Forty-Seven
Rachel
From the safety of my car, I dial Mo’s number. It rings out for so long that I begin to think I’m going to get her voicemail, relieved when she finally picks up. ‘Mo, we have a problem.’
‘You think you have a problem? I took forever to answer because I’m stuck in the bath, only just able to get my fingertips to my phone and now wondering if I should call the fire brigade or wait until Greg gets home to rescue me.’
‘What do you mean, rescue you?’
‘I mean, I can’t get out. I mean, I am so fat right now that my Weeble-like state is making it impossible to clamber out of this bath. All I wanted was some warm water on my aching back, but I’ve been in this thing for two and half hours and I cannot for the life of me escape. I’m like a stranded ladybird. Or a cow. Or any other animal that is unable to right itself in the event it finds itself on its back.’ There’s a slosh of water in the background. ‘And now the water’s cold.’
‘Oh, Mo.’ I giggle.
‘Don’t you bloody well laugh!’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just… Can’t you call someone, a friend, to get you out?’
‘I AM NUDE!’
‘Since when have you been shy?’ I guffaw.
‘Since my stomach became a map of the world and my ankles morphed into those of an elephant. Now, if you need some kind of help, kindly stop laughing at my expense and tell me something that will take my mind off how cold I am and how wrinkled my fingers are. How was your first day? And how can you have a problem already?’
‘Oli is in my class.’
‘Oli?’
‘Ed’s Oli.’
‘You are shitting me!’
There is a slosh of water again and I can imagine her face, open-mouthed, prune fingers in the air.
‘I wish I was. But, no, Ed dropped him off this morning.’
‘It’s like… Oh my God, I don’t even know what it is like. How did you feel? What did you say? What did he say? Oh my actual God!’
I think for a moment, trying to work out the different emotions I’ve gone through during the day. ‘My heart stopped. I was completely thrown. I was terrified. I wanted to throw my arms around him and I wanted to run away.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Ed? He was pretty much poker-faced. Stunned, maybe? I don’t know really. I mean, the last time I saw him he ordered me out of his house, and there I was, this morning, on one of his son’s most important days, casually pulling faces at him through the window.’
‘You did not.’
I go a bit cold with the memory. ‘Yup. I was trying to be a cool teacher.’ I bury my head in my free hand, groaning. ‘So, anyway, I was thinking I’d hand my notice in tomorrow and go back to nursery nursing. Or leave the country. Or perhaps change my identity. What do you think?’
The sound of bare flesh on the bathtub suggests Mo’s attempting to sit herself up in the bath. Which also suggests I’m about to be given a good talking-to, which, let’s face it, is exactly the reason I called her.
‘Now, look here. Firstly, don’t be a dick about this. For some reason the universe has decided it’s appropriate to throw you two back together again. You have to trust that it knows what it’s doing.’
‘The universe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Since when did you consider the universe in control of your destiny?’
‘And secondly,’ she goes on, ignoring me, ‘as if you can jack your job in. You’ve just worked your arse off for four years to get to this point. Don’t let anyone make you feel that leaving is the only option. Sure, you made a mistake. I mean, it was a big one. And quite crap.’ The sick feeling that I always get when I remember what I did returns. ‘But it happened. You felt bad about it. You apologised. You don’t owe him any more than that, and you certainly don’t owe him your first job as a qualified teacher. If he has a problem with it, he can move schools.’
‘Why should he?’
‘Why should you?’
I groan.
‘Look, I know you’ll be desperate to do the right thing here, and that is why, ultimately, you will. But don’t rush into anything.’ There’s a muffled sound in the background. ‘Oh, thank God, he’s back. GREG!’ she shouts. I pull the phone away from my ear. ‘GREG! I’m stuck in the bath. Can you come and help me…? Thank God… Rach, give me a minute.’ The phone rattles as she puts it down. I hear Greg come into the bathroom and start laughing. ‘Don’t you dare, Gregory Matthew Peters, you got me into this state, now you can jolly well rescue me without so much as a word.’ The sound of her berating him – full Sunday name tinged with the warmth of a couple in love – makes me smile. ‘Rachel is on the phone, having a crisis, and I cannot deal with it from in here. Also, make us a cuppa, I’m gasping!’
Moments later, the phone rattles as she picks it back up. ‘That is so much better. Right, I’m wrapped in a towel, in my bed, ready to sort this out with you. So, you need to call Ed.’
‘What?’
‘You need to call him. Arrange to meet up with him. This needs nipping in the bud quick smart. Before it gets awkward.’
‘Sure, because that would be awful, wouldn’t it… for things to get awkward, I mean,’ I say, sarcasm loaded.
‘Or we can finish this call and you can work it out for yourself.’
‘I can’t call him, I don’t have his number.’
‘Do you want to come up with all the reasons why you can’t do this, or pay attention and sort it out?’
‘Okay, no! No. Sorry. Go on.’
‘So, you call him, or speak to him at school, or whatever. You arrange to meet up. You explain. You apologise. You tell him that you are not around to make things awkward for him, and that if he’d rather have Oli moved into another class, that is fine. But that you are here to stay and while you don’t expect him to forgive you, you hope you can both be adult about it.’
She was always able to make solutions seem obvious. ‘I suppose…’
‘The alternative – i.e. you walking out on your job – isn’t really a goer, so you’re going to have to do this. Dear God, my back is agony today.’
‘You had any pain relief?’ I ask, looking at the calendar beside my bed. She’s not due for another week.
‘Yes, Nurofen and a giant mug of Horlicks. Neither touched it, though the Horlicks was unexpectedly comforting. Midwife is due tomorrow, I’m sure it’s all par for the course. Now, look, I need to go. Let me know when you’ve spoken to him. Love you.’
‘Love you.’
I put my phone on the passenger seat and start the engine. Mrs Clarke bumbles across the car park, arms full of papers and folders, to a battered Renault Scenic. She waves furiously as she drives away, her face beaming, warm, friendly. A good ally for the start of my career. Mo’s right. I can’t leave. Moving classes for Oli might be the best plan. I guess I’ll talk to Ed about it tomorrow.
Forty-Eight
Ed
‘Rachel, I’ve thought about this all night, and, though it’s an uncomfortable situation, I don’t think we have any alternative but to just get on with it.’ She stands beside me as I talk under my breath so as not to be overheard. ‘I did wonder about moving him into Mrs Clarke’s class,’ I admit. ‘But his friends are in this one and I’d really rather he wasn’t affected by our relationship.’
Our relationship. Those are not the words I was looking for.
‘So, if we can find a way to just get on with things – it’s only for a year – that would be great.’
‘Of course,’ she says. Her face has turned pink, she bites at the corner of her mouth. ‘Of course…’
‘Right. Good.’ I search the sea of children for Oli. I’ve said my piece, now I need to get out of the suffocating heat in this room. I don’t know how she copes, how any of them do. ‘Is it always this hot in here?’ I ask.
‘Erm, I don’t know. Second day, I’m not really sure how…’
‘No. Well.
’ I signal to Oli to come and give me a kiss, but he just blows one across the room then turns his back, giggling with his friends. I try to ignore the rejected child within me. It’s good that he’s happy. It’s good that he’s confident. ‘I wonder how our children will grow, Ed. Confident? Shy? What do you think?’ Confidence in spades sums Oli up. Confidence in absolute spades.
‘Do you think, at some point maybe, we could… well, I’d like to…’ Rachel fiddles with her fingers, her back to the class as she talks to me. ‘Would you consider talking to me about it all? Just so we can clear the air, put it behind us.’
I clench my jaw. ‘I’m not sure there’s anything to talk about, is there?’
Rachel nods as if she understands, but the look in her eye suggests otherwise.
‘Look. I’ve been working really hard to build a life for me and Oli. It’s been four years. I got your letter. I know your side of it. I think it’s probably best to just move on.’
She looks hurt, which I realise makes me feel bad. I don’t want to be too hard, not really; I suppose time healed the hurt. And what she did was nothing compared to how Simon handled his jail term. Or how Mum handled trying to get him to talk to me. Or how I handled the fact he flat-out rejected my requests to visit him.
And then Mum died, suddenly, and I wondered if her heart hadn’t been able to cope with all that had happened, and if maybe I just needed to move on. Let things go. Not worry about if I was Oli’s real father or not, because I was his father in Oli’s eyes. In his needs. And as he grew older, looking more and more like his mum, he was becoming more and more my son every day. The boy I relied upon. Needed. Need. The idea that anything could change; that was too much. It is too much. I survived the worst days, weeks and years of my life because of Oli. He is my son, no matter what science might say.
Perhaps I should I tell Rachel that’s why I can’t talk to her about it? Because the whole thing is buried deep enough for me not to have to think about it day and night, as I did those first few months.
Except Dad said Simon will be out soon.
And then he can’t avoid me any longer. And by the same token, I suppose, I can’t avoid him either. Or the situation. So maybe I need to belt and brace my approach, make sure I know every last detail before I fight my case. Whatever case that may be…
The bell rings out for school to begin. Rachel signals that she needs to get on, biting the side of her mouth. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s talk. Tonight. Where, though? I don’t want to go where people know us.’
‘You could come to Fulbeck, where I live. The Hare and Hounds? It’s about twenty minutes away.’
‘Eight o’clock? Then I can get Oli to bed first.’
She nods. I leave, not entirely sure I’m doing the right thing.
Forty-Nine
Ed
‘Thanks for this, I really appreciate it.’
Glynis settles herself down in front of our telly, flicking channels and landing on some real-life crime drama. ‘Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’m only too happy to help. You off anywhere nice?’
‘No. Not really. Just need to pop out and see someone.’ She raises her eyebrows in question, but I’m not giving any more information. If I wanted everyone to know my business, we’d have met up down the village pub. ‘Oli went to bed at half seven. You won’t hear a peep now, he never wakes up these days and he’ll be knackered after his first couple of days at school anyway, so, you know, easy.’
‘Ah, he is a good boy. You’ve done a good job there with that one, Mr Moran—’
‘Please. Call me Ed.’
‘Not a chance of it, Mr Moran. I shall call you as I call you. You have done a good job with that boy and I am sure his mother would be proud.’
‘Thank you, Glynis. I appreciate that.’
‘She was a beautiful woman, Mr Moran.’ She’s staring at the photo of Ellie and Oli on our mantelpiece. ‘Such a shame.’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyway, take your time,’ she says, moving swiftly on. The volume on the television gets louder and she lounges back into the sofa, opening a bag of mint humbugs from her handbag, popping one in her mouth.
I check my hair in the mirror, pick up my coat, wallet and keys and open the door to leave as she shouts, ‘Mr Moran...’
I pop my head around the door. ‘Yes, Glynis?’
‘You smell lovely,’ she says with a wry smile on her face, her eyes not leaving the TV screen. I go to explain the aftershave: the fact I went up to shower when we got back from school and lost all sense of time, gazing out the window and wondering how a world as big as it is can actually be so small. I ran out of time and, instead of showering, splashed on some Adidas stuff that I dug out from the back of the cupboard. Of course, I don’t actually have to explain to her, or to anyone. As time goes by, I begin to realise more and more I am my own man. A single man. A widower, yes, but that feels like half the story.
Driving to the pub gives me headspace. A chance to reflect on the four years since I last saw Rachel. I wasn’t really living back then. Just sort of functioning, day to day. Am I living now? Sometimes, maybe. I have the job I wanted, which Ellie would have loved. I have Oli. But who am I? Does it matter that, outside of Oli and work, I don’t really know?
Pulling into the car park, second thoughts swirl. What am I doing here? What does this change? What can she possibly know or do or say that could help? From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Rachel, heading into the pub.
She’s at the bar when I step through the door to the sixteenth-century pub, all exposed stone walls and aged beams. Our eyes meet in the whisky-branded mirror behind the bar and she half smiles. Some old bloke props up the bar, his dog sniffing a greeting as I pass. Rachel turns to face me. ‘What you having?’
‘I’ll get these.’ I offer a note up to the barman.
‘I’ve already given him my card. I’m on the wine, what you having?’
‘Er, a Coke then. Please.’
She repeats my order, taking a sip from the large glass of red she’s just been poured. ‘Over there?’ She points towards two sofas that face one another by an unlit open fire.
I nod, turning back to the bar to wait for my drink. Rachel goes to sit down, perhaps not realising that I can see her in the mirror behind the bar. She hovers between the sofas, working out which one to sit in, pulling a cushion up to her when she does finally sit down. I can feel her nerves. Is that me? The situation? Is that just who she is these days?
I sit down opposite her just as her phone rings out. ‘Sorry, I’ll switch it off. Sorry.’ She reaches into her bag, pausing then fiddling until it goes silent.
‘Answer if you need to.’
‘No, it’s okay. It’s just Mo.’
‘Wow, you’re still in touch with her, then?’
‘Yeah, of course. She and Greg got married, they’re having a baby.’ She pulls her phone into view, checking the screen.
‘I lost touch with Greg when I left work. I cut all ties from that time. Survival, I guess. Nice to hear they got married, though.’
‘It was sort of inevitable, I think. They make a good team.’ She reaches out for her glass, resting it on her knee. I notice her hand shakes. ‘They're both good, anyway. They married in Vegas last December. The honeymoon baby is due any day.’
‘Marriage and a honeymoon baby. Not bad for a one-night stand.’ I smile, remembering the night Rachel and I left them in the club. How much I didn’t want to be there. How drunk Rachel was. ‘God, that was a horrendous night. The very last place I wanted to be.’ I rub my eyes. ‘That’s the night I walked you home, wasn’t it? You dragged me to the kebab shop on the way home, do you remember?’
Her fixed smile falters. ‘I do.’
It seems odd to be sat here with her now. She was overfamiliar on that night. I remember being so ill at ease with her proximity. My hand tingles with the memory of her writing her number on my hand. How did we end up, four years down the line, sitting in awkward silence, neit
her one sure where to take the conversation next? I wish the bar was a bit fuller, or the music was a bit louder. Maybe I wish I wasn’t here. But I am. And she is. So…
‘How’ve you been?’ we both start.
‘Go on, you first.’ I immediately wish I hadn’t said that as I don’t really want to answer the question. Politeness being my Achilles heel.
‘How’ve you been?’ she ventures, tentatively, nervously, tapping a nail on her glass.
I try to decide how I’ve been. Because, until now, I haven’t been asked this by somebody who knew me four years ago, someone who knows the detail of what went on. ‘I don’t know, Rachel. How can I answer that? I’ve been okay, sometimes. Terrible at others. I’ve been trying my best. I’ve been pushing on when it was the last thing I wanted to do. I’ve been lucky to have Oli, and lucky to have found somewhere new to live. Somewhere that connects me to Ellie’s memory because of all the time she spent here before we met. But it’s somewhere that doesn’t have her breath in the walls, you know? I’ve been’ – I shrug – ‘okay,’ I repeat. ‘You?’ She drops her eyes; her hair falls across her face as she takes a deep breath. ‘How’ve you been since I last…’ I stop myself, not wanting to revisit that time.
She laughs to herself. ‘Well, I was shit. I got a bit better. I went to uni and sorted my life out. I…’ She fixes her eyes on me. ‘You know what, we can small talk this all we want, but we both know the elephant standing in that corner right there. I’m okay, but I have not, and probably never will, forgive myself for doing what I did.’
Well, I’ve got to give her some credit, she isn’t shying away from the difficult conversation.
‘Look, Ed. I don’t know how you want this to go, or what you think I can tell you that will ever make what happened okay.’
‘There isn’t anything,’ I say.
‘I know. Exactly. And I don’t sit here thinking there is. Or that we can be friends. Or that in time everything will be okay. I understand that moment has long passed, but…’ She swallows, dropping her eyes to her knees for a second before fixing me with a look that says I have to believe her. ‘I don’t think anything has changed, in terms of what I think happened, since I wrote that letter. I was in a weird place. I had no idea that was the case, it’s only looking back now that I can fully see it. And there’s no excuse. Simple as that. I can only apologise.’
The Lost Wife: An uplifting page-turner about grief, love and friendship Page 21
