This is a Love Story (29 page)

After what seemed like hours, he pulled his sports car into a long, winding drive. He had to go really slowly because it was incredibly bumpy. Down the driveway and on the right was a modest but stunning farmhouse, surrounded by machinery, some of which looked defunct, some sparkling new.

Ben turned off the engine and looked at me. ‘Come on, sweet one. They’re going to love you.’

I timidly stepped out of the car and put my left foot into the middle of a deep, cold puddle. Whoops.

‘Are you OK, Si?’ asked Ben, peering over the top of the car.

This was embarrassing. I tried to pretend nothing had happened, but my foot was squelching as I walked.

‘Come here, silly,’ he said, ushering me into a small covered area swamped with wellies and green jackets. I put my shoes on a drying rack and tiptoed into the kitchen behind Ben, who was holding one of my hands tightly.

‘Ben, darling,’ came a female voice, which I could only assume belonged to his mother. A very attractive woman who must have been in her fifties emerged and pulled my boyfriend into an embrace. She looked very much like I’d expected – very pretty and nicely dressed. She had a thick, brown woollen jumper on over a pair of jeans. Her grey bob was nicely styled and she wore a light layer of make-up, which complemented her natural beauty perfectly. Her jewellery was delicate, silver and minimal. Just a small bangle on her wrist and a pair of earrings in the shape of teardrops.

I felt a funny emptiness pull at my stomach. I had always avoided women like this because they reminded me of my mum, who I kept wondering about – and wished was still around I guess . . . I managed to avoid the issue most of the time, ignoring the fact that I don’t know my own mother any more. My mother who turned her back on Dad and me, leaving nothing behind but a battered toothbrush and a few credit card bills. From the moment she left, I made a vow that if I was ever lucky enough to have children, I would never abandon them.

‘Oh, wow – this must be Sienna!’ she said, stepping towards me slowly like I was an unusual and exotic animal. She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled broadly before leaning in and kissing me on both cheeks in a continental style. ‘Welcome, Sienna, please come in. We’ve heard so much about you,’ she continued, giving Ben an encouraging look.

He took off my coat and hung it from the back of the door. ‘Sienna, this is my mum, Lucy,’ he said, sounding even more nervous than I was.

The smells in the kitchen were incredible; pots and pans were boiling and simmering on the Aga. It was exactly how a country kitchen should be. A bottle of wine was sitting on the wooden table with several sparkling glasses around it. I realised how comfortable I felt. This wasn’t so scary.

‘A glass of wine, Sienna?’ asked Lucy, who had clearly spotted me ogling the bottle.

‘Oh yes, please. Thanks.’

We went through to the living room, which again looked like something out of a photograph from
Country Life
magazine. Heat raged from a crackling fire, in front of which was an elderly-looking black dog with random tufts of white hair poking out all over its body. It immediately got up and started sniffing at me frantically.

‘It’s OK, Tara, sit down,’ said Lucy.

There was still no sign of Ben’s father. I bet he was lovely. Probably all cute and round with a tweed flat cap. Or at least that’s what I assumed until a large chair slowly creaked round, revealing a sombre, shadowy figure. It scared the shit out of me.

‘Ah, there you are, Dad – I should have known.’

Now Ben’s dad was a serious man. Scary, even. He was quite reedy and had combed a thin layer of grey hair over the top of his head to hide his bald patch – which I noticed straight away. In his right hand was a huge glass of whisky. It was only 1 p.m., and it didn’t look like his first. He wore dark colours and faded into the blackness of the room like a shadow.

‘Hello, Ben,’ he said with little enthusiasm. He was very well spoken, but his deep voice had something of an inebriated drawl about it.

‘Dad, this is Sienna.’

There was a grunt. Gosh. How rude.

The dog shifted awkwardly, looked up at me and did one of those deep, canine sighs before rolling over on the carpet. I feel your pain, Tara, I thought. If I’m honest, I was deeply disappointed by Ben’s dad’s reaction, but I tried hard not to show it.

‘Er, Dad. Sienna, my girlfriend?’ pushed Ben once more, offering me a seat on the sofa. I obliged.

‘Yes, I know,’ he said, ignoring me and turning back to the golden flames.

‘David. Don’t be so bloody rude,’ snapped Lucy, turning his chair around again. Hard. His whisky almost flew from his glass and onto the floor.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, darling. I know who it is, we don’t need to make a song and dance and scare the poor girl, do we? Now, does she have a glass of wine?’ he asked.

I held my glass up towards the light nervously and smiled, toasting thin air. Everything was fine. Stay calm.

Lucy pulled up a chair and sat almost opposite me. ‘So, Sienna, tell me more about you.’ She leaned back and smiled, looking genuinely pleased that her son hadn’t brought back a piercing-riddled Goth. She was obviously trying very hard to be warm and accommodating to make up for the ignorant pig she had married.

‘Well, I’m a journalist, I live in west London. I write for a whole load of different magazines and I love it.’

‘Bloody journalists,’ came David’s gruff tone. ‘Always blooooody lying,’ he finished, his words flowing even thicker now, like there was treacle in his mouth. It struck me suddenly that my boyfriend’s father was a drunk.

Lucy turned red and gave me one of those ‘ignore him’ looks, but she seemed deeply humiliated by it all. Ben visibly cringed.

It dawned on me that this man had quite a serious alcohol problem, and that maybe Ben hadn’t fully realised this. At least David’s vitriol wasn’t personal. Maybe Ben had been brought up with it and thought it was normal for a man to behave in this way. It wasn’t. Of course.

His mother was lovely, though, and I couldn’t help but feel an ache. As if someone like her had been the missing piece all along. If I’d had a mum around then maybe my dad wouldn’t feel so sad about things. Sometimes he gets really depressed.

‘So who do you live with?’ she continued to probe gently.

‘I live with my dad – just me and Dad. No brothers or sisters,’ I replied, hoping she wouldn’t start asking too many embarrassing questions, but I was sure Ben would have briefed her on my unusual situation.

‘Sienna, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but Ben tells me that your father suffers from quite a fascinating illness. Sorry, I don’t mean fascinating, I, er, I mean . . .’ she stuttered, trying to correct herself and blushing slightly. At least she wasn’t pussyfooting around the subject.

‘Yes, he has narcolepsy—’

‘Narco-what?’ I was rudely interrupted by Ben’s father, who spat flecks of saliva into the air as he spoke.

‘Shut up, Dad,’ shouted Ben, clearly quite angry with his father’s behaviour.

‘It’s OK,’ I said quietly, holding Ben’s hand discreetly. He squeezed it back. ‘Basically, it’s a condition affecting the neurological system. It’s a sleep-wake issue. My dad, George, has cataplexy, too, which is another condition that goes hand in hand with narcolepsy. It means the triggers for his sleep are emotional ones, so when he feels any kind of strong emotion it will send him off. So, in non-scientific terms, it means that he falls asleep pretty much all the time,’ I finished, taking a deep breath of the woody air.

I was so hungry now it was making me feel faint. I took a tiny sip of my wine, aware that it would go straight to my head, and I wanted to stay sharp enough to be on my toes around Ben’s father.

‘So he could be standing up and he would just hit the floor?’ she asked, both eyebrows raised in utter surprise.

‘Yes, spot on. Anywhere, anytime. He has really hurt himself, too. It’s a constant worry, really. Obviously he can’t work. In the eyes of the government, he’s disabled.’

‘Ah, I suppose he’s leeching money off the rest of us paying our taxes, like all the others with depression and ADHD and all these made-up illnesses you lot have nowadays. Basically, he’s just chronically lazy,’ muttered Ben’s father.

Now that was close to the bone. I felt it cut into me like a knife.

My boyfriend erupted. In fact, erupted was an understatement. It was as if someone had dropped a match into a tank of petrol. It made me jump and my heart race in my chest.

‘Right, that’s it. I’ve had enough.’ He walked round to face his father, who was looking away from him. ‘What the hell is your problem, Dad? I’ve brought Sienna here to meet you and Mum. She’s incredible, and your ignorance is shocking. She’s hard-working and patient and kind, and you have no idea what she’s been through,’ he yelled, drawing closer to his dad’s face with each word until they were nose to nose. His breathing was fast and his nostrils were flared. A major scene appeared to be unfolding.

‘Look, don’t worry,’ I said, pulling his muscle-bound frame away from the dismissive man sitting in the chair. This was all a bit shocking. Lucy, meanwhile, had escaped to the kitchen.

What an utter disaster. This couldn’t actually have gone any worse. Why did Ben bring me here if he knew his father would act like this? I had so many questions to ask. I tiptoed into the kitchen and left my boyfriend and his father to their fight.

The shouting was barely audible through the heavy wooden door I had closed behind me. Lucy sat in the corner of the room, shaking with the stress of it all. I sat down softly beside her. ‘Lucy, please don’t worry. Please,’ I pleaded with her, resting my hand on hers. Her skin was soft and crinkly, so delicate you could see the veins beneath.

‘I’m so, so sorry, Sienna. I think we’re losing him,’ she sniffed.

‘What do you mean, “losing him”?’

‘I think he has some serious mental problems. He’s been acting like this just lately – it’s all very recent. It’s not all the time, either – sometimes he’s sweet and loving, and then he’s like this. He isn’t the man I married.’ She threw her arms in the air in despair.

‘So it’s not . . . the alcohol?’ I asked with trepidation.

‘Well, that plays a huge part,’ she admitted, tracing her finger over a napkin. ‘But now he has these big rants, these angry shouting sessions. He would never have been like that a few years ago, Sienna, never. He would have welcomed you in, cooked for you. Been the man he used to be. He would have adored you – you’re lovely,’ she finished, looking up at me with hope.

‘I’m so sorry he isn’t well, Lucy. I know what it’s like to live with someone who’s poorly,’ I said, getting up. ‘Would you like some tea?’ I asked.

‘Yes please, love.’

We only stayed for another couple of hours. Lucy and I had lunch together while Ben sat with his father, trying to work out what on earth had gone wrong. What had come unravelled in his mind? He searched for signs and answers in the angry tone of his father’s voice and in his facial expressions. It must have been a hard thing to come home to.

‘Sienna, I am so deeply sorry,’ Ben said as soon as we piled into the car. It was dark by now and my shoe was still damp.

‘Ben, please, don’t. I know he didn’t mean it. I just feel really bad for you. Really bad.’ I turned towards him. I could see the outline of that lovely nose of his in the moonlight.

‘I just can’t believe it. I don’t go back too often, but he has never been like this. To be honest, I kind of thought Mum was exaggerating when she mentioned it on the phone the other day, so I just forgot about it.’ He looked down at his lap guiltily.

The journey home was a quiet one. I couldn’t see the geese or the fields in the darkness, but I imagined them. I suddenly realised I was in a proper relationship, a scary one with the ‘I love you’s and the complex family disasters. While I had been scared about what it would be like to meet a normal family, I soon realised that there wasn’t one, really. There were so many family units out there, trying to get by without vital pieces of the typical working machinery. Mum, Dad, the kids and the dog. I thought about my beautiful Elouise, bringing up her little boy on her own, a lone soldier. I thought about Dad and me. I felt lucky in a strange way – lucky that it was just Dad and me, and we loved and understood each other entirely.

When I got back to the flat that evening I watched
Paris When It Sizzles
with Dad, his choice. Then I made him his favourite dinner, pesto pasta with goat’s cheese, and ordered some books about colonialism for him online – it was the latest thing he was studying. I also bought some more of the black notebooks he likes to write in. While the day had turned sour in a most unexpected way, it had made me aware of a feeling closer to home: a feeling of gratitude and the simplicity of acceptance.

Nick

‘I want to see the book.’

‘What book?’

‘You know which book I’m talking about, Nick.’

‘Nope. If you’re talking about the Bible, there isn’t a copy in this house.’ I grinned and started to crawl on top of Chloe, who was lying on the sofa in a pair of shorts and a racing-back vest. I nibbled on her neck but she pushed me away playfully.

‘Very funny, Nick. I’m not talking about the Bible. I’m talking about the book Sienna made you for your birthday.’ She raised an eyebrow, and wrapped a long, smooth leg around me.

‘Oh,
that
book. Sure, no problem.’ I got up and went to my room, taking each step very slowly like a child on its way to the dentist. I wanted to postpone the start of the next world war. Deep down I wondered how she even knew about it. I hadn’t told her. It had been three months since my thirtieth birthday, and the book was placed in one of my drawers beneath unpaired socks and half-opened credit card bills. I wasn’t exactly hiding it, but I didn’t think Chloe would understand so it wasn’t going to sit on my coffee table. I was a little nervous, if I was honest. Not from guilt, just through fear that Chloe would storm out and leave me with a plate of curry all over my face.

Opening the large oak doors of my wardrobe I noticed five hangers with Chloe’s dresses on. This was new, I thought. I pulled open the drawer and felt around for the book, my fingers searching through a mountain of socks and pants until they ran across the edges of the thick paper. There it was.