‘You seemed fine to me.’
Conversations with her mother always left Ruth feeling soiled, as though she’d committed a sin that she could never amend, as though she’d got it all wrong. Ruth’s mother had an unshakeable belief in her own rightness and, annoyingly, it was not an assumption Ruth had been able to ignore. Were all children plagued by a fear that perhaps their parents were right? Ruth found it hard to imagine an adult Betty so troubled.
After speaking to her mother, Ruth would wonder if complete self-belief was the answer to life and whether imagining something to be so was all it took. Occasionally she tried it, but she irritated herself too much. Hearing know-it-all tones coming out of her mouth made her want to lie under a duvet and admit defeat.
Articulating panic to someone who had never felt it was very hard. It was true that when she had had her breakdown after Betty her mother had been nonjudgemental, but Ruth had still been left with the sense that she had let her down, that Stella Douglas’ daughter should have inherited her own steely determination.
And surely her mother’s disapproval was well founded this time. Surely you should organise your own child’s third birthday party. Or at least want to. But Ruth found it so easy to hand everything over to Aggie. She could imagine asking the girl to buy Hal’s presents; she would no doubt make a better job of it than Ruth could. And while it was comforting to feel so confi dent about the person looking after your children, was there something wrong with a mother who let this all happen?
Kirsty materialised next to Ruth’s desk, making her realise that she’d been lost in another world for too long.
‘Ruth, I need to ask you a favour. You know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, but I’ve literally exhausted all other possibilities and, like, I can’t think of anyone else.’
‘Don’t worry. What?’ Ruth had lost the ability to say no outside her home a few years ago.
‘You know all these interviews we’ve got to do for the next issue – the women who are living their dream?’
‘Yes.’ The idea made her feel weary.
‘Well, that woman, Margo Lansford, who gave up some job on the stockmarket to move to a farm and breed pigs or whatever –’
‘Make soap. Yes.’
‘Well, she can absolutely only do the interview this Saturday, and I’m going to my friend Emma’s wedding in Scotland and there’s, like, no way I can miss it. And I’ve asked, literally, everyone else I could think of, but no one can do it. And, I mean, I could ring a freelancer, but I thought I’d better check with you first, especially after that bollocking Sally gave us all about budgets.’
‘You want me to do it?’
‘Well, I mean, only if you can. Or I’ll get a freelancer in.’
‘No, no. That’s fine.’
‘She’s only in Surrey and she’s got four kids. Maybe you could take yours?’
Life was refreshingly simple in Kirsty’s world.
Much, much later, Ruth was lying next to Christian in bed. The day had seemed relentless and she’d longed for this moment for too much of it. Her body sank into the mattress, her limbs lifeless beneath the sheets. They had been letting Betty come into their bed for a few days now and a miracle did seem to be occurring. Their daughter was waking later and later each night, padding the few feet from her room into theirs, where she would climb over their sleeping bodies and crawl between them. That morning Ruth had woken with the alarm and been unable to remember Betty even arriving in bed between them.
‘I can’t believe we didn’t think of letting Betty sleep with us before,’ she said now, staring upwards at their cracked ceiling.
‘I know,’ said Christian. He was reading a document for work and he let it drop onto the floor.
‘Thank God for Aggie,’ said Ruth.
‘I suppose we’d have figured it out on our own.’
Ruth laughed. ‘I doubt that.’
Christian smoothed some hair off her face. ‘Do you feel any better for it?’
‘Not yet, but I read on the Internet that it takes a few days for a sleep-deprived body to get used to rest. You can feel worse before you feel better.’
‘Makes sense.’ Christian kissed the tip of her nose. Ruth wished all moments between them could be this calm. ‘In a few years they’ll both be at school and it’ll be much easier. This is only a little bit of time.’
And it was true that when Ruth remembered time it had raced by her, like a greyhound chasing a hare round a track. ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘I must remember that more.’
Christian lay down and turned off the light. ‘Got to get some sleep, big day tomorrow at work.’
‘Oh, I forgot to say,’ Ruth ventured into the darkness, ‘I’ve got to go and interview some woman who makes soap in Surrey on Saturday. She’s got four kids and a big farm. She said we were all welcome. Do you want to come?’
‘Yeah,’ said Christian lazily, ‘don’t mind, whatever you think.’
The vegetable patch was growing vegetables. Agatha knew it was ridiculous to be impressed by something doing what it had promised, but it had seemed a bit farfetched when they’d planted those tiny seeds all those weeks ago. Over the course of the past couple of months she had taken Betty and Hal to the bottom of the garden every day for signs of life. At first they’d had to squat close to the ground and Betty had been petulant when there was nothing to see. But then, one day, even from the kitchen door Agatha could see what looked like a fine film of green covering their patch. They had rushed across the lawn, the excitement beating in their chests, and been rewarded with tiny sprouts of plants emerging from the ground. At that tender stage they all looked the same, one tiny delicate stem with two oval-shaped leaves opening on either side. Some were still in the act of breaking through the soil and Agatha wanted to sit by the patch all day in the hope of seeing life growing before them.
Now the little seedlings had developed into fully fledged plants. The potatoes were tall and threatening, the carrots wispy and ethereal, and the tomatoes were just losing their flowers and budding small round nuggets of green. Agatha taught the children to touch them to release their scents, smells which would waft around them in a haze of delicious goodness that made Agatha want to cry.
But best, best of all, Hal was as interested as Agatha had ever dared to hope. He had been transfixed by the sight of the miniature plants and could spend hours playing by the vegetable patch waiting for them to grow. His fascination when Betty had first pulled a potato out of the ground was so sweet that Agatha had let Betty try a few carrots, even though she’d known they weren’t ready. Hal had even asked to touch them, when usually he’d have cried if he was too close to a vegetable. He’d stroked the hard skin and brushed it clean of the earth and then held the potato up to the light like he was examining a precious stone.
‘You can eat that,’ said Agatha. ‘Betty’s going to have it for her lunch with fish fingers.’
‘And the carrots,’ said Betty.
‘Of course, the carrots as well.’
‘If you want, you could try some,’ said Agatha nonchalantly over her shoulder as she carried it all into the kitchen, belying the fact that her heart was beating as fast as if someone had said they loved her.
Agatha and Hal had a secret. Even Betty didn’t know about it. Agatha had told Hal not to tell anyone, but she wasn’t sure if he understood this or if he forgot most things that happened to him. Agatha had stopped offering Hal food from almost her first day. She couldn’t bear the look of terror on his face as soon as he saw her opening the fridge or getting out the tiny jewel-coloured plastic plates and cups. So one day she’d told him that she didn’t care if he ate or not, that as far as she was concerned bottles were fine and he could have as many as he wanted, whenever he wanted them. Sometimes she even let him stay sitting in his plastic house, watching Thomas on the telly through the window whilst she fed Betty.
But then a few weeks ago she had bought a packet of chocolate buttons. She opened the
m when Hal was sitting next to her on the sofa, sucking intently on a bottle, his eyes fixed on the screen. She had made sure that they were warm, so their sweet smell rushed out of the packet and into the air as soon as she broke the seal. Sure enough, Hal looked round and watched as she popped them into her mouth. After a while she pretended he had surprised her.
‘Oh, Hal,’ she’d said, ‘you made me jump, looking at me like that. Don’t tell anyone, but these are my favourite sweets.’
Hal let the bottle fall from his mouth.
‘Do you want to touch one?’ Agatha had asked, holding her hand steady between them. ‘They feel a bit like velvet.’
She was sure Hal didn’t know what velvet was, but he reached out and poked the soft round circle.
‘The best thing about chocolate buttons,’ Agatha went on, ‘is that you don’t have to eat them. You just put them on your tongue and they melt. Do you want to try?’
And to Agatha’s amazement, Hal had picked up a button and put it into his mouth. He now ate buttons with gusto and had licked a chocolate digestive and taken a spoonful of jelly. Agatha planned to try a yoghurt soon, but then the potato fell into her lap.
Agatha cooked the potatoes for longer than necessary and then mashed them with lots of butter and milk. She spooned most of them onto Betty’s plate, along with the fish fingers and carrots, and then called Betty in. The little girl was naturally overcome with joy at the thought of eating vegetables from the garden and kept exclaiming at their deliciousness. Soon Hal was at the door.
‘Has your DVD finished?’ asked Agatha.
He sidled up to her, nudging her legs in one of their unwritten conversations that only they knew the language to. She picked him up and cuddled him onto her lap.
‘Betty’s eating the potatoes from the garden,’ she said. Agatha waited a beat. The moment had to be perfect and she was waiting for Hal’s body to relax into hers and Betty to leave the table. When everything was in place she whispered to him, ‘You could try some, they’re quite like buttons.’
Hal didn’t say anything, so Agatha passed him a tiny spoonful, the smallest offering to the smallest god. The spoon hovered by Hal’s mouth; for a second Agatha thought she might have read him wrong and a fine sweat broke out along her top lip and her leg began to quiver. But then Hal opened his mouth, she put the spoon in and he swallowed. She didn’t offer him any more and he didn’t say anything. He got down from her knee and went back to his house.
By the time Ruth arrived home Agatha was bursting to share her triumph, but Ruth was in a terrible mood. She was complaining of a migraine and moaning about an interview she had to do the next day, even though it was Saturday. She barely listened to Betty telling her about the vegetables and then claimed she was too tired to give them a bath. Agatha wanted to slap her across the face, but instead punished her by not telling her about Hal and the potato. More and more she was starting to think that Ruth didn’t deserve her children.
‘Do you want me to have the kids tomorrow if you have to work? I don’t mind,’ Agatha volunteered when Ruth came downstairs from putting the children to bed.
Ruth was already getting the wine out of the fridge. ‘No, no. Christian and the kids are coming with me. The woman I’m interviewing has four and she said it would be fine.’
Agatha had become increasingly concerned about leaving Hal with Ruth or Christian. They were still offering him food, making him sit at the table in front of a plate piled high which they would then spend half an hour pleading and cajoling with him over, until he was finally released, crying and snotty, to find Aggie and curl into her lap. She couldn’t bear the thought of a whole day without him, not being there to wipe away his tears and whisper in his ear that it would be all right, soon it would be Monday and he could go back to normal.
‘Do you really want to do that? I mean, won’t they get in the way? I don’t mind having them.’
‘Don’t be silly, Aggie, you need a day off. Go out, have a bit of fun.’ Ruth walked into the sitting room and Agatha could hear the telly being turned on.
Agatha stayed in the kitchen to clear up the mess from supper, as well as to hide the tears building at the corners of her eyes. It seemed unfair that she should be the one bringing these children up and yet have so little say over what they did. One day she would become disposable to the Donaldsons, she suddenly realised, opening a great big gaping hole in her stomach, and then she would have to leave and Hal would be given over to someone who could never begin to understand him like she did.
The Ram brought back memories which Christian knew should be left alone. Once he had fucked Sarah in the loos. He was incredulous with himself for agreeing to meet her there, but something close to excitement twitched in him as he walked into the pub. It had changed during the past three years; it was more sophisticated with grey walls and large comfy sofas looking over low tables on which little tea lights flickered. Sarah was already there, sitting in a corner with a drink, looking stunningly pretty in a simple summer dress.
‘I’m sorry about last time,’ she said as soon as he sat down. She had regained some of the youthful confidence which he’d found so attractive before and he felt unnerved. Or rather he felt old, like a stupid, middle-aged man having his head turned by a promise from the past. He might have recently renewed his third passport, but it didn’t have to be over yet.
‘There’s nothing to be sorry for.’
‘Come on, I was a bag of nerves.’
‘I wasn’t much better.’
‘I could do with a fag. D’you want to go outside?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Have you given up?’ The question was too knowing.
‘Sort of. You know.’ He would not be drawn into criticising Ruth this time. He still worried that this had been his worst betrayal of his wife, something which he felt sure she would never be able to forgive. But Sarah had made all the disdain he felt for Ruth pour out of him like a wave crashing onto a beach. Sarah only had to ask the most innocent-sounding question and he could hold forth for hours about his wife’s lack of awareness, the way she stifled him, how she had let herself go while pregnant, the fact that she never found anything funny any more, their lack of a sex life.
‘Anyway, I’m just going to say it this time,’ said Sarah now. ‘If we get it out of the way early on, then maybe we could have a nice evening, you know, for old times’ sake.’
‘Okay.’ Christian drained his glass.
‘I think you were a shit. You treated me badly. And Ruth, for that matter.’
‘You’ve got me there.’ Christian felt relieved, if that was it then he’d said much worse to himself already.
‘I’ve thought about it all a lot and what made me most angry is that I protected you from everything, when you should have gone through it with me.’
‘Protected me?’
‘I didn’t miscarry, Christian. I had an abortion.’
Christian was shocked, both by his naivety at not working this out and by the act itself. Sarah had done him a favour, but, shit . . . something primal in him felt revolted by the information.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
‘Sorry. I didn’t guess, which makes me very stupid. I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.’
‘It’s okay. I had a tough time afterwards. It’s why I went to Australia and, of course, I hooked up with the first totally unsuitable man I met and then it took me ages to get out of that relationship because my confidence was so shot. Eventually my parents had to come over to get me and bring me home and I’ve spent the last year in therapy.’
‘Shit, I thought you said you’d just got back.’
‘You’re not the only one who can lie, Christian.’
‘Can I get you another drink? I need one.’
Christian tried to clear his head at the bar, but the walls seemed to be closing in on him. He felt as though he owed Sarah something, but he couldn’t work out what it was. He knew what he owed Ruth. Or
more than that he knew what he wanted from Ruth. He could feel her body next to his in their bed, the smell of her skin when he’d kissed the top of her nose the night before. By the time he got back, Sarah was smiling.
‘Sorry to spring that on you. It’s become important to me that you knew. Don’t ask me why. But I do feel better for having told you.’
‘Look, I’m sorry too. I was so selfish, I was only thinking about myself at the time. If it helps, it hasn’t exactly been a bed of roses for me.’
‘But it’s worked out with Ruth?’
‘Yes. She’s been very gracious.’ The word sounded strangely like a criticism.
‘And you’re happy?’
‘As happy as anybody else.’
Sarah looked at him over her glass. ‘That’s always been your problem, Christian. You never expected to be happy. You don’t mind settling for content.’ Christian noted how diametrically opposite Toby’s assessment of him had been. He wondered who was right.
‘Are you happy?’ He knew this was the wrong response and that he should have defended Ruth, because of course that’s what they were really talking about. But he couldn’t do it.
‘I’m getting there.’ She crossed her legs so that her skirt rode up and Christian had to lean forward to curb his desire. He didn’t want this to be happening again, but he felt drunk, almost drugged.
‘I’m going to have to go, Sarah,’ he said, ridiculously, giving everything away.
‘But it’s only nine thirty. You haven’t even finished your drink.’
‘I know, but I can’t do this. I’m glad I came and you got a chance to tell me everything. But I should go home now.’
She smiled. ‘I’ll walk to the tube with you.’
The air was still warm when they got outside and the streets were full of beautiful young bodies. Christian felt separated from them by himself, but knew Sarah offered him a passport into their world. In a not too distant future they would be Betty’s people, but surely he could make one last claim on them.
Everything and Nothing Page 8
