Falling in Love Again (36 page)

48

ALISON

It was after she’d released her pink balloon – which made her feel rather silly and yet somehow ‘free’ at the same time – that she went back to the cottage before the others, who were still down on the beach, and found that Caroline’s stuff had all gone.

‘Sorry,’ said the note. That was it. Nothing about where she had gone or how she, Alison, was going to get back or whether she should indeed wait in case her sister had just gone for a drive. Then again, she wouldn’t have taken her suitcase, would she?

The others had been shocked by Hugh’s revelation – as indeed had she. To think Caroline had driven some poor woman to suicide.

 Even so, the husband had to take his share of the blame too which was another thing.

‘
I’ve dealt with my brother-in-law
,’ Hugh had said. What did that mean exactly?

Somehow,  in the aftermath of everything that had happened, David seemed a very long way in the past. She’d been stupid to be flattered. Even more stupid to have allowed herself to get into bed with a virtual stranger. But as Karen said in the group meeting, nothing had happened. She’d been lucky really. Very lucky. And now she’d be much more careful in the future. She’d concentrate on the children – Jules might pretend to be an adult but clearly she still needed a parent around. A responsible parent. And she needed to work out her budget and start house-hunting if David was serious about selling the house.

‘You’re going already?’ Lizzie was standing at her door, her cheeks flushed with the cold. It made her look brighter; very pretty. Poor child! Alison’s heart lurched. That could have been her fifteen years ago if David had done this earlier. At least she’d managed to bring up her children before her family crumbled. Lizzie had all that ahead of her but then again, she was still young enough to find someone else.

‘I think so.’ Alison looked around the empty room. ‘My sister seems to have left early. I think she felt awkward after her confession.’

Lizzie nodded tightly. ‘I know she’s your sister but she didn’t seem very repentant.’

‘No.’ Alison laughed wryly. ‘Caroline doesn’t do that. There’s usually some excuse for her behaviour.’

‘Like my dad.’ Lizzie came in and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘He’s still in his shed, according to Mum. She wants him back but is too proud to say so. And I think he feels the same.’

‘What about his lady friend? Didn’t you say that actually, she seemed quite nice?’

‘Marjorie?’ Lizzie nodded. ‘I quite liked her – or at least I would have done if she hadn’t been a rival for Dad’s affections! She seemed very embarrassed when Mum told her that Dad had been spinning her a yarn about their so-called ‘troubled marriage’.’

‘Do you know where she lives?’

‘Just round the corner! Coincidence or what?’

‘I can’t say. But it might be worth knocking on her door. Telling her what’s happened with the shed business and seeing if she might be able to knock some sense into your dad.’

The girl looked doubtful. ‘Maybe.’

‘And what about you?’ Alison wanted to put her arms around her. She seemed so young to be going through this. ‘Has this weekend made you feel any better?’

‘In a way.’ Lizzie brought her knees up, hugging them like a child. ‘I can’t tell you how I felt when I realised that baby was Tom’s. I still find it hard to believe. But then, when I heard everyone else’s stories, I realised I wasn’t alone. Shit happens. And people get through it. Like Karen. She’s lovely, isn’t she?’

Alison thought about Karen. Lovely, warm, bubbly with plenty of potential that needed to be tapped. A woman whom she’d never have come across if David hadn’t left. Never come across any of these people in fact, living the insular, home-centred life she’d had before. ‘She’s great. Deserves a medal for bringing us all together.’

‘I don’t know what I’d have done without the group.’

‘Nor me . . . Have you heard though? Karen’s suggested we have a six month break. Get on with our lives and then maybe meet up to see how we’re all doing.’

‘Six months?’ The girl’s face crumpled. ‘I don’t know if I can get through without everyone. Just knowing that there are people I can talk to, has helped me so much. No one else would understand unless they’ve been through it themselves.’

Alison found herself putting out her hand and squeezing Lizzie’s. It felt very small and ringless. So far, she’d resisted taking her own off. It seemed so final. Although – very oddly – it had begun to itch recently as though aggravating her skin after all these years. Surely that was psychological.

‘I’ll be your friend if you like. We can meet up and you can call any time you want.’

‘Really?’ Lizzie’s face brightened. ‘Thank you. I don’t feel I can keep calling on Karen any more. She’s helped me out enough so far and she’s clearly got her own issues to sort out.’

Alison nodded. ‘Actually, I know something else about Karen.’

As soon as she said it, she knew she shouldn’t have done.

‘What?’

Alison thought of the telephone conversation she had unwittingly heard in the hall the other day when Clive had quickly put down the phone. ‘Remember Karen said that she was seeing someone else. Well I think I know who he is.’

‘Who?’

‘Sorry. I’ve said too much already. But if I’m right, he’s a nice man. Very nice. I just hope Karen makes the right decision. For everyone.’

When Caroline still hadn’t returned after another two hours, Alison took Lizzie up on her offer to give her a lift home, together with Violet. The older woman had been rather quiet all through the weekend, she’d noticed (she’d not mentioned films or Elvis once) and she’d intended to try and engage her in conversation in the car, feeling rather guilty that she hadn’t done more earlier. But Violet began to nod off and Lizzie was clearly one of those drivers who didn’t like to talk when driving. In a way, that was a relief. She needed time to think.

It made sense to drop her off first, Lizzie insisted. ‘Besides, she added,’ Violet is still asleep.’

Indeed she was. Snoring with a thin line of spit trickling down one side of her chin.

It was lovely to be home. To get back to Sam whom Jules had been looking after. But where was he? The basket was empty so Jules must have taken him for a walk. So why was his lead hanging from the rack? They weren’t in the garden either – and when she ran upstairs to see why they’d been so quiet up in her room (maybe asleep, the two of them, on her daughter’s bed as she had often found them before), there was a note.

‘Had to go away for weekend. See you on Monday. Love J.’

SAM! Where was Sam? What had her daughter done with him? Surely, even Jules couldn’t be irresponsible enough to leave a dog alone for a weekend.

Frantically, she dialled her daughter’s number but after a few rings, it turned to voicemail.

There was a lump of sick in her throat. Her mind seemed incapable of thinking straight. Maybe he was in the garden after all. No. Out in the street then? But if he was, he’d have wandered into the main road and then . . .

Dear God. What was that coming towards her now? A small, black dog surging forward on what looked like a red lead instead of a black one. And behind him . . . no. It couldn’t be!

If it wasn’t for the fact that she knew him so well – or had thought she did – she wouldn’t have recognised him. In front of her, stood a very different kind of man from the one in the Camden café. This was David as she’d first known him. Older, obviously. But with a loose fitting white shirt and jeans. Clean shaven. Shortish hair.

‘So this is Sam! Bit of a handful, isn’t he!’

David’s face glowed like the youthful David she had known when they had first met. ‘I’d forgotten how they pull at this age.’

Relief made her angry. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? Jules was meant to be looking after him. I had the fright of my life when I found he was gone but his lead was still hanging up . . .’

He touched her arm briefly. ‘It was getting too small for his neck, Alison. I bought another.’ He spoke slowly as though it was the lead bit that mattered. ‘Jules got a last minute invitation somewhere so she asked if I would come up and dog sit.’ He studied her face. ‘She tried to wind me up. Did you know that? Said you were sleeping with someone called Sam.’

‘I AM. He wakes me up at 6am every day.’

He bent down to tickle the dog under his tummy, the way he used to do with Mungo. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to come to the house, to be honest.  But when we tried to ring you, it kept going straight to voicemail.’

No reception, she thought. But Jules shouldn’t have presumed. Karen’s words came floating back to her. Something about children wanting their parents to get together again. Something also about children being horrid to the parent who wasn’t ‘to blame’ although she knew now, from the course, that there was no such thing as that. They all had to carry some share of responsibility.

‘What gives you the right to think you can come back like this?’ She spoke coldly as they walked side by side (it felt weirdly right!) back down the street towards the house.

He looked embarrassed. ‘Because I’ve realised I’ve been a fool. I want to come back, Alison. Please. Besides, you need me. Caroline rang and told me what happened with that . . . that man. But it’s all right. I forgive you.’

Forgive her?

‘Well you did sleep with him, didn’t you?’

This was unbelievable! ‘And what if I had done, David? What business would that be of yours? You buggered off with some woman – whom you claim is just a friend – and left me to deal with all this. Now you’re upset because I’ve got on with my life the way you told me to. What exactly do you want?’

‘You.’ He walked towards her, his blue eyes fixed on her. ‘I want you back. I want life to be normal again. Yes, I’ve made a mistake and I hold my hand up. I can’t begin to tell you how guilty I feel.’ He glanced down at Sam. ‘I almost came back when Mungo was ill but I knew that if I did, I’d have to stay.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And I needed to keep away to get it all out of my system.’

Was this seriously meant to make her change her mind?

‘All I want to do is start again. Please, Alison.’

He was speaking fast now as though worried she might run away. ‘I don’t want to be like Mike.’

Mike? Memories of the friend whose husband had had an affair and then been booted out of the house – leaving both him and his wife feeling wretched – came back to her.

‘But I don’t want to be like Pete, either.’

Pete was the husband who had also had an affair but whose wife had taken him back, only to constantly remind him of his ‘sabbatical’.

‘I just want . . .’

There was a noise from their feet. A choking, rasping noise.

David’s voice sounded almost cross. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘For God’s sake! Can’t you see? He’s swallowed something. He’s always eating stuff.’

Quickly, Alison put her hand down Sam’s throat, yanking out a squidgy something that might or might not have been an apple core or some other piece of rubbish from the street.

‘He’s always doing that – he’d eat anything.’

David was looking down at her hand. ‘You’ve taken off your wedding ring!’

‘No I haven’t. Oh God . . . he must have swallowed it. When I put my hand down like that.’

Quickly, she did the same, fishing round the back of his throat.

‘Nothing!’

They stared at each other horrified. ‘Now what do we do?’

49

ED

It should have felt weird going back with September, but it didn’t. They talked non-stop in the back of the car and Charlie had had the good manners to put his ear piece in so he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

At least Ed hoped he couldn’t.

Some of the stuff was . . . well . . . pretty frank.

‘Of course I always fancied you,’ September said, flushing in that wonderful way that made his spine tingle. ‘But it was too obvious, wasn’t it? Dating the boss and all that. We were all brought up to believe that you made your own way in life.’

‘Me too.’ A glimpse of his father shot into his head. ‘But you can’t help who you fall in love with.’

September nodded energetically so that her auburn bob bounced up and down in agreement. ‘That’s what my mother said.’

He squeezed her hand. ‘You told her about me?’

Another wonderful smile. ‘Of course I did. We tell each other everything. Well almost everything. She and my sisters can’t wait to see you.’

There was something missing here. ‘And your father?’

‘Him too.’

Why did he feel there was a bit of reticence there?

‘You’ll like Dad once you get to know him.’

Oh oh.

‘Well, he did wonder a bit about the hospital episode. You know, with your friend Lizzie pretending to be your girlfriend. And then me finding you with your ex and a son whom you hadn’t told me about.’

‘That’s because I didn’t know about him either until recently.’

‘Exactly what I told him. Anyway, Mummy wondered if you’d like to come over for Sunday lunch. I was only meant to ask you if we’d sorted everything out.’ Her eyes searched his. ‘And we have, haven’t we? Sorted everything out?’

He hoped so. But why did he have that funny little tingle of doubt; the one that always started just when everything was going well with a girl. ‘Absolutely.’ He met Charlie’s eye in the mirror. Maybe that ear piece hadn’t been on after all. ‘Sunday? I’d love to. What time?’

Any doubts that Ed had were brushed to one side the minute he stepped through his front door after dropping September off at Marylebone (‘No, honestly, Ed. It wouldn’t be a good thing to take me back. You can meet them on Sunday anyway’).

The sight that met his eyes would have done that
Yellow Pages
advert proud. It wasn’t just the number of shoes casually kicked to one side in the hall. He was used to those. In fact, he always added them up to check how many mates The Kid had brought home that night.

It was the combined smell of unflushed loos and beer and something sweet (please no!) and vomit that made him wonder if he should have gone away for two whole days even though The Kid had promised, absolutely promised, not to ‘abuse the house’ as he’d put it.

‘Hi Ed! You’re back early!’

A clearly flustered Kid padded down the stairs wearing an enormous white dressing gown, left behind by Tatiana, who had been a regular at Champneys. ‘No, don’t go in there! I’ve er, I’ve just got to do the kitchen floor!’

That made him even more determined. Bloody hell. Do the kitchen floor? Where was it? The kitchen wasn’t that big, granted, but every square inch was covered with takeaway pizza packets and empty tins and smashed glass and . . . a body?

It was stirring. Thank God for that. Something (difficult to tell the gender from that haircut and the white polo earrings) sat up, made a sort of burping noise and then retched all over Ed’s trainers before slumping down on the floor and snoring loudly.

‘God, Ed, I’m sorry. Let me get you out of those. I’ll buy you some more. I’ll . . .’

‘Stop.’ Ed held up his hand. ‘It’s OK.’

‘OK?’

He nodded trying to shut out the vision of his father’s face which simply wouldn’t go away. ‘I was young once too, you know. And I remember having this party when my father came back early and went mental. We didn’t make quite so much mess – this is impressive – but he made me feel pretty small. Come on. Here’s a cloth. I’ll get the dustpan and brush and we’ll get going.’

The look on The Kid’s face made him feel both proud of himself and ashamed at the same time. Clearly he was expecting him to go nuts. But somehow, after that weekend on the island, he felt a lot calmer. He only hoped it would last until tomorrow when he was seeing his son.

The text had arrived when he was on his way back from the island. It had bleeped loudly and when September had looked at his phone curiously, he had shown her who it was from, not wanting her to think he had any more secrets left. Something told him that if he was serious about this girl – and he thought he was, despite that funny niggle – he needed to be dead straight.

‘Of course you must talk to him,’ she had said immediately.

And now, here he was, walking into the small coffee shop just off the Strand, suggested by Giles.

‘Ed?’

He nodded. ‘What will you call each other?’ September had asked. And he hadn’t known. ‘Dad’ seemed a bit daft in the circumstances – the boy looked like another of his younger stepbrothers.  But ‘Ed’ seemed too casual.

‘How are you doing?’

The boy nodded. Not that he should call him a boy; he was a young man. But all the same . . .

‘Where should I begin?’ he had asked September during that car journey when they had talked about so many things.

‘At the beginning,’ she had suggested. ‘Ask him what his earliest memory is and take it from there. That’s how you’re meant to write your life story, you know. There’s a radio series on it at the moment.’

Was there? It wasn’t a bad idea. He looked at the boy sitting opposite him, stiff with what looked like resentment. And frankly, he didn’t blame him.

‘I didn’t have a mother, you know,’ he said suddenly. ‘Well not after the age of nine. That’s when she died.’

Giles continued to stare at him. ‘I didn’t have a father at all. And my mother didn’t have a husband. Have you any idea how difficult it is for a woman to bring up a boy alone – or to be the only boy in the class whose father didn’t come to parents’ evening?’

Shit.

‘I didn’t know. My father didn’t tell me.’

Another stare. ‘You’d have found out if you’d bothered to stay in touch with my mother instead of moving onto another girl.’

Touché.

‘Haven’t you ever done that?’ Ed knew he was floundering now. ‘Had a few girlfriends?’

‘No.’

Great.

‘Another drink?’ He gestured to the boy’s apple and ginger. Apple and ginger!

‘No thanks.’

Shit.

‘What’s your earliest memory?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your earliest memory?’

He was desperate now. ‘Mine is sitting in my cot and hearing my father’s voice. I don’t remember what he was saying but I do know that I had to keep quiet. So go on. What’s yours?’

‘The same. Hearing your father’s voice when I was in bed.’

Ed froze. ‘What do you mean?’

The boy’s eyes were fixed on him but – or was it his imagination? – they weren’t so hard now. ‘Granddad used to visit us. Every week. Usually on a Monday night but sometimes Tuesday.’

‘He did? But why didn’t he tell me?’

The boy made a scornful sound. ‘It’s like Mum told you. He thought we might ruin your life in case you had some crazy idea about getting married when you were younger than I am now. But it didn’t stop him making sure that we were all right. And that didn’t just mean buying us a house. It meant seeing me and Mum.’

Wow! Ed hadn’t expected all this! And it had come out in a rush – so fast that it had been hard to take in. Every Monday? Or every Tuesday. That meant this son of his – how crazy that still sounded – had seen more of his father than he had.

‘Really?’

The boy nodded. ‘Think I’m making it up? Ask Mum. He’s the one who gave her a loan to get her business started. But she paid him back. She insisted on it.’

Ed leaned forward. Suddenly he felt energised and jealous at the same time. ‘So tell me. What was he like?’

‘Funny.’

Funny!

‘Well you had to work at it. The trick was to amuse him. And not to show that you were in awe of him.’

It was Ed’s turn to look in awe at his newly-found son now. ‘How did you work that out?’

The boy shrugged. ‘I suppose it didn’t mean as much to me as it probably did to you. He was your dad. Of course you wanted approval. To me, he was some old guy who said he was my grandfather but frankly, how did I know? I mean Mum always said she’d only had one boyfriend until I was born but . . .’ He coloured. ‘There are some things you don’t know whether to believe or not about your parents, aren’t there?’

You could say that again.

‘Anyway, with the competition I was facing, there was no point getting upset about whether he liked me or not.’

Competition?

‘You, Ed.’ He made a funny face which might or might not have been sardonic. ‘Or should that be Dad? It was you he really loved. Talked about you all the time. How proud he was of you. How you’d had a rough time after your mum.’

Ed winced.

‘How you were doing really well in the business even though he didn’t want to tell you in case you got big headed.’

Was that why he’d been so distant?

‘And what about you?’ Ed leaned forward. ‘When was he going to tell me about you and Claire – your mum.’

The boy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Sometime, I suppose. But then he died, didn’t he. I was really sorry about that. But I think he might have been expecting it. He always said that if anything happened to him, he’d make sure we were all right. Mum kept telling him we didn’t need any help but he was very insistent on that.’

They both sat in silence for a few minutes.

Then suddenly Ed thought of something. ‘You said earlier that every boy wanted his dad’s approval. Do you feel that about me?’

They looked at each other; it seemed like an eternity. Then slowly, very slowly, Giles nodded. ‘I guess so. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, would I. Even if it’s what your dad wanted.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That was the other thing. Granddad said that one day, he’d make sure that he’d engineer some way for us to meet so you wouldn’t be one of those dads who goes to their grave not knowing that they had a son.’

Clever old bastard.

‘So what do you think, Giles?’

‘Think of what?’

‘Me. How do you want to play it? Do you want us to meet up regularly or are we going to be a Christmas father and son?’

The boy fixed him with a steady look. ‘Depends on how you feel about being a dad, doesn’t it?’

 ‘I think,’ said Ed slowly, ‘that you’re exactly the kind of son I’ve always wanted. A little older, perhaps. I always hoped for a son I could dangle on my knee and whose nappies I could change.’

They both laughed.

‘Maybe you’ll still get one.’

Ed thought of September with that funny tingle he always got when he thought of her. ‘Hope so. Meanwhile, there’s someone else I want you to meet. Two people actually. They’re called Nancy and Jamie, otherwise known as The Kid. But I warn you. You’re going to need a spreadsheet when it comes to understanding this crazy extended family you’ve just become part of.’

Giles grinned. A boyish, toothy grin that reminded Ed of his younger self, when life was stretching out in front of him. ‘Sounds quite exciting. Just so long as Mum is part of it too.’

‘That’s a given.’

A sudden thought struck him. Two in fact.

‘Do you want to call me Dad?’

‘I’d prefer Ed, if you don’t mind. For the time being, anyway.’

He could see his point but it hurt more than he’d thought it would.

‘The second thing is that Jamie – The Kid – is making me tear my hair out. In the last week, he’s lost his Young Persons Railcard for the third time; been fined by the rail company for buying a Child ticket even though he’s over sixteen; and now there’s a problem with my credit card. Looks like he’s been using it without my permission. I just wondered  . . . you’re a similar age – would you mind having a sort of brotherly chat with him when you get to know him better?’

‘Sure. Granddad used to say we all had to help each other if we were part of the family.’

It still made him feel odd to hear of this assured young man referring to his own father as ‘Granddad’.

‘What else did he tell you about the family?’ He was curious.

Giles shrugged. ‘This and that. How everyone’s related to everyone else. Including someone rather famous from yonks ago.’

What? Visions of Violet wearing a dress that looked like a canvas seeking a deckchair,  flashed into his head.

Giles grinned. He had a rather nice grin which somehow managed to convey a hint of mischief. ‘He wouldn’t tell me who. But he did say you looked rather like him. Any idea who he was talking about?’