by Karen King
She’d been immersed in her work for a couple of hours when she heard Phil get up. He popped his head around her door half an hour later, his hair still damp from the shower. ‘Can you take a break and have a cuppa with me?’
She really could do with finishing the task she was working on, but she didn’t want to refuse. The whole point of her doing flexi-time was so that she could spend more time with Phil while he was recovering.
She smiled at him. ‘Sure. I’ll be down in a few minutes.’
She heard him go down the stairs and into the kitchen, and quickly finished writing her email. She reread it to make sure there were no typos then pressed send and went downstairs.
Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, she gaped at the scene in front of her. Phil was taking tins and boxes out of the cupboard and piling them on the worktop, obviously looking for something. One of the tins fell to the floor and Phil swore.
Unease gnawed at her belly. Phil liked everything to be in its place. What hadn’t she stacked away correctly? She swallowed the feeling of panic and asked steadily, ‘What are you looking for, Phil?’
‘The bloody coffee! Surely we have another jar?’
Don’t bite! she reminded herself. He’s just out of hospital, still feeling confused. Be calm. She wasn’t going to make the mistakes of the past. ‘We do. I got one last week. Here, let me look for it.’
She squeezed past him, and as she did, her elbow knocked a jar of marmalade onto the floor. It cracked open and the marmalade trickled out all over the tiles.
‘Bloody hell, Freya!’ Phil exploded.
Freya bit back the retort that if he hadn’t piled everything on top of each other it would never have happened. She didn’t want a row.
‘Sorry. I’ll clean it up in a minute. Let me find the coffee for you first.’ Trying to quell the tremble that was coursing through her body, she rummaged through the cupboards and finally found the coffee jar in the cereal cupboard. Of course, she’d unpacked in a hurry when she came back from shopping last week; she’d barely had time to grab a sandwich before she had to go back to the hospital to visit Phil.
‘What’s it doing there?’ Phil grumbled as he took it from her, opened it and spooned instant coffee into two mugs.
‘I guess I must have got distracted when I was putting away the shopping,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you take your coffee outside and I’ll clean up this mess then come and join you.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
As soon as Phil had gone out into the garden, Freya took some deep breaths and tried to relax now the fraught moment had passed. It was hard to hold her tongue but she would do it… for now anyway. Phil was struggling with pain and the amnesia; she had to be patient with him. She was feeling quite fragile herself too. The last thing either of them needed was an argument.
She looked at all the tins and packets laid out on the worktop, the broken glass and marmalade spilt over the kitchen tiles. It wasn’t fair that she should have to clean up all this mess. Phil always got in such a state when something wasn’t in the place he thought it should be, blaming her for being lazy, not bothering to do things correctly. And in the past she had always stood her corner, telling him it was no more her responsibility than his.
She closed her eyes as memories of one of their really bad rows flashed back into her mind. They were about to eat dinner, a delicious meal of roast chicken, roast potatoes, greens and stuffing that she had made while Phil had been painting the fence in the garden – something he hated doing. Actually he hated doing any DIY jobs but they couldn’t afford to pay someone so they had to do it themselves. She’d tried to help him with the jobs but never seemed able to do it the way he wanted her to, and it always ended up in a row, so that day she’d left him to it and cooked a dinner instead. He came in from the garden looking hot and flustered but his eyes lit up when he saw the dinner, and he washed his hands then reached for the salt and pepper. The pepper pot was almost empty. She’d forgotten to buy more – she never used pepper herself, but Phil put it on most meals. She could see that he was getting more and more annoyed as he shook the pot over his dinner.
‘It’s empty,’ he snapped. ‘Where’s the new one?’
‘Er, we haven’t got one. I didn’t realise it was empty,’ she replied.
‘You know I can’t eat my dinner without bloody pepper!’ he snarled. ‘Why didn’t you check?’
Annoyed at his attitude, she retorted, ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I never use pepper. How am I supposed to know?’
The next minute Phil threw the dinner up the wall, screaming at her that he couldn’t eat it without pepper. She screamed at him that he was a selfish pig, then they were in a full-blown row which ended with Phil slamming her against the wall and storming out, saying he was going out for a decent meal.
It was her fault, he told her later – she was always so mouthy, always nagging, always confrontational, always pushing his buttons.
Maybe he was right. She’d backed down now, hadn’t she? Pacified him and a row had been prevented. But why should I have to back down all the time? a little voice nagged in her head. She refused to listen to it. She had to forget about the past arguments, push them out of her mind and concentrate on the future. She wanted them both to be happy. They’d been given another chance to make their marriage work and she desperately wanted to succeed.
26
‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get ratty. I’ve just found out someone tampered with the brakes of my car and tried to kill me,’ Phil said when Freya joined him in the garden. ‘What have I done that’s so awful someone wants me dead?’
Freya had been asking herself the same question.
Phil could get so angry, and although he always blamed her, telling her that she ‘pushed his buttons’, and she had believed it, she wondered if it was true. Perhaps he’d lost his temper with someone else, hurt them, and now they were out for revenge? She hadn’t mentioned Phil’s anger to the police officers but wondered if she should have done. Whoever was doing this was unhinged, and the police needed all the information possible to help them catch him. Or her.
‘Frey? Please forgive me.’
She glanced at him. He looked really contrite. And anxious.
‘It’s okay, I understand,’ she replied. She did, too; it was only natural Phil would be feeling upset, worried about what the police had told him. She was too. But she couldn’t help thinking that it was more than that, that Phil was concealing something from her. Did he suspect who wanted to harm him? Was it one of the students at the university? There had been that student when they had been going out together, who had got too close to him, messaging him at home, trying to catch him alone to talk. Freya had persuaded Phil to report her in the end, pointing out that the girl could accuse him of all sorts and he could lose his job. He hadn’t wanted to do it but had agreed it made sense. Maybe something like that had happened again?
‘Why don’t you talk to Tom, see if he can shine a light on anything. Sometimes the students get upset if they don’t get the grades they want, and there was a student who had a bit of a crush on you once. She made a real nuisance of herself.’
‘Did she? What happened?’
Freya filled him in briefly. ‘It all got sorted out okay, and I’m not saying it is a student doing this. I’m just suggesting talking to Tom as he’s your closest friend.’ She didn’t say ‘only friend’ even though it was true. ‘And you work together too. He might know something.’
‘I will. It would be good to talk to someone else about this.’
Freya glanced at her watch. She still had a lot of work to get through, but it was lunchtime now. She’d go and check if she had any messages that needed answering urgently then suggest that they go out for a drive – that might take Phil’s mind off things. She could carry on with the project later.
She went upstairs to check her mail and retrieve her phone, which she’d left on her desk. There was a missed call from Daisy. She’d wanted to tal
k to her sister about what the police had told them, but if she phoned Daisy back now, they’d get chatting, and she really wanted to make lunch and get Phil out of the house for a few hours. It was such a lovely day, the fresh air would do him good. She sent a quick message saying that everything was fine and she would phone her later then went down to put the kettle on. Phil was pacing around the garden now, smoking. She sighed. He’d been warned not to smoke but what could she say? Nagging him wouldn’t help. And to be fair he must feel really stressed about everything. She couldn’t imagine not remembering the last two years of her life. Thank goodness she hadn’t been in the car with him.
The thought jolted into her mind that she could have been the one to drive off in the BMW – she often used Phil’s car if she was going for a quick trip to the shops. Then she’d be the one who was injured, perhaps with no memory of the last two years.
And no memory of Phil’s abuse. Maybe that would be a good thing. Try as she might, she couldn’t completely empty her mind of it, feeling jumpy every time he looked agitated. In a way, Phil was lucky not to remember: he could start afresh.
27
She had a Facebook message request from an Aileen Keegan.
Hello, Freya, I’m Philip’s mother, your mother-in-law.
Freya stared at the opening words of the message, reading them again in astonishment. Phil’s mother had messaged her.
She sat back in her chair, leaving the message unopened for a moment as she wondered what this woman, a total stranger to Freya, wanted. Perhaps she’d read about the accident in the newspaper, regretted that she’d had nothing to do with her son for all these years and decided to contact him again. Knowing that he could have died would have really shaken his mother and probably made her realise that she could have lost Phil forever, without having the chance to make amends. Phil wasn’t on Facebook, or any other social media, so tracking down Freya might have been her easiest option to make contact. It wouldn’t have been difficult to do: the newspaper article had mentioned Freya by name, shown a photo of her and Phil together.
Freya clicked on the message to see what it said, knowing that Aileen wouldn’t be able to tell that it had been read unless Freya replied.
I hope you don’t mind me contacting you in this way, but I read about Philip’s accident and wanted to check how he was. And how you are too – this must have been so awful and stressful for you. I phoned the hospital and they said he had been discharged so I’m presuming that he isn’t severely injured.
I’ve thought a lot about Philip over the years. I’m so pleased to hear that he is married, and I have a new daughter-in-law. I’m so sorry that we haven’t met yet and really miss Philip. I had hoped so much that he would get in touch with us when things calmed down. When I read the newspaper article, learnt how Philip nearly died, I knew I had to try to contact him. He’s my son, when all is said and done, and twenty years have gone by since we last saw each other. The past is all water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. Please let me know how he is, give him my love and tell him that I would like to see him again, and to meet you too. I do hope you will reply and let me know how you both are.
With love,
Aileen
Freya read it over again. Twenty years. She hadn’t realised it had been that long. It must have been heartbreaking not to have contact with her son for all that time and then to find out that he had been involved in a serious accident. She said she regretted what had happened too. Perhaps Phil’s parents hadn’t meant to favour his brother, and now they were older, they’d looked back, realised what they’d done and wanted to make amends. Sometimes you don’t realise how things affect other people until years later.
Phil never talked about his family; he always dismissed any questions she asked by saying he hadn’t seen them for years and that was the way he liked it. He had been adamant that he wasn’t inviting his parents to their wedding, much as she’d tried to coax him. How would he take it if she told him his mother had got in touch, wanted to see him now?
He might be pleased, especially as his mother had made the first move. Maybe almost dying in the accident would make him think about his parents, make him want to see them again. She was sure he must miss his family after all this time but was probably too proud – or too stubborn – to contact them. She’d show him the message right away.
She went downstairs to Phil’s study, knocking on the door before opening it. Phil was busy typing away. ‘Have you got a minute, Phil?’
He glanced up. ‘Sure.’
She walked over and sat down on the edge of the desk. ‘I’ve had a Facebook message. From your mum. She said that she was really upset when she read about the accident, and that she’s worried about you and wants to see you again.’
Phil looked stunned. ‘What?’
Freya opened the Messenger app on her phone and showed him the message. He read it stony-faced. ‘Well, I don’t want to see her.’
Freya was shocked by the coldness in his voice. ‘Phil, she’s your mum, she misses you and is worried about you. Surely you miss her too?’
‘No, I don’t. And where’s the apology for how they all treated me? The years of rubbishing me, of making me feel inadequate while Graham could do no wrong? They haven’t tried to contact me all this time, so they needn’t bother now just because they’ve read that I had a bad accident and their consciences are pricking them a bit. I want nothing to do with any one of them.’ He slammed his fist down on his desk. ‘Delete that message and block her!’ he ordered.
‘What?’ She was bewildered at his reaction. ‘Phil, think about this. Your parents must be getting on in age now. They just want to see you again while they can. Look, read the message again! She said that she regrets what happened.’
‘Well, it’s taken her long enough, and it still isn’t a sorry, is it? That message is from my mum, not my dad or goody-goody brother. They obviously don’t want to see me and I don’t want to see them. Not after how they treated me. My mum chose her side and she can stick with it. Like I said, I want you to delete the message and block her.’ She gasped and he glared at her. ‘I mean it, Freya. This is my bloody family not yours, and I don’t want you to have anything to do with them. Give me your phone.’
She bit back the refusal that sprang to her lips. He was right, this was his family. She had no idea what had gone on for him to walk out on them all those years ago and never look back. If he didn’t want to see them, then that was up to him.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said but he snatched her phone from her, tapped away then handed it back. ‘There. I’ve done it.’
How bloody high-handed of him. She wanted to yell at him that she would have done it, that he had no right to tamper with her phone, but she didn’t – he looked so angry and she was scared that the wrong word would start off one of their rows, so she simply glared back at him.
Then his face softened. He reached out and pulled her to him. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I normally wouldn’t mess with your phone, but I need to know that you’ve blocked her, Frey. I don’t want my family contacting you. They’re poison.’ He held her tight, his hand gently caressing her back. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. It’s fine,’ she assured him, her emotions a mix of anger and relief that Phil had calmed down.
‘I’ll just finish this article, then maybe we can have something to eat,’ he said, smiling now. It always astonished her how quickly he could change his moods.
‘Sure. I’ve got some work to do. Shall we say an hour?’
He kissed her on the forehead. ‘Perfect.’
As she walked up the stairs, Freya was still pretty shaken up by what had just happened. Phil had looked so angry; it had unnerved her and he had no right to snatch her phone like that and block his mother. It was her account. It was up to her who she blocked. She would never dream of taking Phil’s phone from him and blocking someone on it.
She understood that Phil had been upset when he was gro
wing up that his parents favoured his brother, but that was twenty years ago. And maybe they hadn’t meant to favour Graham, they simply had more in common with him, like her mum with Daisy? Freya always rubbed her mum up the wrong way whereas Daisy got on well with her, but she would never consider cutting her mum out of her life. It felt like a shame that Phil wouldn’t even listen to his mum, hear what she had to say.
She sat down at her desk, feeling a little angry herself, wishing she had stood up to Phil a bit. What was the point of causing an argument, though? Things were difficult enough at the moment. She moved the mouse so that the computer screen flicked to life, showing that she was still logged into her Facebook account. For a moment she hesitated then resolutely clicked onto settings and unblocked Aileen. It was cruel to treat her this way when she had reached out to Phil – he was her son. Perhaps if Freya kept contact open, giving Phil a little more time to think about his mother’s message, she could help reunite her husband with his family.
She typed in the reply box.
Hello, Mrs Keegan.
