Chapter 23
JED
The first day of March arrived and life had definitely settled into a routine.
Aaron had come to the gallery after school for an art lesson for four Thursdays in a row and, for the past fortnight, had appeared on a Tuesday too.
His technique had improved significantly and so had the conversations between us.
We hadn’t directly addressed the elephant in the room – the truth behind me disappearing from his life – but I couldn’t help feeling as though we were leading up to that as he’d started asking questions about his early childhood.
He’d been curious about how his drawings had inspired my style and that had led to questions about what he’d been like – favourite books, toys, when he’d started walking, whether he’d always loved swimming and so on.
I drew on as many memories as I could muster and made sure every anecdote conveyed how much he’d meant to me and also to his sisters, and what a gift it had been to spend those first six years with him.
Erin and Lucy had told me that Aaron was back in touch with them on WhatsApp.
It had started with him sharing some of his artwork with them and asking if they had any feedback and had progressed into general chitchat.
Last night Lucy told me that she felt like she was finally getting her little brother back and that she was going to suggest they meet up at some point soon.
Aaron still hadn’t told Ingrid about his gallery visits.
She’d registered as bank staff at the hospital and had secured twelve-hour shifts every Tuesday and Thursday so was still at work when Aaron arrived home.
His grandparents believed he was doing his homework at the library on those days and I felt bad about that – as though it was me lying to them – but not guilty enough to stop Aaron from coming.
The business was thriving. We’d had a fairly decent footfall across February, massively rising during the school half-term holidays, but online sales had really taken off thanks to Anastasia’s brilliant promotional activities.
We’d had a move around in the gallery today, taking the arrival of March as the perfect moment to introduce spring.
My spring-themed artwork adorned the walls and windows and the crafters whose products I stocked had embraced the theme too.
It was a little early for anything Easter-related but it wouldn’t be long before we made that a focus.
‘It’s spot on,’ I said to Anastasia as we stood on the cobbles looking at the window display she’d just finished.
She hadn’t been planning to include any of her watercolours in the window but I’d insisted on her original bluebell wood canvas going in.
We were expecting the prints from her work very soon and I was sure that one would be popular.
We went back inside and Anastasia repositioned a couple of items while my gaze moved round the rest of the gallery.
The arrival of spring looked brilliant but the downside of the start of a new month was that it was another step closer to Aaron returning to Australia.
It was no longer in a few months’ time. It was now next month and my heart felt heavy at the thought of losing him again. Thank goodness I had Tara to lean on.
Our relationship continued to go from strength to strength.
She occasionally checked that I was comfortable with the lack of intimacy but I assured her it didn’t bother me.
A successful relationship was made up of so many different aspects and sex was one of them but, in my mind, not the most important.
I was enjoying getting a deeper connection with her through our conversations.
‘A good start to the month,’ Anastasia declared, running off the sales report after I locked the door at the end of the day. ‘I can’t believe I sold another watercolour today.’
There’d been lots of positive comments about her bluebells in the window but it was a smaller one of the beach huts which had sold.
‘Any closer to believing in your talents?’ I asked.
She shrugged but smiled. ‘Getting there. Slowly. It doesn’t feel real, like it’s not my work I’m selling.’
‘To be honest, I’m not sure that feeling’ll ever leave you. I still find it surreal when anyone buys my work.’
A loud rap on the door made us both jump.
‘Sorry! We’re closed!’ Anastasia called.
The person outside banged again and I groaned. ‘It’s Ingrid.’ Reluctantly I unlocked the door.
‘We need to talk.’ The words were hushed but there was no mistaking the anger behind them.
‘I’m just finishing off. Can we—’
‘You have ten minutes. I’ll see you in The Purple Lobster.’
And before I could respond, she stormed off down the street.
‘Ooh, good luck with that,’ Anastasia said, her expression sympathetic. ‘Do you think she’s found out about Aaron coming here?’
‘I’m guessing so.’
I’d explained our tricky family dynamic to Anastasia, feeling I should give her an explanation for the surly twelve-year-old who kept appearing.
Anastasia and I left the gallery together a little later.
‘If I’m not here tomorrow, tell the police I was last seen heading to The Purple Lobster for a bollocking from my ex-wife.’
‘I hope she’s gentle with you.’
‘Me too, but it’s doubtful. Hopefully see you tomorrow.’
Being a Friday, it was busy in The Purple Lobster and I couldn’t see Ingrid at first. A flicker of hope that she’d changed her mind was blown out when I spotted her in the quieter snug, half a glass of white wine on the table in front of her.
‘You’re late,’ she snapped.
‘You sprung this on me and I needed to finish up first.’
She glared at me, unblinking. ‘You’d better get yourself a drink.’
My eyes flicked to the bottle of wine in an ice bucket and she tutted.
‘Don’t you dare judge me, Jed Ferguson.’
‘I wasn’t judging. Why do you always have to be so defensive?’
‘Because I…’ Her voice softened. ‘Just get yourself a drink. We need to talk.’
I went to the bar and returned with a pint of low-alcohol lager and sat down opposite her, bracing myself for a verbal attack. It didn’t come.
‘You wanted to talk?’ I prompted when the silence became too uncomfortable.
She rubbed her eyes and ran her hands down her face, making me look at her properly. She looked tired and her eyes were red as though she’d been crying. My stomach lurched.
‘Has something happened to Billy?’
‘No, Dad’s fine, responding well to treatment.’
‘That’s good.’
Silence.
‘Why won’t Erin and Lucy speak to me?’
That wasn’t how I’d expected the conversation to start.
‘Do you want an honest answer?’ I asked. ‘By which I mean, will you accept an honest answer without biting my head off?’
She held my gaze and nodded slowly. ‘Go on.’
It was hard to believe that she needed me to spell it out.
‘Firstly, you dragged them off to live with your boyfriend – a man they’d never met and hadn’t even known existed – at a point when they were already reeling from the discovery that you’d been having an affair for years and that Aaron wasn’t my biological son.
Secondly, you refused to let me have anything more to do with Aaron which hurt them as well as me.
Thirdly, you and Declan made Aaron your whole world and made them feel like they weren’t important at all because they weren’t Declan’s kids.
I tried to smooth the waters and reassure them that Aaron was probably getting more attention because discovering his dad wasn’t really his dad was pretty major.
But then you had the twins and told our girls that it was okay for them to live with me permanently after all.
I couldn’t defend you on that one. It seemed like it was two in, two out. ’
Ingrid lowered her eyes. ‘It’s not how it was, but I can see why you’d all think that.’ She looked up again. ‘Is that it?’
‘Not quite. You hardly ever saw them after that and when they told you they wanted to move back to the UK, you didn’t express even the mildest of objections.
You didn’t wish them all the best either.
There were no emotional goodbyes. There was barely a goodbye at all.
And now that you’re here in the same town, you’ve hardly seen them. ’
‘Erin’s in Newcastle.’ Her tone was quiet but defensive.
‘Ingrid, she was home for four weeks. You could have seen her several times then or you could have gone to Newcastle since. It’s not that far.’
I paused to give her the opportunity to speak – apologise perhaps – but she merely shrugged so I continued.
‘You didn’t tell them you were coming to Whitsborough Bay until the day before you arrived and then you expected them to drop everything to see you on Christmas Day and got all riled up when they refused.
You didn’t tell them you were bringing Aaron and the twins.
They discovered Aaron was here when he turned up on my dad’s birthday and they only found out about the twins on Boxing Day.
That left them no time to get them any gifts, which they hated, and you capped off an already difficult Boxing Day by tearing a strip off me in front of them.
Oh, and then they found out you weren’t going home after the Christmas holidays – but by accident rather than from you.
Is it any wonder they’re not speaking to you? ’
I expected her to push back, to somehow turn the blame on me, but she seemed to be taking it all in and, if I wasn’t mistaken, there were tears glistening in her eyes.
She sighed heavily and took a deep glug on her wine before topping up the glass.
‘I’m the worst mother in the world,’ she said eventually.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to. I’m sorry, Jed. I’m sorry to you and our girls and to Aaron and the twins. I’ve messed up big time.’
Even though she sounded more sorry for herself than for us, sorry was not a word in Ingrid’s vocabulary and it put me on edge, especially when I’d come here expecting a dressing down.
‘Are you ill?’
‘Cheers, Jed. Do I really look that bad?’