The Marriage Mender (10 page)

‘Sorry. I thought the coat hanging up in the hall might be a clue.’

‘Probably would have been, if I’d had my head together.’ I smiled.

‘Work stuff?’

‘Yeah. One of my clients I’m a bit worried about.’

Josh nodded. Bit his lower lip for a second before speaking. ‘Mum’s invited me to her place for Christmas dinner,’ he said.

When Nelson Mandela died, she came into the room and said, ‘Mandela’s dead and
I’m a Celebrity
’s on in a minute, if you fancy it.’

I mean, I was a member of the Anti-Apartheid Movement, for fuck’s sake.

‘Right,’ I said to Josh, attempting to appear calm about it. ‘And would you like to go?’

‘Well, yeah,’ he replied. ‘Kind of. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to be here. You and Dad do a really mean Christmas lunch, it’s just that, well, I’ve never had the chance to spend Christmas with my mum before. Not since I was a baby, anyway.’

I nodded in what I hoped was an understanding fashion, all the time trying to steel myself inside and ensure that, when I did speak, my voice sounded reasonable and measured.

‘You don’t have to apologise, love. I know what it’s like. I had to spend a Christmas Day half at my mum’s and half at my dad’s after they split up.’

‘Did it lead to loads of rows?’

‘It did the first year. Then, next year, Mum had to work
at the hospital on Christmas Day so I stayed at Dad’s. And by the following year she’d moved to Portsmouth and I was living full-time with my dad by then, anyway.’

‘Why didn’t she keep in touch after she moved away? I mean, it’s not like Portsmouth’s a different country.’

I hesitated before replying. ‘Some people just aren’t cut out for motherhood, and I guess she was one of them.’

‘Would you give her another chance now, though? If she got in touch and said she wanted to meet up?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘She didn’t come to our wedding or to Grandad’s funeral. And she’s never sent either of you so much as a birthday card. Sometimes you just have to accept someone’s not interested. There’s only so many chances you can give them.’

Josh sighed. ‘If I do go, Tilda’s going to be well upset, isn’t she?’

‘She’ll come round. Especially if you get her a nice Christmas pressie.’

‘That’s if Dad lets me go.’

‘Maybe it’s time you two should talk about it. I mean, if your mum’s going to be around from now on, we ought to have a chat about how that will all work.’

Josh looked doubtful. ‘Only if you’ll be there too, so we don’t end up rowing.’

‘You two used to be the best of friends.’

‘Yeah, and then Mum came back. And he can’t handle it.’

‘He needs time, that’s all.’

‘You’ve been saying that for months now.’ There was a catch in his throat as he said it.

I sat down next to him at the table. ‘Your dad’s always been there for you, always protected you. If he is a bit over-protective sometimes, it’s only because he loves you so much.’

Josh sat and thought for a while.

‘Tonight, then,’ he said, ‘when Tilda’s gone to bed. I’ll ask him about Christmas tonight.’

* * *

I may have been physically present during the evening meal but mentally I was elsewhere. Looking down on the proceedings from above, as if I was having some kind of out-of-body experience.

I saw a little girl who really wasn’t so little any more. A girl who sparkled with aliveness, whose many voices and animated expressions rendered everything she said and did a performance.

I saw a young man still trying to find his place in the world. Quieter than his sister, but who sat and watched and listened and saw and heard everything, even words that went unsaid. A young man who was so like his father in so many ways, and who was trying desperately to bridge the gap which had opened up between them.

And a man, a man who wasn’t like any other man I knew. Who ached with love for his children. Who made them tea and made them laugh and made them want to be like him.

And hovering over all of them was this dirty great cloud. The one that I was sitting on. The one which was about to throw down its contents with no regard for the dampener
it was about to put on everything. Because it wasn’t just about one day, though it was a very special day. It was about trust and love and letting go.

And I was the outsider. Because I was the only one who wasn’t related to all of them.

They were linked, the gang of three. Held tight in a triangle. And sometimes I joined in and made it a square, but it never felt as tight, as strong, as when it was just the three of them. And somewhere out there – performing the rain dance, perhaps – was Lydia, who had the power to break that tightness. To loosen the bonds. And what I didn’t know was whether one person could weaken the structure of our family so much that it might never be as strong again.

Because, if so, it might be better to invite her in, to build a new, different-shaped family in the hope that it would be stronger that way.

* * *

I didn’t forewarn Chris. Josh was trying to be grown-up about this. It was my job to be there to support him. Not to do his job for him.

Josh came into the lounge about half an hour after Matilda had gone to bed. Chris was looking at something on his laptop. I put the newspaper down and nodded at Josh when he looked at me.

‘Dad, I need to talk to you,’ he said. ‘It’s about Christmas.’

‘You mean, you’ve found out that Santa doesn’t exist?’ said Chris, before looking up and seeing Josh’s deadpan face. He slowly closed the lid of his laptop.

‘Mum’s invited me to her place for Christmas lunch,’ said Josh.

Chris sighed. ‘She has, has she?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And I suppose you want to go?’

‘Yeah, but only if it’s OK by you.’

‘Of course it’s fine by me. You go and spend Christmas Day with the mother who hasn’t sent you so much as a card for the last fifteen years.’

‘Chris,’ I said. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘Why not? It’s the truth.’

‘It’s not Josh’s fault. He’s in a difficult situation, and he’s trying to do the right thing.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Josh, turning to me. ‘I knew he’d be like this.’

‘Like what?’ asked Chris.

‘Flying off the handle. Being unreasonable.’

‘And she always behaves reasonably, does she?’

‘Oh, forget it,’ said Josh, the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘If it’s going to cause this much grief, forget it. Forget the whole fucking thing.’ He turned on his heel and left the room.

I heard his feet running up the stairs. There was no slamming door, though. He always thought of Matilda, even when he was having a strop.

I looked at Chris. He was sitting with his head stretched back on the sofa and his eyes shut. Normally, I would have gone straight to put my arms around him. I didn’t, though. Not on this occasion.

‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘I handled that well, didn’t I?’

‘He was really making an effort, you know. He cares so much about what you think.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s just … I can’t bear it.’

‘What?’

‘Losing him.’ His voice cracked as he said it.

I got up and went to sit next to him. ‘You’re not losing him.’

‘Well, that’s how it feels. First Christmas Day … what’s next, family holidays?’

‘I said last year it would probably be the last one we had all together.’

‘Yeah, but that was because you thought Josh and Tom would want to go off somewhere next summer, not because his mother would turn up and whisk him away.’

‘She hasn’t put a foot wrong since that incident, you know. Maybe it was a one-off. Maybe it’ll be a positive thing for Josh to have her in his life.’

‘You don’t know her.’

‘So you keep saying.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time I did. Maybe it’s time we all got to know her. Not the Lydia who left but the one who’s come back.’

‘You’re scaring me now,’ said Chris.

‘Look, you want to spend Christmas Day with Josh, right? To have all of the family together. We could still do that. All we need to do is invite Lydia here.’

Chris looked at me and started laughing. ‘You are joking?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m deadly serious. It’s the only way I can think of to keep everyone happy.’

‘Well, I won’t be happy.’

‘Why not? It’ll be a damn sight better than not seeing your son for most of the day.’

Chris looked at me and shook his head. ‘Even if I agreed to it,’ he said, ‘what would we do about Barbara?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She won’t be in the same room as Lydia.’

‘Of course she will, if we explain that we’re doing this for Josh.’

‘No,’ said Chris. ‘Really. You’ve got no idea.’

I tried to imagine Barbara putting her foot down, refusing to do something Chris was asking of her. I simply couldn’t see it.

‘Why don’t you talk to her, then? Explain the situation. I’m sure you can talk her round.’

Chris hesitated. ‘I’m still not sure it’s a good idea.’

‘Neither am I. But I can’t think of a better one.’

* * *

I knew as soon as I popped my head round the waiting-room door that all was not well. Kelly and Luke were sitting with a spare chair between them. Luke, with his legs splayed wide, was staring up at the ceiling. Kelly, with her hands clenched tight, was looking down at her feet.

I smiled and gestured to them to come in. They entered silently and sat down, taking up the very same positions on the chairs. This time they had the table between them.
Though I suspected the Berlin Wall would have made them feel more comfortable.

Before I’d even said anything, Kelly started crying, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.

Luke looked as though he’d rather have all his teeth pulled without anaesthetic than be in the room at that moment.

‘Kelly, if you need to take some time on your own, of if you’re not up to it today, please just let me know, it’s not a problem.’

‘No. I’m fine,’ she said, in the way people do when they are very clearly not fine. ‘Please start, I’ll be OK.’

I nodded but paused for a moment, trying to give her time to compose herself. It was Luke who broke the silence.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s my fault. I’ve been staying at me mam’s.’

His words were greeted with fresh tears from Kelly. ‘He’s left us,’ she said.

‘I haven’t moved out. I need some space, that’s all –’

‘OK,’ I said, cutting in. ‘Let’s go through exactly what’s happened. Luke, when did you move into your mum’s?’

‘Four days ago,’ he said, his forearms resting on his thighs as he clasped his hands together.

‘And was there a particular incident which prompted that, or was it a general build-up of things?’

‘I dunno. I got home from work that day and the place was covered with kiddy things all over the floor, as usual. And then I saw that Callum had broken my iPod. He should never really have been playing with it, of course. But when
I said that to Kelly, she went off on one about how she hasn’t got eyes in the back of her head and it shouldn’t have been left somewhere where he could get hold of it. And the twins started crying and Kelly had to go to work, because she starts at Lidl at five, and I stood there in the middle of all that and I couldn’t even hear myself think …’

He paused, finally. It was as if he’d been punctured and the air had come rushing out.

‘And did you talk to Kelly later about how you felt?’ I asked.

‘No. Because I never got the chance. When she got home, she said she wanted an early night cos she were dead knackered.’

‘I were knackered,’ Kelly said. ‘I am most nights.’

‘And have you had the chance to talk since?’ I asked.

They both looked at me blankly. Luke shrugged. Kelly fiddled with her wedding ring.

‘Do you want to move back home, Luke?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, but not like it is now. It’s doing my head in.’

‘And what about your relationship with Kelly? How important is that to you?’

He swallowed hard before answering. ‘She means everything, like. Her and the kids.’

Kelly started crying again. ‘That’s what’s so stupid,’ she said. ‘He still loves me. I still love him. We both love the kids. And yet we’re not living together. And I can’t bear to think about waking up on Christmas Day and him not being there.’ The tears fell heavily now, full-blown sobs.

I waited and watched Luke. He didn’t know where to
look. He went to stand up, then seemed to stop. I caught his eye and nodded. He finally got to his feet, walked over to Kelly, sank down on to his knees and gathered her sobbing body up in his arms. His broad back shaking too.

I got up quietly and went to stand outside the room for a few minutes. Sensing they needed some privacy. And feeling that, whatever the problems at home, our Christmas wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

I feel utterly trapped. I’m only staying with him for the sake of the kids and because I couldn’t afford anywhere decent for them to live if I was on my own. And I’m not going to scrounge off the state. I would never do that. He knows it too, so he doesn’t bother making any kind of effort. He comes home in the evening and just eats, watches telly, grunts at me and goes to bed.

And this is all I’ve got to look forward to for the next ten years or so. I have that Colonel Abrams song ‘Trapped’ going round in my head, it’s like the anthem to my life, and I never even liked it in the first place.

‘How long till she gets here?’ asked Matilda for what seemed like the 324th time. She had spent most of Christmas Eve asking, ‘How long till he gets here?’ (At various points in the year she had voiced her doubts about Santa’s existence, but by the time December the 24th came around she had clearly decided that it paid to be a believer.) And no sooner had she opened all his presents than she had turned her attention to Lydia’s arrival.

‘I told you, half past twelve. Look at the clock, you can work it out for yourself,’ I said.

‘Fifteen minutes,’ said Matilda.

‘Well done. Now sometimes people are early and sometimes people are late, especially when they haven’t got a car. It’s not always easy to judge these things. So please be patient.’

I still hadn’t worked out whether Matilda was excited
or apprehensive about Lydia’s visit, but I suspected a bit of both. She wasn’t the only one. Josh had been on edge all morning. The closer we got to her arrival, the more he seemed to be doubting the wisdom of it. Him and me both.

I was well aware that I’d taken a huge risk in inviting her. And now here we were. About to try to play happy families. And the one thing I realised I hadn’t even considered, while trying to keep everyone else happy, was how I would feel about it. Having Lydia in our home. Her old home. The one she’d made with Chris.

Maybe she’d chosen it. Brought him here to see it and begged him to say yes. Or maybe he’d found it, picked something out that he’d known she would love. Whichever it had been, their shared history was here. As much a part of the house as the stone and the slate. And yet I’d invited her back here. Inviting that shared history, and all the emotions mixed up in it, to reignite. Debbie had said I was barking, when I’d told her. I’d insisted, at the time, that it was the best of a bad set of options. But now I wasn’t quite so sure.

There was a knock at the door. Matilda jumped up but I managed to catch hold of her.

‘Let your brother go,’ I said. ‘It’s his mum, remember.’

Josh clambered up from the floor, where he’d been playing a game with Matilda, his face uncertain.

‘Go on,’ I whispered. ‘It’ll be fine.’

Chris was standing by the fireplace, staring into the flames, the colours warming his otherwise icy face.
Barbara was sitting rigidly on the sofa. Her face set to neutral. Clearly the best she could do in the circumstances.

I heard the door shut. There were hushed voices in the hallway and then, a minute or two later, Lydia was standing in our lounge, resplendent in a swirling black skirt and a black and red V-necked top, the splash of colour presumably her concession to the festive season.

She smiled, somewhat uncertainly. Josh hovered next to her in the doorway. Neither Chris nor Barbara said a word.

‘Happy Christmas,’ I said. ‘Come in and warm up.’

I took a couple of steps towards her. Enough to be able to smell her perfume. I wasn’t sure whether to kiss her on the cheek or not.

‘And happy Christmas to all of you,’ she said, looking around the room.

Chris nodded at her and mumbled something, which may or may not have been “Happy Christmas”.

Barbara stared straight at her without saying a word, then looked away again.

Lydia appeared unperturbed. She was studying the room in detail. Her gaze settled on our wedding photo on the mantelpiece. I wondered what she was thinking. Whether she would make some comment about how slim I was in the photo. I sucked my stomach in a little. She said nothing.

‘Oh, these are for you,’ Lydia said, handing me the bottle of red wine she was carrying and a bag containing presents.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Really, you didn’t have to.’

She shrugged. ‘I wanted to.’

I nodded, glad I’d got a present for her too. Only Josh knew. I’d asked his advice before buying it. His own present to Lydia was also under the tree. I hadn’t even got around to asking him what it was.

‘There you are,’ I said, passing the bag on to Matilda. ‘A job for Santa’s helper, I think.’

Matilda looked inside the bag. ‘Oooh, presents,’ she said. ‘Is there one for me?’

‘Matilda,’ I said, ‘that’s not very polite.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Lydia. ‘And yes, there is something for you.’

She smiled at Matilda, who dutifully ran off to arrange the presents under the tree, giving each one a squeeze as she did so.

The rest of us stood there.

I glanced at Chris, hoping he’d say something, maybe offer Lydia a drink, but he appeared to be incapable of speech. He also appeared to be avoiding any eye contact with Lydia. I noticed her left hand shaking. The other one was fiddling with a loose bit of cotton on her skirt.

‘Can I get you something to drink?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, thanks. Whatever everyone else is having.’

‘Barbara?’ I asked.

‘Tea, please, love,’ she said.

‘Chris?’

‘Same for me, please.’

I looked back at Lydia, suspecting she’d wanted
something stronger. Though I also suspected she may well have already had some before coming here.

‘Tea’s fine,’ she said.

Matilda returned from present duty. ‘Would you like to see what Santa gave me?’ she asked Lydia.

‘I’d love to,’ she said and followed her to the corner of the room where Matilda had carefully arranged her presents.

Josh hesitated, seemingly unsure which side of the room to be on. He sat down on the sofa next to Barbara. She smiled and patted his leg.

‘Right,’ I said, smiling at everyone, ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on and check on lunch.’

Normally, I found making Christmas dinner quite stressful. All that pressure not to screw up on the big day. But today I was grateful to escape to the kitchen. I checked on the turkey. I’d rather have had chicken myself, but Barbara was a great one for tradition. I’d made a nut roast as well. Josh had said vegetarians didn’t really eat nut roasts any more, it was something out of the seventies, but I’d figured that if we were going to be traditional, Lydia may as well be too.

I could have asked Chris, I suppose. If she’d been veggie when they were together, he could have told me what she used to have for Christmas dinner. He may even have cooked it for her. I hadn’t asked him, though. I kidded myself it was because I hadn’t wanted to upset him. When really it was more because I hadn’t wanted to hear about their shared Christmases.

I lifted the tray of roast potatoes out of the Aga, putting it down quickly on the trivet as the heat pierced through the oven gloves which had seen better days. I didn’t even know what you were supposed to serve with nut roast. We were having roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, honey-glazed carrots and parsnips. Maybe they wouldn’t really go with a mushroom nut roast. Anyway, it was too late to do anything different now. It would have to do.

I flicked the radio on. They were playing ‘A Spaceman Came Travelling’. Even BBC 6 Music couldn’t resist it on Christmas Day. I boiled the kettle. I didn’t even hear Chris come in until he was standing right next to me.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. Just needed a minute to myself.’

I nodded and poured the water into the mugs. ‘I do appreciate this, love,’ I said. ‘I know it must be really hard for you.’

‘It’s messing with my head,’ he said, pacing up and down. ‘Her being in the house. It doesn’t seem right. Like some kind of dream where people from different parts of your life are all mixed up together.’

‘Please try to talk to her, though. At least over lunch. It’ll be hard for Josh if you and Barbara don’t talk to her.’

‘I know. I’m working up to it. I’m not sure Barbara will say anything to her, mind.’

‘Did she never like her?’ I asked. ‘Even before she left, I mean?’

Chris shook his head. ‘She thought she was a bad influence on me. I never smoked till I met her, you see.’

I nodded. Though I suspected it was a lot more than the smoking. Lydia was not the sort of woman you’d want your young son to hook up with. She was sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll. Not future daughter-in-law material. And certainly not the bearer of your first grandchild.

‘At least she’s making an effort,’ I said. ‘I mean, she’s been the perfect house guest so far.’

‘I’ve never said she couldn’t be charming,’ said Chris.

‘When she’s sober, you mean?’

‘She’s not sober,’ said Chris. ‘That’s her after two or three drinks.’

‘She was probably nervous about coming here,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Something like that.’

I fished the tea bags out of the mugs and started pouring the milk in.

Chris stopped me on the fourth one. ‘No,’ he said, his hand on my arm. ‘She has it black.’

I put the milk down slowly, feeling a clawing sensation deep inside. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

* * *

We sat down at the kitchen table at one o’clock. The seating arrangements had been thought out meticulously so that Lydia was not next to either Chris or Barbara, nor within ‘Can you pass the gravy, please?’ distance of them. Everyone sat in their appointed places. Chris and I were at either end of the table, which was dressed with a vintage table runner, holly and berries from the garden and antique candlesticks which I’d picked up at various shops over the years.

‘The table looks beautiful, as ever, Alison,’ said Barbara.

‘I helped decorate it,’ said Matilda. ‘I put the crackers out.’

‘Smells good too,’ said Chris, rubbing his hands. ‘Do I get my usual job?’

I nodded and handed him the carving knife. ‘Maybe do it over there on the counter,’ I said.

‘Why, what’s wrong with the table?’

I nodded my head towards Lydia. ‘I just thought …’

‘Oh, no honestly, it’s fine by me,’ said Lydia. ‘Chris always used to carve it in front of me, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ said Chris, still avoiding eye contact.

He got the turkey out of the oven, put it at his end of the table and started to carve. I took the nut roast out. I wasn’t altogether sure what it was supposed to look like, but it seemed done to me. I turned it on to a plate and put it on the table next to the cranberry sauce.

‘Please help yourself,’ I said, handing Lydia a metal slice to use. ‘I hope it’s OK.’

‘It looks great,’ said Lydia. ‘Thanks.’

‘Why isn’t she having the same as us?’ asked Matilda.

‘Her name’s Lydia,’ I reminded Matilda. ‘And she’s vegetarian. She doesn’t eat meat.’

‘Why don’t you eat meat?’ Matilda asked her.

‘Um, because of the animal thing, really,’ said Lydia, flicking her hair back from her face.

‘What about the animals?’

‘Well, eating them isn’t exactly being nice to them, is it?’ said Josh.

I gave him a suitable look and passed Matilda’s plate up to Chris.

When it came back with a couple of slices of turkey on, Matilda looked at it, poked it a bit with her finger and said, ‘Can I have what Lydia’s having?’

‘It’s nut roast, love,’ I said. ‘It’s got nuts and mushrooms in. I don’t think you’d like it.’

‘I’d still like to try some,’ she said. ‘You always say to try new things.’

I picked the plate up, cut a small slice of the nut roast and popped it on to Matilda’s plate. Chris went to take Josh’s plate.

‘It’s OK, thanks,’ said Josh. ‘I’m having the nut roast.’

‘You always have turkey,’ said Chris.

‘I know. I fancy a change.’

Lydia looked down. She was fiddling with the handle of her fork.

‘Anyone else?’ I asked, when Josh passed the nut roast back.

Chris shook his head.

‘No, thank you, love,’ said Barbara. ‘I’ll have some of your gravy, though.’

I passed it down to her and started dishing up the roast potatoes.

‘I have to say, Barbara, you’re looking incredibly well,’ said Lydia. ‘Are you still doing a lot of walking?’

A silence hung over the table for a moment. It could go one of two ways.

Josh put his fork down and looked at Barbara. I think it was that which swung it.

‘Yes, still rambling, thank you.’

The table breathed again. Josh’s face visibly relaxed. Maybe it was going to be OK, after all.

‘Right, I’ll pour the wine, then,’ said Chris.

Lydia’s bottle of red was already uncorked on the table. Chris got the white from the fridge. He started with Barbara, just half a glass of white, then me, rather a large glass of white. He walked round to Lydia’s place and poured her a glass of red. He didn’t ask which she’d prefer. Clearly he didn’t need to.

‘Thank you,’ she said, looking up at him.

It came out like a purr. She probably didn’t intend it to. Or maybe it was simply my ears that heard it that way. He made eye contact with her, the first time since she’d arrived. He said nothing. Just continued round the table, back to his seat.

‘Hello, am I invisible?’ asked Josh as Chris walked past him.

‘No, but you’re under-age,’ replied Chris.

‘Mum lets me have some,’ said Josh.

The table fell silent again.

‘Only a little bit, like,’ he added quickly.

‘It’s what they do in Europe, isn’t it?’ said Lydia. ‘Let them have a taste of wine at family meals rather than go off binge drinking on their eighteenth birthday.’

‘They do a lot of things in Europe,’ said Barbara. ‘Doesn’t mean we have to do them.’

‘I thought we lived in Europe,’ said Matilda. ‘Mrs Eddington at school said so.’

‘We do, love,’ I said. ‘It’s complicated.’

Chris was still standing next to Josh, a bottle in each hand.

‘Maybe just a taste,’ I said. ‘As it’s Christmas.’

Chris looked at me. For a moment I thought he was going to argue the toss. He didn’t, though.

‘Red or white, sir?’ he asked.

‘Red, please,’ said Josh.

Chris poured a very small amount of red into his glass. Josh opened his mouth to say something, caught me looking at him and obviously thought better of it.

‘Crackers,’ said Matilda, as Chris poured his own glass of red, put the bottles in the centre of the table and sat down. ‘We haven’t done crackers yet.’

She picked up the cracker in front of her, held it out to me and whooped as the hat, gift and joke flew out of her end. She pulled crackers with Barbara and me in turn.