Chapter Forty-One
FORTY-ONE
William
2010
We will lose her soon, I’m sure of it. Fiona has outgrown this apartment and her parents. Perhaps Meredith feels it too; maybe that’s what’s unsettling her.
It was barely noticeable at first, I’m not sure Fiona has noticed it at all, she’s so rarely here. It’s the constant questioning that’s so unlike her. Are we making our usual trip into town on Saturday? What time are we leaving? How long will the drive home take? Have I made the egg sandwiches? This isn’t Meredith. She’s always been fanatically organized but never needy or indecisive.
Is this the empty-nest syndrome she feels is coming? I don’t think so. She’s so proud of Fiona. She’s ready for her to make her mark on the world. Maybe she’s been like this longer than I realized. Has it all been hidden by the routine of her working day? Two months into her retirement, is it the excess of time that’s exposing her?
More than twenty years after she first walked through the doors of the Catherine Walker workrooms and changed my life forever, Meredith has closed her essentials bag for the last time—professionally speaking at least. Finally said goodbye to her remaining private clients who come to the apartment for alterations and when they want something special made for a big family occasion. Is this the cause? Is she questioning everything because she’s unsure what life means for her now? It’s hard to believe when we have been looking forward to this, excited for it. We’ve talked about planning a big trip abroad as soon as we can.
She calls me through to dinner and I take a seat opposite her at the table, studying her face a little more closely tonight. She seems calm, content. My Meredith.
“It’s just us two again tonight,” she says. “Fiona is eating with friends.”
“Perfect, because I’m starving and there will be more for us to share.” I start to slice into the chicken leg and watch the meat fall effortlessly from the bone. She’s always been a wonderful cook. “Maybe we can take a walk down to Henrietta Park after dinner, just the two of us? It’s still light.”
“Do you really think we have time?” She looks confused now, like I’ve made a bizarre suggestion, something totally out of the ordinary.
I glance at my watch. “It’s only just gone six, Meredith.”
“But this one is taking a lot longer. It’s the wild silk, such a delicate shade of pink. I’m having to wash my hands very frequently so I don’t spoil it.” She looks down at her own hands and huffs.
I lower my cutlery and look directly at her. It’s like she’s not really talking to me but someone else in the room.
“I’m not blaming you, of course, the pattern is complicated, I know, and all the beautiful floral embroidery, the jacket too.” She shakes her head, struggling to finish her point. “I just need it finished before the baby comes.”
I feel my mouth drop open. She’s referring to a dress and jacket we made for Diana back in 1992, when Meredith was heavily pregnant with Fiona. The race was on to get it finished before she arrived.
“Meredith, what’s going on? You’re talking about a dress from a very long time ago.” I laugh because this is madness.
“No, I’m not.” There is a stubbornness to her tone that I don’t recognize.
I go to contradict her but change my mind. Instead, I turn my attention back to dinner, how can I argue about something so nonsensical? I scoop one of the carrots up to my mouth and feel the hard coldness of it on my tongue. They’re not cooked.
“Meredith, you forgot to cook the carrots!”
“What? No!” She tries to stick a fork in one of her own and realizes it is rock-hard. We look across the table at each other, there is a moment of stunned silence, and then we both laugh out loud.
“I can’t do everything, you know!” she shouts across the table, still laughing. “It’s okay for you, you disappear every day. I’m juggling everything on my own.”
I’m surprised by this, even if she is joking. She’s never accused me of not pulling my weight before. “That’s not fair, I do my bit.”
“Then again, you never wanted a baby, did you? That’s what you said, so I can hardly complain!” She tosses the comment casually across the table at me. How can she say something so callous with such a lighthearted tone?
“Meredith! Where is all this coming from?” I want her to stop. No one wants to hear their wife say such unkind things.
“You said it. You never wanted children! I’m—” She sits there then with her mouth open, hopefully a sign that she’s about to apologize. But her eyes are fixed behind me. She’s stopped laughing.
I hear gentle sobs and I know immediately what they mean. I turn sharply and there is Fiona, standing in the doorway, shock and pain written all over her face. She runs straight back out the door before I have a chance to reach her.
When I look back at Meredith, appealing for an explanation, her face has softened. She is completely calm, as if the past five minutes never happened.
“Would you like cream or custard with the crumble? Or both?” She smiles.
I don’t know what to do. So, I do the only thing that comes naturally—that has always come naturally. I walk to Meredith’s side and wrap my arms around her shoulders, wanting to protect her. Thank goodness there are no guests at our table tonight. We can keep this to ourselves.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
These are the mistakes I made. Believing Meredith was having some awful off day, sparked by her retirement and the impending departure of our daughter. And that her foolish, meaningless words, shouted into the air, could be explained and forgiven. That covering them up—just as she had my own mistakes—was the right and best thing to do.
A month later, Fiona leaves home without saying goodbye to either of us.