The Dead Wife's Handbook (34 page)

Ellie hops off the chair she’s perched on and heads for the hob, where she sniffs the sauce bubbling away in a saucepan.

‘It’s smelling good. I just hope it’s not as tangy as last time. You had way too much lemon in it then.’

‘I have, of course, taken heed of your comments from the last time I cooked this dish, and I can assure you there’s only the lightest splash of lemon in it this time.’

Ellie giggles.

‘Three minutes, Daddy. Come on. You’ve still got to dress the courgette salad, drain the gnocchi, mix the sauce in, heat the plates and cut up the garlic bread.’

‘Don’t you worry, I have this all under control. Sort of.’

‘Well, I think I’ll be the judge of that in a little while.’

Ellie’s loved cooking ever since I can remember. I have recollections of her as a toddler, only just able to stand independently, begging to be lifted on to a chair so she could ‘help’ me beat a cake mix or whisk a dressing or stir a sauce. She’d watch me sample dishes in progress and demand to emulate me, her taste buds perceptive and sophisticated long before her palate should by rights have been ready. As she got older, she became a genuine asset in the kitchen, the perfect little sous-chef. Back then it was me who did most of the cooking, not Max, but now it’s him who is, by necessity, in control. And it’s impressive how he’s mastered the art of our family’s culinary repertoire and even added a few new recipes of his own.

‘It’s countdown time, Daddy. Five, four, three, two, one. Finish cooking!’

As Ellie seats herself at the kitchen table, Max places the last dish on to its oak surface – a brown wicker basket heaped with garlic bread – and sits down himself with a dramatic sigh and a theatrical wiping of his brow.

‘So, what are you presenting us with tonight, Daddy?’

‘Well, Miss Teri Judge, tonight I’ve prepared gnocchi with a mushroom, lemon, onion, garlic and cream sauce, drizzled with truffle oil and served with Parmesan shavings. To accompany it we have a courgette, lemon and mint salad and, just because I know you love it, garlic ciabatta bread.’

‘That sounds marvellous. But let’s see how it tastes, shall we?’

Ellie dives into her first mouthful of gnocchi, adopting an exaggeratedly contemplative look on her face as she savours it. She follows it up with a couple of forkfuls of salad and concludes with a hunk of garlic bread.

‘Delicious, Daddy. If your dessert is as good as your main course, then I can safely say that you’re going through to the final.’

Max laughs.

‘Why, thank you very much. I’m honoured, young lady.’

They fall quiet for a minute or so, while food takes precedence over conversation. It’s Max who eventually breaks the silence of consumption.

‘Ellie? You like Eve, don’t you?’

‘Yes, she’s nice. She has lots of pretty clothes too.’

‘She does, doesn’t she. Well, I was just wondering how you might feel if sometimes – not often, just occasionally – Eve stayed here for the night, with us.’

Ellie puts her fork down and eyes Max inquisitively. I know it’s wrong of me, but I can’t help hoping she objects, if only to prolong the stay of emotional execution.

‘Why? Does she get scared in her own house, all by herself?’

‘Not really, no. I just thought it might be nice if sometimes, when she and I have been out locally for the evening, she didn’t have to drive all the way home. A bit like when you have your friends here for sleepovers. Sometimes it’s just more fun to have someone stay the night, isn’t it?’

Ellie pauses for more thought. I’m sure she senses that Eve staying the night isn’t quite the same as an eight-year-old’s sleepover, but whether or not she understands precisely what the difference is it’s impossible to tell.

‘But where would she sleep? When my friends come over they sleep on the blow-up Barbie bed in my room but that would be much too small for Eve.’

Max looks uncomfortable, as though he hadn’t contemplated the prospect of quite so many questions.

‘Well, I expect she’d sleep in my room, with me.’

Ellie’s face takes on a slightly bewildered air as though this wasn’t a possibility that had crossed her mind until this moment and, now that it has, she’d rather it hadn’t.

Max seems unnerved by the silence.

‘Sweetheart, she’d only stay over if you felt okay about it. This is our house – yours and mine – and we both have to be happy about everything that happens here, don’t we?’

Ellie remains quiet. I can only imagine that her silence is indicative of the fact that she’s not comfortable with the prospect or else why the long hesitation?

‘But don’t you like it just being me and you here?’

Max places a paternal hand on top of Ellie’s pale bare arm.

‘Of course I do, angel. I love this being our house and us hanging out on our own together. Don’t you think, though, that sometimes it might be nice to share it too?’

Ellie does as Max suggested and has a think.

‘But if Eve was here you might not tuck me up in bed at night any more.’

Max risks a smile of pre-emptive relief.

‘Of course I would. You know that tucking you up in bed is one of my favourite times of the whole day.’

‘But you might be too busy with Eve to read me stories.’

‘Sweetheart, I would never be too busy to read you stories. Our story time is the best. Three chapters a night, every night, without fail, for as long as you still want them. I promise.’

Ellie takes a strategic pause for some more thinking, her head resting thoughtfully on her hands.

‘But how often would she stay? Would we still have nights here on our own, just me and you?’

‘Absolutely, angel. I doubt Eve would stay over more than once or twice a week, at the most. And only really at weekends. It’ll still be just me and you the majority of the time.’

‘But what about my morning snuggle? I like getting into bed with you in the morning.’

Max hesitates momentarily as though he’s imagining the possible alternatives and endeavouring to conclude the most appropriate response. I can see it’s a minefield for him, this brave new world of single-parent relationships and, I’ve got to be honest, as much as I hate the subject of this particular conversation, I don’t think he could be handling it any better.

‘No one’s ever going to stop me having my morning cuddle with my little munchkin. Maybe I’ll even come and snuggle in your bed instead.’

Max tickles Ellie along her ribs and she squirms out of his reach before taking another mouthful of gnocchi, chewing it slowly, methodically, her face full of dutiful decision-making.

‘Okay, Daddy. If you promise you’ll still tuck me up and read books with me and we can still have our morning snuggle, I don’t mind if Eve stays sometimes. But not all the time. Just a few times.’

Max leans over to kiss the top of her head and I realise that I hadn’t, in truth, been expecting any other decision from her. They fall into a mutually agreeable silence, Ellie finishing the last of her supper and Max pouring himself a second glass of wine. The first, I’m guessing, was absorbed all too quickly as Dutch courage.

‘Daddy?’

‘Yes, munchkin.’

‘Are you going to stop wearing your wedding ring?’

Max lifts his head to meet Ellie’s inquisitive gaze, her question clearly the last place he expected this dinner-time chat to lead.

All of time – even my time, even the borrowed time I’m using now – seems to halt in its tracks while we both wait for Max’s answer.

‘What makes you ask that, sweetheart?’

‘Don’t know. I just wondered.’

Max hesitates, and in that deafening, loaded, unbearable silence are a multitude of possibilities I’m not yet ready to face.

He slides Ellie’s chair across the wooden floorboards so that the two of them are facing one another, knees touching.

‘Are you worried about me taking my wedding ring off, angel?’

Ellie shrugs, focussing intently on the floor.

‘Sweetheart, I’m not planning to take my wedding ring off any time soon, I promise.’

Ellie raises her face towards Max, eyeing him with only partial reassurance.

‘Ellie, do you know exactly what a wedding ring is?’

She shrugs her shoulders again, possibly because she doesn’t know and doesn’t want to admit it or possibly because she’s not fully committed to finding out.

‘When two people get married, they give each other rings because they want to let the rest of the world know that they’ve made a commitment to one special person. It’s a symbol, a bit like the badge you have on your Brownie uniform to show everyone that you’re a member of the Brownies. A wedding ring is like that; it shows everyone that you’ve joined a really special club with just one other person, who you love more than anyone else.’

Ellie takes a second to consider the analogy.

‘So, does that mean that if you took it off one day, for good … would that mean you were telling everyone in the world that you don’t love Mummy any more?’

‘No, not at all, sweetheart. Because people can love each other without having rings to prove it. I love you, don’t I, and we don’t have rings?’

‘That’s different. You’re my daddy.’

‘Yes, you’re right, it is different. But there are lots of people who love each other like Mummy and I did who don’t have rings. What about your friend Susannah’s parents? They’re not married and they don’t wear rings, but they still love one another, don’t they? So even if I did take my ring off one day, it wouldn’t mean that I didn’t love Mummy still, would it?’

Ellie contemplates Max’s argument for a moment before compressing her forehead into a thoughtful frown; where one answer leads, yet more questions follow.

‘Does that mean you’re still married to Mummy, right now, even though she’s not here any more?’

It’s the perfect question and one that I’d ask Max, too, if only I could. Although now that it’s out there, I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the answer.

Max strokes Ellie’s hair and the wait for his reply feels interminable.

‘There’ll always be a part of me that’s married to Mummy, for as long as I live. Not just because there’ll always be a part of me that loves her but because she gave me you and you’re the most precious thing in the whole world to me.’

He kisses the top of her head and she grins with a mixture of pride and self-consciousness before climbing on to his lap. It’s the reassurance both of us wanted and needed.

‘So, Daddy, how did you know you wanted to be married to Mummy in the first place?’

‘That’s a very good question, sweetheart. I fell in love with Mummy at a friend’s wedding. I’m sure Mummy’s told you this story before but my version’s a little different to hers. She was sitting opposite me on a big round table and I thought she was really, really beautiful. I couldn’t help myself staring at her, but then I got worried that she’d think I was a bit odd, so I tried to stop staring but I just couldn’t.’

Ellie giggles.

‘So did Mummy think you were weird, then?’

No, I didn’t. I thought he was wonderful. I don’t think any stranger had ever paid me so much attention before, and that silent, drawn-out flirtation had been nothing short of thrilling.

‘I hope not. But I was really keen to impress her and get her attention and so, in front of all the other people at our table, I started telling jokes and trying to be really funny in the hope that she’d notice me.’

‘And did she think you were funny? ’Cos some of your jokes can be really bad, Daddy.’

Ellie is engrossed in the story now. She’s always loved stories about our time together before she was born. Lots of children can’t bear them, they can’t tolerate the notion that there was life before they lived it, but Ellie’s always been fascinated by her own pre-history.

‘Well, I think she must have done because as soon as the meal ended and we were free to leave the table I asked her if she wanted to get a drink at the bar and she said yes. Now, she wouldn’t have done that, would she, if she thought I was a weirdo?’

‘She might have done if she was really bored!’

Ellie laughs at her own joke, and I watch her, proudly, marvelling at how sweet and endearing she is in spite of everything she’s had to contend with.

‘And then what happened?’

‘Well, then we spent the rest of the evening together and I stopped being so nervous and we just had a really lovely chat. And I knew, even based on just that one conversation, that Mummy was the funniest, kindest, cleverest, loveliest, most beautiful woman I’d ever met.’

Ellie beams with the pleasure of being invited into an adult confidence, burrowing herself under Max’s arm and into the crux of his shoulder.

‘Was that when you started loving Mummy?’

‘I suppose it was, sweetheart, yes.’

Ellie snuggles down further, then frowns, then sits upright, abruptly, as though something very important has just occurred to her.

‘Daddy? Do you love Eve?’

The unearthly silence in my world is echoed in the kitchen below me, as Max allows himself a few brief seconds to contemplate his response. Even though I know the answer, I’m not sure I can bear to hear it again, or bear witness to Ellie hearing it at all.

‘Yes, angel, I do. But not in the same way that I loved Mummy.’

‘Why? What’s the difference?’

‘Well, Mummy was the first big love of my life and you can only ever have one of those.’

‘Why can you only have one?’

‘You can love lots of people during the course of your life but your first big love is something special. Before I met Mummy, I’d had other girlfriends and some of those I even thought I loved, but after I met Mummy I knew that it hadn’t been real love before. With Mummy it was different, right from the beginning. It’s magical, when you realize for the first time what it’s like to love someone in a romantic way. And that first time can only happen once.’

Ellie looks thoughtful as though Max has provoked more questions than he’s answered.

‘But you love other people too, don’t you? Like Granny and Grandpa? And Connor? And me?’

Max holds Ellie tight to his chest and rests his head on top of hers.

‘Of course I do, angel. But there are different kinds of love. The way I love you is different from the way I love anyone else in the world.’