by Dani Atkins
I made a sympathetic sound and wondered if it was time to make my excuses and go.
‘Coffee?’ Alex asked, lifting up the pot and waggling it enticingly in my direction.
‘I’d love one,’ I said, suddenly very glad that I didn’t have to leave straight away, even though my business here was done.
Despite the cold breeze blowing in through the open windows, there was a warmth to the kitchen that had nothing to do with its physical temperature. Even with the film of flour coating the worktops and the pile of sticky mixing bowls in the sink, it was the kind of kitchen that magazines or TV adverts would feature to represent perfect family life. It was only when I looked a little closer that I noticed that the handwritten shopping list held by a magnet on the fridge door was yellowed and curling at the edges and that there was a light covering of dust on the shelf where the recipe books lived. This room was missing Lisa’s touch.
Alex had his back to me as he pulled two matching mugs down from a cupboard. He filled them with coffee and then turned around with the milk carton in hand and a question in his eyes. I nodded.
‘I hope Connor’s not going to get in too much trouble about the phone thing?’ I said, knowing it was none of my business, but asking anyway.
Alex sighed and gave a small shrug as he returned the milk to the fridge. Its doors were covered with colourful crayon drawings that reminded me very much of the mural of the galaxy in my classroom.
‘I know I should probably tell him off. There’s bound to be some speech I’m meant to give about respecting other people’s belongings, but to tell you the truth, this is the first vaguely naughty thing he’s done since… Well, in a long while. So part of me wants to embrace it. It’s not as if—’
‘Erm, sorry, I should have said,’ I interrupted hastily, cutting him off. ‘I don’t take sugar.’
Alex looked down at the mug into which he’d just spooned a generous serving. There was no need to even bother asking. I already knew that must have been how Lisa had taken hers. He gave a small laugh, but it held almost no humour. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve poured coffee for two,’ he said, sounding suddenly lost. ‘I guess I was on autopilot.’
I had an awful feeling he might be about to cry, and if he did, there was a good chance I’d join in. So I summoned up my best jolly teacher voice, the one I used when knees were bloody or mothers disappeared out of the door on the first day of term.
‘What prompted the great gingerbread men experiment today?’
It was terribly poignant watching Alex pour the coffee he’d made for Lisa down the sink and making a fresh one for me.
‘“Experiment” is a good word for it. Do you know what happens when you think baking powder is the same thing as flour?’
I couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped me. ‘Oh, no! You didn’t…?’
‘Batch one literally erupted. It was like a mini Vesuvius inside the oven. Batch two tasted foul, and batch three… Well, you saw what happened there. We might have to buy some to take to Connor’s school fete this afternoon after all.’
The question was on my tongue, but there was a voice that sounded an awful lot like Kyra’s in my head, screaming at me not to ask it. I loved my friend: her fierce loyalty, her support when I’d been so sick, and her caring heart. But that didn’t mean she was always right.
‘I could help you and Connor make some more – if you like? If you don’t think that would be too weird?’
Alex looked momentarily floored by my suggestion. ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’
‘You didn’t ask. I volunteered.’
‘Well, that would be really great, as long as—’
I didn’t wait to hear what his proviso was going to be but inserted my own instead. ‘But only if you ask Connor first if he’d like me to help. I don’t want him to think that I’m… butting in… where I’m not wanted.’
Alex shook his head. ‘I think his little stunt with my phone should give you the answer to that one. Connor doesn’t form new attachments easily, but he really does seem to have taken to you.’
And me to him, I thought silently as Alex left the room to ask his son if he’d like to help me in the kitchen.
He was gone for quite a while, so I used the time to tidy up and make some space on the worktop, marvelling that Lisa had kept so many of her utensils in the same cupboards that my own lived in at home. I threw the thought out before it could take root and multiply. Keeping your spoons in the same drawer did not constitute some kind of mystic connection, and if I was going to do more good than harm here, I needed to keep that kind of nonsense firmly out of my head.
‘You cleaned up,’ observed Alex guiltily, walking into the kitchen with the hand of a suddenly much shyer Connor in his.
‘Only a bit,’ I said, feeling my cheeks turning pink and hoping he’d think it was from my exertions rather than a flush of pleasure. It felt far safer, for all kinds of reasons, to direct my conversation solely towards Connor and pretend Alex wasn’t even there. Come on, Molly, I told myself, this is what you do. You’re good with kids, you’ve got this.
‘Connor, your dad tells me you need some gingerbread men, which makes this your lucky day, because it just so happens they’re the things I can bake better than anything else in the world.’ That may have been a slight exaggeration, seeing as I’d only ever made them once before, but I’d found a recipe on my phone while Alex was coaxing Connor back downstairs, and I was fairly confident I could knock up a batch without anyone needing to summon the fire service.
Alex seemed content to take a back seat and took himself off to the far end of the kitchen table, drawing a nearby laptop towards him. At regular intervals he clattered noisily on the keyboard, presumably without realising that from the reflections in the French windows I could see it wasn’t turned on. He was watching me closely with his son, and I was perfectly all right with that. If Connor had been mine, I’m sure I’d have been just as cautious – probably even more so.
‘First we need to weigh out the flour,’ I told my young assistant in a slightly unnatural TV chef voice. I tipped flour onto the scales, disappearing briefly behind a smokescreen of Homepride’s finest. I hadn’t dressed for this kind of activity, and my dark indigo jeans and black polo-neck jumper were already covered with white specks.
‘There’s an apron on the inside of the larder door, if you need one,’ Alex volunteered.
‘That might be an idea,’ I said, opening the door and then catching the look of horror on Connor’s face as I reached for the apron with Mummy emblazoned on the front. My stomach took a plummet and I shut the door so fast they’d have been forgiven for thinking the apron was planning to escape.
‘You know what, I don’t think I need one after all.’
With that hurdle behind us, Connor seemed to relax a little and for the next twenty minutes he spooned, stirred and rolled with a fierce concentration that told me a great deal. He was a conundrum: far brighter than most seven-year-olds, and yet far less confident than the children in my class. There was a watchfulness about him, and a fear of doing something wrong that made it difficult not to abandon the cooking and envelop him in an enormous hug. Had he been this way before he lost his mum or were these insecurities new? I tried to imagine how I might phrase that question to Alex, and then realised I had no business asking it.
While the gingerbread men were baking in the oven, I returned the ingredients to their various cupboards, correctly lucky-guessing where they’d come from so many times, I was inspired to buy a lottery ticket on my way home. Alex stepped into the garden to answer a phone call, and the second he left, I released a long breath I hadn’t even realised I’d been holding.
‘Did you enjoy baking today, Connor?’ I ventured, pulling open the fridge and popping the butter back into its compartment.
‘It was okay,’ he murmured. He’d had fun, I knew he had, but he didn’t want to admit it, as though it was somehow disloyal to do so. This child isn’t
yours to fix, a sensible voice in my head reminded me. But I refused to listen to it. Wasn’t a child in pain everyone’s responsibility?
‘These are really excellent drawings,’ I observed as I closed the double-fronted American-sized fridge. I stepped back as though studying paintings on a gallery wall. Although they were mainly drawings of the moon, there were a few that featured other recognisable planets.
‘This must be Mercury,’ I said, pointing to the small planet closest to a flaming ball of crimson Crayola, which had to be the sun. ‘And the craters on this one of the moon are so realistic.’
For the first time the hesitant look left Connor’s eyes and was replaced by one of amazement. ‘You know about the planets?’
I suppressed a smile and nodded solemnly. ‘Well, only a little bit. I still have lots to learn. I have a big mural of the solar system on the wall in my classroom, but to be honest your drawings are way better than mine.’
Connor took the compliment with a slow nod. ‘My mummy knows all about the planets. When I grow up I’m going to be an astronomer, just like she is.’
From the corner of my eye I could see that Alex had returned in time to catch the end of our conversation. Was it Connor’s use of the present tense when he spoke of his mum that had put that unbelievably sad expression on his dad’s face?
‘Well, that’s a fine ambition to have. I bet you’ll be a really marvellous one.’
*
The gingerbread men were cooling on a rack, ready for the fete that afternoon, and I’d politely declined Alex’s invitation to stay for a second cup of coffee.
‘Molly has things she has to do,’ he told Connor, who’d looked flatteringly disappointed when I’d reached for my jacket. ‘She doesn’t want to hang around with us all day.’
I wondered which of the three of us would have been the most shocked if I’d confessed that actually that was exactly what I’d have liked to have done. The rest of my Saturday stretched ahead of me with boring predictability.
Connor was busily decapitating a gingerbread man with his front teeth as I waved a cheery goodbye from the doorway, having resisted a totally inappropriate urge to hug him goodbye. It was as if I’d never attended a single training day about boundaries, I thought to myself. Why was it suddenly so hard to stick to them with this lost little boy?
‘Thank you again for returning my phone,’ Alex began awkwardly as he stood with one hand on the Yale latch, ‘and also for what you did today – for Connor.’
I smiled sadly. ‘I didn’t do anything. Not really.’
‘He opened up. We got a glimpse of the boy he was before…’ Lisa died, we both completed silently.
‘I noticed that when he spoke of her—’ I started hesitantly.
Alex nodded. We were speaking in half sentences, as though this was a familiar shorthand between us.
‘Yeah, I know. The counsellor has advised me not to correct him. But I’m not so sure.’
‘He needs time.’ I looked up. You do too, I wanted to add, but that would have been stepping so far over the boundary, I might never have found my way back.
With perfect timing, Connor came racing out of the kitchen just then, clutching something against his chest. He screeched to a stop in front of me and extended his arm. It was the drawing of the moon that I’d admired from the fridge door. A lump the size of a golf ball threatened to choke me as I took it from his outstretched hand.
‘Well, this is going straight up on my fridge when I get back home,’ I assured him, willing my voice not to crack.
Connor was now tugging Alex down to his level and hurriedly whispering something in his ear. Whatever it was, Alex’s expression was unreadable when he straightened up to face me.
‘Connor wanted to know if you’d like to come to the Bonfire Night party that Todd and Dee are holding at their place next week. It’s a bit of a Stevens family tradition.’
I looked from father to son, indecision clouding my face.
‘It would be really great to have a chance to talk to you properly. Today’s been too chaotic, and it was impossible to speak to all of you at the planetarium the other night.’
‘Oh, I see. So you’ll be asking the others as well: Barbara, Jamie and…’ I had no idea why I instinctively hesitated. It wasn’t as if I’d forgotten his name or anything. ‘And Mac,’ I finally completed.
My suggestion had clearly thrown him. Inviting the other recipients obviously hadn’t been his intention, but after taking a moment to think about it, I could see that he rather liked the idea.
‘Yes, I will. If they’ll come.’
‘Then I will too.’
There was an unexpected lightness to my stride as I walked back to my car. I didn’t know exactly what or who had put it there, but I liked the feel of it.
20
Alex
‘All I’m saying is that it would have been nice if you’d checked with me first, that’s all.’
Alex dived to one side, took an out-of-control swipe at the squash ball, and not surprisingly missed.
‘Your point wins,’ he muttered, bending to retrieve the ball.
‘Do you mean in the game or our conversation?’
Alex straightened up, rubbing at the low, dull ache that was developing between his eyebrows. He forced himself to unclench his jaw. They played another couple of points, with the squash ball taking the brunt of both brothers’ frustration. If they hit the damn thing any harder, it was likely to end up embedded in the wall, Alex thought as he peeled his sweat-soaked T-shirt away from his body. He usually looked forward to their weekly game, but today it was pretty obvious that neither of them was in the mood. Unspoken words were ricocheting silently around the court at a speed the ball could never have matched, and the air felt heavy with testosterone.
‘Shall we just call it a day and go for a pint?’ Todd suggested, fast-forwarding to the reward they’d scarcely earned after less than twenty minutes’ play.
The pub around the corner from the gym was surprisingly busy for so early in the evening. Alex managed to snag a free table in the corner and watched as his brother slalomed through the crowds to the bar. The headache showed no sign of quitting anytime soon, and he doubted that alcohol would improve it. A few minutes later Todd emerged from the throng, holding aloft two pint glasses of craft beer.
Even a casual observer would have known they were related. They had the same build, the same sandy-coloured hair and caramel eyes, and a cleft chin they’d apparently inherited from a grandfather they’d never met. They were similar in a thousand ways and yet also very different.
Todd pushed a glass wordlessly towards his brother and then without preamble, as though there hadn’t been a thirty-minute break during which they’d showered, changed and walked to the pub, he resumed their conversation as though releasing a pause button.
‘I’m not trying to be a dick about this party thing,’ he began. It was an unfortunate opening remark, and Alex’s eyebrows eloquently replied that it might already be too late for that. ‘And I’m not saying I don’t like these people. They all seemed perfectly pleasant the other week. But I just assumed that this year, given everything that’s happened, you’d want to make it purely a family thing.’
Two beats passed, then three. It was as though Alex kept missing his cue. ‘Well, these people are kind of like family.’
Even worse than Todd’s anger was the pity in his eyes as he looked across at his younger brother.
‘No, Alex. They really aren’t.’
Alex reached for his glass and swallowed deeply, hoping the emotions that were threatening to rise up would get washed back down. He loved his brother, and he truly didn’t think he’d have got through the last six months without the support from him and Dee. But right now, the distance between them felt far greater than the width of a sticky-topped bar table; it felt as wide as the Grand Canyon.
Todd was wearing his patient ‘I know what I’m talking about; I’m the sensible one here’ express
ion. It was the one that used to make a teenaged Alex clench his fists in frustration. Apparently the thirty-five-year-old Alex felt much the same way.
‘Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it now. I can hardly un-ask them. And don’t forget it wasn’t me who thought of inviting them, it was Connor.’
‘Yes. And next week I’m letting Maisie do my tax return.’
Alex looked away, because deep down he knew Todd was right, but there was no way he could admit it. At the table beside them sat a young couple in their twenties. They were holding hands and staring so intently into each other’s eyes, they were obviously somewhere far away from the pub, with its noisy jukebox and rowdy drinkers. Alex had a sudden burning desire to be there too.
‘And don’t think I don’t know who it is you really want to come. It’s her, isn’t it?’ Todd pressed.
‘I take it you’re not talking about Barbara?’
The twist of Todd’s lips was the closest he was going to get to a smile. He drew in a long breath. ‘She’s not Lisa. You know that, don’t you? Molly. Isn’t. Lisa.’
‘You think I don’t realise that?’ Alex’s reply was so sharp, his words pierced the bubble around the couple at the adjacent table. They stared at him, wearing identical expressions of surprise. Alex smiled weakly and then turned back to his brother, his voice a lot lower now.
‘I know that. But you should have seen the way she was with Connor, and the way he responded to her. I haven’t been able to reach him like that since the accident, but she did it within seconds of walking through the door.’
‘She’s a schoolteacher, mate. It goes without saying that little kids respond to her. Don’t go reading anything more into it than that.’
They’d reached the point in the conversation that Alex wasn’t sure either of them was ready for; the question he’d been asking himself for months, usually in the middle of the night. He knew Todd would look at him differently once he’d voiced it.
