“Like in the poem at your wedding,” Caitlin says.
“Oh yes,” I say, and something chimes in me, falling quietly into place. Just like the poem at my wedding.
Caitlin puts her arms around my neck, and slipping off her bar stool hugs me in a way that she hasn’t since she was a child. She is holding on to me, anchoring me, tethering me, trying to make me stay. And I wish with all of my heart that I could stay here with her forever. She is hugging me, squeezing me tight, and we know, somehow we both know that whatever happens in the weeks and months and maybe years that will follow, for both of us, this moment…this is our goodbye.
“Hello.” We pull apart and I see the boy, blond and clean-cut like Caitlin said, dressed to within an inch of his life, wearing the nicest smile I have ever seen. He doesn’t look at me—he looks at Caitlin, and his eyes are shining. “You’re here,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you would be, so I just thought I’d pop in and…you are here. So…that’s good.”
“Um.” Caitlin’s porcelain skin flushes pink, and she self-consciously smooths down her skirt. “This is my mum,” she says, gesturing stiffly at me.
“Oh! Hi, hello, Mrs., um, Caitlin,” he says, and offers me his hand. He has a good handshake—firm, decisive. And the sweetest smile. And although he must know about the AD, he looks me in the eye. He doesn’t look afraid of me.
“Hello, The Boy,” I say, and he looks perplexed.
“Mum, this is Zach,” Caitlin says. “He even has a name like a popstar.”
Zach laughs, and shrugs.
“So, you just thought you’d pop by on the off-chance of bumping into my daughter, who was just sitting in the bar in her only dress on the off-chance that you might pop in?” I say, exercising my God-given right as a mother to embarrass them both.
“Mum!” Caitlin exclaims. “Oh my God!”
“Ha, yes,” Zach admits ruefully, never taking his eyes off Caitlin. There’s a part of me that feels like I should give him a speech, tell him how precious she is, and how he mustn’t hurt her or mislead her, or let her down—because if he does, I will haunt him, even if I’m not dead. And yet I look at him, looking at her, and I am overwhelmed by the feeling that such a speech is simply not required. Both young people look at me sharply, and I realize I’ve let out an audible breath of relief that came with the sudden certain knowledge that Caitlin is going to be okay, with or without Zach—but, for the foreseeable future, with the boy that has made her “happy.”
“I think I should leave you to it,” I say, getting up. “It’s about time I went back to room 409 anyway.”
“No.” Caitlin stands up too, and catches my hand. There is a tremor in her voice. “No, Mum, don’t go. I’m not ready for you to go.”
I reach out and touch her cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell her.
She leans her face into the palm of my hand, and nods once.
“Goodnight, darling,” I say. “Goodnight, Zach. You are a very handsome young man. Caitlin is right: it really is quite ridiculous.”
Zach closes his eyes, mortified, and I hear him burst into laughter as I walk away from them both.
I’m waiting for the lift doors to slide open when I hear his voice.
“Hello, Claire.”
Turning slowly, I see him standing there, smiling at me. The same look in his eyes as there was in the café, the library, the garden this morning. A look that makes me want to sing to the world about my happiness and good fortune.
“It’s you,” I say.
21
caitlin
Last night I sat and talked with Zach in the bar for a long time. I told him all about seeing my father again. About not knowing whether I should stay and try to get to know Paul better, or go home to be with Mum. I told him what she said to me before he came in, and that somehow I felt as though something had ended, as though we’d said goodbye.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said.
“Are you sure you don’t know what to do?” Zach asked me. “Or is it that you don’t know if what you want to do is the right thing?”
It took me by surprise, what he said, because I knew what I wanted to do when I looked at him.
“What do you want to do?” he asked me.
“I’m not sure I should say,” I said. “I’m not sure….”
“Be sure, Caitlin.” He laughed. “Look at everything you’ve done, everything you’ve come through already, and all the choices you’ve already made. Life-changing choices. If there is one person in the world who can be sure, it’s you.”
“I want to stay near you,” I said. The words rushed out before I could censor them. “I want to get to know you more. It seems crazy to me, because of everything that is happening to my family and me, but I feel like…I feel like there is something here to find out about. I mean more than just getting to know Paul. I mean between us?” I paused, but Zach didn’t respond. He just sat there, looking at his drink, which was a whisky and coke. Not a pint or a bottle of beer, even. A whisky and coke. A girl’s drink.
“Oh, look, I’m sorry,” I rushed on. “I’m such an idiot. Obviously, I am an idiot and you are nice, really nice. And for some reason there just aren’t a lot of really nice boys around. It’s like there’s a rule that they have to be pricks until they hit at least thirty, or something, because I don’t think I’ve met a nice boy before you in my entire life. Well, not one that I also fancied, anyway, because normally if a girl says a boy is nice, well then, that’s the kiss of death, right? And why? Why would we prefer a person who is not nice over one who is nice, and what’s wrong with nice anyway, and…”
“Caitlin.” Zach put his hand on my wrist to stop me talking. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I said, feeling really like the most stupid person that has ever lived for putting myself out there like that to get knocked down again, but also at the same time sort of wonderful and brave and happy. “You’ve been so kind to me.”
“I haven’t,” he said.
“No, you totally have,” I said. “Unless…you are the sort of pervert who fancies pregnant girls and wants to get me in his cult?”
“No, I mean, yes, I have been kind to you. Yes, I have. But not because I’m better than any other bloke…”
“You are, though,” I said, stupidly, but sort of enjoying just liking someone, out loud, and not having to pretend like I didn’t care either way.
“Okay, okay, fine, maybe I am nice and good, and hell yes, I suppose I do try to be those things, and they are partly the reason why I wanted to help you. But the other reason is because I really, really, really fancy you.”
I snorted my orange juice all down the front of my floral print dress, and then laughed, and then snorted again. “Really?” I asked him.
“Yes, although I don’t know why that surprises you,” he said.
“Because I’m pregnant, and confused, and a dropout, with a really complicated and sad life that is about to get more complicated and more sad. I’m not the sort of girl who boys would normally fancy right now—not even nice ones.”
“It seems to me that you can’t decide to like a person based on their personal circumstances,” Zach said. “It seems to me that sometimes you can like a person because of who they are, despite their personal circumstances.”
And that was when I said, out of the blue, with no warning at all: “You would have made an excellent Knight in Shining Armor…not that I need one.”
Which was when he kissed me, and soon after that I kissed him back, and soon after that we realized that the kind of kissing we were doing probably wasn’t appropriate in a public place. We walked to the lift, hand in hand, and when I pressed the button for my floor, we kissed again, right there in the foyer, and I realized I didn’t care who was looking at us—I didn’t care about anything but kissing him. I’ve never felt that unselfconscious before in my life, except for that one time when I was dancing with Mum.
The lift came, too soon.
> “Goodnight, then,” Zach said.
“I’m a dancer,” I said.
“That’s nice.” He grinned at me.
“I don’t want you to go,” I said. “Come upstairs for a little while.”
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“About this?” I asked him.
“I’m not sure if I come upstairs it will be just for a little while,” he said.
“Then come upstairs for all night. It’s not like you haven’t slept over before.”
We kissed in the lift, me pressing him up against the wall, my hands running over his torso, up and under his shirt. I felt bold and brave and powerful with happiness. When we reached my floor and broke our kiss, he looked at me like I was something really special. I opened the door to my room and let him in, and he walked over to the window, far away from me.
“Caitlin,” he said. “Think about this. About if you are ready—if this is the right time for you. Because you know I am happy to wait, to take things slow, to just get to know you at your own pace. This thing, between us, it isn’t something that has to be rushed. This is something that will last.”
And I don’t think I have ever felt as clear, or as strong, or as certain about something before in my life. “I don’t want to wait to feel this happy,” I said. “Do you?”
“God, no,” he said.
And then it was a long time before we talked again.
—
And now the sun is up, and his arms are wrapped around me, and I can feel the graze of his stubble against the back of my neck, and the warmth of his thighs against mine. And then suddenly there is a knocking at the door, urgent and low. I sit up, dragging a blanket around me, and open the door.
“Caitlin, is your mum with you?” Gran peers round the door, and sees a foot.
“Um, no,” I say. “Why, has she gone out?”
“I don’t think she ever came back,” Gran says, too anxious to mention the foot. I step out into the corridor and see Esther, in her pajamas, raiding the chambermaid’s trolley for biscuits.
“That’s not possible,” I say. “It’s not. I texted you last night to tell you she was with me, and she was completely together, just like the old Mum—nothing missing, no gaps. She was wonderful, actually. She called Greg, left him a message, and then said she had to get back before you worried about her. She knew the room number and everything. I mean, she came back to the room last night, right?”
“I don’t know,” Gran says unhappily. “I fell asleep with Esther, and when I woke up this morning, she wasn’t in the room with us. Her bed hadn’t been slept in. I’m so stupid. I should have made myself wait up for her. I don’t why I didn’t! What if she’s wandered off up here? She doesn’t know anyone, or anything. She’ll get lost or hurt or…”
“It’s okay,” I say, and I don’t know why, but I know that’s true. “It’s fine. Hang on, I’ll get dressed. She’s probably just having breakfast.”
I hurry back inside, the sick feeling tilting the room as I rush to get dressed.
“What’s happened?” Zach sits up.
“Gran thinks Mum hasn’t been in their room all night,” I say, dragging on leggings and last night’s dress. “I knew I shouldn’t have let her go off. I should have taken her upstairs….”
“It’s okay,” Zach says, leaping out of bed and pulling on his clothes. “We’ll find her.” And I pause for a second, watching him get dressed to come and help without even a second thought. A few seconds later and he’s buttoned up his shirt and slipped on his shoes. We go outside and Gran is there on the phone.
“I keep calling Greg,” she says, eyeing Zach curiously. “But I just get his answer phone.”
I make brief introductions before Zach takes charge. “Right, well, the first thing to do is to ask at reception,” he says. “Your mum is really beautiful…. I mean, distinctive-looking, with her hair and everything. I’m sure they will have noticed her.”
The four of us travel down in the lift, Esther staring at Zach from under Gran’s arm, her eyes wide and round, probably because he looks like a Disney prince.
The second the lift door opens, I all but run to reception, my hand placed over my bump as I jog. Gran’s not far behind me, with Esther a few steps ahead. But before I can ask anything, Zach calls my name. He’s looking into the restaurant. He beckons me over.
“Your mum’s in there,” he says calmly. “With a man.”
I gasp, horrified. Oh my God. Sometime between her leaving me last night and before she got to her room, someone spotted her and took advantage of her. I’ve heard about things like this happening, but she just seemed so happy last night, so normal and so her. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know, but I have to.
I walk into the room, and it’s easy to find Mum: her shock of hair burning like a beacon. She’s leaning in to kiss someone over coffee. I feel sick. If Greg could see this now. If Greg ever found out, it would kill him. Steeling myself, I walk over to the table. And then I see him.
“Caitlin!” Mum looks so pleased to see me. “This is my lover,” she tells me. “My hero. My library lover, my garden dancer, the one person who can see past everything and still see me. This is him, Caitlin. This is my dream man. He came to find me—he always comes to find me. I don’t know how, but he does. I hope you like him. I want you to like him.”
I look at the man holding Mum’s hand across the table, and I know that I am crying, with happiness and relief.
“Hello, Greg,” I say.
“Hello, Caitlin,” he says. “Just taking some breakfast with Ms. Armstrong here.”
“I don’t think I want to be Ms. Armstrong anymore,” Mum says. “I want to be Mrs. Ryan. Mrs. Greg Ryan.”
Her fingers close around his, and they look like they will never part.
about a month ago
greg
This is the corner of the napkin I gave to Claire to dry her face with on that first night in the café. I think about it as the first night, because it was. It was the first night of Claire seeing me again, the way she used to, even though she thought I was someone else, someone new.
I didn’t go there to try and trick her. I didn’t know what would happen until it did. Ruth rang me to tell me that Claire had walked off after the hospital, and somehow I just knew where she would be.
At first it hurt me when she didn’t recognize me, and then it hit me. It didn’t matter who I was. It only mattered that she saw me—that she talked to me the way she used to. It was just a glimpse of how things used to be, can still be, from time to time, but it was enough to keep me going, to give me hope. And I still believe that it was me Claire was talking to, and that she always knew it, on some level. Because I believe that when two people are in love, the way that we are in love, the love lasts, whatever else happens. Perhaps for Claire everything about me was altered when we met in the café. But the love…the love stayed the same.
I didn’t plan to keep that meeting a secret, either, but it was just so special. So rare. I didn’t want to scare Claire off by talking about it.
No one really noticed that when we were both in the house, her house, Claire was becoming ever more distant and cold to me—no one except me. In the house, I became a stranger, an invader. Claire tried to be kind to me. She did her best, but she couldn’t hide how it felt to have me there.
Outside of the house, though, I was a different person entirely to her—different, but still the person she loved.
Claire used to say it took her a lifetime to fall in love with me, and it did. This second time, though, it took seconds. Because we were already in love.
The second time, when I came to bring her back from looking for Caitlin, I did hope that it might happen again. I wished for it. And when it did…it felt miraculous. And that was when I realized, if I could just keep this connection with her—this bubble where we could love each other—then perhaps she would see me as her husband again. She might recognize me. It was selfish, it was unfair, espe
cially when I met her in the library. It was wrong to put Ruth through that, but what else could I do? I had to be with her, whatever chance I got, and I had to hope that it would be enough to make her remember our marriage.
And then she found me in the garden. I hadn’t been able to sleep, I was so unhappy, so confused by everything that was happening. I went outside because I wanted the cold to numb the pain out of me, and then suddenly she was there. I don’t think I have ever felt so close to her as I did in those few minutes.
She said goodbye to me, for good. Left me and chose me, and our marriage, all at the same time. She told me she needed to be with her family, and that I should go and find my wife. And that is what I decided to do.
Then the most miraculous, wonderful thing happened. When I arrived in Manchester, my wife was waiting for me. Perhaps we didn’t have very long to be together again like that. And perhaps it might never happen again.
But now I know that I can hope, and I know that I will go on hoping, always hoping, that she will come back to me, one last time.
tuesday, june 19, 2007
claire
This is the quote—handwritten on a piece of headed paper—the quote Greg gave me on the day he came to the house for the first time to look at my loft. Caitlin was away on a school trip and I had just come off the phone to Mum, who’d called me to discuss the article she’d cut out of the Daily Mail for me, about how chocolate gives you cancer. Mum always liked to follow through on her helpful handouts with a chat.
I wasn’t ready for him arriving, and I didn’t plan to be: I didn’t know I was about to meet the love of my life.
I didn’t think I needed to worry about the hole in my slightly too-tight jeans, the surge of flesh that burgeoned over the top of the waistband, or that I was wearing one of Caitlin’s old T-shirts that had a picture of a skull on the front and a rip along the neckline. Or that I was sweating from trying to clear the attic of all the accumulated stuff that had built up over the years I had owned the house. It was chock-full of memories, some of them important, some of them just moments in time that meant something to me and no one else. I think I even resented his arrival as I pushed boxes into corners, mentally making a note of all the things I would have to throw away just to have an extra room in my loft, which, on reflection, I didn’t really need.
The Day We Met Page 27
