Chapter Twelve
March
Eating, sleeping, going to work. In the ten days since Eddie’s shock announcement, Frank and I have been doing all the normal things. I’ve actually preferred being at Pilates to home, even though Wendy seems to be making the class harder, by stealth – and my core still isn’t fully engaged. I’ve certainly been grateful for having a job to go to, because at the library I’m among friends. Whereas Frank and I have been going around in circles about the whole thing – and achieving nothing – Prish, Jamie and Marilyn have helped to distract me and lift me out of my gloom. And of course they’ve listened without judgement, and reassured me that everything will be okay.
‘Maybe they’ll make it work in their own way,’ Jamie offered one morning as he made our coffees.
‘I just don’t know. Eddie hardly gives me any information at the best of times.’
‘All you can do is be there if he needs you,’ Prish added, and I figured she was right.
Some evenings, instead of heading straight home, I go for a stroll on the beach to grab some time to myself. It doesn’t matter if Frank’s still at the garage or not; I find myself putting off even the possibility of the two of us being stuck in the house together. And when we are both there, a simmering ill humour pervades. But mostly, I haven’t even seen Frank in the evenings because he’s taken himself off to our rickety old garden shed – the shed he rarely ventured into before all this happened, but now he remains there after I’ve gone to bed.
It’s like Paris never happened. When I look through our photos, all happy and laughing on a boat trip on the Seine, it’s all I can do not to cry. Because Frank seems to have gone into himself, in a way I’ve never seen before.
However, at least our son has agreed to see us, finally. Somehow, the boy who is always frantically busy has managed to take a Saturday off.
We are here now, at noon as arranged, outside his flat. I press the door buzzer and wait. Frank is standing grimly beside me, arms folded across his chest.
We wait, but no one buzzes us in. I press it again, thinking that at least we’ll be able to have a reasonably helpful and productive talk today. The three of us, like a proper family.
By now, we’ve gathered that Lyla did the pregnancy test a couple of days before we came back from Paris. But when I asked Eddie when the baby is due, he started babbling, ‘I think in late autumn or winter or something?’ As if I was a teacher springing a difficult question on him in class. However, whatever’s happened, it happened bloody quickly. He only saw her once – that first night in Edinburgh, after we’d dropped him off, presumably before he’d even unpacked his stuff. Fast work, Eddie! Whenever I asked him to empty the dishwasher at home he’d take at least three days to get around to it, if he did it at all.
We must be supportive, I remind myself. We’re not here to make him feel worse. I won’t throw frozen-peas-day in his face.
More importantly, his dad and I must show a united front. ‘Frank,’ I start, glancing at him, ‘can we please show Eddie that we’re on his side?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ he mutters.
My chest seems to tighten. ‘And can we please cheer up a bit?’
‘Oh, am I not being cheerful enough?’ he snaps.
‘You know what I mean—’
‘Sorry, should I be wearing a clown’s outfit and juggling balls?’
‘Don’t be silly—’
‘Want me to pull a rabbit out of a hat?’
‘Frank, don’t be like this!’ Anger surges up in me now. ‘It’s been horrible lately, the way we’ve been with each other. You’re barely speaking to me as if this is all my fault. In fact I’ve hardly seen you. You’ve been hiding away in the shed every night …’ I look at him imploringly, but it’s like talking to a brick. ‘Please, Frank. Stop being so, so—’
‘I’m just standing outside our son’s house,’ he announces loudly, ‘waiting to be let in so we can find out how he thinks he’s going to cope with a baby, with this girl he doesn’t even know, and what’s going to happen when it’s born and how’s he planning to make enough money—’
‘Frank—’ I clamp my hand on his arm.
‘—and will he even see the child and have anything to do with it? And what about his young life that was supposed to be so brilliant and now it’s all fucked !’ Angrily, he jabs at the button multiple times.
‘Stop that!’ I swat his hand away.
‘He’s not answering, is he?’
‘No, but you’ll enrage him, doing that—’
‘Oh, he’s the enraged one, is he?’
I stare at him in shock. ‘Is that what you are then? Enraged, rather than being supportive and caring and—’
‘I didn’t say that.’ He turns away as if something fascinating has caught his attention up the street. Without warning tears flood my eyes. Don’t cry, I will myself. What will Eddie think if he opens the door to find you blubbing? A tear escapes as a man in a tweed jacket saunters by. Then along trots a woman clutching the lead of a tiny velveteen dog.
I blink away more tears, trying to pull myself together. ‘Maybe he’s forgotten we’re coming,’ I murmur, now recalling the last time we visited. Like today it was almost lunchtime. It had taken Eddie ages to buzz us in, and he’d appeared on his landing with his hair all rumpled and a pillow crease imprinted on his cheek, clearly having just rolled out of bed.
Frank mutters something under his breath.
‘What?’
‘I said we’ve really messed up, haven’t we?’
‘No,’ I exclaim. ‘No, of course we haven’t.’ I inhale deeply, trying to think of how to lighten things between us. ‘That rabbit-in-hat-thing you said?’ I start. ‘It’s magicians who do that. Not clowns—’ I break off as a young woman in a billowing overcoat sweeps towards us. She stops at Eddie’s building, and we step back dutifully as she fishes out keys from the depths of a pocket.
‘Hi. Want to come in?’ She flashes a smile.
Not really, no. I want to be at home, foolishly thinking that everyone’s doing fine instead of standing here, together but not together because it feels as if we’re falling apart. ‘Yes please,’ I say. ‘Our son lives on the top floor.’
‘No problem.’ She unlocks the door and as we follow her inside, Eddie stomps down towards us.
‘Oh, you’re in,’ he says accusingly. As if we should have waited obediently outside.
‘ Hello , Eddie.’ I force a hug on him as the girl heads upstairs.
‘Hey, son.’ Frank and Eddie embrace awkwardly.
‘So, d’you want to go straight out?’ I start. ‘Or shall we—’ I cut off as Eddie bounds out into the street. Okay, so we’re not going up to the flat. What did he think we’d do up there? Talk to his friends? Dare to accept a cup of tea? It’s only as we head away from his building that I notice his unusually smart attire.
‘You look good, Eddie,’ I venture, scampering to catch up with him. ‘New clothes?’
‘Uh, yeah. Yeah.’ He nods.
‘Wow.’ What brought this on? I wonder. Eddie tends to wear clothes until they disintegrate, virtually hanging in tatters off his body. Yet today his mid-blue shirt looks neatly pressed, and in place of his usual jeans he’s wearing smart black trousers. I’d be no more startled to see him wearing jodhpurs. And I’ve never seen his blazer-type jacket before. I’ve never seen Eddie in any jacket, other than a puffer or various sports-related items, apart from when we attended a Portuguese cousin’s wedding. Then he looked like he’d had a gun put to his head to force him into a suit.
Today, as we round the corner, I also notice that his hair looks unusually clean. He’s shaved too. And do I detect a gust of fragrance?
‘So, where d’you want to go?’ I ask.
‘There’s this place,’ Eddie replies vaguely. His flat’s a tip, I decide, and he doesn’t want us to see it – as if we’d care, with everything that’s happened. That still doesn’t explain why he’s dressed for court.
We cut across the grassy expanse of The Meadows. It’s a grey, chilly day and it seems to be mainly populated by runners and a group of dads and children playing football. ‘Where are we going, Ed?’ his father asks.
‘Just this place .’
Frank throws me a curious look.
‘What kind of food is it?’ I ask, as if it matters. It could be cat food for all I care, because we’re not here to enjoy lunch. We’re here to show a united and supportive front.
‘Just normal food,’ Eddie replies distractedly, and soon we’re in the melee of Princes Street, virtually breaking into a trot as Eddie swerves past tourists consulting their phones and taking selfies with the castle as a backdrop.
I glance at my son as he powers along. He normally employs a slow, loping walk, checking his phone constantly and puffing on a roll-up. Perhaps he’s quit? Is this the start of a new, wholesome Eddie, preparing to be a dad? I’d ask, but am afraid of being accused of ‘getting on’ at him.
‘Anywhere will do, love,’ I remark, catching my breath. ‘Shall we just find somewhere—’
‘We’re going to this place ,’ he announces with more force than seems necessary.
‘All right, Ed.’ His dad frowns, clearly baffled – as I am – by the lengthy march. Since puberty kicked in, our firstborn has avoided unnecessary movement.
‘You haven’t … booked somewhere, have you?’ I ask.
‘Uh, yeah. I mean, no. Not me. But somewhere’s booked.’ I exchange another look with Frank. We’d be no more shocked if he’d booked opera tickets.
It dawns on me now: he’s taking us to Bracken, where he works! This is a major step forward. With its tasting menu it’ll cost an absolute packet but, on the positive side, this would suggest he’s not ashamed of us after all. ‘Eddie,’ I start, ‘are we going to your restaurant?’
‘ No! ’ He looks appalled, and my heart seems to drop as we find ourselves in the New Town. The Georgian terraces look so elegant in sunshine, but today seem rather bleak under a buff-coloured sky.
Eddie swerves into a cobbled side street. It’s one of those streets where you don’t really know what happens inside the buildings. There are brass plaques and discreet signs saying things like J Pritmarsh Associates and The Onyx Society. I imagine middle-aged men in suits, Chesterfield sofas and whisky in cut-glass tumblers.
Eddie stops abruptly, mouth set in a grim line. ‘We’re here.’
‘What d’you mean, we’re here?’ Confused, I glance around. There’s no café or restaurant as far as I can see.
‘I mean, this is it.’ He indicates the nearest doorway. The outer door is open, and beyond the glass inner door I glimpse dark wooden panelling, a deep red patterned carpet and a huge, glittering chandelier.
‘What, this?’ Frank asks, frowning. Two small topiaried shrubs in zinc containers flank the doorway. But nothing tells us what kind of place this is.
‘Yeah. It’s a club,’ Eddie mutters, peering down at his feet.
‘You belong to a club ?’ I stare at him. His hair is so clean, I can smell apple shampoo coming off him.
‘What kind of club?’ Frank asks. Does this explain the eerily pressed outfit?
‘Just a club. I don’t belong to it,’ Eddie says quickly. ‘I’m not a member —’
‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Frank remarks dryly, his feeble attempt at a joke offering a glimmer of hope that he might be softening, and perhaps the Silvas might even be able to enjoy a pleasant lunch?
‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.’ Eddie winces. ‘It’s a bit awkward. I wasn’t sure how you’d react.’ He rakes back his dark hair and glances furtively up and down the street.
‘React to what ?’ I ask.
‘This, uh, this thing today. Please don’t be mad at this—’ there it is, the line no parent ever wants to hear ‘—but we’re, erm … I mean, it’s not just us.’
I frown at him. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I mean there’s, uh … gonna be other people .’
Shit, we’re going in front of a tribunal because my contraception talk failed to communicate the basic facts.
‘What d’you mean?’ I stare at him.
‘I mean, urr …’ His mouth twists. ‘We’re meeting Lyla today.’
‘Who?’ Frank barks.
‘ Lyla! ’ Eddie repeats.
‘We’re meeting her today?’ I exclaim. ‘What, here? Now ?’
‘Yes, now.’ He nods grimly.
‘Who’s Lyla?’ Frank looks baffled.
‘Lyla-who’s-having-a-baby.’ I glare at him. For God’s sake, keep up! It’s astounding how he’s coasted through the raising of three children without bothering to remember the name of a single person connected to their lives. Not me, obviously. Frank just about remembers my name. But the kids’ teachers and friends and their friends’ parents? Or the Scout leader who’d called me in for a ticking-off after Eddie had mooned through the coach window on the way back from a trip? To Frank, it was a sea of random faces – or, if forced, that pointy-nosed woman , or the guy with the beard .
He exhales forcefully and shakes his head. ‘No, Ed. Sorry. We’re not meeting her now—’
‘No, we are,’ Eddie insists. ‘And her mum’s going to be there too—’
‘Her mum ?’ I choke out.
Eddie nods. ‘Yeah.’
‘No way,’ I say firmly. ‘Sorry, Eddie, but I’m with your dad on this. We’re not doing this today. We’ve come to see you and we need to talk as a family. That’s why we’re here—’
‘Please, Mum. Please! ’ Eddie’s voice wavers and he grips my arm. ‘They’re in there. They’re waiting for us now …’ A pause, then: ‘I thought I’d be able to count on you.’
His gaze locks with mine, and something sparks between us; the fact that our son really needs our help and support, like never before. Are we really going to refuse to go in?
‘All right. We’ll meet them.’ I press my hand briefly over my eyes, as if that will imbue me with special powers. Then I turn to Frank. ‘You okay with that?’
He shrugs extravagantly as if acknowledging that he no longer has any control over his destiny. ‘And another thing,’ Eddie adds, hand already on the glass inner door. ‘She’s told her mum that we’ve been together for six months and are solid together. So that’s the story, all right? That’s what she’s got to think—’
‘Absolutely no way!’ I cry out, horrified. ‘If you want to lie then that’s up to you but—’ I cut off and look around helplessly at Frank. Because Eddie has already marched in.