by Dawn French
When Kemble told her that he pitied her, her lights were finally punched out. Something left her. Asking for anything, especially for help, would be in desperation, had been a last resort for this proud woman. She never imagined it would mean nothing if she did have to. Her emergency services have not turned up. Apparently, there is no cavalry unless you pay for it. This is a total shock to her. She has always believed that family are tight, that they would come through for her if needed, fiery hot and ready for action. She has forgotten that if you don’t stoke the fire, it goes out.
So Glenn sits here, suspended in time, wondering if she matters.
Thomas has been making efforts to contact her, but even he is trying less and less. He has overlooked her, hasn’t he, and by so doing, he has robbed her of her power. She is not on her perch any longer. Initially, she thought that moving into this little apartment might give her a lofty position from which to direct operations at a distance. But it would seem that nobody whatsoever is actually missing her. Has removing herself backfired? No homage is being paid, no grovelling done, no abject apologies made. If only she could have some of that, even a little bit, from anyone, she might use it as a foundation upon which to build her pride back up again. It’s impossible to grant forgiveness if no-one will even turn up. You can’t get an emotional purchase on a no-show.
Glenn realizes, in a very deep place somewhere near her locked heart, that everything she knows how to do inevitably has to change. It’s simply not working. She has ground to a halt. She has no idea how to be anymore.
In the meantime, she will sit here, studying the floor and trying not to scream. She will twirl the expensive rings on her liver-spotted thin old twiglet fingers and watch if the light catches fire in the diamonds. She will wait to see if she can feel anything about even that, whether beauty itself can still move her. She will sit and be, as precious time ticks by. Only her skin is holding her together. All else inside is jelly and air.
Little does Glenn Wilder-Bingham know, but the cavalry has arrived and is standing on the street outside, looking up at her window. Rosie Kitto so wants to ring the doorbell of the fourth floor apartment. She very nearly does, but she finally decides against it, not her business, and she walks away, leaving the jelly woman very wobbly, very alone, and very stuck.
Deal
Natalie opens the door to her house to find Kemble on the doorstep, clean shaven and well put together in his work suit.
She is wary, ‘Oh. Hi. The boys are at school …’
‘I didn’t come to see them, that’s Saturday, I came to see you. It’s over, Nat. The boys stay with you,’ and with that, he hands her a big envelope of official papers. She takes them, and with her jaw slightly dropped, she pulls out the papers and checks through them.
She stifles a low-down sob of relief, and says, ‘I’m sorry it had to be like this. Truly.’
‘Don’t be. It’s my fault.’
Natalie smiles a sad smile, and Kemble does too. He looks up the road, to avoid her seeing the brimming water in his eyes.
He says, ‘I was angry that you wanted out. But I know it was impossible for you to stay. Once you knew … of course you knew, because you know me better than anyone. Better than I know myself.’
Natalie reaches out and touches Kemble’s arm. Kemble has missed this touch, and he slightly sinks into it.
He says, ‘Thanks for keeping schtum. I will find a way to tell the boys, I need to explain …’
‘Yes. You do. And they will get it. Y’know, Kem, I always thought we were strong,’ she says, and withdraws her hand. Kemble wishes it could stay there forever.
‘Me too. But it was only you who was strong.’ He can’t say any more. He takes her hand, brushes it against his cheek, and kisses it. Kemble is saying goodbye. They stand like this for a moment.
‘Does Glenn know about this?’ Natalie asks, tentatively, indicating the papers.
‘I told her. And Nat, I’m transferring to the Paris office in the New Year. I’ll be here for … y’know … the baby’s birth … but then …’
Natalie is concerned, puzzled.
Kemble continues, ‘I’ve rented an apartment in the Marais. It’s only for a couple of years. There’s plenty of room for the boys when they visit, which I would like to be a lot. All three of them, and you could come too. Why not? You are what I know about France.’
Natalie says, ‘It’s a long way from home. And your mother …’
‘Exactly. Maybe I can honestly be who I should be there … I hope.’
Natalie smiles and Kemble sees that she thinks this could be a good move. He loves to see her smile, it’s been a while. And he loves to be the reason she is smiling. He loves her face. He loves her. He loves that she is such an honourable person and such a good mother. He feels so much less than her.
‘Do you want to come in?’ she asks.
Kemble looks past her into the house, his old life. In some ways, it’s where he most wants to be, but it’s not his life anymore, so he shakes his head.
Five minutes later, Kemble rounds the corner from his beloved old home and heads into what was his favourite haunt, the best coffee shop in Brooklyn. Just as he puts his hand on the door, he hears a voice behind him.
‘Dad,’ Teddy puffs.
‘Hey,’ says Kemble.
‘Mom told me what just happened …’
‘Want coffee?’
‘No …’
‘Sorry. I forgot, you hate coffee. Want juice?’
And with that small remembering, Teddy starts to feel unforgotten and a little bit known again by his father. ‘Yeh, OK,’ and they go in together and sit by the window on bench seats with a formica table between them.
‘So you’re sneakin off again, then?’ Teddy says, aware that his question is loaded.
‘I’m not sneakin’ anywhere, Ted, it’s a great opportunity and I’d be a fool not to take it.’
‘But you’ve got kids. Who live here.’
‘Yes. Kids. Who I need to support, so I need to work, and the best work for me currently is in Europe. They value my skills there Teds. Did you know I have skills? I’m a half-decent lawyer. Look, I fucked up here. I need to get out from under your granpop’s wing. Move. Start again. It’s Paris Ted, you’ll love it. There’ll be a room for you. The Marais. Where you always ask to go, to get that peasanty-sausage thing you love in that bistro …?’
‘Brasserie Ma Bourgogne. It’s Beujolais Sausage. I thought it made me drunk.’
‘Haha yes. How old were you?’
‘Dunno, maybe eight? Like the boys are now …’
‘Yeh. And the owner let you have cherry liqueur.’
‘Mmm, my introduction to serious drinking.’
‘Those Frogs. They love their booze and their food and their kids.’
‘Look at Mom.’
‘Yes, Ted, look at her. Beautiful. Mom’s family will be a ten minute walk from me. It’s only for two years. You’ll come. A lot, I hope, and you’ll bring the twins. Or sometimes not, you’ll come on your own. Or … maybe … bring your girlfriend …?’
Teddy snaps a look at his dad, ‘What girlfriend? What do you mean? Who do you mean?!’
‘Cool it, son. I mean, whichever girlfriend you might want to bring. Whatever. Whoever, that’s all. Hey, you’re a tad touchy. Is there someone I should know about …?’ Kemble smiles at him.
‘No,’ Teddy shuts it down pronto, he wishes no further discussion on that topic.
‘OK, OK. I get it.’
A pause.
‘I think you’ve been a total shit to Mom,’ Teddy braves it.
‘OK.’ Kemble concedes quietly.
‘In fact, for me, Dad, you ratsuck sweaty fat ass balls …’
Kemble is dumbstruck ‘How did you know?’
‘Eh?’
‘Well … because I kinda do … Teds … that’s part of the problem …’
‘What the fuck are you saying?’
‘Well. I didn’t quite imagine
telling you like this. And I don’t really have anything definite to say. All I know is that, for a long time now … I kinda … don’t want women.’
‘What? Sorry, I don’t get it. What about Mom? What about Rosie?’
‘Teds, I love your mom. Always have, always will. And as for Rosie, I’ve been asking myself that. I think it was like a … umm … a last try. In case I was wrong. I wanted to be wrong. Because, believe me, this isn’t the easiest thing to own. It’s not who I’ve been. Or maybe it is who I’ve been, but not been able to be … sorry … not making much sense … not the easiest thing to understand, or to tell your granma … or anyone … or you.’
Teddy is completely stunned. He sits looking at the man who used to be his dad until two minutes ago. Now, who is he?
Teddy says, ‘So … you’re gay …?’
At which point, the ultra camp waiter who is placing their drinks in front of them, says to Teddy,
‘Honey, we’re all a little bit gay. Deal with it. And snaps for you, handsome …’ He clicks his fingers like applause, ‘You’re totes adorbs. And yes please, I would like a big tip … if you get me. Ha ha ha,’ and off he flounces.
Kemble and Teddy are stunned. Kemble breaks the silence when he says, ‘I’m not that gay,’ and both of them laugh together, comfortably.
‘Oh my God, Dad, does Mom know?’
‘Yes. She kind of told me, actually. She knew things weren’t right. I was drifting and not wanting to think about it, and boozing so that I didn’t …’
‘Yeh, we saw that part’
‘Yeh, sorry. I didn’t want it to be true. But in the end …’
‘Is there … someone?’
‘Didn’t I just ask you that?’ says Kemble, smiling, ‘No. There isn’t. Yet. If ever. I don’t know how to be … this. I’m a learner, Teds.’
‘Me too,’ says Teddy.
They sit and drink and think.
Teddy is the first to speak. ‘It’s weird, but y’know what, it’s OK. It’s really OK. In fact it’s kind of easier, because stuff sort of makes sense. I thought you … hated Mom or something, or us, or me. I thought it might be me …’
‘Christ, Teds. No. It’s not you, son. It’s me. All the difficult stuff is always me. Ask your granma!’
‘Shit, does she know?!’ Teddy can’t imagine that scenario.
‘Nope. Might not … bother … with that.’
‘Do it Dad. Butch up. Granpop will be OK and he’ll handle her. Tell her. Don’t be a wuss.’
Kemble looks into the eyes of his lovely boy, who speaks the truth. ‘Maybe. Let’s see. It’s tempting to just run and keep running from that one …’
‘I don’t think you’re running away this time though, Dad. You’re running towards something, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Teds. That’s right. So right.’
‘Got to hand it to ya. You’ve got balls,’ says Teddy.
A pause.
‘Are mine ratsuck sweaty fat ass ones?’ says Kemble.
Teddy smiles. ‘Yep. Sorry ’bout that.’
‘No prob, man, no prob. Listen, Teds, here’s the thing. If you seriously don’t think I should go to Paris, I won’t. Just like that. I won’t. It’s your choice. I mean it. You decide, and I will go with whatever you say.’
‘Really?’ Teddy is suspicious.
‘Really.’ Kemble means it.
Teddy takes a minute to think. He relishes having the power. For the first time in a long time, Kemble has made a clever decision.
‘Yes,’ says Teddy, at last. ‘You should go, the temptation of that French sausage is too great.’
They both simultaneously hear properly what Teddy has just said … and then they convulse with laughter. Kemble attempts to be heard through his mangled snorts, ‘Thanks for that, son. You got it in one! Ha Ha ha …’
Everyone in the diner notices the father and son doubling up in helpless laughter at the table by the window. The father and son who clearly adore each other.
As the laughter subsides a bit, Kemble speaks through his happy tears, ‘Help me to tell the twins?’
Teddy nods.
Mary Mary
As the year wanes so the roof garden grows and changes, and the same goes for everyone visiting it. High up and part of the Manhattan skyline, and now part of their lives, each person who lives in the Wilder-Bingham apartment uses it in different ways.
Rosie is often up here alone, tending the various beds, reading or dancing with her earphones on. She has much more solitary time now the twins live back at home. She tries to take the time to read her gardening books whilst she is actually sitting in the garden, so that she can judge what needs to happen next in terms of planting, and so that she can identify the weeds from the plants and so on. Sometimes, she is overwhelmed by just how giant a subject gardening is, and by all the differing advice she reads. When this happens she lies down under a thick blanket and spreads herself out like a beached starfish. As she stretches, she breathes deep and looks up into the clouds. When she is flat like this, she can see the sky with no interruption, and she can dream. She is increasingly aware of her swelling belly and the unfamiliar little movements she can feel inside. Her daydreams are full of the baby and everything about it, and while she daydreams she invariably floats off into sleep. Her conscious thinking mingles with her dreams, and the garden nurtures all of it. When she rouses from these treacley pregnant-lady-naps she wakes to the hints of autumn roses and lavender all around her. Sometimes, for a fleeting hazy few moments, she thinks she’s home.
The twins often come up here too. Sometimes with Natalie, sometimes without. They are changing as well, so quickly that Rosie is convinced that if they stood stock still for fifteen minutes, and she watched only them, she would witness them growing in front of her very eyes. She would hear bones stretching, and see skin expanding, and feel their hair growing thicker and longer in her hands. Mini Hulks. They love to cultivate the areas they planted or made. Three tops up the water in the bowl inside his Noguchi pebble circle, and Red prunes and weeds around his herbs. While Rosie watches them concentrating on the garden, it occurs to her that Glenn, still in sad purdah, is missing out on so much. If the stalemate doesn’t end soon, she may not recognize her grandsons by Christmas.
Even Kemble visits the roof garden, usually with the boys, but sometimes on his own, to check on his watercress. Occasionally, he cuts a bunch and puts it straight into his mouth, crunching away while he looks out over the city and makes muffled eating phone calls arranging his move to Europe. He sat here with Natalie one evening while the boys were busy weeding with Rosie, and they sat in deck chairs, side by side, and they held hands like good friends. No war. And the boys saw it, and they loved it.
Iva was supposed to go home for a three-week holiday but Rosie persuaded Thomas to let her go for two months paid compassionate leave if she promised to cover for her, so the apartment is messy, and windows and doors are wide open and cushions are unplumped and dishes are out of place … but no-one really cares. They are all spending more time up here on the roof anyway, so it doesn’t matter.
Teddy has brought the shiny girl up here and made her a persuasive Mojiteddy using the fresh mint. He lives in hope it may have the same disinhibiting effect on her that it did on Rosie, but so far, they are still just friendly. He wonders how much she likes him, but he doesn’t let his doubt stop him from asking her up here again, and he makes sure the fairy lights are always on for her, and tea lights twinkle around where he invites her to sit. Rosie promises him the shiny girl will like that. He wants her to feel safe with him. He waits and wonders. Her name is Izzy.
Thomas brings his guitar up here, and practices in the nippy open air. He can nearly do a nearly passable rendition of ‘Johnny B Good’ now. It’s competent enough to play to the others without feeling too embarrassed, so he has, and they have all clapped and cheered. Which is fine …
BUT.
Really, he wants Glenn to hear it. She is the one whose
approval matters the most. She is who matters the most. She. Who is gone. Where is she? Months and months have passed by. He still sends her texts each week. Polite enquiries as to her wellbeing, and gentle reminders that he cares. Nothing too pushy, nothing too passionate. He doesn’t want to scare her off. Well, look, he’s already done that. He doesn’t want to give her reason to stay away. He wants her forgiveness, but only when she is ready, otherwise it won’t be real and it won’t last.
He sits on the roof and rehearses the things he will say if he gets the chance. He doesn’t want to get it wrong. He wants to be able to tell the truth, and for her to know that’s what it is. He can’t retract what he’s done, both of them will have to accept it and find a new way to be if they’ve got a hope in hell. What he knows for sure is that he’d like a chance at that. Nothing is quite right without her. He’s not right without her. At first, he thought it was just habit, that missing her was like missing anything that happens daily.
Like missing coffee.
But that’s just it.
That’s the small stuff.
And it’s always the small stuff that makes the big. She is both. She is all the small stuff, the everyday, the familiar, the ordinary, the usual. But all those seemingly trivial regular things make up a whole big beating heart of a life. And it’s a life he wants. Not exactly like it was, that won’t ever quite work anymore, but a better, kinder life, with Glenn in it, at the centre, as the loving woman he first married, the person he trusts she really is, somewhere in there. He believes it, and he wants it so much that he has written it all down in a letter to her.
