The Doorstep Child

by Annie Murray

  After what seemed an age, Jack stopped ranting. Without even looking at them or asking them to get out of the car, he winched it up with furious movements and changed the tyre. She wasn’t damn well offering to help after that. He got back in without meeting her eye and drove, in a silence that none of them, even Andrew, dared break, until they reached the refuge of home. Home, where they fled to different corners of the house, where, as the days passed, they could immerse themselves in their own lives again and try to pretend this had never happened. Pretend that a chasm had not cracked open through their home, through their lives and the lives of their children.

  They went on, day after day. As usual she didn’t say anything. She tried to keep everyone happy.

  Yes, she told her friends, they had a lovely trip. Even the children never mentioned the shouting, the rage, as if it was a dream they had all had and now everything was back to normal.

  She and Jack spent hardly any time together. He was out more in the evenings and he went on a trip almost every weekend. They made love from time to time, in a routine sort of way, but it became a rare event. She tried not to think about that. That was marriage, wasn’t it? Her own mother, indiscreet as ever, had moaned about the same thing. This was what happened to everyone.

  When they were together in public, they acted as if everything was well. Evie and Jack, a lovely couple. And even to Bea, she never breathed a word. She started to feel that the only way to keep things going was not to think about it. To keep living day after day. Because at all costs, she needed Jack.

  But sometimes terrible things went through her mind. It would be better if he hit me, she found herself thinking. At least then I’d know he felt something.

  Very rarely, she steeled herself to tackle him about the way things had changed. One Saturday night, during the winter after the holiday, she had been in alone all day with the children while Jack was out, as usual. He came in, after the children were asleep, seeming in a mellow mood after a drink or two. When they got into bed she said, ‘Jack, we don’t spend any time together now – you and me. I don’t want . . . I mean . . .’

  Saying it, she realized just how much sadness she had been hiding from herself all the time and a lump rose in her throat. She kept trying to tell herself that all the couples she knew were like this, but she knew it wasn’t true. It felt as if she and Jack were strangers who moved around each other in the same house.

  Jack was lying on his back, hands behind his head. He moved his nearest arm down so he could look at her.

  ‘What?’ His tone was not very inviting, not angry, just as if he didn’t want to talk or – she tried to push away this thought – didn’t care either way.

  ‘I just . . .’ She could hear the huskiness in her voice. ‘It used to be different, that’s all. You know, when we were first . . .’ She was struggling not to cry and she couldn’t look at him. ‘I don’t want . . . I don’t want you to be unhappy – with me.’

  He stared at her. It was a cold stare, or at least not one containing affection. He didn’t take her in his arms and assure her that everything was all right, that she was his wife and he loved her. She knew in that moment that he didn’t love her, however much she longed to hear him say that he did, that nothing had changed.

  ‘I’m not unhappy,’ he said in a neutral voice and looked away again.

  ‘You sure?’ Her voice had gone small. Even if he sounded like a stranger, she wanted him to reassure her that all her dreams were not dead.

  ‘Yeah. Course. I dunno what you’re on about. Come on, let’s get some kip.’

  Forty

  1971

  It was the beginning of January and Evie was feeling hopeful. She and Jack had certainly lived through a long bad patch but it seemed to her that they had come through the worst of it.

  Things aren’t perfect, she thought, but what marriage is? Jack seemed to have settled down. He was still out a lot, but he was doing well at work. The Rosette Tube Co. had given him a good promotion. Nowadays when he came home he seemed more relaxed, amiable. Evie could see that it was because the children were older. Tracy was six and was at the local school, and Andrew would be four in the summer and would soon begin at the kindergarten. Things had started to feel easier.

  But that was when Bea dropped her bombshell.

  ‘Stan and I have been talking a lot over Christmas,’ she told the other women as they socialized one snowbound Saturday. Some of the men were in the house too, as it was minus ten outside. Not Jack, of course. He had gone to watch ice hockey.

  ‘Anyway . . . Stan wants to move on and, well . . .’ Bea looked round at them, Evie, Cath and the rest. Evie was startled to see tears in Bea’s eyes, calm Bea who was always a comfort to everyone else. ‘He’s taken a job at the hospital in Calgary. We’ll be moving over there soon as we can manage it.’

  Evie thought for a moment she was joking. Bea, not here! But Bea was her rock, her lifeline.

  ‘Thing is, eventually I’d like to work some shifts as well and we thought, well, while everything’s changing all the time with the kids we might as well make a move now.’

  But you can’t, Evie almost said. You can’t just go!

  ‘Oh Bea, no!’

  It was the reaction of several of the others as well. Bea was the lynchpin of the group and everyone loved her.

  ‘I’m so sad about it,’ she said, letting her tears fall now. ‘I’ll miss all of you lot like mad. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. But we’ll still be able to see you.’ Bea wiped her eyes. She looked both sad and excited. ‘You must come on over to Calgary.’

  But they all knew it would never be the same. No more sitting in Bea’s cosy, relaxed house with all their children. They had been each other’s mainstay through a lot of the heaviest days of childrearing. And Bea – competent, kindly and fun – would leave a huge gap in their lives.

  Both Evie and Cath wept the day Bea and Stan left. But soon after, as if a ripple had begun, Cath said that she and David were talking about returning to England. They had never wanted to stay permanently in Canada and it would be a good time to get their kids into English schools. It would take some time, of course.

  ‘I hope it takes you forever,’ Evie told her sincerely, and Cath laughed sadly.

  ‘That’s so sweet, Evie. We are going to be on our way, I’m afraid. Obviously my mum’s dying to get us home. But we must all keep in touch.’

  Evie had thought things would just go on, but suddenly, nothing felt the same. All the security of her friends and the help they had given each other was melting away.

  Maybe we should go back as well, she found herself wondering. For the first time since the early days in Canada she had begun thinking wistfully about home. But she told herself, there was no point in thinking about it. To the children this was home – and Jack would never go back to England, so that was that.

  One Friday morning in early summer, Evie was in Rosette shopping for weekend groceries while the children were playing at a friend’s house. Even shopping had become a miserable thing. In the past she often bumped into Bea or Cath and had a chat. Now there was no chance of that and the place felt less like home than before.

  She was bagging up her packages and tins when she saw a familiar face behind her in the queue. It was a Canadian friend of Jack’s called Steve, who she didn’t know very well, but he was one of the ice hockey enthusiasts who went along to all the games.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, turning to him. He was a solid, wide-faced man with smooth brown hair and pink cheeks. She couldn’t remember anything about him, where he worked, but she wanted to be friendly.

  He looked puzzled for a second then said, ‘Oh . . . hi. Sorry, you’re . . . ?’

  ‘Evie Harrison,’ she said. ‘Jack’s wife.’ He still seemed not to know what she was talking about. ‘Jack Harrison?’

  ‘Oh . . . yes, course!’ He laughed. ‘Sorry. Trying to put two and two together. I haven’t seen you in a while.’

  ‘Yo
u got the day off?’ she said, packing the last of her tins and reaching in her bag for her purse.

  ‘Yeah.’ He looked down at his clothes and she noticed then that they were splashed with paint. ‘We’ve got a whole pile of things to do in the house so, you know, thought we’d make a weekend of it.’

  Evie smiled at the cashier and picked up her bags and turned to Steve again. ‘Oh well, one of the last games of the season this weekend, isn’t it? But I guess you won’t be going?’

  ‘No,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll be hard at work. There’s a couple more, though. Anyway,’ he called after her as they both waved goodbye and she was pushing the door open, ‘tell Jack to get himself over to a game soon. Haven’t seen him in yonks!’

  Evie stopped for several seconds too long while this sank in, before she remembered herself.

  ‘Oh . . . yes. I will!’ She gave Steve what she realized must have been a deranged smile and waved, hurrying off.

  At the car she threw everything into the back and climbed in, her blood pounding so hard she thought her heart might be about to give out. She slammed the door and sat panting, Steve’s words looping round and round in her head. Tell Jack to get himself over to a game soon. Haven’t seen him in yonks . . .

  There was a game most weekends. Jack went religiously every weekend he possibly could. So if he wasn’t at the hockey game, where the hell was he?

  She staggered into the house with the shopping. Without thinking, she put some water on for tea and stood while it boiled, staring out of the window. She felt as if she was listening for the distant sounds of an earthquake, the cracking and roaring and shaking growing nearer by the second, and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t pretend anymore.

  Once she had sunk down at the table with her tea, she started to shake. She gripped the mug with both hands.

  Haven’t seen him in yonks . . .

  Was it all a mistake? Had she not understood him all this time?

  Does he even really go fishing? she asked herself. His other great weekend pastime. She thought he did. Or had until recently, because David Laker often went as well. Surely Cath would have said something if Jack had not been there? During the ice hockey season, though, he had been going to every game he could.

  Her mind spun. What do I say to him? What do I do?

  She had to run to the bathroom and threw up so violently that her head throbbed. She hung over the lavatory, her tears coming then, and gulping, heartbroken sobs.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ she sobbed. She knelt back on the floor and howled. He had been lying to her. For months? Years? And she had known. In a way she had known, but she had not wanted to know.

  Sobbing, she curled up very small on the bathroom floor, her forehead pressing on the woven mat, knees pulled up close to her chest.

  Forty-One

  That week, she went through the motions of her life, getting the kids ready in the mornings, cooking Jack’s dinner, asking him about his day.

  If you can pretend, she thought, by God, so can I. She was amazed at her own calm.

  And so what, anyway? She tried to talk herself round. Jack had not left her. No one else had said anything and Jack seemed happier. Why did she need to stir things up? She could just leave things as they were – as they had been for heaven knew how long. She would keep her family together.

  But if she asked him, maybe there would be some other explanation. Some reason that did not mean that her husband had left her without actually leaving her; that the life she had clung to and tended so carefully was not being ripped into rags that could never be stitched together again.

  She wouldn’t ask. She lay beside Jack at night while he slept. This stranger breathing beside her. His smell, his familiar body. Her heart hurt – an ache in her chest that never went away. But she stayed quiet.

  For days, she said not a word. She started to believe that she could keep it up forever. For all she knew he had been . . . Been what? All this time? Going with someone else?

  Someone else. The words flared in her head. The feelings. The hurt and jealousy.

  And she knew she could not keep quiet. Not forever. Not in this cold, false way where she felt like icy glass that would shatter apart at any moment.

  That next Friday night he came home by five. Her first feeling, for seconds only, was to be pleased to see him because it did not happen often.

  ‘You’re back early,’ she said, smiling as he came in. It was still sunny and the kids were out in the garden.

  ‘Yeah . . . Well . . .’ He threw her a smile but even then she could tell he didn’t mean it, that he was nervous. Something was wrong. Not normal. Instead of going straight upstairs to change, Jack just stood. He pulled a hand out of his trouser pocket and ran it along the back of the nearest chair. His nails were clipped and clean. She remembered that: the neat half-moons of his nails. He stopped, as if preparing himself, and turned to her.

  She stopped him before he could speak. Walking to the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, ‘Want a cup of tea?’

  Her heart – she could feel it now, banging slow but hard. Because she wanted to be the first one to say something. And she did say it casually, calling from the kitchen, ‘I met a pal of yours.’ He didn’t need to know that it was a week ago.

  There was no answer. She came out into the living room and Jack was still standing just where he had been before.

  ‘That guy Steve. The one you go to the ice hockey games with.’ No hint of accusation in her voice, she plumped a cushion, not looking at him. ‘He said to say hello. Said he hadn’t seen you in ages.’

  And then she looked at him, her blood seeming to stop. He was looking right back. There was a long pause before he said, ‘Thing is, Evie . . .’ He sounded very Canadian. Smooth, somehow. ‘I’ve just got to say something. I, er . . .’ He wiped a hand across his forehead. He had been going to say it anyway, she saw. Maybe. Or if not today, another day. But he looked like someone preparing himself. ‘I’ve got to go. From here. I mean . . .’

  She bent over and picked up a cardigan from Tracy’s favourite doll which was lying at her feet. She thought she would never forget the soft feel of that pink wool between her fingers, so entwined it was with something hard and fractured. For a moment she saw herself from outside, as if she was watching a movie, as if she wasn’t herself at all.

  ‘I’ve met someone else,’ Jack said. ‘And I want to move in with her. Start again.’ He shrugged hopelessly. ‘Sorry.’

  She heard herself gasp. Everything made sense. And it made no sense. Met someone . . . He didn’t say when. And she knew, had known, had guessed – where else would he be going? But still she did not expect that this was what he would say. That he could just break everything in a handful of words.

  ‘Jack . . . No . . .’ Her voice came out as a moan. ‘No!’ And, to her horror, she threw herself at his feet. ‘Jack, don’t leave me. You can’t! I can’t bear it if you leave me.’ Sobbing, her head on his shoes, she clung to his legs.

  ‘Don’t, Evie, for Christ’s sake!’ He was getting angry, frantic. ‘Stop it. The kids . . .’

  ‘What do you care about the kids!’ she screamed. ‘When’ve you ever cared about them – or about me? All you’ve ever done is what you sodding well like. You don’t care about anyone!’

  Climbing to her feet, out of control, she started hitting and slapping at him, sobbing, until he grabbed her hands and managed to wrestle her so that he had her from behind, her arms crossed over her body while she fought him.

  Until she saw two little figures standing at the door, watching them, silent and terrified. She saw Tracy reach for Andrew’s hand.

  The woman, Linda, was a secretary in one of the firms in the area – not the Rosette Tube Co., but somewhere nearby. Linda was Canadian born. She had no children. She was single. Linda was Canada. She was freedom. She was all Jack wanted.

  The worst of it was that he did not seem to mind if she took the children back to England. At first she had used that as
a threat.

  ‘I’ll take them back home!’ she threw at him, not believing it then herself. ‘You’ll never see them.’

  She had no idea what she was going to do. She was in shock. Jack was like a wall sealed against her. He had set his face towards Linda and whatever she did or said seemed to make no difference.

  ‘Jack, I love you,’ she sobbed, over and over again. ‘I’ve done my best to be a wife to you. Please don’t leave – I need you. What about the kids – your kids?’

  Again she begged, kneeling at his feet, not caring how humiliating it was.

  But it was no use. He was not insulting, or unkind, he just stepped over her as if she was not there and left the house, while she sobbed with her face pressed to the rug.

  At first she thought she would stay in Canada. But her tight group of friends was disappearing. All the life she wanted was disappearing. And coming here in the first place had all been about Jack. He was planning to stay in Rosette. He was very nicely off here, thank you. She did not want to start again – not here, or anywhere else in Canada, without him. Canada seemed tainted: she was burying her dreams here. It felt as if the country had turned against her and now it felt a sad, alien place.

  Jack was calm reason itself. There was no changing his mind or moving him in any way. If she wanted to move somewhere else, he would help set them up. He would help them get to England if that was what she wanted. He was all helpfulness in disposing of a whole family and that helpfulness made her more bitter than anything.

  ‘Don’t you care that you won’t see Tracy and Andrew?’ she kept asking.

  ‘I don’t see them that much anyway,’ Jack said, when he finally answered her instead of evading the question. He was so caught up in himself and his new life she could hardly get any sense out of him. ‘Tell them to come over and visit when they’ve grown up – get to know their old dad, eh?’

  She was so full of rage and hurt that she couldn’t speak. Only later all the things she might have said poured into her mind, but at that moment she stared at Jack’s back as he turned away, this husband who had become a stranger. It was then she knew for certain she could not stay here. They would go back to England – get as far away from him as possible. It felt as if they would all be better off without him.