The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2) (17 page)

He looked doubtful.

“I don’t know, lad, can’t ’ave everyone knowing where it is. There’ll be no fish left.”

We all laughed at his bluntness and I listened to my mother’s soft voice as she asked Lucy how she was doing.

“I have good days and bad days, but I’m all right.”

“It was a lovely service, don’t you think?”

“It was, Jamie would’ve been proud.”

“That he would. Anyway we don’t want to keep you, we just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Lucy expressed her thanks and we made our way to the kitchen.

“You seem very close to them, and they obviously adore you,” I said as I retrieved some glasses from a nearby cupboard.

“Charlie’s mum once told me she saw me as the daughter she never had. I get the impression he was some kind of miracle baby.”

I thought about my brother Robert and all the things he’d missed out on and realised she was right.

We gathered the drinks and were about to head back out into the garden when I was stopped by my father.

“I’ve been thinking about that fishing spot. You seem like a good sort, I’m sure I can count on you to keep the secret. Besides it’d get my wife off my back, she thinks I’m being selfish”

“Thank you, I’m extremely grateful.”

He nodded before continuing. “It’s in Grassington. If you turn right at the crossroads and then follow a small dirt track on the left, you’ll see a layby. Park up and follow a rough path until you get to a pine forest. Follow the river on your right and then you’ll see it.”

“What is it exactly?” Lucy asked.

“It’s a large waterfall with a pool. In that pool you’ll find as many fish as you can carry home.

It was the place I’d taken Lucy when she’d felt overwhelmed at the hospital. The waterfall we had swam in and held hands under. I saw Lucy’s brow furrow in confusion as she took in my father’s words. In an attempt to distract her, I grabbed her elbow and loudly thanked the man who had raised me for the secret I had been sharing with him for years.

As time went by Lucy became increasingly withdrawn and I spent most of the afternoon listening to Russ and Erin talk about their plans for the weekend and intermittently throwing worried glances in Lucy’s direction. The glances went unnoticed and Lucy continued to appear preoccupied. Eventually, guests began to disappear and it was only when Jamie’s parents approached to say their farewells that I realised the afternoon had now morphed into late evening. Jamie’s parents were courteous and kind towards Lucy and I wondered if their suspicions of her had eased.

Not long after they had left I decided it was time for me to say my farewells. I knew Lucy needed space and some time to allow the day’s events to sink in, so I left her in the company of Russ and Erin. She barely even looked up but gave a small wave and a nod to acknowledge my departure.

I was so distracted that it was only when I opened the side gate that led to the driveway that I realised I’d left my bike at the church. With the sun at my back, I headed in that direction. The day had cooled significantly and as I approached the river I heard a group of small children, completely oblivious to the dip in temperature, screaming with laughter as they splashed one another with the cool, clear water. Their parents looked on at their antics with amusement as they sunbathed on the grassy banks.

Summer always attracted a large crowd to the village. A frequent visitor once told me that as soon as he drove down the hill into the peaceful, pretty place he felt any tension or stress slip away and a feeling of rejuvenation followed. It was that sort of place.

As I neared the church I could hear the low hum of lawnmowers. I breathed in the sweet scent of cut grass, a reminder that summer was at its height. A dove cooed loudly and I looked up to see a flock of them perching high on the roof of the church. Such a low, gentle sound from a placid and peaceful bird. I wondered if this was a sign that God was watching me.

I went into the porch area where I had left my bike. I saw it resting against the wooden panels that covered the walls and was about to wheel it out of the church when I heard a noise: a man’s voice, in some distress. All I heard were whispers, almost like mutterings, of a single phrase. I moved silently towards the doorway to the church proper. I saw rows and rows of empty pews until my eyes rested on one in particular, near the back of the church and half hidden by a pillar. A beam of light shining through a stained-glass window bounced off the bald head of the kneeling figure. I took the light to be a sign that God was listening. The man spoke again and I strained to hear his quiet voice.

“Forgive me, heavenly father, forgive my sins…” he whispered, with his eyes closed tightly and his clasped hands resting on his forehead “...I am an evil and despicable sinner, please recognise what I have done and forgive my actions.”

I moved closer, desperate to match the mutterings to a face. As I silently moved towards the back of the church I heard him repeat the words again. Eventually, I found myself standing behind his pew. He was dressed all in black and I realised that he must have come from the funeral. I tried to move sideways, to get a better view of the man’s face. As I did so my rubber-soled shoes gave a loud squeak. The man’s head turned slightly but his eyes remained shut.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

Now that his voice was raised I recognised it, but couldn’t identify who it belonged to. I decided it was time for me to leave and as silently as possible I wheeled my bicycle outside. As I was leaving I saw Mrs Vain, also dressed in black. When she saw me her eyebrows almost jumped into her hairline and she made a beeline in my direction.

“Lovely service, wasn’t it? That speech Jamie’s brother made,” she exclaimed, “it was awfully emotional! I mean, I had to reapply my mascara about twenty times. It was running down my face. I bet I looked a fright! It’s a good job there were no children about.”

I hadn’t seen Mrs Vain at the service or the wake and her presence, as well as her easy conversation with a complete stranger, both amused and shocked me.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” she said as her eyes skimmed over me. “No, I think I’d remember if we’d become acquainted.”

I held out my hand formally.

“I’m Adam, I’m just helping Lucy with some odd jobs.”

“Lovely to meet you, Adam.” Her eyelashes fluttered like a doll’s. “Now, have you seen my husband?”

She began to describe him and it dawned on me that the man in the church muttering a plea for forgiveness was Mr Vain. I explained where she could find him and jumped on my bike as swiftly as I could.

On the journey back to Grassington I thought about what I’d just seen. I didn’t know him very well but Mr Vain always came across as a sensible, law-abiding man, certainly not the type to beg forgiveness for his sins. My thoughts wandered to my last encounter with him when I had stopped by the cottage to obtain the wooden ring box. I remembered his stern expression and unwelcoming behaviour then. Maybe I had been wrong about him being a shy sort. Perhaps there was more to him, a persona he kept hidden from society.

As I approached Adam’s cottage, I could just make out a shadowy figure sitting on the front step. They had their head bowed and looked lost in their own thoughts. A flash of red hair told me who the figure was. I hopped off the bike and walked towards the flower-filled front garden of the cottage.

Emma’s head snapped up when she heard me approach and her face lit up in a shy smile.

“How long have you been waiting?” I asked.

“About an hour.”

“I’m sorry, if I’d known…”

“Don’t worry, it was stupid of me to think you’d be home on a day like today.”

I fished around in my pocket for the house keys and, as I did so, I realised that Emma looked different. She was wearing more makeup than the last time I had seen her and her hair was carefully styled in soft curls that bounced every time she moved her head. I started to wonder if she’d just come from a special occasion.

She followed me inside the cottage and I offered her a cup of tea, which she accepted. I handed her the steaming mug and found myself wondering why the British insisted on drinking hot tea in all weathers, even on a sweltering day like today. I poured myself a lemonade and we both headed out into the garden to enjoy the last of the evening sun.

Emma sipped her tea and glanced around nervously. I wanted to know why she had sat on my doorstep for an hour, patiently awaiting my return, but was too polite to ask.

“The garden is looking lovely,” she said, “are those lupins? They’re such a strange colour.”

I stared back at her without answering, a blank expression on my face. After a while she sighed loudly.

“You’re wondering why I’m here.”

“A little. I’m pretty confident you didn’t just come for the tea or to discuss plants.”

“I didn’t.”

I waited for an explanation and noticed how uncomfortable she seemed in my presence. My thoughts immediately jumped to her son.

“Is Ben OK?” I asked worriedly.

“Oh, yes, he’s at a friend’s party. I dropped him off before I came here.”

“Thank God. You seem so anxious I automatically thought the worst.”

“Do I? Oh…”

Again I waited for an explanation but the silence continued. The only sound came from snippets of conversation as neighbours passed the garden wall.

“Emma?”

She moved her head to look at me and I realised for the first time how unusual her eye colour was: a very light blue, almost turquoise.

“Yes.”

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes.”

I was starting to become confused and a little frustrated.

“What?”

“Join me for a meal sometime,” she said hurriedly while looking up at me beneath her eyelash

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been thinking about the other day and what you said about being sober, and, well… seeing you with that girl… Lucy, is it? I realised that I was jealous. It got me thinking that maybe I hadn’t quite moved on from our relationship and it might be worth another try? You can say no and there’s no pressure, just a meal to find out whether there’s anything still there.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Like I said, no pressure.” She talked fast and I had to concentrate to keep up.

I thought about Emma’s proposition carefully. If I made the wrong decision it could change Adam’s entire future and cause him additional pain. I felt it was my duty to do what was best for him. Maybe this was the second chance that he needed, a chance to be a better husband and father. I knew that if I went for a meal with Emma there was a good chance the romance between her and Adam would be rekindled. I just didn’t know whether this was something he would want. Then I thought about his young son Ben and told myself this could be an ideal opportunity for him to have his father in his life again.

“OK… that sounds… fine,” I mumbled, still unsure whether I’d made the right decision.”

“Really?” Emma said, grinning widely.

“Sure.” I smiled back at her.

After a certain amount of awkwardness we set a date for a few days’ time, an evening she was likely to get a babysitter, and after declaring that she should pick Ben up, she left.

I entered the house and picked up the diary in preparation for what was to come.

Chapter Fifteen

12 October 2012

Another AA meeting over and I can’t seem to shake the thought that I’m leading a double life. I attend the meetings, I confidently chant the serenity prayer, I make promises and support others – and all the while I’m skulking in the shadows. Still pretending. Still an alcoholic. I hide it with breath mints and body spray and I’ve learned how to be incredibly good at acting sober – so good, in fact, that so far nobody suspects a thing.

In private, I recognise that I am a fake and a liar. I lie to my family, to my wife and to my AA comrades. I am leading two lives; the doting husband and father and the desperate waster, who turns to drink for reasons even he can’t fathom. I dread the day my secret is found out, as inevitably it will be.

I was doing so well, I hadn’t touched a drop in almost two months, but there are certain events in your life that are just too hard to face while sober. My mother, who raised me and my brother single-handed and to whom I am devoted, called me one afternoon and asked me to visit her. She had been suffering flu symptoms for weeks and so I was not shocked by the hoarse tone to her usually merry voice. When I arrived she presented me with a piece of homemade carrot cake and a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea. I told her she shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me and she replied that the cake was my favourite and so she couldn’t help herself.

I didn’t see it coming. How could I? This was just a normal, everyday visit.

“Besides, it takes my mind of some terrible news I’ve been given,” she said, with all the nonchalance of a teenager.

My anxiety increased but outwardly I faked a calm I didn’t feel. I probed her for more information. Eventually she told me that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer, which had spread to both lungs as well as her voice box and windpipe. I heard the words Stage Four and immediately began to crumble. She held my hand as I sobbed and stared out of the living-room window blankly. She was going to die, there was nothing left to say.

Two weeks ago she collapsed while out shopping in the village and after that followed a hospital stay for tests. A fact I was unaware of. On my journey home from my mother’s house I stopped at the village store and bought a bottle of vodka. Fortunately, Emma and Ben weren’t in the house, they had gone away for the weekend to see one of Emma’s university friends and I had the place to myself. That evening, all the promises I’d made to my wife were shattered once again.

Afterwards, the guilt crept in and I quickly disposed of the empty bottle before Emma came home. She took one look at me and knew instantly there was something wrong. When I told her the sad news she showed sympathy and concern for the first time in an age. But since then I have become enmeshed in my own self-destructive behaviour. I drink every day in secret. I teach my classes while under the influence. I am in charge of vulnerable teenagers and their futures, but this isn’t enough to stop me from destroying myself. Sometimes I think of all the pupils I have let down, the futures I have ruined. I don’t feel strong enough to get through this without alcohol. It’s the only way to numb my fears, my only way to live.

20 December 2012

Today finds me melancholy. A time of year that provokes excitement in children and contentment in adults has triggered a sense of loss deep within me. The death of my mother three weeks ago has left a void in my life.

At first Emma was sympathetic, gentle and careful not to upset me. Now, however, it would seem that my moping has got too much for her and there are some days when I am sure she detests me. I sometimes forget that her life continues as usual while mine is constantly in turmoil.

My drinking has increased and I know that I’m just one step away from making a bad mistake. It’s very hard to act responsibly at the moment; I seem to lack the ability to carry on regardless of the circumstances. Perhaps that means I’m not a strong person. Deep down I feel that I am weak and foolish.

I am beginning to think that Emma suspects something. She asks me many questions when I get in from work: Where have you been? Were you on your own? Why is it up to you to oversee detention? Of course I reply with lies and tell myself it’s better that she doesn’t know the truth. Yesterday I caught her going through the kitchen cupboards, and afterwards, the cupboard in our bedroom. But I’m smarter than that, I hide my bottles in my locker at work.

Lately, she has been sleeping in the spare room on the old sofa bed we bought for family visits. There was no explanation for it and her defection to the spare room hasn’t been discussed. I hate the lack of communication between us, the monosyllabic exchanges and avoidance of eye contact. I hate the loathing she appears to feel for me and her reluctance to tell me why.

As I write this I can see Ben through a crack in the doorway to the lounge. He is watching a cartoon with a Christmas theme and it triggers a memory of my own childhood. A happy Christmas with my mother and brother but no male role model to speak of. Could that be my problem? The reason I turned to drink? No. I was brought up to accept the consequences of my actions and I will do so. There are no excuses for my actions or for who I am.

Even now, as I watch my son giggle at the colourful characters on the television screen, my mind turns to drink. The thirst is strong and I oblige it.

15 March 2012

It’s been many months since my last entry. After Christmas ended the tension between Emma and me increased and by New Year’s Day we were barely talking to one another. Of course, we kept up a front for friends and family. In that way we are similar, except for the fact that my game of pretend was for a very different reason.

I have decided to quit my AA meetings. I feel too much of a phoney to support others in their battle with drink, especially as I often drain a small bottle of vodka before I attend. I feel like a failure and I know I’ve let the rest of the group down as well as my family, but it felt too hard. Now it is even harder.

I came home from work one day in January to find Emma sitting at the kitchen table in silence, tears streaming down her face. At first I thought there was something wrong with Ben.

“What’s happened?” I said, rushing to her side. She glared at me.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know, Adam.”

I stared at her blankly as my heartrate quickened.

“I know you’re drinking again.” She wiped tears from her face. “I saw you the other day, when you said you were going to an AA meeting. Sarah and I followed you in her car. I saw the bottles in the carrier bag as you came out of the shop in the village.”

I sighed and grasped her hand; she pulled it away roughly.

“I’d been hearing rumours. You know what this village is like for gossip, nothing is ever sacred when you live in such a tight-knit community. I would hear stories about you buying vodka at the shop, bottle after bottle. Up to five times a week I would hear these stories, and do you know what? I defended you. ‘Not my husband,’ I would say, and I would pity them and their need to create idle gossip for entertainment. But it wasn’t just gossip, was it, Adam? Those rumours were true, truer than any of the lies you’ve been feeding me.”

“Please let me explain—”

“I don’t understand how you can do this to your own son, that’s something I’ll never get my head around. You have a little boy who adores you, Adam. How do you think this looks to Ben? To our friends?”

“Oh, so
that’s
what this is really about – your pompous friends with their lavish lifestyles. Heaven forbid anyone should have any personal issues, any real problems that they can’t overcome, eh?” I raised my voice in disgust. “No, everything’s perfect in their world, right? They throw dinner parties and buy expensive wine and they lead their perfect little lives without a care in the world. Well, that’s just not real, Emma. You need to live in
this
world instead, the one that has people in it who need you!” I slammed my fist down on the table then left the room.

I made my way upstairs to watch over my sleeping son. Emma came up behind me and pulled me into our bedroom before closing the door silently to protect Ben from our arguing.

“I have stood by you for many months now. I got you the help you need. If it weren’t for me you would never have set foot in an AA meeting.”

“Oh, so now you’re an altruist, thinking of others before yourself? Except you weren’t, were you? You were thinking of those friends of yours and what they would think of you if they knew your husband was an alcoholic. All the fancy dinners you’d miss out on and the embarrassment it would cause you.” My attempt to keep my voice low was failing and I had to remind myself of my sleeping son to gain some control. Emma threw her hands up in the air and stared at me blankly.

“You don’t understand anything about me. So what if I want us to move up in society and surround ourselves with successful people?”

“The successful people you speak of are the same ones who greet you with false pleasantries while spreading lies about you through the whole village. Do you really want to spend your time with people who are so disloyal? People who think only of themselves and don’t have your best interests at heart?”

Emma made an exasperated sound and looked up at the ceiling.

“Oh, and you do?”

“I know I’ve hit a curve in the road but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“Well, it seems to me you’ve chosen the one true love in your life and that’s alcohol. It will always be alcohol, and Ben and I will suffer a lifetime of being in second place if I stay with you.”

I stared at her in shock as her words sank in.

“What are you saying?”

“I want you gone. This isn’t your home anymore,” she said calmly before turning away from me and leaving the room. She closed the door quietly and I heard her soft footsteps on the stairs.

There was just one thought spinning around repeatedly in my head: how had it come to this?

7 April 2012

As I sit at the dining table, in a house that doesn’t yet feel like a home, I wonder how things ended up the way they did. How can one ordinary man get things so wrong? I had a family, a good job, a nice house… and now what do I have?

I rent a small terraced cottage in a quiet area of the village, I’ve been suspended from my job pending an investigation into my competence to be a guardian of children, and I am responsible for a terrible accident. To make matters worse, Emma has filed for divorce and, due to recent events coming to light, no longer sees me as capable of looking after Ben and is preventing me from seeing my son.

I should probably explain what has happened in the last few months, though it’s something I’m never likely to forget. A month ago it came to light that a school trip had been arranged for the year nines and that, as their head of year, it was my duty to accompany them. It was a weekend affair with team-building in mind and activities such as abseiling, canoeing, archery and other such exercises scheduled. Ever since Emma had thrown me out of the family home my drinking had increased greatly but I had also become increasingly good at acting sober. Neither my pupils nor my colleagues suspected a thing.

Before the trip I went shopping for supplies; mainly meals and snacks for the kids and the other teachers who had been roped into coming along. I walked past the alcoholic beverages section with my eyes averted, determined to ignore the urge that pulled me towards the colourful bottles like a magnet. I stood in the frozen section, absentmindedly staring at a hefty stack of pizzas through the frosted door, when I heard a voice behind me say my name. As I turned around I realised it belonged to Mrs Willow, a former receptionist at my school. She retired a year ago but still enjoys reminiscing about the good old days..

After the usual pleasantries were out of the way she asked me about Ben. I answered her as best I could without giving away the fact that I’ve moved out. She told me she saw Emma with a “young man” while she was on her usual walk that morning and asked me if I knew who he was. I realised her question was an innocent one but it rattled me. I made my excuses and headed for the checkout area. On the way out I noticed an offer on spirits and didn’t hesitate to put a few bottles in my basket. I told myself they were just for backup, that I wouldn’t take them on the trip, but afterwards, while I sat at home thinking about the man Mrs Willow had mentioned, I packed them in my suitcase and told myself it was just an extra boost to get me through the weekend.

We’d arranged to stay in a hostel in Bedale. The sun had come out and caused the kids to become giddy and foolish. I watched as a group of thirteen year olds chased one another around the lake in the hostel’s grounds. The sound of the girls’ screams filled the air as I and the rest of the teachers went through the timetable for the next day. It was decided that we would get up bright and early and take the kids abseiling. As soon as I entered my room I unpacked the bottles and placed them in a nearby cupboard. I took a long swig of whisky and savoured its taste in my mouth. As it slid down my throat I felt it enter my bloodstream and
immediately I began to relax.

I managed to get through the evening without any hiccups but was distracted and a few questions that were aimed at me needed to be asked twice before I replied. My mind was on Emma and how much I missed my old life. None of my colleagues knew of our separation. I’d soon learned that as long as I kept quiet, I was ignored. When I retired to my room later that evening I started swigging whisky straight from the bottle and didn’t stop until I passed out.