I sighed. “I know I did, and I regret that.”
I didn’t tell Carla that I’d texted him, or that he hadn’t replied. I wasn’t entirely sure why. I would have thought she’d been delighted but I needed him to make the decision whether to contact me back. If she knew, I believed she would email or call him and want to know why the silence.
It saddened me that he’d given up, and I really shouldn’t have expected him not to. I’d treated him abysmally, and it was something I regretted. I wished I could turn back the clock, I wished I’d done things differently, but I couldn’t dwell on that. I had to move on as well.
I received a call from the Turner’s solicitor with details of the cottage. I forwarded details of a solicitor Carla had recommended and waited anxiously for them to do whatever it was they did. In the meantime, Carla and I went through the boxes at the storage facility. There was a lot of junk to dispose of; boxes to deposit to Francis’ for Michael and Casey, and Ben’s things went to Kerry. I made a list of what furniture I wanted to keep and we sent the rest to an auction.
It didn’t fetch much, enough to buy some new tyres for the car and a haircut for me. My hair had grown so long it neared my waist, and despite the medication and abuse it had received over the past few months, it looked healthy.
I took a couple of boxes back to Carla’s and we sat in the lounge and went through them. They contained my personal things, some old letters that went in the bin, birthday cards from my parents from when I was a child, and towards the bottom of one, I found a tissue wrapped small object. I pulled it out and just by the feel knew what it was. I sighed as I unwrapped it.
I held the silver angel in my hands, my finger traced the delicate filigree before I closed my hand around it and held her to my heart.
“You miss him, don’t you?” Carla said quietly.
I didn’t answer. We’d have the same conversation many times. Yes I missed him, a lot. I loved him. But he’d moved on, he’d given up, and I didn’t blame him. The last thing I wanted was to have him hanging by a thread waiting on me. I wasn’t ready for a relationship.
“Will you do me a favour?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Give this letter to Francis, ask her if she’ll hand it to Casey when she sees her next.”
Carla took the envelope from me. She held it in her hands without speaking for a while.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hand it to Francis yourself?”
“No, I think that’s another area of my life I have to let go. As much as I appreciated her coming to talk to me, she will always be a reminder of Michael and I want to forget.”
“You’ll never forget your marriage, as much as I’d love you to.”
“Forget is the wrong word. I just want to move on now. I want to get back to Cornwall and start to live the life I’ve always dreamed of. Can you understand that?”
She hugged me. “I do.”
A month passed and I finally headed back to Cornwall. Although I didn’t own the property, the Turners had agreed I could rent the cottage directly from them until the sale was complete.
I stopped at Nora’s on the way to stock up on some essential items before I could get to the supermarket the following day. I opened the door to the cottage and Dini rushed in before me. He’d made it his home as well.
I decided to make some notes of what work was required before the winter arrived. It was already September and I wanted certainly for some of the windows to be replaced before the howling winds arrived.
Jim had decided he was the one to negotiate with tradesmen on my behalf. I could have done it, I was more than capable of negotiation, but I was informed that as a newbie, it was likely I’d be taken advantage of. I smiled and gave Jim a free rein. I’d call him the following morning with the dimensions and he could get to work.
The following week was a whirlwind. The boys wanted to help paint the outside with me. We started at the back, and after scouring the local hardware stores, I found a masonry paint that I hoped would withstand the sea spray and the harsh winters. A window company came to measure for a quote and my furniture arrived.
Nora was concerned that I was being a little premature. If the sale fell through, I’d have to pack it all up again. I had no doubt the sale would proceed as expected and after some grumbling, she helped me load most of the contents and take it to the local charity shop. Mrs. Turner had told me the cottage had been furnished from charity buys so I didn’t feel bad in returning it.
Greg took some of the furniture; he had taken over fully as manager at the restaurant and would be staying on once the others left for the winter. There was a small flat attached so I was glad to hand over some of the older things, the double bed and bedroom furniture to him.
A week later the cottage was starting to feel like home.
I’d set up a small home office in the corner of the living room. I’d found a rather nice antique and ornate desk in the charity shop, small enough to house my laptop and a printer without taking up too much space. It blended in well with my brown leather sofa that was arranged in front of the fire.
September ended and with it the last of the tourists. It had been a busy past couple of months; the lane outside was often congested with cars heading for the small beach car park.
“Phew! I’m glad the season is over,” Nora said as she took a seat at my kitchen table.
“How’s business over the winter?” I asked.
“Slow, mainly locals, but we earn enough over the summer to keep us afloat.”
“I got the contracts on the house. I think we complete in a couple of days. I want to get the window company in as soon as.”
“That’s great news. When are your family coming to visit?”
“Christmas. I wanted to get the work done first.”
“If you need a bedroom, you know we have spare.”
Nora visited frequently and I enjoyed the friendship we had developed. Maybe what I enjoyed more was that she hadn’t seen me at my worst. I had a sense of embarrassment towards those that knew what I’d done. The boys, Nora and Jim, they made light of my depression. It wasn’t an issue for them, and I appreciated that.
Once Nora had left, I took Dini for a walk. He’d not been himself the past couple of weeks and I’d taken him to the local vet. Nothing was found to be wrong with him but I’d made the requested appointment to take him back should he not improve. He didn’t run off to greet Tom as usual but stayed by my side.
“Hey, Mum. How is he?” he asked as he bent to pet Dini.
I smiled at the ‘mum’. “I don’t know. I might insist on a blood test.”
“You know he has a lump, here? He might have got something stuck in his throat.”
Dini was forever chewing up sticks or other objects he’d brought home from the beach. I bent to feel his neck. There was a lump just to one side of his throat that hadn’t been noticeable the previous day.
“I’ll ring the vet today. I bet he chewed on a stick and part of it is stuck.”
It might account for why he hadn’t wanted to eat as much.
“I would.”
Tom stood and opened the shutters to the surf school. He had a couple of weeks before heading back to Australia for the winter. I would miss the boys when they left.
Dini and I started the walk back to the cottage. We’d normally walk the length of the beach but he wasn’t up for it. As soon as I got in signal range, I called the vet and made an appointment to take him back that afternoon.
When it came time to leave for our appointment, Dini was about as enthusiastic as I was visiting the dentist. He didn’t bound into the car, jump over the seat and press his nose to the window waiting for it to be wound down. I began to worry.
He didn’t care about the cat in the box that was sat on the floor next to him in the waiting room. Normally I’d keep Dini outside until it was his turn to be seen such was his dislike of cats. Fran, the vet, wanted to do some tests; I couldn’t fail to notice her
creased brow.
“What do you think it is?” I pressed her for an answer.
“That lump is a lymph gland. Both sides are enlarged. I think we can rule out that he has something stuck in his throat, and I’d like to get some blood work done before I make assumptions.”
I left Dini with Fran and headed home. I sat in the garden and remembered. He’d been part of my family for seven years, which was pretty good going for a dog of his breed. He’d been my constant companion, the one I unloaded my thoughts and upset to, the one that cheered me up when sadness threatened to overwhelm.
It was late that evening when the vet called and asked me to visit. I drove with a sinking feeling in my stomach at the tone of her voice.
“I’m sorry, Jayne, but Houdini has cancer. It’s in the lymph glands and its official name is Multi Centric Lymphoma. We’ve done a scan and there are signs of an enlarged liver and spleen.”
“What does that all mean?”
“We can offer chemotherapy, but in this case, I don’t think it’s going to help.”
“How long does he have?”
“Four, maybe five weeks. It’s hard to be accurate. I’m sorry, Jayne, I wish I could have given better news.”
“What’s your recommendation?”
She sighed. “If he were my dog, I’d take him home until he got poorly and then I’d bring him back.”
She didn’t need to explain what ‘bring him back’ meant. I nodded, clipped the lead to Dini’s collar and led him back to the car.
Tears blurred my eyes and I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision as I drove home. My heart ached, more so when he leant over the seat and licked the salty tears from my cheek.
Two weeks later, I was making that fateful journey back to the vet’s. I’d made a promise to Dini that he wouldn’t suffer, I remembered seeing my dad and the agony he’d endured. The boys, Nora and Jim waited at the cottage for me. He was buried in the garden close to the gate, and I sobbed when Tom presented a plaque. A piece of driftwood with Houdini carved into it. Jim anchored the plaque in the ground and I said goodbye to one of my most faithful friends.
The end of October was approaching. I was walking back from lunch with Greg when I saw a figure standing in my garden. I shielded my eyes from the low-lying sun to get a better view. I couldn’t make out the face but I knew. Instantly, or instinctively, I knew my daughter was standing in my garden. I ran, my feet stuck in the damp sand and my calves ached from the exertion. I watched her stumble down the steps and run towards me. She hesitated when she got close, not knowing what to do, I guessed. I wrapped her in my arms as she sobbed into my chest.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said over and over.
“Hush now. It’s okay,” I whispered into her hair.
Casey looked up at me and I noticed how gaunt she’d become. Dark circles framed her dull blue eyes. I cupped her face with my hands and kissed her forehead before placing my arm around her shoulders and walking her back to the cottage. She sobbed all the way.
“When did you get here?” I asked as I led her into the kitchen.
“A half hour ago, I think. Grandma gave me your letter. I got the train. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, Mum. I can’t believe what an utter bitch I’ve been.” Her words tumbled from her lips as the tears continued to fall.
“Sit down, let me make a cup of tea. You’re here now, so no more apologies.” I smiled at her.
I watched as she hugged herself, and I also noticed her wince. I placed the tea in front of her and watched her hands shake as she cupped them around the mug.
“Tell me, darling. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She looked up at me and my heart broke at her tear stained face and the haunted look in her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it quickly.
“There is nothing you can’t tell me. I’m your mum, I love you. Always have and always will.”
“I just had an abortion. But that’s not why I came,” she blurted out.
I wasn’t expecting that and tried hard not to show any emotion.
“Okay, where?”
“In Japan…”
“Was it a proper clinic?” I asked, interrupting her.
“Oh, yes. I’m just a little uncomfortable right now.”
“When did this happen?”
“A couple of days ago, and please, Mum, I don’t want you to think I came here just for sympathy. I…” She sighed. “I wanted to come months ago, I wanted to come the day after Ben… But Michael wouldn’t let me.”
I noticed the use of his name instead of her usual ‘Dad’.
“Start at the beginning, and tell me everything,” I said.
Inside I was fuming. Anger was bubbling away in my stomach and I tried my hardest not to let that show.
“I can’t excuse my behaviour in the beginning. I didn’t know about dad’s other woman until Ben told me. I…I’m just going to say this. I was angry that you didn’t do anything about it, about her. But that was before, before I did what I did.”
She was choking on her words, I could see how hard it was for her to be honest with me and I stayed quiet.
“I met someone, he was married, and I knew that from the beginning. We had an affair, and I got pregnant. I didn’t mean to, I’m on the pill. He freaked, dad freaked, and I was dumped outside the clinic. I had to get a taxi home the next day.”
My body shook with anger, with sadness, and with a desperate need to comfort her. I stood from my chair and sat beside her. I wanted to pull her into my lap and hold her tight, take her pain away. I placed my arm around her shoulder and she cried.
Casey was exhausted. I led her upstairs and helped her into a bath. I sat on the edge and sponged warm water over her, like I had when she’d been a child. I closed my eyes to the skeletal body that sat broken in front of me. When she was clean, I dried her, helped her into a pair of my pyjamas, then put her to bed in the spare room. I lay next to her holding her in my arms until she fell asleep.
It was only when I’d returned to the kitchen that I cried. My baby was hurting and nothing that had happened in the past meant a thing at that point. I fired up my laptop.
To: Michael
From: Jayne
Date: 10 October 2015
Subject: My daughter
You absolute fucking nasty piece of shit! How could you? How could you keep my daughter from me, how could you dump her outside an abortion clinic and let her get a taxi home! You are despicable. You’re a sorry excuse for a man. She’s your flesh and blood, we made her, we brought her into the world and no matter what she’s done, you do not abandon her. She had you on a pedestal and you’ve destroyed her. You are about the poorest excuse for a father I’ve ever seen. She’s here with me, in case you’re interested, and part of me wants to tell you to stay away, don’t ever contact her again but unlike you, I can’t do that.
You can be the prick all you want to me, but let me tell you this, you treat my child this way and I will come after you.
You, Michael, will end up a very lonely old man, and one day all I can hope is that you will look back at your life and realise you were fortunate but you threw it all away with your selfishness.
I didn’t sign off the email, and I pressed send long before I thought about the words I’d written. I didn’t care about any repercussions, I doubted he would even reply, but I needed to say that. I meant every word. He could do and say what he wanted to me but to my child? I’d rip him to pieces.
I opened the back door and pulled my cardigan around me as I sat. There was a chill in the air but it was still a bright day. I called Carla and relayed the morning’s events to her. She wanted to jump in her car and drive straight down. I asked her to wait a day or so, give me some time with Casey to find out all the details.
It was an hour or so that Casey surfaced. I’d heard her moving about upstairs, the floorboards had creaked as she made her way to the bathroom. I put the kettle on and then chuckled. That was the thing
my dad had always done when there was a crisis.
I had a mug of tea ready on the table for her when she walked into the kitchen.
“I’ve missed this,” she said.
“What, being waited on hand and foot?” I replied. I regretted my words as soon as I saw the anguish on her face. “I was joking, darling.”
“But that’s the thing, we all took you for granted. Okay, maybe not Ben but certainly me and…”
“Let’s call him fucktard for now, shall we?”
Casey spat the mouthful of tea she’d just taken across the table before we both dissolved into a fit of giggles.
“Twat features? How about prick? That’s my favourite word for him,” I said.
“Do you hate him?” she asked quietly.
No matter what had happened, he was still her father.
“No, I dislike him immensely though. I don’t hate anyone, Casey. I don’t have it in me to do that. I hate situations that I can’t control, I hate what I did to my family. But as for people? No.”
“Will you tell me about that?”
“Absolutely. I can do better than that. How would you like to read about my life? And I warn you, some of it will be uncomfortable. When I was in the nuthouse…”
“Mum! You can’t call it that.”
“I can, and I do,” I said with a laugh. “Anyway, when I was in the hospital, I was encouraged to write a journal. That journal has morphed into a book. It’s not very good, it won’t ever see the light of day and I wrote it for two reasons only. I needed to, and I wanted for you to be the only one to ever read it.”
“You wrote a book?”
“I wrote a lot of words, whether that can be classed as a book, I have no idea.”
“Can I start now?”
“Only if you’re up to it. But before you do, will you answer me one thing?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the father? And did his wife know?”
“Technically, that’s two questions. But he was a colleague of dad’s. I’m not sure I want to share his name right now. He doesn’t deserve any protection but I don’t know that he deserves your wrath either. I went into that relationship with open eyes, knowing full well what I was doing. And no, his wife doesn’t know.”
A Virtual Affair Page 27
