The Marriage

by K. L. Slater

  Now, on the day of Tom’s release, I’d forgotten the price I’d paid all those years in an effort to keep up the charade that we were a close, happy family. I didn’t know whether I had the resolve to start all over again, and yet, on another level, I felt compelled to do so.

  At 4.30 sharp, I called Tom downstairs. He appeared five minutes later in the kitchen, his hair still damp from the shower. He’d changed into grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt. He didn’t look very rested, standing there biting his thumbnail while his eyes darted around the room.

  Robert ambled in without saying a word.

  ‘Sit down, son,’ I said brightly. ‘I made your favourite and there’s my tiramisu for dessert.’

  I carried the still-bubbling home-made lasagne to the table, where Tom and Robert now sat waiting in stony silence. Tom’s first day at home was always going to feel strange. I’d prepared the meal yesterday and I’d hoped for a relaxed tea together, perhaps chatting about when Tom might go to view the flat I’d found, or his plans to catch up with his old friends at the boxing club.

  I placed the earthenware dish on the heat mat and returned a moment later with the large flat round of rosemary focaccia and a bowl of chopped green salad.

  Tom took his phone out of his pocket and placed it screen down on the table next to his plate. I saw Robert’s eyes narrow – he hated phones at the table – and breathed a sigh of relief when he looked away again without comment.

  I divided the lasagne into thirds and loaded a portion onto the serving scoop. When I lifted it towards Tom’s plate, he put up a hand. ‘Only half of that for me, Mum.’

  I returned the scoop to the dish. ‘But this is one of your favourite meals; you always used to have seconds.’ It sounded ridiculous, but I felt like crying.

  He glanced anxiously at me. ‘I know. I’m sorry, but … I’m not hungry.’

  ‘A sandwich would have done for me,’ Robert announced, opening his newspaper and shaking it out noisily above the table. ‘I’ll be asking for another dose of gout if I eat all that.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have cooked all this for me, Mum.’ Tom picked at the salad. ‘Looks good, though.’

  ‘I shall be glad when things get back to normal around here,’ Robert muttered, his eyes glued to the newspaper. ‘Can’t come soon enough, in fact.’

  Tom put down his fork and stared at his plate. He’d had enough experience with his father to know that the best policy was to ignore his jibes. But this new Tom had waves of resentment rolling off him. I realised how he’d been like a coiled spring ever since getting into the car. And now he was behaving like he didn’t want to be here with us at all.

  ‘Robert, please don’t make Tom feel like he’s an inconvenience.’ I dropped the piece of bread and charred rosemary needles showered the table like tiny dead insects. ‘I wanted everything to be perfect for our first family meal together. Please don’t spoil it.’

  ‘How can everything be perfect?’ Robert’s nose and mouth screwed together in a tight knot. ‘He’s finished a ten-year stretch at Her Majesty’s pleasure for killing his best friend, and you’re trying to pretend we’re the perfect reality TV family.’ He threw the crumpled newspaper on the floor and stood up. ‘Forget tea. I’ve remembered there’s somewhere I’d rather be.’

  ‘Stay where you are! Just for a minute!’ Tom pushed his chair back and stood up. My cutlery clattered down onto my plate, and even Robert looked taken aback. ‘Mum, Dad, there’s something I need to tell you both. Something really important.’

  The air in the room grew dense and still. I held my breath, waiting for what was obviously going to be a critical moment. I instinctively knew I was about to find out what it was my son had been holding back since we’d picked him up, and that it would be momentous.

  My eyes met his and I saw dread there, a silent pleading. His face looked thinner, paler, and I knew whatever he was about to tell us would change everything.

  Finally I let go of the breath I’d been holding and Robert sat back down. ‘Well all right, if it can’t wait. Lord knows, I haven’t missed this sort of drama in the house.’

  ‘Look, I want to say thanks. For everything you’ve both done. Especially you, Mum.’ Tom spoke as if he’d rehearsed the words. ‘Whatever you think of me when you hear what’s coming next, I do appreciate your efforts and I’m sorry for bringing shame on the family.’

  Was he talking about the night Jesse died, or was it to do with what he was about to say?

  His voice sounded so thin and shaky, I squeezed my thighs together under the table, trying to give myself some fortitude. ‘You’ve never brought shame on us,’ I said faintly.

  A thick silence fell over the three of us then like a blanket of snow arriving without warning. Tom stared down at the table as if he’d forgotten we were there at all, and Robert sat perfectly still, staring ahead.

  ‘You don’t know this, Mum, but about two years ago, I started to take part in a programme at the prison. Have either of you heard of restorative justice?’

  He looked up. At me and then at Robert.

  ‘I have, yes,’ Robert said shortly. ‘All about making amends for your crime, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s part of it.’ Tom turned to me. ‘The programme focuses on reconciliation with victims and their families, Mum.’

  I frowned. ‘But Jesse isn’t here to reconcile with any more.’ The smell of the lasagne, the burned rosemary scattered on the table, was making me feel nauseous.

  Tom looked down and knotted his fingers together. I became aware of Robert’s breathing growing heavier.

  ‘Bridget joined the programme too,’ Tom said carefully.

  ‘What? How do you know that?’ I was failing to make sense of the information. I knew I was missing something big, but the connection wouldn’t come.

  Tom continued. ‘We both agreed to give the programme a go. Once a fortnight we met up and with the help of the programme leaders we—’

  ‘You’ve been meeting up with Bridget?’ I whispered. ‘How is that allowed in prison?’

  ‘That’s what this programme is all about, Mum. Recognising the harm I did and trying to put it right with Jesse’s family – his mum.’

  ‘Well now I’ve heard it all,’ Robert snorted.

  My entire body felt rigid. Frozen. ‘I can’t believe they’ve had you going cap in hand to that woman.’ I had to force the words out and swallow down the fire that burned in my chest and throat.

  ‘It was voluntary. Nobody forced me to do anything.’

  ‘What happened to Jesse, it was an accident. You said so yourself! You didn’t mean for him to die.’

  ‘But he did die,’ Tom said simply, turning his palms upward as if he wanted to show me he wasn’t hiding anything. ‘Accident or not, Jesse isn’t here any more because of me. Don’t you see that?’

  ‘He came at you with a knife and so it was self-defence! You should never have received such a long sentence.’

  ‘The jury decided it was my fault that Jesse died that night and found me guilty.’ Tom chanted the words sing-song style, clearly fed up with telling me the same thing again and again. ‘I had the choice to walk away when things became heated outside the nightclub, but I didn’t. I take full responsibility for that and I’ll never forgive myself for it.’

  I stared at the wall. I’d visited Tom twice a month for the duration of his sentence, and I knew nothing about this ridiculous programme. I knew nothing of Bridget secretly attending the sessions. I had noticed a change in him, though. He’d been more upbeat in a way I couldn’t put my finger on. He’d looked brighter, sat up a bit straighter, though I’d put it down to his release date drawing closer. I’d assumed it was because he was finally coming home to us.

  When Tom was sixteen, he’d started training at a local boxing club. It quickly became clear to the coach there – a local man called Kenny – that he had the skills and dexterity to become an excellent amateur boxer. He started training several times a week, but
the thing was, he never told us. He’d taken part in his first two amateur fights before someone asked Robert if the hot young boxer beating everyone he fought was his son.

  Robert seemed impressed, said he hadn’t thought Tom had it in him, but I’d disapproved. I found boxing a barbaric sport, but more to the point, why on earth hadn’t he told us what he was doing? I’d felt perplexed why he would enter into something so serious without consulting us. I never got an answer.

  ‘You’re finally seeing what I’ve known all along, that our son has a sly, secretive side,’ Robert had said.

  Tom had continued to box and had been successful, but it had ultimately been his downfall. The court treated the single punch he’d administered to Jesse as an intentionally lethal blow, and he’d received a far tougher sentence because of it.

  Tom was still looking at me, his cheeks flushed. ‘There’s something else, Mum,’ he said, falteringly. ‘Something that’s going to come as quite a shock. I’m sorry about that, but I—’

  ‘What’s that?’ Robert tipped his head, listening, and Tom stopped speaking, swallowing hard.

  Then I heard it too. A tentative knock.

  ‘Someone’s at the door,’ I said, standing up, my hands flat on the table. ‘I’ll go. I’ll get rid of them.’

  ‘No, no … I’ll go. Let me.’ Tom moved quickly into the hallway. ‘Wait there, both of you. I’ll be back in a moment.’

  Robert gave a derisory sniff and threw me his ‘I told you so’ look.

  We sat in silence as the front door opened and closed. I heard Tom’s voice, speaking softly but urgently, and then a woman’s voice, faint, and … was that a giggle?

  Robert looked at me and my mouth fell open.

  Footsteps, and then Tom walked back into the kitchen, followed by Bridget Wilson. A waft of air filled my nostrils with the smell of congealing lasagne, and I covered my mouth and nose with my hand.

  ‘Good God!’ Robert thundered. ‘What on earth is she doing here?’

  A sickly knot pressed at my throat. I wasn’t able to speak, could barely breathe. I wanted to be sick.

  ‘Mum, Dad,’ Tom said slowly, keeping his voice level, ‘Bridget and I are in love. We got married in prison six months ago and today, we’re starting a new life together as husband and wife.’

  Twelve

  I looked at Robert and he looked back at me, his mouth hanging open. Bizarrely, I had a mad urge to burst out laughing, so surreal was the situation.

  Bridget Wilson was here. In this very room with us, breathing the same air as we were! Standing in the doorway of my kitchen with my son looming behind her protectively, his hand resting on her shoulder.

  ‘Hello, Jill,’ she said warmly, then looked at my husband. ‘Robert.’

  She’d lost weight since I’d last seen her in the flesh, which was when she’d come to the house a few months after Jesse died. She’d been slim then, but she’d looked scraggy and worn out. Now she was lean and toned. Her hair was blonder, her skin smoother, glowing with health. Her eyes looked brighter and more energised.

  She walked further into the room and the two of them stood side by side. A couple. My breath caught in my throat.

  ‘What kind of programme was it that encouraged you to do this?’ Robert demanded. ‘I can see the headlines now: Mother marries her son’s killer.’

  ‘Dad, that’s enough!’ Tom snapped, his expression dark.

  Bridget spoke up in a quiet, humble voice that didn’t suit her go-getting attitude. ‘I understand it must be a shock, but the programme has been amazing. It’s enabled us to forgive each other and move on. Together.’

  Together? Even though I knew the facts, I struggled to accept that word. It was like poison entering my ears, invading my body. It revolted me. A high-pitched ringing started in my head, trapping me behind a sheet of invisible glass. I heard everything that was being said, and yet felt completely removed from it all.

  ‘Tom,’ Robert said firmly, ‘it’s clear to me they’ve somehow brainwashed you. This programme, what’s happened … it can’t be right. You must see that. She’s old enough to be your mother, for God’s sake!’

  ‘I know my own mind, stay out of it,’ Tom said, as if there was no sense in trying to reason with his father. ‘I know it must be a shock, Mum, but this isn’t a sudden thing. Bridget began visiting me a couple of years ago, and when we did the programme together, we fell in love.’

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ Robert pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I’m not listening to this crap any more. I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life.’

  ‘Why is it nonsense, Robert?’ Bridget said, folding her arms. ‘It’s unexpected, it’s unusual, but it’s most definitely not nonsense. Our love for each other is perfectly real.’

  ‘There’s a twenty-year age gap between you!’ I heard myself cry. ‘It’s not right.’

  Tom looked straight at me and I saw shadows underneath his eyes. His secret had clearly been weighing on his mind, but I saw something else in his face now, too. A glow that came from the inside. A glow he’d been keeping hidden all this time.

  It was why he’d wanted to be alone in his bedroom as soon as we arrived home. Not because he felt overwhelmed or tired, but because he’d been safeguarding his secret. Their secret.

  I closed my eyes against the thought of her being with my son, being his wife. I fought the obvious thought.

  She’ll be making love to him tonight.

  A noise escaped my throat.

  ‘Mum, please just hear us out.’ Tom looked pained but resolved. They stood there together, strong and united. Determined to declare their undying, ridiculous love.

  But my son was in love! It radiated from his pores, surrounded him like a halo. It was in the way his eyes softened when he glanced at her, the tender touch of his hand on hers.

  It was hard to tell if Bridget felt the same way. She was cool and collected, fully in charge of the situation. Tom was like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Robert and Tom were talking in low voices now, both trying not to get angry, whilst Bridget chipped in here and there. Nobody spoke to me, nobody looked at me. The buzz of their conversation filled the room, but I didn’t hear any of the detail. I was too busy trying to filter out the horror of the situation and prepare myself for what was to come.

  What would people say? Our neighbours, the press … the entire town?

  More to the point, how would Tom possibly make the most of his life with this woman twenty years older than him and who had blamed him so publicly when Jesse died?

  I knew he hadn’t yet grasped the full extent of it. He’d only just returned to the real world. And then I realised what had happened here.

  In a nutshell, Tom was vulnerable after being in prison for so long, and she’d taken full advantage of that. He had clearly forgotten how he’d played at Jesse’s house, under Bridget’s care, since he was a toddler. How she’d changed his nappies, as I had once done for Jesse. He’d forgotten that when he was five or six, he’d sometimes called her ‘Auntie Bridget’. When the boys were older, they’d enjoyed sleepovers at each other’s houses. I would pack up Jesse’s lunch and iron his school uniform for the following day, and Bridget would do the same for Tom.

  And now she had married him. The little boy she’d cared for like a second mum. Although Tom was now nearly thirty years old, it was impossible to wipe the past out.

  It was – and there was no other word for it – obscene. I felt empty inside. Hollow.

  My fingers touched my cheek and it was wet.

  ‘It’s disgusting,’ I whispered. ‘Vile.’ And then I realised I wasn’t whispering at all, I was shouting. Tom looked alarmed and Robert’s mouth moved as he glared at me, but I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t hold it back. ‘You lost your son and so you waited and waited and then you took mine. Is that it?’ I shrieked, my voice hoarse. ‘You came to steal his future, to ruin him and get your revenge!’

  I shrugged off the concerned hands that were place
d lightly on my shoulders. I knocked away a proffered glass of water. Faces loomed above me and merged into one blurry mess.

  I felt something split inside me, and the panic rose, pushed its way up into my chest.

  ‘For God’s sake get out of here. Go!’ I heard Robert yell at Tom. ‘Do you realise this will kill your mother? She’ll never get over it. It will kill her and it will all be your fault.’

  Thirteen

  Bridget

  We said little on the journey back. We’d bolted from his parents’ house. Tom belted upstairs, grabbed his holdall and rucksack and rushed back out to me like a young runaway.

  He’d fallen quiet and sat still in the passenger seat, his fingers fused together. I steered the Mercedes on to Main Road as Tom continued to stare vacantly out of the window.

  ‘You shouldn’t feel bad, you know.’ I kept one hand on the steering wheel while leaning across to pat his firm thigh. ‘You did the right thing in telling them as soon as you could. It’s not your fault they don’t agree with what we’ve done.’

  He didn’t answer.

  Halfway along the long, wide street, I pulled over and parked the car on the road behind a silver BMW. I turned off the engine.

  ‘Nice Beamer,’ Tom remarked. He’d told me he’d loved the brand since being a boy.

  ‘So here we are,’ I said. ‘This is home.’

  Tom looked at me and then glanced at the three-storey red-brick house. It felt slightly bizarre that this was the first time he’d seen the place where we were going to start our married life together.

  ‘This is your house?’ he gasped.

  ‘Yep, all mine,’ I said, pleased with his reaction. I’d played the place down on purpose so it would be a pleasant surprise. ‘Or it will be mine once I’ve paid the mortgage.’ I hesitated. ‘Actually, ours. It’s our house, Tom.’

  I watched with pleasure as he got out of the car and stared up at the house. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. It was one thing I loved about him, and something that hadn’t changed since he was a boy. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was easy to see it impressed him. Jesse had been far more crafty and able to cover up how he felt, but Tom was always the more innocent one.