‘Rachel! Why do you want to change rooms? You can’t change rooms, the babies love you! Unless it’s to stay with Maisie?’ She winks, sitting down on the playmat beside her little one. Maisie giggles and kicks her legs in glee. ‘I mean, I’d understand, look at that face, after all.’
‘You’re right! She is cute. And at least at this age they can’t answer back!’
‘Exactly.’ She smiles up at me. ‘You okay?’
‘Yup. Thanks.’
I turn away, fussing with bags and pegs. Maisie’s mum covers Maisie in kisses, apologising for being at work on her big day. Any other time I’d have reassured her that Maisie is fine, that her life won’t be ruined by her mother’s return to work. That guilt is sadly one of those things parents have to get used to. Like I’ve any idea what I’m talking about. This time, though. This time I’m desperately trying to work out how I can go on holiday on Friday and never come back.
Thirty-Two
Ed
I put the phone down ten minutes ago, yet I’ve been sat here staring at it. Twice, I picked it up to call him, both times hanging up before dialling.
Part of me wants to talk to him, part of me never wants to see him again. Part of me wants to get me and Oli in the car and just drive. Far away from here. From everyone and everything. From reality. From anyone who knows us. The pitying looks when I walk down the street. The side glances at work from everyone but Greg.
Even the cashier down at Tesco Express makes me want to kill myself every time I go in.
It’s the look on her face when she asks if I’m managing. Of course I’m not! I want to scream, but I always smile politely and nod. That’s what I want to run away from: all the people that keep me in this state of grief. A state I don’t need to be kept in because I live and breathe it every day. It’s not going anywhere. It will always be with me. But I need to run, drive, walk. I need to stare at the sea just like she would. I need anonymity and a never-ending horizon to work out what the fuck I’m going to do next.
‘Skeg Vegas, Ed!’ Ellie would shout every time life got bigger than she could handle. She’d drape herself around me… ‘I want to feel sick on candy floss, doughnuts and cockles. I want fish and chips for tea and a full English for breakfast. I want to push penny and ride the roller coaster. I want to stand with the wind in my hair and stare out to sea.’
That’s what I need to do. Stare out to sea. Resist the urge to Reginald Perrin it into the water, but get some perspective. The idea is giving me motivation for the first time since Mum left.
Grabbing our old weekend bag from beneath the stairs, I ram it full of clean clothes from the radiator. Wipes, bottles, powdered milk, nappies, books, toys. Charging cables and tech. The bag bursts at the seams and there’s no chance it’ll zip, but I hulk it from door to car anyway. I top Floyd’s bowl up with food and clean water, ignoring the guilt pang that I’ve not arranged his usual top-notch cat hotel for the duration of our break.
I strap Oli into his car seat, swinging him over the table and into the crook of my arm, grabbing keys, wallet and phone from the kitchen side. If I leave now, I can be there by lunch. I’ll find us somewhere to stay and tonight we will stand on the beach and watch the sun go down.
Locking the house up makes me pause. It’s the first time since Ellie died that I won’t have come home to our bed… to drift off with her smell. That I can walk away like this, lock up and step back, tells me something. The lights have gone out on the home she sprinkled stardust over. Its vastness is no longer a potential to be filled, but a burden of what should have been. I step back slowly, looking up to its grand front: new sash windows, front door painted and polished and perfect, the brass knocker she bought from a thrift shop.
‘You can carry me out in a box, Ed. I’m never leaving this place.’
She didn’t have to. I did. And now that she’s gone, I don’t want to stay.
I dial the office. I need to let them know I won’t be in. ‘Dave, it’s Ed. Look, I know I’ve got meetings in for today but I won’t be coming in. I need to take some time. Sorry to let you down, but… it’s important.’
‘Ed, Capital One are coming in. You’ve got your strategy meeting. This isn’t—’
‘Ideal, I know it’s not. But it’s what I need to do. Give them to Greg, give them to anyone. I don’t care.’ As soon as the words come out I realise how true they are. How fundamentally I feel them. How they sum up my exact level of interest at the moment. ‘You know what, Dave? I don’t care. And I should. But this isn’t going to work. I resign. I’ll be taking my four weeks’ gardening leave from now and would appreciate it if you and the team could give me some space.’ I hang up, switch off the company phone and post it through the letter box. It’s me and Oli now, and that’s how it should be until I know what needs to happen next.
Thirty-Three
Rachel
I knock on Dad’s door, ready to hold up the Marks & Spencer meal deal I picked up for our tea, but I’m disappointed when there’s no answer. I was trying to surprise him. His car is on the drive so he should be in. I’m leaning against the window frame, trying to peer into the lounge, when Dad looks up from a laptop that rests on a packing box before him. Seeing me, he breaks into a warm smile and my heart lifts a little as he summons me in.
‘Hello, love! Look who it is!’ he calls as I wander into the lounge. Dad twists the laptop around for me to see my brother’s face taking up most of the screen, a tiny picture of me, blurred from the back light, in the corner.
‘Bloody hell, Richard!’ I dump the meal deal on the table. ‘Look at that beard. You beauty!’ I tease, tickling an imaginary beard of my own. ‘That’s…’
‘Impressive?’ He laughs.
‘I was going to say, that’s the kind of facial hair a fisherman would be proud of, but, yeah, whatever.’ His eyes are crinkled, so wide is his grin. His face is sun-kissed and I just know that he’ll have tiny freckles across his nose, where he’s always had them when the sun comes out, ever since he was a kid. ‘Well, big brother!’ I say, perching on the chair that Dad has vacated for me. ‘Look at you!’
‘Sofia says it makes me look manly.’
‘It makes you look something,’ I tease. ‘And who is Sofia?’
‘Hello!’ says a voice, and this beautiful woman with thick, dark hair and Disney-wide eyes leans in from his left. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she says, her accent rich with Italian vowels. ‘Richard has told me so much about you,’ she continues, looking up at my brother like someone who loves him. How did he manage that one?
‘Your brother wanted to introduce me to his girlfriend,’ Dad explains.
‘My fiancée, Dad,’ Rich corrects.
‘Oh my God!’ I shriek. ‘You’ve only been away a few months; how did you manage that?’
Rich grins, pulling Sofia in for a kiss. ‘I know, right! And I didn’t even have to pay her!’ She playfully slaps his arm. ‘And she’s way smarter than me, too.’
‘A goldfish is smarter than you,’ I taunt, enjoying the distraction that comes with sibling banter. It’s like he’s never been away.
‘She’s a doctor of philosophy, cockwomble! Take that and shove it up your common. What do you think she likes best about me? My sparkling wit or my massive—’
‘NOPE!’ I shout, fingers in ears. ‘Do not even…’
Dad pulls up another chair, and I shift over so we can both see and be seen. ‘Rich is changing his travel plans, isn’t that right?’ says Dad. ‘He’s heading over to Italy now to meet Sofia’s family.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s the other thing. Rach, since you’re here, we can tell you both. We’re planning to marry in Sofia’s village. Just a small do. We’d love it if you could come and visit but we totally understand if you can’t for whatever reason. I know the house move and stuff might make it difficult, Dad.’
Dad sniffs, wiping away a tear.
‘Oh, Dad, I hope you’re not…’
Dad shakes his hand in the air, takin
g a moment to compose himself. ‘No, no, I’m not. I’m just…’ I put my hand on his knee, Rich waits, watching. Sofia gives him a concerned look. ‘It’s fine, Richard, Sofia. I couldn’t be happier for you both, truly. You know, your mum and I always dreamed of doing something like that. Jetting off to a warmer place, marrying in a remote village somewhere, living happily ever after, away from the ups and downs of our families.’
‘We’re not doing it to get away, Dad. It’s nothing personal, I promise.’
‘I know, son. I know. It’s fine, I’m really happy for you, truly.’
Dad drops his hands to mine, squeezing it. I try to disguise the cry that threatens with a cough and he squeezes even harder. He can tell this news is creeping up on my heart.
‘Rich, this is brilliant. So… brilliant.’ I sniff.
‘You getting choked up, little sis, you massive wally?’
‘Nah, it’s all this house packing, it’s kicking up dust. I’ve got something in my eye!’ I smile, the very best one I can muster.
The screen starts to flicker, Rich and Sofia’s faces pixelate before the screen goes blank. ‘Ah, I wondered how long we’d have,’ says Dad, clicking it shut. ‘Still, that was probably good timing, wasn’t it?’ He turns in his chair, taking my hands. ‘You need to talk about it?’ he asks.
‘Oh God, Dad. I don’t even know where to start.’
Except, it seems I do, as I pour the story out from the day Ed came to visit the nursery, to the crisis in confidence over life, and a career, to throwing all morals out of the window and showing my true, hideous, boundary-smashing colours from the depths of Ed’s wife’s wardrobe.
‘And the worst thing about it all?’
Dad cocks his head to one side.
‘I’ve got this awful feeling I’m… developing feelings for him.’ I hiccup, sniff, then blow my nose. I daren’t look at him now. If I see pity, I’ll crumble. If I see disappointment, I’ll crumble. If he is about to cut me out of his will for being a hateful woman, I’ll understand completely, then crumble and fall. ‘So, I booked a week’s holiday to give me time to think, picked up dinner to come here and see you, and then Richard announces all of this happy stuff and that reminds me that my life is going well and truly nowhere, and I know, Dad,’ I say, breaking off to blow my nose, ‘I know this all sounds very self-indulgent and whiny, but I am at a total and utter loss as to what to do next. I mean, what even is the point?’
I do look up at him now; my dad, the man who, without even realising it, I’ve come to rely on in life. At times, when I thought I was there for him, I’ve realised he has been quietly, but steadfastly, there for me. The man who tried his very best to raise two children alone. The man who worked hard at his own career, but never quite got where he might have done because his focus was always us. The man I ignored when he tried to get me to concentrate on my exams at school instead of the boy over the road, who showered me with teddies and attention. The man who went out and bought me everything I needed when I started my period, even though I couldn’t actually tell him; somehow, he just knew. The man who I was so disappointed in when he told me he needed to sell up. The man who now reaches over to wipe my tears, who takes my hand with a smile, who pulls me in for a hug and then whispers into my ear that he loves me, and he is proud of me, and that at some point in my life, I need to stop being so hard on myself. The man who says, ‘That may as well be today.’
I relax into his arms, letting him hold me like the child I used to be. The child I probably still am, in his eyes. I cry softly, my heart aching. Eventually, he leans back and says, ‘Let me get this dinner cooked, let’s sit down and talk. I’ve said it before, you can do anything you want in life. What happened to that list? Let’s make a new one. Let’s work something out and see how we get you there.’
He goes into the kitchen, leaving me to draw an old crocheted throw around me, and I wonder what I’d ever do without him.
Thirty-Four
Ed
I settle Oli into his travel cot. He lies good-naturedly, lifting his teddy up to his face and sucking on its nose. He gurgles and chatters before drifting off to sleep.
From the pistachio velvet wing-backed chair in the window, Skegness seafront stretches out before me. The Pleasure Beach with its multi-coloured lights that Ellie used to love; the roller coaster; the pitch and putt; the aquarium; the theatre. A town she would immerse herself in from the second we arrived to the moment we’d leave. Bingo, fish and chips, the casino. Right now, this feels noisy and in my face; it feels brash. Or maybe that’s just life now; maybe life is brash.
I read the message from Mum again:
Your brother’s case will be heard tomorrow at 3 p.m.
The enveloped report lies closed on my lap. A report on one day, four months ago. The contents of which change nothing at all, but I feel as though I should read them. I should know the detail, however painful it might be.
I pour wine into one of the mugs from the tea tray, then rip open the envelope to read. Words like ‘icy’, ‘tailgating’ and ‘undertaking’ jump out, making my stomach lurch as a visual flash of the scene I never saw appears in my mind. That Simon and Oli survived, it would seem, is a miracle. My subconscious explores ‘what ifs’: what if Simon had died, instead of Ellie? What if they all had, and I was sat here alone; neither husband, nor brother, nor father? What if they could lock him up for the rest of his days to save me the pain of having to talk to the man responsible for ‘lack of due care and attention’.
Where understanding and sympathy once hovered, albeit shadowed by anger and hatred, there’s the taste of cheap wine and bitterness. How could he? How could Simon be so fucking stupid? So… careless? How could he do this to me? To Oli? To Ellie?
He denied her life, he denied her motherhood. How does he deserve to carry on in life without paying for what he has done? Instead of sitting comatose in his house, feeling sorry for himself, he should pay. He has to.
Would it make a difference if I was there in court? To him? To the judge and the jury and everyone in between?
Muddy sea rolls, out beyond the string of brightly coloured lights along the road. Grey and cloudy skies have formed across a vast horizon.
If Simon’s in court tomorrow, he’ll have to be sober. If he goes down, I may not get a chance to confront him for years.
I look over to Oli, who is fast asleep. The room is cold, dull, cheap and uninviting. It’s as empty as home feels, but that bareness gives clarity to decisions I’ve been avoiding.
Oli and I need to go back home.
I need to talk to Simon.
It’s time the house went on the market.
It’s time to wrap up loose ends, then find a way to move our lives forward. I don’t mean moving forward as in away from Ellie – she will always be with me – but forward, with purpose, focus and intention. With the strength our son needs. Tonight, he and I stay here. We’ll walk the promenade tomorrow. Early doors. We’ll enjoy the sounds of bingo callers and the smell of sweet doughnuts. We’ll do the things she’d have wanted to do, having come all this way. We’ll do them in her memory.
Then I’ll drive the two hour journey home in time to see Simon before the hearing. I have only one question, and I’ll know the truth the second he answers, regardless of what he says.
Thirty-Five
Rachel
In the fifteen minutes it takes for Dad to heat up our three-minute dinners in the microwave, I’ve been staring out of the window, the clatter of knives, forks and bowls a slightly stressful soundtrack to my mood. How much noise does piercing a piece of film and waiting for the ping need to make?
I groan at my impatience, rubbing my hands across my dry, salty face, trying to eliminate the feeling of dried-up tears that I’ve really no place to shed. My head falls back in the chair as I take a deep breath – this mood, these tears, it’s all so bloody ridiculous. I am ridiculous. Twenty-seven and hurtling through life without purpose, without focus.
Dad wa
nders through with two bowls of steaming curry. ‘Here.’ He hands me mine. ‘Get that down you. We have work to do.’
‘Oh, Dad, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m up to planning. I need some time, I need to take a breather, something I seem to have been incapable of doing for the majority of my adult life.’
‘We all throw ourselves into things, you know. Sometimes we don’t feel we have an alternative. It’s not a sign of weakness, you’re not a bad person.’
‘You try telling my heart that.’
‘I could, but I know your heart all too well; it pays no attention. Just like your head. Not that I’ll stop trying, mind.’
We fall silent, both focused on creamy korma and rice for the next few minutes, until I realise I’ve been daydreaming about Mum, standing up front in a classroom. ‘D’you think Mum’d have made a good teacher?’ I ask.
Dad scoops up the last of his korma sauce with home-baked bread while thinking about his answer. ‘Honestly? I’d have never told her this, but… no. I don’t think so.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. I couldn’t see it myself. She loved you and your brother. God, she’d have fought a war for you, if needs be. But she wasn’t that maternal, not really. She didn’t love all children, like some people do. She wasn’t one of those mumsy mums, you know?’
‘I do know! I remember sometimes wishing she had been, like when friends came to school with home-baked cakes in their pack up.’
‘As opposed to a Penguin bar and a curled ham sandwich, you mean?’
The memory is fonder now than it once was. Fond enough for me to feel bad for speaking ill of my mum’s own style of maternal instinct. ‘Well… yeah, I guess so. God, that sounds awful, doesn’t it?’
The Lost Wife: An uplifting page-turner about grief, love and friendship Page 16
