Chapter Ashleigh Brett and Remy Hughes 2012 Aged 50 #8
‘I don’t want him to be mine. I don’t want him at all!
’ She balled her fingers into fists, distressed at all that was unfolding.
‘I also don’t want my daughter to have to deal with the fallout of her aunty shagging her dad!
I mean, what next? A relationship? More sex between them?
We are twins! Identical twins! It’s . . .
’ Words other than ‘weird’ and ‘gross’ failed her, and she’d already used them.
‘Well, there’s lots of things that I don’t want.’ Here it was; she braced herself as he sat upright against the headboard. ‘We’ve laughed and joked for decades about your snooty sister, your smart-arse sister, the way Ruthie and Den coveted that bloody school, and you never thought to tell me?’
‘I didn’t know what to say or when to say it.’
‘Are you trying to tell me that in all the years we’ve been married, you haven’t been able to find a single suitable moment?’ He gave a wry laugh. ‘We talk about everything, we always have, only it turns out we haven’t, and I’m still trying to get my head around that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, aware of the inadequacy of the words.
‘I’m sorry too. I don’t give a shit about what you did when you were a little girl, but I do care about what you’ve done every day since we’ve been together.
I feel left out, like a bit of an idiot.
What else don’t I know?’ He clicked on the bedside lamp; the light, usually soft and welcoming, was tonight stark, brutal.
It was the worst feeling to know she had made him feel like this.
‘There’s nothing you don’t know.’ She hung on to his arm, imploring him to keep loving her, to forgive her.
He stared at her, the atmosphere in the room now quite charged.
‘What?’ she asked, his silent scrutiny uncomfortable.
‘You never say “our daughter”, you always say “my”.’
‘I meant ours – of course I do!’ His expression was one of hurt, and to see it wounded her also, knowing she had inadvertently armed her words.
‘I’ve been her dad since she was little. Jamie’s never been there for her, not really, he just pops up at events, shouting! He’s not been there for her like I have!’
‘I know, I know.’ She too sat up straight and folded her arms across her chest, trying to contain the shame that she thought might spill from her. She felt physically sick. She had caused this, all of it.
‘I’m her dad. I am. I’m her dad.’ It was hard to hear the croak of emotion in his voice.
‘You are. You know you are.’
She moved across the divide, coming to rest against him, feeling his usually yielding body a little cool, a little strange to lean on, like they were strangers.
‘What the hell just happened, Ren? It was supposed to be a celebration. I’ve worked so hard to get Tony over here. We were so excited, and then, bam! Out of nowhere a fucking tornado struck!’
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry.’ Those words, again. ‘I just, I don’t know, I wanted to tell everyone, wanted to get it out there!’
‘Well, you certainly did that.’ Midge put his arm around her and held her close.
But there was something fundamentally different in the way it felt, a hesitation, the slightest formality in his manner, a subtle brittleness to his grip.
She had caused this, aware that she had only spoken the truth earlier: We are, yes! We are perfect!
But what if we’re not? This thought left her reeling, her heart cleaved open at no more than the possibility.
And then she heard it, loud and clear in her mind – Oi! – and she jumped.
Midge held her tighter.
‘I guess there – there is something else.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Something I haven’t really . . .’ It was easy to start, but a lot harder to finish.
‘Tell me.’ His tone was worried, as if wary of what revelation she might be about to make.
‘I am still a bit . . . no’ – she shook her head – ‘still very scared of those men.’
‘What men?’ His voice was quiet now; she could feel his heart racing against her skin.
‘The men that attacked Tony and me. I still hear them shout at me, just before it all started, and it happens quite a lot, whenever I’m feeling vulnerable or stressed, or a million other times, I hear that shout and it’s like I’m still there in the car park, in the minutes before you came along.’
‘Why haven’t you said anything?’
‘Because it was bloody decades ago. I should be over it by now! It feels ridiculous to still be this afraid!’
‘Oh, my love.’ He kissed her scalp. ‘I think you need to talk to someone.’
‘I can talk to you.’ She lay her cheek on his chest.
‘Someone better equipped to deal with this kind of thing. Someone cleverer than me.’
‘Is there anyone cleverer than you?’ She kissed him, willing to talk to someone, to do anything to get rid of the fear, yet equally fearful of opening that particular box.
‘You, apparently. Winning that full scholarship. That was really something.’
His recognition of her achievement, the acknowledgement of her smarts for the first time since she was a child, had a profound effect on her, and as her tears flowed, he held her close, and she was thankful.
Ashleigh
Ashleigh woke with the headache she deserved.
‘Oh, God!’ She remembered instantly that she’d slept with Jamie Aller! It had been sordid, quick, and thrilling, but right now the thought was enough to make her feel sick. And then came the recollection that she had told Remy.
‘Shit!’ Sitting up in the bed, she brought her knees up to her chest and sat with her face in her hands, the door of this pretty bedroom the only thing between her and the sister she would have to face eventually.
She looked at the window and half wondered how sturdy the drainpipe might be.
Not that there was humour to be found in any of it.
‘Shit!’ was the only word that would suffice.
Jamie. The man had always set her teeth on edge, irritated her beyond belief, barely tolerating him when he was with her sister. Her emotional disgust only matched by the physical, she needed a shower, desperate to wash the whole experience and the dire ending of the party from her skin.
. . . it was me that took the exam for St. Jude’s Academy. Me pretending to be Ashleigh . . . me that actually won the place and the full scholarship.
She had heard every word and her legs had turned to jelly; she had wobbled and felt like she might fall.
Unsure what to do, where to go, what to say, it had been a feeling not dissimilar to that night sitting in her car all those years ago, knowing she had lost Archie and Guy and was without a home, without a haven.
But this felt worse, much worse. Yet what she would always remember from that moment was her dad’s face.
He had looked . . . bereft. And she had felt the disappointment in it.
It wasn’t only that they’d lied – that she’d lied – but also that he now saw her as she saw herself, a fraud.
This, she knew, was the hardest thing to deal with.
It was a strange feeling to be divested of the guilt, the dishonesty; it was certainly freeing.
Yet she had lost something too, lost her podium place, her status diminished, her stature reduced.
The world now knew that it was her who, as her sister had so succinctly put it, had been wetting her pants in the mower shed.
Hiding in the pub had felt like a good plan, and who should have been propping up the bar, but Jamie.
There was a knock at the door, and she caught her breath.
‘Yep?’
Remy walked in with a mug of coffee.
‘Thought you might like this.’
‘Thank you.’ She took the mug into her hands and did her best to avoid eye contact, relieved her sister seemed calm, at least.
‘How are you feeling?’ Remy sat on the end of the bed, this debrief happening whether she wanted it or not.
‘As you’d expect. Rough.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Ash, not really.’ Remy stared out of the window, looking towards the green rolling fields in this, her little slice of heaven.
Ashleigh sipped the coffee, feeling it instantly doing much to lift the fug of her hangover.
‘What happened after I’d left?’
‘Oh, we cut the cake and carried on dancing like nothing had happened!’
‘Really?’ For a second her heart lifted at the prospect.
‘No, Ashleigh, of course not! What do you think happened? Mum and Dad barely kept it together and left looking like I’d socked them in the face. Midge went off to bed, Tony and Raul left a bit sharpish, and I don’t think I even properly said goodbye to Sophie, Riccardo, and the baby.’
Her coffee was becoming less appealing with every sip, as guilt sat on her tongue and distorted the flavour.
‘You just left me! Literally raced out of the back door and left me to face everyone!’ Remy looked right at her now; she looked tired, distressed. It struck her how markedly different things had been yesterday when they’d sat on this very bed and laughed, putting on those hideous glasses.
‘What was I supposed to do?’
‘Erm, I don’t know, stay by my side, support me, help explain?’
‘Explain what?’ Ashleigh wasn’t sure what she might have been able to add that would have made the situation any less awful.
‘Are you kidding me right now?’ Remy’s mouth fell open.
‘I’m not. I told you not to say anything, I was calling out to you, but you just ignored me.’
Remy laughed then, and it took a while for her to regain her composure. ‘I don’t believe this, Ashleigh! Are you are saying now you didn’t want me to tell them, that maybe I was right all along, and that we might just have been better off not saying a word?’
‘No, I’m not saying that. Christ, I’m scared to say anything in case you jump up and go and make a public declaration.’
‘You’ve been pressuring me for ages! And last night you backed me into it and then left me to take the hit.’ Her sister’s words were as relatable as they were upsetting.