It wasn't simply life with Ashlyn that made the kids cling to Kendra, Kyle knew, it was him, too. He'd been at work. Always. He'd hidden from the problem in his technical drawings and models and projects, subconsciously telling himself that the children were too young to understand. Subconsciously telling himself there was no problem to understand.
It took him nearly ten years to confront the situation, five of which his children were around to witness—Kendra had done it within minutes of meeting them. Gave his kids breakfast, read him the riot act. And with the kids, when they asked her to jump, she generally asked them how high. Kendra didn't spoil them, didn't give in to their demands, she simply put them first. Always. They'd never had that so unconditionally before. No wonder they dug the hooks of their lives deeply into her and had no intention of letting go.
For some reason, for the past seven days, she'd fallen off the face of the earth. She'd become the lodger he'd originally thought he'd end up with: someone who kept to themselves who paid the rent on time, who never got involved. She left for work extra early, and always returned in the dark, her head down as though if she didn't look up she'd be invisible, that those in the house wouldn't be able to see her. The kids kept asking where she was, why she wasn't in the flat. Why she hadn't picked them up from school that week. If she didn't call them every night they would have thought she, too, had left them.
She was avoiding them.
Him. He suspected it was him.
Kyle had been trying to work out what had caused it. He'd wondered if it was because she knew. She had looked into his eyes in an unguarded moment and she'd seen the truth.
Goddamnit! Kyle slammed the milk carton down on the table, splashing milk all over his hand and the table.
Summer and Jaxon both jumped, stared at their father. He was rigid with anger, his face on the edge of a snarl, his eyes narrowed and fierce. And his hand was covered in milk. They both knew anger from their mother, they both knew this was how the shouting started. No one had shouted at them in so long they'd begun to believe it wouldn't happen again.
Summer wanted Kendie so much at that moment. Her mumma or Kendie. Mumma was with Gra'ma Naomi and Kendie was here. And Kendie made a special breakfast. And when she made breakfast it was lovely. And it made her smile in her tummy. And now Dad was cross because he was doing it wrong. “I want Kendie,” she whispered.
“Well you can't have her,” Kyle snapped. “I'm all you've got.”
Kyle watched as things disintegrated before his eyes. Summer's face crumpled and then the high-pitched wail followed as her mouth became a cavernous wound in her face. Her face filled with scarlet as the tears started. Kyle slapped his milk- splattered hand against his forehead. Stupid.
As Summer wailed, Jaxon decided to hide. If he kept his head down and wished hard enough, no one would see him. No one would know he was there until Kendie came over and she asked Garvo where he was. And sometimes Kendie could understand Garvo's language. And Kendie would find him. And she would make Saturday breakfast. For now, he was hiding.
Kyle turned away from a wailing Summer to Jaxon. His son had his head buried in the nook of his arms, his grubby cast on the table, his free arm on top, his shoulders shaking. Bloody stupid.
“OK,” Kyle said, trying to appease his children. “OK, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Tell me how to do it properly. OK, pumpkin? Tell me how to do it properly.”
“I want Kendie,” Summer wailed. Long rivulets of hurt rained down her bright red face and her whole body quaked with tears. Each wail was like a nail in his forehead. It was getting louder, more fervent.
“OK,” he said, crouching down to his daughter, while drying his milk-soaked hand on his trousers. “I'll get Kendie. OK? I'll get Kendie. But please stop crying. OK? Please stop crying.” Summer's howling subsided as she realized Kendie was coming. “See?” Kyle picked up his mobile, shook off a few droplets of milk, flipped it open and dialed. “See, I'm calling her.”
Summer looked at him with deep suspicion but her wailing had stopped. He had a small window of time before the lamentations started again. The phone rang and rang, then the answer machine kicked in.
Great. She was screening. He knew she was screening because a light in her house had come on at around 2 a.m. last night but he hadn't heard her leave this morning. And he'd been listening for her because he'd unintentionally been keeping track of her. Making sure she came back at night. Was safely in her home.
Kyle and Summer locked eyes, a look of understanding passing between them. They'd had an agreement, he'd reneged on that agreement, her part of the deal was to start screaming if he let her down. Summer's face crumpled as she got ready to start screeching again; it was only fair.
“I'll go get her,” Kyle said, desperately trying to stop her. “I'll go get her.”
Barefoot, his shirt half tucked in, Kyle raced out the back door, the change in his pockets jingling as he ran over the flagstones that framed the square of grass, over the flagstones on the other side, then he was at her door.
Kyle was pretty sure Kendra was avoiding him—and as a consequence the kids —because she knew how he felt about her and wanted nothing to do with him. He didn't want to feel like that about another woman. It was wrong, somehow.
He'd always thought he'd be in love with Ashlyn and only Ashlyn for the rest of his life. He'd willingly signed up to spend forever with her. The night she'd told him she was in love with him, he'd been speechless. He'd never thought he had a chance with her. He'd noticed her amongst the group of friends they shared and was always looking for an excuse to talk to her, never dreamed… She was incredible. Vivacious, talented, devastatingly beautiful. She had a sparkle in her eye that always held his attention. The soft twist of her mouth made him want to kiss her over and over. He longed to run his fingers through her hair. He'd been silent when she told him how she felt. As the silence swelled between them, he became suspicious. Wondered who had put her up to it. But, his desire for her had outweighed his worry about being made to look like a fool.
Still, he took it slowly. When they'd first started dating, he'd been cautious. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for her to yell, “April fool! Loser!” at him. He hadn't dared touch her for two months in case she told him to get lost. Being with her was never difficult; it opened up a part of life that he never knew existed. He used to feel his heart expand every time she looked at him; he used to thank God every morning he woke up to find she was still there beside him. Kyle had wanted to give Ashlyn the world. Designing her studio had been the most important project of his life. Every idea created with the need to make life easy, perfect, for his wife-to-be; every line drawn with love. When they'd exchanged vows it had been forever.
And then it wasn't. Then he couldn't look at her without seeing an out-of- control, mean, lying drunk. Couldn't talk to her without it becoming a row. Then he was having to take the kids out in the car to get away from one of her tantrums. And, making love … ? Nearly two years had passed since that had happened. In all that time he still had urges, still wanted to have sex with his wife, but after the last time …
She came to bed late, much later than him. He wasn't asleep because even after all this time he found it hard to sleep without her in the bed. They may not have slept spooned up together anymore, but that didn't mean he could sleep without her. Kyle responded almost immediately to her soft hands running over him, erupting desire with every caress. Then her mouth was kissing him, her lips fervent and eager on his. He'd reeled a little at the smell of her other lover on her breath, but it'd been so long since he'd held her, felt her against him, been a part of her body, that he shoved aside his disgust.
He kissed her back, lifted himself up as she sat astride him, helped her to tug her vest over her head, watching with mounting lust as her hair cascaded back into place. He reached up to unclasp her black bra when she suddenly ripped herself away from him, leapt off the bed, her hand over her mouth, as she ran into the en suite, slamming the do
or shut behind her and retching into the toilet basin.
For a brief, terror- loaded moment he thought she might be pregnant. Then dismissed it, of course she wasn't pregnant, just drunk. Just drunk.
As he lay in the darkened room, the sheets bunched around his waist, his eyes focused on the ceiling listening to her cough up, it occurred to him that if she was consistently hungover she might not remember to take the pill. And even if she did remember, would they be getting the full contraceptive protection if she was constantly throwing up?
They were playing Russian roulette every time they slept together, he realized. And the simple fact was he didn't want to have another child with Ashlyn. He couldn't bring another soul into this mess.
That was the last time he attempted to have sex with his wife or responded to any of her attempts, drunk or otherwise.
If he thought of the Ashlyn he loved, he remembered the woman with the pale, sweaty face and straggly hair, sitting in a hospital bed holding his newborn son, while he held their newborn daughter. He remembered the woman who sat up with him every single night during his exams and still went to work the next day. He thought of the woman who convinced him to have sex in his parents’ backyard. She didn't exist anymore.
Kendra did. Kendra did and Kyle wanted her. And that made him feel guilty, as though he was cheating on his wife. Kendra brought out something in his kids. In him … She made him talk. It wasn't that she encouraged him to do it; it was more that he couldn't help himself. Kyle, who'd spent a lifetime keeping most things to himself, bottling up almost all of his emotions, often told Kendra everything.
She was beautiful in a subtle, understated way compared to Ashlyn. He liked the way Kendra sometimes pulled back her hair into a ponytail, showing all the smooth outlines of her striking face. The warmth and quiet strength that swirled in her large black eyes, the firm fragility that came over her lips when she smiled, and the rarely glimpsed curves of her gorgeous body. He wanted to lose himself in her. To unravel the core of who he was inside her, to become a part of her mind and her body. He longed to hear everything about her. To feel her unspooling her secrets into the depths of his heart.
Kyle hadn't felt even a fraction of all this when he'd kissed her. That moment had been so mortifying he'd erased it from his mind almost immediately. Now that all these longings and desires had blossomed for her, he wanted to remember how her lips felt under his, the scent of her hair up close, how soft her skin was, how their bodies blended together—and he couldn't. He'd tried, but it was gone. The memory of being physically close to Kendra had vanished and because he knew it had once been a reality he found it impossible to create a false memory.
Kyle had fallen for her. For weeks he suspected he had, but it wasn't until Jaxon's accident, when she was there when the kids needed her, when he needed her, that he realized. She was The One. He loved a past Ashlyn. He loved a present Kendra. That was why he'd asked her to stay with them. With him. He was in love with her.
That was most likely why she was avoiding him. She knew; she was not interested. She'd made that abundantly clear. She just didn't think of him, feel for him, in that way.
So, right now, Kyle had to put those thoughts, those longings, out of his head. He had his kids to sort out. To make happy. Kyle raised his hand and rapped on the door. Nothing. There was movement, footsteps upstairs. She was definitely in. But the footsteps weren't coming towards the door. Kyle knocked again, louder this time. Eventually he heard footsteps coming down the steps and slowly the door opened.
Kyle drew back a little as he looked into the face of a complete stranger.
CHAPTER 35
Er, hi,” Kyle said to me.
I hadn't seen him since I left for the conference and I'd almost forgotten he was real. I had the photo on my phone, but he was different in the flesh. Warmer, solid, human. Needing to be communicated with.
He was taken aback when he saw me. I wasn't looking my best, I knew that. I was dressed—jeans, T-shirt and sweater— because I was on my way out, but I knew my shoulder-length hair combed into a side parting so it hid most of my face was a dull, flat black; I knew my eyes were threaded with red veins because I didn't sleep for more than three hours a night; I knew dark shadows had ingrained themselves under my eyes; and I knew my mouth was a permanent flatline. Not even makeup, which I rarely wore, could hide how awful I looked.
“I need your help,” he said.
“Why, what's happened?” I asked, alarmed at his urgency.
“I've left the kids alone, I need you. Summer is going mental because I've done breakfast wrong or something. Jaxon's going mental as well, but quietly. You know, like he does. They want you. The only way to get them to stop crying was to say I'd get you to do it. Will you come?”
“Course,” I replied. “I'll be over soon. Just let me get dressed.”
“You are dressed,” Kyle replied.
I knew I was, I wasn't that far gone. I just needed time to prepare to see them. I'd spoken to them on the phone but prepare to see them. I'd spoken to them on the phone but hadn't seen them since the conference and needed time to prepare for that torture. “So I am,” I said with a hollow, short laugh.
His face creased with concern. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“Me? Fine. Just suffering the aftereffects of long hours. Let's go.”
The kids were in their differing states of distress when I entered the kitchen behind Kyle. Summer was taking small gulps of air that shook her entire body in short, hiccupy movements. Her little oval face was red, her rounded cheeks streaked with tears. Jaxon had his head resting on his folded arms and his shoulders were moving up and down in heavy, sighlike jerks. Surely they couldn't be this upset over breakfast. Surely? I turned to Kyle, wondering what he'd done to them.
Kyle's face flamed up with indignation. “I was just trying to give them their breakfast, like I do every other day of the week,” he said in answer to my silent accusation.
“But it's Saturday,” I stated.
He threw his hands open. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“He was doing it all wrong,” Summer declared between her gulps, obviously having no problems about telling on her dad.
“Could someone explain to me how I could be doing cereal wrong?” Kyle growled between gritted teeth.
He doesn't know, I realized. I cast my mind back. Since I'd moved in they'd pretty much had breakfast with me either over here or over at the flat every Saturday, apart from the odd weekends when they stayed over at their grandmother's place or last weekend when I was away, which meant they'd made breakfast themselves.
This was important to them. This breakfast ritual I'd conjured up out of thin air and desperation was important to them. It was something special the three of us shared. I had something amazing with these two. I'd never be a mother. Never be their mother, but I had something wonderful. Especially considering how insular they were. After all their experiences, they rarely let anyone in, but they'd welcomed me. If I wanted, I could ask Hoppy to sleep in my flat for the whole night; with Jaxon's coaching I was starting to understand Garvo's language. We had a breakfast ritual.
What I'd been doing, shutting myself away from them because I was in agony, wasn't fair to them. Hadn't I started this as a way to atone for what I did in Sydney? It wasn't about me, it was about them. I couldn't just shut down from these two, I had to be with them. I could grieve in the spaces in between.
I reached for the cereal box. “OK, we're going to have to teach your dad how to make breakfast on Saturdays,” I said. “But only if you both stop crying.” Summer rallied first, sniffed back her tears, gripped the bottom of her pink T-shirt and wiped her face clean, leaving a trail of red streaks from how hard she rubbed. “And you sit up,” I said to no one in particular. Jaxon realized I was talking to him and sat up. He used the sleeve of his long-sleeve top to scrub away his tears.
Over breakfast? I thought again, although I didn't look at Kyle this time, di
dn't want to upset him as well.
“OK, Kyle, could you get us four bowls please?” I said.
For a moment, Kyle went to say there were bowls on the table but then ran the wisdom of doing that through his mind.
“Any in particular?” he asked.
“Nope, not as long as they match.”
He looked at the white bowl, the bowl with blue stripes around its rim and the bowl that was red in the middle that currently sat on the table.
“Ah, right.”
Once he'd retrieved a new set of plates from the cupboard, ones that matched this time, and laid them in front of each place setting at the table, we started to teach him how to make Saturday breakfast properly.
PORRIDGE & THICK,
GLOOPY CREAM
CHAPTER 36
Good things come in threes.
Bad things also happen in threes. I forgot that.
CHAPTER 37
Elouise, one of my former flatmates from college who lived in Leeds, came down to London for a few days on business. She called me, told me off for not turning up in Leeds the other weekend to meet her and our other flatmate, Meg, said I had to come up to London to meet her. We could do the whole London thing like tourists: dinner, a show, drinks back in her hotel.
It was the start of the summer holidays so Kyle was going to take the kids on a surprise trip to Brighton. He'd managed to scrape together enough to afford two nights at a B&B. He'd asked if I wanted to come, but I'd declined—I hadn't seen Elouise in four years and felt guilty about blowing her out that time.
Elouise and I had dinner—Thai—in Soho, we went to a show on Shaftesbury Avenue, and we went back to Elouise's hotel and sat up talking. We fell asleep and I woke up in the early hours of Saturday feeling sorry for myself. I hated sleeping in my clothes; I had to go all the way back to Kent and I'd be lucky if the taxi driver didn't ask for my cash card and PIN just for the pleasure of listening to where I wanted him to take me. Besides, the walk of shame would feel the same whether I'd spent five hours sleeping in my clothes or eight. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Marshmallows for Breakfast Page 27
