Chapter 10
10
After more drinks, and more details of Fiona’s humiliating fumble with the student-slash-yoga teacher, Holly agreed to stay the night. The storm that had been threatening all afternoon had settled in and, while it wasn’t as bad as some of the ones that had been in the news reports that week, it wasn’t the sort of weather you wanted to walk home in. Besides, it felt like old times.
Perhaps, if Stephen was as serious about the divorce as he was claiming to be, she could get a lodger, Fiona thought, strangely comforted by the sound of running water and gargling that came from the bathroom next door. It would be a bit of company and help cover the cost of the mortgage. After all, once she’d bought him out of his share of the house, money was going to be tight for a while. Then her thoughts flipped again; obviously, it wasn’t going to come to that. It was still a test. Rightly or wrongly, he was testing her. It wasn’t the end. He hadn’t even signed the papers he’d left.
Holly poked her head around the door. ‘Night night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
‘Night,’ Fiona replied.
‘And seriously, don’t stress about today. This is a good thing. It’s reminded you who you are.’
‘A middle-aged train wreck who can’t handle lunchtime drinking?’
‘There are worse things to be in the world,’ Holly countered. ‘I’m going to have to go first thing,’ she added, yawning. ‘I won’t wake you if you’re not up.’
‘I’ll probably be up.’
‘No worries if you’re not. Sleep well.’
The moment Holly closed the door, Fiona’s mind was back in overdrive, listing the myriad possible futures over which she had no control. Perhaps Stephen and this new woman would get married, she thought. Have children, even. Would she lose all the friendships they’d made as a couple? Not that there were loads, just a few, like people they’d met when they’d first moved to the area and when Joseph had started school. They were bound to go with Stephen. They weren’t good-enough friends to be loyal to her; he was the one who worked for the billion-dollar company, after all. That’s how it would be. On her own in a one-bed flat with a pull-out sofa and ageing cats. She would have to introduce herself as a divorcee , whenever the occasion arose.
Outside, the rain pelted down. Her thoughts skipped back to Martha. Would the rescuers be able to work in this? she wondered. Hopefully. Maybe a bit of rain would be exactly what she needed. Could sperm whales survive long in fresh water? she wondered. Realising she’d stumbled across yet another possible problem, she picked up her laptop and continued where her last whale fact-finding search had left off. Two hours later, she went downstairs and grabbed a sleeping pill.
When she finally awoke, Holly was long gone. She rolled over and instinctively reached for the television remote. It was a stark change from seven days ago, she mused, easing a crick in her neck and pointing the device at the television she’d brought in from Joseph’s room.
A week ago, she would have considered anyone who watched television in bed a layabout. She would also have deemed someone who slept with a younger man, whose name she didn’t even know, and just five hours after receiving divorce papers, clearly unstable. However, at that precise moment, there was nothing more pressing to do and she felt remarkably calm, all things considered. In fact, nothing mattered more than hearing that the rescue had worked and Martha was on her way back out to sea – not her job, nor her apparently pending divorce. That would make everything seem better.
While a crawler about some oil spillage off the coast of South America traversed the bottom of the screen, she waited impatiently for news from the Thames. Then, suddenly, it rolled into view. The remote dropped from her hand with a clatter.
Martha the whale has died.
If Stephen handing her the divorce papers had resulted in numbness then the effect of seeing those words was full-body paralysis.
‘You can’t have. She can’t have died. Oh no.’
But the pictures on the screen were all the confirmation she needed. Martha, her grey-blue skin pitted and scarred, floated lifelessly on the surface of the river, while half a dozen boats and a news helicopter buzzed around her like flies with a piece of meat.
‘The body will be removed this afternoon,’ the news reporter announced. ‘After which we can expect a necropsy, which will hopefully reveal not only how she died, but how she ended up so far from home in the first place.’
Fiona continued to stare. Even after the programme had moved on, she sat there, duvet over her knees, the image of the gigantic whale’s inert form on replay in her mind.
It wasn’t that Holly wouldn’t have come back if she asked her, but how could she? Fiona had barely mentioned Martha in relation to the misadventure with the yoga teacher, let alone even hinted at the extent of her obsession with the creature. Besides, her friend had only just gone. Knowing Holly, she would probably dismiss Fiona’s reaction as a subconscious response to Stephen and Joseph’s departures. But it wasn’t. It was more than that. She’d invested something in Martha, something she’d been lacking. Hope. And now it was gone. There were no other friends she could call either, not without looking like a complete nut job. At last, her mind went to the one voice she wanted to hear more than anyone else’s.
‘Mum?’ Joseph picked up the phone after three rings. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes, yes.’ She forced her face into a smile, despite the fact he wasn’t there to see it. ‘I just thought I’d call up and see how your first week went. Only if you’ve got time to talk, that is? I don’t want to make you late if you’re going out for breakfast or anything.’
‘Actually, now’s good,’ he replied. ‘Just finished a bowl of Shreddies and I’m going out to meet some guys from the rowing club at eleven.’
‘Cereal? What happened to the cooking?’
‘I can’t afford to cook all the time, Mum. Besides, it’s just breakfast and I needed something quick so I’m not late meeting everyone.’
‘Rowing. That’s new.’
‘Figured I could give it a go,’ he said with a nonchalance that she knew would be accompanied by a shoulder shrug, but deep down meant he desperately wanted to do well. He took after both his parents and being less than excellent at anything he did simply wasn’t an option.
‘Well what else have you tried? Tell me everything you’ve done.’
‘You don’t need to go to any events or anything?’
‘It’s Saturday. I’ve got nothing booked. Your dad and I were meant to be coming back from Brussels today, remember?’
‘Oh yes, sorry,’ he replied.
‘No, I didn’t mean anything by it, other than I’ve got time to talk. So, tell me, what have you been up to?’
Without question, she received a highly edited version of his Fresher’s Week experience, but she didn’t mind. Just hearing her son’s voice was more therapeutic than any session of yoga could ever be. Limiting her interjections to simple prompting or reassuring noises, she curled her legs under herself and relaxed back to listen.
When Joseph was at primary school, he had wanted to tell her about every last detail of his day. Or, more often than not, the same detail on a loop. Not to mention the questions that she struggled to answer, like did she know which type of dinosaur would win in a fight? Or who would last longer on the moon, Batman or Spiderman? No, she didn’t. And to be honest, she wasn’t that bothered back then. But, eventually, these discussions had stopped. Truth be told, she hadn’t minded all that much. She’d never been particularly good at kiddie talk. Besides, he’d become his own person and she’d hated it when her parents had tried to pry into whatever was going on in her life as a youngster. Only now did she realise how much she missed these conversations.
‘And lectures, what about them?’ she asked, anxious to prolong the call.
‘Start properly on Monday,’ he replied, ‘now that we’ve got our timetables and everything. I’ve already met one person on the same course as me, although he seems a little odd.’
‘Well, ring me after you finish your first one; I want to know how it’s all going, okay? And what about money, have you got enough? I can transfer more if you need it.’
‘Mum?’ His voice hesitated. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You sound different.’
‘What? Asking about my only son’s health and wellbeing is unusual?’
‘Pretty much, yes.’
She laughed. ‘I want you to understand that, whatever happens between your father and me, you’re still the most important thing in the world. To both of us. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I know?—’
‘And I realise I work a lot. And maybe I should’ve been around a bit more, but?—’
‘Mum, I know.’
The line went quiet. She massaged her fingers against her temple. ‘Well, I should let you get back to your friends. Good luck with the rugby this afternoon.’
‘Rowing,’ he corrected her. ‘It’s rowing.’
‘Of course.’ Her eyes started to sting. ‘Well, you should go. But ring me, okay? Ring me if you need anything.’
‘Of course.’
‘And…’ She hesitated.
‘Mum?’
‘And if you speak to your dad… Tell him I love him.’
Another pause. ‘I will.’
She hung up the phone. ‘Shit!’ she said to herself, pummelling a cushion with her fist. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ What a ridiculous thing to say. And where had it come from? That certainly hadn’t been the plan when she’d phoned him. And now he would pass it on to Stephen and she would end up looking like some crazy, manipulative nut job, using her son as a go-between. With the intention of calling him back, she picked up the phone again and flicked back to his number, only to change her mind. She would send a message instead. It would stop any more unpredictable nonsense escaping from her mouth.
Please ignore last comment. I’m fine. I love you.
She hit send. Who knew what Joseph would do, though? He would probably feel it was his duty to inform his father that she was cracking up. Only she wasn’t. Stephen was the one doing that, thinking of ending his marriage for some cheap hussy.
Deciding that a strong coffee was called for, she fixed herself a large mug, before settling back down in front of the television. Once again, the image of the dead whale appeared on the screen.
‘Fears are that, if we don’t move it soon, the carcass may end up washing onto shore or getting itself wedged somewhere. Either of those could pose a major health risk to the area. Though one thing is certain: however they move the whale, it is not going to be an easy operation,’ the outside broadcaster reported.
Fiona glared at the television. The whale. The carcass. It .
‘She has a name!’ she shouted. ‘What’s happened to Martha?’
Only twenty-four hours ago, all they had been talking about was the type of mother she would have been, how she was an integral part of a community. Now she was nothing more than a carcass. A sodding health risk. Fiona fumed at the callousness of it all. There was no way she could spend all day at home listening to this. She needed to get out. Go somewhere, do something.
Good old Professor Arkell appeared on the screen, his head hung in sadness. At last someone was showing the respect Martha deserved. Fiona continued to watch for a moment, but his words faded into the background of her thoughts.
Dressing quickly, she grabbed her bag and keys and raced out of the house. She needed air. And something to distract her.