The Marriage Mender (8 page)

He texted me and asked if I’d like to come and watch him play badminton.

I just texted back ‘No, not really’.

The text messages started that evening. Maybe it had taken her that long to sober up. Maybe Josh hadn’t turned his phone back on until then either, as some sort of mark of respect to the rest of the family or simply because he didn’t know how to handle it.

At first I thought it was Josh and Tom just texting back and forth but one look at Josh’s face at the dinner table when his phone beeped from upstairs gave it away. I glanced at Chris. If he did realise, he was doing a very good job of keeping his expression neutral.

I said nothing at the time. Waited until after tea. Until the dishwasher had been loaded and Chris was reading Matilda a bedtime story. I knocked on the door of Josh’s room.

‘Yeah,’ he called.

I went in, taking it as teenage for ‘enter’. The darkness
of the decor always looked worse in winter. At least in the summer the sunlight crashed through his sash windows and his blinds could offer little in the way of defence. In winter it was as if the darkness outside somehow reflected back the darkness from within. The one condition we had laid down was that, if we ever put the house up for sale, he’d have to paint the walls magnolia (black not featuring highly on those ‘How to sell your property’ lists).

Josh was lying on his bed, his earphones in, something sounding conspicuously like ‘Back to Black’ coming out of them.

‘Didn’t know you were into Amy Winehouse,’ I said.

He took out his earphones, somewhat defensively. ‘Mum got me into her,’ he said.

I imagined Lydia listening to her. Sharing in the anguish. Spitting out the words. Mourning her death. I sat down on the corner of Josh’s bed.

‘Have you spoken to her?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, just texted.’

‘What’s she saying?’

‘That she’s sorry. She screwed up and she wants us to start again.’

I nodded. ‘And what do you reckon to that?’

He shrugged. ‘I dunno. It’s hard. I can forgive her for mucking me about but coming here and shouting at you and Tilda –’

His voice broke off as he shook his head.

‘Has she said why she behaved like that?’

‘Just that she was mad at herself for letting me down and mad at her boyfriend too. That’s why she started drinking.’

‘She obviously didn’t know when to stop, either. Does she drink when she’s with you?’

‘No. Never. Smokes a lot, mind.’

‘So, basically, you’ve just found the mum you’ve never known, she’s messed you about and screwed up, and you can’t work out what the hell you’re supposed to do about it.’

‘You’re good at your job, aren’t you?’ said Josh, with a half-smile.

‘I get a lot of people with problems where there are no easy answers.’

‘The thing is, it doesn’t really matter what I think. Because Dad’s not going to let me see her again after this, is he?’

‘You’ve got to understand that he just wants to protect you.’

‘I don’t need protecting. I’m not a kid.’

‘You’re his kid. You always will be.’

‘But I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. And if I want to give her another chance and it all goes pear-shaped, then I’ll deal with it.’

I wanted to explain that it wasn’t that simple. That it would still be us who had to pick up the pieces of whatever mess she left behind. I knew it was pointless, though. And that what I really needed to do was to make him feel listened to.

‘Look, if you decide you do want to see her again, I’ll talk to your dad,’ I said. ‘I can’t promise I’ll change his mind but I’ll talk to him.’

‘Why would you do that?’ asked Josh. ‘You must hate her. She’s Dad’s ex, after all.’

‘I don’t hate her,’ I said. ‘And even if I did, love is always more powerful. I want you to remember that.’

‘As stepmums go,’ said Josh, ‘you’re really not that bad.’

I smiled at him. ‘Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.’

* * *

The knock on the door came early the following morning. Chris was in the shower so I scrambled out of bed, pulled on my dressing gown and hurried downstairs.

I could hear whistling. It was the postman. He always whistled. I guessed he liked conforming to stereotype.

I didn’t even look at the name on the box he handed me until I got it inside. Written on it in thick black marker pen was ‘Matilda Bentley’. I racked my brains, trying to think of any competitions or giveaways Matilda had entered, although I knew sometimes these things took ages to be sent out.

I put the box on Matilda’s place mat and went back upstairs to grab a shower while Chris got dressed.

‘Morning, sleepyhead,’ I called as I went into Matilda’s room afterwards and drew back the curtains. ‘There’s post for you downstairs. A box with your name on it.’

That was all it took. She was up and out of bed in record time. I followed her downstairs. Chris was already in the kitchen making breakfast.

‘Morning, Daddy,’ Matilda said, before picking up the box and shaking it. ‘I don’t know what it is.’

‘The normal practice,’ said Chris, ‘is to open it and find out.’

Matilda picked at the tape without success.

‘Here you are,’ said Chris, fetching some scissors and scoring along the tape.

Matilda opened the box. Her gasp made me turn round sharply. She lifted up a large puppet of a girl with long brown hair, a smiley face and wearing a stripy top and jeans.

‘It’s me,’ squealed Matilda. ‘It’s like a puppet of me.’

‘Wow, that’s great,’ said Chris. ‘Who’s sent you that?’

I knew straight away. I’d barely met the woman but I somehow knew it was the sort of thing she’d do. I walked over to the table and looked inside the box. There was a card at the bottom. It said, ‘Sorry, hope we can still be friends. Lydia.’

I handed it to Chris. He read it, shut his eyes for a second and shook his head.

‘What is it?’ asked Matilda, reaching up to see the card.

‘It’s from Josh’s mum,’ I said to her.

She took the card from my hand, examining the writing, tracing Lydia’s name with her finger as if to make absolutely certain. All the time I was watching her face, seeing her weigh it up in her head; how much she loved the puppet against how she felt about Lydia. For a moment I thought it might be in the balance, she might be about
to throw the puppet back in the box and say she didn’t want it. It was only a moment, though. And then she took another look at the puppet, put her arm inside and walked the cloth legs along the floor. Her face lightened. She had made her decision. Although, really, what she didn’t know was that the decision had been made by the person who sent it.

‘I love it,’ she breathed. ‘I absolutely love it. I’m going to call her Amy.’

Josh came into the kitchen. ‘Hey, cool puppet,’ he said.

Matilda rushed over to him. ‘It’s from your mum,’ she shrieked. ‘She sent it to me to say sorry. I’m calling her Amy.’

Josh looked from me to Chris and back to Matilda.

‘Did you tell her to do that?’ asked Chris.

‘No. I told her I was mad at her for upsetting Tilda. That was all.’

‘Then how did she know Tilda likes puppets?’

‘I probably mentioned it at some point, I don’t know.’

‘I haven’t got to send it back, have I?’ asked Matilda, a frown creasing her brow.

‘No, love,’ I said. ‘Of course you haven’t. It was a present. We’ll write a thank-you note for it later.’

‘But how will we give it to her?’ asked Matilda.

I looked at Chris. He looked away.

‘We’ll sort it out. Don’t worry,’ I said.

Matilda gazed again at her puppet and started dancing it around the kitchen.

‘Come on,’ I said, knowing Chris’s pressure valve would be close to bursting. ‘Let’s put it away for now. You don’t want it getting spoilt over breakfast.’

* * *

The flowers came when the others were all out. It was probably just as well. I didn’t think Chris could take much more. They were yellow and orange gerberas. I wondered if she’d asked Josh about my favourite colours, or whether it was just a lucky guess.

I took them from the florist, said ‘Thank you’ to her, shut the front door and put them down on the hall table. The stems were in one of those cellophane water holders so they stood up by themselves. I stared at them for a long time before I opened the card which came with them.

‘I’m so sorry. Please forgive my behaviour. Lydia,’ it said.

I could throw the card away now, try and pretend they were from one of my grateful clients. I wouldn’t do it out of spite, I’d do it to try to make things easier for everyone. But the truth was this wasn’t going to go away.

Lydia wasn’t going to go away.

And somehow or other we were going to have to find a way to try to live with it.

* * *

Josh guessed straight away when he came home.

‘They’re from Mum too, aren’t they?’ he said, looking at the flowers.

‘Yeah. Will you thank her for me, please? In a text or whatever.’

‘Sure …’ he said. He hesitated for a moment. ‘Where’s Tilda?’

‘In her room. Playing with the puppet.’

He stared some more at the flowers before saying, ‘I want to give her another chance.’

My stomach clenched. I looked at Josh and nodded. ‘OK. So you’d like me to talk to Dad?’

‘Yeah. If you don’t mind.’

‘Like I said, I can’t promise.’

‘I know. Just tell him that she really is sorry. She’s been beating herself up about it.’

I nodded. Not sure if I believed her.

* * *

Chris didn’t even mention the flowers. I knew he’d seen them. I’d left them on the table in the hall, having sensed that bringing them into any of the rooms would be the wrong thing to do. He would have walked past them on his way in from work and, unlike some men, he was far too observant to have missed them. He hadn’t asked who they were from but he knew. He had the air of a man who was trying hard not to make a bad situation worse.

And I was very aware as I sat down next to him in the lounge, after Josh and Matilda had gone to bed, that what I was about to say was indeed going to make things worse.

‘Josh wants to give Lydia another chance,’ I said.

He nodded slowly and said nothing. It was worse than him blowing a fuse.

‘He says she’s genuinely sorry. That she won’t do it again.’

Chris rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling.

‘He’s really been cut up about this, love. He’s given it a lot of thought.’

‘Well, surely you don’t want him to see her again?’

‘No. In an ideal world I wouldn’t want him to have anything more to do with her. But it’s not an ideal world, is it? And I still think this should ultimately be Josh’s decision.’

‘Believe me,’ said Chris, ‘I hate seeing him cut up like this as much as you do, but I don’t trust her not to screw up again.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s say we go down your route. We ban him from seeing her, for his own good, of course. How do you think he’ll be? Will he be happy? Will he confide in us about anything in the future?’

Chris shut his eyes and sighed. ‘I know what you’re saying, and you’re probably right. But it’s like letting him lie down on a train track when you know there’s a train coming.’

‘But at some point we’ve got to let go. Let him make his own mistakes. The important thing is that what he doesn’t regret later on are the mistakes we made on his behalf.’

‘Is that what your clients say?’ asked Chris. ‘The old “They fuck you up, your mum and dad” routine.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Because, for a lot of them, it’s true. And I don’t want Josh going to see some shrink in twenty years’ time and telling them he’s screwed up because we stopped him from seeing his own mother. From seeing if he might have been able to have some kind of relationship with her as an adult.’

Chris shut his eyes. He sat for a long time without saying anything.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘But this is the last chance. If she messes up again, we take the decision out of his hands.’

I smiled at him. Only a small smile, because it wasn’t necessarily what I wanted either. But I did believe it was the right thing for Josh.

* * *

I’d hoped that Jayne and Bob would look slightly less anguished the next time they came to see me. To be honest, if anything, they looked worse. Bob’s face was grey and drawn. Jayne’s hands were clenched tightly in her lap, the expression on her face one of resignation.

‘So how have things been since I last saw you?’ I asked.

‘Fine, thank you,’ said Jayne.

Bob looked down at his feet.

‘This isn’t like one of those social occasions when you have to pretend everything’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m well aware that things weren’t fine the last time I saw you, so I wasn’t expecting them to have got better already. I may like to think I’m good at my job but I’m not that good.’ I smiled at them.

Jayne’s face softened a little. ‘Things haven’t been very good at all,’ she said.

‘Bob, would you agree with that?’

He nodded. ‘It’s like I’m treading on eggshells. I have to avoid mentioning Cassie at all. Only place I can relax is on the golf course.’

‘And do you go there a lot?’ I asked.

‘More than I used to.’

‘What about you, Jayne?’ I asked. ‘Do you have hobbies and interests of your own?’

‘Oh, I’ve got plenty going on. I’m active in the WI and I make handmade cards and do a bit of painting with water colours, though I’m not very good.’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘And what things do you do together, as a couple?’

My question was greeted with blank looks and silence.

‘Do you go out for meals at all?’ I prompted.

‘Occasionally,’ said Jayne. ‘I like Thai and Mexican, but Bob’s not one for foreign food or anything spicy. Sometimes we’ll go to the Italian, though. They do a very plain sauce for him there.’

‘Right. And what about holidays? When did you last go on holiday?’

‘In June,’ said Bob. ‘There’s a nice place in Brittany we’ve been to a few times. We get ferry over.’

‘Bob doesn’t like flying, you see,’ said Jayne.

‘OK. So obviously that will be an issue with Cassie going to Australia.’

‘He won’t step on a plane,’ said Jayne. ‘If I go, it’ll be on my own.’

Bob shrugged. They both looked down at their hands.