Change of Life (26 page)

“That went well,” said Dan, once we were settled on the sofas with a brandy each. “You did a good meal – well done.”

“Thank you - I think I did a not bad job,” I said. “And thanks for keeping the children’s spirits up. They’re finding it hard at times – missing Rosie and Adam – and they’re going to have a rough day tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that bro. They’re great kids. I love them all to bits - you know that.”

“I know you do and they love you.”

Dan had always been very involved in the children’s lives. He was very generous at birthdays and Christmas, but it was more than that. He spent time with them. He and his late partner, David, had taken the children ice-skating, swimming, out on picnics and on lots of other jaunts. Dan and Max had a particular bond. They shared a love of
football,
and of the Heart of Midlothian football club in particular. Dan gave Max his first Hearts season ticket for his ninth birthday, and the two of them had attended all the Hearts home matches together ever since. Dan was also the only person who could regularly beat Max at Monster Rumble on the
Playstation
.

“You’d have been a great Dad, you know,” I said to him.

Dan smiled. “I like to think so. Who knows, maybe if David had lived we might have had a child or two. Things are moving on in that regard now, but when David was alive, gay couples couldn’t adopt. We did talk about it. But then David died.”

Dan and David had twelve years together before David’s death in a road accident. Dan was silent for a moment before he continued. “I do envy you – you have four such lovely young people – that are part of you and Rosie. I can’t really imagine what that must be like. And now you have Robbie too – a late addition to the family. You’re a lucky man, Tom.”

“I know I am. I just hope I haven’t realised it too late. It’s such a cliché, but it’s true, we don’t appreciate what we’ve got till it’s gone.”

“Oh, I know that – living without David has taught me that.”

“Yes – sorry I didn’t mean – I didn’t mean you - I meant in general - and myself in particular.”

Dan shook his head. “Don’t apologise,” he said. “It applied to me too. I always thought David and I’d be together until a ripe old age. I didn’t savour all the good bits enough. I still miss him – five years on.
It’s
rubbish, you know, what they say about bereavement – that with time you move on and you get over it. Life does move on
- relentlessly
- and you’re forced to move on too – but you don’t get over it.” Dan ran a hand through his hair and took a gulp of brandy. “In some ways,” he added, “it actually gets worse rather than better. Anyway, I don’t want to get over it.”

“I’ve never really appreciated what it must have been like for you - losing David – not until now. Not until I’ve been faced with the prospect of losing Rosie.” I should have been there for you more – at the time – you know? Christ, I’ve been such a selfish git.”

“No, you haven’t. You were there as much as I wanted you to be. There was nothing anybody could do. If I’d needed you, I’d have asked and you’d have come. I know that.”

“Well, I’d like to think I would’ve been there if you’d asked. But-”

“Look, Tom, don’t take this the wrong way, but Ma says you’ve been torturing yourself about being like Dad. You’re not – you’re a good bloke. Mind you, he wasn’t the monster you think he was – really he wasn’t.”

“I don’t know how you can defend him. The way he treated you – cutting you off because of your sexuality – how can you overlook that – quite apart from the fact that he was a cold,
sadistic-
”

“Tom, I know now’s not the time, but later when this stuff is all over - you must read his diaries.” I shook my head. “No, no,” Dan continued, “I know you can’t contemplate it at the moment. But since all this business with Rosie and the past, I think it’d help you. He manages to say it all in writing, all the stuff he couldn’t speak of. His motives, the way he treated us, it wasn’t out of wickedness.”

“I don’t believe there’s anything he could’ve written that would justify the way he was.”

“I could tell you what he wrote. I could tell you, try to make you see, but I know that wouldn’t work. Reading his diaries – it’s like he’s communicating directly with us. I think that’s what he intended.”

I got to my feet. “Please, Dan, not now.” I picked up the brandy bottle. “Top up?”

Dan nodded held out his glass. “Okay, I’ll back off,” he raised a hand in submission. “But you, Tom, you’ve been a good husband and father. Rosie never had any complaints before all this, did she? I know you think you’ve let her down. It’s not selfish to want to protect your wife or to establish a career that lets you provide well for your family.”

“Yes – well – it’s nice of you to say so – Andy and Bruce have said much the same things and I’d like to believe them.”

We sipped our brandy in silence for a moment. Then Dan spoke.

“From what Ma’s told me, there’s more to this Robbie business than Heather having a baby and then dying of a drug overdose isn’t there?”

“Oh, yes, there’s more – stuff I’ve still not told Rosie – things only Michael and I know.”

“So are you going to tell her the whole story now?”

Next morning, Max and the girls were up early. They were excited at the thought of going to see Rosie. All had bits of news to tell her.

Max had recently been to visit the high school in Edinburgh that his siblings attended, and where he would be starting as a pupil in August. He was keen to tell his mother all about it. He also had his school concert and primary seven leavers’ ceremony on the coming Wednesday evening and he had a ticket order form for Rosie, for these events. I doubted
Rosie’d
be up to going. But I couldn’t say anything, of course.

Jenny was also hoping that
Rosie’d
be at the
prizegiving
at her school on the following Monday. Jenny was receiving the fifth-year music prize and still had to give her mother the good news. And she wanted her mother to see her playing one of the Pink Ladies in the school’s production of
Grease
.

Sam was quiet over breakfast, while the other two chatted about the forthcoming final week of their school year. But she did say she’d be telling Rosie about the good dinner I’d cooked the previous evening, and that Robbie and I had got on well. She said that was the sort of news that would make her mum
want
to come home. She also suggested that, in view of all the end of term stuff happening the next week, it would make even more sense for Rosie to come home very soon.

The other two were very taken with Sam’s assumptions. It was gut-wrenching to see the children so excited and happy at the prospect of visiting their mother and of her, as they saw it, imminent homecoming. I didn’t have the heart to even try to dampen down their expectations.

Kirsty and my mother arrived at about half past ten to collect the children. It didn’t seem to have occurred to any of the children that it was strange to be taken to see their mother. After all they normally got to Edinburgh under their own steam, or I could have dropped them off.
Rosie’d
said to them that Grandma wanted to come too but Grandma’s car wasn’t big enough for them all. She explained
Kirsty’d
offered to drive them in, as she was shopping in the city anyway. They seemed to have accepted the arrangement without question. As the children got themselves organised to depart, I had a brief chance to talk to my mother and Kirsty.

“They’re all excited about seeing Rosie,” I said. “It’s going to be so hard for them when she breaks the news about the cancer. They were actually saying that they think she’ll be ready to come home.”

My mother gave me a hug and said she’d do her best to help them. Then Max shouted that he couldn’t find his trainers and she went off to help him.

“It’s good of you to be taking the time out to drive them to Edinburgh,” I said to Kirsty. “You must have lots of weekend stuff of your own to do. I don’t understand why Rosie didn’t ask me to drive them.”

“I don’t think it’s any reflection on you, Tom. It’s going to be difficult enough to tell the children her news – without – without - well…”

“Without my presence making it even more difficult for her.”
I finished for her.

“Sorry, Tom –I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s all right. I’m glad you’re going along – really I am – if it can’t be me. You are a really good friend to her, Kirsty – so is Lucy. Was it you who was with her when she phoned yesterday evening, or was it Lucy?”

“It wasn’t me. And Lucy’s away for the weekend with Graham – the boys are home, minding the farm. Why do you ask?”

“Oh – just curious,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Rosie phoned to check that everything was sorted for today. She said she wasn’t feeling very well and I offered to go over - so she wasn’t on her own. But she said there was no need for me to go as she wasn’t on her own.”

“Right – well
it’s
good she wasn’t alone,” replied Kirsty. I may have imagined it, but she looked a bit uncomfortable. She certainly seemed keen to change the subject. “Adam’s not changed his mind about coming?” she asked.

“No – he’s still angry with us. Rosie’s asked me to tell him about the cancer and to try again to persuade him to come home.”

Kirsty raised her eyebrows. “That’s not going to be easy. When will you do it?”

“I thought I’d go later on today – in the afternoon, before the others come back. I think Adam should know about Rosie when his brother and sisters do. But you’re right - it’s not going to be easy. I just wish he’d come back. I know it’s only been a few days, and Ruby’ll look after him, but I want him here with the others. He’s the most vulnerable of all of them.”

“Of course you want him home. But don’t underestimate Adam either. He’ll get his head round it all in his own good time. He’ll be back.”

“I hope so, Kirsty. I’ve made such a mess of things, haven’t I?”

Kirsty shook her head and smiled at me. “What matters is what you’re doing now, Tom. You’re doing a great job, holding it all together – keeping things as normal as possible for the other children. Your mother was saying how she didn’t need to stay here much at all. She said you and Sam are doing a great job of looking after Max and everything else. She also told me about your intention to cut your working hours – that can’t have been an easy decision. It’s something I often considered when Eilidh was younger – but financial considerations always made it difficult. At least, I used that as an excuse not to go part time.”

“At least you thought about it – I never did. But I can see Max needs me to be here – and after today – even more so. And I’m still not doing as much as Rosie did for us all. I mean it’s nice of you to say I’m doing a good job, but Rosie did it for years and I don’t think anyone ever told her they admired her.”

“Well, no – I never told her – but I did admire her – I used to think she was as much a single parent as I am, with you working so much.”

“In the end it was quite an easy decision – about work I mean – something I should’ve done years ago. Maybe, if I had, I wouldn’t have lost Rosie.”

“That’s the benefit of hindsight, Tom. And Rosie’s never been one to admit she can’t cope. She likes being in control. I don’t know that she could’ve handed over the mothering stuff to you before. Her leaving - it’s not only about you. It’s very hard for her being away from the children – especially Max - but she really believes it’s best for them. She’s so scared of them seeing what she witnessed, when her own mother had cancer. This way she can see them when she’s having good days and spare them the bad ones.”

“Maybe…”

“Come here – you need a hug,” Kirsty held out her arms and I stepped into them. It felt good, to hold and to be held. It felt very different to holding Rosie, but it was soothing and a momentary salve to my loneliness.