The Marriage Mender (21 page)

‘I want you to act like you care. To take a bit of interest.’

‘And that will make everything all right, will it?’

‘No. But it will make her happier.’

Chris looked up at the ceiling. The flashing of the light outside could be seen through the curtains. As if we needed reminding of how rocky the terrain was.

‘Look. Whitby isn’t the easiest place for me to visit, OK?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I used to come here with Lydia.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘Because Josh wanted to come here.’

We sat in silence for a moment.

‘He will come back,’ I said.

Chris shook his head. ‘No. Not now.’

‘Please don’t give up hope, Chris.’

He stood up and pushed back his chair. ‘What’s the alternative? Live some deluded existence, like this lot?’ he said, pointing to his computer screen. ‘I don’t think so.’

He left the room. I heard him go into the bathroom. I realised he was going straight to bed. I stood up, walked round to the other side of the coffee table and sat down in front of his screen. He’d been looking at the online forum on the Missing People website. I’d given him the login details after I’d registered Josh as missing. I had no idea he’d ever looked at the site, let alone read what other people in a similar situation were saying.

I scrolled down. Lots of people: mothers, wives, sons, girlfriends. All of them clinging on to the hope that their loved ones would come home. That they would see them again one day. Or, at the very least, that they were still alive.

I searched for Josh’s details again. I wanted to see his face on the screen, the picture I’d sent them taken on our summer holiday last year. He smiled out at me. Not a care in the world. Having no idea of what was about to hit him. To hit all of us.

I wiped my eyes. ‘Night, love,’ I whispered. ‘Thank you. It’s a great place. You’d have loved it here.’

The next morning there was an envelope with my name
on it waiting for me on the kitchen table. For a moment I thought it was a leaving note, that he’d gone too. Until I saw him through the window, staring out towards the sea. I opened the anniversary card. It was his usual, understated style. Nothing flashy. Just a small heart on the front underneath ‘Happy Anniversary’ in an elegant font. I looked at the heart closely. Just in case I could see the crack where it had broken.

I went downstairs one morning and he’d made me toast, and he never makes toast, so I suppose I should have known, and he sat down on the breakfast stool opposite me and said, ‘I’ve met someone else. It’s serious. I’m going to come home early from work and pack up my stuff and I’ll be gone by the time you come home. No hard feelings, eh?’

And I just sat there staring at him, wondering if he was for real. I mean, you live with someone for five years and then ditch her out of the blue like that and think there’s going to be no hard feelings?

I’m thirty-five, well past my sell-by date. What are the chances now of me meeting someone else and having children with him? Pretty non-existent, I should have thought.

I should have slapped him around the face. Or, better still, taken him to court for time-wasting and taking away my chance to be a mum. You should be able to press charges for something like that, surely?

It was a different woman who was sitting in the coffee shop waiting for me. The same elegant, sophisticated exterior but shining through it an inner confidence which I hadn’t seen before. Even her skin seemed to have relaxed.

She was wearing a short-sleeved dress.

I smiled at her. ‘Hi, Catherine,’ I said, ‘you’re looking really well.’

She stood up and kissed me on both cheeks.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I feel pretty good too.’

‘Can I get you anything?’ I asked.

‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, pointing to the coffee in front of her.

I ordered a pot of tea at the counter and sat down opposite her. ‘So, how’s it all going?’ I asked. ‘I feel like I’ve got so much to catch up on. When did you actually leave?’

‘A few days after I last saw you. Once I’d made the
decision, there didn’t seem to be much point hanging around.’

‘You just walked out?’

She nodded. ‘It was surprisingly easy in the end. I came home from work early and packed my stuff, loaded it all into Simon’s van outside. I was going to leave before Nathan got home, but I actually decided to wait. I wanted him to see me go. I didn’t want there to be anything deceitful or underhand about it. Simon was in the van outside, in case there were any problems, but I told him there wouldn’t be.’

‘I take it Nathan had no idea?’

‘None at all. He came in and he didn’t even notice all my stuff was missing. I told him I had something to tell him. I think he thought I was going to say I’d changed my mind. About trying for a baby, I mean. When I told him I was leaving, he just stared at me. He couldn’t seem to take it in. I was almost beginning to feel sorry for him. Then he had the audacity to ask why. That’s when I knew, really knew, that I was doing the right thing.’

‘Did he try to stop you?’

‘No. I just walked. I didn’t say another word. He didn’t either.’

‘And have you heard from him since?’

‘No. Not a thing.’ She looked down into her coffee.

‘And what about the police?’

‘I reported it to them the day after I left. I phoned the woman whose number you gave me. She was good. Really supportive. She didn’t make me feel like it was my fault at all.’

‘That’s because it wasn’t.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m slowly starting to believe it too.’

‘Have they interviewed Nathan?’

‘Yeah. Apparently, he denied everything at first. Claimed I’d made it all up because he’d chucked me out. And then they showed him the photos. He cracked then. Broke down and admitted the whole thing. So I’m not even going to have to go through a trial.’

‘What a relief.’

‘Yeah.’ She looked down again as she said it.

‘You’re worried about him, aren’t you?’

She nodded slowly. ‘That must sound completely ridiculous to you.’

‘No. Not really. He was a massive part of your life.’

‘I don’t actually wish anything bad on him, you see. I’m glad I got out. Very glad. And I know I had to report it to stop him doing it to another woman. But I can’t see how he’ll survive prison, if he does get sent down. I don’t think he’s strong enough.’

‘Weird, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘You were actually the strong one all along. You just didn’t know it.’

‘I guess so. I actually wonder sometimes whether deep down that was why he asked me to go to counselling. If he wanted to get found out. Maybe it was the only way he thought he could stop.’

‘You’re probably being overgenerous to him there.’

‘Maybe. But in an odd way I won’t actually mind if he doesn’t get sent down. He’s admitted it, that’s all I ever
wanted. Because if he accepts it happened, he might actually do something about it.’

I nodded. She’d come such a long way since first walking into my room.

‘And is it working out, staying at Simon’s?’

‘Yeah, he’s been lovely. He’s always fussing over me. I mean, I will get a place of my own at some point, when I’m properly back on my feet. But for now it suits me just fine.’

I nodded. She seemed very calm, very assured. She’d been down, down to a place a lot of people had never even experienced, and she’d hauled herself back up again.

‘You should be so proud of what you’ve done,’ I said.

She smiled at me. ‘I am,’ she replied. ‘And I’m also very grateful to you for all your help. For picking me up off the floor, literally.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ I said. ‘But all I really did was hold a mirror up.’

‘Sometimes,’ said Catherine, ‘that’s all people need.’

* * *

‘I’m nine years old!’ shouted Matilda from her bedroom the next morning.

There was a pause of a few seconds before our door was flung open and she launched herself on to our bed.

‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ I said, giving her a hug.

She climbed over on to Chris.

He kissed her on the forehead. ‘Happy birthday, love.’ It was barely more than a whisper.

I realised we hadn’t really been tested yet. Everybody
said the same thing when you heard them interviewed. That it was the special family occasions when you really missed your loved ones who weren’t there. We’d struggled enough on ordinary days. I had no idea how we were going to cope with today.

Matilda was looking at us both expectantly.

‘Right, then.’ I smiled. ‘I suppose we’d better go downstairs and see if we’ve got any presents for nine-year-olds.’

Matilda was up and out of the room before either of us had moved an inch.

I turned to Chris. ‘Look, I know it’s going to be tough. But let’s make a real effort for her today.’

He nodded but said nothing.

I got up, threw on my dressing gown and went downstairs. I’d got the presents sorted myself. I’d run through some suggestions with Chris, but as I’d got nothing more than a ‘Whatever you think’ in response I’d decided to go it alone. Not that buying presents for Matilda was difficult. It was simply that I’d have liked to have felt there was somebody else on board the parenting train with me when I pulled out of the station.

Matilda was sitting in the hallway going through the pile of cards which I’d left on the mat the night before. I knew that I was helping to perpetuate the myth that posties still delivered their mail at the crack of dawn, when actually it was more like two thirty in the afternoon, but I did it all the same.

She looked up at me. The smile had slipped off her face.

I realised she hadn’t been counting the cards. She’d
been doing the very same thing I’d done over the past few days every time I’d picked up the post.

‘Where’s Josh’s card?’ she asked.

‘It doesn’t look like he’s had a chance to send one, love,’ I said.

‘Is it because he’s in a different country?’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘So it might just be late. It might still come next week?’

‘Let’s wait and see, eh?’ I said.

I heard the creak of the stairs behind me as Chris followed me down.

‘Josh’s card might be a bit late,’ Matilda announced to him.

Chris looked at me. I shrugged.

Matilda picked up the rest of the cards and carried them into the kitchen.

* * *

At the point when you agree to having nineteen children come to your house for a themed birthday party, it never seems like a bad idea. You find yourself saying things like, ‘It’s so nice to do it at home rather than a soulless soft-play centre,’ or even, ‘We’ll make up party games and I’ll tell stories, we won’t even need to get an entertainer.’ You tend to blot out the likelihood that your favourite rug will have Ribena spilt over it, one child will cry and another will be sick, and you will be up past midnight the night before making witch’s hat cupcakes and witches’ broomsticks out of Twiglets tied around breadsticks with liquorice strings.

And you certainly don’t imagine that you will find it nigh on impossible to get through the day because your stepson will have gone missing, your husband blames you entirely and your marriage is in serious trouble.

What had seemed like a good idea in April now appeared to have turned into a ridiculous thing to put ourselves through, given the circumstances. Backing out wasn’t an option, though. There was no way I was going to disappoint Matilda.

Chris came into the kitchen and picked up the piece of paper on the worktop next to where I was preparing the buttercream.

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘The to-do list. I need to get the rest of it done in the next hour before Debbie brings Matilda back.’

He scanned it and shook his head. ‘Why do you always make things so hard for yourself?’

‘You know why.’

‘She’d be happy if you just let them run around the house and gave them a plate of jam sandwiches.’

‘I don’t think so. Not after the last few years.’

The Roald Dahl party thing had started on her fifth birthday.
Matilda
had been the first one – fittingly, of course, given that she’d been named after her. There’d been a book tower, storytelling and even a hammer-throwing competition. We’d done
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
next, followed by
James and the Giant Peach
and
The BFG
. Chris had made a joke last year that there was no way he was going to get a gun licence and shoot pheasants for
a
Danny the Champion of the World
party. I thought of mentioning it now but decided against it. I didn’t think he’d find it amusing any more.

‘Isn’t it a bit much? Nobody else seems to go to all this trouble.’

I felt the mercury rising inside me. It seemed I could do no right these days.

‘You used to love all this,’ I said.

‘I just think she’s getting a bit old for it.’

‘Josh had one on his tenth birthday. He loved it, said it was the best party ever.’

Chris looked up at the ceiling. I saw him swallow. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it, but I was tired of walking on eggshells.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I remember.’

‘What else do you remember?’ I asked, putting down the wooden spoon and wiping a floury hand across my forehead.

‘What do you mean?’

‘About Josh. I’m wondering what you remember. Only you don’t talk about him any more. It’s like he never existed.’

‘Yeah, well, he didn’t, did he? Turned out he was somebody else’s son.’

‘Don’t do this to yourself, Chris.’

‘What’s the alternative? Cling on to the hope that he’s mine? What good would that do? He’s not here, anyway.’

‘He’ll come back.’

‘You’ve been saying that for over three months now.’

‘It doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen.’

‘It means it’s less likely.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘It says so on the Missing People website. Ninety-one per cent of cases reported are closed within forty-eight hours.’

I stared at him. ‘Why don’t you talk to me about it?’

‘I’m doing that now, aren’t I?’

‘Only because I brought it up. You make it very clear you don’t want to talk about Josh, and yet you’re going online reading up about stuff.’

‘I’m entitled to do that, aren’t I? What are you now, the internet police?’

‘There’s no need to be like that. I was trying to say that I want to talk about Josh with you. We should be going through this together, not taking it out on each other.’

‘And what if I don’t want to share what I’m going through?’

I shrugged. ‘Well, it makes it hard for me. I want to support you, but you’re not letting me.’

‘Because, believe me, you don’t want to know what’s going on inside my head.’

‘It’s probably very similar to the stuff going on in mine.’

Chris shook his head. ‘No. You have no idea what I’m dealing with.’

‘So let me in, and I can find out.’

‘What, and try to fix me like you try to fix everything else?’

‘That’s not fair, Chris.’

‘No. I’ve lost a son. That’s what’s not fucking fair.’ He turned and left the kitchen.

I stood there, trying to compose myself. Trying not to cry into the buttercream.

A few minutes later, I heard the front door bang shut behind him. It was becoming all too familiar. Being walked out on. I toyed with the idea of going after him, pleading with him to talk to me. But there were only so many times you could pick yourself up off the floor knowing you were going to be knocked straight back down again.

Besides, I had witches’ hats to stick on cupcakes.

* * *

Chris still wasn’t back when Barbara arrived. She’d insisted on coming by bus. Said we’d be far too busy with the preparations to pick her up. She’d never missed one of Matilda’s parties. Or one of Josh’s either, apparently. And, aside from her grandmother credentials, she was a welcome guest due to being remarkably unflappable in the face of chaos and particularly good at making sandwiches.

Matilda, who was approaching the outer limits of excitability, rushed to throw her arms around her.

‘We’re doing
The Witches
and we’ve got broomsticks and frog juice and pretend mice. And Mummy’s being the Grand High Witch.’

‘That’s lovely, dear,’ said Barbara, in true grandmotherly fashion.

‘And you can be the grandmother because there is one and then you won’t even need to dress up because you just have to look old.’

Barbara smiled at Matilda. ‘And what are you being?’ she asked.

‘A witch. A really mean one.’

‘Well, isn’t it about time you went and got your costume on, then? Your friends will be here soon.’

Matilda nodded and disappeared upstairs.

Barbara turned to me. ‘Anything I can do, love?’ she asked.

‘Sandwiches, please,’ I said. ‘I haven’t even started on the sandwiches.’

Barbara nodded and walked into the kitchen. She stopped when she saw that Chris wasn’t there. ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

‘He went out for a walk,’ I replied.

Barbara looked hard at me. She knew him too well.

‘He’s finding it difficult,’ I said. ‘Very difficult indeed.’

‘He’ll be back soon,’ said Barbara, patting me on my arm.

He wasn’t, though. Matilda got dressed. I put the finishing touches to the witch’s hat cupcakes and got changed, and he still wasn’t back.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ Matilda asked.