Everything and Nothing

by Araminta Hall

  She hated Ruth. How could the stupid woman think she wouldn’t get Hal a present? It made her want to scream right into her face: I spend more time with him than anyone else, I know him better than you do, he likes me the most.

  Betty snatched the present out of Agatha’s hand and ripped it open. ‘Look, Hal,’ she was shouting, ‘it’s a tent, it pops up, look.’

  ‘It’s a portable one.’ Agatha felt her voice fading against the tide and momentarily had to put her hand to her head to stop the spinning. Ruth’s father stood up to take a photo, blocking her view and sending out a flash of light which seemed to bounce around the room. Agatha heard a pop and lots of laughter as the tent opened. Betty was first in, shouting for Hal. Ruth’s father was taking more pictures and Ruth and her mother were having a loud conversation about the new curtains Ruth had put up a few weeks ago. Then Hal started crying and no one seemed to notice. It’s too much for him, Agatha wanted to say. She stepped forward, but as she did so Christian did the same. Hal looked up, he saw them both and then he put out his arms for his father who lifted him up and took him out of the room.

  Agatha slipped out behind them. Christian was taking Hal upstairs and he already seemed calmer. She turned and went into the kitchen but it was too cramped and she could still hear all the noise from the other room. Agatha unlocked the back door and went into the garden. She walked barefoot across the still-damp grass and stood by the vegetable bed. Vegetables poured from this patch of ground, they ate them nearly every day and they tasted like the sun which made them grow. Agatha studied the sturdy plants bursting out of the soil and remembered the day when they had planted the seeds. The day which had properly made her fall in love with Hal so that everything about him became relevant and his whole being filled her head. She stared until her breathing returned to normal and she stopped seeing the white flashing lights at the edge of her vision. It’s okay, she told herself, it’s okay. One more day and then we’ll be gone and we won’t even have to remember any of this if we don’t want to.

  Christian only managed to get a few minutes alone with Ruth between being woken by Betty in a state of high excitement and the first guest ringing the doorbell at three o’clock. He went to put his work laptop in the bedroom and found her in there getting changed.

  She was making him feel fifteen again. ‘I love that dress,’ he said.

  ‘Nice try.’

  ‘No, I mean it.’ Ruth was looking in the mirror, smoothing her finger under her eyes. She often did that and yet Christian realised he had no idea why; he had never asked her. He was desperate to say something of meaning before she disappeared into their life again and he lost her for the next few hours. ‘I’ve loved being here today.’

  Ruth looked perplexed. ‘Have you? I think parties are a bloody nightmare.’

  ‘No, you know what I mean. Of course the party’s a nightmare. But, you know, usually I’m looking for a way out. Or calculating how much I can drink without pissing you off. But today’s been different. I don’t know, it’s great to be around you and the kids.’

  She turned round and her tone was sneering. ‘You sound like a self-help book.’

  ‘Sorry. I can’t seem to say what I mean.’

  He saw Ruth’s face soften at this and she came closer to him. ‘I know. I know how that feels. And anyway, I do know what you mean.’

  Christian reached forward and took his wife’s hand. He wanted to pull her towards him but it was too far. ‘Ruthie, I am so sorry. Please, please, don’t make me go.’

  Ruth looked down. ‘Christian, I do love you. But I don’t know if I can trust you again. I don’t even know if I believe you.’

  ‘I can see that. But can’t I stay and prove it to you? Give me six months or something and if it’s all bullshit then I’ll leave.’

  Ruth pulled her hand away. ‘I don’t know. I can’t think straight at the moment. Let’s get today out of the way before we make any big decisions.’ And then she left the room.

  Christian went over to stand by the window, swallowing down emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Everything he was saying to Ruth was real and yet he had negated the meaning of his own words by who he was, or who he’d been. He found it shocking that he could have forgotten how much he loved his wife. How her presence could have lulled him into a false sense of security. Ruth’s magazine was always going on about couple time and shared experience and how you had to develop interests and go out for dinner at least once a month to keep your relationship alive. But of course all of that, which he’d bought into, was nothing more than the consumer bullshit which ruled their lives. Love wasn’t about watching a play together or liking the same music or sharing a plate of spaghetti. It was something primal you felt, which was no doubt why it was so hard to hold on to. Christian could see how, in a fully explained world, it was hard for mankind to make sense of an emotion that had no beginning or end or even any substance.

  Was it possible to change overnight? He’d read about people who’d had epiphanies, but weren’t they usually religious? Whatever this was didn’t feel that momentous. What he was feeling was more like taking off a coat when you’re too hot and the relief at losing the weight and the heat as cool air rushes round your skin. Thirty-nine was undeniably old to grow up, but that’s what it felt like. He knew with an unusual conviction that he would not be chasing the next pint after work or night out with his friends or even promotions and money. He knew that he would be looking forward to reading Betty a bedtime story or brushing Hal’s teeth with him or even sitting in front of some crap TV with Ruth. He realised that he was becoming more like his parents. That Betty and Hal would grow up finding him as boring and irrelevant as he had his own parents. That they would sit in their bedrooms listening to downloads wondering how their parents survived being so square. And the thought made him smile. It made sense, in some strange and unfamiliar way.

  Ruth hated giving parties. They made her feel nervous and useless and bourgeois, although surely it was ridiculous to imagine that she wasn’t any of those things. Today’s was even worse as every time she tried to do something helpful in the kitchen she could feel Aggie prickle and the atmosphere became so strained she ended up leaving.

  Finally, she sat in the sitting room with Hal and read him the books her parents had given him. His body succumbed in her lap and she took his tiny finger and traced it over the blue shoes, the red T-shirt, the yellow shorts.

  ‘Blue,’ she said to Hal. ‘Can you say blue?’

  But he turned his face into her arm and the force of her love snatched at her heart. She was struck with the realisation that it didn’t matter if there was something wrong with him, it would only make her love him more, protect him from a world in which right and wrong were even a concept.

  Betty sauntered in and sat on the arm of the chair they were in, resting her head on Ruth’s shoulder.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ said Ruth. ‘I was trying to teach Hal colours.’

  And, for once, Betty didn’t point out that Hal couldn’t talk because he was stupid or shout at Ruth. She took Hal’s hand and told him about the colours in the world. Ruth sat back, her heart still fluttering. The best part of perfect moments was their unexpectedness.

  The next time she checked on Aggie the icing had gone wrong on the biscuits and Aggie was scraping it off and going red. Ruth told her not to bother, but Aggie looked like she might cry and so she left again.

  Ruth went to sit in the garden with her mother and a glass of wine. She felt rattled by everything and the alcohol went straight to her head. Christian was being very strange. She couldn’t let herself believe that if she let him stay life would be different. She wasn’t even sure if different would be better. She felt like her life view might easily be a con, that she was selling Christian a bogus reality. She certainly didn’t feel confi dent in her ability to be right, she could definitely see how much she was to blame for this mess. But at the same time they both seemed to be letting go of something and it felt good.r />
  The thought was intoxicating. The idea of keeping her husband, of gluing her family back together, of being in a sustaining relationship, of not having to shoulder the burden of everything all on her own, of having someone to talk to. Except, did people ever change? And if he was doing it only so he could stay and didn’t mean it, then it wouldn’t work and the third time would surely be even more painful than the second, which had been worse than the first because she’d had to factor herself in this time as well. But if he didn’t mean it, then why was he bothering? She’d opened the door and he could walk out to a new life of nights out, young women and endless parties. It was what she’d always thought he wanted, so she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t grabbing it with both hands.

  ‘Has Aggie got everything under control then?’ asked Ruth’s mother.

  ‘What do you think of her, Mum?’

  ‘I’m not her biggest fan.’ Her mother was lying back in the deck chair, her face turned towards the sun.

  ‘No,’ said Ruth, ‘I feel like that, but I can’t put my finger on why.’

  ‘Oh, she’s too bloody perfect and polite. No one’s really like that. You should never trust anyone who doesn’t fuck up or tell you to fuck off.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘I should put that in Viva.’

  ‘But it’s true, darling. I’ve watched you offering to help in your own kitchen, it’s ridiculous. And I saw how she looked at you when she was giving Hal her present this morning. Honestly, I think she’s odd.’

  ‘I think I’m going to have to get rid of her and then we’re not going to have a nanny and I’ll probably lose my job if I have to take any more time off and the next one will no doubt be just as bad.’

  Ruth’s mother sat up at this. ‘Stop it, Ruth. You’re like a bloody runaway train, one problem snowballing into the next. If I thought like you I’d never get anything done, it would all feel too overwhelming. There’s probably a solution somewhere. Dad and I would be happy to come up for a couple of weeks if you really couldn’t take off any more time.’

  ‘Would you?’

  But then the doorbell rang and Ruth had to go and answer it and within twenty minutes there were at least thirty people in their house.

  Toby’s girlfriend was as knockout gorgeous as Christian had imagined and he was as unbothered as he had known he would be.

  ‘Just out of interest, how old is she?’ asked Christian as he stood with Toby by the vegetable patch, watching Gabriella help his wife with an unruly game of musical bumps.

  ‘Twenty-seven.’

  ‘She doesn’t look it. I thought you were going to say seventeen.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I’m pushing forty. That would be illegal or something.’

  Christian laughed. ‘Or something.’

  Last year, after everyone had gone home and he’d drunk too much and Ruth had shouted at him for not helping clear up, he’d told her he hated her most at their children’s parties. Why? she’d asked. Because you remind me of my mother, of your mother, of all the fucking mothers in history. And she’d answered, But I am a mother. And he’d been filled with an overwhelming sense of unfairness, as if his life had been snatched when he wasn’t looking. What the fuck do you want me to be? she’d wept. I can’t be everything, you know. He’d walked away, but he’d wanted to grab her and shake her and demand to be told why not. Why couldn’t she be everything he wanted? Why couldn’t it all just be for him, him alone?

  ‘You not drinking?’ Toby motioned with his bottle of beer at Christian’s glass of water.

  ‘No. Don’t fancy it today.’

  ‘How’s it going with Ruth?’

  ‘Okay. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk yet. She’s very angry and hurt.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll let you stay?’

  ‘I don’t know. It seems impossible right now. Even though I’m properly sorry, it’s not only about me: she’s had a part to play in all of this. I don’t know, it feels like months of heart-ache, if we even get to that stage. I’m trying my best, but I don’t think she believes me.’

  Toby picked the leaves off their hedge, crumbling them absentmindedly as he did so. ‘You’re right, it’s not just you. I love Ruth, but she’s hard work, she expects a lot.’

  ‘I know. I suppose we both are. I think, if we’re going to stay together, maybe we need to get over all that crap and try to get on.’

  ‘I guess it’s time we both grew up,’ said Toby. ‘I’m thinking of asking Gabriella to move over here and live with me.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah. She doesn’t let me get away with shit. It’s about time I met a woman who tells me to piss off when I’m being a wanker.’

  ‘Do you think we’re backward,’ asked Christian, ‘or are all men like us?’

  Toby smiled. ‘I’d take a punt on all men.’

  ‘Ruth has been saying all this to me for years and it never meant anything before now.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s like giving up smoking, isn’t it? You know it’s bad for you, but you have to want to give it up to do it.’

  Christian opened his mouth to answer, but that was when they heard the noise. It was so loud and unlike anything he had ever heard that he dropped his glass. He looked around and everyone in the garden had had a similar reaction. Even the children were motionless, their shouting silenced for the first time that day. He checked for his own children and saw Betty standing in front of Ruth. He couldn’t see Hal. He cast his eyes frantically around the garden in the way an animal might.

  Children’s parties pushed Ruth out of her head, to the point at which she felt she couldn’t cope and it was only a matter of time before she would fall to the floor, a dribbling wreck. She had been negotiating a manic yet tedious game of musical bumps when she heard the scream. She was slightly tipsy, the only way she managed to get through her children’s parties, so for a moment she wondered if she’d imagined the noise. But then she saw the look on Gabriella’s face and realised it must have occurred, out loud, in the real world. Her first thought was shameful. She was annoyed that something like this should happen just when she’d found out that Gabriella wasn’t a nightmare as her unfeasible beauty suggested. She even felt guilty for laughing with Sally and her friend Janie earlier about how women like Gabriella should not be allowed to attend parties which contained women over thirty, especially those whose bodies had been over-stretched by childbirth. Believe me, Sally had said, my body is pretty damned good for my age and I don’t have children and she still makes me feel like shit. That’s rich, Janie had said, considering you’d put her on the cover of Viva tomorrow and I’m your target audience. Sally had laughed and said, Get used to it, girls, it’s the way of the world.

  Ruth’s second thought had been much better. She had reached instinctively for Betty, even though she was standing right in front of her. She noticed most of her friends moving towards their own children. Ruth did a quick head count and saw that Hal was missing. She turned in that instant; surely the sound hadn’t been made by a person, but still, where was Hal? She caught sight of Christian scanning the garden and realised he too was looking for Hal. Her heart contracted and a sickness welled in her stomach as she tried to grab at an understanding which had been coming but was not yet fully realised.

  Agatha had had a terrible day. Nothing you could say could change that fact, not that anyone would have attempted to say anything to make her feel better. None of them even realised it had gone wrong. Which was the fucking story of her life, when you thought about it.

  For starters Ruth and Christian had behaved exactly as she’d known they would. Messing up the bloody house and generally not acting with any sense of understanding for what she’d done. Then she’d made the sandwiches too early and spent the rest of the time worrying that they’d go soggy. And Ruth’s fucking mother – the woman couldn’t take a hint and was as thick-skinned as her stupid daughter. If Agatha had refused her help once she’d done it a fucking thousand times. And then finally
the stupid woman had made Betty some lunch! Fucking lunch, two hours before a party! Lunch, which had to be cleaned up and washed and swept away. Which was better than Christian, who’d had the temerity to make himself a sandwich at quarter to two. These people were fucking insane.

  Agatha wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get the icing for the biscuits so spectacularly wrong, but it had tasted like shit and she hadn’t had the nous to try it until she’d iced nearly all of them, which meant she’d had to scrape it off forty biscuits before bloody re-making it. Then Ruth had come in and told her not to bother. Not to fucking bother! The woman was totally unfi t to be a mother.

  When the party had started all these people flooded into the house. It was horrible. Everywhere Agatha looked people were laying claim to Hal and giving him presents and picking him up and shouting. Why did they all have to talk so fucking loudly? They drank glasses of fizzy wine and talked over their children’s heads about the most banal crap. Nothing made any sense or had any cohesion to it. Agatha had a party plan, but Ruth had made no attempt to follow it. A few times she’d tried to talk to Ruth, to get some order back into the party, but Ruth had barely been able to hide her disdain and told Agatha not to worry, she’d handle the games. But then when the games had started Ruth hadn’t handled them herself, she’d got that bloody bitch whatever her name was with the long flowing black hair and pouty lips and tight jeans. She was a bloody liar, Ruth, just like every bloody body bastard else.

  Agatha had looked out of the window as she was taking the cling film off the sandwiches and arranging the biscuits on a plate and getting the little sausages out of the oven when she saw Hal holding hands with the long-haired bitch. He was jumping up and down and smiling. Agatha had a sudden pang of hatred shoot through her that was so violent it momentarily took in Hal as well. Fickle, that was the word. Every bloody bastard body was fickle as well as a liar. If she’d had a gun she’d have shot the lot of them.

  Was it getting hot in here? Agatha desperately pushed open all the windows. She was sweating. It was rolling off her so that she could feel it running down her back and pooling at the base of her spine. Was it hot? Why was it so hot? Agatha pulled at her T-shirt, she wanted to take it off, she needed to take it off.