Until Next Weekend

by Rachel Marks

  I wonder if we’ll always do this. Even as two old men, Ben driving an automatic electric car, me in the passenger seat, walking stick resting on my knee, our few wisps of hair blowing from one side of our heads to the other, as the air channels through the open windows. So far, we’ve not missed one of the eleven years since she died. Our employers seem to understand it’s a non-negotiable and there’s no way Ben or I would ever let each other down.

  We always play the same CD on the journey down. The Cranberries. Mum’s favourite. And we sing at the top of our voices even though neither of us can hit a note. When we’re nearly there, we stop at the same bakery in Braunton, just like we always did with Mum. I wonder if it will still be here when we’re old. Perhaps we’ll all be eating rehydrogenated space food by then. We buy three jam doughnuts, one each, and we share one for Mum. We don’t eat them until we get to the beach. Mum wouldn’t have let us, however much we moaned at her. ‘They have to be eaten overlooking the sea,’ she always said and then she’d draw an imaginary zip across her lips to signal the end of the discussion.

  When we reach the beach, we take our paper bag full of doughnuts and Mum’s picnic blanket (she made it using the material from all our old baby clothes) down to the water’s edge and set up camp. This year, the weather’s not too bad. It’s a bit cold, but bearable with a hoody on. We’ve had all sorts: pelting rain, glorious sunshine, severe winds. But rain or shine, we pitch up in the same spot and watch the waves rolling in.

  ‘It’s stupid, but I definitely miss her more on her birthday,’ Ben says, wiping the sugar from above his lips. ‘Well, all the big days, I suppose. My birthday. Mother’s Day. The anniversary of her death. It’s ridiculous really. It’s just another day.’

  I nod, but don’t say anything. It’s something I’ve never understood. The way everyone suddenly sends me messages of support on these days, as if every day isn’t a struggle. I take another bite of my doughnut and the jam trickles down my chin so I stick out my tongue to reach it, and it returns to my mouth peppered in jammy sand.

  ‘Do you remember that one time we came to the beach?’ Ben continues. ‘When she disappeared and didn’t return until the sun was going down? I tried to make that spear with a stick like I was some sort of survival expert.’

  Ben laughs and I smile, but it’s not a happy smile. This isn’t one of the memories we normally conjure. Usually, it’s the good ones. Mum being crazy and running into the sea fully clothed, Mum helping us to build a sandcastle that looked like it belonged on the pages of The Guinness Book of World Records, Mum chasing the ice-cream van down the road and slamming on the back of it until it stopped because we ‘must’ have an ice cream when we’re at the seaside. Part of me wonders if this is Ben’s thinly veiled attempt to talk about some of the other stuff, the stuff we never talk about, but I’m not sure if I’m game. I don’t think Ben ever knew what she said to me that night, once we’d finally got home and he was fast asleep in the bed next to me. There’s a lot I never told him. Although I was younger, I felt the need to protect him. Mum tended to confide in me for some reason. I think Ben thought it meant she loved me more, but it always felt like it was because she loved me less.

  ‘I’m sure you would’ve managed to keep us alive. You were always pretty good at looking after me.’

  ‘Thanks. You were pretty easy to look after. Back then, anyway.’

  I press my lips together. ‘Yeah, I’ve made up for it in the past few years, I guess.’

  ‘You seem to be doing better, though?’ It’s definitely more of a question than a statement.

  ‘Yeah. Most days.’ I force a small smile.

  ‘I thought Mimi seemed lovely. She’s the one from that night in the bar, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I can see what you mean about her bum. Remarkable.’

  ‘Isn’t it? It’s almost inhuman.’

  ‘Never tell Claudia I said that, though.’

  ‘I’ll try to resist the temptation to split you up.’

  Ben splits the last doughnut, handing one half to me then licking off the jam that’s spilt on to his fingers before crumpling up the paper bag and pushing it into the outer pocket of his rucksack. ‘She’s not what you think, you know? She’s a lot less sure of herself than she lets on and it doesn’t always make her come across well.’

  ‘Funnily enough, that’s what Mimi said.’

  ‘See, I knew she was a keeper.’

  I smile.

  ‘It’s OK to move on and be happy, you know? Kate won’t mind. Mum wouldn’t mind.’

  Except she would. For all the wonderful things about Mum, selflessness wasn’t one of them. She hated it when I was happy without her.

  ‘Do you really think my misery is some strange feeling of guilt for getting on with my life without Mum? Or Kate, for that matter.’ I shake my head. ‘I just miss her. Every day. And I keep waiting for it to get better, but it doesn’t. Or it does for a while, but then it hits me again like a truck.’

  ‘Mum or Kate?’

  ‘I don’t know. Both, I guess. I know everyone thinks I should just be OK by now. That I’m milking it, wallowing in my misery. But I am trying. If I could just get on with my life, I would.’

  ‘You think I loved her less, don’t you? Because I manage to be happy?’

  I shake my head, but it has crossed my mind before. In my less rational moments, I feel angry at him. For not being as much of a mess as I am. ‘Of course not. Everybody deals with things differently.’

  ‘Come on, Noah. I know that’s what you think. I know we weren’t as close as you two, but I did love her. But I can’t let what happened ruin the rest of my life and you shouldn’t either. Give yourself a chance to feel something for someone.’

  I pick up a shell and draw lines in the sand with it, wondering whether to tell Ben about the plan to try to get Kate back, but I know he’d just say it’s a stupid idea and that I need to face the fact it’s over. ‘Right, shall we go for a walk? I’m sure no one’s going to come and steal our stuff.’

  We stroll along the beach, chatting about Ben’s girls and my boys, about Game of Thrones and Stranger Things, about what we’d do with the money if we won the lottery. He, incidentally, would buy an even bigger house, a sports car and take the family to Disney World, then put the rest in savings. I’d quit work and travel the world (in my head, the kids and Kate would come with me, like one of those nomadic families). We reminisce about school and Mum, avoiding the memory he brought up earlier.

  But in the car on the way home, I can’t stop myself from thinking about it. Once she’d eventually found us, huddled by the rocks shivering, with the picnic blanket wrapped around us, she’d pretended that she hadn’t abandoned us without telling us where she was going, and had taken us for hot chocolates at the beach café. As usual, I’d immediately forgiven her, won over by the treat, but Ben had sat sulking the entire time and refused to speak.

  She’d driven home and I’d sat in the front beside her, both of us singing along to the radio, whilst Ben stared out the window. When we’d got home, she’d taken us up to bed and lain beside us, all of us squished on a single mattress, Ben against the wall, me in the middle and Mum just about squeezing on to the edge. Ben had fallen asleep in minutes, but I’d stayed awake talking to Mum. Then, I’m not sure what I said wrong, something about wishing we’d spent all day together, but, whatever it was, her face had suddenly changed.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for you and your brother fighting, I wouldn’t have left today. I just had to get away from you both.’

  ‘Sorry, Mummy. I didn’t mean to fight.’

  ‘Well, it’s easy to say that now, isn’t it?’

  Often, I rack my brain for the fight she was referring to. But I’m becoming more and more sure over the years that there wasn’t one. Or if there was, that it was something minor that wouldn’t even constitute a fight between my boys. But at the time, I just wanted to rewind and not do whatever it was that drove her
away.

  ‘I promise I’ll never do it again. Can we go to the beach again?’

  ‘Well, I’ll think about it. We’ll see whether you boys deserve it.’

  ‘OK.’

  I never argued with what Mum said. Instead, I’d closed my eyes and tried to sleep. After a little while, Mum had started to stroke my hair and I’d felt her body shudder as she cried. I’d pretended to be asleep, scared to open my eyes, scared what she might tell me or ask me. Some of the stuff she offloaded on to me sometimes was frightening for a young boy. I didn’t always understand it, and the look that accompanied her thoughts always made me feel panicky in my stomach.

  ‘I love you so much, little Noah, my precious angel,’ she whispered through the sobs. ‘I love you so much.’

  She never said she loved Ben, but I’m sure she did.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you something,’ Ben says, bringing me back to the present with a jolt.

  ‘What is it? Claudia’s not up the duff again, is she?’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ Ben smiles but he looks uncomfortable, his Adam’s apple bulging as he swallows. ‘It’s to do with Dad.’

  I turn my head to look directly at him, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

  ‘I realized that it’s not fair on the kids to miss out on a relationship with him,’ he continues. ‘It’s time to bury the hatchet and all that. So we started FaceTiming him a bit. And I took the girls to meet him.’

  I nod, forcing Ben into a very one-sided conversation. I haven’t seen Dad since he abandoned us on the day of Mum’s funeral. Sometimes it feels like yesterday. Sometimes it feels so long ago. But I’ll never forget the sheepish look on his face when he came over, stinking of booze, and told us that he was moving away, he needed some space, and that we could sell the house and split the profits if we wanted, each buy ourselves a flat. He said it like he was doing us a favour, as if providing financial support was all a parent was needed for anyway. I went mental, screaming at him, but he just walked away with his head hanging and Ben held me back and wrapped his arms around me until I calmed down.

  ‘He’d really love to see you. To meet the boys. I said I’d talk to you but that I couldn’t promise him you’d want to.’

  ‘Well, you got that bit right.’

  Ben sighs and it feels like he’s mocking me – that he thinks I’m pathetic and childish. ‘Aren’t you tired of being angry with him, Noah? I know I was. OK, he wasn’t the best husband to Mum, and it was really shit the way he lost contact with us, but …’

  ‘Lost contact with us? He abandoned us, Ben.’

  ‘We were grown men, Noah. He was grieving and …’

  ‘He was grieving? Perhaps if he’d been a better husband in the first place then none of this would’ve happened. If he’d looked after her properly. In sickness and in health, right?’

  ‘He tried. He did try, Noah.’

  ‘He was never there.’ Within the confines of the car, the volume of my voice is quite shocking, but I feel like I’ve been sitting on my emotions since he started the conversation and, like sitting on a semi-inflated balloon, they can’t help but spill out from beneath me.

  ‘Calm down. Please. I’m not saying you have to have a relationship with him or even understand why I am. I just wanted to be honest with you.’

  ‘Right, well, thanks for being honest. And you can tell him I’d rather jump out of a plane without a parachute than ever let him see my boys.’

  For the rest of the journey home, the sound of the indicators, the squeak of Ben’s brakes, the rattling of the items tucked in the door pockets, painfully highlight the lack of conversation between Ben and me. But I’m so angry with him. He’s supposed to be on my side, an ally, and him seeing Dad again feels like a huge betrayal.

  *

  When I get home, there’s a package on the doorstep. I pick it up and take it in with me. Inside is a wooden box with a gold clasp. I flick it up and open the lid. There’s a piece of paper inside with a note from Mimi that reads: You might not find it easy to talk about your memories, but you shouldn’t keep them in. This is a memory box. Write down your memories and put them in here.

  It physically hurts to read it. Because she’s right, but I don’t know how.

  When I lift up the note, there’s a little book underneath called Penis Pokey. My initial reaction is confusion, the two gifts like clashing colours, but then I open it and on the inside cover, Mimi has written: Just because it was all getting a bit serious ! x

  I smile as I scroll through the pages, a range of pictures with a hole in each one. I text Mimi.

  Thank you for the thoughtful gifts. Who knew my penis made such a convincing banana? Xx

  Then, because I suddenly can’t bear the thought of a whole evening on my own, thoughts of Mum whirring around my head like a tornado, I text her again.

  Do you fancy coming over?

  *

  We don’t talk about today. Instead, we watch The Apprentice whilst working our way through a bottle of Jack Daniel’s (Mimi allowing me to ignore my excessive drinking ban for tonight). It feels good to forget about Mum, about my argument with Ben, about Dad, about Kate. It feels good to laugh.

  When the programme has finished and I’m feeling quite drunk, I go through to my bedroom and come out with my guitar. I haven’t played for years. I dabbled with it a bit at university, hoping playing an instrument would make me appear cool, but I was never much good.

  ‘Play me something,’ I say, handing Mimi the guitar. ‘One of your songs.’

  Mimi takes it, wrapping her arms around it like it’s a child she hasn’t seen in a long time. ‘Oh, I don’t know. What if you think I’m terrible?’

  ‘I’ll lie.’

  Mimi rolls her eyes.

  ‘I heard you at karaoke, remember? You are not terrible.’

  ‘OK,’ Mimi says, getting the guitar straight and putting her fingers on to the strings. ‘But only because I’m feeling quite drunk. And you have to turn around.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not playing unless you turn around.’

  I laugh. ‘OK, boss.’ I turn my body so that I’m facing the arm of the sofa and cross my legs. ‘Go on then.’

  Mimi clears her throat and then starts plucking the guitar strings delicately. After a few bars of a pretty introduction, she takes a deep breath and then she starts to sing.

  And my immediate visceral reaction takes me by surprise. The tone of her voice is so beautiful. Without the distraction of the karaoke track and the cheering crowd, it’s pure and clear and has a slight rasp that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. And the song she’s written is brilliant. It’s all about heartbreak and the desire to find a way out of it, to reach a place where things no longer hurt.

  And I wish I’d never asked her to sing because it feels like my head’s about to burst and I have a sudden desire to delve into her story, to pour out mine. I’m just glad she asked me to turn around because I can’t help it, there are tears in my eyes, and I just about manage to blink them away before she stops singing and I know I’m expected to turn around and give her my verdict.

  As she sings the final note, I steady myself and turn towards her, perfecting my best wow-that-was-amazing expression, as if I’m just impressed by her talent rather than on the verge of curling up in a ball and weeping in a way that feels like I’ll never stop.

  ‘So?’ she says, and her face looks like that of a child, desperately seeking approval.

  ‘It was beautiful.’ I want to say more but I’m scared that if I do then I’ll say everything and she’ll look at me like I’m insane and run away as fast as her legs will carry her.

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  I nod, swallowing down the lump lodged in my throat.

  ‘Well, thanks. I know you’re probably lying but it’s still nice to hear.’

  ‘I’m not lying.’

  We sit in silence for a moment, the raw emotion of the song still
floating in the air between us, changing the atmosphere, like somehow it’s stripped us naked and left us both exposed.

  ‘So who’s the song about?’ I eventually ask. ‘Who’s the guy that broke your heart?’

  Mimi shakes her head. ‘It was a long time ago. I don’t really want to talk about it.’

  ‘You sound like me. Perhaps we’re both emotionally stunted?’

  She offers a weak smile. ‘Maybe.’ Then she pulls out her phone, scrolling through the calendar, and I get the sense she’s desperately looking for a way to change the subject. ‘So, only ten days to go until the big day. Do you think you’re going to be able to put a stop to it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure what else to do. How to convince her to choose me.’

  ‘Well, why exactly did you split up? You said you’ve had breaks and stuff before. What made this time different?’

  I shrug, letting out a noisy breath. ‘To be honest, I think it was a build-up. When I got scared about how much I loved her, how much I needed her and the kids, I couldn’t cope with it, the fear of losing them, so I’d go off drinking, miss important events like parents’ evening or dinner with her parents. Eventually she got fed up of covering for me. I think I always felt like I wasn’t good enough for her, that she didn’t really love me like I loved her, and it kind of became this self-fulfilling prophecy.’

  Mimi doesn’t interrupt or ask questions, just listens intently.

  ‘The day she finally left I hadn’t come home until nine o’clock in the morning. It was the day after Gabe’s birthday. The day before, I’d rung her at school just to tell her I was missing her and she’d hurried me off the line because she was at some pre-school music group with Finn. Just before she’d put the phone down I’d heard a man’s voice and her laughing about something. Turns out he’d just been asking her to pass the tambourines, but by the end of the school day I’d managed to turn it into her having an affair. Needless to say, I got wasted, ended up on the sofa of some guy I vaguely knew who deejayed in one of the local clubs. I turned my phone off. Totally forgot it was Gabe’s birthday. Missed the whole thing. By the time I got home she’d packed her bags. I thought it was an idle threat like all the other times, but she never came home.’