by Pat Barrow
“Okay, if you’re sure you want to go, off you go,” said Dad. He stood there with his arms folded and wouldn’t look at me. My heart was thumping wildly – tears pricking my eyes – he was making me choose, either her or him. I felt like a spring ready to snap, my heart started to thump even faster and then as Dad put his arms around me and whispered in my ear, “I always knew you didn’t really want to go, my love. What about if Jonty goes now and you go another time?” It was all so easy. “Go on then,” he said to Jonty, “off you go. Hetty’s not coming.” He gave Jonty a little push and he ran across to where Mum was standing and I watched him and Mum embracing, looking around as he held her. Even from that distance, I could see she looked puzzled – she gave a little wave in my direction and then she and Jonty were hugging each other.
Dad put his arms around me and pulled me close to him. I couldn’t really see her any more. The next moment, Mum was there and Dad was shouting at her. “Get the message you idiot, she’s not coming, don’t try pressurising her, just get out!” His voice was cold and emphatic. “Just go,” he repeated. I’m sure if Mum had stayed, a scene would have erupted, but she turned and went with Jonty trotting eagerly by her side.
Dad insisted that we caught the bus into town and he took me to Costa to choose what I wanted from the menu. Hot chocolate, with marshmallows and lashings of cream on top, things Dad would never normally let us have, to tempt me. I made a half-hearted attempt to look as though I was enjoying it. “You’re so brave especially when you’re put under that much pressure from your mum and Carol too. I can see how difficult it is for you, I’ve got you safe now,” Dad reassured me.
There was an 11.30 showing of the film Dad had suggested earlier in the week and of course, we went to that. At the time, I fought back tears and the muddle that drummed inside my head. I felt so confused, so sad, I knew that Dad must be right because he always was. He was the one that kept me safe but I couldn’t even concentrate on the film, my eyes wouldn’t focus, they kept welling up with tears. I hated myself, I hated Mum, I loved Mum I felt so wretched and so sad. I couldn’t go with Dad when he went to collect Jonty from the car park where Carol was dropping him off later that afternoon. I couldn’t bear it. Aunty Nicky turned to me and said, “I thought you were really excited about seeing your mum, what’s happened?”
“I wasn’t really that bothered,” I muttered, but I must have sounded unconvincing.
Aunty Nicky came and put her arms around me. “It’s hard my love, isn’t it?”
I dreaded seeing Carol later in the week. I didn’t really know what on earth I was going to tell her. I felt such a coward – a traitor, such a bad person. I couldn’t think why I hadn’t wanted to see Mum on Saturday. But then, I just told her what had happened, how Dad had made me chose, except I couldn’t and true to form, Carol was lovely. She put her hands on mine and said, “I think if I was you, I’d find it just as hard as you do. What if we try and work out a way in which you won’t feel you have to choose between your mum and dad. I wonder if there’s anything your mum and dad could do to make it easier for you?”
“I don’t think he really wants me to go,” I blurted out. “I think he thinks I won’t be safe.”
“Mmm,” said Carol, “that’s a hard one for you then, isn’t it? Do you feel safe when you are with Mum?”
“Yes, I do. She’s just lovely as long as Dad’s not with her. I used to get scared with Mum and Dad arguing and screaming at each other – it was horrible – she was horrible,” I added, not wanting to be disloyal to Dad.
“Let’s get this right. You feel quite safe with Mum and quite comfortable with her? You enjoy spending time with her? But Dad somehow doesn’t think it’s the best thing for you and puts forward all sorts of reasons why you shouldn’t go, why contact shouldn’t happen and you feel that you have to choose between them. And that’s impossible if you love both of them. You feel loyal to Dad because he’s been especially nice to you over the last few months, he’s been the one who’s kept you safe. I wonder if you feel like you’re letting him down.” She was right. That was it – exactly – but nothing will ever change, will it? I sobbed.
“Well, I wonder can you think what would have to change for you to feel that it was okay for you to see your mum. To be able to spend time with her and not to feel guilty like you were letting your dad down?” That was what Carol always did, she didn’t tell me what I was thinking, what I ought to think like so many grown-ups but encouraged me to work it out for myself, and in that way I felt in charge. I didn’t feel like it was all running away with me. I felt empowered. It wasn’t easy though. In fact, Carol had to ring Dad and tell him that we would be about half an hour late. But eventually, I blurted out that I just needed Dad to be pleased that I was happy with Mum and I wanted him to be really glad and not to pretend ’cos that made it all worse.
Carol wanted to make sure she really understood what I was saying. “Let’s get this right. Dad tells you that he’s quite happy for you to go but his language and his actions don’t always match that so you don’t really believe him. Is that what you are telling me?” I nodded. A bit of me felt really disloyal to Dad for saying those things but it was the truth. I was just so unhappy. I wanted to make it better. Carol reinforced to me that it was not my responsibility to keep Mum or Dad happy. She needed to see where I was hurting and do something about that, for me. It made sense, but how was that going to work? Dad hated Mum and really didn’t want me to go and see her. But why did he say that he didn’t mind? It was a lie, wasn’t it? Carol went on, “What you’re saying is that you don’t want to have to choose between Mum and Dad and you need Dad and Mum to stop their dislike of each other getting in the way of you loving both of them. Is that right?”
I nodded and whispered, “Yes.” Carol thought for a moment or two and then said that she needed to talk to Mum and Dad separately and really get them to understand how hard it was for me and Jonty and how their adult stuff was getting in the way. I wasn’t to worry and in the meantime, it would perhaps be best if she picked us up and then Mum dropped us off at the supermarket so we could go home with Dad at the end of the time. I breathed a sigh of relief, it sounded so much better, much easier, well for me at any rate and for Jonty; Mum and Dad together, it was just too much. Carol was right, we were the important ones. It was getting it right for us that mattered. I couldn’t take responsibility for Mum and Dad and how they felt. It was so easy to feel like that when I wasn’t with either of them but when I was back with Dad, it got a whole lot more complicated.
Later in the week, Dad told me that he had met up with Carol. I could tell by his face that he wasn’t happy. They had gone for a coffee together in Welshpool. He’d been flabbergasted when she had told him how guilty I had felt when I hadn’t gone to see Mum. Why on earth was she saying that, it wasn’t what we had talked about, it wasn’t what I’d said. He looked at me in disbelief. “What game is Carol playing? I tell you what Hettie, she’s not here to help you, she’s on your mum’s side and is trying to cause a rift between the two of us. I certainly think that every other Saturday is far too often,” Dad said. “She knows what a strong bond we have. Once a month maximum, otherwise there’s no time for us to do things as well. At the moment, I feel so squeezed out and you’re so miserable worrying about getting it right for a mother who doesn’t deserve you that you don’t enjoy our time together either,” said Dad. I nodded in agreement. I just didn’t know what else to say, I didn’t know how to disagree with him. The confidence that I felt when I was with Carol, it just ebbed away when I was with Dad. I hated what I was doing but Dad just won me over every time and I couldn’t risk losing him so I didn’t have a choice. I argued with myself trying to justify dumping my mum. I screamed silently trying to drown out Mum’s gentle ‘oh Hetty’.
When Carol and I next met, she must have detected a difference in me. I was reticent whereas usually I had loads to say I wouldn’t look at her or engage with eye contact. Of course she sensed t
hat there was something wrong and her characteristic, “Mmm, I wonder what’s gone wrong, Hetty? What’s bothering you?”
That helped me to blurt out, “What you told Dad.” And I recounted what he had told me.
Her response, “You see, Hetty, sometimes people hear what they want to hear and mums and dads in particular can sometimes either deliberately or accidentally misinterpret things because they find the truth quite difficult to manage. I wonder if that’s what’s happened here?” She gave me time for that to sink in.
“You mean Dad’s lying?” I whispered.
“No,” said Carol, “I’m not saying that, I’m saying that maybe he interpreted the conversation that we had in a way which fitted with how he feels about you and your mum. Do you want me to talk to him again and to help him to really understand how it is for you and for Jonty?”
I almost forgot to tell Carol that Dad had suggested only seeing Mum once a month. Her response when I did ‘is that what you want?’ encouraged me to shake my head and whisper. “No, but I don’t want to tell Dad that. Please don’t tell him I said anything different,” I begged her.
“I understand completely,” Carol said in her reassuring way. “Having to be the one who decides everything is really tough and just not fair on you. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him and to your mum too. I’ll come and pick you and Jonty up on Saturday so and you can see your mum, okay?” I couldn’t help it, I just flung my arms around her. She patted me on the shoulder. “Come on let’s get back home to your dad, he’ll be wondering what’s happened to you.”
Chapter 11
Carol
My head was banging. I’d spent the morning with Jeremy in an interview room in his Welshpool office and most of the afternoon with Ceri in the former family home. Hetty and Jonty’s mum and dad weren’t the easiest people to work with. I drove back to Shrewsbury and parked my car down by the river close to the weir. It was a beautiful, crisp winter’s day. A walk along the riverbank away from other people would clear my head and give me an opportunity to try and make sense of what was going on for Hetty and Jonty.
Jeremy, an affable bloke whose big presence matched his rugby playing stature, had been true to form on every occasion I had seen him – articulate, witty and charming. I had observed him with Hetty and Jonty and seen what a loving, tactile dad he was. He was hero worshipped by his children. In fact, more than that, for Hetty had elevated him high up on a pedestal, in her eyes he was perfect, the best and always right; although more recently, she’d been struggling with the dilemma that created for her. Jeremy clearly revelled in her loyalty and devotion to him and seemed to have a need to take every opportunity to reinforce how much she depended upon him, in particular to keep her safe from her mum. There was no doubt that it was Hetty, rather than Jonty that he centred his attention upon. But why? Was it that she was more susceptible to his charms, more easily manipulated? More willing to be taken in by him?
Ceri had initially been shy and reserved. She seemed to be scared of saying something to me which might incriminate her or encourage me to judge her as a bad mum. There was no doubt that she wanted me to like her whereas Jeremy simply assumed I would join his fan club and had attempted to charm me and convince me that his version of events was genuine, that Ceri’s thought processes were so twisted and confused that she was a stranger to truth and reality.
I had observed Hetty and Jonty with Ceri and was not really surprised that there was no evidence of the fear that Jeremy was so keen to tell me about at every opportunity and to reinforce to Hetty and Jonty. She was attentive, genuinely interested in Hetty and Jonty and sensitive and receptive to their needs. In so many ways, the children’s love for her just brimmed over. They had of course shown initial reticence, but once they had a chance to experience positive times with her, they had so readily and naturally reassessed their views of her.
Ceri’s Story
It was hard to get my head around the very different versions of events which Jeremy and Ceri presented. Ceri had been overwhelmed by loss of her family and bewilderment at the speed that had happened. The separation had been abrupt and had apparently been imposed by Jeremy without any warning or any discussion. “Oh yes, they’d been going through a tricky patch, but equally…” Her voice had trailed off – so much remaining unspoken. In the following difficult and lonely few weeks when Ceri had not seen the children, she had had time to sit back and reflect on what had happened to her and why her relationships with Jeremy and with Hetty and with Jonty had gone so badly wrong. In spite of her pain, she had forced herself to work out what had happened. She felt undermined and demolished by Jeremy’s caustic comments and constant criticisms of her in front of the children. She explained, “It always seemed to be my fault.” She elaborated, “Everything that went wrong was turned around so that it would be me who got the blame and the children would see me in a bad light. I began to believe that I was useless, my self-worth, my confidence, they just ebbed away. You know I began to think the children no longer cared about me.” She admitted that on occasions, she had as she put it ‘lost it’. She’d got angry and banged things around and screamed and shouted. Yes, now she felt ashamed, well aware that the children must have been terrified of seeing their mum out of control. She had cried as she recalled those awful occasions but emphatically denied that she had ever shown any signs of violence towards Jeremy or the children. He had hit her once and since then she’d backed off if arguments had got too heated. She half-heartedly laughed, “I’m half Jeremy’s size, I wouldn’t last five minutes.” The separation, although painful had at least brought relief from the barrage of emotional abuse, but she was utterly devastated. She loved Hetty and Jonty, but did she still love Jeremy? She didn’t know, she didn’t think so, but she certainly grieved the loss of him and the family life she had felt so secure in once upon a time. She had fond memories of times when things were very different but were they genuine? Or was it only when she complied with Jeremy? Now she wasn’t sure if she ever really loved him. “I needed him and he made sure that continued.”
She told me, “He was a very demanding husband, someone who always expected lots of attention and oh boy, that’s what I gave him. I idolised him. When we first met, I knew I’d met my soulmate. I’d just do anything for him, I always put him first, he was the most special person in the universe, my hero. I was proud of him. He loved me to dress up and look glamorous so he could show me off, so I always made a real effort to please him.”
“We were surrounded by a group of similar aged couples and some singles left over from school and uni days whom he had always hung around with. On reflection, I can see that they were in fact all his friends and that most of my special long-term friends, the ones I had made during my childhood in the Welsh valleys and then in the Newcastle area had somehow got side-lined, and I rarely saw them. I hadn’t really realised that was happening but now when I think about it, I can see that my friends weren’t quite so admiring of him, they were down to earth and they were the ones who used to warn me that whilst on the surface he was the life and soul of the party, he would use people, he’d manipulate so called friends, making them believe that of course they agreed with him. I chose not to listen but I realised early on that criticising Jeremy just wasn’t on. I remember trying it once before we were married, sort of light-heartedly. I told him that he was getting a bit pudgy around the middle – forties’ spread come early I’d laughed. He just flipped – yelled at me that if that was what I thought of him, he knew where he stood and stormed off leaving me gobsmacked and very embarrassed. All of our friends were equally nonplussed. Jeremy’s reactions were so often completely over the top. I didn’t want to be the target of his anger, I admit it now. I just backed down in the future and let him dominate me, and in the process, I’m ashamed to say that I lost my own sense of identity and my sense of self-worth. The real me got lost.”
“I loved being a parent, but it was different for Jeremy. I can see that the novelty of being a dad 2
4/7 soon wore off. Oh yes, there was no doubt that he loved Hetty and when Jonty came along, he adored having a son, but he seemed to expect us both to be able to switch off from them and to enjoy adult time together. He hated the fact that I was always on the alert for Hetty and Jonty; that ’cos I’m a mum that I always put their needs first – it was instinct. I realise now he was jealous. Jealous of the bond I had with both Hetty and Jonty which didn’t include him.”
“As the kids got older, I tried to return to my career as a physiotherapist but I soon realised that shift work wouldn’t work for us. Jeremy just couldn’t be depended on, so I gave up the idea and went to work regular hours in a bank in Shrewsbury and that seemed to trigger more arguments with Jeremy and he and I began to drift even further apart.”
“I’d always done everything for the children and that continued. I’d been the one who’d taken them to dance classes and swimming. I was the one who stood on the cold side-lines of the rugby pitch waiting for Jonty to play a game which he wasn’t really that interested in, but which his dad had insisted that he ought to play ’cos that’s what all the other lads from school did. I did everything for the children. I juggled my work hours and didn’t resent not having any me time. The kids were the joy of my life.”
“Admittedly, Jeremy worked long hours and made a lot of money. Materially, we could have everything we wanted but he never seemed prepared to swap anything around so that he could do anything with us all as a family. He just seemed to be unavailable and I guess that he may well have chosen to interpret that as him being marginalised and pushed out rather than him choosing to spend the free time he did have with his mates on the golf course or having a drink. If I’m truthful, I know he didn’t really make much of an effort. But I’m equally guilty. I didn’t make any effort to encourage him, convincing myself that there was no point. He needed to be the one at the centre of my attention not the children and he couldn’t cope ’cos he wasn’t number one a hundred per cent of the time.”
