by Adele Parks
When Liam was at college Melanie did not speak to Abi at all. Abi didn’t care about that; it was a relief not to be subjected to any more of Melanie’s self-indulgent, sanctimonious incredulity. She did small spiteful acts that were designed to irritate and incense Abi, such as making just enough tea in the pot for one person, or hiding the remote control so that Abi couldn’t watch TV. Mel no longer stocked hummus, soya milk or William Chase gin (which was Abi’s preferred brand). These things had all been abundant until Mel found out about the affair. She banged on the bathroom door almost the moment Abi went into it, instead of patiently lingering outside. There was never a warm, fluffy towel waiting. Obviously, she was hoping to make things uncomfortable, drive Abi away with petty acts of spite. Abi was not going to be riled, she was not going to storm out. To maintain Liam’s sympathy, maybe even love, she needed Melanie to throw her out. If she was thrown out, Liam would come with her. If she walked out, after his parents had been so seemingly reasonable, he might not.
Then, they could move to that smart hotel in Northampton, the one with the cocktail bar she’d visited with those school-mum friends. That would do, until an apartment became available. That wouldn’t take long now. It was all falling into place with satisfying ease. A couple of days in a hotel would be the perfect transition for Liam, from childhood to manhood. Abi liked hotels. Decent ones. Ones with discreet and polite doormen, dramatic lobbies and rooms with dim lighting and plush furnishings. She liked the neat, clean sparse bathrooms and a fully stocked minibar. She could afford it. Contrary to what she’d hinted to Mel, there had never been cash-flow problems. Rob was too guilt-stricken to be tight.
There was a certain satisfaction to living openly with Liam, right under Mel’s nose, as she could see the distress it caused, the turmoil, but Abi had had enough now. Liam’s bedroom had his football trophies on one shelf, a poster aging and categorising dinosaurs hung on the back of the door. Obviously it had been there for years, so long that others had stopped noticing it. Abi didn’t like it – she took it down and put it in the bin. It was time to set aside childish things. It was time to move things on a bit.
Melanie was ironing in the sitting room, in front of the TV. She always did that on a Thursday morning, just before she started work. It amused Abi how Mel had clung to her routines. It somehow underlined how very ordinary and limited she was. Dreary, really. Melanie looked surprised when Abi walked into the room with a tray, loaded with biscuits and tea.
‘I thought you might fancy a cuppa,’ Abi offered, smiling her most ingratiating smile. Mel didn’t reply. ‘Do you?’ Abi challenged. It would be an act of such childishness if she point-blank refused to answer that simple question.
‘No, thank you,’ Melanie replied.
Abi sighed and sat down, although she had not been invited to. She set about pouring two cups of tea, despite what Mel had just said.
‘You know, Mel, I didn’t want things to turn out like this. I didn’t do this to hurt you,’ she lied.
Mel glanced up from her ironing and glared at Abi. ‘What did you do it for then?’
‘I fell in love. We fell in love.’ Mel let out a small sound, somewhere between infuriation and disbelief. ‘You know, I just found him irresistible.’ Abi watched the colour creep around Mel’s neck and chest, up her cheeks into the roots of her hair. ‘I tried to explain that to you before you knew who he was. I thought if you could understand and accept how I felt about my young lover before you knew it was Liam, then things would be easier.’
‘You said your lover was twenty-six. Liam’s a teenager,’ Mel insisted.
She was boring, she sounded like a stuck record. ‘He’s eighteen in June, just a couple of months away.’
‘Yes. A teenager.’
‘A man. How long are you going to extend his childhood for? Why do you insist on infantilising him?’ Mel bit down on her lip. Turned it white. Abi wondered whether she’d draw blood. She hoped so. She chose her words carefully, for maximum impact. ‘Honestly? I do see your point. I suppose it was a concern to me too, at first. I told you that. I thought I’d want to do it with the lights out because in the darkness, I could lose the sense of my age. Forget exactly who I was and how I was tethered by thirty-eight years. I could float into any age I wanted. I could be twenty-seven, when I was in the prime of my career or better yet seventeen, like him.’
Mel stared at her, mouth slack and wide now, gawping.
‘But he insisted age didn’t matter. It was him, Melanie, you must understand that,’ Abigail stated with intensity, as though it was important to her that Mel believed her. It wasn’t. Then she added, ‘We do it with the lights on, Mel. He makes me feel that good.’
Melanie gasped, satisfyingly. She’d stopped ironing. She didn’t pack up and leave the room, though. Abigail’s words pinned her to the spot like a morbid spell.
Abi continued. ‘The way he looks at me, Mel. No one has ever looked at me that way before.’ She gently shook her head from side to side in wonderment. ‘He sees me as no one has ever seen me. It’s so different with him. It’s difficult to appreciate what it feels like, after nearly twenty years of being faithful to one man, to be kissed by someone other than that one man. To feel the different technique, the variance in pressure. To smell his hair and skin rather than Rob’s. To be on the receiving end of attention.’
A fat tear ran down Melanie’s cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. ‘It can’t be him,’ she muttered.
‘But it is,’ Abi insisted.
‘It mustn’t be.’
‘Why not, Mel? Why not him?’ Mel shook her head. ‘The thing is, you see a kid, maybe even a gawky, awkward kid.’
‘Because he is!’
‘No, he isn’t. He’s a sensitive, interesting, mature, beautiful young man.’ Abigail held Melanie’s gaze. ‘I want to gobble him up. Consume him.’
Melanie kicked the plastic basket that held the clothes that needed to be ironed and yelled, ‘Fuck you! Get out of my house. Just get the fuck out of my house.’
37
Melanie
It was not my finest moment.
What I wanted to say is that I know he is a sensitive, interesting, mature, beautiful young man. I know this better than anyone. I’ve been there every step of the way. Every mum thinks that their child is a marvel, exceptional. Certainly, I do. But it was the way she said beautiful. With something near reverence. It made me feel dirty and furious and helpless and hopeless. She filled the word with lust. She made it sound so sensuous. I’ve been calling him beautiful all my life. A beautiful bouncing baby, later he’d draw me a beautiful picture, then in his teens, on occasion, I’d be moved to say he’d done a beautiful thing. Sometimes, I said this with a heavy sense of irony (he might have put his plate in the dishwasher) or I might have meant it for real – like that time he visited Austin’s parents for the weekend in Liverpool, after they moved away from here. I knew he didn’t want to go but he did, because they needed to see a friend of Austin’s, found it comforting. Now, she’s taken the word and ruined it. She’s put sex all over it and it is disgusting.
Her words bounce around my head. ‘I want to gobble him up. Consume him.’
When he was a baby I used to kiss and kiss and kiss his belly and I’d say, ‘I could eat you, you’re so delicious.’ It was sweet, innocent. Her claims of passion have echoes of my love and yet it’s entirely different. One was wholesome and good. The other unnatural, unhealthy.
I am surprised to find I can still be shocked by what life throws at a person. I thought I pretty much had it covered. A one-time fling leading to an unexpected pregnancy ironically leaves you feeling oddly smug, at least on one level. You think you can’t be any more surprised or shocked. But I was wrong.
I am broken.
It has been an impossibly hard week living with the pair of them, under this roof, pretending not to mind. I’ve barely managed to carry on but, both at work and at home, I’ve had to act as though nothing is wron
g when absolutely everything is. I’ve felt constantly queasy; it’s been hard to eat. To sleep. The reality horrifies me so much, I’ve had no alternative but to live in my head. I’ve spent the week disassociated from everyone and everything else around me, everything other than Liam and Abigail. I think about them all the time. I wonder if they hold hands on public transport. Do they stop in the street to kiss one another lustfully? What must people think? Simple conversations with Ben or the girls, or in the shop, when I’m serving someone, have become impossible. I lose the thread of my thoughts, forget how to swipe a customer’s debit card, I can’t remember where I’ve parked my car. Everything is falling apart.
I didn’t owe her this much.
He is my baby.
I know, I know. He’s almost eighteen. He has a lover. But.
After my outburst, Abi goes upstairs and packs her bags with remarkable efficiency. She calls a taxi. Together, we wait for it, in silence. I think of her as perfect, at least to look at but she’s not, not quite. I notice that when the light catches her top lip there are small beads of sweat nestled in between fine hairs. There are lines around her mouth. I guess she hasn’t found anyone to do her Botox here. I wonder when Liam will notice these things about her – if he already has. Does he mind?
‘I’m going to stay in that hotel we went to for cocktails, in Northampton, Hashtag. Will you explain this to Liam?’ When I don’t reply she shrugs, ‘Never mind, I can always text him.’
‘Why stick around at all?’ I ask. ‘Why not go back to London? Or America?’
‘Liam’s here,’ she replies simply, unapologetically, as though it should be obvious to me. A half-jeer. Heavy-lidded eyes. Knowing.
‘Leave your key,’ I say, flatly.
I arrive at work an hour late because I wanted to make sure Abi left the house before I did, so I promise to work through my lunch break to make up the time. Now I know she’s not in my home, I am somewhat more focused. I manage to make decent sales and the day moves along quickly. I never thought coming home from work and making tea for the girls, anticipating Ben’s – and hopefully Liam’s – return, would be such a welcome simplicity, but it is.
I make shepherd’s pie and serve the girls first. I plan to eat later with Ben – and, again, hopefully Liam. Always hoping. Nothing is certain anymore. I realise that he may not come home for supper. He may not come home again. It depends if she’s been in touch yet and what she says when she is. Part of me regrets throwing her out, another part of me thinks it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever done.
The girls and I sit around the table together, talking about the hamster, ballet class and SpongeBob SquarePants. I stay in the moment and delight in their carelessness, in the fact Lily puts her feet on the table to demonstrate pointy toes; I make a big fuss of Imogen who has been awarded certificates for spelling and for being kind in class this week. I have spent some evenings with just the girls since Abi arrived, when she was in London, but I realise now that it’s been a long time since I’ve been settled with them, listened to them and given them all my attention. I’m still desperately concerned about Liam and Abigail’s relationship but maybe, now that she’s out of immediate proximity, Liam will find some perspective. Maybe we’ll be able to talk some sense with him and perhaps he’ll simply feel less infatuated. I have not have been granted a pardon but I have at least secured a stay of execution.
‘Where is Abi tonight?’ Imogen asks.
‘She’s staying at a hotel.’
‘Is Abi Liam’s girlfriend now?’
‘Yes, yes she is,’ I admit, with a hard, bright smile on my face that is unlikely to convince anyone, even an eight-year-old.
‘But she’s not your friend anymore, is she?’ chips in Lily.
‘What makes you ask that?’ I’m nothing if not polished at sidestepping tricky questions.
‘You don’t laugh together anymore. Or drink wine together. She’s always with Liam now. Kissy kissing.’ Lily makes kissing sounds in the air, wraps her arms around herself and wiggles on the spot. I’m glad I told Abi to leave. What effect must all this be having on the girls?
‘Is Tanya sad or does she have a new boyfriend now?’ asks Imogen, thoughtfully.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply honestly. ‘I imagine she’s a bit sad.’
‘She must miss me,’ declares Lily.
I kiss her forehead. ‘I’m sure she does.’
Liam comes home from football practice at six thirty; he bursts through the door, excited, expectant.
‘Where’s Abi?’ he asks.
She obviously hasn’t texted him yet. It’s too much to hope that she’s losing interest. I suppose she’s testing me to see if I tell him where she’s gone. If I don’t, she can say I was trying to separate them and that will widen the rift between Liam and me; if I do, he’ll probably run to her and I’ll have to live with that.
‘She decided she’d be better in a hotel,’ I reply carefully.
‘What? Which hotel?’
‘One in Northampton. Hashtag. I’ve been there,’ I say brightly, although that’s hardly likely to impress him right now.
‘What’s gone on?’ he demands, immediately suspicious.
‘Nothing,’ I lie. I know lying is bad but the girls are still up and I don’t want to go into details in front of them. I don’t want to go into details at all. Liam looks at me as though I disgust him.
‘Why am I asking you? You never tell me the truth about anything.’
‘That’s the pot calling the kettle, isn’t it?’ He pulls his face into a sneer that makes me feel old and foolish. Why do I resort to my mother’s antiquated sayings when I’m under stress? ‘You haven’t been especially truthful with me, of late,’ I point out.
‘What do you want to know?’ He turns to me, arms wide, the picture of a reasonable man.
I daren’t take time to shoo the girls, because this may be a one-off opportunity to make some progress, to reconnect. I’d like to persuade him to sit down, I’d like to get him to eat shepherd’s pie and then we could talk things through properly, but I daren’t offer it in case he thinks I’m stalling and leaves the kitchen, runs out on me, as he has done so many times of late. I want to know when it started. I want to know if he’s serious about her. I want to know if he thinks they have a future.
Before I get a word out, Liam’s phone pings. His face lights up – it’s obviously a text from Abi. Or maybe a WhatsApp or Snapchat; she’s far too cool to send a good old-fashioned text message. Liam reads the message and then glares at me.
‘Abi has told me what a total bitch you were to her this morning.’
The girls gasp. They’ve possibly heard the word before but never out of Liam’s mouth and never aimed at me. ‘Watch your language.’ I nod towards his sisters.
‘You are such a hypocrite,’ he comments. ‘She told me what you said to her. That you made her leave here. She’d brought you tea and biscuits, Mum. What is wrong with you?’ He turns on his heel and leaves the kitchen.
He stays in his room all night, only emerging to answer the door to the pizza delivery guy. Ben tries to engage him but doesn’t get much back so he gives up. We all get an early night.
‘Have I lost him?’ I ask Ben, as we lie in bed. My heart is breaking, bleeding all over my world.
‘Give it time, Mel. Let’s see.’
I don’t find this much comfort at all.
38
Ben
Friday 13th April
Ben’s phone vibrated on his desk. He sighed. Mel. What this time? Another problem, or more accurately, the same one. Liam and Abigail. Another development, as Mel would call it. He said, she said. It wasn’t that he was unsympathetic, as Mel had accused him of being, or even unaware of the seriousness of the issue – he got it, his family was in turmoil. The thing was, he was in the middle of a big audit and early signs were that the business wasn’t going quite as well as his bosses would like. He couldn’t afford to make any errors. He had to check and r
echeck everything he did, working twice as hard just to stay still; these constant distractions weren’t helpful. Yes, his family was in turmoil but matters would only get worse if he messed up at work, lost his job. Not that he was saying he was at that stage, but things were hairy.
‘Hi,’ he said, hoping his wife would understand the inference of his tone. I’m at work, I can’t chat.
No preamble, she rarely bothered with such niceties anymore. ‘Liam has moved out.’
‘What? When?’
‘I don’t know exactly. This morning I banged on his bedroom door and yelled at him to get out of bed. I could hear the shower as I hurried the girls out of the house.’
‘You didn’t wait to give him a lift to the bus stop?’
‘I was pretty confident he wouldn’t want that after last night. Neither of us was ready to face the other yet. I finished work at five, as usual, and came home but Liam hadn’t collected the girls. No one was here.’
‘What, he just left them at after-school club?’ Normally Liam picked up the girls from after-school club on a Friday – he got paid to do this and to make their tea. It was an arrangement that suited everyone. Liam made some money and the girls loved it.
‘There was a message on the home phone voicemail from their headmistress. She was not impressed. I didn’t get there until six fifteen. You know the club finishes at five. They looked like little lost orphans, standing waiting for me. I could kill him. They were really upset. They’d got it into their heads Liam had been in an accident.’
‘Oh no, the poor things.’
‘It’s so inconsiderate of him.’
‘So, wild guess you think he’s visiting Abi at her hotel.’
