‘A pilot,’ he says with all the confidence of someone who already is.
‘That’s brilliant,’ I tell him, as he leans forward. I automatically move to fluff up his pillows. ‘You can have flying lessons from about the age of sixteen, I think.’ I decide to check this out on Google later.
‘Just five and a half more years,’ he says brightly. ‘I can do that.’
I squeeze his hand. ‘Of course you can.’
‘What did you want to be when you were my age?’
‘Not what I am.’ I muse, thinking more about my character than my career choice. ‘I think I remember wanting to be a policeman.’
Noah is nodding. ‘If I can’t be a pilot, I’d like that instead. Where are your mum and dad?’ he asks suddenly.
I’m surprised by the change of subject and I’m not quite sure how to answer.
‘Dad’s mum is alive,’ Noah goes on, ‘and Mum’s dad is alive, so between them I have one set of grandparents. They’re both really old.’
I laugh. I know nothing about Gordon’s mother, but I do know that old man Granger is only about seventy and he’s as sharp as a tack.
‘So where do your parents live, Adam?’
My mouth is dry. My eyes linger on his for just a moment, but it’s a moment too long. He knows who I am. And he knows that I know he knows.
‘I’d like to meet them someday,’ he says.
‘I—’
‘There’s no hurry,’ he adds quickly, a pink flush appearing on his cheeks. ‘Tell me about when you and your dad played chess when you were little?’
He is so adept at changing the subject that my son puts even me to shame and his question jolts a memory.
Dad has let me win again. I tell him I know what he’s doing and he just laughs. He tells me he wants to talk to me about Mum and, as I pack the chess pieces away, I’m immediately on my guard. He tells me that I’m an adult now that I’m eighteen. He tells me that I need to try to understand Mum more, cut her a little slack, and asks me if I ever wonder what it must be like to be her. I listen as my father tells me all about my mother’s manic highs and depressive lows and her in-betweens. I listen, nod a lot, and do not take him on. My father will not have a word said against my mother and it upsets me. She might be ill but she’s also an accomplished goddamned liar.
‘Adam?’ Noah’s voice brings me back. ‘Did you play often?’
‘Yes.’ I smile at him. ‘Not as often as you and I are going to though.’
At that moment, the moment when I perhaps have said something I shouldn’t have, something that could be construed as a confirmation of his suspicions, he rewards me with the biggest smile I have ever seen. A lump catches in the back of my throat.
A nurse comes by to check his blood pressure.
‘I’m just going to grab a coffee,’ I say. ‘Be back in a minute. Do you want anything?’
He shakes his head.
Outside the room, around the corner, I find Gordon and Kiera sitting in a soft-chair ‘family’ area. They’re seated together on a sofa and, opposite them, holding Kiera’s hand, is a woman. It’s only when I get near that I recognize her voice. I stop, taking the scene in, as Kiera looks up.
‘Adam,’ she says.
Meg turns her head and stands, her hands immediately smoothing out her jeans. ‘Dad, I’ve come to visit Noah. Though obviously not on the best day, what with him being moved home …’
I’m speechless, and aware that Gordon looks distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Kiera and Gordon have agreed that I just meet him as an anonymous donor,’ Meg explains. ‘We don’t want to confuse him.’
‘I’ll stay out here, I was just off for a coffee.’
Kiera looks grateful. She doesn’t want Noah seeing Meg and me in the same room together and I don’t want to tell her that she’s too late. I don’t want to be the one to tell her that Noah has definitely pieced some of this together. He has worked out who I am, but thinks I’m the donor. Introduce Meg and he’ll go off deducing more facts. I say nothing, reach across for Meg and give her a hug. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper in her ear. She doesn’t pull away.
Ten minutes later, Meg exits Noah’s room. The fingers on my left hand are laced through my right ones, clasped together, making them numb and white. She approaches, sits beside me. ‘I guess I was curious.’ She shrugs. ‘He’s a nice kid.’
‘He is.’ I stare at my wan knuckles.
‘Had loads of questions for me … Who I am? What my family is like, where I live? I just kept it all vague. Told him that the register had contacted me because I’m a match …’ She turns to face me. Her coat, lying across her lap, falls to the floor, and I pick it up, pass it back to her.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘He looks like you.’ Her head is bobbing, as if to reassure herself it’s really a fact.
‘I know …’
‘He told me he’s had a friend playing chess with him this morning. Is that you?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s good. He’s a sweet kid.’ Meg’s voice cracks. Tears threaten to fill her eyes. ‘He looks so sick …’ She stands, seems embarrassed by her emotions, leans down and air-brushes my cheek with her lips. ‘Don’t tell Mum I’ve been here, okay?’ With that, she puts her coat on and walks away.
And, for once, I have no words. None at all …
Today is Christmas Eve. Kiera called me earlier and asked me not to come for what had been a scheduled visit. Noah has a worsening cold and visitors aren’t allowed. I stare at the hand-carved chess set that I stopped wrapping when I got the call. It’s only the latest in a long line of presents bought for Noah. Every year, just before Christmas, I buy him a present, his birthday too. I choose it, wrap it, do a drive-by past the house in Hampstead. I think about knocking on the door and asking Kiera to give it to him, but I never have. I’ve always bottled out, thinking of the wounds I would open. This was going to be the first one I could actually give him.
So I give to those I can. Last night, I drove to what I now call Beth’s house and dropped off presents for her and Meg and Sybil. Karen and Ben’s lie wrapped on the sofa, ready for when I head over there later.
Kiera’s words roll around in my brain. Fear sets in and I wonder if she’s lying just to keep me away over Christmas. I will never be part of their family. It doesn’t matter how I feel about Noah, or even how he might feel about me. I suspect this is Gordon’s doing. He has tolerated me being around, because he’s had to. Yes, it’s bloody Gordon’s doing.
I don’t want to go to Karen and Ben’s. Paranoia about Gordon’s plan to get rid of me has set in. I am not in a mood for paper hats and a plastic turkey dinner in their local restaurant, perched on grimy chairs. I’m not in the mood for drinking enough to merit the fact that the restaurant has been chosen, not for the fantastic Christmas fare, but because of its stumbling distance from Karen’s flat.
My phone vibrates and falls from the coffee table to the floor. I pick it up and connect the call. Meg.
‘Hi Dad.’
‘Hi love, how’re you?’
‘Good. We’re all here—’
She just stops short of saying ‘except you …’ ‘I have something for you. Will I see you over the next few days?’
‘That’s up to your mum, love. I don’t want to intrude.’
‘She says come over for a drink on Boxing Day. Later on.’
Not for lunch then. I suppose a cheating bastard should be grateful for small mercies.
‘I’ll pop in for a quick one Boxing Day evening. Have a lovely day tomorrow, darling. I hope Santa’s good to you, that you get everything you want.’
It’s an expression from her childhood, but her silence tells me it’s unlikely.
‘Have fun with Ben and Karen, Dad.’ She hesitates. ‘Love you,’ she adds.
Meg loves me. I’m sure Ben loves me, but would never tell me. I think Noah is fond of me. It’s enough, I tell myself. Keep it together. Push on, keep going. It’s
Christmas …
I wrap up warmly, take the bag carrying Ben and Karen’s presents, some booze, chocolates and some overnight clothes. I leave the chess set, my fingers lingering on the beautifully carved king. In a parallel universe, I know that Noah would have loved me. I convince myself that it still might be possible. Maybe if I love him enough, even from afar, maybe love will ripple across the airwaves to me.
I lock the flat and head downstairs to the garage. Outside, there is a frost and a light dusting of snow. It doesn’t look as though it will settle, so the bookies will have a bright, rather than white, Christmas.
Karen has obviously been warned to be nice to me. I can almost hear the conversation that would have happened. Ben would have reminded her about everything I’ve been through, everything I’m now going through, as I wait for someone to tell me that Noah is going to be allowed to grow up. Karen would at that point probably have reminded him that most of my problems are of my own creation. But, for now, she’s being so nice to me – I’ll take it.
They have cleared the spare bedroom, where they both work from. All of their office equipment has been moved to one tight corner. In the centre of the room, they’ve made up the sofa bed and provided a bedside light. Not quite home, but I give them a grateful smile.
We’re drinking champagne. I try and join in the celebratory spirit of Christmas, but I feel empty. It’s an emptiness I don’t recognize and struggle with. My life, as I knew it, has gone. Where there was once a home, there is a blank space. Where there was once a family, there is a gaping void. I’m looking at Ben and Karen gazing lovingly at each other. She doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to ask her to marry him tomorrow. The irony of this is lost completely on my brother. I try and be happy for them. I am. I’m not jealous of their happiness. I just find it hard to watch, when my own seems a distant memory.
I break away early, give them some time together. Sitting on the edge of the sofa bed, my head in my hands, I try and imagine a bright future. What does it look like? Beth and I in cottages in Weybridge – maybe next door to each other? Meg, working in her dream job – something that allows her to study mad minds; Noah playing football or rugby, with me and Gordon next to each other on the sidelines.
None of it fits. Nothing fits into the shape that my life is any more. My phone pings with a text and I look at the screen. Kiera.
The words seem to flash in neon at me. ‘Noah’s got bad chest infection, heading back to the hospital. Def no visitors. Will keep in touch. Kiera.’
I sit very still for a while. I can’t go there. I can’t drive because I’ve been drinking and, even if I could, even I know I shouldn’t. My next instinct is to pray, but I have no idea where to start. The last time I prayed properly was when Mum and Dad died. Shivering, I rub my arms warm, try and summon some words from my childhood. Words that will plead with the Higher Powers. I ask whoever is listening to please help him. I ask whoever is listening to help Kiera and Gordon. I ask whoever is listening to please help me. Help me get through Christmas without allowing the black hole inside of me to consume me. Please …
It’s two o’clock on Christmas Day. There is radio silence from Kiera, despite my texts, and I’m antsy. Karen, Ben and I are seated at a table for three in the corner of her local bistro. The white wine is warmer than the food, but food, at this point, is only fuel to keep me breathing. My phone is on the table, though I’ve already been asked by Karen to put it away. In the end, like a resentful teenager, I told her why I needed it out and asked sarcastically for her permission. She doesn’t deserve this, yet here I am, doling it out.
There are children running around our table and I’m trying not to lose it. Why do parents not keep their children in check in public?
I turn to the couple two tables away and ask them politely to stop their children darting around us. Harrison and Georgia are both called by their parents. For now, they return, with their noisy toys in tow, to the folds of their family.
‘You all right?’ Ben puts a hand over mine.
Yes, is the appropriate answer, but I can’t say it. I’m not. I feel an overpowering sense of negativity engulf me. I nod in his direction and take a sip of tepid wine. Trying to think of anything other than where I am and why – I wonder why the ring hasn’t appeared yet. I would have thought it would be a ‘first thing in the morning’ gesture, but I say nothing, just in case I ruin that too.
‘Anything yet?’ Karen jerks her head towards my phone, nesting neatly next to my cutlery.
‘No, not yet.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ she says chirpily, and I want to smack her. He has cancer. He’s just had a stem cell donation. An infection is not good news. I say nothing as Harrison and Georgia run by my chair once more. One of their toys, a remote control car, has got its antenna stuck under my chair.
‘I have to get out of here.’ I stand suddenly, take my coat from the back of my chair. ‘I’m sorry but I need some air.’
Outside, I sit on a freezing breeze-block wall. The icy cold seeps through my jeans and infiltrates my bones. Ealing high street, just opposite me, is busy. This astounds me. Why are all these people driving on Christmas afternoon? Why are they all not nestled in the bosoms of their families? Most families, I remind myself, are not like the one I had. Most are probably like the one I have. Broken, split, fractured …
Just for a second, I think about it. I could just walk ten feet and fall in front of one of these cars. It feels so simple a solution. I won’t have to deal with the awful anxiety I can feel invading me. I won’t ever have to feel like this on Christmas Day again. I can really make it look like an accident, just a little stagger. It’s as though my mum and dad are summoning me.
From the corner of my eyeline, I see Ben standing at the window. He has me in his crosshairs and I feel his osmotic thoughts penetrate. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he’s saying. ‘Think of me; think of the poor driver whose life will never be the same.’ My shoulders slump forward and I hate myself for even contemplating it. I stand up, breathe deeply, blow circles out of my mouth and make my way back to the heavy oak door – to Ben and Karen, to Harrison and his remote control car and to mediocre Christmas pudding that tastes nothing at all like Beth’s.
Back in the flat, I corner Ben.
‘So, Romeo, where’s the ring?’
He shushes me, tells me he’s going to wait until the next day, until they’re alone.
‘Not having second thoughts?’
He shakes his head.
‘Will you still want children?’ I whisper. I’ve had just enough shitty wine to make me brave. ‘Because she’s forty, you know. You might be out of the frying pan and all that …’
‘I love her. If we can have kids, great. If not—’
‘They turn into Harrisons anyway. Little shits with noisy cars.’
Ben smiles. ‘Or Georgias?’
‘Little she-devils with a noisy Nintendo thingy.’
‘I remember Meg as a child,’ he begins.
‘Meg,’ I point a finger at him, ‘was a noisy baby. She cried a lot.’
‘I remember her as a thoughtful child.’
‘She was. Thoughtful, chatty, funny. After about two, she was great fun.’
‘Not all Georgias and Harrisons then …’
I shake my head. ‘No, I hope it works out for you both.’ I put my arms around him and pull him into a bear hug.
‘What’s this love-in about?’ Karen’s head cranes around the doorway from the living room to the hall, where Ben and I are standing. ‘Can anyone join in?’
I open an arm and she merges into the clasp. We all hear my phone ring in my pocket and, moving apart, I pull it out. ‘Kiera, everything all right?’
I listen to her broken sobs and am immediately aware that it’s this moment in time that I’ll recall in the future. This split second where my life is ripped into two halves. The before and the after. I can feel my legs fold under me, feel both Karen and Ben reach out to grab me. The phone drops to t
he floor and Kiera’s desperate keening sounds from four feet away. It battles with a sloshing, gurgling sound in my head which must be my brain melting.
‘He’s gone,’ I whisper. ‘My lovely little boy is gone …’
PART THREE
I love you, need you, you’re my glue,
I fall apart without you
© Beth Hall 2014, ‘Fall Apart’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Love, could you taste it, was it real?
This love you made me feel.
Love, did you get its heady scent?
This love was heaven sent.
Now that you’re gone, who will I love?
Now that you’re gone to a world up above.
Now that you’re gone, my life’s no longer whole,
I’m empty, alone, no heart and no soul.
I’ve got my writing mojo back. Up early, I’ve been in the loft for hours when the smell of burning toast makes me take the stairs down, two at a time. Meg is on the phone and oblivious. I point to the smoking toaster. Too late, the fire alarm sounds and she goes outside to continue the call. My eyes rise to the heavens – it’s pissing rain and she has no coat on. What can be so important? I wave a tea towel at the alarm, waft the smell out of the window and make myself a strong coffee.
The neon clock on the oven blinks. Mum will be up in ten minutes. Jack is obviously sleeping in. It’s New Year’s Eve. We’re all still here; no one has quite made it back to their own bed since Christmas. Thankfully, Sylvia is having some sort of soirée tonight that will take our minds off the fact that Noah is being buried the day after tomorrow.
Meg is ashen when she returns.
My stomach plunges. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘That was Ben. Dad’s gone AWOL …’
There’s some Scottish guy dancing to ‘Mull of Kintyre’ in Sylvia’s hallway. Meg, Mum, Jack and I are standing on the edge of the kitchen, each of us nursing a glass of champagne, none of us feeling like celebrating. I check my phone. Nothing. This is ridiculous. I swear I will finally kill him this time. I’ll make it painful and slow, so he feels every moment. My murderous thoughts are interrupted by the phone actually ringing. I dart out of the back door, away from the music, plugging my free ear with my finger.
You, Me and Other People Page 25
