Everything (ARC)

by Catherine Miller

  Syd shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, ain’t it? It’s not like we normally get a say about what goes on in our lives.’

  ‘This is your home too.’ Tabitha emphasised the words in the hope that they would realise she meant it. ‘So what do you two think?’

  ‘I think prawns are weird and look like aliens,’ Max replied, having gone back to studying the sample on her fork.

  ‘And what about your thoughts on the placement?’ Tabitha wondered if this was futile, if the girls were too shut down to express how they felt about any changes, having been through so many themselves.

  ‘I think babies are weird and look like aliens,’ Syd said.

  The comparison to the prawn made Tabitha laugh. ‘Okay, so that aside, do either of you have any objections? You can think it over if you need to.’

  ‘Will it bother us?’ Syd asked, as if she was indeed talking about an extra-terrestrial species.

  ‘I’m pretty certain babies can create bother, but that’ll be my concern. There will no doubt be some hungry crying in the middle of the night. And I’ve no idea how long it’ll be for. It might be for a few weeks or it might end up being for a few months. I just wanted to scope it out with you both before making a decision.’ Tabitha swirled pasta onto her fork to enjoy it while it was still warm enough – the creamy sauce mixed with dill was too delicious not to savour.

  Syd shrugged. ‘It’s quiet here. We’re not used to quiet. There’s always been some kid or other making noise wherever we’ve been.’

  ‘She’s talking about a screaming baby wailing like it’s an angry old man with no oxygen. There won’t be any quiet after that,’ Max said, at long last abandoning the prawn and helping herself to another piece of garlic bread.

  ‘Just because Jolie used to be like that doesn’t mean all babies are.’ Syd followed her sister’s lead and grabbed another slice.

  ‘Yeah, but my ears haven’t recovered yet. I might not be used to quiet, but I think I’m beginning to like it. I can’t be doing with another baby about if we’ve got a choice.’

  ‘Do you miss Jolie?’ Tabitha held her breath as soon as the question left her. Jolie was the baby born to the couple who had changed their minds about adopting Syd and Max.

  ‘Do you miss your husband?’ Max said, with a ninja’s reflex.

  It was as if they’d been waiting to ask the difficult questions, but no one knew how. And Tabitha certainly didn’t know how she should answer.

  ‘That kid ruined our lives by existing. We’re hardly gonna miss her,’ Max said, filling the pause. ‘And don’t you go doing the same. Last time a baby came on the scene, we got dumped. So no babies if that’ll be happening.’

  ‘We shouldn’t put a stop to it if Tabitha has the space to help,’ Syd said.

  ‘It’s our space too now. Tabby just said that.’

  ‘Have you ever had a place that was just for you two?’ Tabitha knew the basics of the life they’d had before now, but it was as if she’d been given a sketched-out map that she was unable to make head nor tail of. It needed the people who knew the map off by heart to come along and point out what all the markers meant.

  ‘Not really,’ Syd said, staring at her plate. ‘The foster places we’ve been at have always had other kids, and our “nearly mummy and daddy” just wanted us to add princesses to their princes until they got their own.’

  There was a distinct amount of bitterness in Syd’s voice and it was the first time she’d spoken of the adoption that had fallen through. Her quieter nature was beginning to step aside.

  As Syd and Max seemed to be opposed in their views, maybe it was better to speak to them individually about it. Not that she knew what she would do if they disagreed. Did she get the riding vote as the foster mum?

  ‘Well, we don’t have to make any kind of decision right away,’ Tabitha said. ‘You can both have a think and let me know in a couple of days. I need you to fill out these evaluation forms as well, so we have them ready to return to Julie.’

  ‘You never answered me. Do you miss your dead husband?’ Max asked.

  Tabitha’s heart seemed to squeeze and her chest ached with the hurt the question caused. It was stupid for her not to have realised; they would have been given some of her history in the same way that she knew some of theirs. She saw that she would have to give up some of her secrets if she was going to learn theirs.

  ‘Every day,’ Tabitha whispered, knowing that even that was an understatement.

  One-Month Feedback Form - Max

  This sucks.

  All of it sucks.

  I’m fifteen. I’m supposed to be being screwed over by boys snogging me behind the bike shed one second then ignoring me the next.

  But oh no, my life had to go and do one better. Instead it was my adoptive parents. The ones that were supposed to save us and make our lives complete. They’re the ones that have ignored us instead.

  Are you able to send them a note, Julie? If you’re after feedback, this is what I’d like to offer:

  * * *

  Dear A-Flop-Tive Parents,

  * * *

  Do you really think all the damage occurred when we were three?

  Did you really think your actions wouldn’t hurt? All because we didn’t sit within the mould of what you perceived to be perfect.

  And do you know what surprises me? That despite that hurt I still miss things about the life we had with you. I miss making Jolie laugh. I miss hanging out in the summer house. I don’t miss your pre-packed microwave cooking, but I do miss the breadmaker.

  And that’s what makes you such shit parents. Because you treated us like designer handbags, but instead of keeping us you took us back way beyond the manufacturer’s return policy, claiming we were faulty goods.

  You don’t deserve to be parents. What happens if Jolie isn’t perfect? Are you gonna hope the problem goes away?

  * * *

  There – is that the kind of feedback you’re after, Julie? Because I know you want me to feed back about being here, but it’s not like it’s that easy to forget, is it? None of us are where we’re meant to be and a new roof over our heads isn’t going to fix that.

  Fifteen

  Then

  This was the first time Tabitha had returned to Owerstock Farm. Ever since it had happened, she’d been scared to come here. Even being in close proximity to their cottage was making her nauseous.

  Today she needed to get past that to pay her respects. Much like on the day Andy had died, Tabitha was suffering from a serious case of disconnect. It seemed unreal that she was dressed in black, travelling in the car from the farm to follow Andy’s funeral procession, playing the role of widow.

  Tabitha was only able to stare out the window; tears slipping down her cheeks. Even though she was with Andy’s parents and her dad, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold a conversation even if she’d wanted to. She doubted she’d manage to speak a word today.

  The good thing, at least, was that Andy had been prepared for this. He’d insisted they should get such things in order before they got married; as if he’d had a sixth sense of what was in their future. A will with funeral wishes had already been written so it had made it easy to organise. Only it wasn’t easy at all when this wasn’t the plan. This was never how their story was supposed to end. Two years of married life was barely a start. Their plans extended to taking over the farm and having children of their own. Not funeral processions. This was not where their life should be.

  Her father squeezed her arm.

  ‘Thank you for arranging all of this how Andy would have wanted. I know Tabitha is very appreciative,’ Frank said to Andy’s parents, briefly filling the silence.

  Tabitha nodded in agreement, unable to form any words. The familiar streets they were travelling through were taking her breath away. There were so many memories that she held of Andy, but ever since he’d gone they hadn’t been tangible. Here they were coming back in multicolour; the smell of the coffee and granary toast
he always made her on a work day; the way he always held doors open for her; the way he’d taken to wearing his hair up when it had got long enough. Each thought made her hurt so much more apparent.

  As they passed the outskirts of Owerstock Farm, Tabitha was reminded of an early date when Andy had prepared a picnic and they’d hiked in their wellies to a fallen tree that he reckoned made a perfect picnic bench. It had been a tranquil paradise and, as it was on private land, they’d enjoyed more than just their sandwiches.

  Now she was only filled with the knowledge she would never get to go on any more romantic picnics with her husband. Instead here she was staring out the window as she observed people stop and bow their heads or stare at the flowers surrounding the coffin as it took its journey from their grief-filled home to the crematorium.

  There were so many things to despair over, but losing the freshness of her memories was the thing she hated most. The fact that she wasn’t able to recall every detail, however much she wanted to. Then there were the moments she’d never have. She was mourning them too because from this point on, she’d have to do everything without Andy by her side.

  ‘It’s time,’ her father said when she’d not moved, despite them arriving at the crematorium.

  It was time, but she didn’t want to come out of her cocoon. If only attending the funeral in her duvet had been a possibility.

  Andy’s sister, Danielle, came over to the car to meet them. There was a crowd gathered waiting for their arrival, but Tabitha wasn’t able to raise her eyes or meet any greetings as she made her way inside. She wished they’d made it a private event. She was stumbling into an unknown world painted in heartbreak and she didn’t want to do it with all eyes on her.

  ‘Tabitha… it’s so good to see you. How have you been?’ It was the familiar voice of one of her best friends… The one she’d been avoiding.

  An order of service was passed to her and for the first time she glanced up because it was easier than acknowledging the glossy black-and-white photograph of her handsome husband.

  It was Toby distributing the pamphlets to the gathering mourners, and when she realised this the glossy pages fell from Tabitha’s grip, her vision blurring. She’d told Toby not to come.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Melissa swooped to be by her side. ‘Toby, can you go and get Tabitha some water?’ she asked her husband.

  Tabitha took in short staccato breaths. Why, when she had asked him not to, would Toby be here? And bring his wife with him?

  Because for all the precious memories she wanted to keep, there was one memory she wanted to wipe away: the night before Andy died. The night she wished hadn’t happened.

  Self-Love

  There’s nothing wrong with finding and applying your self-preservation mode. Sometimes life demands such things. And it is not selfish, not one bit. To love yourself is the purest and bravest act of all.

  If only it was as simple as knowing how to.

  Sixteen

  Now

  Tabitha figured this was how a fish out of water felt. Clearly everyone else visiting King George’s Secondary knew what they were up to. But she’d always been the teacher, not the parent, and parent-teacher meetings were a far simpler affair in the primary school where she’d taught.

  Here the hall was full of desks, each with a teacher animatedly chatting away to parents. In a second hall – the dining area – there were refreshments available and parents were busy mingling in between appointments. Tabitha would have joined them, but they seemed to her to be closed circles, where a newcomer wouldn’t be welcome.

  Tabitha’s first appointment was with the girls’ form tutor, but as she didn’t even know what they looked like, she was trying to suss out where she needed to head.

  ‘Do you need some help at all?’ asked one of the Year 11 students who was helping out. They’d obviously been trained in identifying a lost woman when they saw them.

  ‘Do you know where Mrs Wallace is?’

  ‘She’s on the end there in green dungarees.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Thanks. Any chance you can point the rest of these out?’ Tabitha showed the student the piece of paper that listed her appointments.

  ‘Here.’ He took the card from her and drew a little map on the back of which tables Tabitha would need to head to.

  There were seven more minutes until her first appointment and Tabitha’s nerves were fraught. To calm herself and help her feel less self-conscious about not having a little circle of parent friends, she helped herself to a cup of weak orange squash and downed it in one as if it was dowsed with vodka. A bit dribbled down and landed on her white top. Perfect.

  When it was time, she went and hovered by the table she needed, waiting for the hot seat to be free.

  Being there reminded her of time spent with Melissa. They’d been school friends who had lost touch, but then became friends once more when they were colleagues working at the same school. Melissa would have been in her circle if it hadn’t been for everything changing. There were certain lines within a circle that should never be crossed.

  But this was a different school and Tabitha was here for entirely different reasons. She needed to concentrate on that.

  Some pupils were with their parents and it made Tabitha worry that the girls should be there, but they’d assured her they didn’t need to be. That was the problem with being a complete novice. She didn’t have any clues guiding her towards what was right and what was wrong.

  ‘Mrs Sanderson.’ The teacher flagged her over once the previous set of parents had moved on.

  ‘Tabitha, please.’ It was strange. Tabitha felt an obligation to her married name, but at the same time hearing it served as a reminder that Andy was no longer about. That they weren’t doing this kind of thing together with their own children. That they never would.

  ‘Are Syd and Max not joining us?’

  ‘Erm, I was under the impression that pupils didn’t have to attend.’

  ‘It’s not compulsory, but we do encourage them to. It might be better that we chat without them here though.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. They told me this was just for the parents.’ Tabitha flushed with embarrassment.

  ‘How many weeks have they been in your care now?’

  ‘A month, more or less.’ The time had flown by.

  ‘Have there been any problems at all?’

  There had been, but they’d seemed settled since. Tabitha was dismissing it as a blip. ‘They seem to be doing okay. The occasional argument between siblings. Have there been any problems at school?’ They never talked about it once they got home.

  ‘They did try to convince us that they should be in Year 11 and that this is their final year. I obviously tried to clarify this information to make sure there hadn’t been a clerical error, but I’ve been reassured they are due to stay with us for another year. They’ve been leading a merry dance of occasionally turning up at the wrong lessons and trying to convince the teachers they’re due there, but all the staff are aware now.’

  ‘Really? They didn’t say anything.’

  ‘It was a bold attempt at trying to pull the wool over our eyes. They stopped doing it when they knew I’d sussed them out. But aside from that, they’ve been getting to classes as they should.’

  ‘And are they getting on okay?’ There was never a great time to have a change of school and in their final years it was always going to be a challenge. It was a huge upheaval.

  ‘It’s early days, but the general feedback I’m getting from all the teachers is that they need to participate more. They often seem to engage in things not related to the class. We’ll take measures to try and improve that, but for now we’re just letting them have some time to settle in. Obviously next year is an important one for them and we want them to do as well as possible.’

  ‘How do I get fifteen-year-olds to communicate with me?’ Seeing as she wasn’t going to be in receipt of the glowing report most parents would hope for, Tabitha might as well get some use out o
f these meetings. A guide on how to cope with teenage behaviour would be helpful.

  ‘With regards to school communications, everything is on the online system. If you’ve not had passcodes sent to you to log in, I’ll make sure reception send a copy directly to you by post. In theory they will have given that information to Syd and Max, but as we know they are trying to be a little…’ Mrs Wallace moved her glasses from her head to her nose as if the correct word were written in front of her. ‘Obstructive.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Tabitha said, apologising for things that weren’t her fault.

  ‘As for you being able to communicate with them, I know it’s not the most helpful advice, but sometimes it’s just finding out what works best. In my experience most kids that age just need someone who’s there to listen. You’d be surprised at how many parents have lost the ability to do that without a phone waiting in their hand. It’s not really listening if you’re never more than a finger tap away from the next notification. It amazes me that I sometimes have to point out to parents that there will never be anything more important than your child. They’re a generation that need to know that more than ever.’ Mrs Wallace lent forward and adjusted her position. ‘I’m sorry to go on, but it’s a personal bugbear. Listening is key and from what I can tell, you’re doing a great job of that already.’

  The rest of the appointments outlined what to expect in terms of the curriculum over the coming year and advice on helping with exam stress. Tabitha left the hall with a strange mixture of disappointment and elation. Her relationship with Max and Syd needed to be worked at, but maybe she was getting some of it right without even truly knowing what she was doing. It was all very well having been told that communication was key, but how did she tap into that and get the girls to open up? It didn’t seem possible when she was doing a very good job of running away from the night she’d never spoke of. If she didn’t know how to, teaching the twins to communicate seemed like an impossibility.