Love Is a Secret (7 page)

Roger finally agreed to stay. He handed Elaine’s file to someone else in the firm, saying he had too much on. I tried to start again but, two years later, it’s still difficult. He says he loves me again but now I can’t help thinking he only stayed out of guilt and for the sake of the children. I still can’t believe he did it. It’s as though I never really knew him.

There was more, much more, but she’d said enough. It would be easy to delete it but her finger was already hovering over Send.

Could a marriage survive an affair? Forget the feature. She needed to know from someone who had been through it. Only then could she decide whether to carry on.

10

TIP FROM CELLULITE MUM OF LITTLEHAMPTON

Stick a picture of yourself from your thin days on top of the biscuit tin.

Susan knew which one she’d use. She’d been standing with her dad in his garden just after his fiftieth birthday, which meant she hadn’t met Josh. She hadn’t realised how pretty she was. No one had told her then, and now it was too late. Susan stared down with loathing at her stomach, which was bulging over her pyjama bottoms, then stuck the picture on to the lid of the biscuit tin. If she
really
had willpower, she’d just throw out the tin. Her old slim self smiled shyly up at her. Who are you kidding? There was a sound from Tabitha’s room. Stealthily she peeped in. Tabitha was lying with her back to her. Susan tiptoed over to reassure herself that her daughter was still breathing, a habit she seemed incapable of breaking.

It had taken her years to put Tabitha in her own room. The doctor had suggested it might help them both to have a little independence. But it was so hard, thought Susan, as she watched Tabitha’s chest rise and fall in sleep. She craved freedom, but she had to watch her daughter constantly in case something else, something more terrible, happened to her. She closed Tabitha’s door quietly, then padded down the corridor in her slippers, pulled up a chair and opened her inbox. She kept the computer on the kitchen table because she seemed to spend more time there than anywhere else. Waiting for it to boot up (so slow!), she listened to the birds outside the kitchen window. For a minute, she could almost pretend she was the old Susan. Perfect peace and quiet.

What Mums Know
. Welcome! We’re a friendly site for you to meet other mums and get practical and emotional advice. Click he
re for the chat l
ink.

Username:
Rainbow.

Amazing! There was a list of names who had logged in over the last few days, each with messages next to them. Some long, some short. Something from Earth Mother, who wanted to tell everyone about a fantastic non-biological nappy-cleaner she had discovered. A plea for help from a mum called Mimi, whose son pushed and kicked other kids in class – she knew about
that
, all right. Tabitha had had to be moved within the centre last year to stop her doing it. Her eye ran down the list. Something from ‘Expectent’ Mum, who clearly couldn’t spell. Susan felt a stab of jealousy. She’d give anything to be pregnant: she’d felt so envious of Lisa, browsing in the baby shop. If only she could have had Tabitha all over again, she’d do it so differently . . .

Pg Dn.

This could get addictive. Someone else was recommending a children’s TV programme. Another was selling a brand-new pram (why?). And someone called Part Time Mum (how could motherhood ever be part-time?) needed marital help: ‘Is it possible to rebuild your marriage after your husband has had an affair?’ Was it a serious question? Susan scanned the message. Poor woman! And they’d been married for how many years? At least nineteen, if the eldest was that old, providing it was the same marriage.

Reply. This mouse was in a bad mood today.

From Rainbow to Part Time Mum: Sometimes things happen that you don’t expect. And you do things that you don’t expect yourself to do, if that makes sense. When my husband left me, I didn’t know how to go on, but I did. I personally don’t think you can forget something like infidelity or men who don’t take their family responsibilities seriously.

Send.

Susan watched the little arrow from her Send box flying across cyberspace to her new ‘friend’. Had she been a bit strong there?

It had seemed so easy to give advice while her fingers were fumbling across the keyboard. But it had been Josh and his irresponsible attitude she’d been thinking about, which had made her angry with Part Time Mum’s errant husband.

At least she knew where she was with Tabs. Life was a lot less complex without a man. Besides, who would want the two of them as a package?

They spent the rest of the day in the sitting room. What had promised to be a bright summer day had turned grey and forbidding.

No biscuits to relieve the boredom. Not with that picture on the tin. And no day centre. Not on a Friday since last year’s cuts.

Thank God for jigsaws. One of the inexplicable things about Tabitha’s condition was that her brain was as sharp, if not sharper, than Susan’s own. Somehow, through sheer perseverance, her daughter always managed to piece a jigsaw together. It was the same with the computer. The centre had been given some rather nice ones by a local firm and had taught her to type, in her own clumsy way. As one of the helpers had pointed out, computers had revolutionised the lives of people stuck in wheelchairs.

‘Finfin, finfin!’ Tabitha looked up from the jigsaw on her tray, grinning.

‘Fantastic!’ Susan bent over to examine the scene of roses round a cottage door and children running down the lane in Victorian petticoats. ‘I don’t know how you do it, Tabs, I really don’t.’

Her daughter’s smile widened. Positive praise always worked for her daughter. Susan handed Tabitha a plastic mug of unsweetened juice. ‘Clever girl!’ Until last year, she’d had to use a trainer cup but months of unstinting practice meant she could now drink through a straw. ‘Shall we do our flash cards?’

Tabitha’s face screwed up in anticipated concentration as Susan got out the packet of brightly coloured cards with groups of letters below. Between them, they had worked out their own code over the years. ‘Fin’ was Tabitha’s way of saying ‘finished’. ‘Mummum’ had been a fantastic breakthrough when she was six.

Now they were working on ‘mug’. Susan showed her the picture of a big blue mug. ‘Look, just like yours! Watch my lips, Tabs. Mug, mug, mug.’

More frowns of concentration. ‘Ug, ug.’

‘Almost, Tabs. But you need the
m
sound in front, like Mum.’

Tabitha smiled. ‘Mum, Mum.’

‘Yes, but now make it into m-u-g. You can do it. Come on.’

Too late, she recognised the note of irritation that had crept into her voice. Tabitha’s face crumpled. She flung herself hard against the back of the chair, knocking her head, which already bore a lump from when she’d done the same thing last week.

Limbs flailing, she lashed out.

‘Mind your jigsaw! Oh, no –
no
.’

Susan dived to save the tray but it was already falling, hitting the ground and scattering five thousand pieces of Victorian cottage and happy children. ‘Oh, Tabitha, I’m so sorry.’ She sat on her haunches crying softly, gathering up the bits. Tabitha, seemingly unmoved by the destruction of a project that had taken her hours of painstaking toil, had stopped flailing and yelling. Instead, she stared into the distance, eyes vacant. Susan preferred it when she was crying. What was she thinking of? Was she wondering, as Susan so often did, where the justice was in a life like this?

‘Phone. Don’t worry, I’ll get it!’ At bad times, like this, she couldn’t help making jokes. ‘Joy? . . . Hi. No, it’s an OK time . . . What? Are you kidding? . . . But they can’t. They just can’t. What are we going to do?’

Eventually, after she had asked several more questions, to which Joy had given unsatisfactory answers, she put down the phone and returned to the lounge. Tabitha was still staring out at the garden. ‘They’re going to close the centre, Tabs,’ she said, crouching beside the chair so that their faces were level. ‘It’s going to be merged with the big one on the other side of town. That’s why the radio journalist was there the other day. They knew about it but didn’t tell us until it was official.’

Tabitha’s face didn’t alter. Could she hear?

‘What are we going to do, Tabs? You won’t like the big classes. It’s a longer journey. And the new centre isn’t open in the holidays.’

She shouldn’t share her burdens with her child.

‘We won’t take it, will we?’ She stood up, fired with energy. ‘We’ll fight. Start a campaign. Put up notices.’

Of course!

‘And maybe we could go on the internet. Someone might be able to help us. Don’t you think, Tabs?’

She was still staring. What was there to see, for pity’s sake?

The farmer had finished cutting the field outside and there wasn’t anything to look at except . . .

Susan froze. Too late, she had finally seen what Tabitha had been staring at. Could she hide behind the curtains? No. She’d been spotted. Automatically she ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she’d bothered with lipstick or even a dab of mascara that morning. Slowly she walked towards the door as the bell rang.

She opened it.

‘Hello, Susan.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Hello, Josh.’

11

Susan leaned against the front door for support, legs shaking. Josh! He seemed thinner and somehow taller than last time, with a moustache that suited him.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

She clung to the door for support, still keeping it half shut.

‘You’re in France.’

‘Clearly not. Come on, Susan, stop playing games. I just want to see my daughter.’

‘Well, she doesn’t want to see you.’

‘Really?’

Josh looked behind her. ‘Hello, darling. How’s Daddy’s little girl?’

Tabitha had wheeled herself into the hall and was grinning, waving her arms like flags. Her delight at seeing her father was unmistakable.

‘Daddy’s little girl,’ spat Susan. ‘Some dad, who doesn’t bother seeing her for more than a year.’

Josh glared. ‘Don’t start that again. You knew I was working in France. And it’s not as though you made it easy for me to see her when I was in this country.’

She eyed him distrustfully. ‘That’s because I never knew what you were on.’

‘For God’s sake, Susan, you make me sound like some kind of junkie.’ He held out his hands as though to show there was nothing in them. ‘That stuff doesn’t count.’

‘Daddaddaddad.’

Susan wheeled round, horrified. She hadn’t even known Tabitha could say ‘Dad’. What else had she heard? Tabitha took in so much more than people realised.

Josh was crouching on the ground, holding Tabitha’s thin hands and smiling up at her. ‘How’s my princess, then? Aren’t you going to give your old dad a cuddle? That’s right.’

Susan couldn’t bear to see her daughter draping her long, thin arms round Josh’s neck, ecstatic, when it was she, Susan, who was surely, after all her hard work, the only one entitled to such a rapturous reception.

‘I’ve brought you a present, Tabs.’ He held up an expensive carrier bag with a French name on it.

That’s right, bribe her, thought Susan, bitterly. Just like you did me at the beginning, promising me everything, telling me we’d be happy for the rest of our lives.

‘Shall I open it for you?’

‘Well, she can’t do it on her own,’ snapped Susan. ‘She can’t do anything. I have to do it all for her.’

Tabitha looked up at her mother soulfully. I shouldn’t have said that, thought Susan. In one brief second, she’d taken away all the confidence she’d worked so hard to create. Damn Josh.
Damn him
.

‘It’s a jigsaw, pet. Look! With a really pretty picture of Paris on the front. That’s the Eiffel Tower – I’ll take you up it one day – and that’s Montmartre where artists draw and paint.’

Tabitha gazed at the picture, tracing the outlines with her finger as though to make them come to life. ‘You still like jigsaws, don’t you, Tabs?’

She nodded.

Josh stepped back. ‘God, what’s that smell?’

‘Her nappy needs changing,’ said Susan.

Josh twisted his hands awkwardly. ‘Do you want me to help?’

She laughed hoarsely. ‘A bit late for that, isn’t it? Ten years too late.’ She jerked her head towards the lounge. ‘You can wait in there, if you like. We’ll be a while.’

Josh looked awkward. ‘Actually, I might go back to the car for a bit. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

‘Who?’

‘Her name’s Stephanie.’

‘And who exactly is Stephanie?’

He addressed the wall behind her, just as he had in the old days when he had done something he knew she wouldn’t like. ‘Well, she’s a nurse . . . but she’s also my wife.’

‘Wife?’

He nodded to the skirting-board. ‘We got married last month. And she’d like to meet her new stepdaughter.’

‘Hi, everyone! Do I hear a little bird talking about me?’

Flipping heck! Had she left the front door open?

‘You must be Susan. I’m really glad to meet you at last. And Tabitha! Hello. I’m Steff – that’s two
f
s not a
ph
– and your dad’s told me all about you. He’s
so
proud of you. Gosh, don’t you look like him? Exactly the same smile!’ A tall, slim woman with a short blonde bob bounced into the room as though she owned the house.

‘We were just going to change Tabitha’s nappy,’ said Susan, pointedly.

‘You must let me help you.’ Steff was bobbing up and down with enthusiasm. ‘Did Josh tell you I’m a nurse?’

This was unbelievable!

‘Yes to the last bit, and no thanks to the first.’

‘I think Tabitha feels differently,’ said Josh, quietly.

Tabitha, gazing up at the intruder, was nodding furiously, her eyes glued on Steff’s hair, swept fashionably across her forehead. Her impressionable daughter was already infatuated by this tarty stranger who belonged more to a soap opera than Pheasants Way, thought Susan, despairingly.

‘We can manage quite well on our own,’ she said firmly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, perhaps you two could wait for us in the lounge and then I’ll make a cup of tea.’

‘Oh, we don’t want to be any bother.’ Steff’s eyes, a brilliant blue, darted to the room on the left as though she knew instinctively that it was the kitchen. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’

An hour later Susan had to admit that, infuriating as Steff was, she knew her stuff. When Tabitha wanted to get out of her chair to show her father how, on a good day, she could walk as far as the handrail in the hall, Steff helped her back into the chair, using precisely the right techniques: ‘That’s it, Tabs. Brilliant.’

How dare she call her ‘Tabs’ when she’d barely been introduced? But her daughter was grinning broadly, first at her father, then at Steff and then at her father again. ‘Pritpritpritprit.’

‘What’s she saying?’ asked Josh.

Susan would rather have died than explain that this was Tabitha’s word for ‘pretty’.

‘Of course, when I worked in Stoke we did this sort of thing all the time,’ said Steff, stroking Tabitha’s hair.

Susan gritted her teeth. ‘She doesn’t like being touched.’

‘Doesn’t seem too bothered to me,’ pointed out Josh.

‘No, Susan’s right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so familiar but that’s my way, isn’t it, Josh? And you’ve got such pretty hair, Tabitha! Exactly the same colour as your mum’s.’

‘So you used to live in Stoke-on-Trent?’ said Susan, forcing herself to make polite conversation.

‘Stoke-on-Trent?’ Steff frowned. ‘No. Oh, I see. Stoke. I was at Stoke Mandeville – it specialises in spinal injuries. It’s near Aylesbury.’ Tabitha made a grunting sound. ‘Want your drink, do you, pet? Here it is. Fantastic! You can use a straw. Lots of my patients spend years trying to do that.’

Any minute now and she’d throw the second cup of tea, which Steff had insisted on making for everyone (‘Sit down, Sue, let me do it’), in her face.

‘What are the facilities like round here, Tabs?’

Tabitha frowned worriedly.

It was all very well trying to involve her, thought Susan, but couldn’t the woman see that her poor daughter couldn’t reply?

‘Not good,’ she said. ‘The hospital’s all right but we only get to see the consultant every six months. She goes to a centre where there are computers for the ones who can use their fingers, and other activities.’

‘Jigjigjig,’ interrupted Tabitha urgently.

‘That’s right, love. That’s where you do your jigsaws.’

‘Jigsaws?’ Steff’s admiration was sickening. ‘That’s fantastic. Let me look at your hands. Yes, I can see. Those fingers move nicely, don’t they? And it’s great that you’ve got computers at your school. It’s amazing, you know, Susan, how many special-needs patients can work a keyboard – less pressure on the hands than many other manual skills. But how do you stimulate her during the school holidays?’

Susan felt as if she was being interviewed by Social Services. ‘Well, the centre’s open in the holidays at the moment, although it’s going to close and merge with—’

There was a crash as Tabitha dropped her cup. ‘Nnnnn.’

‘But we’re going to fight for it, aren’t we, Tabs? Oh dear, has the juice gone over your lovely skirt, Steff?’

Josh was already on his way to the kitchen for a cloth. He came back with a grubby tea-towel.

‘That was going into the wash,’ said Susan. ‘There are some clean ones in the top drawer. I’ll get one.’

‘No, please, don’t bother. This will do fine.’ Indeed, Steff didn’t seem put out by the spreading stain on her skirt. Instead, she glanced up at Josh adoringly. ‘Actually, Sue, we’ve got a huge favour to ask, haven’t we, darling?’

Josh was crouching by Tabitha’s chair, holding her hand. He looked up expectantly like a small boy. ‘Would it be all right if we took her out for a walk? I’d love some time with her. And we’ll be careful, honestly.’

‘No. I’m sorry. There’s more traffic since you were here last. And there aren’t enough ramps. You won’t know the way to the park any more and —’

Susan stopped. The tears were coming as fast as she was running out of excuses.

‘Sue?’ Steff touched her arm gently. ‘Sue, I understand. But do you mind if we have a little word on our own? In the kitchen?’

Too scared to speak in case she blubbed out loud, Susan allowed herself to be steered out of the room. Steff sat down at the table. She nodded at the seat opposite.

‘Please.’

Reluctantly, Susan obeyed, hoping the other woman wouldn’t notice the marmalade smears that were still there from breakfast.

Steff leaned across the table and took Susan’s hand briefly. Her hands were soft and her nails immaculate. ‘Sue, this is so important to Josh. He’s told me all about it. Everything. He feels terribly guilty and he knows he shouldn’t have walked out on you.’

‘Too bloody true,’ said Susan.

‘But he’s older now. He’s learned his lesson, just like we all do.’ Steff squeezed her hand but Susan pulled it away. Steff’s eyes watered as though she was the one who was entitled to be hurt. ‘He’s clean too. Honestly. I know about his history and I also know he doesn’t take anything any more. All he wants is a more active role in caring for Tabitha. We’re not going to try to take over, but when we move to Bedford we’ll be that much nearer.’

She was horrified. ‘You’re moving to Bedford?’ It was only ten miles away! They’d be here all the time.

‘But we won’t get in the way. Promise. We’ll only come when you say. Just give Josh a chance. That’s all I ask. And let us start by taking Tabitha for a little walk now so she can have some time with her father. Every daughter ought to have that.’

Susan wanted to refuse, but her body felt as though it belonged to someone else. Everything that Steff had said made sense. If she was honest, she’d made life so unbearable for Josh, after that MMR decision, that she wasn’t surprised he’d walked. Yes, of course he should have seen more of them afterwards, but she couldn’t shut out that picture of the joy in Tabitha’s face at seeing her dad. What right did she have to deprive her poor daughter of that? She’d often seen Tabitha’s jealous looks when other dads arrived at the centre. ‘You’ll be careful with her?’ she said at last.

‘As careful as we would with a newborn baby.’

Susan shuddered, remembering what a perfect baby Tabitha had seemed. ‘He told you everything?’

Steff squeezed her hand. ‘There’s no proof, you know. All the evidence shows that the MMR—’

‘Don’t talk about it,’ said Susan, fiercely, tears swimming into her eyes. Furiously, she willed herself to get rid of them. Look out of the window. Her neighbour’s washing was flapping on the line. Clean, crisp washing. Nice and normal. ‘All right. Just a short walk. I’ll tell you where to go. And, please, Steff, look after her.’ This time she couldn’t stop the tears. ‘She’s all I’ve got left.’

Steff grabbed her hand again. ‘I promise. I know this is difficult for you, but I’m not a wicked stepmother. I just want Josh to be happy. And Tabitha needs two parents. Every kid does.’

Susan stood at the window, watching them push Tabitha down the street. Her daughter had crammed a fist into her mouth, the way she did when she was very excited. No loyalty. No looking back for her mother. Almost out of sight now. Gone.

An hour, Steff had said. How was she going to pass a whole hour on her own? Crazy. For years she had craved more time to herself and now she didn’t know what to do. Read? She wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Watch television? A waste of a beautiful day. Garden? She could make a start on those weeds. But she really wanted to talk to a friend. Joy? No. She’d tell someone else about Josh and then everyone at the centre would gossip.

From Rainbow to What Mums Know: My ex-husband, who hasn’t been near us for more than a year, has just turned up out of the blue. He’s got married again and his wife wants to be my new best friend. My ex wants to see more of our twelve-year-old daughter even though he left when she was a baby. He’s taken her out now and I feel so alone. She didn’t even wave goodbye. I’m also scared in case he doesn’t look after her properly. How do mothers cope when their kids go to the other parent at weekends?