You, Me and Other People (26 page)

If Ben apologizes one more time, I may do him some damage. We’re at Highgate, on a bright Saturday morning, tidying the grave and planting spring flowers in colourful pots. The daffodils and forsythia scream yellow, their scent heady and pungent.

‘I just feel bad,’ he says yet again, as he presses hard on the overflowing compost. In the background, people pass us by, some heads bent, thoughtful, their losses seeming more recent. Others nod and smile as they walk by, their grief spent long ago.

‘Don’t,’ I tell him for what will be the last time before I wrestle him to the earthy ground. ‘It’s your flat, yours to sell, and you’d be crazy not to take this offer.’

I mean what I say. He has an asking price offer, requiring exchange and completion in two weeks. He should grab it and run for the hills.

‘What will you do?’ he asks.

‘I’ll find somewhere else! There’s a flat I’m having a second look at tomorrow. It’s on the river near Fulham.’

‘Really?’ Ben has a wide grin on his face. His relief that I am house-hunting is palpable. ‘To buy or rent?’

‘To buy. The market’s on fire. I don’t want to lose out by renting.’ What I don’t tell him is I’m not sure I’m ready. The flat I saw is wonderful – more river views, having been spoilt by living in Ben’s – and I can afford it, but am I ready? Am I ready to buy myself what will be a middle-aged bachelor pad?

‘Can I see it?’

‘You can see it if I decide to buy it. The last thing I need is you telling me to buy it just because you feel bad.’ I tilt my head at an angle, widen my eyes and give him a cross-eyed look, let him know I’m joking.

‘We never did talk about The Rookery,’ he says, cramming too much soil into the last pot.

‘There’s not much to talk about.’

‘Did you speak about this?’ He eyeballs the grave. ‘Their suicide? Hiding the facts for so long from Beth? I think hiding things from her almost became second nature to you.’

I laugh, a small, low laugh. ‘You’re wasted as an accountant, Ben. The Rookery needs your skills.’ I bend down to help with the pots. ‘Do you remember Mum singing?’ I blurt out.

He puts his head back, raises his face towards the sky as if he’s trying to pick at a memory. ‘I do,’ he says. ‘She was always singing when I was little. Everywhere, any time, any place …’

‘Then she stopped.’

His face, now lowered again, frowns. ‘I’d never really thought about it.’ He plays with some of the potted soil with a hand trowel.

‘It came up, when I was talking about her.’ I hesitate, not wanting to say too much. ‘I spoke about her a lot.’

‘Take me with you next time. I could fill a few sessions talking about Dad, then your therapist could realize how fucked they both were. You bitching about Mum and me about Dad.’

I’m surprised and wary of the angry undertone in his voice. ‘So how does that make you feel?’ I try a joke to diffuse it.

He stands, stretches his long limbs. ‘Why do you think I never used to come here, Adam? Still don’t if I’m honest, not unless it’s with you.’

I shrug. ‘I guess I’ve always put it down to you being pissed off at the way they left us.’

‘Yes that. Of course that. But I’m angrier at Dad. Something always told me that Mum was mentally ill. I sort of knew even back then that she was going to self-destruct. But Dad … Why would a man with two children who still needed him do that?’

I hold my breath.

‘You never showed me the actual letter.’ His words puncture the chilled February air, slicing through it like an ice pick.

‘At the time you were—’

‘I think I’d like to see it.’

‘Sure,’ I shrug, hoping he’ll forget he asked, wondering if I’ll get away with losing it in the house move.

‘I don’t know.’ He gathers the gardening tools together. ‘Maybe it’s better left alone.’

‘Maybe,’ I say, leaving the word lingering between us.

‘He never liked me.’

My head shakes. ‘That’s just not true, Ben. I don’t know where you’re getting that from.’

‘Adam, I’m not eighteen now! You don’t need to protect me from my bloody awful parents any more!’

I do. I do. I do. I do.

‘The truth is Mum gave you a shit time. Everything was always your fault. And Dad, Dad gave me a shit time in a much more subtle way. He’d look at me funny, make me feel left out, send me off on school trips so you three could go to fucking Loch Ness together.’ He throws the trowel he has in his left hand on the ground, pulls the lone gardening glove from his right and tosses it on top, stands up. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve had enough to deal with. This is why I don’t come here. I’ll wait for you in the car.’

I watch his back as he walks away, his stride long and determined. My eyes close. ‘He has a way to go,’ I whisper to my parents. ‘And I suppose I still do too.’ I tap their headstone a couple of times with my fingers, put the tools and compost in a plastic bag and walk away, desperately telling myself off on the way back to the car. I scrabble to find some more forgiveness, knowing they had trouble coping, knowing they were flawed and that absolution is the only way forward. But when I see Ben’s troubled face in the passenger seat, I find it hard, and I’m not sure I’ll ever come back here myself …

Meg is walking beside me. It’s the day after the cemetery and we’re strolling through Kingston Park. The place is awash with cyclists and families walking with children and dogs. In the distance, a herd of deer gathers under a copse for shelter. Dark rain clouds have gathered above.

‘It looks like rain, we should head back to the car.’ I steer her around and walk in the direction we came from.

We’re both quiet as the drizzle starts. ‘Kiera contacted me,’ she says, breaking the silence. ‘She sent a letter to me, care of Mum at the estate agency.’

I say nothing. It takes her until she’s putting her seat belt around her before she continues. ‘She just wanted to thank me again for trying …’

Through the loss of my marriage, a stay in the funny farm, and facing up to my parents’ suicide, it is always Noah, the mere mention of him, that will bring a lump to my throat. I swallow it; will it to disappear.

‘It was a nice letter.’ She shrugs, then reaches across and hugs me. ‘So,’ she raises her voice to a more upbeat tone, ‘how far is this flat then?’

‘Fifteen minutes if the traffic’s good.’

‘You’d be nearer me,’ she states.

‘Only for a few months. When you finish your degree this year, the sky is the limit. Have you thought about what you want to do?’ I start the engine and point the car towards Fulham.

She buries herself in her wide polo neck. ‘I don’t want to think about it! I don’t want to be a grown-up!’

I laugh. ‘You’re right. It’s really not all it’s cracked up to be.’

Late Sunday evening and I’m sifting through work papers. I never seem to have enough time to read everything I should for work. The paper streams are endless. The television,
News at Ten
, is on mute in the background. The email printout on top of the pile is a request from Matt for my part in approving final hire costs in New York. While my life has been spectacularly unravelling, Matt has been building our empire and making our long-standing joint dream of an overseas office something close to reality. The list of expenses is endless. Beneath them is a bullet-point list of Matt’s fee-making and cost-saving ways of covering it all, every penny. He is a diamond. I open my BlackBerry and send him a four-word email. ‘You are a diamond’, I tell him. Then I put a smiley face.

I lean back in the chair and rub the bridge of my nose, papers sliding from my lap to the sofa. Today has been a good day. I’ve spent time with Meg. I’ve put an offer on a flat, a two-bedroom brand-new unit overlooking the river at Fulham. It’s charmless and as yet unfinished, but Meg has assured me she will help make it look like a home. It’s a good option, the only problem being that I have to leave here next week and the flat won’t be ready for at least six. Unless I can find a short-term rental, it may not work out.

Beth crosses my mind. I’m due to meet her at the storage unit she’s renting in order to go through all the stuff from The Lodge. As I think of her, an idea takes shape in my mind. I stand up, flick the kettle on for a cup of tea. I remove my glasses, rub my eyes. It could work. I could win her back. I know I could. If I were living there with her, in her house, just for a few weeks, I could do it. I could show her how I’ve changed. I could be the most unselfish person she has ever come across. She would ask me what I’d done with the old Adam Hall. She might even tell me that she misses parts of him – just a few – and she just might fall in love with me again.

I asked Karen to come. Meg can’t make it and I think I may need someone with me. Josh is beside himself, pacing in and out of his office, calling to his receptionist, Melanie, asking her to get Karen a tea. Karen’s on a health kick, off coffee and grumpy with it, complaining all the way about the crowds on the Tube.

On the low-lying table in front of us, there is an array of cakes like never seen before in Josh’s office.

‘Everybody okay?’ He finally sits opposite us, his iPad propped open on the table beside the pastries. I have a strong Arabica in front of me. Karen has a peppermint tea. ‘Can I get anyone anything else?’

Karen kicks my ankle. She has always been a sucker for American accents.

‘Josh, sit down and show us the link.’ I’m now more nervous than him. ‘Promise me you haven’t looked at it?’

He gives me a daggers look as if to say: ‘Puh-lease. Would I be behaving in this manner if I’d already seen it?’ Then he leans forward and presses open the link sent from LA. Any second now, I will see a scene from the movie’s rushes. The music starts, the soft voice of Marilee Garcia fills the room. I hear my melody, its matching lyrics play over the scene. It features the female lead, sitting in the Museum of Modern Art in New York, waiting for the lover she knows isn’t coming. She’s seated on a bench staring at Monet’s
Water Lilies
. She has tears in her eyes. There are flashback scenes of him, memories of their time together. I hold my breath, wait for the end, then glance at Josh, who has a hand over his mouth and is looking at me. Karen squeezes my arm; when I turn to look at her, she’s crying. Karen never cries. Never …

‘It’s real,’ she says quietly. ‘It’s really real.’

‘Fucking right,’ Josh says, and we all laugh, me knowing and Karen sensing that my well-brought-up Midwest American agent never swears. ‘It sounds great, doesn’t it?’ he adds, anxious for my approval.

‘It does, it does …’ I’m rubbing my tummy, feeling both apprehensive and excited, aware that this moment is probably as good as it gets, as good as it will ever get. ‘Marilee’s voice is perfect for it. I’m glad she agreed to do it.’

‘Ten days to the single download, with the soundtrack album to follow on movie release date in June,’ Josh says.

I go to speak and he holds a palm up in the air. ‘Don’t worry, your super-agent already has it all covered.’

‘Right …’

‘You are going to be rich, girl,’ he adds, rubbing his hands together in a Fagin-like gesture.

‘I’ll buy some granite worktops …’

‘You can buy a quarry,’ he says.

‘I’ll convert the garage to a studio.’ I’m on a roll.

‘Just move,’ he says, ‘buy your old house back. One in the face for Adam. Though, in a strange way, we have him to thank.’

My face must register how I feel about this.

‘If he hadn’t been unfaithful, you might never have written this song,’ Josh explains.

Karen is quiet. I look to her for help, but instead see her lean forward before projectile vomiting across the cakes.

‘Oh God.’ Josh turns a ghastly shade and yells for Melanie.

I pull Karen to her feet. She is both green and apologetic.

‘No coffee, dislike of crowds, vomiting on the pastries.’ I count the offences out on my fingers. ‘When were you going to tell me?’ I hold her by the shoulders.

‘Whenever you suggested lunch or a drink,’ she sobs. ‘Christ, I feel awful. I’m so sorry.’

‘Does Ben know?’

‘Yes, we only found out on Friday.’

‘How far are you gone?’

‘About six weeks.’

Josh makes an ‘oh’ sound in the background. Melanie has arrived with reams of kitchen roll and a plastic bag. I take it from her and start clearing the mess. It’s obvious from her face she is one of those people who can’t stand puke. Josh too. He stands in the background, his hands on his hips, his mouth a straight line of distaste.

‘Air freshener, Melanie? And open the windows, Josh.’

They do as I ask and I scoop the mess up into the bag. I hand it to Melanie who holds it out in front of her as if it’s going to explode. Karen looks on, her face frozen.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeats.

I laugh. ‘Get used to saying that, hon. You’re getting married and about to become a mum. C’mon, let’s get you home. In a taxi – no buts, you’re going home by taxi.’ I steer her out of the room. ‘Send me that link, Josh? Sorry about the cakes.’ I stop and kiss his cheeks. ‘Well done. You are “the bestest” agent in the whole wide world.’

Josh flushes. ‘I am, aren’t I? You’re not so bad yourself.’ He kisses me back. ‘I’ll send you the link. Look after Mama here.’

Outside, it’s raining and I have no umbrella. I manage to hail a taxi and place Karen in the back. ‘Go home. Get some rest, give in to it. No work and – ’ I hold both of her hands in mine – ‘congratulations. It’s fantastic news. I’m thrilled for both of you.’

Karen gives a vacant nod, calls her address out to the driver and is gone. I’m left standing on the corner of a Soho street in the rain. I look up to the heavens and smile. Karen is having a baby. Ben is having a baby. My song is in a movie, a real movie. I want to celebrate, to do a Gene Kelly dance on the pavement. Instead, rather than tackle the Underground again, I hail another taxi. Hell, I can afford it. I ask him to take me to The Big Purple Box storage centre in Wandsworth, where I have an appointment with my ex-ish husband.

‘Jesus …’

Adam is a little overwhelmed at the sheer amount of stuff we still have.

‘Christ …’ he adds, running a hand through his hair. ‘Seeing it here like this. It’s weird.’

I nod. It is. Weird and painful. We’re standing here like lost souls, just staring at the rows of furniture, piles of boxes, scattered paintings. The detritus of a broken marriage. I have the sudden and uncontrollable urge to cry, managing instead to keep it to a soft sniffle. He grabs my hand. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he whispers, though I have no idea what that means.

‘I guess you have to take what you want and then the rest will go to charity.’ I’m appalled at my own words, unable to believe that so many memories have to be discarded for lack of space. For the first time, I regret selling The Lodge.

It’s as though he reads my mind. ‘We did what we did,’ he shrugs, letting go of my hand and heading towards a chest.

Immediately, I know it’s the one from the loft, the one I found with all of Noah’s things and … He stands over it, stares down, unable to touch it. ‘I suppose you looked inside.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you hate me?’ He has turned around to face me. ‘For hiding it all from you?’

‘I don’t hate you, Adam.’ I shake my head and take a seat on a stray garden chair. ‘I’ve had moments where I thought I did. I hate what you did. I hate the fact that you cheated, that you were weak, that you hid all of that from me and weren’t brave enough to be honest, but I don’t hate
you
.’

He takes a seat on Noah’s chest. ‘You must have had a better therapist than Tom.’ He shrugs. ‘Because I think I still hate me.’

‘Well, don’t. It won’t help you move forward.’

He breathes a deep sigh. ‘I wanted to tell you. Right at the beginning when Kiera told me. When we went to see that counsellor?’

I nod.

‘But I just couldn’t. You were so forgiving of the fact that I’d been with her. You still loved me so much and I just couldn’t,
wouldn’t
ruin that. For you or for me.’

To my horror, he begins to cry. He strokes the chest as if it contains something he can’t bear.

I’m stuck, unable to move, just looking at him. Something tells me to stay exactly where I am.

‘How come you loved me, Beth? Why did you love me?’ When he looks at me, my heart shreds. I see the man I have always loved sitting opposite me. He’s crying, in need of comfort, solace and loving, and I’m stuck to a weathered, verdigrised garden chair.

‘Believe it or not, you were always easy to love.’ I pick at a tiny area where the surface is peeling from the arm of the chair.

He shakes his head. ‘They didn’t love me enough and, ultimately, neither did you.’

I know immediately that he knows.

‘You’re human. You read the letter, anyone would. My mum and dad,’ he says. ‘They loved each other more than they loved me or Ben. According to Tom, I harbour resentful feelings about that.’ He gives a low sarcastic laugh. ‘No shit, Sherlock. No fucking shit.’ Adam locks eyes with mine.

‘They left me and now you’ve left me.’

I take a moment to respond and, when I do, I move over to him, get down on the floor beside him. I take his hand. ‘I loved you with all of my heart. I loved our family unit, our home, the life we built together.’ My jaw hurts. ‘I loved the way you moved, the colour of your hair, the feel of your skin, the way you laughed, everything about you. You left me, Adam. The problem was never how much, or if, I loved you. It was the way you loved me back. You put yourself first, not me.’

He lowers his head, sniffs some more, stares at the ribbed concrete floor of the storage unit.

‘I get it.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘Knowing what I know now, I get it. They left you on your own. It would feel like they never loved you, but I’m sure they did, in the way that they knew how. And I loved you very much. Know that, will you? I want you to know that.’

I have no idea why I feel the need for Adam to know how much I loved him. It’s more than the fact that I feel sorry for him.

‘Secrets and lies,’ he whispers. ‘It was secrets and lies that killed you and me. I love you more than I’ll ever love another soul.’ His lips tremble as he speaks. ‘I’m not making excuses but they taught me well. Secrets and lies,’ he repeats.

‘Adam, does Ben know?’

He shakes his head so rapidly from side to side that I think he’ll be sick.

‘Don’t you think he should?’

‘Christ, no.’

‘You should tell him. He’s a big boy.’

‘If Dad wanted him to know, he’d have asked me to tell him.’ Adam looks at me wide-eyed. ‘And there has never been the right time.’

‘Your father should never have given you that burden. You need to tell him. Karen’s pregnant. They’re having a child together. ’

I hesitate, suddenly unsure. ‘What if they ever have a problem like Kiera had to face?’

He nods slowly, the realization hitting him. It’s time for Adam to share his father’s letter with his brother. I place an arm around his shoulders and rub him, like I would do if he were cold. I tell him it’s all going to be all right.

‘No, it’s not,’ he says. ‘We’re sitting in a tin can with our life’s worth around us. I’ve been a selfish prick and all I want is to pick up the pieces, grab hold of you and beg you to give me another chance. Please. Just one more chance. I’ll show you I can be different.’

‘Adam—’

‘Don’t tell me you don’t love me any more, please, just don’t say it out loud.’

I turn his face around to look at mine. ‘You’re bad for me, Adam. I’ve had to work that out. You do your best, but your best isn’t what I need. I need someone to love me completely, totally.’

‘I do. I did. I’ve changed. The time in The Rookery, did I tell you about Rosie? Rosie, the poor thing …’

He begins to shake. Not a trembling shake, but a cold all over, shaking shake. I can’t stop him. He’s shaking and weeping and it’s all I can do to put my arms around him and hold him. I look to the heavens. So much for him being better. And who in God’s name is Rosie?