‘Yes, yes he is,’ my little boy replies.
‘You get well, Noah.’ I touch his nearest hand briefly and turn to leave.
‘Adam?’
I look back.
‘You’re a nice man,’ he whispers.
‘Thank you,’ is all I can muster. I leave without saying goodbye to Gordon and Kiera. My pulse is clunking in both ears.
‘You’re a nice man. You’re a nice man. You’re a nice man.’ The words echo in my head over and over again.
My dying son is the only person in the world who thinks I’m a nice man.
‘You knew when we were going that Meg didn’t want to see you.’
Ben is so matter-of-fact that I want to thump him. His daughter did not just refuse to see him. This is the same daughter who I was the first to hold when she was born. The same girl who squealed to be fed and squealed when she’d been fed. The same girl who cried, red-faced and tight-fisted, when she was tired, and did the same when she woke up. The child who loved to take comfort from her daddy holding her. The little girl who seemed to recognize a father’s calming embrace. I can’t believe she can’t remember that …
‘Women are funny,’ Ben continues. ‘Maybe it was just that she wanted her mother there. You know – when kids aren’t feeling their best.’
He’s trying, but I do wish he’d shut up and just drive.
‘How was Noah?’
‘Not good. He looks grey, dreadful.’ I keep our exchange to myself. Nobody else needs to know that, despite him being only ten, he’s clever enough to have worked things out.
‘When are you going back to work?’ Ben asks.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Is that wise?’
I give a small snort-like sound. ‘Probably not. But then again, I’m not known for my wisdom … I’ll cab it in and home every day. I’ll do shorter days this week. You have to understand, Ben. I’ll go crazy if I’m not busy.’
He doesn’t reply. I wonder – if I could look inside his head – whether he’s thinking I’m crazy anyway. Probably …
‘I wish you’d come and stay with Karen and me, just for this week. I hate the thought of you being alone at the moment.’
I tap his left arm. ‘Thank you, but I’m fine. I have to get used to being alone and, let’s face it, I’ve got no one to blame for that but myself.’
He flinches, moves his arm. ‘Sometimes, Adam … sometimes you should focus on the good things, rather than feeling sorry for yourself.’
‘I’m not feeling sorry for myself.’
‘Yes, you are. You have a beautiful family. You have a beautiful wife, a fabulous daughter and now a little boy too. I’m not even going to go there about why you never told me about him, promised myself I wouldn’t do it, you’ve not been well.’
I rub both of my eyes, wish I could stop him talking. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you.’
‘Yes.’ He’s nodding slowly. ‘Yes, you should. You have two children. I haven’t managed to father one yet, Adam.’
I stare at the road ahead, bite my tongue, but I can’t help myself. ‘Ever wonder if that’s why I didn’t tell you?’
He makes a face and we sit in silence for a few minutes.
‘I don’t want to fall out,’ he says, eventually. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Not now, not with what you’re going through.’
‘We’re not going to fall out, mate. I love you and I’m sorry.’ I can see his head debate a reply but he says nothing. I’m aware it’s the first time I’ve told Ben out loud that I love him. He reaches his hand across, places it on mine and squeezes. His way of saying ‘Me too’, I guess.
The rest of the journey is quiet. Just before I get out of the car, he turns to me.
‘Look …’ He hesitates. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, but I think you should consider seeing someone.’ He keeps his eyes on mine as he delivers this line.
‘See someone? What? Like someone professional?’
‘Yes. Nearly everyone talks to a shrink sometime in their lives nowadays. Your marriage has broken down, your relationship with your daughter is fractured, and your son, someone you’ve never known, is dying before you get a chance to know him. Not to mention Mum and Dad?’
Put like that, show me the number, I’ll dial it right now. I feel a powerful shaking threaten but, before it takes me, I bite down hard, my bottom teeth almost grinding my top.
‘It’s okay, Adam.’ Ben squeezes my hand again. ‘I’m sorry if I was hard earlier. You’ll get through this. You will.’
I can’t help feeling that I’m still the big brother who’s expected to cope and that his words are more an order than a statement …
Chapter Thirty-Five
It’s a week since the procedure and Meg has insisted on going back to her housemates and to Jack, back to the student house in Clapham she calls ‘home’. I’m not sure if that’s because I’m adamant that this one is going on the market and she feels as though she no longer has a home. Hashtag Guilty Mum, as she would say … I’m wandering around the rooms in the house. The cleaners I pay once a month to come in for a few hours and blitz the place have been in this morning and it all looks shiny and new and … homely. I have a sudden doubt. Why? I never wanted to sell the house. Why, when I was in LA, did it seem like the right thing to do?
Sighing deeply, I sit on the edge of my bed. This is why the house should be sold. The bed’s not mine. It’s Adam’s and my bed. It’s Adam’s and my bedroom, and the house is a permanent reminder of the breakdown of our marriage. The simple fact is he’s not here and, even though I don’t want him to be, the whole thing feels wrong, like something that’s been untethered from its secure holding. This house is off kilter with just me in it.
So, I’m meeting him for a drink in an hour to tell him my decision. I don’t expect him to object. He knows he’s never coming back here, and splitting the equity in the house seems a fairer way of moving forward. Giles already has some buyers lined up – just awaiting the go-ahead from Adam.
Giles … He so wants to share this bed – or any bed – with me. It’s never going to happen and I’ve told him as much. In as kind a manner as I could. I lied – told him that I’m just not ready and can’t imagine being ready for a very long time. He’s such a nice man that I can’t tell him I simply don’t fancy him. Karen says I need my head examined, that Giles is local and loving and to give him a chance. But in my head Giles is a local, loving man whom I never want to kiss again, so sex is out of the question. And, following my Pink experience, I now know I need sex …
Pink … The man is in my head. In every crease and fold of my skin. In my bodily fluids, in my mouth. I think of him all the time. Not in an ‘I wish he was here’ way, nor in a ‘Shall I call him?’ way, just in a more wondrous way. Like, I can’t really believe any of it happened. Did I really have this encounter? Is it really that simple to have uncomplicated, no-strings, fabulous sex? Am I really booty-call material? Perhaps I’ll ask Adam later. If anyone knows, he would.
An hour later, I’m sitting in a bistro two minutes outside Clapham Junction train station. Adam is driving, since Meg has agreed to see him and he’s going over to hers for supper afterwards. She did ask me but I declined. Now is not the time to play Happy Families with Adam.
The bar area is decorated for the season, with tiny white lights weaving through the rafters, and potted, scarlet poinsettias scattered around. The windows have snow-sprayed images – stars, angels, parcels and lanterns – and the tables are adorned with festive cloths and napkins.
While I wait, I make notes in my daybook. I’ve taken to keeping a record of all the things I need to do and things I’ve already done. It’s not a diary, but it does help keep me organized. Today’s last entry, made this morning, consisted of notes taken during my telephone conversation with Josh. He has the final recording of ‘Fall Apart’, and wants me to come in to hear it in his office rather than just send me the link. I have scribbled down, ‘Why?’ A niggli
ng worry crosses my mind and I wonder if they’ve changed the middle eight dramatically?
I look up and see Adam approach and close my daybook. I’ll worry about it later. Seeing him, I hope we can put our last meeting at the hospital behind us. I just want to move forward. He leans down to me, kisses me on the cheek, and I think of Giles and Pink together. Adam is a good kisser. In fact, he’s a very good kisser – probably the best kisser I’ve known, if we’re just talking kissing.
‘What are you drinking?’ He beckons a waiter over.
‘I’ll have a G&T, please.’
His eyebrows arch and his mouth curves. ‘Really?’
The waiter arrives, pen and notepad in hand.
‘I’ll have a Tanqueray gin with Fever-Tree tonic, lemon and lime twists and a couple of juniper berries, please.’ The waiter writes it all down, nods, then looks at Adam.
‘I’ll have a Diet Coke.’ He smiles. ‘When did you start drinking gin?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter when. What matters is that I like it now. I guess times move on, I’m different.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t change too much. You were pretty good as you were.’
I’m not sure how to take this. I’ve never been very good at accepting compliments, especially from Adam. Maybe because, as soon as he ever started to compliment me, I knew he was up to something. He’s playing with his red and gold napkin, making an origami something out of it.
‘What was it you wanted to talk about?’ he asks, head down, his brow furrowed in concentration over an emerging mouse or goat or whatever shape he’s going for.
‘I think we should sell the house.’ I let the initial shock remark sit mid-air for a moment before continuing. ‘It’s a good time to sell, the market has risen in the last year. We could both buy something decent when we halve the proceeds. Giles, the manager where I work, says it will sell easily and that we should get top dollar at the moment.’
Adam is now looking up and focusing directly on me. His origami attempt discarded, I stare back and notice how he’s aged. Just a few more lines around his eyes. Dark under-shadows, which used to be a sign of him being temporarily overtired, are now permanent residents.
‘Well? What do you think?’ I press him for a response.
‘I think you seem to have it all worked out.’
‘Adam, I asked you here to talk about it. Let’s face it, months ago when you left to shag Miss Restaurant Owner, you’d have bitten my arm off to get me to sell the house.’ I can’t help myself. Even when I try and rein it in, he brings this out in me. ‘Look, I’m aware that you’re still paying for most of its running costs and, honestly, I don’t want that to continue. I don’t see why you should have the worry, especially at the moment. I also want my independence.’
Our drinks have arrived. I stir mine and take a large gulp.
‘Why “especially at the moment”?’
‘You’ve just had a heart scare. Stress is a factor. Bad as you are, I really don’t want you keeling over on us.’
He shrugs. ‘Why not? Seems to me you’d get all of the house then.’
My teeth bite into my lower lip. ‘Only if we’re still married.’
He stares at me over the rim of his soft drink. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not sure. There’s really no going back, is there? I mean really? Our marriage is over, Adam. We’re both still young and we should both be free to move on.’
I can see my words wound him and I take no pleasure in this.
‘Ben thinks I need help. That I should see someone professional.’
It’s such a complete one-eighty change of subject that I sit back in my chair, unsure how to respond.
‘He’s probably right. I can’t remember how he put it, but when he paraphrased my life for me, I sounded like a nut job in the making. And he doesn’t know the half of it.’
I reach across for his hand, an unconscious move. ‘You will know if and when the time is right; you will know if you need help. I did. And it did help, really.’
He stares down at the table, at his hand under mine. ‘Feels nice,’ he says.
I take my hand back. ‘Can we put the house on the market? We don’t have to talk about anything else right now.’ I can’t do it. I cannot push the divorce point at this moment. Besides, I may be ninety per cent sure it’s what I want, but I need to be one hundred, and when it comes to the complete dissolution of a marriage – it’s still early days. ‘It makes sense – we could both buy again and it takes a lot of pressure off you.’
He nods, lifts my glass and tastes. ‘Good version of the G&T,’ he says. ‘Did you discover it in LA?’
Alarm bells start to ring in my head. Now is probably not the time to discuss my LA discoveries, so I do a one-eighty back on him. The words surprise me as I hear myself speak them. ‘How is Noah?’
He seems startled, probably remembering the way I spoke to him at the hospital, but he seems grateful that I asked. ‘I saw him last night. Kiera and Gordon let me play chess with him.’
‘At their home? Do you think that’s a good idea?’ I blurt. ‘I mean, is it fair on Noah? It’s not as though his parents are going to tell him anything.’
‘Not at home – he’s still in Great Ormond Street. He’s such a bright kid. I think he’s worked it out for himself.’
I sit back in my chair and think about this. ‘Be careful. There are a lot of people who could get hurt, Adam. Please be careful.’
‘I am being. He’s the only person in the world who doesn’t judge me, Beth. The only person in the world who has a chat with me about my day. Beats the hell out of me every time we play chess.’
I want to say that he’s only a child. That he doesn’t know Adam the way I do. That’s why he doesn’t judge.
‘Has it worked? The donation?’ is what I do say.
‘Who knows? We’ve just got to hope … I should go soon, get to Meg’s. She’s cooking supper.’
I nod. ‘Have you plans for Christmas?’ It’s only ten days away and I haven’t really allowed myself to think about it yet, but Meg has asked if Jack can come. It seems he’d rather spend it with her than go to the Lake District with his family. Since it’s probably my last Christmas in the house, of course I’ve agreed. My mother will, as usual, attend. The only missing person will be Adam.
He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I haven’t thought about it. Ben mentioned something about him, Karen and me all going to a restaurant.’
I can tell he’s thinking about our home – the house and the memories of Christmases past that it holds.
‘Just wait until the new year, will you?’ he asks. ‘Before putting it on the market? You don’t want people traipsing in and out over Christmas, and another few weeks won’t matter. You’re right. We need to sell it, but I just need some time to get used to the idea.’
‘That’s fine. It can wait until then.’ I drain my glass and stand up, wrap myself up in my bubble coat. It’s freezing outside. ‘Be careful on the roads. There’s going to be a heavy frost tonight.’
‘I didn’t know you cared.’ He smiles a closed-mouth smile. It’s the same smile that I fell for decades ago.
‘I care.’ I lean up to him and kiss his cheek. ‘Some part of me will always care.’
He holds the back of my head, just for a moment. I know he wants to linger but I pull away.
‘Just one word of advice?’ I say. ‘When you get to Meg’s, please make the evening about her. She’s been through a lot. Don’t mention that you’ve been playing chess with Noah. It won’t go down well.’ I don’t bother mentioning that it hasn’t really gone down well with me either.
His face wrinkles. ‘I don’t want to lie any more.’
‘She’s not going to ask. Just don’t bring it up?’
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t get it. In his head, Meg knows of Noah’s existence. She’s given him potentially life-saving stem cells. She wants him to live, possibly somet
ime have a relationship with him. She should know that Adam is trying for the same. This is how Adam sees it.
It is not how Meg sees it. Meg is horrified that her father has deceived us both for a decade. She is appalled to find another sibling that she has never had the chance to know. She feels she had to do the right thing, because she would never forgive herself had she not. But none of it is all right with her. Tonight is just the beginning of healing her fractured relationship with her ‘motherfucking father’, as she calls him.
I tap Adam’s arm. ‘Trust me on this, Adam. Just make it about her. She needs to believe she’s the centre of your universe.’
‘She is. You are.’
He looks sad when he says those words; looks as though he really believes them and, hearing them, it’s easy to forget what a selfish shit he can be.
‘But, she’d be okay with the chess thing, surely?’ he asks again.
I shake my head and am left wondering, yet again – selfish or stupid or both?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Today is the twelfth day since my son received stem cells from my daughter. During this time, a small amount of time really, my life has changed irrevocably. I move through the offices in work, doing what I do. I talk to people who expect me to talk to them, in the same way I always have. I call my daughter every day and let her know that I love her. She is melting a little towards me, slowly but surely. I see my son every second day. We play chess together and, each time I visit, I’m hoping and praying for an improvement in him. During this time, we both pretend that I’m a friend of Uncle Tim’s from university. Hell, pretence is second nature to me, but I’m not pretending when I admit I love him. I have grown to love this little boy …
Today is also five days to Christmas, and Noah is being allowed home for a fortnight. The hospital room and outside corridors are a hive of activity. I’m trying to stay out of the way while he’s being prepared for transportation in the ambulance and while drugs coming from the pharmacy are being waited on. Kiera and Gordon have stepped away for a break and Noah and I are alone. I have asked him what he would like to be when he grows up.
You, Me and Other People Page 24
