying to shush us.

  I leap out of my chair and hug Maya and Darren at the same time, practically sitting in their laps and planting kisses all over both of their faces while Maya giggles like an idiot. I’m gushing about what wonderful parents they both will be when I notice the bushy-eyebrow brigade are staring at us again. This time I don’t care. I want to stand up on my chair and announce to the room that my friends have created life!

  ‘This is insane,’ I say, unable to properly articulate my thoughts on the matter. In trying to grasp the magnitude of it, I feel that rubber band around my mind again, expanding and snapping back each time I come close to comprehension.

  ‘It is a bit,’ says Maya.

  ‘We’re making a human,’ adds Darren.

  ‘You’re making a human!’ I echo, beaming at Maya. ‘At this very moment you are growing a tiny body inside of you and one day it will come out and be a person who walks around and says things and eats cereal and watches TV and falls in love and makes more humans and—’

  I stop myself before I say ‘dies’ but that’s what I’m thinking about. Suddenly that’s all I can think about: how the only thing that’s certain in life is death. This baby might never watch TV or fall in love, I think, but it will definitely die. It might not even make it out of the womb alive. And instantly I hate myself for having such a horrible thought. I wonder how any parent can bear it – the inevitability, the futility – and suddenly I feel the same resentment I felt for my grandmother’s waxy, smiling corpse, only this time it’s not for any one person or thing, but the universe, the grand scheme, the whole, flawed fucking set-up. Existence is the cruellest joke of all.

  ‘That’s generally how it works,’ says Darren, bringing me back, but I can’t remember what I was saying.

  ‘How what works?’ I ask.

  ‘You know, the circle of life and all that,’ he says, with an easy smile, which morphs into something sinister the longer I stare at it. The quiet chatter in the room seems to increase in volume, each voice flattened and hollow and indistinguishable from the next. There’s something unreal about the texture of things; the table, the chairs, the walls – they could all be cardboard.

  Maya leans over, places a hand on my knee and asks if I’m all right.

  ‘I’m great,’ I lie, looking around for Theo.

  ‘Do either of you know where Theo went?’

  They both just shrug.

  ‘I want to tell him the good news,’ I say, desperate to get away from this situation before I spoil the moment for them.

  ‘How was he when you spoke earlier?’ Maya asks Darren.

  ‘Good,’ he says. ‘Definitely better than the other day.’

  I’m just about to walk away when this stops me in my tracks.

  ‘Oh? When did you see him?’ I ask as casually as possible.

  ‘We went to a club in Hackney on Friday,’ says Darren, grinning. ‘Got absolutely smashed.’

  ‘Cool,’ I say. ‘I’m just going to see where he’s got to.’

  I feel like a spring slowly coiling as I slip, seething, through the crowd. I ask Eugenie if she’s seen Theo and she points towards a door at the back of the pub. Jocelyn is nearby, loudly prattling on about something or other. I march towards the door, my panic slowly replaced by anger as my imagination flies into action, painting a picture of the past few days. He said he needed to be with family. He said that’s why he hadn’t called. But he wasn’t at home, quietly mourning the death of his grandmother, he was out getting drunk with Darren while I googled last-minute flights to Paris.

  What else had he lied about? Did he actually need more time? Or was he just dragging things out, trying to prolong my suffering?

  By the time I reach the door, I have concocted an entirely new narrative of the past two weeks, wherein Theo went from one all-night bender to the next with a callous disregard for my feelings and no intention of ever speaking to me again. He only brought me here today to keep up the pretence, I decide, because he’s too afraid to tell his mother she was right about me all along. Tomorrow, he’ll go back to his swish Parisian bachelor pad and I’ll go back to our shitty apartment with only the mice for company. Bollox, I think, I was supposed to ring the pest-control guy.

  I burst through the door ready for a fight and I find Theo sitting alone on a step outside. He looks up when he hears me, making no attempt to hide the fact that he’s been crying, then he turns away again and continues staring out into the night. It’s dark out here; muddy pools of light spill from the pub’s beer-brown windows, providing no real illumination. The only sound is the breeze.

  I stand for a moment, unsure what to do with all this unused energy, then I sit next to Theo on the step. He rests his head on my shoulder and sobs. A few minutes pass and I begin to feel the anger drain from me, like water down a plughole. After ten minutes or so, Theo stands, holding his hand out to me. I take it and we go back inside together.

  *

  The second we walk through the door I notice a change in the room; that sense of a party winding down. The already thin crowd has grown even thinner and the staff have started to clear away glasses and reset the tables for the night ahead.

  ‘There you are, Theodore!’ yells Jocelyn, and everybody turns to look at us. She’s propped up at the bar by herself with a glass of whisky in front of her.

  ‘Where’d you go?’ she slurs at Theo as we approach, and I feel his fingers tighten around my hand.

  ‘Just needed some fresh air,’ he answers.

  She looks at him with a face that says, Suit yourself, like the very notion of fresh air is preposterous to her.

  ‘What are you drinking?’ Jocelyn asks us and when Theo shakes his head, she looks at me expectantly.

  ‘None for me, thanks,’ I say.

  ‘But you’re Irish!’

  ‘Mum!’ says Theo, then looks at me apologetically.

  ‘What?’ says Jocelyn, aggrievedly. ‘She is!’

  A moment passes.

  ‘So, how’s the writing going?’ asks Jocelyn, with such a derisive tone that she might as well be enquiring after the well-being of my pet unicorn.

  ‘It’s going well,’ I say.

  ‘She’s a really good writer,’ Theo chimes in. ‘You should read one of her stories sometime.’

  ‘No thanks, Theodore. I’m not interested in all that.’

  ‘What? Reading?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ she says, ‘stories.’ And again this comes out like she’s referring to some kind of mythical creature.

  ‘Well, they’re not for everyone,’ I say. ‘Now, who’d like a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’d love one,’ says Theo, turning to Jocelyn. ‘Cup of tea, Mum?’

  She drains her whisky and shakes the empty glass at the barman, who seems disinclined to pour her another. He looks at Theo, unsure what to do. Just then I spot Maya and Darren in my periphery, heading towards the door. I tell Theo I’ll be back in a second and rush over to say goodbye.

  ‘Sorry,’ says Maya. ‘We’ve got to get back.’

  ‘No problem at all,’ I say, hugging her and Darren and telling them how grateful I am that they came.

  ‘I hope I didn’t put my foot in it earlier,’ says Darren.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say, waving it off.

  ‘Did you not know they went out the other night?’ Maya asks.

  ‘I didn’t know he was back in the country, Maya.’

  Her eyes widen at this, and Darren shuffles about like an awkward schoolboy. Suddenly we hear Jocelyn raising her voice at the barman and we all look at one another in silent understanding that I’d better go and help Theo.

  ‘Call
me tomorrow,’ says Maya, pulling me in for another hug and squeezing extra tight this time. I tell her I will and congratulate them again as Darren ushers her out of the door. I feel awful for the thoughts I had earlier. I hope that I at least gave the appropriate outward reaction to their good news, but I don’t have time to dwell on that now.

  It takes over an hour to prise Jocelyn away from the bar, by which point the pub has all but emptied out; Eugenie is still there, along with her two brothers, and a couple of regulars who are settling into their usual seats in the corner. The barman caved when Jocelyn shouted at him, and reluctantly poured her another drink. I ask him how many she’s had today and he just shrugs and says, ‘A lot.’ Eugenie makes one final attempt to convince Jocelyn to go to bed, but Jocelyn sluggishly insists ‘we’re all having a nice time’ and so Eugenie hands me the key to Jocelyn’s room and leaves. Magnus and Halbert, seemingly exasperated by Jocelyn’s antics, quickly follow suit.

  Theo never grows impatient with his mother – who by now is propping her own head up with one arm while continuing to spew gibberish at us – he just sits and waits and occasionally asks if she’s ready to go yet. He keeps conversation to a minimum, and responds to her questions in monosyllabic sentences. No matter what she says, or how hard she tries to get a rise out of him, he gives nothing in return, no hint of how it makes him feel. I recognise this behaviour – the conversational equivalent of playing dead – I’ve used these tactics myself in the past and it saddens me now to see how proficient Theo is in them; it takes a lot of practice to learn how not to provoke the bear. Watching Theo with his mother, I wonder if on some level I was drawn to him because his wounds look so similar to mine.

  Finally Theo’s efforts pay off and, with no booze or banter to be got from us, Jocelyn gives up and lurches off her stool towards the door. We follow her as she staggers, one hand on the wall, all the way to the B&B. I run ahead and open the door to Jocelyn’s room, then I wait for Theo to get her up the stairs. He’s practically carrying her by the time she gets to the top, and he has to drag her the remaining few feet into the room as she slips in and out of consciousness. He deposits her on the floor then takes off his coat and paces about the room for a while. Jocelyn just lies there, insensate in her fur coat, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks like a dog on a hot day.

  Theo finally stops pacing. He has refused my help until now, but with no other way to get his mother’s body from the floor to the bed, he gives me a nod and together we lift her up. I remove what I can of her makeup with a damp facecloth and help get her under the duvet, then Theo says he’s going to check her suitcase for pyjamas, which I know means alcohol, so I pick up his coat and my bag and I go back to our room to wait.

  I’m washing my face when Theo’s phone starts vibrating in his coat pocket. I take it out and see that it’s Octavia calling. We’ve never spoken before.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi,’ she says. ‘Who’s this?’ She’s picked up a bit of a Kiwi accent.

  ‘Sorry. This is Theo’s girlfriend. He’s just with Jocelyn – I mean your mum – at the moment.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Octavia, ‘is she okay? I’ve been trying to call her.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s fine,’ I say. ‘She’s just, um, she can’t come to the phone right now.’

  Octavia sighs. It sounds a lot like Theo.

  ‘Right,’ she says.

  ‘The day went so well,’ I offer, suddenly. ‘It rained. A lot. Absolutely chucked it down. But the service was lovely. The priest, or the vicar, sorry, he knew your gran from when she used to live here. So that was nice. Made it quite personal. And your aunt and uncles came. And all your cousins. And Theo was so great with your mum all day. He’s just saying goodnight to her now actually. I think she’s just exhausted, to be honest. But I’ll tell her you called.’

  There’s a long pause, during which I can hear Octavia sniffling.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says.

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I really am. I should have been there. But it’s hard, you know?’

  ‘I know,’ I say, not sure if she’s talking about the funeral or the past ten years. Either way, I get it.

  ‘Would you ask Theo to reply to my texts please? I know he’s upset. But I’d like to talk.’

  ‘I will,’ I say. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks again. I’m glad you’re there with him. You seem nice.’

  I smile and we say our goodbyes.

  A few minutes later Theo knocks at the door. When I open it he walks straight to the bin and drops a half-empty bottle of gin into it.

  ‘You’ve done this before,’ I say, and he nods. He tries to pace up and down but this proves difficult in the tiny room, so he gives up and sits on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Wanna talk about it?’ I ask. He shakes his head. I sit down next to him, leaving a big gap between us, and I wait.

  ‘I’ve been doing this my whole fucking life,’ says Theo finally, ‘as far back as I can remember. Whenever something bad happens …’

  He gestures in the direction of Jocelyn’s room.

  ‘It used to be a few weeks at most,’ he continues, ‘but it’s worse now, it’s all the fucking time. She’d call them “bad spells” and send me to go stay with Gran and Grandad for a while. Then it was just Gran after he died. That was shit. She wouldn’t even let me kick a ball in the garden. But it was better than … that.’

  Theo gestures towards Jocelyn again, then drops his head into his hands. I stay quiet and wait for him to speak. This is called creative silence. My therapist used to do it to me. I fucking hated it, but it works.

  ‘I spoke to her doctor,’ says Theo, his voice muffled in his palms. ‘They’re not supposed to talk about other patients but I already knew everything. I just wanted him to tell me how to help.’

  I nod and rub his back as he talks.

  ‘He says she has a drinking problem, which, yeah, obviously, but apparently it’s affecting her liver now. So he gave me a bunch of leaflets, about alcoholism and meetings and rehab and stuff, and he said I should try and talk to her, but she won’t listen. She just tore them up and threw them in the fucking bin.’

  Theo sits upright and looks at me pointedly.

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’ he demands. ‘How the fuck am I supposed to fix this?’

  ‘I know this is hard to accept,’ I say, ‘but it’s not your job to fix her.’

  ‘That’s what her bloody doctor said!’ Theo blurts, sounding more and more like a child on the verge of a tantrum. ‘Of course I have to take care of her – she’s my mother.’

  ‘You’re her son. And she didn’t take very good care of you today.’

  ‘Her mother just died,’ he snaps.

  I take his hands in mine and look into his eyes.

  ‘Your grandmother just died.’

  Theo stares back at me, his lower lip quivering. He takes a deep, shaky breath, then sighs it out.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this?’ I ask.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  This makes me laugh. Really, properly laugh.

  ‘Sorry,’ adds Theo, ‘I know your dad drank.’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘Bit of an understatement,’ I say.

  ‘But at least you got one good parent! Your mother is practically perfect.’

  I laugh again.

  ‘Theo, I love that woman with all my heart, and I genuinely don’t know what I’d do without her, but she is far from perfect. She’s had some pretty “bad spells” herself over the years. And when she does I always end up feeling more like the parent than the child.’

  Theo nods.

  ‘It’s not her fault,’ I say. ‘She just has her own flawed ways of coping with shit. So I just have to try and sort of be there, but also observe it all from a safe distance.

  ‘Like a nuclear explosion,’ I add with a smirk. Theo chuckles and I can feel the tension lift.
r />   ‘Your sister called,’ I say. It takes Theo a second to realise I had his phone.

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That she’s sorry for not being here.’

  Theo nods but says nothing.

  ‘Maybe you could talk to her about all this,’ I suggest. ‘She said she sent you some messages …?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he mumbles, ‘I’ll get back to her soon.’

  I’m not sure if he will but I know that pushing the issue won’t help.

  ‘Do you think people can change?’ he asks suddenly, looking up at me with wide, shiny eyes. The question is so pure, so earnest that I’m almost afraid to give him an honest answer.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I begin, cautiously, ‘but I think you need to be both willing and able to change, and most people are only one or the other. A lot of the time people can’t even see they have a problem. They get confused between what’s right and what’s familiar.’

  Theo says nothing for a minute or two. He just stares down at his hands.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ he asks finally, and I know we’re not talking about our mothers any more. We’re talking about Paris.

  ‘I was lonely,’ I say.

  ‘I was only gone a month.’

  A sad, quick laugh escapes me.

  ‘Not when you were gone, Theo. When you were gone and I was alone, it made sense. You’re supposed to feel lonely when you’re alone. But I felt lonely when we were together.’

  He stares at me for a moment, then announces that he’s tired and wants to go to sleep. I resist the urge to poke or prod him further, and instead I pull the curtains. We undress and climb into bed in silence. Lying next to him in the dark, Theo’s unspoken words seem to dangle above me like knives.

  ‘Were you lonely tonight?’ he asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because,’ I say, turning over to face him even though I can’t see him, ‘tonight we were a team. You let me help. You let me in.’

  ‘How is it usually?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, trying to choose my words carefully. I want to be clear without upsetting him further.

  ‘It’s usually like you’re right in front of me but I can’t quite reach you. Like there’s an invisible wall in the way.’