Another Night, Another Day (28 page)

‘Nah, it’s OK – or I think so today at any rate – though I’m a bit up and down so I might think different tomorrow . . .’ He takes another drag. ‘Some
might tell you otherwise, but you know what I reckon the worst problem in here is?’

Michael shakes his head.

‘Boredom.’

‘Oh?’

‘There’s TV if you can survive the ordeal. Daytime’s not so bad, but I warn you, evenings there’s nearly always someone wants to watch something else, so you’ll
have to fight to see anything you like.’

‘Fight . . . ?’ Michael recalls the desperation with which the young lad grabbed the remote control.

‘Oh, I don’t mean actually fight. People can look violent in here even when they’re not. Medication takes care of that.’

Great, thinks Michael. So everyone
is
doped up, as I suspected. I’m buggered if they’re going to do that to me.

‘Though you can do art and stuff, if you like. OT, they call it – occupational therapy.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘All the usual classes: painting, pottery . . . And Matt – that chap playing Scrabble – think he was at Moreland’s too, a while back – he’s been running a
book group.’

‘Pottery?’ Well I never, he thinks,
that
wasn’t on offer at Moreland’s.

‘There’s a kiln and a potter’s wheel over in Riverside. That’s the mother and baby unit, round there.’ Terry gestures to the far side of the building. ‘But
you’re allowed to go to classes whatever ward you’re in. Teacher’s good, I hear. They produce some very professional pieces.’

Somehow Michael doubts this, but he nods appreciatively nonetheless.

‘Why, you interested?’

‘Dunno.’ I suppose I could make some vases, he thinks. Then Chrissie could put flowers in them.

It’s so pathetic he could almost laugh.

* * *

‘Would you mind looking after Callum for a bit?’ Glenn asks Eva. ‘Abby and I need to have a chat.’

‘Of course.’ Eva looks nervously at Abby. So she knows, thinks Abby. How could Glenn put Eva in that position? And me too.

Anger courses through her. Nevertheless, it’s better than anxiety. Abby is amazed how clear her head is. She feels like she could accomplish almost anything – sit an exam, bungee
jump . . . If only she were doing one of those instead.

Callum seems to pick up the uneasy mood – or he’s having a difficult day. Getting him settled is hard. He starts to pace around the living room.

‘I think it’s because he’s not seen you in a while,’ says Eva.

Of course, thinks Abby, and sadness rushes up, like milk boiling in a pan.

‘Let’s sit for a few minutes, shall we?’ she says to her son, knowing he’s unlikely to do so. But to her astonishment he drops down onto the sofa next to her, and for a
while she holds him to her, stroking his hair. He seems to have missed me, she thinks. After a while he pulls away and Abby leaves Eva to take over.

Glenn is in the kitchen, tidying ineffectually. The mug is now washed and on the draining board. There’s no sign of Abby’s note.

She switches on the kettle and stands waiting; no inclination to sit. ‘Well, who is she?’

Glenn swivels round. His face is drawn, his skin ashen. ‘Sorry?’

‘You heard me.’

He looks away from her gaze. ‘No one you know.’

‘Right. So there is someone.’ Ha! That was easy. ‘And – who is she?’

‘She’s someone I met through work . . . Her name’s Cara.’

‘She live near here?’

‘No.’

‘So I suppose you invited her over, then. Nice.’

Glenn is silent, avoiding her gaze.

‘How long has it been going on?’

He glances up at her; she sees fear flash across his eyes. Perhaps he’s wondering if he can get away with a lie.

‘Tell me the truth. You owe me that.’

‘Since last autumn.’

Abby feels sick. That’s – what? – about nine months ago. Nine months he’s been duping me.
Nine months.
That’s before we put the house on the market, before
Christmas, before I felt so bad. Karen’s words echo in her mind:
Glenn’s the one who should be having therapy, not you
, and she wants to punch him.

He allowed me to go to hell and back, she thinks. I felt I was going mad. I
did
go mad. And all the time I was unconsciously reacting to him. No wonder he was so worried I’d taken
an overdose. No wonder he was prepared to claim on his policy so I could be in Moreland’s, even though he moaned about it. Well, to hell with him. I’m going to stay there for
years
now, if I need to. I don’t care if I bankrupt the insurance company. I don’t care if I bankrupt him.

‘I’m sorry, Abby, really I am.’ Glenn moves towards her.

‘Don’t you DARE try and touch me!’ She shakes her head, incredulous. It’s a huge amount to take in and she can’t digest it all at once. And what about this woman?
Has she met Callum? Momentarily she’s furious with this stranger, stealing her husband. No, she thinks, I’m not going to fall into that trap. Glenn is the one who pledged fidelity.

‘I want you out,’ she states.

‘Out . . . ?’ So it hasn’t dawned on him this might be her reaction. How slow he is.

‘Yes,
out.
’

‘What about Callum?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. It’s only in the last fortnight you’ve begun to show the remotest interest in him. We’re OK. We’ll be fine.’

‘But aren’t you due back at Moreland’s?’

‘Not till Sunday. You can come back then to look after your son. Right now I don’t give a monkey’s where you go. You can go to hers, for all I care. I just want you gone. I
need space.’

Half an hour later, Glenn has packed a bag. He taps on the living-room door and says he is leaving. Eva looks uncomfortable and Abby doesn’t want to involve her any more than she has been
already – especially in front of Callum – so leads the way to the front door.

‘Get a solicitor,’ she says to Glenn, surprising herself with the words.

‘But the house . . . ?’

‘What about it?’

‘I thought we were going to sell this place first.’

‘No, we’re not. I don’t want to leave. Never have done. You know that.’

The remaining colour drains from Glenn’s face.

‘As I said, you might want to get a solicitor.’

She shuts the door behind him and leans back against the wall. Astonishingly, although she is shaking, she doesn’t feel a drop of anxiety. Sadness, yes, and anger. But the panic has
vanished.

* * *

Michael is trying to have a bath, but nothing is going right. First, he had to ask for a key before he was allowed to use the unit. Then, when he entered, he found the room wet
from the previous occupant. He was in the process of undressing when he noticed a small glass panel in the door – presumably so they can check he’s not drowning himself, but the
possibility of being overlooked is unnerving. Who’s to say one of the more power-crazed members of staff won’t come by merely to gawp?

He steps into the tub; the water is tepid, but it will have to do. He sits down and reaches for the soap; it’s so slippery it slides from his fingers, then he can’t locate it amongst
his own limbs. Finally he manages to create enough lather to wash himself. Never has bathing been such a source of mental anguish.

He lies back, watches the water whiten around his body. The soap forms a skin on the surface.

What a bloody awful day it’s been, he thinks. I’m not sure how I got through it. Adrenalin, mainly, I suppose. Being in the lounge earlier that evening was overwhelming. There were
arguments – not just about the TV but also about a mobile that had gone missing – ‘nicked’, so the belligerent little fellow who owned it believed. Michael was accused not
merely of stealing the phone but also of running off with Terry, apparently his lover. ‘Get your hands off him!’ Michael had been ordered, and thwacked unnervingly hard.
‘It’s all in his head,’ Terry had explained. ‘I barely know the guy – we must have set him off by going for a cigarette together. He’s obsessed with
stealing.’ There was also plenty of quick-witted banter and raucous laughter, yet Michael found himself yearning for the tempering effect of women.

Cowardice or not, enough’s enough, he decides as he gets out of the bath and dries himself on a coarse blue towel.

Then he changes into his dressing gown, returns the key and retreats to his bedroom.

He can feel his mood sinking lower and lower with each passing minute. He’s frightened by how fast it’s falling. With any luck I can stay in here most of tomorrow, he thinks. I might
get fed up with my own company, but I’d rather be bored rigid than re-enter the fray.

‘Ooh, look at him!’ says Karen. ‘He’s changed so much already!’

Lou unclips the baby carrier from the pram and edges into Karen’s hallway.

‘Let’s sit in the living room. It’s easier,’ Karen suggests.

‘Sure.’ Lou follows her, puts the carrier down on the floor, then kneels beside her week-old baby and bends to sniff his nappy.

‘Does he need changing?’

‘Seems OK for the moment.’

‘He’s such a cutie!’ The baby seems to furrow his brow ever so slightly at her words, and Karen coos at him. ‘You’re very alert, aren’t you?’

‘He’s called Frankie,’ says Lou. ‘In memory of my dad.’

‘That’s lovely.’

‘And he’s a right flirt. Aren’t you, my little man?’

‘You’re very brave bringing him all this way on the bus. Most first-time mums rarely venture out.’

‘Yeah, well, most first-time mums don’t live in an attic barely big enough to swing a cat. Where are Molly and Luke?’

‘Mum’s taken them to the park. They’ve been ages. She has the patience of a saint, my mum. I guess they’ll be back in a bit.’

Lou unzips the bag and reaches for a toy starfish. She shakes it close by Frankie and it rattles. ‘How’s your mum doing?’ she asks Karen.

‘You’ll see when she gets back. Not so bad, considering, though I do worry she’s lonely. I’d be interested to know what you think.’

‘You know me and mothers.’ Lou pulls a face. ‘I’m not one to give advice.’

‘I thought things between you two were better?’

‘They are, you’re right – mustn’t complain. She seems to adore Frankie already.’

‘My mum relishes spending time with Molly and Luke,’ says Karen. ‘I’ve heard it said grandchildren are the dessert of life.’

‘There’s something about having a baby that links us more to our parents, isn’t there? I suppose it’s because we begin to understand what it was like to be
them.’

It’s a shame my father wasn’t well enough to appreciate being with my kids more over the last few years, reflects Karen. He was such a good dad when I was small, carving me wooden
toys from scratch, always allowing me to win at draughts and chess, teaching me to ride a bike by running alongside, yelling encouragement. He’d have made a super granddad, if dementia
hadn’t depleted him so.

‘What’s up?’ says Lou.

‘Oh, thinking about my dad, that’s all.’

‘I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot as well.’ Lou gives her a sympathetic smile.

At least Dad got to see Molly and Luke, Karen reminds herself. I should be more thankful. She catches herself; it’s that ‘should’ word again . . . Then she remembers:
‘Ooh, just to warn you, I’ve a friend who might pop round this morning – she’s having a tough time, so I said she could.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘No one you know.’ Karen reaches for the starfish to shake it for Frankie. ‘I met her—’ She recalls she’s not told Lou she’s attending Moreland’s.
It’s silly, given that Lou is a counsellor, but then I’d have to explain how awfully down I’ve been, and that’ll be a long conversation, she reasons. So she fudges,
‘We’re on a course together, but she lives round here.’

‘I didn’t know you were doing a course . . . ?’

‘Um, yes . . . Anyway, she’s splitting up with her husband—’ I mustn’t say more or I’ll be breaking Abby’s confidence, Karen remembers.
‘I’ll let her explain.’ It might be safer to head back to their original subject. ‘You were asking about Mum. While she’s out, I wanted to ask you
something.’

‘Oh?’

‘I was wondering if I ought to invite her to move in here. She’s still in that horrible flat in Goring.’

‘Hmm. Well, you already know I couldn’t live with my mother in a million years.’ Lou recoils at the prospect, and Frankie scrunches up his face and begins to howl, as if in
response. Lou reaches to unclip the fasteners of his seat. ‘You need feeding,’ she says, scooping him into her arms.

‘You’re such a natural,’ Karen smiles. ‘Why don’t you pass him to me? Then you can sit on the sofa, and I’ll hand him back.’ Lou does as she suggests
and Karen is delighted to have a few seconds cuddling him. Ah, the joy of newborn baby!

‘You get on with your mum so well,’ says Lou, once Frankie is suckling. ‘All the same, how would you feel about her being here?’

‘Burdened.’ The word pops out before Karen can contain it. ‘But Mum’s always done such a lot for me . . .’

‘She was living abroad when your children were small,’ Lou points out.

‘Yeah, but they had us to stay a lot. We had some wonderful holidays out there.’ At least Dad was able to enjoy those with us, she recalls, even if his memory was slipping.

‘I bet she loved it! You said yourself she enjoys being with Molly and Luke.’

Karen is uneasy being critical. ‘She had a huge amount on, looking after my father. She managed virtually single-handed for many years.’

‘Yes, sorry, I wasn’t thinking – of course she did. I told you not to talk to me about mothers. I project too much of my own relationship. Great at being the objective
counsellor, aren’t I?’

If only Lou knew how much therapy I’ve had in the last fortnight, Karen thinks. I wasn’t after more. ‘I don’t want to upset her – especially when she’s just
lost Dad . . . And I don’t want to be unkind, or let her down . . .’ She comes to a halt. I’m off
again
, she realizes, putting others’ needs first. Now she’s
seen the pattern, it’s showing up everywhere, like a dandelion seeding itself.

They’re interrupted by the sound of people coming up the path.

Karen goes to the window. ‘It’s my friend.’ Abby has a pushchair too; it’s strange to see it occupied by a boy of Luke’s age, and he appears to be wearing giant
earphones like her father had in the 1970s. Karen has a flurry of panic about Frankie. He’s so small and vulnerable. ‘She’s brought her son. I said she could but I gather he can
be a bit hard to control. Are you OK with that?’