You, Me and Other People

by Fionnuala Kearney

  I hope I’m doing the right thing having him over. He seems fine. Ben tells me he’s fine. Matt says he’s thrown himself into work and Meg, the person whose opinion I respect most when it comes to Adam, assures me he’s ready to move on with his life. What harm can a sandwich and glass of champagne do? I tear open one of the many kitchen boxes.

  The first one reveals a set of champagne glasses, a birthday present from Karen last year. Having asked her and Ben to stay away until tomorrow, they’re coming then and have promised that, before they leave, everything will be in its place and there will not be a cardboard box in sight. I jump as the front doorbell peals through the house. I have to stop for a moment before I realize what it is. It’s a trilling version of a children’s nursery rhyme. I grimace – that will have to go. Opening the door, I’m greeted by a hamper-bearing man in an apron.

  ‘Happy New Home!’ he almost sings to me, and thrusts the huge wicker hamper into my arms. ‘Can you sign here, please?’

  I try not to laugh, place the basket at the foot of the stairs and turn back to the guy holding a digital signature machine.

  ‘Enjoy!’ he croons and I pull the card from a red ribbon.

  TO MY FAVOURITE CLIENT WHO IS GOING TO MAKE ME VERY RICH, WHICH WILL OF COURSE MEAN THAT SHE WILL BE RICHER … RELEASE DATE FOR MOVIE IN THE US IS 16 MAY. TWO WEEKS LATER FOR UK RELEASE – NOT LONG NOW. ‘I’M A CELEB’ WILL BE BEATING ON YOUR DOOR AND YOU’LL HAVE TO EAT CRITTERS AND SLEEP WITH RATS. BEFORE THEN, ENJOY THE HAMPER IN YOUR NEW HOME. LOTS OF LOVE, JOSH XXXX

  I do a little skip dance in the hallway.

  ‘Who is it from?’ Meg yells.

  ‘Josh, who else?’ I look at the Fortnum and Mason offering, carry it through and put it on the kitchen floor next to the boxes. The table is already stacked high. From the table, I move the ready-made sandwiches I’d bought earlier into the fridge, next to the wine. I promise myself looking at it that the next time I shop, it will be for healthier options. Next, I hand-wash the few glasses I’d found, leaving them to drain on the oak worktop. It’s not granite, but it’s mine.

  Giles phones to say everything has been sorted. The Elliot family, the new residents of The Lodge, have arrived, and he’s given them the keys. Adam has, he tells me, also just left and he’s on the way over. I thank Giles. He has been one of my luckier finds in life. I love working with him and – since we established there will be nothing romantic happening between us – he has become a real friend.

  Within minutes, the front doorbell tolls again. I walk through the hallway, rub my hands on my thighs and open the door. ‘Adam, welcome.’

  He’s standing there; a bottle of champagne and a card are thrust at me.

  I take the bottle, invite him in, receive a kiss on the cheek and hear the rumble of Meg moving in our direction.

  ‘Dad!’ She runs down the stairs and throws her arms around him. I’m surprised, yet he doesn’t seem to be, and holds her so tight her face actually reddens. ‘It’s good to see you here.’ She pulls back. ‘You look really well.’

  ‘Thanks, Pumpkin … So this is it, eh? His eyes skim the narrow hallway, up towards the landing.

  ‘Let’s go through to the back.’ I lead them along to the kitchen.

  ‘Wow, Beth. It’s lovely, really.’

  I’m trying not to react, to control my facial muscles. His comments are such stock statements that I’m tempted to laugh, to ask if he’s being sarcastic, but I can tell he’s not. So I smile, nod my thanks, hand him and Meg a glass and ask him to do the honours with the bottle he’s brought. It’s cold – we might as well drink it. He asks if he can see the rest of the house and Meg offers to give him a guided tour.

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ I tell them, moving some boxes so we can sit at the kitchen table. I spotted it in the window of the High Street charity shop – it’s identical to the wood of the worktop. I move my fingers along its edge. It’s not really my style but it will serve its purpose. When I get my royalties from the song, I’ll replace it all. I shake my head with frustration. It’s because Adam is here. Somehow, with him in my new space, I’m doubting the whole move.

  He and Meg are suddenly opposite me, pulling out chairs. Meg fills her glass again and I notice Adam’s is still almost full. The way they’re talking, it’s obvious that, unlike me, Meg has in fact seen him recently.

  ‘It’s great, Beth.’ He taps my hand, which is resting next to my glass on the table. ‘And it really is only around the corner. No time at all and you’ll have it looking shipshape.’

  Really? I know he’s feeling well. He looks great too, but what has this man done with Adam. No sarcastic comments like: ‘Where did you get the table?’ or ‘Nice kitchen, shame about the worktop.’ I smile a tight smile, come quickly to the conclusion that Adam is simply being nice and my inner saboteur is alive and kicking.

  ‘I’m glad you like it. Means a lot,’ I hear myself telling him, without even knowing it was true. ‘Did you get a look at the garden?’

  He nods. ‘Saw it from upstairs. Small but perfectly formed and you should be able to manage it.’

  ‘Mum’s threatening to grow vegetables.’ Meg grins. Then we all laugh, knowing it would take a nuclear holocaust for my fingers to turn green.

  ‘What do you think of Uncle Ben and Karen, Dad?’

  ‘They seem besotted. Good luck to them.’ He raises his still-full glass and we all automatically follow suit.

  ‘Any date yet?’ Meg offers to refill mine but I cover the top with my hand. I have too much to do. I can’t fall asleep on the job. At least not until I screw my new bed together.

  ‘I haven’t been told yet, but I think it’ll be soon. Why wait?’ he shrugs. ‘That said, I guess it’ll be when they find a new place, and he’s got to sell the flat first for that to happen.’

  My forehead creases. ‘Ben’s selling the flat?’

  ‘Yes. Put it on the market last week. It’ll go quickly too; in fact he may even have an offer already. Crossrail is due to open soon and property around there is shit-hot.’

  ‘What will you do, Dad?’ Meg asks the obvious question.

  He sits back and laughs. ‘I’m not sure, but one thing I’m not going to do is worry about it. Something will come up. I have money ready to move whenever that happens.’

  I scratch my hair above my ear. ‘Will you want something around here? I can help look if you want?’

  ‘I haven’t thought about it. I guess today had to happen first, eh? Seeing The Lodge really go …’ He laughs out loud. ‘You know, I was almost going to get Giles to offer them money to back out. It was just for a moment. Then I realized how stupid it would be, me living there on my own.’

  Meg is choked up and trying to hide it.

  ‘Right, enough of that …’ He stands up. ‘You’ve got some beds that need making up upstairs, Beth. Would you like me to help Meg do that while you get on down here? I’ve got about an hour before I have to head back.’

  I nod, speechless, not really sure how I feel about Adam putting my new bed together. I’ve sent our old one to storage for him. ‘Thanks,’ I mutter, and watch their backs move down the hallway.

  I remove my phone from my back pocket and make a call.

  ‘Hi,’ he answers. ‘How’s it going over there?’

  I sigh, so glad to hear his voice, keeping my own low. ‘It’s good, we’re getting there.’

  ‘You asked me to stay away, so I have, but are you sure? I’m happy to come over and help.’

  The idea of Adam and Meg upstairs making my new bed, while Jon and I are downstairs unpacking kitchen boxes, does not appeal. ‘No. Really, Meg’s here.’

  We’ve both discussed that we should take things slowly. That means not advertising the fact that we’re seeing each other to our children yet. I don’t think Meg’s ready and, though he only has older stepchildren, none living with him, he wants to be careful too.

  ‘No problem,’ he says. ‘You’re still okay for lunch tomorrow?’

 
; I haven’t quite worked out how I’ll get away from the house with Karen and Ben here, but I’ll figure out a way.

  ‘Looking forward to it, see you then.’

  I hang up the phone and see him then, leaning with his back against the wall in the hallway.

  ‘I didn’t want to interrupt,’ he says, his eyes examining my hall carpet. ‘Toolbox? I need a screwdriver. Meg has one but it’s a Phillips. I need …’

  My head is bobbing up and down. Of course he needs a screwdriver. Toolbox … I point to it under a box in the corner of the kitchen.

  ‘It’s okay, Beth. Really …’ He approaches me, holds his arms out to hug me, and tilts his head as if to ask if it’s all right. I move into him. Unable to remember the last time Adam held me, I can feel my eyes fill. It’s still so fucking familiar and natural that it hurts. I fit under his arm perfectly and his fit around me like a clasp. ‘It’s okay. I want you to be happy. We all have to move on. Life’s too short.’

  I nod into his chest, swallow hard so I don’t cry. He smells lovely, bergamot, like Adam of old. Memories of that goddamn letter in the loft fill my head. I want to talk about it, tell him he should talk to Ben, but he seems so, well, so stable. ‘I never asked you about The Rookery …’

  I can feel his chest rise and fall.

  ‘It was hard but it was necessary,’ is all he says. ‘I won’t ask you who he is.’ He changes the subject. ‘But make sure he’s good to you.’

  Before I know what he’s doing, he has placed a hand under my chin and tilts my head upwards. I’m frozen in time. His lips touch mine and then they don’t. It is so quick that I wonder if it happened at all. ‘Make sure he’s good to you,’ he repeats, then lets me go. I watch him lift the toolbox and leave the room and all thoughts of Ben and letters and anything other than that kiss vanish.

  When he leaves some time later, my mood has changed from one of extreme excitement to one of extreme confusion.

  Meg is helping me in the kitchen and soon notices. ‘You’ve been quiet since Dad left, you okay?’

  ‘Just tired … I guess it’s all a bit overwhelming.’

  ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? When he’s being a prick, we’re pissed off at him but worried. When he’s being like he used to be, we’re still worried. To be fair, he can’t win.’

  ‘Has he talked to you about The Rookery?’ I’m trying to gauge when she saw him last.

  ‘Not much. I haven’t wanted to pry. I’m just grateful to have my dad back.’ She looks around the room and says, ‘You’ve done the right thing, Mum. We can all move on now and it’s thanks to you. You’ve always been the strong one.’

  I burst into tears and the second member of the Hall family is hugging me today in my new kitchen.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ she says after a long cuddle. ‘We forgot to feed Dad and I’m famished.’

  I take a seat and watch her put a load of sandwiches on a plate. She makes a cup of tea, seems to know I don’t want to drink more alcohol. ‘One green tea,’ she says, handing me a mug. ‘Don’t know how you drink that shit.’

  ‘It’s good for you.’

  ‘Nope, it’s good for you,’ she replies, making a face. ‘It’s for middle-aged people dealing with midlife crises who need extra antioxidant thingies to help them cope.’

  Middle-aged. Midlife crises. Fuck a duck, really? I can’t help smiling at the description.

  ‘Maybe that was Dad’s problem.’ She catches my eye. ‘Not enough green tea.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m glad you’re here, darling.’

  ‘Where else would I be?’

  I know she could be lots of other places, but chose to be with me here tonight. Whatever else Adam and I may have screwed up, Meg has turned out to be one wonderful young woman.

  But I find myself pondering how wonderful she’ll be when she meets Jon, her strong mother’s new boyfriend.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  If Ben apologizes one more time, I may do him some damage. We’re at Highgate, on a bright Saturday morning, tidying the grave and planting spring flowers in colourful pots. The daffodils and forsythia scream yellow, their scent heady and pungent.

  ‘I just feel bad,’ he says yet again, as he presses hard on the overflowing compost. In the background, people pass us by, some heads bent, thoughtful, their losses seeming more recent. Others nod and smile as they walk by, their grief spent long ago.

  ‘Don’t,’ I tell him for what will be the last time before I wrestle him to the earthy ground. ‘It’s your flat, yours to sell, and you’d be crazy not to take this offer.’

  I mean what I say. He has an asking price offer, requiring exchange and completion in two weeks. He should grab it and run for the hills.

  ‘What will you do?’ he asks.

  ‘I’ll find somewhere else! There’s a flat I’m having a second look at tomorrow. It’s on the river near Fulham.’

  ‘Really?’ Ben has a wide grin on his face. His relief that I am house-hunting is palpable. ‘To buy or rent?’

  ‘To buy. The market’s on fire. I don’t want to lose out by renting.’ What I don’t tell him is I’m not sure I’m ready. The flat I saw is wonderful – more river views, having been spoilt by living in Ben’s – and I can afford it, but am I ready? Am I ready to buy myself what will be a middle-aged bachelor pad?

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘You can see it if I decide to buy it. The last thing I need is you telling me to buy it just because you feel bad.’ I tilt my head at an angle, widen my eyes and give him a cross-eyed look, let him know I’m joking.

  ‘We never did talk about The Rookery,’ he says, cramming too much soil into the last pot.

  ‘There’s not much to talk about.’

  ‘Did you speak about this?’ He eyeballs the grave. ‘Their suicide? Hiding the facts for so long from Beth? I think hiding things from her almost became second nature to you.’

  I laugh, a small, low laugh. ‘You’re wasted as an accountant, Ben. The Rookery needs your skills.’ I bend down to help with the pots. ‘Do you remember Mum singing?’ I blurt out.

  He puts his head back, raises his face towards the sky as if he’s trying to pick at a memory. ‘I do,’ he says. ‘She was always singing when I was little. Everywhere, any time, any place …’

  ‘Then she stopped.’

  His face, now lowered again, frowns. ‘I’d never really thought about it.’ He plays with some of the potted soil with a hand trowel.

  ‘It came up, when I was talking about her.’ I hesitate, not wanting to say too much. ‘I spoke about her a lot.’

  ‘Take me with you next time. I could fill a few sessions talking about Dad, then your therapist could realize how fucked they both were. You bitching about Mum and me about Dad.’

  I’m surprised and wary of the angry undertone in his voice. ‘So how does that make you feel?’ I try a joke to diffuse it.

  He stands, stretches his long limbs. ‘Why do you think I never used to come here, Adam? Still don’t if I’m honest, not unless it’s with you.’

  I shrug. ‘I guess I’ve always put it down to you being pissed off at the way they left us.’

  ‘Yes that. Of course that. But I’m angrier at Dad. Something always told me that Mum was mentally ill. I sort of knew even back then that she was going to self-destruct. But Dad … Why would a man with two children who still needed him do that?’

  I hold my breath.

  ‘You never showed me the actual letter.’ His words puncture the chilled February air, slicing through it like an ice pick.

  ‘At the time you were—’

  ‘I think I’d like to see it.’

  ‘Sure,’ I shrug, hoping he’ll forget he asked, wondering if I’ll get away with losing it in the house move.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He gathers the gardening tools together. ‘Maybe it’s better left alone.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, leaving the word lingering between us.

  ‘He never liked me.’

  My head s
hakes. ‘That’s just not true, Ben. I don’t know where you’re getting that from.’

  ‘Adam, I’m not eighteen now! You don’t need to protect me from my bloody awful parents any more!’

  I do. I do. I do. I do.

  ‘The truth is Mum gave you a shit time. Everything was always your fault. And Dad, Dad gave me a shit time in a much more subtle way. He’d look at me funny, make me feel left out, send me off on school trips so you three could go to fucking Loch Ness together.’ He throws the trowel he has in his left hand on the ground, pulls the lone gardening glove from his right and tosses it on top, stands up. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve had enough to deal with. This is why I don’t come here. I’ll wait for you in the car.’

  I watch his back as he walks away, his stride long and determined. My eyes close. ‘He has a way to go,’ I whisper to my parents. ‘And I suppose I still do too.’ I tap their headstone a couple of times with my fingers, put the tools and compost in a plastic bag and walk away, desperately telling myself off on the way back to the car. I scrabble to find some more forgiveness, knowing they had trouble coping, knowing they were flawed and that absolution is the only way forward. But when I see Ben’s troubled face in the passenger seat, I find it hard, and I’m not sure I’ll ever come back here myself …

  Meg is walking beside me. It’s the day after the cemetery and we’re strolling through Kingston Park. The place is awash with cyclists and families walking with children and dogs. In the distance, a herd of deer gathers under a copse for shelter. Dark rain clouds have gathered above.

  ‘It looks like rain, we should head back to the car.’ I steer her around and walk in the direction we came from.

  We’re both quiet as the drizzle starts. ‘Kiera contacted me,’ she says, breaking the silence. ‘She sent a letter to me, care of Mum at the estate agency.’

  I say nothing. It takes her until she’s putting her seat belt around her before she continues. ‘She just wanted to thank me again for trying …’