The Dead Wife's Handbook (29 page)

‘After it was all over, my parents could barely look me in the eye any more. I’d been their perfect child, their only child, the girl who could do no wrong and they just couldn’t get beyond what had happened. And then one evening a few weeks later, just before I was starting my GCSEs, my parents announced over dinner that as soon as my exams were done they wanted me to leave home. It was so extreme, absurd almost, that I just assumed they were punishing me with an empty threat, that it was simply their anger talking. It genuinely didn’t occur to me, not then, that they might actually mean it. But three weeks later, I came home from my final exam to find two suitcases in the hall and my bedroom cleared of everything else I’d ever owned. It was as if I’d never existed, as if they’d wiped all evidence of my life from the house. My mum was in the kitchen and I asked her what she’d done with the rest of my things but she wouldn’t tell me. I’ll never forget the look on her face. She didn’t cry or look upset or even disappointed. I think I could have borne it more easily if she had. Her face was so cold, so hard, as if
all the feelings she’d ever had for me had turned to stone and she was facing nothing more than a stranger. She handed me an envelope, in silence; inside there was £200 and a piece of paper on which she’d scribbled the name of a hostel on the other side of town. I pleaded with her not to do it, begged her to let me stay. I don’t think I’ve ever known such panic before or since. But there wasn’t so much as a flicker of doubt on her face. She simply told me that I shouldn’t still be there when my dad got home. I tried to hug her but she wouldn’t – or couldn’t – reciprocate. And so I left.’

Eve stops talking abruptly, an almost imperceptible twitching of her forehead the only indication of a mind quietly humming with the memory of its own past tragedy.

I think about my mum and about Ellie and about the perversion of parental responsibility Eve has described. I just don’t know how any parent could do that. Or how any child would survive it.

Eve’s still staring straight ahead, her eyes seemingly fixed on nothing at all in the present. She emits a breath heavy with the burden of confession and continues to speak.

‘I went to the hostel and got myself a room – I remember it so clearly, as if it were yesterday, that stark, bare, brown room – and I remember thinking that it wasn’t humanly possible to feel more lonely than I did right then. Hardly anyone had mobile phones so it wasn’t as though I could text my friends for support and school had finished so I didn’t even have that for comfort. I spent a couple of days on my own, locked in that room, in a sheer state of panic about what I was going to do. Then it finally
dawned on me that I had two choices: to give up or to take care of myself. So I started looking for work and that’s when I really landed on my feet. I got a job in a café run by a gay couple and, looking back, it was Russell and Nick who really saved me. They kept me employed full-time all summer, helped me find and furnish a bedsit, made sure I always had enough to eat – I’m sure I ate double my wages in café food alone – and let me carry on working there part-time when I went back to school in the autumn to start my A levels. I can’t see that I’d have survived without them. When I went to university I did the same thing: got myself a job waitressing five nights a week and all day Saturday and supported myself for three years. And the rest you sort of know.’

Max strokes Eve’s hand. She looks exhausted. So does he.

I feel overcome with guilt. And a powerful need to apologize to someone who doesn’t even know I still exist.

‘I can’t believe you had to go through all that. I can’t imagine how resilient you must be to have supported yourself like that.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s just that you find out what you’re capable of when there aren’t any other options. It’s such a binary choice: either you find a way to survive or you don’t. And I don’t think the latter was ever really an option for me.’

Eve has recited all this matter-of-factly, as though it’s the script to someone else’s life, but I can see from her face how much the revelation has cost her.

‘And what about your parents now? Are they sorry for what they did, can they see now how terrible that was?’

‘I’ve no idea. I haven’t seen or spoken to them for fifteen years. The last time I saw my mum was in the kitchen that day she told me to leave. I can’t bring myself to contact them – not after what they did – and they’ve never tried to find me as far as I know, so I can’t see how or why that’s ever going to change.’

Max takes a deep breath as if to inhale the full emotional impact of Eve’s confession.

All this time, for all these months, I’ve been desperate for Eve’s fatal flaw to be revealed, to discover the imperfection that would make me feel just a little less inadequate in her virtual presence. But I hadn’t counted on her having a secret quite so profound, quite so critical, a secret that would bring any woman unimaginable pain. A secret with an impact that may yet alter the course of Max and Ellie’s lives in ways they haven’t begun to envisage.

‘Eve, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that must be like. I can’t imagine my parents ever doing that to me, or me to Ellie. No wonder you never want to talk about them. I’m so sorry about those times I’ve pushed you to tell me about them. If only I’d known …’

‘I haven’t wanted to keep secrets from you, Max. I’ve just never been able to trust that other people wouldn’t react the same way my parents did. It’s why I’ve never told anyone any of this before.’

‘You’ve never told
anyone
at all?’

‘No. It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Other than Russell and Nick I’ve never told a soul. I think I’ve always felt too humiliated, not just about what I did, actually not really about that at all – I’ve managed to forgive my fifteen-year-old self for those mistakes now. But I feel so ashamed of
what my parents did to me. What does it say about me, after all, to have descended from people who can behave like that?’

‘It says that you’re remarkable to have dealt with it and to have become the amazing person that you are. God, I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this on your own for fifteen years.’

‘I suppose I just haven’t been ready to face it all. It’s why I’ve never wanted anyone getting too close because I know that somewhere down the line this has to come out and that’s always felt like a sacrifice too far. I wasn’t being coy when we first … you know … got together. I really don’t make a habit of having people stay over.’

Max looks at Eve as though seeing something new in her for the first time.

‘I never thought you were being coy. I found it pretty endearing, actually. And it wasn’t as if I was in possession of my Casanova credentials either, was it?’

Eve’s half-smile and her gently reassuring squeeze of Max’s hand tell me more than I want to know about the private events I’ve been spared from witnessing these past few months.

‘You know this doesn’t change a thing, don’t you? Except I’m possibly even more in awe of you than I was before. You are incredible, Eve. To have accomplished everything you have, under those circumstances, is nothing short of extraordinary. I really want you and me to make a go of this, to make a go of us. I honestly think it can work.’

I look at Eve expecting to see the relief of someone who’s just been issued with the reprieve she was seeking. But Eve’s face shows no signs of a woman who’s just
been reassured by a man she might be in love with that he’s definitely still in love with her.

‘It’s not that simple, though, is it? It’s not just about you and me. It’s about the children we could never have together even if we wanted to, even if you thought that’s where we might be heading before I told you all of this. It’s a huge sacrifice for anyone and it’s not one I want you to have to make.’

Eve drops her head and she can’t hold back the fifteen years of tears breaking through her barrier of self-protection. I watch her cry and hear her pain and I can’t imagine that she’ll ever be able to stop.

Max takes her in his arms and rocks her gently back and forth.

‘Hey, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, I promise. It’s heart-wrenching for you, I know, but it doesn’t affect my feelings for you in the least. Really.’

‘But I know that’s not true. Your mum told me, that first time I met her, about how you’d always wanted lots of children. You’ve already lost one person you thought you could have a big family with. It wouldn’t be fair of me to deny you that again.’

Max laughs, kindly but loudly, and I suspect it’s not the response that either Eve or I were anticipating.

‘That was when I was eleven. I’m all for consistency of beliefs but I don’t think I should have to honour the childish fantasies I had before I’d even hit puberty. I had no idea what I was talking about, much less clue about what was involved in actually having children. God, the thought of having five kids now freaks the hell out of me. It’s utter madness.’

Eve manages a wistful smile and wipes her face free of tears.

‘But you did want more than one?’

‘Yes. If we’re being totally honest, I did. But after all that’s happened I’ve learnt to be grateful for what I do have, and I couldn’t be more inordinately grateful for Ellie.’

My mind is racing with stories of lives the three of them may never lead. The siblings Ellie may never play with. The son Max may never take cycling. The child Eve will never give birth to. Of all the futures we think may lie before us, the one we end up with is invariably not the one we ever imagined.

‘Ellie’s wonderful. I’ve loved getting to know her a little bit today. But I suppose she’s part of the reason I panicked tonight. I’m not sure I’ve got the strength to immerse myself in another family only to be rejected again.’

‘You’re not going to be rejected, Eve. I don’t know how to convince you other than to tell you again and again that I love you and that I can see us having a future together.’

Max pulls Eve towards him and kisses her with such tenderness that I can’t imagine her emerging from his embrace with a single doubt still in place.

‘I can’t believe you’re being so calm about this. I honestly thought you’d send me packing. It’s quite a lot to deal with. I’m not sure it’s baggage anyone should have to take on board, really.’

‘And you haven’t had a lot of my baggage to deal with? Eve, everyone brings baggage to a relationship. Everyone.’

‘I know they do. But I think mine’s heavier than most.’

‘Heavier than mine? Do you really think so?’

‘At least yours wasn’t of your own making.’

‘Neither was yours, Eve. Not in the slightest.’

Max looks intently at Eve and I can see a decision stealthily working its way across his face.

‘Okay, you’ve confided your deepest secret to me so it’s only fair I do likewise. When Rachel first died I genuinely thought about ending it all. Not just an ambient flirtation with an idea that seemed easier than the reality I was having to deal with. But bleak, dark thoughts, coming from places I hadn’t even known existed. And it really scared me because I never believed that was something I’d even think about, let alone seriously contemplate. It scares me even now, just remembering it, to be honest. It’s pretty frightening when you discover something about yourself that you really wish you hadn’t.’

It’s frightening, too, to discover something about the person you love that you really wish they hadn’t endured. I’d known Max had been depressed in those early months, but I hadn’t known how severely. I can’t bear the thought of him having gone through that alone.

‘I’m so sorry, Max. It must have been such a terrible time. I can’t really imagine what you must have suffered or how you came through it.’

‘To be honest, when I look back on that period, I’m not sure how I got through it either. But like you said, you just do. Something else kicks in and you’ve no idea from where or how but it does and it saves you from yourself, however much you might not want it to at the time.’

They both fall silent and I suspect I’m not the only one to be reflecting upon the ways in which each of us have – and haven’t – been saved from ourselves.

‘So what pulled you through? Or don’t you know?’

‘That’s easy. It was Ellie. Having a young child makes the decision for you. Well, it did for me anyway. I needed to find something or someone to fill the gap that grief had left behind and Ellie was there, the whole time, waiting patiently and perfectly in the wings.’

There’s another silence, more loaded than the last, and I wonder to what extent Max’s confession has exacerbated Eve’s sadness.

‘I think I know what you mean. I’m not suggesting they’re comparable, but I think the grief of losing my fertility has been filled to some extent for me by teaching. I remember when I first became aware, in my early twenties, that I needed something to fill the maternal void. I felt that I’d been robbed of the one consolation, the one comfort shared by every parent on the planet; that when they die, their lives will carry on through their children. It’s the ultimate immortality project, isn’t it, having children? And it’s been the one thing I knew I’d never have for almost as long as I can remember. So I had to find another way of trying to achieve that, another way to make sure I left something behind, another way of exerting an influence which might outlive me.’

‘And that’s what you get from teaching?’

‘I think so, yes; it gives me the proximity to young people that I’ll never otherwise have and it allows me to have some impact – however small – on their lives. Sometimes
I’ll be talking to a student and I imagine that one day they might share whatever it is I’ve taught them with their children or with their nieces and nephews or with students of their own. And that seems pretty remarkable to me, that fragments of knowledge I pass on now might find their way unexpectedly to people I don’t even know, through however many degrees of separation, at some unknown point in the future. I like to think of it as ripples of influence and experience pulsating from one generation to the next and I think if I could manage that just a handful of times, with just a handful of students, then it will have been worth it. Does that sound really stupid?’