‘Here,’ Lisa said, handing her one. ‘Take it. Brandy.’
Megan did, gulping it, the antidote to reality. Which it is, she thought. The brandy tasted strange, unfamiliar, as was the room. As were the colours — white, and blue — cold colours, iceberg colours. She suppressed a shiver.
‘I’ve turned the heating on,’ Lisa said, resting the glass on the arm of her chair.
Lisa looked at her. Megan could see that there was no surprise in her expression.
‘You knew I would come here, didn’t you?’ she said.
Lisa didn’t say anything. An old psychiatrist’s trick, Megan thought; let the patient do the talking. It was something Larry had said. Just as suddenly, she wanted to leave.
Lisa got to her feet again and came back with another glass, a fresh glass, and as Megan let go of her old one Lisa placed it in her curled fingers where it wedged, cold.
And as Megan drank again the mellow drink, Lisa went and returned with a crocheted wool blanket, snowy white, spidery in its delicacy, and put it over her. Megan felt it rest gently on her body. She felt the heat trapped under, nowhere to go. Her head was still clear, clear enough to know there was time to finish the drink and go home.
‘Stay the night if you like,’ Lisa said, ‘I’m going to bed. Stay where you are, you’ll be comfortable enough and you’ll be ready to leave if you want.’ Lisa left the room.
Megan imagined herself going back, and then what?
She would lie here a little longer and think about it. Work things out. Come to some conclusion in the space she’d told Larry she wanted.
And then she would leave Lisa a note on the table...Megan listened to Lisa switching off the lights, tick...tick…tick, leaving her in the centre of the iceberg, an island of dark in a room of light in a house that was dark.
PART EIGHT - Eight is Hell
44
Larry had watched her put her cases on the step, just as Bill had appeared on the stairs behind him.
They had heard the door closing quietly, as though by someone not wanting to disturb.
Larry picked him up. The weight and heat of Bill was like a hot water bottle. Larry hugged him. He sat on the stairs and he could feel a great pressure on his chest.
He looked down at Bill and wondered whether he was asleep, but below the wispy crescent of his eyelashes his son’s eyes stared hard at the dark square of doorway as though he could, by concentration, bring her back again.
*
Larry slept fitfully that night in a chair beside Bill’s bed.
In the blue and red room, dotted about with teddies and books and the accoutrements of childhood, Larry dozed, drifting in and out of sleep. ‘I don’t want to lose her, I don’t want to lose her,’ he said once, crying out, and next time he woke his eyes seemed to light on a fluffy lion and the travesty of the grubby white muzzle came to him time and time again, like the travesty of the room; a lie of sweetness and safety.
In his Thomas the Tank Engine bed, Bill’s pale face lay still in the twisted sheets.
What have we done? Larry thought once, waking with a start. He felt he had cried out in his sleep but Bill slept on. We’ve broken him, Larry thought; and sank back into sleep and dreamt of his mother’s precious china in ruins at his feet.
When dawn came he got up with a sense of release at no longer being prisoner of the dark. He went downstairs in the blue light of early morning and filled the sink with boiling water and stood with his hands in it, staring through the steam at the garden in which the colours were forming once again with the new day. The black leaves were turning pale as the sun began to rise and they glittered in the wind.
Carefully he washed the cups that they had used the previous morning, blinking in the steam and wiping them inside and out in the boiling water, over and over again, as though he couldn’t get them clean. It was, in a sense, an act of faith for him to pursue such a trivial occupation so early and with Megan’s absence like a gaping hole. But there was the possibility that she might come back and he wouldn’t be ready.
When he finally dried his hands, his arms were red and tingling. Of that he was glad. The colour of the garden had changed again; the leaves had greened and the grass had solidified and separated from the black pool that had been the lawn.
He went to the front door. The two newspapers lay on the mat: her tabloid and his broadsheet wrapped up in each other. He picked them up and once more a wave of emptiness came over him through the mundane. He took them into the dining room and looked at hers first. The headlines had little meaning and as he spread the paper out across the table his own emptiness took precedence; he was not interested in others’ tragedies; his own was too great.
He was heaping the third teaspoon of instant coffee into his mug when he became aware of Bill behind him.
‘Daddy.’
‘Morning.’ Larry rasped the bristle on his chin. ‘You’re up early. How about some toast?’
Bill climbed onto the chair opposite his. After a moment’s thought, he nodded.
‘What will you have on it — jam, honey, marmalade?’
Another pause for thought. ‘Jam.’
‘Jam it is.’ He put two slices of toast into the toaster and waited for it to pop up, busying himself in the meantime with skimming off the small clots of cream which had drifted to the surface of the coffee. It was very early, he knew; not yet six. Four hours until the playgroup opened. Two and a half until Sainsbury’s. Please don’t let him ask about Megan yet, he prayed silently; not until I’m ready.
It was the next question Bill asked.
*
They walked into the aviary at ten minutes past ten and Bill was fussed over like a little dog. Larry’s immediate thought was that they knew that Megan had gone, but when the banter spread to him he realised it was because of the march. Hell, he’d almost forgotten it.
‘They let you go, did they?’ Emma said with a small smile. ‘What happened?’
‘I was told to behave.’
‘We always had you down as a troublemaker, didn’t we, girls?’ She took her Alice band off and let her hair fall forward, then she scooped it with the sides of the band so that it was swept from her face again. ‘We missed you on the coach.’
‘Ah, you’re just saying that.’
‘I’m not just saying it. Anyway, come and sit down.’ She pulled out a chair for him, a full-size one. The legs scraped along the floor with a screech. ‘What next?’
Jean brought a tray of mugs over to the table and put them down.
What next? The end of the world had come, and they were making plans.
He looked up and Helen was taking one of the mugs. ‘I think we should suggest a compromise,’ she said. ‘These courses, like the massage one — we can do without them, can’t we? They’re too short to be of much use, and they’re hugely subsidised. That will save the council money for their budget and they can keep their rent subsidy the same.’ She looked at him queryingly. ‘What do you think?’
My marriage has broken up, he thought. I should be with Megan, fixing that.
‘Brilliant,’ Emma said. ‘We’ve got more stuffed toys in our house —’
Jean suddenly looked at her arm. She was reaching for the sugar and she stopped and stared, twisting her arm around. Just by the crease of her elbow there was a greenish-red mark. ‘Look,’ she said, looking up at them. ‘What’s that?’
Emma took Jean’s arm and looked closely. ‘How long has it been there?’
‘I’ve never noticed it before.’
Emma touched it with her thumb nail and it sprang off, landing in the sugar bowl. She picked the bowl up and stared inside it. ‘It’s a tomato pip,’ she said. ‘Silly cow.’
Larry found himself laughing. Helen laughed too, but her eyes were not on Jean but on him.
Suddenly he found he couldn’t look at her. He turned to look at Bill. He watched him climb into the Cozy Coupe and shut the door hard on a boy’s fingers. The boy moved his hand to the
top of the door and Bill hit it with his fist. The boy’s mouth opened soundlessly for a moment before the high-pitched cry became audible: ‘Aieeeeee…’
Larry jumped to his feet and watched the boy’s mother hurry to attend to him.
Bill hurried away, his face impassive.
Megan might be back that night, Larry thought, watching him move the car to a corner. Might be. He ought to think of something, he, small master of the grand gesture, to get her to come back. But she wanted to think, she’d said.
He ought to have done some of that himself. If a charity was set up, it usually had at least one paid worker as well as volunteers. Megan was right, money was important, it was insane to think otherwise. If he could set up a support network for fathers alone he’d need money to start it off. He could have used the Triton money but it was too late for that now.
‘It’s not like Bill,’ Helen said.
‘Megan left last night.’
Helen turned to him in surprise. ‘Why? For how long?’
‘I don’t really know,’ he said.
*
‘Where’s Mummy?’ Bill asked that evening as Larry finished reading him his bedtime story.
‘She’s working late. So what do you think of Chicken Licken, imagining that the sky is falling in?’ Larry asked curiously as he closed the book.
‘But it wasn’t the sky, it was a haycorn.’
‘Acorn. Yes. But to Chicken Licken, it felt as though the sky was falling in. Can you imagine that?’ He could.
His sky had fallen, oh yes, right onto his unbalding head and he knew exactly what it felt like, it felt like the end of the world. And then Chicken Licken had been eaten. So he’d been right to worry, hadn’t he? He’d had a premonition that something awful was going to happen and it had, by golly it had.
Larry pulled the sheets up to Bill’s chin although he knew that as soon as he had gone out of the bedroom Bill would have freed one leg from them and stuck it on top of the blankets. And he remembered what had been niggling him.
‘Bill,’ he asked, ‘who do you love best?’
Bill looked at him, his eyes big and dark in the dim light of his table lamp.
Larry knew that he was playing dirty, asking him like that just after the Chicken Licken question, but he really needed to know.
Bill squeezed the edge of his blanket.
‘I love you best, Daddy.’
Guilty, beautiful relief.
‘And I love Mummy best.’ Squeezing the duvet as though he could feel his mummy in his arms. ‘And I love Ruth best.’
‘Okay, thanks, Bill. Goodnight and God bless.’ He went to the door and turned out the light.
45
Even if his father had forgotten how men behave, Bill hadn’t. Bill was sitting in the yellow shade of the Cozy Coupe with the doors shutting him safely in, and safely away from the other children. He was thinking of his mother.
What he could remember was his father saying sometime in the night, ‘I don’t want to lose her,’ but he suspected his father had lost her just the same and didn’t have a clue where. Bill remembered when Ruth went and his father said the house was upside-down, although Bill knew that it was the right way up all along. At the time that his father thought the house was upside-down they had lost all sorts of things, and some things they never found, like the black Maglite torch.
They never found it although they looked everywhere, and his father had picked up the sofas just in case. Bill put his hand on the red plastic door and wondered if his mother and the torch were together somewhere, waiting to be found.
There was a jerk on the red door. Bill knew that always, when he sat in the car, someone would want to get in as well. He knew he had to share, but sharing meant giving a toy to someone and not being able to play with it yourself. He held the door tightly with both hands.
The boy who wanted to get in was Damon and he pulled the door so hard that the car moved round and Bill didn’t want to move, he wanted to stay where he was. Who knows, he might get lost himself and then what would happen? He was only four. He let go of the door and picked up the block from the shelf at the back and hit Damon hard on the head.
Damon looked surprised and opened his mouth wide but he let go of the door and sat down.
Bill moved the Cozy Coupe over to the door. He guessed there was going to be trouble.
*
‘Bill’s just hit Damon with a wooden brick. He doesn’t look too bright.’
Emma picked Damon up. He wasn’t crying and he looked very pale.
‘Did he cry?’ Emma asked Jean.
She shook her head. ‘It was a hell of a bang, though,’ she said. Larry straightened and looked round for Bill. He was in the Cozy Coupe; looking over the door, his face impassive but his blue eyes perhaps just a little wider than usual.
Larry went over to him. ‘Get out of there a moment,’ he said, looking down at him.
‘But someone will get in.’
‘Get out, Bill.’
Reluctantly Bill got out and steadfastly avoided looking at the small group surrounding Damon.
Larry crouched down to Bill’s level. ‘What did you do?’ he asked softly.
‘He wanted to get in the car.’
‘This car belongs to the playgroup. It’s for everyone,’ Larry said. ‘It’s not just for you.’
Bill looked at him defiantly. It was the defiance which led Larry to notice how much he had diminished. His heart went out to him.
‘It’s mine,’ Bill said.
‘You know it isn’t yours. You hit Damon on the head and hurt him.’
Jean picked up the Cozy Coupe. ‘I’m going to put this away for the moment,’ she said, ‘seeing as you can’t play with it properly.’
Bill looked at her and turned to watch her put it in the store room. When she came out and locked the door behind her, he looked at Larry.
‘You’d better say you’re sorry.’
Bill looked at him, his eyes huge and unrepentant. ‘I’m not sorry,’ he said.
Larry could see Emma lift Damon in her arms. He looked listless and Larry felt his own frustration build up inside. ‘You can bloody well pretend, can’t you?’ he said. He caught Emma looking at him. ‘Look, Bill, you can’t go hitting people, you know. We all feel like doing it, but we stop ourselves, understand?’
‘A man hit you, Daddy,’ Bill said, his voice barely a whisper.
‘Yeah.’ Hell, Bill, he thought, what am I going to do with you? ‘Come on.’
Bill turned to look at the Wendy house, and turned back to Larry with his hands in his pockets.
‘I want to play with the Cozy Coupe,’ he said.
‘Don’t mention that to me again,’ Larry said through his teeth, biting each syllable as the frustration rose in him once more. He went over himself and crouched down by Damon, who was lying quietly in Emma’s arms.
‘Becky’s going to drive me to the hospital,’ she said apologetically. She put her warm hand on his, looking up at him. ‘I think you should take Bill home,’ she said gently.
Larry shook his head. ‘I will. I’m so sorry. How is he?’
Emma passed her hand over her grandson’s forehead. ‘His eyes seem all right and he hasn’t vomited.’ She looked curiously at Larry. ‘Are you all right?’
Larry shook his head to clear it, and stood up. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’ll survive,’ he said.
Emma frowned. ‘You have to do more than survive when you’ve got a child,’ she said. She looked for Bill and lowered her voice. ‘What’s the problem, Larry?’
‘Meg’s gone away for a few days.’
‘Is there someone else?’
Larry was so surprised at the unexpected question that he almost laughed. ‘No, of course not,’ he said.
‘Patch it up then,’ she said. She glanced at Bill. ‘And take him home. He needs you for himself.’
Larry looked around the room for Bill. Bill was the only one who was still. He seemed frozen.
Larry went over to him. ‘Come here,’ he said, and Bill looked surprised. When Larry picked him up, he rested his head on Larry’s neck. Larry could feel his breath by his jugular. ‘Would you like to go home?’ he asked him gently.
‘No,’ said a small voice.
‘Do you want to stay here?’
‘No.’
‘What would you like to do?’
‘I want to go to the park,’ Bill said.
*
Becky pulled up outside the playgroup and beeped her horn for Emma.
Larry watched them go and crossed Bill’s name out of the lunch book. They walked slowly to Regent’s Park in silence. Bill went straight to the swings.
Will you push me?’ he asked Larry.
Larry was looking at a man who was leaning on the fence, looking into the playground. He was wearing a red t-shirt with a tear under the arm and could have been looking for someone, but he had the lassitude about him of one who’d given up hope of finding them. Larry hated him, and thought, they’re not all alone, it’s ridiculous, only one in three marriages — can’t make fiction into facts...
Bill got onto the seat.
‘I’m ready, Daddy,’ he said.
Still half-concentrating on the man, Larry misjudged the push. Bill gave a swift, small cry and started to fall. Larry was near enough to grab his legs but his head gave a small whump against the red rubber matting and when Larry picked him up, Bill’s tears came quick and profuse.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Larry said, and carried him to a bench. He rocked him on his knee and felt his throat ache with sadness. ‘I’m sorry, Bill.’ Bill sobbed against his chest and Larry felt a wave of despair. ‘Where does it hurt?’ he asked. ‘At the back of your head?’
‘My headache’s in my leg. You squeezed me.’
‘I can see the marks. Shall I rub it better?’
‘Can you kiss it?’
‘You’ve always been stoical,’ Larry said sadly.
Bill put his thumb in his mouth and took it out again as though he knew what being stoical was. ‘How long is Mummy going to be lost for?’ he asked in a small voice.
Striking a Balance Page 24
