Wildest of All

by P. K . Lynch

  ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘What is you do again?’

  ‘I told you already. Corporate law.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, but what is that? What do you actually do?’

  ‘I make sure big companies don’t get into trouble,’ he shrugged. ‘I check their contracts for new business, make sure they don’t accidentally break any laws.’

  ‘Oh, accidentally,’ she laughed.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  His sudden shift in tone made her uncomfortable.

  ‘Oh, nothing.’

  ‘You mean something.’

  He’d held her gaze until it became clear she would have to offer something.

  ‘It was a joke,’ she said, after a long pause. ‘It’s no secret big businesses like to bend the rules to suit them.’

  ‘So my work’s a joke. Good to know.’

  He reclined in his chair and sipped from his wine glass. His eyes, which hadn’t left hers all evening, were now fixed on the carpeted floor.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘You didn’t offend me,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘Then what?’

  He bared his teeth and wiped his mouth with the napkin.

  ‘I didn’t realise I was dining with such an expert, that’s all,’ he said, signalling for the bill. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Would you like dessert?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  They sat in awkward silence while the waiter engaged in some deep conversation with the girl behind the bar. He was apologetic when he finally brought the bill over.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, with a thick French accent. ‘New girl tonight. Very slow.’

  ‘Ha,’ Peter smiled at Jude. ‘Maybe you could give her a few pointers.’ And then, with a sharp smile to the waiter, he pointed at Jude and said, ‘This one’s a barmaid.’

  The waiter smiled and nodded. ‘Very good, mademoiselle.’

  Heat spread across her face as Peter placed his card on the small silver plate.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll be straight back.’

  ‘Did you have to do that?’ she asked, feeling embarrassingly close to tears.

  ‘What?’ he replied, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

  ‘This one’s a barmaid,’ she imitated.

  ‘I didn’t realise it was an issue for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t until you turned it into one.’

  He made a point of sitting back in his chair. She realised she was leaning so far across the table, she was almost out of her seat. The waiter returned with the card.

  ‘Very good, sir. I hope you have a pleasant evening.’

  Jude had a strong sensation of being mocked by both of them. When Peter tried to help her on with her coat, she snatched it from him and shrugged it on herself. When he held the door for her, she didn’t thank him. She walked the short distance to the car ashamed of her rudeness. When he opened the car door, she forced herself to look him in the eye, but his gaze remained determinedly focused somewhere above her head. Feeling like a child, she sank into the plush leather interior, hating the fact she enjoyed the unfamiliar luxury that wrapped itself around her. It wasn’t until his weight fell into the driver’s seat beside her that she thought about the amount of wine they’d had. But he was a lawyer, a serious person, someone who knew what they were doing, so it was a fleeting concern. When he leaned over and took her face in his hands and kissed her full on the mouth, she responded automatically, keen to put right her earlier mistakes. Somewhere, a voice in her head pointed out it wasn’t right, but just like the drink-driving, that was a fleeting concern too.

  Jude wasn’t sure she liked this thinking space. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever been sure of anything. As a child, she’d floated through life, shunted from one foster carer to the next, too busy adapting to her changing realities to ever think she might make anything of herself. Now all she could do was drift along in the hazy cloud gifted by the pills, until something changed her path again.

  When Aleks dropped by, she’d panicked. What if Sissy saw him? He said it was okay, there was nothing unusual in a boss showing concern for his second-in-command, and she’d responded by saying how dare he appear at her husband’s house. Husband, husband, husband. This was how she thought of Peter now. Marriage was the one thing he’d been unable to change her mind on, though she could never explain why, even to herself. Husband, wife. That’s what they were. Had been. Would never be.

  ‘I’m not here for anything other than to see how you are,’ Aleks said, but she couldn’t believe him, and even if she could, his presence was nothing more than a reminder of her infidelity.

  ‘You did nothing wrong. Nothing happened between us,’ Aleks assured her.

  But it almost had, and the certainty that it would have had Peter only stayed alive a little longer crippled her. Of course, Aleks was too diplomatic to remind her of all her complaints: Peter was loud, overbearing, drank too much, did too little, undermined her with their daughter, made it so that Jude was reluctant to offer an opinion on anything at all unless she knew what her partner’s thinking on the subject was.

  The truth was she didn’t need reminding of how unhappy she’d been, but she couldn’t remember if anything she’d told him was actually true, and even if it was, she didn’t understand why it had once mattered. She’d loved Peter’s huge, bear-like body, how she always felt safe around him. She loved his confidence, loved the way he wrapped his fingers around the neck of a guitar, loved how, when he sang, his eyes always sought her out.

  Aleks tried to take her hand, as a friend does when their friend is grieving, but she refused him.

  ‘I’m not asking anything of you, Jude. Take all the time you need. I understand.’

  His kindness only made her feel worse.

  Later, when Aleks had gone and the house lay in the dusky grey of twilight because Sissy was still out and she hadn’t left her room to switch on the lamps, Jude decided the ‘thinking time’ prescribed by the doctor could be more accurately described as ‘a pause’. Everything in her life was behind her, there was no future, except, of course, she had a daughter. As long as she had a daughter, there had to be a future. She knew more than most that daughters need their mothers. What she hadn’t realised until now was how much mothers need their daughters. Hold onto Sissy, hold onto life. That thought was a comfort, and she held to it as a child might clutch a soft toy as they spiralled into sleep.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Miracle

  By the time they arrived at the tea shop on Buchanan Street, Jude’s senses were raw. She hadn’t left the house since the funeral, and she’d barely passed an hour without an alcoholic drink of some sort to numb her day. But Anne had insisted on taking her out, therefore she was forced to drive. The day was fresh and bright and, compared to the dusty gloom of home, felt like an assault.

  She hoped they’d have a chance to discuss Sissy – somehow, despite her best intentions, her daughter remained a far-off thing, uncatchable, unknowable – but the cafe was loud and busy and she didn’t think she could find the energy to shout.

  She surprised herself by stopping a passing waitress laden with trays and plates. Is there anywhere quieter? The waitress merely smirked. We close at six. Quiet then.

  A couple were vacating a table by the window.

  ‘We’ll take that table!’ Jude called. She cringed immediately, aware of other customers giving her the once-over, labelling her as some bossy woman with no social etiquette, but she failed to see what else she could have done in the presence of Anne’s close-mouthed disapproval. She’d already commented on the smell of cigarette smoke in the car, despite Jude driving the whole way to pick her up with the windows open.

  They sat down and looked onto the street in an awkward silence, while the same waitress cleared the remains from the previous occupants, sighing because she really oughtn’t to have to do this with people sitting right there watching. She piled the pl
ates swiftly, no messing, then: I’ll bring you menus in just a moment.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me,’ said Jude. ‘I hope this place is okay for you.’

  Anne gazed down at the passers-by and clicked her tongue, unsure of how to respond. Her task was to offer support, be a helpful guide – she just wasn’t sure how best to approach it.

  ‘I thought you’d like it here,’ Jude carried on. ‘I know you usually go to the big places on the edge of town if you need anything.’

  ‘Danny’s a good boy. He drives me.’

  Anne continued to track the people below. ‘That,’ she said, craning her neck to peer down the street. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Princes Square. We can go there if you like. Sometimes they have concerts in the basement.’

  ‘What on earth have they done to the front of it?’ Anne said, referring to the iron-clad facade. ‘It’s hideous.’

  Jude only just managed to stop herself apologising.

  They ordered afternoon tea, which was impossible to enjoy because Anne was so taken aback by the amount of food that arrived: sinful, would feed a family for a day, can a person not just get a simple cup of tea any more?

  After they’d eaten, Anne took a deep breath and placed her hand over Jude’s.

  ‘And how are you actually, dear?’

  The sudden generosity of the question landed like a punch. Jude quickly ducked her head. She hadn’t anticipated kindness. The urge to seize the moment, to tell everything, superseded any concerns she had about her daughter.

  ‘I…’ said Jude. The words had arrived. She could feel them. They were sitting in a jagged pile in her mouth, requiring only that she push them out to give them life. She looked down at her bare fingers on the small table, felt Anne watching, missing nothing. Scattered remnants of cake and scone filled the space between them, and in the burble and clamour of the tearoom she might just as well have been a cork bobbing in the sea, directionless, powerless.

  She worked her jaw back and forth until the words tipped out: I wish I’d married him.

  She smiled foolishly at her blatant attempt to ingratiate herself with the woman who had urged them to do that very thing. She was also smiling because, despite the truth of her regret, she knew it actually didn’t matter. They’d had their chance. Whether they were married or not made no difference to anything, yet the urge to climb back through time and drag him to the altar was overwhelming.

  Anne didn’t know what she was looking at. That silly smile of Jude’s. The idea that their lack of marriage was something that could be laughed away, especially now there never would be a marriage, was utterly offensive. Peter had begged Jude to marry him, she knew he had, but for no reason Anne could fathom she’d turned him down, driven a wedge between him and his faith, brought a child into the world and, having encouraged Peter away from his sensible, secure job, they’d both failed to provide it with the necessary safeguards every child deserves. And now she was laughing about it!

  ‘Well,’ Anne said, and cleared her throat. ‘How is Sissy?’

  Thrown by Anne’s lack of interest in her confession, Jude scrambled to reply, ashamed of her egotism.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Jude blinked, picking up a teaspoon to stir the small amount of tea left in her cup. ‘Back at school already, Doing well.’

  ‘I know she’s back,’ Anne frowned. ‘But is she going in?’

  ‘Of course she’s going in.’ Jude tried to smile. It was her habit to always smooth the waters. She had a nagging feeling this wasn’t the conversation she’d intended to have, but couldn’t find her way back. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Any desire on Anne’s part to lambast her daughter-in-law was quashed by Jude’s odd demeanour. She decided to proceed carefully.

  ‘And the letter I gave you? At the funeral? What did it say?’

  A loud crashing sound from the kitchen startled Jude. She jumped and knocked her cup over. Tea splashed the table and swilled into her saucer. Anne dabbed at the mess irritably with napkins.

  ‘The letter,’ she repeated, her patience already gone. ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Ah, she found it before I had a chance to open it,’ Jude confessed.

  ‘You weren’t supposed to let her see it,’ Anne exclaimed.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She was so tired, she wanted to lay her head down on the table. She hated that letter, wished she’d never known a thing about it, wondered how something intended as a loving tribute could turn out to be so complicated. So much shame; the knowledge it wasn’t where it ought to be, the fact that she hadn’t even made the betrayal worthwhile by finding the information Anne said she needed before Sissy had taken it back from her. And then, of course, there was just the unavoidable giant failure of herself, succeeding nowhere, displeasing everyone.

  By the time Anne looked up from wiping the spillage, Jude’s face was wet with tears, though she gave no indication that she knew anything was amiss. Annoyed that she’d wasted all the napkins on the tea, all Anne could do was reach out and pat Jude’s hand. She wondered if her family would ever grow its own backbone, or if everyone would just rely on her forever.

  ‘You have to be firmer,’ she said, in a manner she considered to be both kind and firm.

  Jude picked up her fork and began to mash a small piece of Victoria sponge into her plate.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ asked Anne. ‘She’s walking all over you. Bring her into line.’

  ‘But she doesn’t listen,’ Jude said. She heard the whine in her voice but couldn’t help herself. ‘It’s like she doesn’t need me. Or even like me, actually, if I’m being honest. I know she’s cut up about Peter, of course she is, but – ’

  Putting the fork back on her plate, Jude breathed in deeply. Just say it, it’s why you’re here.

  ‘I think Sissy needs you, Anne. I’m not enough for her. I never have been.’

  ‘I see,’ said Anne. She began to gather the crumbs with her finger, sweeping them into a tidy little mountain, and then squashing them back down with her thumb. That sense of purpose she’d experienced while alone with Peter in the visitation room began to rise again.

  ‘Peter was enough,’ Jude continued, unable to bear the void in conversation. ‘He was enough for both of us. So loud, and confident, and… and funny. You did such a great job with him, Anne. Sissy adored him. I hid behind him. Christ, I didn’t even want a baby in the first place. Do you remember?’

  Anne’s shock at Jude’s double offence of blasphemy and ingratitude, was quickly displaced by the oddness of Jude’s question. Of course she remembered, but it was only now, years later, that she saw it. Peter had made sure everyone knew he wanted a baby. He’d even involved his younger sister and brother in the campaign to make Jude agree. Anne hadn’t taken any of it seriously, they weren’t married, after all.

  ‘I remember you didn’t seem too happy about it,’ Anne offered her daughter-in-law.

  ‘Not so much happy as determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past,’ she admitted. ‘Peter said I went into motherhood like I was going into battle. Ready for sabotage at any point, you know?’

  She made a jokey one-two with her fists. Anne stared back at her, wondering how best to deal with such a creature.

  ‘Motherhood is a battle,’ she conceded at last. Her voice was low and direct and every word cut through the hubbub.

  Jude sensed what Anne was saying was important.

  ‘I’d never thought of it like that, but you’re right,’ she agreed.

  ‘The difference between us,’ said Anne, ‘is I fought for it, while you fought against it.’

  Choked with shame, Jude lifted her cup to drink. Finding it empty, she sighed and replaced it.

  ‘Well. I didn’t exactly have the best role models, did I?’ she said, quietly.

  ‘You know, it’s interesting,’ said Anne, twirling her cup on its saucer. ‘It didn’t even occur to me I couldn’t do it. Not at any point. I was so desperate to have my own people, I would have done
anything to make it happen. Anything.’

  ‘You’re a good mother,’ said Jude, after a lengthy pause. It seemed to be the only thing to say.

  Anne clicked her tongue and gave Jude’s hand another pat. She was beginning to see some kind of sense emerge from this cataclysmic mess they were in.

  ‘You and I both know how it is to grow up without parents,’ she said. ‘I know she’s seventeen and not quite a child, but we know more than most what it’s like, don’t we? The unexpected difficulties. So to have us on her side… in that regard, she’s fortunate.’

  Surely it was all part of God’s plan. Jude was weak. Anne would keep her close and that way she would be close to Sissy. That way she would guide Sissy.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ admitted Jude.

  Jude flushed with gratitude that she wouldn’t have to do it on her own, while Anne revelled in the importance of the task she had been chosen to do. She didn’t particularly like her daughter-in-law, but when it came to family, well, like didn’t really come into it. Their eyes met and the connection pulsed and buzzed between them.

  ‘Seventeen is a dangerous age,’ Anne said, tapping on the table to drive home her point. ‘But don’t you worry. Together we’ll see she’s all right.’

  Back on the street, Jude steered Anne through the meandering shoppers. ‘Busy for a Tuesday, isn’t it?’ observed Anne, who stopped at every shop window but could not be enticed into any of them.

  As they neared the car park, a male singing voice weaved its way through the crowds, stopping Jude in her tracks. She stretched on tiptoe to hunt the source, while Anne carried on until she realised Jude wasn’t behind her. Irritated, she found Jude watching a busker singing ‘Unchained Melody’ to a small audience.

  The man had a rounded stomach which protruded over baggy blue jeans and scruffy white plimsolls. He clutched a baseball cap to his chest, which gave the impression the decision to perform had caught him unawares and this was his gesture of respect to the audience. His other arm he swung with abandon – the song had taken on a physical life and demanded his caress. His voice was deep and rich and gravelly, and soared from his mouth with the power of angels.