Come Back to Me

by Sara Foster

  ‘Now,’ he continued, looking at Chloe. ‘I’m going to have to go, but I don’t want you to be on your own. I want you to call someone.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, with no such intention.

  ‘Now, Chloe, while I’m here.’

  ‘I’ll call someone, I promise.’ She looked up at him indignantly. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘No,’ David replied. She waited for a smile to appear, but he just stared at her expectantly. She could already feel his role changing from that of her confidant back to her superior, and she got up and went to the side table, where both the phone and her address book lay.

  She paused over the address book, mentally riffling through lists of names without even opening it. Who could she call? She discounted friends with small babies, friends with work commitments, friends who lived too far away. She didn’t want to go to someone else’s house; she wanted to stay right here and rest among her own things.

  In the back of her mind, despite everything, there was just one name. She picked up the phone and dialled. A voice answered after only a couple of rings.

  ‘Mum?’ Chloe said.

  87

  By the time Mark got onto the train, it had already been a long day – the court session had dragged on interminably with convoluted legal argument, then as the barrister had summed up the jury had looked at him like he’d just stepped out of a shiny silver spaceship and tried to talk to them in Martian. They had screw-all chance of winning this one. The only consolation was that, deep down, Mark knew his client was a wanker, and deserved what was coming; still, he hated defeat.

  His mother was waiting in her car at the station.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked as he got in and leaned across to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Yep. What about you?’

  ‘I don’t know why I let your sister talk me into this,’ she said, pulling out into the heavy traffic.

  They undertook most of the hour’s journey in silence. It was after seven when they finally pulled up, and Mark thought his mother looked as tired as he felt. He wasn’t sure exhaustion was the ideal prerequisite for a family showdown, but there was not a lot they could do about that.

  No sooner had the engine gone silent than Di’s front door flew open, as though she’d been watching for them. She rushed out and hugged her mother, then Mark, though less enthusiastically.

  Di looked nervous. Her face turned from one to the other as she said, ‘He doesn’t know you’re coming.’

  Mark couldn’t hide his frustration at such pettiness. ‘Jesus, Di,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘Well, I didn’t think he’d hang around if I told him,’ Di shot back, annoyed.

  Their mother looked at them both. ‘Stop bickering, you two. Come on, let’s go and get this over with.’

  They trooped inside, following Diane down a narrow corridor to the sitting room. Mark briefly glanced at the magnolia walls and the worn beige carpet – he hadn’t been here for over eighteen months, but nothing had changed. It was still as drab and depressing as ever.

  They all rounded the doorway to see Henry, dressed casually in cord slacks and a jumper over a buttoned-up checked shirt, watching the news on TV, with Diane’s husband, Sol.

  ‘What the -?’ Henry said, half-rising out of his chair upon seeing them.

  ‘We’re here to talk to you,’ Mark’s mother said snippily.

  Henry sank back into his chair with a noticeable thump and a muttered ‘Christ’, defeated now he was cornered. Meanwhile, Sol took his cue and left the room without a word.

  Diane strolled over to the remote and flicked the TV onto standby. The silence suddenly became apparent, like a fifth person in the room.

  Mark and his mother were still standing in the doorway, neither of them making a move. Diane looked at them, shook her head, went over to sit on the sofa near to her dad’s chair and took his hand.

  ‘Dad, please don’t feel got at,’ she said, trying to look him in the eyes, though he couldn’t hold her gaze. ‘We’re really worried about you. What’s going on?’

  Mark watched as Henry struggled between his soft spot for his daughter, which Mark had always found contemptible, and his rage at being outmanoeuvred like this. Diane was looking at Mark and her mother, her eyes imploring them to do their bit. His mother seemed frozen to the spot, so, reluctantly, Mark went and sat down on the sofa next to his sister, noticing the lack of support in it as he was swallowed up by the sagging cushions.

  ‘We just want to help, Dad,’ he said quietly.

  Emily was still statue-like by the door, everyone watching her now. She had folded her arms and pursed her lips, and Mark was trying to quell his rising irritation. They’d driven all this way; she could at least try.

  Then Emily began talking and Mark wished she hadn’t. ‘Look at you, Henry, your children fawning over you like you’re an infant. What’s all this nonsense about? Is it retirement, is that the problem? Because no one asked you to retire, you can head back to work if that’s what’s making you behave like a fool.’

  Now Henry was riled. He sprang to his feet. ‘I didn’t ask you to come. You can sod off if this is how much you care.’

  ‘Dad!’ Di interjected, shocked, but now their father was on a roll.

  ‘So you want to know what’s wrong, eh?’ he said, marching across to his wife and spitting the words right into her face. ‘Well, all right then, I’ll tell you. I’ve got bloody Parkinson’s, that’s what’s wrong. Instead of living a full life of retirement on the golf courses and with my friends, I’m going to be turning into a stuttering, shaking fool. That’s what’s bloody wrong,’ he roared. ‘That and the fact that I’m married to a woman with not a scrap of compassion in her body.’

  Emily stood her ground, their faces only inches apart. ‘The compassion drained out of me somewhat after you went out whoring,’ she replied.

  Henry threw his hands up. ‘One time, woman,’ he barked, ‘one little dalliance, years ago, and you can’t bloody let it go.’

  ‘One time I actually caught you with your trousers down, don’t you mean,’ Emily retorted, arms folded, lips pursed.

  Mark was gaping at them, lost for words, and a quick glance at Di’s stunned expression told him he wasn’t the only one. The sagging sofa didn’t seem so bad now; in fact, he wondered if he leaned back a little further, whether it might swallow him whole. If they weren’t blocking the doorway, he’d have made a dash for it rather than have to listen to any more of this.

  Di recovered first. ‘Mum, Dad, stop it,’ she said firmly, going over and tugging on their arms as they glared at one another. ‘Sit down, both of you, and keep it down, you’ll wake the kids.’ She pushed them in the direction of vacant seats, and then went and shut the living-room door before sitting again.

  Now there were three of them in a squashed row on the sofa, like a jury appraising Henry in the adjacent armchair.

  ‘Parkinson’s, Dad,’ Di said softly, reaching for his hand again, though this time Henry was quicker and moved it out of the way.

  ‘Well, Claire’s husband has had Parkinson’s for years,’ Emily put in after a pause, though her voice was less strident, ‘and he’s not too bad.’

  Mark was still assessing this turn of events, and trying to ignore the revelations he’d just been privy to. Alzheimer’s had been his diagnosis, he realised, surprised that his subconscious had thought this way all along but he hadn’t really acknowledged it. ‘Dad, what’s with all the drinking, and the weird behaviour then?’ he said, before he could stop himself.

  Both his father and Di glared at him.

  ‘I may have been on the sauce rather heavily of late,’ his dad replied huffily, ‘but I have been coming to terms with things.’

  ‘I see,’ Mark said, not knowing how to follow this up.

  ‘Typical,’ Emily snorted, still with no apparent sympathy in her voice. ‘Always thinking of yourself – oh, what does it mean for me – never mind what it means for the rest of the family. We�
��re the ones who’ll end up nursing you and putting up with your moods.’

  ‘It’s hard to tell that you even care, Emily,’ Henry said sarcastically.

  ‘Of course I care,’ Emily snapped, sounding anything but sympathetic. ‘Although you make it mighty hard at times. But if you want my support, you have to earn it – if you want to have a little self-pity party, then you’re on your own.’

  Henry opened his mouth to reply, then seemed lost for words. This shocked Mark as much as any of the other revelations of the night. He was also reeling from the dawning comprehension that his mother and father didn’t really seem to like one another much. Why hadn’t this registered with him before? Thinking back on it, he’d never seen them being loving. They were merely civil – in fact, the times they seemed most together were when they held court in front of others at dinner parties, or at family gatherings. Then there was a united front, but he hadn’t thought that behind it they were actually miserable. However, judging by what he’d seen tonight, a front was all it really was. Was this the end for them, now things were out in the open? Divorcing parents, at his age. How embarrassing.

  ‘What do the doctors say?’ Di asked.

  ‘A lot,’ Henry said, turning to her. ‘I’ve got a specialist. I’m only in the early stages, and they’ve got various medications they can try nowadays, apparently.’ He sounded disgusted at the thought.

  ‘Dad,’ Di said, sounding upset now. ‘That’s good. You know, you’re not in this alone.’ She reached across and stroked his arm, since Henry had kept his hand tucked away.

  ‘I’d be better off in a home out of everyone’s sight,’ Henry mumbled. ‘Less embarrassment all round.’ He looked pointedly at his wife.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Emily said. ‘Come home, Henry. Go to the doctor’s. Get on with your life. Stop all this silliness. You said yourself that it’s been caught early. It’s not the end of the world.’

  Henry flared up again, but the spark of it was diminished now. ‘Easy for you to say,’ he said wearily. ‘Wait until you get a diagnosis like this.’

  Emily looked like she was about to snap back, but then Mark’s phone began beeping. He pulled it out of his pocket. Neil’s name was flashing on the screen.

  ‘I’ve got to take this,’ he told them, pushing himself up off the sofa with an effort, and hurrying out of the living room. ‘Neil,’ he said, while going outside, not wanting to be accused of waking Di’s boys.

  ‘Mark,’ Neil sounded weary and tense, ‘have you heard about Chloe?’

  Mark felt his heart do a quick, painful tremble in his chest. ‘No? What’s happened?’

  ‘She collapsed at work, and was taken to hospital. Turns out, she was pregnant. Now she’s been consigned to bed rest for two bloody weeks! Mark, I need you to help me handle everything she’s dropped, this is the worst possible time -’

  Neil sounded almost frantic now, which temporarily turned Mark’s mind from worrying about Chloe.

  ‘Of course,’ Mark said. ‘Surely the family law can wait for her, or one of the legal officers can help out there? It’s only really Abbott that’s urgent…’

  ‘Only Abbott!’ Neil replied, his voice rising. ‘I could have the whole firm working on this case and still not feel prepared – it’s a nightmare.’

  Mark was surprised to hear Neil sounding out of his depth. ‘No problem, Neil,’ he said. ‘I’ll get in touch with Chloe and get everything we need from her, and liaise with you tomorrow on what else we need to do. Okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ Neil still sounded somewhat panicked. ‘Thank you. Good night.’

  Mark snapped his phone shut and walked back towards the house in the dark, his feet sinking on the dewy grass. He felt he was missing something. He’d never heard Neil this stressed. Then he stopped in his tracks by the door. He’d said Chloe was pregnant. Did that mean…?

  Surprisingly, he didn’t feel the relief he had expected upon thinking the baby might not have survived. He had thought of the baby as an encumbrance he would have to take on if he were to have a chance with Chloe, but he realised now that, deep down, he had imagined being part of a family, the three of them, and it had felt all right. Better than all right, even. Much better.

  Di met him at the door and interrupted his reverie. ‘I’ve just left them for a minute,’ she told him, looking worried, as though they might hear a scuffle break out at any second.

  ‘Okay,’ Mark said. ‘Look, I can’t stay too much longer.’

  Di nodded. ‘I’ll take Dad back home tomorrow. Let him pack his stuff and get himself organised.’

  ‘Right.’ Mark was still distracted by the tone he had heard in Neil’s voice.

  ‘You should come more often,’ Di continued quietly. ‘The boys would love to see their uncle a bit more.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Mark replied, then registered what she’d said and looked around. ‘Yes, I -’

  But Diane had turned away and was heading for the kitchen. ‘Tea?’ she called over her shoulder.

  ‘Please,’ Mark said in reply. He walked towards the living room. He would have a quick drink, then get away. He wanted to sit in silence for a while and process everything he’d heard tonight. His Dad. Parkinson’s. Neil. Abbott. And he wanted to call Chloe.

  There was just a chink in the living-room door where it hadn’t quite been pulled to. Mark headed to open it, then stopped as he saw his mother and father. His mother had moved to the end of the sofa nearest Henry and taken hold of his hand. They were whispering to one another, and the conversation still looked animated and not totally friendly, but their hands were firmly linked, and gripping on tightly.

  Mark moved away from the door and headed to the kitchen to have tea with his sister.

  88

  Something was banging but Chloe didn’t want to acknowledge it. She pulled a pillow over her head, but it wouldn’t stop. Sighing, she flung the pillow away and then listened again. Silence.

  She lifted herself on to her elbows and looked at the clock. Two thirty a.m. It must have been neighbours coming home late, banging doors. She collapsed back onto the bed again, closing her eyes.

  A sharp crack against her windowpane startled her.

  Chloe threw back the bedclothes, padded quickly to the window and opened the curtain.

  She hadn’t dreamed it. There was a crack in the glass. Heart thudding, she looked down to the pavement, and saw a familiar face with a hand pressed to her mouth; whether suppressing shock or a smile, it was impossible to tell in the dark.

  ‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ her mother said when Chloe got downstairs and opened the door. ‘I’ll get it fixed for you in the morning. You should really get a bell, you know.’ She began to move bags from the doorstep into the hall. Chloe counted one, two suitcases, and some smaller luggage. How long was her mother planning on staying? she thought with alarm.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

  Her mother looked up at her sternly, as if she were stupid. ‘You called me, Chloe, don’t you remember?’

  ‘Yes, but,’ Chloe stammered, ‘I didn’t mean you had to come immediately.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t come “immediately”, did I – I tried to get a train but I couldn’t get one until tomorrow morning, and I didn’t want to wait that long. So then I called June, because I was worried about my car lasting the distance, and so I’ve swapped and they’ve got mine and I’ve got George’s…’ she gestured behind her at a pristine BMW standing proudly against the kerb, ‘… it was lovely to drive. And I have to say that – no, don’t lift that, dear, I don’t want you lifting anything for now, I’ll do it myself in a minute – yes, I have to say that even without much traffic, it seemed to take forever. I hadn’t realised just how long you would be spending in the car, because although the train takes a long time, well, that’s just because it’s the train, isn’t it -’

  ‘Mum, stop!’ Chloe was feeling giddy from the torrent of words rushing from her mother’s mouth so quickly there was barely tim
e to digest them. ‘But you never drive on strange roads?’

  ‘My daughter needed me,’ Margaret said, reaching forward to kiss Chloe’s cheek as they stood crowded against the cases in the hallway. ‘And so I’ve come.’

  Margaret was still wired from the drive, and Chloe was wide awake, so she let her mother make them some tea.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that Alex has gone,’ her mother said. ‘You should have told me, Chloe.’ She looked reprovingly at Chloe over her glasses.

  ‘I didn’t want to make it real by telling anyone,’ Chloe replied, her voice soft. ‘I thought if I kept it to myself…’

  ‘He might come back and you could pretend it never happened?’

  ‘Well… yes,’ Chloe said, thinking it now sounded a bit daft. ‘But things have changed – I’ve made a decision after today – it’s me and this baby first, and everything else second.’

  ‘Why do you have to do that?’ Margaret moved across the room and sat down on a chair.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come to a momentous, entirely narrow-minded decision, and close the door to all other possibilities. I swear, it must be a lawyer thing.’

  ‘How can it be narrow-minded? I just can’t continue letting him rule my life, Mum, my emotions, everything.’ Chloe gestured manically as she spoke, almost spilling her tea. She was unnerved – she’d felt much better since making that decision, and didn’t want to change it.

  ‘He doesn’t have to, Chloe.’ Her mum moved the mug a little further from the table edge, and sighed. ‘Why do you try to see things in black and white when there’s a whole kaleidoscope of colour in between?’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘That people do things for all sorts of reasons – whether good or bad, right or wrong, misguided or not – and that to have any hope of understanding what’s going on, you need to find those reasons. You don’t have to agree with them, or accept them, but you need to know what they are. There’s no difference between living a life based on lies that other people have told you and living one that’s based on a lie you’ve told yourself.’