by Adele Parks
As soon as he’d finished reading the letter, he rushed downstairs to search for his phone. It had run out of battery yesterday and he’d left it on charge overnight in the sitting room. He wanted to call Mel. Tell her he had read her letter. Tell her he was coming home, that he had been on his way anyhow. They were going to sort out this craziness together.
As he switched on his phone it started to beep, signalling the arrival of texts. There were three messages from Mel and one from Liam. Pleased, because he hadn’t heard from him since he stormed out of the house last Friday, Ben opened Liam’s first.
Dad, I’ve proposed to Abi. She’s said yes. Be happy for us.
Ben froze. His insides turned to liquid. All the joy he’d felt just a moment ago slid out of his body. Ben re-read the message twice, three times. For fuck’s sake. The stupid boy. Was this for real? He stared at the message, seeing if the words would change in front of his eyes because they couldn’t be right. Ben didn’t hear Imogen trying to get his attention, or rather he heard – she was asking whether they could go to the park – but he couldn’t form a response. Liam had proposed? He was seventeen. No way. This was just a fling. That’s what he’d thought. That’s what he’d told Mel. He’d promised her it was nothing to worry about.
‘What is it?’ asked Imogen, but before he could form an answer she grabbed his phone off him and read the text. She stared at him, wide-eyed with astonishment and trembling with excitement. ‘Is this true, Daddy?’
Ben couldn’t think how to respond. He stretched to retrieve the phone but Imogen had swiftly passed it to her Nana.
His mother adored Liam; she looked up from reading the text and shook her head, clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. ‘I think you should be getting home, son,’ she advised. ‘Your holiday is over.’
48
Melanie
I don’t know how to fix things for Liam or for myself. Abi is pregnant. She’s having my son’s baby. My grandchild. I haven’t given any serious thought to being a grandparent, I thought it was a while off, but if I had ever imagined the moment, I wouldn’t have thought it would be like this. I’m over a barrel; she thinks that I’ll accept things for what they are. I guess she imagines I’ll be so desperate to reconcile with Liam that I’ll willingly play the happy granny, I’ll pop round and babysit whenever they ask me to, I’ll invite them for Christmas and smile gratefully when they agree to come – not for lunch but for an hour in the afternoon because they have other plans. Maybe it will come to this. I don’t know.
I don’t have the answers. I long for Ben. I wonder whether he might have any answers and if he does, when I will get to hear them. I called him the moment I left the park and several times since but his phone is off or dead. It’s so frustrating. I need him. When will he stop being angry at me? I send him a text message. Call me. Then, I think about it for a moment and send him another. Please. I realise that’s still not what I want to say so I send a third. Come home. I need him here. It’s where he belongs.
Online, I book a train ticket to Newcastle for later this afternoon. The first seat I can get that doesn’t break the bank. It’s a five-hour journey with a change, but I don’t care. I shouldn’t have waited this long. I should have followed Ben and the girls the minute they drove away. I nip next door and ask the neighbours if they will feed the cats.
There is one more thing I must do before I can go to Ben and the girls. I can’t do anything to help Liam right now – he doesn’t even think he needs my help, let alone want it – but I know there is someone else I must help, if I can. I called Tanya as I left the park but her phone was switched off too. I despaired and wondered how we managed before mobiles and why everyone I know seemed not to want to talk to me. I texted her asking her to come around ASAP. I hope she sees it soon.
The doorbell rings at noon on Tuesday. I charge down the stairs, not sure whether it will be Ben and the girls, Liam, or Tanya. I’d be delighted to see any of them. The house seems large for the first time ever. I’m lost and alone.
It’s Tanya. She looks young and vulnerable, a stark contrast from Abi, who I last saw striding down my path into a waiting taxi, competent and in control. I hold the door wide, and there’s an awkward moment. I want to hug Tanya – she looks in need of a hug and I certainly am. I put my arms around her, pull her close. She’s slight, flexible, fluid. She smells of strawberries, a shampoo I imagine; I’m assaulted by the fact of her youth.
‘Come on in, I’ll put the kettle on.’
I make tea and put biscuits on a plate, although neither of us appears to be particularly interested in eating or drinking, it just gives us something to do with our hands. Tanya wraps her fingers around the mug, as though she finds the warmth comforting, even though it’s not a cold day, quite the reverse. It’s stuffy and close. I notice she’s started to bite her nails.
‘I have to ask, Tanya, did you make a copy of the film? Abi and Liam’s film?’
Tanya stares at me, defiant and angry, yet I see some shame in her face too. She’s a lovely young woman. Underhand tactics are not her modus operandi, or at least not normally. She’s been driven to this spiteful act through desperation. She nods.
‘I wish I hadn’t. I can’t stop looking at it.’ I pity her inability to resist that compulsion. It was horrific enough the first time around. I guess she was looking for something, trying to understand something; something that seems remote and out of her grasp because she’s seventeen, not thirty-seven, which must frustrate her, confuse her. ‘The way he goes at her . . .’ She shakes her head. I hold up my hand. I really don’t want to hear – I already know far too much about my son’s sex life as it is. But Tanya is oblivious to my sensitivities. ‘Like an animal. It’s revolting. That sordid, filthy woman repulses me.’
All her anger is directed at Abi, even though it is Liam who has betrayed her. Blaming him is impossible. I understand. We both love him too much.
‘I know it’s awful, Tanya. I understand that completely but it hasn’t helped, you sending the video to Rob. It’s just caused more trouble,’ I point out, carefully.
‘What?’ Her head shoots up, she glares at me.
‘Rob has reduced Abigail’s settlement offer.’
‘Oh, my heart bleeds for her.’
I smile. ‘I’m no fan, I agree with you, but Liam is outraged – it’s brought them closer together and they think I sent it. In a way I am responsible. If I hadn’t copied it from Abi, then you couldn’t have copied it from me.’
I don’t tell her Ben’s left me because he’s so furious over the matter. She shouldn’t have to shoulder that level of responsibility. Besides, it isn’t her fault. That’s between Ben and me. It’s hurtful that my husband and my son thought I was capable of petty revenge and that I’d inflict hurt on Liam. I wish they’d trusted me more. Tanya is staring at me, her expression confused, even offended.
‘I didn’t send the recording to her husband.’
‘It’s OK, sweetheart. I’m not angry with you. I only called you round here and brought it up because I have had to tell Ben it was you and maybe I’ll need to tell Liam. I’m sorry.’
‘But it wasn’t me.’ She’s adamant.
‘We’re the only ones with a copy. I didn’t send it.’
‘Nor did I.’ Tanya shrugs and her denial is flat, emotionless and therefore convincing.
‘Then who?’ I only have to think about it for a moment. ‘Abi.’
‘Abi? She sent her own husband her scandalous sex video? Had her settlement reduced as a consequence. Why would she do that?’
‘To destroy me.’
‘Fuck, Mrs Harrison, that’s so messed up. You have to tell Liam. She’s batshit crazy.’ I’m almost amused at the juxtaposition of her expletive bang up against her formality in addressing me. It somehow signifies where she is in life. Straddling adulthood and childhood. Her naivety is highlighted when she thinks telling the truth is the answer, that it is even possible, that it will solve things.
> ‘He won’t believe me if I do. He’ll just think one of us is responsible and either you or I are lying. He’s too in her thrall to doubt her.’ Tanya doesn’t bother to contradict me. ‘Tanya, there’s something else I need to tell you before you hear it from anyone else.’
‘What?’ she asks fearfully.
‘I take it you haven’t been on Facebook for a while, or I presume any social media.’
‘No, I haven’t bothered with it for a day or two. It’s too easy to start stalking Liam and I don’t want to find myself doing that at two in the morning. Why?’
There’s no easy way to say it. ‘Abigail is pregnant.’
‘Abigail is having a baby!’ The excited exclamation doesn’t come from Tanya, who is sitting in shock, mouth gaping, colour drained so that she looks somehow present and yet invisible – the excited cry came from Lily.
I turn and to my horror see Lily, Imogen, and Ben stood in the kitchen.
‘We sneaked in, we wanted to surprise you,’ says Ben lamely. He looks horrified.
The girls meanwhile are dancing about the kitchen, exclaiming, ‘A baby! A baby! We’re going to be aunties.’
‘And bridesmaids,’ adds Imogen.
‘Bridesmaids?’ I ask, confused.
‘Abigail and Liam are getting married, aren’t they Daddy?’ The girls are skipping about the room, skirts twirling as they spin and dance, high on the excitement of being bridesmaids, giddy with the romance of it. I feel like I’m in a trance, the room is swaying. My body is contracting. Every molecule is tight and then loose. I feel like I’ve just been punched.
‘I knew about the baby, but not the wedding,’ I stutter.
‘I knew about the wedding, but not the baby,’ says Ben. He rushes to me and folds me in a hug. I surrender to it. My legs feel weak; they might collapse under me.
Tanya grabs her bag and pushes past Ben and me, crying, running for the front door.
49
Melanie
Saturday 2nd June
It surprises me what a person accepts. What I have accepted. It has been six weeks since I last saw my son, since that sad conversation on the park bench. I haven’t even spoken to him or received a text from him – he’s blocked me on all his social media channels. It’s June, approaching summer, normally my favourite part of the year, where the days are hot and long, children play in gardens while sausages sizzle on barbeques; this year I hide from the sun and the march of time.
I called him frequently and sent several texts until I discovered he’d changed his phone, which I only understood when we got our monthly statement. He hasn’t let us know his new number. Previously, we had paid for his phone, under our contract; I assume Abi is paying now. I don’t know where he is living. It’s come to this – he’s going to be a father, he’s going to be married and I don’t even know where he’s living.
It appears he quickly reneged on his promise to return to college. I guess he prefers to lounge in her arms. I went to his sixth-form college, spoke to Mr Edwards – he told me that Liam hasn’t attended for weeks, and he doesn’t hold much hope of him even turning up to his exams, let alone passing them. Mr Edwards seemed harassed, distracted, but not especially surprised. It’s coming up to exam period, he has four hundred pupils to watch over. He’s not a babysitter or a policeman. We’ve been to the police. But a missing love-struck teen, just weeks away from his eighteenth birthday, who has announced he’s leaving to live with his girlfriend, isn’t a missing person of any concern, apparently. No one can force Liam to school.
The fury that seized me and held me hostage has abated; now I feel uselessly spent, empty. I’m drowning in a sense of powerlessness. If she loves him, why wouldn’t she want him to continue with his studies, pursue his career? Although I know the answer. I guess she doesn’t want him going away to university, broadening his horizons, meeting other women. I guess he doesn’t want this either. Not anymore.
I search for him on the streets. I scan the groups of teenagers that huddle outside the kebab shop, that spill out of pubs and clubs. Occasionally, I even chase lone figures up the street, desperate to catch up with him, only to discover it’s not him at all. Never him. It’s not football season; if it was I’m sure I’d catch him playing a game at his club – he wouldn’t give that up, would he? But his team have disbanded for the season and I don’t know where they live. We’re long past the age when I had a handy list of addresses of classmates; it’s been a long while since I arranged play dates for Liam. Naturally, I’ve been to the houses of his school and college friends that I do know, two or three of them have been familiar faces since childhood. If any of them know where he is, they are not saying. They look uncomfortable, stare at their feet, tell me they don’t have an address or new telephone number, say they’re staying in touch via Facebook. I doubt they’re telling me the truth. I ask them if they can at least let me know if he’s safe, if he’s happy. That causes them to smile slyly, as though I’m crazy to worry.
‘Oh, very happy,’ they assure me. Their grins are slick, secretive. They’re the sort of grins that slide on and off faces with remarkable speed.
I know I won’t find him on the streets. I know he is in a king-size bed somewhere, tangled sheets and limbs. Unthinkable.
‘Do you think he’s seduced by her celebrity?’ I ask Ben. It’s Ben I chew everything over with. My parents and some close friends know the facts but hardly anyone has the stomach to dissect our situation as regularly as I feel the need to.
‘Well, she’s not that famous.’
‘Then her wealth?’ I stop myself from saying anything more. I almost asked whether Liam might have been attracted to her experience but I’m afraid that Ben will say yes, I’m afraid my husband will confirm that my son has been seduced by her age. The very thing that repulses me must attract him. Where I see fault he sees novelty, advantage. Or maybe it’s simpler than that: maybe he doesn’t see her age. I recall that when I first met Abi and indeed when she arrived in our home in February, I was instantly beguiled by her. She had such self-belief and charm. I had flutters in my stomach, a spark. She is somehow wildly charismatic, compulsive even. Not to me, not now, but to whoever she shines her light on.
I try and concentrate on what I have. The old-fashioned band-aid of counting my blessings. Ben and I are good. We hunker down and watch boxsets of shows that everyone else was talking about three years ago, but we always felt too busy to devote ourselves to. Now time seems to stretch, bend. Even though it’s a glorious summer and the evenings are long, I feel safest, calmest curled up on the sofa at home. I hold Ben carefully, close. I have a feeling that if I move suddenly we will shatter into a thousand, tiny pieces. He has, I think, forgiven me for not telling him about Rob being Liam’s biological father. We’ve talked about it at length. It was challenging, there were tears, but I think he understands that my shame and desire for it to be other than it was, meant I blanked out the fact of Liam’s parentage and stuck to my fiction instead.
‘Do you think you should tell Liam now, about Rob?’ he asks.
‘I can’t tell Liam anything. I don’t know where he is.’
‘Good point. But, I mean, do you plan on telling him when we do eventually find him? When we’re all speaking again.’
I’m touched by Ben’s confidence that this day will come, but I don’t share it. ‘I don’t know, Ben,’ I answer honestly. ‘A lot depends on what’s going on between him and Abi. If they’re a couple, then will telling him help? Rob is Abi’s ex-husband. How can we tell them that he’s also Liam’s father?’
‘It’s tricky.’
‘It’s impossible.’
‘But don’t you think it will be better that it comes from you? After all we’ve been through, there are far worse things than having to sit him down and admit that you had sex with a man who was having an on-off thing with your best friend.’
‘That’s no longer the big confession, though, is it? I hid Rob’s identity from Liam, for his entire life. I t
hink that’s the bit he’ll find unforgivable. And I’ll have to tell him that Rob knew of him. Has always known and didn’t want anything to do with him. That will break his heart.’
Ben looks uncomfortable. ‘But if we don’t tell them the truth, Rob may. If Abi mentions the name of her young boyfriend, Rob is bound to put two and two together straight away, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I mean, how much does Rob know about Liam?’ Ben turns away from me but I know him well enough to know the particular curve in his shoulders, the angle of his neck, meant he was trying not to show me his pain. ‘Have you been sending him updates and such?’
‘No, no of course not.’ I run to Ben and wrap my arms around him.
‘I’d understand,’ he says stiffly.
‘You’re his dad,’ I tell him because it’s true and because it’s what he needs to hear. We kiss. A long kiss. A kiss that says sorry. Sorry over and over.
When we break apart, Ben says, ‘It’s a mess.’
‘It is.’
‘Do you really think she sent Rob the sex tape?’
‘Well I certainly didn’t,’ I point out hotly.
‘I know that. I believe you. But Tanya?’
‘I believe her.’
‘I don’t know, the more I think about it the stranger it seems. Why would Abi risk Rob getting hold of something so dangerous? He can hold it against them for ever.’
‘But they’re divorced now.’ I saw the announcement online. I’d been searching for it. It made the papers in the States.
‘Yeah, but even so.’
‘She must have wanted to make Rob jealous.’
‘If he ever finds out who it is in that video . . .’ Ben shakes his head, concerned.
‘I know, I know.’ I can’t bear thinking about it.
Ben is being amazing. He hasn’t said I told you so. He hasn’t said that I drove Liam away because I couldn’t be calm and temperate. He doesn’t have to, because I beat myself up every day.
Nor do I say I told you so to him. He thought this was a fling, just sex, nothing to worry about. This is the beginning of the next generation of our family. It’s real and not going away.
