by Jay Howard
Moon River
“‘And that’s what happens when you don’t do as you’re told,’ the Fat Controller told Thomas, very cross at the bother he’d caused.” Meredith turned the page and paused for her son to look at the next picture. She saw his finger move along the words, his lips moving slightly as he read.
Meredith continued reading out loud, wondering how much he’d read correctly. “‘Now you’ll be stuck in that shed for a week while you’re mended,’ he continued, ‘so let that be a lesson to you.’ Look, Chris, see how unhappy Thomas looks?” she said.
She loved how the magic of stories connected generations. As a child she had regularly begged her mother for another of the Reverend Awdry’s stories at bedtime. He’d written them for his son, also a Christopher, and now her own son immersed himself in that same fictional world, one that had relevance for the real world.
“Sometimes,” she said, “when you’re told you shouldn’t do something, it may not seem to make any sense, or you don’t think it matters if you disobey just once, but adults know what things can cause accidents.”
Christopher twisted sideways in bed to look up at his mother. “But I’m not a Tank Engine.”
“No, you’re not,” Meredith said, chucking him under the chin, “which means it’s much harder to mend you if you get broken.”
She got up off the bed and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, burying her nose in the clean child-smell of his hair. She brushed it down but it refused to stay flat; his hair was as full of energy as he was. Her own waist-long dark hair had swung forward, tickling his face and making him giggle. She tossed it back over her shoulder.
“Time for sleep now.”
Christopher snuggled down under the quilt while his mother turned off the reading light, leaving just a small night light glowing.
“Can we go swimming again tomorrow? And make another sandcastle? A bigger one?”
“Bigger? Today’s was an enormous motte-and-bailey, complete with ditch and palisade.”
“But we could do Windsor Castle next, or the Tower of London,” he said, eyes sparkling in the light from the hallway.
“OK, we’ll give it a try. But only if you go to sleep right now.” Meredith paused by the door and blew him a kiss.
He reached up to catch the kiss, grinned and shut his eyes tight. “I’m asleep!”
She pulled the door mostly shut and went downstairs with a light step. Quite deliberately she had brought nothing more than a couple of sketch pads, charcoal and a small box of watercolours. She checked they were in the beach bag at the bottom of the stairs, then stuffed in some freshly laundered towels, ready for the morning.
Just two days in the holiday cottage on the Cornish coast had done wonders to reduce her stress levels. The biggest benefit, though, was creating quality time to spend with her six-year-old son. He hadn’t adapted well to school. Meredith had the distinct impression that he was bored. Sometimes a keen intelligence and an enquiring mind could be a disadvantage. She decided to check her options with private schooling that would stretch him more. If they had to move, since she wouldn’t contemplate boarding, then so be it. As for the cost, expenditure would need to be prioritised. This holiday might well be their last for a good many years.
She poured herself a glass of wine and went out onto the decking to enjoy the warm evening breeze. The glass nearly slipped from her fingers and her eyes widened when she saw the man seated there, staring out to sea. There was no doubt in her mind. How could she ever mistake that silhouette? Most of her life had been spent following Aiden, getting caught up in his dreams and adventures. Lit from the window behind him, the roughly-cut, leonine mane that skimmed his broad shoulders glowed the same russet as her son’s.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Aiden,” she said, as coolly as she could, “what a surprise to see you here.”
He got up and turned to her. They stood, just looking at each other, so much history and so many unanswered questions between them. “Meredith.” His voice was low, throaty. Slowly he raised his arms to her. “I’ve missed you.”
Meredith cleared her throat and resisted the temptation to run into his offered embrace. She’d always forgiven him for everything, all the hurts, small and large, all the trouble he’d got her into through their childhood and teens. He’d been the lynchpin of her life. He had made life fun and worth living.
Yes, she’d forgiven everything... everything except running away. But forgiving or not, she had never managed to stop yearning for him. How can you stop loving the other half of your soul?
She thrust her glass into his hand. “Take this one. I’ll get another.”
Before she could escape Aiden caught her wrist and turned her back to face him. “Meredith?” He put the glass down on the table and cupped her cheek, ran his thumb across her full lips.
She stood there, trembling, unable to move away, willing herself not to respond. His tawny eyes held her spellbound. Her lips parted slightly.
He released her wrist and cupped her other cheek, raised her face to accept his kiss. As their kiss deepened she couldn’t help herself - her arms crept up round his neck, her fingers pushed through his hair.
“Oh, God, I’ve missed the taste and feel of you, Meredith,” he said.
His words brought her back to the moment, the awful fact of his betrayal. She turned away so he wouldn’t see how close to tears she suddenly was. She’d cried too many tears; now she had to be strong. “I’ll get that wine.”
When she returned he was sitting once more, again staring out to sea.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.
Meredith followed his line of sight. The early summer night sky was just deepening through the darker shades of blue to a velvety blackness. A full moon cast a ribbon of light across the gently swelling waves that rustled and murmured up the beach and around the rocky headland of the bay.
“A moon river.”
“That was your favourite song,” he said. “I’m hoping it still is.”
She turned to him, eyebrows raised in silent enquiry.
“‘Two drifters, off to see the world’,” he quoted, his voice excited. “Meredith, I’ve seen so many places, so many amazing things, these past years. Will you let me show you? Will you come with me this time?”
Ice water poured over her head could not have turned her blood colder. “Do you truly not remember why we split up?” she asked. Her lips felt numb and her heart thudded painfully. She felt a howl building inside her, the same howling she had felt when he left her, the howling that only ended when she first held her son.
“Of course I remember!” He took her hand. “Our child can come too.”
He grinned, the old infectious grin she remembered so well, but this time she didn’t see the situation as humorous. “Can come? You think I have an option or desire to go off with you and leave him behind?” She suddenly realised her voice was rising with her level of disbelief and took a calming breath, not wanting to disturb Christopher. “You don’t even know the sex of our child,” she hissed.
She ripped her hand out of his and grabbed her wine, taking a big swallow as she battled to control her anger.
“Meredith, that wasn’t what I meant.” He groaned, looked at the floor and ran his fingers up through his hair, pulling at it. He looked up at Meredith, covered his mouth with his hands then held his hands out, palms towards her.
Meredith remembered their childhood mime of stuffing wrong, hurtful words back where they’d come from, the open palms a promise they had gone forever, a plea for forgiveness. If she placed her palms on his… She shook her head, retreated a step and held her hands behind her back.
“What makes you think you have the right to come back into my life and try to turn it all upside down? Seven years without any contact whatsoever and you think you can just turn up on my doorstep like this and be welcomed back?”
His face was so expressive, and she knew him so well, that Meredith was able to read all the things he w
as feeling at that moment. She knew her rejection had hurt him.
“You know me,” he said sadly, “foot-in-mouth disease, all cattle beware.” It had been a long-standing joke between them, but neither laughed.
“It’s a good job you write better than you speak,” she said.
Aiden took a sip of his wine and sighed. “May I start again?” he asked. He paused and his eyes lost focus as he stared out at the river of moonlight. “I really am sorry, Meredith.” He glanced up at her but she kept her expression neutral and the dark pools of her eyes gave no clues. “I admit, I was a real shit to you and deserve to be hung, drawn and quartered for being such a coward. My only excuse, and it’s a damn poor one, is I was too young.”
“I was young too.”
“Yes, you were, but you were always wiser than me.” He looked at the floor then grinned again, sheepishly this time, looking up at her with his head still bowed. “I do know I have a son, you know,” he said softly. “I’ve even got photos of Christopher.”
“How?” Meredith demanded. “Have you been spying on us?”
“Yes and no…” He shrugged. “I’ve used a private detective a few times. She told me you’d come here on holiday.”
Meredith’s skin crawled at the thought of being watched, of her and Christopher being photographed without her knowledge.
“I’m not an unemployed wastrel any more; I have the means to support a family,” he murmured. “See that yacht there?” he asked, pointing out into the bay.
“How could I miss it? It’s enormous.” She’d noticed the yacht dropping anchor earlier that day and wondered about the owner, wondered why they would choose this small bay to stop in.
“That’s mine. That’s what the three of us can go travelling the world on. Us and the crew, that is. You wouldn’t have to pay for a thing, Meredith. Whatever you desire I will buy it for you.”
She sat straighter. “So you think you can buy me?” she said. “I pay my own way in life.”
Meredith didn’t yet command top fees, but she’d seen the prices for her work increasing year on year. She didn’t know that Aiden had had a hand in her success. She didn’t know who it was who, over the years, had paid whatever it took to own their favourite paintings and sculptures, then anonymously lent them for display in galleries all around the world. She had been unaware of whispered words in the right ears to lubricate the process of her art becoming better known and hence more desirable. But seeing the size of that yacht, and hearing his words, a niggling suspicion was dawning.
“I’m not trying to buy you, Meredith,” he said. “I just want you to know that I can take care of us now.”
They heard the clang of a bell, the sound carrying clearly across the water on the light breeze.
“That’s Edith Moon’s bell,” Aiden said and jumped up. “I named her for you and your song.” He gently flicked the end of her nose with a forefinger.
Meredith remembered him doing it when they were young, thinking to tease her. As they’d got older he continued to do it until she demanded he stop. He’d admitted to her then that he often wanted to touch her, but didn’t know how to handle those feelings, not at first…
She batted his hand away, annoyed.
He hesitated then grinned and said, “Come on, let’s swim out to her!”
Meredith stared at him in amazement. “You don’t get it at all, do you? The first thing you learn about being a parent is that there’s someone else’s life in your care, and that life is more precious than your own. How could you think for one second that it would be OK to swim out there and leave a six-year-old boy alone here? You’re not too young now to understand. Your old devil-take-the-hindmost adventures were fun when we were young and there was only ourselves to consider, but that attitude is no good from a father. I guess you’re still not ready to be a parent. Goodbye, Aiden.”
She turned her back on him and went indoors, ignoring his pleas for her to stay, to hear him out. She locked the door, turned off all the lights and went to bed. It was to prove a restless night for her, though. Sleep evaded her until finally she drifted off just before dawn.
