Another Night, Another Day (36 page)

Don’t be rude about my neighbourhood, thinks Karen. She’s tempted to voice her disgruntlement, but bites her tongue.

‘I like it better here in Goring. And I’d hate to be a burden to you.’

‘You wouldn’t be a burden. Far from it.’

‘I don’t want to sound selfish or ungrateful, and please don’t take this the wrong way. I loved your father – we had many happy decades together. So I’m not saying
this out of disrespect to him. But caring for him over the last few years . . . well, it’s been bloody awful.’ Karen starts – Shirley almost never swears. ‘His illness was
such a drawn-out process, it took so much out of me, and in the end I felt I’d lost the man I loved.’

‘Oh, Mum. I’m so sorry.’ At once Karen wishes her mother was with her, so she could wrap her arms around her.

Shirley’s voice cracks. ‘Yes, well. I think in some ways I was lonelier with your father still alive than I am now.’

‘I understand.’

‘Since he died, at least I’m free to remember him the way he was when he was well.’

‘That’s good.’ Karen is conscious she’s coming out with mere platitudes. This is how people were when Simon died, she recalls.

‘I’ll be honest and admit I feel released by the lack of responsibility, freer. So I’m going to think about it carefully, but I can afford to rent a while longer. Then I should
have enough capital to get myself a little flat of my own, so I just wanted to check if that’s OK with you. I mean, maybe you’d prefer to have some of your father’s money . . .
um, now?’

Good Lord! The notion that she would be keen to get her hands on any inheritance is so far from the direction she thought this conversation was heading that Karen is at a loss for words.
‘I didn’t expect to have any of Dad’s money,’ she says when she gets her voice back. ‘To be frank, I didn’t think there would be any left after
you—’

‘Ah, I see.’

Oh dear, thinks Karen, I’m bodging this. It’s because I’m so tired. ‘It’s purely I realized you’d need some for yourself, and I hadn’t got any further
than that.’

‘That’s OK, then. It’s only I didn’t want you to be upset.’

Upset? thinks Karen. As fast as the weight descended, it’s lifting. Anna was right. All those months ago she said having Mum here would be too much for me. Maybe in a few years’ time
it would be fine, but not now; not when I’ve struggled so hard to get on an even keel.

‘I might get a bit lonely, I know, but I’ve already made some friends, so it won’t be too bad. Anyway, there are worse things than being lonely.’

Gosh, do you find that? Karen frowns. The way my heart aches for Simon I can’t think of any.

Shirley says, ‘Insofar as one can ever know, I’m hopeful I could enjoy a few more years looking after myself. So I’d like to try and manage on my own. I don’t want to go
straight from having someone dependent on me to depending on someone else – even you, darling. I’m still pretty fit and reasonably healthy, touch wood—’ Karen reaches for
the table too, ‘ – because if George’s illness taught me anything, it’s to make the most of our independence before we lose it.’

The more her mother offloads, the lighter Karen feels; she’s like a helium balloon, floating up and away.

‘I appreciate you could do with a hand with the children, so maybe you were hoping I might move in? I hope you don’t mind . . .’

‘No, no, not at all!’ Oops, Karen thinks. Mustn’t sound too gleeful. ‘You must do what’s right for you,’ she says soberly. ‘And of course you’re
welcome to spend as much time with the kids as you like.’

‘Well, I do enjoy that, as you know.’

‘So do they.’

‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you – we’ve been chatting longer than you had time for. Forgive me. But I wanted you to understand where I’m coming from and not be
terribly disappointed. You’re not, are you, darling?’

No, thinks Karen. It means I can do what everyone’s been urging: focus on healing myself.

‘Hi,’ says Abby, opening the door. It’s strange to find her husband on the front step, after he’s let himself in for so many years.

‘Hi.’ Glenn seems awkward, possibly even nervous. ‘So, you OK to go for a coffee, like we said?’

‘Hold on a sec.’ Abby pops her head round the living-room door to check Callum is settled with Eva. She’s surprised when Glenn steps behind her and into the lounge.

‘Hello, Callum. It’s Daddy.’ Callum is focused on wheeling a toy car to and fro on the floor, so Glenn goes round and ducks his head in front of his son to make sure he sees
him.

‘Say “Hello, Daddy”.’ Eva waves at Glenn.

‘Aaee.’ Callum flaps his hand.

That’s new, thinks Abby. When he lived here Glenn would rarely bother to address our son directly unless he needed to.

‘You look really well,’ says Glenn, as they head down the road.

‘You mean fat.’ Abby smiles to show she’s not offended.

‘You’ll never be fat,’ says Glenn.

‘Women all know “well” is a euphemism for putting on weight,’ she tells him. And it’s true she has gone up a dress size – possibly it’s a side effect of
her medication, though it could also be because she’s no longer so wired. She’s pleased, regardless. Over the last couple of years she’d been feeling scrawny and unfeminine; now
she’s beginning to perceive herself as an attractive woman once more. Ironic, given I’ve not had sex in ages, she thinks, and my soon-to-be ex is still sleeping with someone else.

‘Where do you want to go?’ asks Glenn. He’s being quite the gentleman, Abby notices. Perhaps he feels guilty. Then she reminds herself not to think the worst of him. Maybe
he’s simply being nice.

Either way, it’s a beautiful day and she is keen to be outside. ‘Why don’t we get a takeaway coffee and sit on the lawn in Montpelier Terrace?’ she suggests.
There’s a crescent of green space not far from the cafe which serves the best local coffee.

‘Sounds good to me.’

She glances at Glenn as they wait at the counter. He looks tired, she thinks. Perhaps it’s all that sex with Cara. Then again, commuting never did anyone’s complexion any favours and
he’s always worked hard. And lately he’s had to look after Callum much more.

‘How are you doing?’ asks Glenn, once they’re settled on the grass far enough from other people to speak privately.

‘Better.’ She stops to consider. ‘Yeah, much better. I’ve been feeling less wobbly, overall. Though I had a bad dip a few weeks ago—’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

Abby brushes off his concern. ‘I’m back on a more even keel now. It was mainly because one of the other patients who I’d got really close to . . . um . . .
died—’

‘You mean Lillie Laybourne?’

‘Er . . .’ There’s been enough speculation and prurience in the press; to add to the gossip seems tasteless, disrespectful. ‘Anyway,’ Abby sidesteps,
‘I’ve talked about that a lot in my one-to-one sessions, and I’m finding it easier to separate myself from other people’s issues.’ She catches Glenn’s eye and he
looks away. He knows what I’m implying, she thinks. Good. She’s acclimatized to the knowledge of his affair, but still isn’t ready to forgive and forget.

I was treated badly, she argues to herself. He lied to me for months. Then again, how we deal with emotions is often influenced by our family, and neither of us had the kind of upbringing where
we talked much about how we felt.

Now she seems to be coming out the other side, Abby is almost glad she had a breakdown. To be losing so much in one hit, that was what triggered it, she can see that now. And whilst it was sheer
hell to live through – she hopes not to repeat the experience, ever – it has fine-tuned her self-awareness.

Only the day before Beth had asked, ‘Do you think your panic attacks were your unconscious crying out for help, saying you couldn’t manage?’

‘Are you suggesting I got admitted to hospital so Glenn had to step up to the mark?’

Beth had nodded. ‘Not deliberately, but indirectly, maybe.’

‘I suppose deep down I have been furious about his absenteeism from fatherhood,’ Abby had agreed. ‘Mm . . . It is possible some of that anger came out as anxiety.’

‘Yes, and perhaps your sadness emerged that way too.’

She’d nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Having Callum wasn’t the version of motherhood I envisaged.’ A lump had come to her throat.

‘Sometimes the process of letting go is long and difficult,’ Beth had said gently.

‘I suppose seeing himself as Callum’s dad has been hard for Glenn, too.’

‘Yet from what you’ve told me, in many ways Glenn has risen to the challenge posed by your absence. After all, he could have
not
done as much as he has; he could have put
Callum into temporary care.’

‘You mean run off with Cara and left him?’ Abby had recoiled at the suggestion.

‘He wouldn’t be the first parent to let a child down.’

Now, as Abby looks at Glenn sprawled on the grass, limbs floppy, skin drawn and eyes red with exhaustion, she can see that Beth was right, and, in spite of all her resentments, has a rush of
affection for him. ‘I’m grateful you took so much time off work to look after Callum,’ she says.

‘That’s OK.’ He plucks at the lawn.

Abby tilts back her head, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her cheeks for a moment, then says, ‘And I also wanted to thank you for helping me get this treatment at
Moreland’s.’

Glenn is still picking at the grass. Now it’s his turn to be evasive, she thinks. My praise has disarmed him. I’ve berated him so much over the years, perhaps it’s no
wonder.

‘Seriously, I was in a right state when I checked in – I’d never have got there on my own, and, well—’ she leans forward, ‘ – I think I’ve learned
a lot as a result.’ So has Glenn, she thinks, and adds, ‘I’m pleased you seem to have connected with Callum, too.’

There’s a long silence, but Glenn doesn’t appear awkward. He stops plucking the grass and looks into the distance.

‘It’s funny, but it’s like your being away has given all three of us a new beginning,’ he says eventually.

At once Abby feels compelled to touch him. She reaches over and gives his hand a squeeze. It’s a gesture that reminds her of Karen; a sign of friendship, because Abby has saved her most
fulsome thanks till last. She still can’t quite believe it’s true. She takes a deep breath and ventures, ‘My solicitor said you might be willing to let us stay in the house . . .
?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s very kind.’

‘Well . . . I would like some money from it, somehow. Maybe you could remortgage or something, to give me a bit . . . ? But . . . er . . . I’ve been thinking I could move in with
Cara . . .’ Abby can tell he is apprehensive about mentioning his girlfriend’s name. ‘If you’re OK with that?’ She’s taken aback he’s even asking her
– Glenn reads her bewilderment. ‘It’s only I’d like to have Callum there, you know, at weekends, and you’re his mum so you need to be happy with it.’

No, I didn’t know you’d like to have him, thinks Abby. But it’s great to hear. She can’t quite believe this either. ‘How’s Cara about that?’ Having
another woman’s child in your home is challenging enough, she thinks, let alone Callum.

Glenn shrugs. ‘She says she’s up for it.’

‘Saying and doing aren’t quite the same.’

‘No.’ Glenn frowns. ‘But she knows it’s important to me.’

Well, well, thinks Abby, this is a turnaround. Glenn wasn’t exaggerating when he talked of a new beginning.

‘I was thinking if Callum and I do stay, I could take in a lodger,’ says Abby. ‘To help financially.’

‘Sounds a good idea.’ Glenn nods. ‘Why don’t we see if we can thrash out the rudiments of an agreement between the two of us? Going through lawyers will cost an arm and a
leg.’

Abby smiles to herself. Always has been slow to part with money, Glenn. Even so, it makes sense to her, too.

We can stay in the house
, she thinks, at last allowing herself to accept it. My beloved home. I won’t have to look at any more dispiriting flats in unsuitable locations; I
won’t have to put locks on all the cupboards somewhere new; I won’t have to sell off half our furniture. I’ll still be able to enjoy my view over the city, I’ll still be
near the Co-op and the decent cafe. I’ll still have Karen as a neighbour.

It’s not as if life will be without its challenges, and as Callum grows and becomes physically stronger, Abby knows that many issues will get worse. Nonetheless, here, now, she is
grateful; more grateful than she can possibly express.

‘Thank you,’ she says softly.

‘No, thank
you
,’ says Glenn. ‘You did a lot when I should have been doing more. I really am sorry about that.’

Why couldn’t he have said that before? thinks Abby. His apology has come too late to save their marriage, but nonetheless she is glad of it.

They’ve finished their coffees; Abby senses their conversation coming to a close. Sure enough, Glenn says he ought to go, gets to his feet and dusts the grass off his trousers.

As she watches him walk away, her heart is full of sorrow.

I miss the way we balanced and complemented each other, she thinks. I miss the man I loved, the times we shared. I miss his sleeping form in bed beside me. I’m sad we couldn’t pull
through and be there for our son together, and that it took my breakdown for us to have this breakthrough. But who knows? At least apart we’ll each have some respite from caring, so maybe
we’ll do better for Callum now that we’re separated than we did as a couple. No one is perfect, myself included.

The time for recrimination is past.

‘What do you think?’ asks Michael.

Leona leans over his shoulder and reads the handwritten letter on the table.

‘Nice one,’ she says when she’s finished. ‘Didn’t gather you knew her.’

‘We were in Moreland’s at the same time,’ Michael explains. ‘So we met there, did some groups together, that’s all.’

‘Still, you probably got to know her better than a lot of people,’ says Leona. ‘Those groups can be very intimate.’

‘I suppose so. But it’s more the timing of when she . . .’ Michael stops. He doesn’t wish to get drawn back into that experience – not when he’s trying to
share something positive. ‘I realize, what happened to her, er . . . well, it could have been me.’