I Invited Her In

by Adele Parks

  ‘Abi always had a sort of throwaway candour that people find refreshing and dazzling. She’s managed to harness that in a way that makes her an enticing but also probing interviewer,’ Mel concluded.

  Ben sighed, exasperated. ‘I don’t think there’s anything disposable about her candour at all. She’s an actress. A controlled, tight professional.’

  ‘Wow, that sounds a bit harsh.’

  Ben shrugged. ‘I’m not being harsh. But it’s her job, right?’ He decided not to say any more. Mel didn’t probe. She’d clearly decided that there were times in a marriage that if you know your partner is trying to hold something back, you let them. You respect their decision to exercise self-restraint. It’s not always good to talk. She turned out her bedside light but he didn’t follow suit.

  ‘I was wondering how much longer you think she might be staying for.’ He sounded politely guarded. It was a new thing between them. Normally, they were totally frank with one another; they saved their Sunday-best manners for people they didn’t love and trust quite so much. ‘It will be four weeks tomorrow since she arrived.’

  ‘Has it? That’s flown by. I feel so sorry for her,’ Mel said, sadly.

  Ben reached out his hand and found his wife’s under the covers, squeezed tightly. ‘It’s a terrible situation to be in. I don’t mind helping out your friend. Naturally, I want to,’ he murmured. She looked at him, waited for the but. There so obviously was one. ‘But an open-ended invitation is not easy to negotiate. Our home life is so disrupted.’

  ‘How so?’

  Ben was terrified to be alone with her, the girls were becoming wild, Liam seemed changed too. Ben couldn’t say exactly how – harder to reach, not insular, maybe aloof. Ben couldn’t find a way of articulating any of that so he stuck to the facts.

  ‘Well, the smoking.’ Ben loathed smokers. He couldn’t understand it. Why poison yourself? He resented passive smoking and was angry that the kids were being polluted.

  Mel nodded. ‘I’ll reiterate the no-smoking-in-the-house rule.’

  ‘She hogs the bathroom.’

  ‘She’s started to use the kids’ bathroom more, so as not to get in our way, but I’ll keep an eye on it.’

  ‘Plus, she’s not careful about what she says in front of the girls. Yesterday Lily said, “You’re the bitch” and then high-fived me because I tied her shoelaces.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Not a suitable expression of joy for a six-year-old, I think you’d agree.’

  Mel looked infuriated, as though she thought Ben was the pain in the arse for bringing these things to her attention, rather than Abi being at fault for doing them. ‘Abi hasn’t had kids, she doesn’t have the same sensitivities. Is this really about me being out for tea yesterday?’ she asked huffily.

  ‘Yesterday and twice last week. The kids can’t live on restaurant food.’ Ben knew he sounded like a bit of a wanker, a throwback. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t present his case more pleasantly and convincingly. He just needed Abi to leave.

  ‘They can,’ Mel pointed out.

  ‘OK well, we can’t afford constant restaurant food, plus you stayed out late and had to get a cab home.’

  ‘I’d had a drink, you couldn’t want me to drive home.’

  ‘No, I’d never suggest that. But because you didn’t get up early enough to retrieve the car the next day, we got a parking ticket. An eighty-pound fine.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’ She didn’t sound particularly sorry. ‘Next time we’ll walk there and plan to get a cab back.’

  ‘That’s not really my point.’

  ‘But it is a solution.’

  They both fell silent and stared at the ceiling. Ben thought that if Mel dwelt on the points he’d made, she’d see that they were all reasonable.

  ‘I’m really tired,’ Mel mumbled. ‘I just need some sleep. I have work in the morning and no time for this.’

  ‘Time to sink two bottles of wine though,’ he snipped. He hadn’t meant to say that but seriously, tired? Who was to blame for that?

  ‘You are not to be pacified, are you? I suppose I should be pleased you’re not falling under her substantial charms. Other women might have to worry about that.’ Mel said this with a smile in her voice. She was trying to avoid a row. He didn’t want a row either but her comment just embarrassed him. He couldn’t explain.

  Instead he asked, ‘She has a meeting in London tomorrow, right?’

  ‘Yes, she does. A couple, I think, from what she was saying. She’s setting off early to get her hair cut and then she’s meeting an agent on Friday.’

  ‘What’s her proposed show about then?’ Ben asked. They were still holding hands; hers felt a bit clammy now. Uncomfortable.

  ‘I did ask but she was vague.’

  ‘Did she think you wouldn’t get it?’

  ‘Ben!’

  ‘Or is it top secret and she felt she couldn’t tell you? Both explanations for her ambiguity are a bit insulting, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Mel snapped impatiently, ‘What is the matter with you? Don’t you get it that sometimes it’s not helpful to be reductive? She has many ideas. She’s very creative. Nothing is set in stone yet.’

  ‘So, these meetings are brainstorming sessions, rather than actual pitches?’ He wanted to come across chilled and cool but he knew he was behaving like a dog with a bone.

  ‘There’s a lot of interest,’ Mel replied firmly.

  ‘Good.’ Ben wiggled a little closer to his wife; the length of his body was warm, pushed next to hers. ‘It’s good that she seems to be in demand. I don’t think it’s going to be too tricky for her to find work again.’ His point being that as soon as she was back in work their lives would go back to normal. ‘I guess she’ll want to get settled in London now things are hotting up for her.’

  ‘Well, she will be down there for a day or two but she’ll be back at the weekend.’

  ‘Hasn’t she got meetings next week too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it make more sense to stay in London?’

  ‘It’s expensive to take a hotel for the whole weekend.’

  God forbid Abi should actually spend any money. ‘Couldn’t she catch up with some of her other friends?’ He felt exasperated.

  ‘She hasn’t mentioned anyone and London is just an hour on the train from here. Why wouldn’t she come home?’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Anyway, we’re going to the cinema on Saturday evening. Do you remember? I asked if you were OK with looking after the girls or if you wanted to come with us, in which case I’ll get Liam to sit.’

  ‘Will Liam be around?’

  Liam was off to Scotland tomorrow for a visit to the Scottish Parliament. His politics teacher had organised the trip. He was excited about it.

  ‘Yes, he’ll be back Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘What are you going to see?’

  ‘That one with Meryl Streep.’

  He considered it. ‘No, you go without me. Liam won’t want to sit. He’ll want to be out with Tanya after being away in Edinburgh.’

  ‘Are you going to turn your light out?’ Mel asked. ‘I’m really knackered.’

  He did as she asked and they lay in the darkness, Ben’s eyes open, his mind whirling. ‘How are Abi’s finances?’ he asked.

  ‘Wow Ben, you can’t ask that.’

  ‘I can, considering she’s staying with us, rent free.’

  ‘She’s a friend, a guest. You can’t think I’m going to ask her for rent.’

  ‘No, I realise you’d never do that, you’re far too generous for your own good, but I thought maybe she’d offer, or at least do a shop or something. I mean, if she’s going to stay much longer.’

  ‘She bought me a bunch of flowers the other week.’

  ‘Garage flowers. If I’d bought you those, you’d have thrown them back at me.’

  ‘I would not.’ She would. They both knew it. He waited patiently for her to answe
r his question.

  ‘Abi has made one or two references to money since she’s been staying with us. Nothing specific, but enough for me to gather she’s a bit short at present.’ Ben tutted. ‘It’s just a matter of cash flow. Once the divorce is settled, she’ll be in a better position, really quite wealthy. Her assets are currently tied up.’

  ‘When you say her assets, you mean Rob’s, don’t you?’

  ‘Which is practically the same thing.’

  ‘I don’t know if his lawyer would agree.’

  ‘Obviously she’s not as well off as she was right now, but she says she likes rising to the challenge of economising.’ Ben snorted. ‘What?’ asked Mel.

  ‘Well, no one who is ever really broke likes, “rising to the challenge of economising”.’ He repeated the words, couldn’t resist dipping them in heavy sarcasm. ‘People who are genuinely broke hate it. They stress and worry about it.’

  ‘I never said broke. It’s cash flow. Look, Ben, talking about money with Abi – or any of my friends – is a bit icky-making.’

  ‘That’s odd, because you happily talk about breast exams, bodily fluids, the colour and consistency of children’s poop. I’ve heard you. You are not normally known for being shy.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s different.’

  ‘Doesn’t she have any savings? Isn’t Rob giving her anything? He must be. It’s the law.’

  ‘I don’t know all the ins and outs of her finances. Obviously, her lifestyle is going to be adversely impacted by the separation but she’s a strong woman with skills and talents – she’ll get back on her feet. The last thing she needs now is any pressure from her friends.’

  ‘Yeah, but we can’t go on indefinitely. We need an end date.’

  Ben just wanted Abi out of the house, he wanted them to be a tight little family again.

  ‘Don’t you like her? I can’t see why you don’t like her.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like her,’ he replied carefully.

  ‘That’s a lot of negatives.’

  ‘Just two. The correct amount for a positive.’

  But he knew he didn’t sound positive. They lay in awkward silence. The tension in the air, overpowering. Mel yawned ostentatiously. ‘Look, tomorrow, when Abi is in London and Liam is out, maybe we should do something, just us and the girls. Or even just us.’

  Eventually, he mumbled, ‘Maybe.’

  ‘A takeaway? Thai? Fish and chips? Or I could cook. Beef fillet? It will be nice. Now, let’s get some sleep.’

  Ben agreed, ‘OK, I’ll make sure I’m out of the office dead on five.’

  23

  Melanie

  Saturday 24th March

  We never managed the takeaway or the beef fillet, I didn’t even get to see the Meryl Streep film. Instead, I spent Friday and Saturday at my parents’ home, the result of a call from my mum saying she and dad had both come down with what she described as a ‘nasty sickness virus’; they needed me, to see they kept hydrated, to change sheets, to nurse them as well as I could. Ben took the reins with the girls and I swapped my Friday shift for Sunday, gambling that my parents would be on the road to recovery by then or, a worst-case scenario, Ben would take over from me. Obligingly, my parents had stopped vomiting by Saturday evening and were even able to eat some soup and crackers. I played with the idea of stopping over but just before midnight I made the decision to drive home. I wanted to get back to my family and Abigail, I could always return if they needed help tomorrow.

  As I pull the car onto the drive I see that the house is in darkness. I sneak in the front door, quietly closing it behind me. I’m totally knackered but also a little bit wired and feel in need of twenty minutes’ reading before I go to sleep. As a working mum who is always busy and in demand, there is a secret quiver of freedom attached to being awake when everyone else is tucked up in bed. I don’t feel hurried or observed. I feel like I’m breaking the rules. I don’t want to disturb Ben so I get a glass of water from the kitchen and then head into the sitting room.

  ‘Gawd, Liam, you scared me.’ I jump out of my skin, spilling water down my top and jeans as I catch sight of Liam in my peripheral. He’s lounging in the saggy leather armchair that I think of as the cats’ chair. Sometimes when I see Liam unexpectedly it takes me a fraction of a nanosecond to recognise him. His size and width always surprises me. I still expect to see – well, not a little boy – but maybe an eleven-year-old, skinny shouldered, knobbly kneed. Liam has broad shoulders, definition around his chest, and his legs are like tree trunks. Him growing up shouldn’t be a surprise to me, but it is. I don’t understand how I can have grown this giant. ‘How was Edinburgh? What are you doing sat in the dark?’ I glance at the clock – it’s half past midnight and he’s not watching YouTube videos or playing video games. I flick on a coffee-table lamp. Obviously, it’s tricky to impose bedtimes as such on people who are six foot plus, but normally Liam has taken himself off to bed by now or is glued to his PC.

  ‘Who is my dad?’

  ‘What?’ The question is so stark and unexpected that for a moment I don’t understand it at all. It’s late. It’s been a long night. My mind is still with my parents. They were asleep and peaceful when I left but will they be able to keep down supper? ‘What?’ I ask a second time, dumbly.

  ‘It’s an easy question. I mean, I’m hoping you have some idea. Who is my dad?’ It’s impossible not to hear the aggression in his voice.

  ‘Ben is your dad,’ I say firmly.

  ‘You know what I mean. Who is my father?’

  I put down my handbag, take off my jacket and shoes. These actions buy me precisely thirty seconds, not long enough. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to ask?’

  ‘Of course you can ask. It’s never been a secret. You’ve just never shown any interest before so, I mean, why are you asking now?’ He shrugs. I sigh and sit down on the sofa opposite him. I don’t flop back but instead perch awkwardly, leaning towards him. I reach forward to put my hand on his knee; he shifts out of my way.

  The last time Liam asked about his biological father he was seven years old. Ben had just proposed to me and I’d said yes, provisionally. I’d said I needed to check with Liam first. It wasn’t that I was asking Liam’s permission, exactly – and even if I had been, I was certain he’d give it because he adored Ben from the get go – it was more that I felt it would be weird to present the situation as a fait accompli. I took Liam to a café for his tea, just the two of us. I remember he was actually put out that Ben wasn’t joining us. Ben always did this daft little trick with his drinking straw if it was in a paper packet. He’d rip off one end of the paper and then blow so that the paper wrapping shot off, often into Liam’s face. Liam used to laugh his socks off over that. Ben still does the same now for Lily and Imogen; they never laugh as much as Liam did.

  ‘Where’s Ben? Is he coming?’ Liam demanded, looking about expectantly.

  ‘Well, today it’s just the two of us because I have something big I need to talk to you about,’ I explained.

  ‘OK,’ said Liam, not looking especially interested, let alone concerned. I explained to him that Ben had asked to marry me, that he wanted to be his daddy.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked. ‘I mean, I’d like to marry Ben, but only if you want it too, because we both have to want this.’

  ‘Would he live with us?’

  ‘Yes. He’d probably sell his flat and we’d move out of ours. We’d probably buy something new for all of us. A house, hopefully. A small house.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ Liam said, smiling. ‘I’d like to live with Ben. And would I get to call him Daddy?’

  ‘Yes, angel. If you want to.’

  ‘I really want to. I think you should say yes quickly.’

  I started to smile, said we should order milkshakes to celebrate and assured Liam I would say yes as quickly as possible.

  ‘You don’t want him to change his mind,’ said Liam with some concern.

/>   ‘We can text him if you like!’ I laughed.

  ‘Do that.’ And then Liam reached across the table and put his chubby, sticky little hand on mine and whispered, ‘Does this mean the daddy who made me can never come back and take me now?’

  I was shocked. He’d never hinted that he believed this to be a possibility. ‘Angel, that’s never going to happen,’ I said quickly, hoping to reassure him.

  ‘Why not? Doesn’t he love me?’

  My heart stopped. That’s what it can be like, having a child. One minute you are euphoric, certain you are making their world a happier and better place. The next minute you are crashing, realising you’ve messed something up. What was the right answer? ‘He doesn’t know about you, Liam, my sweet. I am sure if he did he would love you more than anything in the world.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he know about me?’ Liam by this point, was drawing on the corner of his menu. He was drawing a robot, his favourite doodle at the time.

  ‘I didn’t tell him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I didn’t know how to.’ I am not a trained child psychiatrist. I have no idea if this was the best answer to give my angelic seven-year-old, it was just the best I could do.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I didn’t know where he lived.’ What else could I say? How else could I explain it?

  ‘Well,’ said Liam, smiling, ‘what he don’t know can’t hurt him, as Nana always says.’ I suspected my mum used this expression when she secretly gave Liam jam sandwiches for tea. ‘If my first daddy doesn’t know about me, I don’t think he’ll mind if Ben is going to be my daddy now,’ said Liam finally. ‘I’ll have a strawberry milkshake, please, Mummy.’

  From that day onwards, Liam called Ben ‘Daddy’ and Ben was Daddy. He has never, ever asked anything about his biological father, even when he was studying sex education or genetics in biology, or when he had to draw a family tree for social studies. Sometimes, in our home, we might comment that Imogen has my temper, or that Lily is messy like I am. Liam sometimes jokes that he gets all his good qualities (his patience, his logical reasoning, his ability with tech) from Ben. We never allowed the fact of his biology to get in the way of what we wanted to believe. Liam never showed any curiosity about his father and, I suppose, I allowed myself to believe he was an irrelevance.