38. MATT
38
MATT
T he new nanny is older than I am. Efficient, upright, spine like a steel rod. Her plummy English accent pisses me off. Thinks she’s Mary fucking Poppins.
We’re all in the front hall. Charlie’s back from school for the weekend and we’re ready to play tennis. The nanny is fixing Lucie’s hair. My daughter looks pristine. Little patent Mary Janes, frilly white ankle socks. But she doesn’t look happy; not the way she did when Aries was caring for her.
My heart does that squeezing thing, a numbness spreading over my shoulders that I try to shrug off, but it doesn’t work. It’s been a month since Aries left, and I still think about her all the time. Every minute of every fucking day. I’ve come to accept that maybe it’s not something that’s going to go away.
Apart from the lingering pain of missing her, everything else feels better. Calmer. It’s as though my anger has somehow settled or dissipated since that day the photo album arrived for Lucie. As if facing the pain of it all unlocked something inside me. Aries, I think, would be pleased about this, if she knew.
I’ve noticed that I have more space for the kids, emotionally. The irritation and anger that were so ready to flare up don't rise the way they used to. It takes a lot more to rile me. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I raised my voice. Probably not since Charlie’s birthday.
Aries, I think, would be pleased by this too.
Fuck. It hurts to think about her and yet I do it almost constantly. Can’t fucking help it. Tormenting myself, as if thinking of her might bring her back. Futile .
Every night I take out my phone and write her the same message. Three words. Then I delete it. Pointless. Meaningless. What does it matter how I feel now?
“Daddy, can we come and watch?” Lucie takes my hand, tugging on it a little. Her brown eyes are bright, shining with hope so vivid that it’s almost contagious. Almost .
Beside me, Charlie lifts one foot behind him, knocks his tennis racket against the heel of his shoe, then repeats the motion on the other side. The strings twang against his rubber soles.
“Sure.” Lucie bounces on her toes and I ruffle her hair. Glancing up at the nanny, I add, “Will you walk her over?”
“Of course, Mr Hawkston.”
“Great. We’ll see you later.”
Charlie and I make our way to the courts in the large private square garden opposite the house. It’s early evening, but still bright enough that the light won’t mask the ball in that strange way summer evenings do, as if there’s a gauzy film over the world. We have about forty-five minutes until that point, but before then we’ll be able to play.
Charlie’s as good a tennis player as I am, if not better. A skilled racket-sportsman. Highly coached, I supposed you’d say. A beautiful, graceful serve. Powerful forehand. He’s been a good player since he was eight years old.
He stops halfway to the grass courts, beneath a magnolia tree, its waxy green leaves arcing over his head. “I don’t want to play.”
I keep walking, looking over my shoulder at him. “We don’t have long before the light changes. Lucie’s coming to watch.”
Charlie’s lips fold inward, turning downward at the edges like a melancholy rainbow. “Have you heard from Aries?”
The question yanks against me, as though Charlie has hooked his finger in the back of my shirt to keep me in place. I stop walking and turn to face him. “No.”
“Have you contacted her?”
“No.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
A prescient tingle runs down my spine. “About what?”
“The strawberries. The party.” Charlie kicks the heel of his shoe into the ground.
“No.” I thought about it, but I didn’t want to drag her back into my family drama, not when she’d managed to extricate herself from me and all my baggage.
Charlie absorbs my answer for a few moments, fidgeting with the grip on his tennis racket. “I knew what they were doing before you threw them out.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I saw Hugo fishing a strawberry out of a glass of champagne in the boot room. Ben was there too. They were both at it, eating the strawberries as they talked about it. What they were planning.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. I left. They didn’t see me. He came back a while later and gave me a glass of champagne. I wouldn’t have drunk it.” My heart thuds and Charlie looks right at me. “But you took it off me. Even after the cake, and everyone saying what a fucking delirious prick you were, you still took it off me.” We stare at one another, the breeze rustling the leaves over our heads. “You still thought she was right.” For a second, I don’t follow, and Charlie adds, “Aries.”
I think of the moment I’d seen Hugo hand Charlie that glass of champagne, and how I’d known something was wrong, even before I spat that strawberry seed out in the sink. “Yes. I believed her.”
Charlie inhales, long and slow. “She was right. Not about the cake, but about the twins. She thought they’d try and mess the party up, and they did.”
I think back to that night. “When I asked you where they were, you said you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want you to make another scene. I thought you’d kill them.”
“I wanted to. I'd want to kill anyone who hurt you. I love you. You kids are more important to me than anything.”
Charlie looks at the ground, unblinking, but when he looks up and meets my eye, there’s an imploring look on his face. “I don’t want to live with Mum again. Not with Mark and Hugo and Ben.”
“God, of course not. I already spoke to your mum. I told her everything. There’s no way you’ll ever have to be with them again. I told her I’d call the police if they came anywhere near you. You can stay with your mum at her house if you want to, but not if she’s with Mark and the boys.”
“She still wants to be with Mark?” Charlie asks, his voice near breaking.
“She does,” I confirm, and the sadness that wells up in me is a mirror of Charlie’s. We’ve let him down so many times...
Charlie nods. He’s quiet, but then he looks at me, his expression serious. “Did you love her?”
“Your mother?”
He gives me a sad little smile, as though he already knows the answer to that question. “No. Aries. Did you love her?”
The question is a tiny dagger tearing at a wound I’ve been trying so hard to heal, and in seconds the blood is flowing freely from it once more, and standing here opposite my son, I find myself unable to staunch it. The life drains out of me, swirling into the ground, and although I haven’t moved, I’m suddenly empty, amazed that, somehow, I’m still standing.
I can’t talk about her. Not here, not now.
“Let’s play.” I thrust the head of my tennis racket towards the courts. “We won’t be able to see the ball soon.”
I pace across the grass, faster than I need to, despite the dimming of the day.
“Dad?”
I turn to find Charlie right behind me. For a beat, he doesn’t move, then he throws his arms around me and squeezes tight. My mind becomes a vacuum. Shock. It must be. We stand like that for a few stretched-out seconds and then, when I gather myself enough to realise what the fuck is happening, I fold my arms around him, feeling the sharp points of his shoulder blades against my wrists.
“I love you too,” he whispers.
Thank God . My throat shrinks, and my next inhalation feels like I’m dragging air through the eye of a needle. I hold him tighter, hardly able to breathe as I say, “I love you. I always loved you, even when it felt like I didn't. And when I didn't know how to tell you. Always.”
“I know,” he replies.
“Family hug!”
Lucie’s voice screeches across the lawn, and Charlie and I pull apart to see her running towards us, arms out. We share a quick look and Charlie grins, and something inside me warms as we crouch down to her level at the same time, both replicating her outstretched arms. When she reaches us, she throws herself between us, one hand around each of our necks. The smell of baby shampoo wafts off her. I kiss her on the cheek, and she squeals.
“Family hug, family hug,” she chants.
Fuck, I want to cry again.
Behind Lucie, the nanny approaches. “She couldn’t wait,” she explains.
“That’s okay,” I say, standing. Charlie takes Lucie’s hand and together we walk towards the tennis court.
When we finally start our match, I’m relaxed. So is Charlie. He strikes the ball perfectly, and the rhythmic back and forth of our rally is like a Wimbledon soundtrack. The noise of a carefree summer. Straw hats and sandals. And, if we were another family, strawberries and cream. But I don’t miss them. We have raspberries, and those are just as good.
Lucie runs about the court fetching the tennis balls while the nanny looks on. Seeing her there, leaning against the netted wall of the court, I think of Aries. Of how beautiful her hair would look against the green. How it would shimmer in the light. She really did have the most incredible hair.
But more important than any of that, Aries felt like part of my family.
God, I miss her so, so much.
When we arrive back at the house, Mrs Minter is waiting for me.
“Can I have word, sir?” she asks. Prim, proper. More so than normal, and I wonder if it’s the effect of this new nanny, spreading her uptight manner like the vines creeping up the walls of the house.
I nod, and Mrs Minter and I step into the drawing room, trusting the nanny to take the kids upstairs.
I stare at the sofa, remembering how I made Aries come on the floor behind it the night Charlie came back from school. I’m replaying it in my mind—her soft pale flesh, freckles on her arms, her nose; that hair, spread across the carpet—when Mrs Minter clears her throat.
“Sorry,” I say. “What did you want to talk about?”
She assesses me as if trying to work out if I can handle whatever she’s about to tell me. A sinking sensation occurs in my stomach. She fishes into her handbag and pulls out a letter. “This is for you.”
She holds it out towards me, but when I don’t take it, she flutters it. A small encouragement.
My mind buzzes. Never has Mrs Minter handed me a letter with this much ceremony. Post is left on my desk. This, whatever it is, is different.
I take it from her, noting my name— Matt —written on the envelope. My heart lurches, thoughts immediately rushing to Aries. But it's not her handwriting. Foolish .
“Thank you,” I say, and wait for her to leave, but she doesn’t move.
“Open it.”
I frown. “Right now?”
“Yes. I have instructions to stay while you read it.”
“Instructions? From whom?”
Mrs Minter’s lips squeeze together as though I’m testing her patience. She’s got to be twenty years older than me, and right now I feel every one of them, like she’s a school mistress reprimanding me for some mistake I’m not aware I’ve made. “Read it,” she repeats.
“Fine.” I prop my tennis racket against the sofa and rip the letter open.
Matt,
Thank you for allowing me to send you healing. I’ve done it every night since you visited, and in a curious way—as it always goes with energy healing—I feel I know you much better than our one-time meeting allowed.
You’re a sceptic, and that’s fine. You don’t need to believe for this kind of thing to work. Even when we can’t see it, things are changing in the unseen dimension. Shifting. Altering. The power of intention cannot be underestimated. I have felt the discharge of your anger and know the burden of pain has lessened. Do you feel changed, Matt?
Aries is different. Heartbroken, but also changed on a soul level. I know, you see. I can feel it. Sense it. I used to worry she might never be able to love or let herself fall, but I was wrong. There have been tears, of course, but tears aren’t always a bad thing. We must grieve before we can heal.
I know your heart is broken as clearly as I know Aries’ is. This will seem far-fetched to a man like you, but there it is. I truly hope the two of you can work out whatever came between you. When there is a connection like the one you have, I know you will. If not in this lifetime, then in the next.
I wish you well, whatever the future holds. And thank you for letting me get to know you better.
Josephine McClennon
My mind spins. Pins and needles prickle over my skin, like I’m going numb, yet pain spikes between my ribs at the same time. My hand hits my breastbone before I have a moment to question the motion.
Never in my life have I received such a bizarre letter. Every line reads like a joke. If I hadn’t met Aries’ mother, I’d think this was a prank. But at the same time, there’s an accuracy to it I can’t deny. I do feel different. And my heart… fuck . Yes. It’s fucking broken and I’m doing my best to ignore it. To carry on.
Mrs Minter clears her throat, reminding me I’m not alone. I glance up to find her staring, a concerned expression on her face.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, holding the letter out to her.
“Aries’ mother sent it to me. It arrived yesterday. I don’t know why it’s so late.”
Late? “Is she expecting an answer? Do I write back?”
Mrs Minter swallows. “Matt,” she says my name slowly, and a sense of foreboding spreads across my shoulders, creeping all the way down to my lower back. “Aries’s mother died. Much sooner than we expected.”
“When?”
“Last week. The funeral is on Wednesday. First of October.”
We’ll tell the kids in October . A horrid, sinking sensation plunges through me, stealing my breath and making me dizzy. I want to grab onto something, to find something to anchor me. I rest my hand on the back of the sofa, digging my fingertips into Gemma’s fucking designer fabric. “Thank you for telling me.”