‘If only.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘We wouldn’t be that lucky.’
‘That’s exactly what I was talking about earlier.’ Dawn got up and held Daisy against her shoulder and looked at me with disappointment. ‘You’ve changed.’
‘Why don’t you get down off your high horse.’ I stood up and shoved my face closer to Dawn’s. ‘You think you’re the only one with problems?’
‘Oh yeah, sure. You’re really struggling. You have the perfect husband, two lovely kids and one on the way. You’re secure in this house and you don’t want for anything. Don’t try and tell me you’ve got it hard.’ Dawn picked up her handbag and prepared to march out. ‘I came here for some sympathy and this is what I get.’ Her cheeks were flushed.
‘Sit down, you silly cow.’ I backed away putting space between us in an attempt to defuse the situation. ‘I’m sorry. OK?’
Dawn stood looking at the door deciding whether to walk through it or not.
‘I’m sorry. Come on, have another biscuit.’ I held out the packet of digestives as a peace offering and watched as a small smile crept on to her face. I really didn’t want her to leave.
‘Go on then.’ Dawn dropped her bag to the floor and sat back down. ‘You know I’m a sucker for a biscuit.’
May 22nd 1991
I went into hospital in the early morning of May 14th and by lunchtime had given birth to a baby boy. Owen Miller was born by emergency caesarean section. I was hospitalised for over a week. The complications of the operation left me with a damaged womb. The junior obstetrician who performed the surgery later told me that I would never be able to have a child again.
Although I was not that upset by the news I understood what it meant to Larry. He was devastated. Secretly, I was strangely relieved. I hadn’t bonded with my other children very easily and didn’t imagine that changing in the future. It was a twisted blessing. But that’s not how Larry saw it. He was livid. He blamed the doctor in charge and talked about suing the hospital.
Although I wasn’t upset by the news I was infertile I was angry that the operation led to me being hospitalised and severely unwell for over a week. I should have been at home with my newborn and my older kids. Not stuck in a hospital bed suffering from fevers and bleeding from my uterus.
By the time I was released and able to return home I felt awful. I’d been unable to breastfeed Owen. I was too weak. The nurses had taken over his care and did everything for him. When I took him home I felt as if I was holding a stranger. He didn’t feel like my baby.
I still needed bed rest and thankfully Dawn was there to help. She came every day and looked after the children and the house. I think she liked having an excuse to get away from Ian. The irony of it all was that the house was in a far better state than it would have been if I’d been running it. The kids had clean, ironed clothes and the kitchen was spotless. She even managed to cook for us all, as well as keeping an eye on Daisy and nursing me. She was superwoman and I hated her for it. It only added to my feeling of being unworthy and to make matters worse, my kids loved her. Sue-Ann and Robbie loved their Aunt Dawn far more than they had ever loved me.
Lying in bed that evening after Dawn had put the kids to bed and gone home, I waited for Larry to come up to bed. He had been in a foul mood ever since Owen was born. I knew it wasn’t directed at me but I felt as if I had disappointed him. I needed to get better and show him that our life could still be good. EastEnders was just coming to an end when he came into our bedroom. He’d kindly arranged for a television to be delivered so that I had something to do while I lay in bed. As the bedroom door opened I turned the volume down and propped myself up. I still felt sore. Owen was asleep in a little Moses basket next to me. He was a good baby and so much easier than the previous two. Still I struggled to feel close to him.
‘How was work?’ Suddenly I was aware that I looked a mess.
‘Fine.’ Larry started to unbutton his shirt but didn’t look at me. I had never felt so distant from him.
‘Owen is doing well.’ My enthusiasm was strained.
‘Good.’ I was growing frustrated by his monosyllabic answers.
‘Maybe we could take the caravan to Norfolk soon. The weather is nice at the moment.’
‘If you want.’ He threw his shirt and trousers over the back of a chair and sat down on the bed to remove his grey socks.
‘Come on,’ I started rub his shoulders, ‘things are not that bad.’
‘That fucking bitch.’ He shrugged himself free. ‘How can you be OK with this?’ I knew he was referring to the doctor who had operated on me.
‘Mistakes happen.’
‘She’s taken away my chance to be a father.’
‘Now that’s not true. You have three kids Larry. Some people can’t ever have any.’
‘But I wanted more.’ He sounded like a petulant child.
‘Be thankful for what you’ve got, that’s what my mum used to say.’ I needed her words of wisdom to get me through.
‘But she’s dead, Dee. I doubt she feels that bloody thankful.’ His words were delivered like a punch to the face.
‘Don’t speak to me like that.’ I swung my legs out of bed and stood up. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ I was tired of trying to make him feel better. Nothing I did was working. ‘I’m going to sleep on the sofa. I don’t need this shit from you.’ Slipping my feet into my old battered slippers I made my way towards the bedroom door.
‘What about Owen?’ Larry sat on the bed in his underpants looking sheepish.
‘You fucking deal with him.’ I pulled the door closed loudly behind me and made my way gingerly down the stair. My stiches still throbbed when I walked.
In the darkness I made my way into the lounge. The house was quiet since all three children were sleeping. Carefully lowering myself on to the couch I sat in the blackness thinking about what to do. I couldn’t stand any more of Larry’s self-pity. It was my body that had suffered the injustice but all he could focus on was his own pain.
Sitting there for a while I contemplated getting up and looking for a book to read. I wanted to escape into something nice and cosy. But the effort of getting up and searching was too much so I stayed put looking at the moonlight filtering through the net curtain on to the wooden floor. Looking around the room but not really taking it in I suddenly noticed how different it looked. The furniture had been reorganised. On the floor in the far right hand side beneath some shelves were three plastic boxes that hadn’t been there before. Squinting in the darkness I could see they contained all the children’s toys. I was used to finding building blocks and doll’s accessories all over the place. Dawn had worked her magic and in doing so had only added to me feeling useless.
I wish before I’d walked out of our bedroom I’d remembered to get a blanket. It wasn’t that warm in the house and I didn’t like the idea of sleeping on the couch without a cover but I was not prepared to back down. Larry was being unreasonable. It was as simple as that.
Stretching out on the sofa I realised I’d lost a bit of weight as a result of the op. It seemed that every cloud did have a silver lining. At least something good had come of the last week. I was still quite heavy but any extra baby weight I’d put on had been quickly lost.
As I toyed with the idea of going on a diet I heard the lounge door creak open and looked over to see Larry’s face peering round the corner.
‘Peace offering?’ He was standing in the nude waving his white boxer shorts like a flag before throwing them at me. With my laugh any resentment I’d felt melted away.
‘Come in here and sit down, you silly bugger.’ I pulled my feet up and made room for him on the couch, removed his pants from my head and dropped them on the floor.
‘I’ve been a miserable git haven’t I?’ He put his hand on my cold knee.
‘Yes, you have.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK. This last week has been tough,’ I rested my hand on to
p of his, ‘but it’s over now.’
‘I’m just really angry.’ He spoke through gritted teeth.
‘I know you are. But you shouldn’t take it out on me. It’s not fair.’
‘I need to take it out on someone.’ His large naked frame was lit by gentle moonlight.
‘Then do something about it. Be the Larry I married. Don’t sit here and wallow.’
He sat looking at the floor silently for a while and thought about what I’d said.
‘You’re right,’ he turned to me, ‘something needs to be done.’
January 23rd 1998
The kids had spent their first night back at home. It was so odd being in the house while officers dug in our garden and the press gathered at the end of the road. We were prisoners in our own house.
Sue-Ann asked a few questions about her father but none of them pushed it. They knew I didn’t want to talk about it and that the subject should be avoided. What they actually thought was going on I didn’t know. I was still in the dark. Information came through slowly from the police and Larry’s solicitor was useless at keeping me up to date with any developments.
I told the kids they needn’t go to school. It wasn’t fair on them to have to face questions and listen to the wicked things other children were saying. Apart from wanting to protect them I also hated the idea of being alone. Since they’d grown up and become able to do things for themselves I found I enjoyed being around them more.
Sue-Ann had grown into a typical teenager. She looked a lot like the feminine version of her father with her dark curly hair and brown eyes. People told me she was pretty. Larry favoured her over the others even though she spent most of her spare time out and about with her friends. She spent so little time at home that he got her a mobile – for emergencies only. They were close in a way I couldn’t understand.
Robbie was either found playing computer games or out somewhere kicking a ball. He was always in trouble at school for fighting with other kids. He had his father’s temper but my complexion and colouring. It was as if Larry and I had produced little versions of us as the opposite sex.
Owen, who was still very much the baby of the family, was different from the others. He didn’t look like either Larry or me. Owen was good as gold and clever with it. It was a mystery where his brains came from. Over the years it got easier and easier to think of him as Larry’s son. I never knew otherwise for certain. He was never any trouble. The others looked out for him, we made sure of that. Owen was soft and an easy target for other kids. Sue-Ann and Robbie protected him from the bullies. It made me proud of them in a way I never imagined I would be.
The phone rang again for the tenth time that morning. The press just wouldn’t leave us alone. I told the kids not to answer and just keep ignoring it. In the end I unplugged it. Every time it rang it acted as a reminder of the situation we were in.
It had been a while since I thought about dad and although he had been a useless father and a worse granddad I wished he were around. I could have done with some support.
Dad passed away in 1994 after battling with liver cancer. The booze had the last laugh. Despite being told by the hospital that if he gave up the drink he would have longer to live, he carried on not caring. He’d been slowing killing himself ever since mum died. He didn’t want to live any more. None of us tried to stop him drinking himself to death. It was too late and our objections would have only fallen on deaf ears.
In the end, even Dawn had given up on him. She used to try. For so long she carried on going over there and cooking him meals, tidying up his place and although she was his favourite not even her disapproval made a difference to him. He was too far gone by then.
When she disappeared that year in June it marked the final nail in his coffin. He just gave up living and let the cancer win. He went into hospital in July. Before his death, I did my best to be a loyal and loving daughter. I visited him every day and spent time by his bedside. He didn’t talk much so I took books in and read to him. I’ll never know if he listened or appreciated it but I hoped my company meant something to him. He died a few weeks later in August.
His funeral was a tragic affair. He’d lost touch with all his friends over the years and the few that had remained kept their distance in the end. His drinking was too much for people.
Larry and I paid for the service and arranged everything. The funeral was held at Cambridge City Crematorium, outside the town off Huntingdon Road. It was a grey day.
Despite being situated off a large road, the site was quite peaceful and set in gardens and woodland. We picked the smaller of the two chapels for the brief secular ceremony. The room was painfully empty during the service. It could seat up to fifty-five mourners, but our entire congregation failed to fill half the room.
At the end of the service we all gathered outside. Aunt Mary came over, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, and thanked me for taking care of the funeral. He would have been proud of me, she said. But we both knew that was a lie. I gave her a hug and I asked her to come and visit me and the children soon.
After leaving the chapel I wandered around the grounds on my own for a while, looking at the ornamental shrubs, roses and trees that landscaped the gardens. Every now and then I spotted a bench dedicated to the memory of someone passed. Still walking alone, lost in my thoughts, I passed two large granite books of remembrance that were placed either side of the entrance to the woodland. I couldn’t get the image of his coffin out of my mind. It had appeared strangely small. For all of my life I had thought of my dad as a big man. In death, that illusion was shattered.
After leaving the crematorium we drove his ashes back to Harlow and scattered them on Mum’s grave in the churchyard. It seemed like the right thing to do. It was sad, though. I hadn’t visited Mum’s resting place for years. It was all overgrown and shabby. Larry helped me tidy it up before emptying the contents of the urn. Then it really stuck me. All my family had gone, and I was the last one left.
Leaving the churchyard, I should have felt sad. I suppose I did, a bit, but I had Larry by my side. He was the only family I needed. Him and the kids.
Now I had to face the prospect of living life without him. It seemed loss, one way or another, had always blighted my life. I couldn’t stand the idea of living without Larry – but that was what I was facing.
From the lounge I heard the television blasting and went up to investigate. Sue-Ann was sat on the couch with her legs tucked up and her shoes on the upholstery watching the news. I batted her feet off and scowled at her before I realised what was being reported.
A cocky looking ginger bitch with a nasal voice was speaking into the camera. She stood under an umbrella trying to hide from the rain. In the background I could see our street.
‘…Mr Larry Miller of Alpha Terrace was charged with the murder of Mark McCarthy, a local man who had been missing since 1986. A neighbour of Mr Miller’s discovered human remains in their garden and contacted the police last week. The investigation is still on-going…’
I picked up the remote control that was lying on the coffee table and hurled it across the room towards the TV.
‘Vultures! Bloody vultures.’ I stood up, not knowing where to focus my fury.
‘Calm down, Mum.’ Sue-Ann sat huddled against the arm of the couch.
‘Don’t ever tell me what to do.’ I swung around and without thinking slapped her hard across the face. Her dark brown eyes filled with fear and hurt as her left cheek flooded with colour. She remained silent, too shocked to speak. The palm of my right hand was stinging and I looked down at it and noticed I was shaking. When I looked back at her I saw the tears falling noiselessly down her face.
‘Mum?’ I turned to see Robbie standing in the doorway looking at me. He had witnessed the whole thing.
‘Get out!’ I screamed at them both. ‘Get out of my fucking sight!’ Sue-Ann tripped over her long legs trying to escape the room before I struck out again. ‘Get out!’ I
picked up a cushion and threw it at the door just as it was closing behind them.
Sitting down on the sofa, still shaking all over, I tried to calm myself down. They say that losing your temper never helps a situation, but it sure made me feel better, if only for a moment.
I listened to the sound of the kids’ footsteps creeping up the stairs and collapsed into a fit of hysterical tears. By the time the tidal wave of emotion had subsided the children appeared in the doorway holding their bags.
‘We are going to stay with Aunt Mary.’ Robbie stepped forward to announce their departure.
‘You can’t!’ but my pleading was too late.
‘Yes we can. We don’t want to be here any more. We don’t want to stay here with you.’
I looked to Sue-Ann, who stood behind her younger brother clutching her rucksack. Her face was bright pink where I’d hit her.
‘I’m sorry. I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment. It’s not been easy.’
‘Save it mum.’ Sue-Ann finally spoke. ‘We are leaving.’
As both my children headed towards the front door I scrambled out of my seat.
‘You can’t. How will this look for your father?’
‘That’s all you ever think about.’ She was quivering with adrenaline. ‘You never put us first. Never.’ Her eyes were brimming with tears again.
‘You are both such a disappointment. What did I do to deserve this?’ Every word I spoke was soaked in bitterness.
‘Fuck you,’ Sue-Ann had her hand on the door knob, ‘and fuck him, too.’
I felt the rage rise inside me again and Robbie placed himself between us.
‘Leave it, Mum,’ he warned. ‘Let us go. Don’t make this worse.’
The Optician’s Wife: a compelling new psychological thriller Page 14
