You, Me and Other People

by Fionnuala Kearney

  ‘You’re like a magpie, Dad, attracted by anything that’s shiny and new for all of five minutes. I love you too, but right now it’s hard to remember the best of you.’

  I nod. Grateful for the small lifeline. I wonder if it will be enough to secure me. I want to ask her here and now to rein me in, hold me tight and never let me go. No sooner does the thought cross my mind that I remind myself that this is not my daughter’s job. It’s my job to reassure her, to hold her, to make her feel safe. So, no, this is not the right time.

  ‘I have nightmares,’ she says, ‘dreams of you and Mum never speaking, and I’m stuck in the middle, loving you both. I wake up and want to phone you and scream that you just have to get back together, even if it’s just for me, for my sake.’

  I close my eyes.

  ‘Then I think what I’d do if I were Mum. Would I forgive you, even for my daughter’s sake?’

  I have a bitter taste in my mouth, like metal, and I realize I’ve bitten my cheek.

  ‘But she’s done that already, hasn’t she, that last time?’ Meg goes on.

  It’s a question that doesn’t need an answer.

  ‘Then I think: what should you be doing? What are you doing to at least try and persuade her that you want her back? You do want her back, don’t you?’

  I can’t speak so I just nod.

  ‘You say that, but you do nothing. Nothing at all – I don’t get that?’

  It appears she’s on a roll.

  ‘And in the middle of all of this confusion, I’ve met a guy. He’s a nice guy, yet I’m holding back. I tell him it’s because of my exams, but the truth is I’m not sure I can trust him. I grew up watching you and Mum love each other. And, since that was a lie, I don’t think I’ll ever trust again.’ Meg pushes her plate away, food practically untouched.

  ‘Your mum and I were never a lie.’ My voice is louder than I intend and a couple next to us turn to stare. ‘I loved her, love her still …’

  She hesitates, then nods softly.

  ‘Don’t be afraid to love someone, Meg. Don’t lose that because of me?’ I see her check her watch and I wave for the bill.

  Still sitting, she wraps her coat around her. ‘Maybe you should just try harder, Dad. Try to fight for her.’

  My daughter’s face is suddenly filled with hope, a Disney-like hope for a happy ending, like in all the childhood films we watched together. All the saccharine finales that have nothing to do with real life – nothing to do with Beth and me and all the messy toothpaste that won’t ever go back in the tube.

  ‘Your nana thinks the same,’ I say. ‘She left a message on my phone earlier.’

  Meg grins for the first time tonight. ‘Can I hear it? Did she shout at you?’

  ‘No, it’s typical of Sybil. Says what it needs to say.’ I find it on my phone, press play and pass it to Meg.

  ‘Adam, this is Sybil. My, my, you’ve been stupid, haven’t you? That said, the time has come for forgiveness, and I can forgive you if Beth can. You need to work harder on that. Fight for my daughter. You know she’s worth it.’

  Meg chuckles. ‘Only Nana … Straight to the point.’

  The walk back to her flat is forty-five steps. Meg links her arm through mine and I have less than a minute to say something that can make a difference without murdering her hopes. ‘I’m not sure she can actually forgive me, Meg.’

  She turns to me. ‘And I’m quite sure that you haven’t even tried. Both Nana and I think you need to fight. C’mon, Dad! A grand gesture or two. Just do something to get her talking.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I hear myself telling Meg. And I’m still amazed how lies can breed lies. Even as she’s hugging me goodbye, the contact I’ve yearned for, the shades of forgiveness already forming in her eyes, I can feel myself let go. When she pulls from the embrace, I slip away, feel the tenuous lifeline she’d offered slide from my grip. And I’m floating again. Untethered. Insecure. Isolated …

  As I unlock the car, a siren sounds in the next street – someone else is in trouble. I balance myself against a lamppost, remove my buzzing phone from my pocket. A text from Emma, wanting to know where I am, if I’m coming around.

  ‘Not tonite’ is my reply.

  I am aware of a cold feeling. ‘What the—?’ I leap upwards in the bed.

  ‘Morning, sunshine.’

  Rubbing my damp face, I blink a few times, unable to believe that my brother Ben is standing above me, with what seems like an empty glass of water in his hand.

  ‘Ben?’ My brain registers him being there, but that’s impossible – he’s not due back for another fortnight.

  ‘You total bloody idiot,’ he says. His tone is angry and I know then that he’s really here and that he’s been to Weybridge. I slump backwards, pulling one of the pillows over my head.

  ‘A prize idiot …’

  I hear his muted voice and beg it to be gone. Pray for it to be a bad dream. Pray for it all to be one bad dream that I can learn from and wake up being a better man. I hear him move to the kitchen, clatter about with the kettle, and I toss the pillow to the floor.

  He puts his head around the door. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.’

  ‘You’re an idiot, Adam. Beth is what holds you together and what do you do? Screw it up large.’

  I use the second pillow to drown him out again. ‘I missed you.’ I shout again through the cotton, his words reverberating in my head. Beth is what holds me together. And Beth will never forgive me. Kiera skips through my brain. ‘Beth will never forgive me Noah.’ I realize I must have been speaking aloud when Ben lifts the corner of the pillow upwards, stares at me and says:

  ‘Who the hell is Noah?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Why the urgency, Beth, are you okay?’

  ‘Thanks for squeezing me in. I know I only saw you a few days ago, but something’s changed and I needed to let you know. For the next few minutes, I watch Caroline’s facial expressions turn from intrigue to something like pride as I explain I’ve decided – enough with the therapy, the introspection – it’s time to move on with life. We chat for just a few minutes and, as I’m about to leave, I tell her I’m having the house valued today. ‘Someone called Giles.’ I laugh and she makes a face that tells me that she, like me, knows exactly what to expect from an estate agent called Giles. ‘I didn’t catch his surname but it will be double barrelled and he’ll have a pinkie on his little finger.’

  She smiles, indulging me for the few moments we have left.

  ‘Do you remember I named my inner saboteur Lucy Fir?’

  ‘Indeed I do.’ Caroline laughs out loud – the Lucifer connection had always amused her.

  ‘Anyway, she’s been busy this morning. I was clearing out my “fat wardrobe”, putting all my old, bigger clothes into charity bags, and she was whispering in my ear telling me to wait a while, that I’d probably grow into them again.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘They’re downstairs in the boot, tied tighter than her gag.’

  Caroline laughs again and I realize it’s a sound I’ve not really heard before. I’m making my therapist laugh – perhaps it really is time to move on.

  ‘You know, I’m not claiming it doesn’t hurt any more, but I used to walk around with a tight knot lodged in my chest and it’s gone. Adam and me, it doesn’t take up every moment of my day any more.’

  ‘Time …’ She shrugs. ‘It can heal the most determined, deep feelings.’

  ‘I like my life. I loved my life with Adam but I’ve got to learn to love it without him. I know I can. It’s what I want going forward.’ I offer her my right hand.

  Her grasp is warm and sincere. ‘My door is always open,’ she smiles.

  Meg is angry with me – furious, actually – for two reasons. Firstly, I’ve asked for her help in creating a CV and her response was that she’d have to make it all up, because I am a songwriter looking for a real job. I la
ughed and told her that this is the real world and that I’m going to have to find a real job, because her errant father may not continue being as compliant as he has been. Bad move. Bad Mummy …

  The second reason is because I told her that I’m having the house valued. When I responded to her angry tirade with, ‘I refer you to the answer I gave earlier,’ she stormed off in her car and I haven’t seen her since. It’s probably just as well as, any moment now, Giles, the estate agent, will be on the doorstep.

  When I hear the sound of the bell, I am shocked to see Karen. She left here this morning with Ben, telling me she’d drop him off at a Tube station en route.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ she says. ‘I got home and then realized that maybe I should have stayed the weekend. So I thought I’d surprise you. Anyway, I’m back. Three tickets for the Odeon, eight o’clock showing of the latest Morgan Freeman movie. You, me, Meg.’ She waves three stubs at me, tells me if we’re quick we can get a pizza in, that she has vouchers for that too. Behind her, I see a man in a pinstripe suit walk up the drive.

  Moving her gently to one side with my left arm, I hold out my right one, extending my hand. ‘Giles?’

  ‘Mrs Hall? Good to meet you. Yes, I’m Giles. What a lovely property.’

  ‘Thank you, do come in.’ From the corner of my eye, I can see Karen, tickets in her hand, an expression of pure horror on her gaping face. ‘Close your mouth, Karen,’ I whisper behind Giles’s back.

  ‘You’re selling the house?’ she hisses.

  I push her towards the kitchen, aware that Giles has stopped to read my artwork in the hall. ‘Yes, about that,’ I call back to him, ‘I can explain.’ I park Karen on a breakfast stool, glare at her to be silent, then rush back to the hall. ‘I didn’t have time to fix it, I’m afraid. I mean, when I rang and you said you could come around today, I … I mean, obviously I’ll paint over it, but just while you’re here, valuing, I mean, I thought it’s fine.’

  Giles is nodding. He’s very good-looking, I note, in an older, distinguished-looking man kind of way. Tightly cut, caramel-coloured hair that gives him an ex-army look. I imagine he’s mid-forties and, for some inexplicable reason, my eyes dart towards his wedding hand. No ring. Good. No tan lines from a ring. Good.

  He catches me looking. ‘I love Ikea meatballs and I hate horseradish too. It’s great.’ He nods towards my wall art. ‘I’d leave it.’

  In that moment, I decide I’m a little bit in love with Giles.

  I can hear Karen putting the kettle on in the kitchen. ‘Would you like a tea or a coffee?’ I ask.

  ‘No, I won’t thanks. I’m sure you guys are busy, so we’ll just get on. Do you mind showing me around?’

  ‘No problem, let’s start at the top in the loft.’

  Giles follows me and I find myself wishing I was wearing something other than my standard ‘writing’ uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. He glances back at Karen in the kitchen. ‘Great movie by the way, I saw it on Monday. Really good thriller, you’ll love it.’ Karen, despite herself, is immediately charmed and smiles back.

  I have been cleaning like a dervish all morning, so am really pissed off at the state of Meg’s room when we’re there. ‘I’m sorry. My daughter’s nineteen. She’s just arrived back from uni for a few days.’ I look at the clothes strewn across the bed and the floor. She probably did it deliberately. I’m surprised she didn’t smear Nutella on the wall of her bathroom.

  ‘Please.’ Giles doesn’t even look up from his clipboard. ‘Don’t apologize. I’ve got two teenage daughters, who seem to have inherited some mutant gene that means they can’t keep anywhere tidy.’

  Married then …

  ‘They’re only with me weekends, and in three days they manage to make my place look like the storeroom in a charity shop.’

  Separated … ‘How old are they?’ I ask.

  ‘Sixteen – twins, Amélie and Brigitte. Their mother’s French,’ he tells me.

  I nod as we navigate our way to my room, what was Adam and my bedroom. ‘This is the master,’ I tell Giles. I want to tell Giles that this is my bedroom. Mine alone. That I don’t share it with anyone. Hey, look, Giles – I’m single! I want to tell him that months of therapy are willing me to say this out loud. I want to ask him if he cheated on his wife, if that’s why they’re not together any more. I want to ask him if he’s a kind man, if he’s worth investing a bit of time in, because for the first time in over twenty years, I’m looking at another man. I want to say all these things, but I have a clear vision of him going back to his office talking about the psycho in Laurel Avenue, so I smile sweetly and say nothing.

  Back in the kitchen, Giles has his electronic measuring thing held against the wall at the far end of the open-plan room. Karen catches my eye, cocks her head in his direction and licks her lips suggestively.

  ‘You’re dis-gust-ing.’ I mouth the words to her.

  She nods, grins widely, then licks her lips again. I pass her on my way to meet Giles and give her a thump.

  ‘So, all done?’

  ‘Yes.’ He holds out his hand again, shakes mine firmly. ‘It’s a fabulous house, one we’d have no problem selling if you decide to put it on the market. Let me go back to the office and chat with some colleagues for the best valuation. There’s one around the corner on—’

  Giles’s pitch is interrupted by a yelling sound in the hall. Both of us move back a couple of steps and stare at the letterbox.

  ‘Muuuuum. I’m sorrreeeeee. Open up, I forgot my house key. I’ll even help you with your CV. I’m sorreeeee. I know you need to get a job and I know it’s ’cause Dad’s a dickwit.’

  I gulp loudly. I can feel a flush – that I suspect is purple rather than a delicate shade of red – crawl along my chest, up my neck and plant itself firmly on my cheeks.

  Giles gives an understanding smile. ‘Teenagers,’ he whispers.

  Meg, however, has not finished. ‘Is that Karen’s car? I thought she’d left? Whatevs. She can help. Between the three of us, we’ll have you employed in a week. Please don’t sell the house, Mum. You can have one of my kidneys?’

  I rush to the front door, open it quickly and pull her kneeling figure upright.

  ‘Mum!’ She puts her arms around me and hugs me tight.

  ‘Meg.’ I wrestle away from her. ‘This is Giles, the estate agent valuing the house.’

  Giles nods in her direction and now it’s Meg’s turn to colour brightly, a shade she has definitely inherited from me. I can hear Karen in the kitchen and am not sure if she’s laughing or crying.

  Meg jerks her head towards Giles and edges her way towards Karen’s sounds.

  At the doorway, he hands me his business card. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow morning with an exact valuation. A price and marketing plan, should you decide to instruct us.’ Giles bites his lower lip. ‘Er, I should just let you know that if the house is in two names, we would need both permissions before actively marketing it.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem. If we sell the house, it will be because my ex and I both agree to sell it.’ I can’t believe I’ve called Adam ‘my ex’. ‘Well, he’s not officially my ex yet, but he will be.’ I hear myself stumble over my impossibly stupid explanation.

  ‘It’s a tough time.’ Giles seems to stare out over my hedges in the front garden. ‘Anyway, I must get back. I’ll call you in the morning but, in the meantime, if you have any questions, the mobile and email are on the card.’

  I watch Giles walk down the garden, past Karen’s, mine and Meg’s cars. Looking down, I see his surname is not double barrelled, but ‘Brousseau’, a French name. Hmmm, an Englishman with a possible French father, married to a Frenchwoman?

  ‘Oh, by the way.’ He has turned back. ‘Email me that CV when you have it done. We have a vacancy for a part-time receptionist. I’m not sure what you’re after, but your daughter should probably keep both kidneys?’ Both his eyebrows move north and he smiles broadly.

  I laugh. ‘I will. Thank you.’ And th
en, he’s gone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘What in hell have you been up to?’ Ben’s voice seems to echo in the flat. We’re in the kitchen and I spot his travel holdalls stacked in the corner, realising he must have dropped them off last night before seeing Beth.

  His level of concern for me is slightly worrying. His face, younger and much more handsome than mine, is creasing as he looks me up and down. His eyes, eyes that have had the luxury of being worry-free for the last year, seem uneasy, and his general demeanour is stressed, nervous.

  ‘Why do you look so worried? You’ve just had a year off work, travelling the world.’ I take a bite of the warm buttered toast he’s handed me and stare back. It smells and tastes divine.

  ‘Don’t answer a question with a question.’

  ‘It’s difficult to know where to start …’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ I conclude. ‘You don’t see. Beth has obviously got to you first, and now you think I’m an awful shit who tells lies all the time.’

  ‘Do you tell lies all the time?’

  I don’t remember the brother who left last year being so persistent. I hesitate a moment. ‘No,’ I reply. ‘Only when it’s necessary and only ever to avoid hurting people I love.’

  ‘And how’s that working out for you?’

  That trace of sarcasm in his voice, that air of judging superiority, makes me want to punch him. I want to pretend we’re twelve and ten, shove him to the kitchen floor and knock his stupid lights out. ‘Not all of us have had the luxury of chilling in some yoga retreat, with some chanting guru steering our path to perfection.’ I chuck the remaining toast in his direction. He ducks and I retreat to the bedroom.

  Moments later, he knocks on the door. Inside, I’m packing a bag. ‘It’s your bedroom!’ I yell at him.

  He opens the door and his large frame fills the doorway.

  ‘There was very little chanting,’ he says, his arms folded defensively, ‘and I haven’t yet managed to find the path to perfection.’