Messy, Wonderful Us

by Catherine Isaac

‘Do you think it’s broken?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. It’s not swollen, so that’s good. Can you move it or put any pressure on it?’

  I lift my foot and move it around. ‘Ow! Well, it hurts when I do that, if that’s what you mean.’

  He puts his phone into his back pocket. ‘It’s not broken.’

  ‘But I said it hurts!’ I whimper.

  ‘I believe you. But you wouldn’t be able to do that if it was broken.’

  I tut and he helps me to my feet, clutching my elbow as I hobble to a bench overlooking the lake. I lower myself onto it and rub my ankle, muttering. ‘I’ll go somewhere else for sympathy next time.’

  But when I sit up, my eyes are drawn first to his neck, the way the short bristles on his chin divert into wild directions, then to his parted lips and eventually his eyes, in which the silver light from the moon is reflected. For a gathering of heartbeats, I imagine his mouth drawing closer to mine, until I begin to wonder if it actually is.

  ‘Everything all right over there?’

  I glance up to see the concierge, straining his eyes in the dark as I sit up straight and Ed spins round to talk to him. ‘Yes, fine. Grazie.’

  ‘Ah. So sorry! My colleague saw on the CCTV that the lady had fallen. We weren’t sure if you needed medical help.’

  ‘I’m okay now. Honestly. But thank you,’ I tell him.

  ‘No problem. Apologies again for disturbing you,’ he says, with a cordial wave, before walking away in the direction of the building.

  Chapter 45

  In the months after Christopher was prised out of her warm arms, Peggy’s anger grew and grew. There were times when it felt like the only pure thing left in her life, racing like hot mercury through her veins every time she looked at her parents.

  She came to despise everything about her father, a man she’d once looked up to, adored even. When she looked at him she saw an entirely different person from the one she’d seen before. Now the stench of smoke that clung to his moustache nearly choked her. The bulge over his trousers and the gluttonous way he ate, sating his greed, disgusted her. She hated having to sit across the dinner table from him, drinking water from the same tap, breathing the same stale air in their living room.

  Her simpering mother was no better. She couldn’t bear the way she would hover around, hoping for a sign of forgiveness without having ever said sorry. Apparently believing that ‘normality’ could be resumed, just like that. Not that Peggy wanted an apology from her. Sympathy, tenderness or compassion were not things she craved.

  Because the person she despised most was herself. She’d signed the papers. She’d let him slip away, conscious but not fully, half-blind, half-stupid, walking through a fog. She’d never believed that it was ‘for the best’, but after a lifetime of obedience she hadn’t worked out how to fight, and for that she would never forgive herself.

  She refused to go to church any longer. She couldn’t bear sitting next to her parents, listening to their muttered prayers, unable to reconcile the words she heard inside those gilded walls with what had happened to her. The Christian values she’d always thought she’d been taught were goodness, humanity, love. That was what all those Bible lessons were about, wasn’t it? Now, as she sat on a cold pew, every word she heard sounded as hollow and fake as a wooden egg. Because those values were wholly absent on the day her baby was handed to a stranger, as if she, his own mother, had never existed.

  *

  As the soft folds of her belly contracted, she continued to function, but she wasn’t living. She’d get up every morning and sit on the bus to her new job as secretary to the manager of a match factory. He wasn’t a bad boss. There was nothing wrong with him at all, as long as she was prepared to put up with him looking at her chest when she was typing.

  But a few months into the job, she woke one morning and decided she wasn’t going to work that day. She left the house as usual, but instead of taking her normal route, she picked up a taxi and asked the driver to go to Nightingale House.

  He dropped her off outside the gates and she crunched along the same path as when she’d been pregnant, wondering if every brick of the building had always held the same grim, threatening quality. When she rang the bell, one of the nurses answered. She visibly stiffened when she recognised Peggy, before telling her to wait in the hall while she got someone to come and see to her.

  Peggy caused what matron would later describe to the police as a ‘terrible scene’. All she wanted was to find out where Christopher had gone. To get back what was rightfully hers.

  ‘But Peggy, he isn’t yours,’ matron argued. She’d been sympathetic at the beginning, but when Peggy wouldn’t have it, she’d gripped her by the wrist and shouted for two other nurses, who dragged her out. Peggy sat on the step, refusing to move, until the police arrived and drove her home.

  Mrs Bennett from next door had been scrubbing her step when they pulled up. Peggy was the talk of the street for months afterwards and her mother cried herself to sleep every night. In her eyes, this shame was far worse than anything Peggy had endured.

  *

  By the time a second summer came around after Christopher’s birth, Peggy could stand it no longer. It was 1965 by then and she was twenty-four, more than old enough to leave and go as far away as her sphere of imagination went.

  She thought about Jack Newman in Hollywood, blissfully ignorant of the fate of his child, a child he never knew existed – and, she suspected, wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with if he had. When she considered him now, she found it difficult to remember what had so bewitched her. His glamour seemed superficial, his smile one-dimensional. But he was right about one thing: there truly was a whole wide world out there.

  Armed with an O Level in French and some meagre savings, she packed a bag and took a ferry across the English Channel and then the train to Paris. She was terrified and lost, but that was fine. She had other things to dominate her mind these days than her own fear.

  Her theatre experience led her to a job as a hostess in a cabaret. It didn’t pay well and certainly wasn’t in any of the fancy places, but she didn’t care. Watching the girls dressed in feathers, evoking all the romance of the Belle Epoque, was her only joy in an otherwise joyless life, a life so filled with sadness she never thought she would smile again. She didn’t deserve to.

  She never wanted to numb the pain. She never wanted to stop thinking about Christopher and where they had taken him. And she never wanted to forget how it felt when his tiny hand clutched hers and her heart spilled over with love for him in those perfect and impossible few weeks they spent together.

  Not knowing where he’d gone was the worst part. She tried to tell herself if two people wanted a baby enough to adopt, then they must be prepared to open their hearts to love. She hoped they spoilt him, lavished him with affection.

  But as she lay on her thin mattress at night, she would feel the crawl of despair again. There were times when her insides would ripple by themselves, as if Christopher was still kicking inside her. Then she’d close her eyes and be right back in Nightingale House, watching his tiny chest rise and fall while he was sleeping, smelling the soft, sweet skin and kissing the fluff of dark hair on his head.

  Chapter 46

  Ed

  There have been times over their years of friendship when Ed has felt so close to Allie that she’s almost been an extension of him, and others when they’ve been so far apart that it’s made his gut ache. But has he ever been attracted to her before now? Of course. To deny her loveliness would be churlish, so he never did. But when she’d step out of a taxi to meet him, his wolf whistle would be one they both understood to be ironic. Just a joke. Not real. Only now, a fundamental realisation has come about.

  Being around her makes his limbs feel lighter, the air in his chest circulate more freely. She makes that impossible gesture, smiling, so easy and natural. Every little thing about her makes him happy.

  As each day in Italy passes, the gre
ater clarity he has on an issue that has quietly troubled him most of his adult life. And yet questions remain. Has he buried his feelings for Allie until now? Or has he never had the courage to recognise them, when they both outwardly defined their relationship as platonic? Are these feelings new, or simply newly recognised? He doesn’t know. Which only adds to the sensation that what he feels for his oldest friend is ready to burst right out of him, like a butterfly that’s been cocooned for too long.

  But Ed is married to a woman who, for all her beauty and charisma, is too often devoured by her temper. When Julia is in the mood, she can shower Ed with affection. She’ll send him a message telling him how lucky she is to have him, spend hours making a meal she thinks he’ll love. She’s a woman who sits on the board of two charities and is capable of showing true kindness, of making anyone who is the subject of her attention feel special.

  The fact that they were very different was not something he ever minded. Despite an expensive education, Julia does not read books, indeed she’s almost snooty about the idea, saying a bookish type of learning was inferior to true character.

  He couldn’t disagree. But true character was the problem. It was not simply that Julia could not control her anger, it’s that she didn’t want to. So Ed found himself treading on eggshells every time he entered the house, wondering what kind of mood she would be in. Questioning himself constantly when they were out in public, firmly keeping his eyes on a menu when they’d be eating out, actively going out of his way to avoid looking in the direction of any other women. He worried if he was working late, checking the tone in her voice as he phoned her regularly to make sure she knew he wasn’t having an affair.

  He was permanently on his best behaviour, yet it still didn’t work. The tension worsened, and that developed into rows and, frequently, violence. Though Julia’s punches were by no means the worst thing about it all. At least he knew how to react then: with a stubborn refusal to fight back, even if that infuriated her further.

  Weeks would go by when things went back to normal, whatever that was. They acted like people in love. But the threat of an explosion of her temper was constant, and that made him paranoid, a feeling totally alien to him.

  He couldn’t deny what she said was true though – she’d never had a problem with his relationship with Allie. Or if she had, she’d hidden it well. How could she be the jealous kind when she was happy for him to remain close friends with another woman? She used that a lot as evidence. And it was a good point, which successfully convinced him that he must be going mad.

  But there are only so many times you can close your eyes and breathe freely when a woman you thought you loved leans over and tenderly kisses the bruises she herself has created. Which was why he needed time to think. To consider the serious possibility of whether he should leave her and end the marriage. If only it had been that straightforward.

  *

  Julia sank into the chair opposite him at their kitchen table, her lip trembling. ‘Ed please don’t. I know this is my fault. I don’t deserve you.’

  She was saying all the right things but she’d said them all before. Her words were not cynical though. At that precise moment, she meant it.

  ‘Julia. We need to consider the possibility that this marriage isn’t working and isn’t ever going to work. It’s making both of us unhappy.’

  ‘But that’s not right!’ she protested. ‘That’s not right at all. The only times that make me unhappy are when we row and you can’t surely claim that’s all my fault? I mean, I know . . . it sometimes gets out of hand, but, it’s rarely me who starts it.’

  He didn’t answer. There really was no point.

  ‘Listen,’ she continued. ‘How about I do something about . . . that?’ She didn’t put a name to her uncontrollable bursts of aggression and he was glad. ‘I can go to therapy.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea.’

  A swarm of optimism spread across her face. ‘We could go together. Really work at this, as a couple. Heather and James have been seeing a marriage guidance counsellor and it’s been the making of them. We could make it a weekly thing, then come home for a nice dinner and lovely sex and—’

  ‘Julia, that doesn’t mean I’ve made my mind up to stay.’

  Fury started clouding behind her eyes, like dozens of times before. He was ready for her to leap towards him, to look for something to throw at him. He’d already clocked the vase on the table and prepared himself a speech to try and reason with her if she picked it up. But Julia always had been good at surprises.

  ‘How long have your parents been married, Ed?’ She spoke calmly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thirty-five, thirty-six years? And they’ve never rowed in that entire time?’

  ‘Of course they have. But not like—’

  ‘They’ve made their marriage work, Ed. I’ll bet you anything there would have been times when your dad wanted to leave. Every man does. But he’s not that kind of guy. He’s the kind who sticks it out, stays loyal to his family. I thought that’s the kind of man you were too.’

  ‘You and I are completely different from my parents, Julia.’

  ‘No, we’re not. All marriages go through rough patches. Theirs, ours, everyone’s. But you don’t just bail out at the first sign of trouble to go and fuck someone else.’

  ‘There’s no one else. You know that.’

  Then she looked at him and realised she didn’t need to hit him. And that power gave her a unique kind of pleasure, one that she’d relive for many days afterwards as she played back the conversation and the words that made his mouth fall open by a small but exquisite fraction.

  ‘You’re wrong, Ed. I’ve got something to tell you. I found out a few days ago. It was meant to be a surprise.’

  ‘What?’ he asked, but somehow he already knew.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  *

  He still hates himself for what went through his mind. The prospect of being a father, something he’d always wanted, did not bring him the joy he’d imagined it would. Instead, dread rushed up in him like a tidal wave. He considered the possibility that she was lying, but then she produced dates and times on which they’d apparently had sex, and gave him details of an appointment at the hospital when he was to turn up for their baby’s first scan.

  Technically, he wasn’t trapped. Technically, he could’ve walked out of the door without a care in the world. But Julia knew Ed well enough to know how much he valued the happy, stable family life he’d been privileged enough to have. She knew he wouldn’t let her down, or at the very least, he wouldn’t let his child down.

  ‘This is a big shock, I know.’ She slid into the seat next to him and wrapped her fingers round his hand. Her palms felt thin and clammy. ‘And I want you to know that the last thing I want you to feel is pressured, or anything like that. I want you to stay with us – the baby and me – because you want to. Because you love us. Because you want to make a family with us.’

  The thought twisted in Ed’s stomach. He had so much to say but the words retreated.

  ‘So, actually. I think you’re right. I think it would be a good idea if you and I do spend a little time apart, just so you can get your head around it.’

  He looked up at her. ‘So now you want me to leave?’

  ‘I want you to have some space and make the decision yourself,’ she said calmly. ‘Check into a hotel or . . . isn’t Jeremy away at the moment? You could stay at his flat for a little while, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Then hopefully you’ll come to the right decision. Until then, let’s keep the baby our little secret. Can I trust you to do that? Until we’re both ready to tell the world, show everyone how happy we are together – you, me and our little boy or girl.’

  He nodded numbly.

  She bent down and wiped the thread of clear liquid from her cheeks. ‘I want you to know this though, Ed. I’m going to change. For you and me and our baby. I promise you.’

  He was on autopilot from
then on. He did as she suggested and moved out, logging the date of her first scan in his diary – only three weeks away. He barely remembers Allie turning up at Jeremy’s flat. Julia was absolutely right though. He did need time to take stock, to work out his priorities and what he needed to do for the best.

  Not just the best for her and the baby, but for him. He’s always known the answer, even in his lowest moments. Because he knows that, with a child to consider, he would never be happy – he never could be happy – if he decided to leave. He simply couldn’t live with himself. The fact that he is finally recognising what he feels for Allie, that if he’s honest, he’s probably loved her his entire adult life, hasn’t changed anything.

  His decision was made before he even left England.

  At the end of the trip, he will be going back to Julia, the mother of his child. Whatever happens, he will make his marriage work.

  Chapter 47

  Allie

  The aromatic tang of coffee cuts through the sweet baked scent rising from the buffet table, as chiffon strips of light stream in from outside. There is a feast of Italian donuts and rich buns, studded with raisins and dredged with confectioners’ sugar. But my appetite has left me this morning so I simply pick up a Greek yogurt and arrange some melon on a plate, before taking one of the juices lined up like potions in tiny bottles. I step outside onto the terrace and spot Ed at a table.

  I feel heat blotching on my neck as I approach him, the leather soles of my sandals making too much noise as they tap along the tiles. He looks up and straightens his back.

  ‘Morning,’ I say too loudly, as I pull out the chair. The legs scrape on the floor, making me wince. A waiter dashes over to push in my seat for me and ask what I’d like to drink. ‘An espresso please. Strong,’ I add.

  ‘That could be stronger than you think,’ Ed tells me, as the waiter walks away.

  ‘I need it. Far too much to drink yesterday,’ I add meaningfully, an excuse for the evening’s strange events.