David couldn’t blame him. He swallowed back the heavy taste of guilt, born of his own culpability in Michelle’s death. If only he’d been there. Glancing towards the window, where a fresh deluge of rain spattered against the glass, David tried not to dwell on it because it crushed him all over again every time he did, and he’d be no help to Jake feeling like that. He couldn’t have saved her, ultimately. David knew that, deep down. Jake might realise it too, though it didn’t look as if he’d confide in David anytime soon – if ever.
He couldn’t blame him for that either. The fact was he hadn’t been there for Michelle way before the accident. As a doctor, yes, for all the good that could do, but emotionally … He’d bailed out. He knew that much was true. Jake did, too. How could he forgive his father that?
He didn’t deserve forgiveness. He’d turned his back on the two … No, three people who most needed him, when they most needed him because he’d been too scared and inadequate to offer the boy’s mother the support she desperately needed. How the hell was he supposed to explain that to a ten-year-old child? Tell him how sorry he was that he’d been incapable of focusing on anything but his own self–centred pain. He couldn’t. He’d tried, several times, stumbling over useless words.
And failed.
Jake didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to talk to him at all. David understood why, though it didn’t hurt any the less. He hadn’t needed the counsellor at his last surgery to tell him you don’t just go through stages and that was it, grief over. It might become more manageable after the sheer desolation at the beginning. You might pass through so-called stages, move on, accept it eventually, but you could never deny it. Grief had a habit of washing over you when and where you least expected it, David was well aware of that. His own grief was bad enough, but Jake’s … The boy was probably grieving twice over, for the loss of his mother, and for the loss of the father who, in his mind, had deserted them both.
David wanted Jake to know it was okay to feel it, to express the hurt, the anger. That grieving was as unpredictable as life and couldn’t be packaged up and packed away. He wanted to help Jake not to forget, if only he knew how. To recall the good stuff, not just the bad, to be able to talk about it with him. How he wished Jake and he could talk.
He glanced at Jake again, recalling vividly the look of adoration that once shone in his son’s eyes, when Jake had trusted him, laughed with him, as kids should with their fathers. ‘What’s it to be,’ David would ask him on the drive home from Jake’s regular Friday football practice, ‘Rachmaninoff or Radio One?’
‘Old man music, I suppose.’ Jake would have indulged him whilst shaking his head, denigrating his dad’s sad taste in music.
David would give a wry smile and then play Rachmaninoff’s ‘Piano Concerto No. 2’ at full volume, windows wide and not giving a damn about anything or anyone. David wished the kid would denigrate him now. Say something, no matter how banal.
Shout at him. Anything.
Realising Jake wasn’t going to utter even a word, David gave up and turned to the door, knowing that if he tried to physically reach out to him, Jake would shrug him off – and that’s what hurt most of all, the fact that he couldn’t even hug the boy, when Jake so badly needed him to.
‘We really should stop meeting like this. People will talk.’ Andrea smiled coming out of the spare room to meet David on the landing.
David sighed, feeling ragged inside. ‘I needed to get changed,’ he said, forcing a smile back. ‘Sally, she, er, got chocolate on my shirt.’
Andrea blinked at him, clearly bemused.
‘Chloe, that is, got chocolate on Sally’s shirt. Blouse, I mean. I took Chloe off her and—’
‘Got in a mess?’ Andrea suggested.
‘Definitely.’ One hell of a mess, David thought ruefully, still reeling from the shock of Sally’s impromptu kiss. Damn it. He shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. Allowed any of it to happen. David pulled himself up, looking at Andrea looking at him. Her pretty green eyes scrutinising his very thoughts, he felt.
‘Your mother was in the bedroom when I went in, unfortunately,’ David attempted to change the subject. ‘I was half out of the shirt before I realised. She thinks I’m out to have my wicked way with her now.’
Andrea laughed. ‘She’s hoping, you mean. Just watch she doesn’t sink her wandering teeth into parts of your anatomy when you walk past her.’
‘I’ll be on my guard,’ David assured her, his eyes involuntarily travelling over her. It suited her, the tracksuit. The trainers obviously fitted her too. He was glad she’d chosen something innocuous that didn’t scream Michelle, for Jake’s sake. Would Michelle have minded him doing this? Offering this woman her clothes? His hospitality?
David thought not. She’d probably congratulate him for finally finding the courage to be there for someone in a crisis.
‘I’d better go and put some washing in. We’re all out of shirts.’ Offering her another smile, he turned for the stairs, wishing he could turn back the clock and do things differently. Allow Jake to be the child he should be.
‘No work then?’ Andrea asked conversationally.
‘I’m not due to start until next week. Jake’s aunt cared for him for a while before the move, but now … Well, I need to give him a little more of my time, you know? The surgery has a locum covering for me, so …’
Andrea nodded, understanding.
‘I said he could stay at home today, by the way. It seemed unfair to make him go to school with so much going on around here. I hope Miss Kelly doesn’t disapprove?’
‘Absolutely not. He’d feel pushed out if he was packed off while my tribe get to stay at home. We’ll all get back to normal soon.’ Andrea shrugged hopefully. ‘Somehow.’ She stepped towards him and briefly placed a hand on his arm. ‘David, I just wanted to say I was sorry, about Michelle. Your loss. I didn’t realise.’
David shot her a quizzical look. Michelle? Where had she …? Ah, the paintings. She’d obviously seen them. She hadn’t known Michelle. How could she? Nor then, by association, what a bastard he’d been.
‘Don’t be.’ David closed his eyes briefly. The woman taught at Jake’s school. She should know, he supposed, at least some of why there was a gulf the size of an ocean between him and his son. ‘I … let her down.’
‘Oh.’ Andrea nodded, obviously not sure what to say. ‘Well, none of us are perfect,’ she started sympathetically. ‘We all make—’
‘Badly,’ David added, reinforcing the fact that sympathy for him would be sympathy wasted. ‘I wasn’t there for her … before she died. Jake, he, er … He has some issues, as you can probably—’ David stopped, looking past Andrea to where Jake stood in his doorway, his complexion ashen, his expression as if he’d run full-force into a goalpost. ‘Jake?’ David moved quickly towards him, but Jake moved faster, stepping back swiftly into his room.
‘Jake!’ David ground to a halt outside the slammed door.
‘Go away!’ Jake shouted from inside. ‘I hate you!’
David placed his hands either side of the doorframe, every muscle in his body tense with frustration and anger. ‘Damn it!’
Chapter Nine
‘How is he?’ Andrea asked when David came into the lounge, after several failed attempts to communicate with his son through the closed door.
‘Still in his room.’ David ran his hand over his neck, looking exasperated. ‘Won’t come out. Won’t let me in.’
Ryan glanced up from The Simpsons on TV. ‘Do you want me to have a go?’ he asked. ‘See if I can get him to talk?’
David glanced at him. Hopefully, Andrea noticed. Also noticing how totally exhausted the man looked. As if he hadn’t slept properly in months. Yes, and given what he’d just confided, he possibly didn’t deserve to.
The man had obviously been with someone else. That’s what Jake’s anger was all about. But then, as unpalatable as it seemed, it was hardly a hanging offence, Andrea supposed. And, as much as some bac
kground information might be helpful in regard to Jake, the details really were none of her business. Andrea cautioned herself not to poke her nose in where it wasn’t wanted and turned her attention away from David, who seemed to look more dejected by the second, to Ryan. ‘Do you think he might talk to you?’
‘Dunno. Might. I could offer to take him into town now, if you like, rather than later? Do man stuff, you know?’
‘Boy stuff, you mean,’ Sophie muttered, from where she sat curled up in the armchair, fiddling idly with her hair.
‘Thanks, Ryan.’ David smiled, visibly relieved. ‘That’d be great.’
‘’S’no big deal,’ Ryan said as if it were indeed no big deal, which of course it was. Trawling the town centre with a ‘kid’ in tow could seriously curtail Ryan’s ‘pulling’ power. Not that Andrea had seen much evidence his pulling endeavours had succeeded thus far.
‘’Course, I might need some dosh,’ Ryan suggested nonchalantly as he got to his feet.
‘No problem. How much?’ David asked, reaching into his pocket before Andrea had time to protest.
Ryan shrugged his shoulders under his ‘Undercover Genius’ T-shirt. ‘Dunno. Thought we might get a PlayStation game appropriate to his age.’ He eyed David interestedly.
‘Get a couple.’ David plucked at least fifty pounds in notes from his wallet.
Ryan held out his hand, delighted. ‘Cool.’
‘No wait.’ David stuffed the notes back. Ryan looked less delighted.
‘Take my card.’ David handed Ryan a bank card instead. ‘Get whatever you need from the cash machine. You’ll need a change of clothes, while you’re there.’
‘Stunning.’ Ryan nodded approvingly. ‘Do I get the number?’
‘1515. Memorise it and then eat it.’
Andrea opened her mouth to say something when David stopped her.
‘Not conscience money,’ David said, turning to Andrea as Ryan popped the bank card hilariously between his teeth and scooted for the door. ‘Necessary purchases,’ he pointed out. ‘Particularly if it means Jake will talk to Ryan. We can settle our differences later. Yes?’
Andrea heaved Chloe higher in her arms and studied him. She wasn’t sure they had any differences, other than those on the subject of doling out money so readily. She should object, out of earshot of Miss Moody-Spikey, but the look in David’s eyes was one of quiet desperation just then. Whatever he’d done in the past, he was trying to do right by his son, Andrea was now sure of that. He might have challenged her to dislike him, but she doubted she could dislike him as much as he seemed to dislike himself.
She nodded, albeit reluctantly. He was right. Clothes were necessary purchases. She needed to get Ryan and Sophie back to college and school and Chloe to nursery as soon as possible. They needed normality right now. And she needed some space to sort herself out. Speak to the insurance company for a start, if only she could remember who they were insured with. Insurance had always been Jonathan’s department, him being ‘in the business’. Andrea chose not to dwell on why Jonathan wasn’t here to damn well deal with it. She’d think about that when she had time to think. She’d just have to pay David back as soon as she could. And if the computer game could ignite a spark of enthusiasm in Jake …
‘Oi!’ Sophie shouted after Ryan, cutting Andrea’s thoughts short. ‘Bring the remote back, muppet!’
‘I’ll just, er …’ Possibly to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, David nodded and headed towards the hall as Ryan wandered back in.
‘Thought you said The Simpsons was for kids.’ Ryan tossed Sophie the remote, then sauntered back out with a smirk.
‘It is,’ Sophie informed him, notching up the volume. ‘Gran wants to watch it.’
Andrea winced at the mention of Dee. She’d forgotten she’d got a mum. ‘Kitchen. Defrosting the oven,’ Sophie supplied, then dutifully obliged as Andrea handed her Chloe.
Defrosting the what? Andrea dashed for the door, then stopped. ‘Sophie?’
‘Huh?’
‘Sorry about being a bit snappy. It’s just—’
‘— not PMS. It’s you?’ Sophie finished, glancing sideways at her. ‘’S’okay,’ she offered grudgingly. ‘Shit happens.’
Definitely. Andrea shook her head, deciding to ignore the bad language in favour of not berating her daughter, yet again, and skidded to the kitchen, where Dee was floating about in her nightie looking quite at home.
Andrea waited while she filled up an ovenproof dish with boiling water. ‘Um, Mum,’ she started hesitantly as Dee parked the kettle and plucked up the oven gloves, ‘why are you defrosting the oven?’
‘The oven?’ Dee glanced at her, puzzled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, darling, the oven’s self-cleaning,’ she informed her despairingly. ‘I’m defrosting the freezer before we all get semolina.’
Andrea held her breath until Dee got the dish safely in place in the freezer, which did look like the North Pole after a blizzard, Andrea had to admit. ‘Salmonella, Mum,’ she corrected her as Dee turned back, looking pleased with herself.
‘No, thank you, darling. I like a bit of cod, but salmon gets under my palate,’ Dee said sweetly, then boomed, ‘Do you mind? I’ve just cleaned that!’ as David stepped into the kitchen.
David froze mid-step and glanced at Andrea, obviously baffled.
‘The floor.’ Andrea nodded towards his feet, which Dee was making evil eyes at.
‘Oh, right.’ David scratched his head and stepped back. ‘Great. Thanks. I think.’
Lord, at this rate the man would be checking himself into a hotel, or a mental institution very soon.
‘Mum’s very house-proud,’ Andrea offered by way of explanation for her mother’s preoccupation with cleaning his house.
‘Bit of dirt never hurt anyone,’ Dee imparted, bustling over to yank the dishwasher door open. ‘Germs, however, do.’ She threw the tea towel into the dishwasher, banged the door closed, then turned to give David a meaningful stare.
David looked as if he didn’t know which way to turn. ‘Sorry,’ he offered embarrassedly. ‘I rented the house furnished. I haven’t had much time yet to—’
‘Now,’ Dee said over him, dusting off her hands, ‘have you cleaned your skirting boards lately?’
‘Er, no,’ David admitted, looking shamefaced. ‘I’m not sure if someone cleaned the house before we moved in. I’ve organised a cleaner but she—’
‘Well, they ought to be sacked,’ Dee huffed, and then strutted across the kitchen to run a finger along the skirting board. ‘I think you’d better show the young lady to me when she arrives,’ she suggested, offering the evidence of the servant’s slovenly ways for David to see.
David sighed melodramatically. ‘Unbelievable. You just can’t get good staff nowadays, can you?’
‘Precisely.’ Dee looked at David for the first time with the merest hint of approval and then strode purposefully past him into the hall.
Andrea smiled, realising that he was indulging her mother, rather than despairing of her or making fun of her, as Jonathan might.
David eyed the ceiling good-naturedly and then smiled back at her, but still there was an immense sadness about him.
Andrea held his gaze, feeling for him, though she wasn’t sure why.
‘Do you think she’s noticed the cobwebs yet?’ David’s gaze travelled worriedly upwards again, after a second.
Andrea laughed. ‘Oh, dear, she can be a bit much, can’t she? Sorry about that. Mum gets a bit confused. It can be quite amusing, but …’ She paused, wondering how much to say. How he’d react. Would Doctor Adams be of the opinion she should put her mother out to grass for the sake of the people around her and for her own sake?
‘A bit of a handful, as well, sometimes?’ David finished astutely.
Andrea felt her shoulders physically droop. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, with a tired nod. ‘She tends to get a bit muddled. Wanders off occasionally, too, and then gets lost, you know?’
‘Trying to find
her way home?’ David suggested.
Andrea thought about it. ‘Yes,’ she conceded, realising that Dee’s wanderings often did take her in the direction of the canal. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but the riverside cottage might well be where her mother was headed. The place Dee still thought of as home even though Andrea had explained to her many times that it had been sold. She dearly hoped she didn’t wander too far that way – a fresh worry surfaced – now that it was actually under renovation.
‘It’s symptomatic,’ David said sympathetically. ‘Dementia is an unkind condition, short-term memory loss, meaning the past is more real than the present, inertia, mood swings. The cruellest part though, I imagine, are the periods of absolute lucidity.’
Andrea closed her eyes and pulled in a breath. ‘She is aware, a lot of the time,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s not muddled up Dee. She’s my mum, there for me, like she’s always been. Do you see? And then we’ll talk, and laugh, and—’ Andrea stopped, wishing people could understand. There might come a time when she couldn’t cope, she knew that. But, for now, she could. More importantly, she wanted to.
‘At least she can laugh,’ David offered reassuringly. ‘And you can laugh with her. Can’t be all bad.’
Andrea smiled.
David did too. ‘She seems happy enough.’
‘Yes.’ Andrea’s smile broadened. ‘Yes, she is,’ she said, comforted by the fact that this near stranger seemed to understand that for as long as she could, Andrea wanted to grab every bit of happiness for her mother, not rob of her of what dignity she had left.
‘And I think I can live with my shortcomings in the housework department being pointed out.’ Again, David rolled his eyes affably.
Andrea scrunched her eyes closed. ‘Sorry,’ she said, peeling one eye open. ‘She does get a bit carried away sometimes. Misses her own little cottage much more than I imagined she would.’
Learning to Love Page 10
