The Marriage Mender (20 page)

I only watch
Strictly
for the dresses, not that there’s that much of them to look at these days,
Come Dancing
used to be so much nicer. Anyway, he would watch it with me, he’s always liked Brucie, you see. I mean, you can’t not like Brucie, can you?

Only one evening we were watching it and I happened to glance at him, and he was practically salivating looking at that girl Ola, or whatever her name is, and I realised like a great lemon that he didn’t watch it for Brucie at all. And I felt so silly about that and so sad because we don’t, you know, do it any more, and we haven’t for a long time, and I used to think that was because he was too old and he simply didn’t want to. But, of course, it wasn’t that at all, it was that he didn’t find me attractive any more, me with my wrinkles and saggy bits.

Luke was on his own. It wasn’t his turn to be on his own; I’d already seen him and Kelly individually, and we’d been back to joint visits for a while.

‘Is everything OK?’ I asked, as he came in.

Luke looked at the floor for a long time before answering. ‘No. Not really.’

‘Did Kelly not want to come?’ I asked, seeing I was going to have to help him out here.

‘No. It’s not that,’ he said. ‘She’s got an appointment. At hospital, like.’

‘Oh. Nothing serious, I hope.’

He stared at the floor some more.

I let him take his time.

‘She found a lump,’ he said. ‘In her, you know, breast.’

‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘And the GP’s referred her to hospital?’

He nodded, swallowing hard as he did so.

‘And that’s where she is now, is it?’

Luke looked at his watch. ‘Yeah, well, she will be in about half an hour.’

‘Who’s got the kids?’ I asked. ‘She hasn’t got them with her?’

‘No. Me mam’s got them.’

I looked at him. He may have been twenty-six, but on occasions I swore he was still sixteen years old.

‘So why are you here, Luke?’

‘I have got the right day, haven’t I?’ he asked.

‘Yes, you have. And you were here bang on time. But your wife’s about to go for an appointment with a breast cancer specialist. Why on earth didn’t you just call me to cancel?’

‘I didn’t want to mess you about, like,’ he said.

I looked at him. My eyebrows raised expectantly.

‘She wouldn’t have wanted me with her, anyway,’ he said.

‘Did you ask her?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

He shuffled his feet, his trainers squeaking together as he did so. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

‘Because she might have said yes.’

I was thrown for a second. I didn’t have him down as a bastard. I really didn’t.

‘You didn’t want to be with her?’

‘Of course I did,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think it would have been, you know, a good idea.’

He swallowed hard again. Sat on the shaking fingers of his left hand. That was when I realised.

‘You couldn’t bear it, could you? If it was bad news, I mean.’

He shook his head. His eyes filled with tears.

‘I think I’d crack up,’ he said. ‘I’d be a jibbering mess on floor. Guys are supposed to be strong at times like this, aren’t they? I don’t want her to see how weak I am.’

‘You’re not weak, Luke. You love her to bits, that’s all. And right now she needs to know that. Hopefully it won’t be bad news and, even if it is, the survival rates are really good these days. But whatever happens, she needs you with her.’

Luke sighed and held his head in his hands. ‘I’ve been a right eejit, haven’t I?’

‘Yep. But the good news is, you’ve still got time to put things right.’

Luke looked at his watch. ‘Do you think I’ll get there in time?’

‘You will if you get a move on. I don’t often say this to clients, Luke, but will you please get the hell out of here?’

He scrambled to his feet before stopping suddenly. ‘I haven’t paid you.’

‘You don’t need to. This wasn’t a counselling session, it was a kick up the arse. And they come free.’

He smiled. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Now go. And let me know how she gets on, OK?’

He nodded and ran out of the room.

* * *

I usually loved the countdown to the school holidays. The children demob happy, the chance for all of us to get away and spend some time together without the usual distractions at home. We always went away for the first week of the holidays. I couldn’t understand those people who opted to save it for the end of August. There was something glorious about the children coming home from school, having everything packed and ready, throwing it all into the car and heading off, knowing we had the whole summer stretching ahead of us.

Except this year, of course. This year it felt like the most torturous prison sentence was about to begin. If it had been just me and Chris, we’d have cancelled it, I knew that. But neither of us had wanted to disappoint Matilda. And I was certainly keen to keep some semblance of normality in her life.

The worst part of it was that we had let Josh pick where we were going to stay, as it would probably have been his last holiday with us. And Josh being Josh, he’d managed to find an old lighthouse which had been converted into a holiday cottage sitting high above the harbour at Whitby. So it wasn’t even as if we could try to forget about the missing member of our party; it was going to be in our face the whole time. We were going to be staying at Josh’s perfect holiday hideaway. Only Josh wasn’t going to be there.

‘Have you got your camera?’ I asked Chris, as we stood in the hallway surrounded by suitcases, waterproofs and boxes of food.

‘No. I’m not bothering.’

I frowned. He might as well have been leaving behind a prosthetic leg, his camera was that much a part of him.

‘You always bring the camera.’

‘Yeah, well. Busman’s holiday and all that.’

‘But we won’t have any photos to remember it by.’

He shrugged. I realised he didn’t want to remember. He wanted to blot the whole thing from his mind. Wanted each second to unfold and be instantly gone.

‘For Matilda’s sake,’ I said.

‘I’ve got my mobile. I can take any pictures she wants on that.’

It wasn’t the same, and he knew it. They were instant photos, the modern-day equivalent of a Polaroid. You didn’t frame those kinds of photos or stick them lovingly in photo albums.

‘Please.’ My eyes locked on to his for a second.

He sighed, disappeared back into the study and came out again with his camera bag.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘I don’t know how we’re going to find the space to pack it,’ he said. ‘We always have too much stuff.’

‘We can put it on the back seat, next to Matilda.’

I said it softly, knowing he hadn’t thought it through. That Josh’s absence would leave a Josh-sized space on the back seat of the car. Not to mention a sizeable hole in the boot where all his stuff usually went.

Chris closed his eyes for a second. I went to put my hand on his shoulder. But before it actually made contact, he turned, picked up the suitcase and carried it out to the car.

Matilda emerged from her bedroom carrying her Dora the Explorer pull-along trolley. She was a bit old for it now, I knew that. But she hadn’t complained. And as the next step up appeared to be a One Direction trolley, I was relieved not to have to go there just yet.

She paused on the landing and glanced in the direction of Josh’s room. I put down the bags I was holding and hurried upstairs.

‘I know it’s hard,’ I said, taking her hand. ‘But Josh wouldn’t want him not being here to spoil things for you, would he?’

‘Why hasn’t he emailed?’ she asked. ‘Or texted, or something.’

I stroked her hair. Maybe it was time we told her the truth. But if we couldn’t cope with it, I didn’t think it fair to expect her to.

‘I guess he’s busy,’ I said. ‘It’s not easy to keep in touch when you’re travelling.’

‘Is he in a foreign country?’ Matilda asked.

‘He could be. We don’t know for sure.’

‘Is he going to get in trouble when he gets back?’

‘No, love,’ I said. ‘I think we’ll all just be glad to see him.’

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answers.

At least for now.

* * *

It was early evening when we arrived. The sun was dipping slightly in the sky, positioning itself perfectly for its dramatic exit later on. The temperature had dropped a degree
or two, which was welcome as none of us were any good in the heat. We weren’t in the lighthouse itself but in one of the two lighthouse keepers’ cottages which nestled alongside it at the bottom of a narrow lane, a matter of yards from the cliff edge.

‘Wow!’ said Matilda as Chris pulled up outside. ‘Are we really staying here?’

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘That one there,’ pointing to the cottage on the right.

Matilda jumped out of the car and ran down on to the grassy bank which surrounded our cottage, twirling around with her arms outstretched like Julie Andrews in the opening sequence of
The Sound of Music
.

‘It’s brilliant!’ she shouted, her long hair flying out behind her as she twirled. For a moment her enthusiasm was strong enough to cut through the ache inside me. I decided to get the things from the boot of the car while the mood was right. Anything to prolong her sense of excitement a little longer. Chris was still sitting in the driver’s seat, seemingly unable, or unwilling, to move.

‘Come on,’ I said to him gently. ‘It’ll be OK.’

He looked at me without replying, opened the driver’s door and got out. Matilda immediately ran over to him, took him by the hand and pulled him down to the garden wall, from where you could look out over the sea and the cliffs below.

I started getting the things out of the boot: the round wicker basket, the red and white checked tea towel, the rope and the large metal butcher’s hook which I’d
managed to find on eBay. Fortunately, Matilda was too engrossed in trying to spot dolphins to pay any attention to what I was doing until I was ready.

‘Come on, then,’ I yelled. ‘The lighthouse keeper’s tea is ready.’

Matilda spun round.

As she did so, I pushed the basket from the rim halfway up the lighthouse where I had tied the rope, and it slid on the hook all the way down to the balustrade on the decking area where I’d fastened the other end.

Matilda squealed and ran over to the basket, pulling off the tea towel to reveal the sandwiches, fruit and iced lighthouse biscuits beneath. She looked up at me, her smile threatening to disappear off the edge of the cliffs.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘This is so brilliant. It’s just like the book.’

I pulled out the rather dog-eared copy of
The Lighthouse Keeper’s Lunch
, which I’d been hiding in my bag.

‘And after we’ve eaten I’ll read you the story,’ I said.

I caught Chris’s eye as I looked up. There was a time when he would have been smiling. When he would have said something along the lines of ‘Once a librarian, always a librarian.’ When he would have recounted a tale of one of the book events I’d organised which he’d brought Josh to at the library. He didn’t do any of those things now, though.

‘Look,’ said Matilda, opening the book. ‘It’s still got Josh’s name in it.’ She held the book up to reveal the ‘This Book Belongs To’ bookplate on which Josh had written his name in spidery letters.

I nodded and managed to force out a smile for her.

Chris turned his back and looked straight out to sea. It may have been the coastal breeze making his eyes water. But somehow I doubted it.

* * *

By the third day it was becoming unbearable. I understood that he was finding it hard. I understood that entirely. I even understood why he was taking it out on me. What I could not understand was why he was pushing Matilda away too.

‘Right, then,’ I said, as we set off up the steps to Whitby Abbey from the harbour. ‘We’ll count as we go.’

Matilda glanced over her shoulder. Chris was lagging behind us, seemingly unwilling to be part of it. Or be part of this family.

‘Come on, Daddy!’ Matilda called. ‘I’m going to beat you to the top.’

Chris quickened his pace for a moment but soon fell behind again. It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep up. He could have run up the steps before we’d made it to the halfway point. It appeared to be more a case of not wanting to risk having fun.

‘Thirty-nine, forty,’ Matilda counted out loud.

I turned around again. His eyes were fixed on the steps. His face was somewhere else entirely, though. And wherever he was, he certainly wasn’t with us. I turned back and carried on. It didn’t get any easier. Each step was harder than the last.

‘One hundred and ninety-nine!’ Matilda made it to the
top first. She did a little jig of celebration in order to ram home the point. I laughed as I came up the last few steps, blowing much more than I would have liked.

‘Come on, Daddy!’ called Matilda. ‘Even Mummy’s beaten you.’

Chris climbed up the remaining steps. He wasn’t out of breath at all. He had hung back through choice, I knew that. He may have been physically on this holiday but he was not here in spirit.

‘Let’s go and look at the Abbey, Matilda,’ I said. ‘We can find out all about its history.’

Matilda ran off towards the ruins.

I started after her, then turned to look at Chris, who hadn’t moved. ‘Are you coming?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s OK. You two go ahead. I’ve seen it before.’

I stared at him. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with me.

‘Matilda hasn’t, though,’ I said, before walking away.

* * *

I shut the lounge door behind me. Putting Matilda to bed had taken longer than usual because she had begged me to read an extra chapter of her Mr Gum book and had then laughed herself very much awake. I glanced at the mug of tea on the table.

‘Sorry. It’s probably cold by now,’ said Chris, looking up from his Mac. ‘Do you want me to make another one?’

I shook my head, picked it up and took a sip. It was cold, but I drank it anyway.

I had a couple of options open to me. I could get my
book out and sit in silence opposite Chris, as I had done for the past three nights. Or I could try to talk to him. Really talk to him, in an attempt to salvage what was left of the holiday.

‘Where would you like to go tomorrow?’ I asked.

‘I don’t mind. Wherever you think,’ said Chris, not looking up from his screen.

‘It’s just that, you know, because it’s our anniversary, I want it to be somewhere you’ll actually enjoy.’

He did look up this time. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just what I said. I want you to have a nice day. I want us all to have a nice day.’

‘Look, I’m sorry if I’m not the life and soul of this holiday, OK?’

‘Even if you don’t want to make an effort on my behalf,’ I said, ‘you could do it for Matilda.’

‘She’s fine. She’s having a great time.’

‘No thanks to you.’

‘What do you expect me to do?’