Chapter Twenty-One
Keith woke to the thoroughly annoying sound of wood pigeons flapping their wings noisily in the lilac tree just yards from the open window of the spare room. He’d been sleeping in here ever since the awful day of Tigs and Fabian’s wedding.
He’d driven home to Madingley that night unable to bring himself to speak to Hilary as she sat grim-faced and silent in the passenger seat beside him.
He’d told her that he thought it best that he slept in the spare room.
She didn’t try to dissuade him. At breakfast the next morning, they had sat like strangers at the table, neither willing to break the silence that lay heavily between them.
For his part he didn’t trust himself to be civil and as for her, he couldn’t begin to fathom what delusional web she was spinning inside her head.
He didn’t much care. She could stew in whatever sanctimonious self-deception she wanted to wrap herself in.
Two very long and very miserable weeks had passed since then with Keith doing his best to avoid spending any time with his wife.
When they were in the same room together there was a large elephant there too, its ominous presence reminding him of the moment when Hilary had lost control.
What she did that night was unforgivable and whenever he so much as attempted to raise the subject, when he trusted himself not to lose his temper, she shut him down by accusing him of not caring about Hugh and his memory.
Rather than confront her and unleash God knew what, he escaped to the golf course as often as he could or went for long brooding walks and twice he met up with Diane in Ely.
He’d also been to see Nina to apologise for what had happened, not at the gallery, but at her apartment.
He had phoned her in advance to check that he was welcome, and she’d said it would probably do them both good to clear the air between them.
She’d been right, and he’d taken comfort in being with her while strolling around the beautiful and serene grounds of Hope Hall.
He could quite understand why she had moved from the centre of town to live there; it was a soothing balm to the soul, an answer to a mad world.
Outside the window of the spare room, the wood pigeons continued to make their irritating noise in the lilac tree, cooing and flapping their wings – it was like Chinese water torture, waiting for the next coo or the next flap.
Suddenly he could bear it no more and he threw aside the duvet and went to the window, banging it shut loudly, scaring the wretched birds out of the tree.
Opening the window again, he stood there looking at the garden, knowing that after today no more would he enjoy the view.
They had moved here nearly forty years ago when Hugh had been a small boy.
Keith could remember the day as though it were yesterday, when he’d climbed the beech tree at the far end of the garden and fixed a rope swing to one of the lower branches.
The rope had rotted years ago but just as Hilary had hoped for a grandchild, he too had wanted one and had pictured a smiling child playing on a newly installed swing.
But instead of Keith climbing the tree, Hugh would probably have done the job of fixing a rope to the branch.
At the thought of Hugh and what might have been, he felt the familiar ache of wishing his son was still alive.
What in hell’s name would Hugh make of what his mother had done and what Keith was about to set in motion? With a heartfelt sigh, he supposed he should be grateful, if it didn’t sound too illogical, that his son wasn’t here to witness the aftermath his death had caused.
Today was August Bank Holiday Monday and he’d chosen the day to do what he had been putting off for far too long. If he didn’t do it now, when would he?
His marriage had been failing for so many years he couldn’t recall when he’d last felt anything remotely like love for his wife.
He had been on the verge of leaving her when Hugh was diagnosed with a brain tumour.
He’d been shattered by the news and would have willingly traded his own life for that of his son’s.
So, he did the next best thing, and he made a pact with whatever god he futilely hoped might exist. He vowed to stay with Hilary and do his best to support and love her in exchange for Hugh surviving the diagnosis he’d been given. For that, he would do whatever it took.
But then Hugh had died, and he knew he couldn’t abandon Hilary to her grief alone, she needed him like never before.
He’d help her over the worst of it, he told himself, and then he’d go when she was strong enough to handle the divorce.
Part of his decision to delay leaving her was rooted in the disagreeable knowledge that he didn’t want the family and their circle of friends to think badly of him for being so cruelly selfish.
They might have publicly made excuses for him, blamed his out-of-character behaviour on grief, but privately they would have been disgusted by his actions.
If he were honest, he was disgusted with himself for not having the guts to do what he knew he had to do before now.
By not being stronger he’d been complicit in allowing Hilary to take out her grief in ways that should have been checked ages ago.
He was a coward. And a liar and a cheat.
He hadn’t physically cheated on his wife, but the relationship he had with Diane was a heartbeat away from becoming more than just companionship grounded in the emotional support they gave each other.
He’d known very early on in their online friendship while still using the grief support group that he was guilty of obfuscation, but what the hell!
He believed he deserved to be happy. Everyone deserved to be happy, even Hilary.
Nina too. Life was for the living; Hugh would have been the first to agree with that.
He showered, shaved, dressed, and went downstairs. There was no sign of Hilary and when he looked out of the hall window, he saw that her car had gone from the driveway. He had no idea where she’d gone, but he was relieved to have the kitchen to himself while he made himself breakfast.
When he’d eaten two slices of toast and drunk a mug of strong coffee, he placed his mug, plate and knife in the dishwasher and went back upstairs to retrieve the suitcases he’d packed last night.
After he’d stowed them in the boot of the car, he awaited Hilary’s return.
He had no idea how long she would be. He was tempted to pour himself a glass of Dutch courage, but he wasn’t sure he could stop at just the one glass.
At half past twelve he heard Hilary’s car on the drive. He breathed in deeply, listened for her key in the lock, the door closing, and then her sharp staccato footsteps on the oak flooring in the hall.
‘We need to talk,’ he said, uttering the cliché of all clichés when she came into the kitchen where he’d been waiting.
‘I have nothing to say to you,’ she said, dumping her handbag on the dresser.
‘Too bad, I have plenty I want to say to you and for once in your life you’re going to listen. You might just as well sit down.’
She stared at him as though not quite believing the way he’d spoken to her. But she ignored his instruction to sit down.
‘I’ve tried my hardest to be sympathetic towards you, Hilary,’ he said, ‘but no more. I’m all out of sympathy, it’s time now for me to do what’s right for me, not you.’
Her expression flipped from disbelief to one of deep scorn. ‘You’ve always done what’s right for you. You’re a weak man, Keith and I despise you for that.’
‘I agree with you, I’ve been shamefully weak, and I’ll have to live with that knowledge. But what I won’t stand for is how disgracefully you behaved towards Nina.’
‘I did nothing wrong,’ she asserted, her body ramrod stiff, her gaze steely.
‘How can you say that? You assaulted her! You attacked your son’s wife … our daughter-in-law! She could have pressed charges against you. The fact that she didn’t speaks volumes about the kind of decent woman she is.’
‘She’s no longer my daughter-in-law,’ Hilary stated almost robotically. ‘She’s nothing to me.’
‘I’m sure the feeling is mutual from Nina’s perspective.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine how appalled Hugh would be at what you did.’
She flinched at that. ‘And what would my darling Hugh have thought, seeing his wife flaunting herself the way she did! Kissing another man, and in front of his family!’
‘That’s the whole point,’ Keith said, and going over to her.
‘Hugh wasn’t there, he’s dead and gone and I thank God that he is.
’ He paused before going on. He swallowed and forced himself to continue.
‘Hilary,’ he said, ‘it pains me to say this, but you’re unwell and you can’t go on like this.
We can’t go on like this,’ he added. ‘I can’t stand by and watch you destroy not just yourself, but me as well.
I’m leaving you. I should have done it before, but I didn’t have the courage then. ’
That was when Hilary raised her hand to strike him, just as she had with Nina.
He caught hold of her slender wrist, gritting his teeth as he did so, scarcely containing his own need for physical violence.
They stood there locked in a moment of seething silence, each staring at the other with what he recognised as intense loathing.
Yes, he’d reached the point where he loathed his wife. No more could he pretend he was easy-going Keith prepared to tolerate the put-downs, batting them off with self-deprecating comments.
That Keith was dead.
As dead as his marriage.
And as dead as their dear son, Hugh.