Chapter Seventeen
Normally I wouldn’t dream of saying yes. I don’t know these women – I barely know Suki – and if I were to plan a weekend away without Frank, it’d be with Prish, Jamie and Marilyn. Occasionally we book a Travelodge in somewhere like Liverpool or Manchester and have a ball.
Plus, what about the whole ridiculous Eddie-and-Lyla-are-together charade? What if that came up? However, I can’t help picturing Suki’s cabin somewhere way out in the wilds. And being there, away from everything is sorely tempting.
I lug my rucksack out of the car and step into the empty house. Funny how the things that drove you mad about a person can become the very things you miss. Like the way Frank would always hang around, every time I was cooking, and give the pan a perfunctory stir – as if to ‘help’. Then he’d taste it: ‘Does that need more salt?’ If it needed more salt I’d have put some in!
And the way he’d show me videos of golden retriever puppies on his phone, when I was trying to read in bed.
And insist on doing DIY projects in the kitchen, spraying sawdust everywhere, rather than tackling the job in the shed.
None of those things happen anymore. There’s no unasked-for pot stirring now. No foisting of cute animal videos on me. These past few weeks – as our grandchild has grown from the size of an apple pip to a grape to a plum – I’ve craved the warmth of Frank’s body, wrapped around mine. Is he depressed? Or angry with me? He’s the one with the penis around here! Surely he should’ve had a chat about the facts of life with our son? It was his job, as a father. His contractual obligation, like dragging the wheelie bins out onto the street which, I have to say, he’s also often neglected to do!
Having dumped my rucksack in the hallway, I go and open the back door and glare out at the shed. Its door opens and Frank steps out. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘You’re back.’
Clearly, yes. ‘Yep, just in.’ No, How was your day? How was your dad tonight?
He trudges towards me and follows me back inside and into the living room where I snap on the TV. ‘Everything all right?’ he asks.
‘Not really,’ I say.
He frowns. ‘What is it?’
I turn and glare at him. ‘Frank, why are you spending so much time out there? In the shed, I mean?’ After Dad’s rant about the Citrolax, I don’t care about sounding accusatory.
‘No reason,’ he replies with a shrug.
My heart is thumping now. ‘There must be a reason. Why are you being so secretive? You’re not usually. At least, you weren’t before all this happened …’
‘I’m not being secretive,’ he exclaims.
‘You are, Frank. Is it because you want to stay away from me? Because if you are—’
‘Of course not!’ Frank declares.
I glare at the TV. Prish has often reminded me how lucky I am, enjoying simply hanging out with my husband. Although we could rarely afford to go out, that never mattered because, on the rare occasions when it was just the two of us, we always cherished our cosy evenings together.
Now Frank comes in when I fetch him – when dinner’s ready – and guzzles it like a starved teenager before sloping off out to the shed again. Some evenings I’m tempted to carry out his plate and set it on the ground outside the shed door. Let the gulls get it, for all I care!
‘Frank …’ My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. ‘I feel a bit … lonely at the moment.’
He looks confused. ‘Lonely? What d’you mean?’
‘You know what lonely means. It’s that kind of … hollow feeling. When you feel … alone.’
He shrugs infuriatingly, as Eddie might have done. Frustration rears up in me. ‘Well, it was going to feel a bit weird, wasn’t it, with Eddie leaving home?’ he remarks. ‘The empty-nester thing. You even bought a book about it—’
‘It’s not about Eddie or the girls being gone,’ I say sharply.
‘So what—’
‘It’s us! ’ I exclaim. ‘It’s me and you, Frank. That’s why I feel lonely.’
‘But why? I’m here, aren’t I?’ He looks genuinely baffled.
‘It feels like you’re not really.’ My eyes prickle with tears, and I quickly blink them away. ‘People can feel lonely in a marriage,’ I add. ‘They can feel shunned and pushed away and—’
‘I’m not shunning you, Carly.’ His forehead crinkles. ‘I’m just … doing stuff. I’m fine—’
‘Oh, I’m glad you’re fine!’
‘Carly!’ he exclaims, placing a hand gently on my forearm. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ I say firmly. And then, realising this discussion is hopeless, I thrust my phone, displaying Suki’s message, at him.
Frowning, he reads it. ‘Jesus. That’s weird, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a bit out of the blue, yeah …’
‘Why d’you think she’s asked you?’
Maybe my hormones are raging tonight, or I’m still all out of kilter after seeing Dad. Sometimes, the colossal effort of maintaining my cheery daughter act knocks me off-centre for hours afterwards. ‘Maybe because she liked me?’ I venture.
‘Really?’ His eyes widen in surprise.
‘Well, yeah! I’m thinking that’s probably the reason. Because some people – even people who hardly know me, Frank – aren’t totally appalled by the idea of spending time with me!’
‘Hey!’ He tries to grab my hand.
Irritably, I shake him off. ‘What’s brought this on? I don’t get it—’
‘What I said, Frank. Just what I said—’
‘Okay, okay! But obviously, you’re not going, are you? On this weekend thing with Suki?’
I blink at him. ‘Aren’t I?’
He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. It’s not exactly your kind of thing, is it?’
‘What, having fun? Doing something spontaneous and making new friends? Spending time with the woman who’s going to be a grandmother to Eddie and Lyla’s baby? Because like it or not, Frank, they’re having a child—’
‘For God’s sake!’ he snaps. ‘I do know that, Carly. I can hardly think about anything else.’
We fall into a grim silence. Then, as I’m about to get up and leave him simmering away on his own, he murmurs, ‘She’s a bit odd, though, isn’t she? Didn’t you think so, that day at the lunch?’
‘What, Suki? Not especially,’ I say, contrarily.
‘Come on, you must’ve thought she was a bit bonkers. Didn’t you?’
I glare at him. ‘I thought she was nice, actually. You know – positive and supportive, unlike—’
‘Okay,’ he cuts in, eyes flashing. ‘Say yes then, if you want to!’
I stare at him. So he’s giving me permission to go away to Suki’s cabin? Did Frank ask for my permission when he bought that food truck, with plans to spend the summer doing the festivals? ‘It can’t fail,’ he’d insisted – but he tried one event and made a loss. He hasn’t been able to sell the van either. It’s still rusting away like a giant version of one of my father’s tinned pies on the scrubby ground behind Dev’s garage.
Still simmering with irritation, I put off replying to Suki’s message for now. I don’t want to say yes simply because I’m mad at Frank. That would be no reason to go. Later that night, as the wind rattles our ancient sash window, I try to figure out what to do.
My alarm trills just before seven, but Frank is up already, getting ready for work. He never used to set off before me. These days he rushes out with only a hasty goodbye. No kiss.
A little later I set off for the library. Its ornately carved tower comes into sight, red sandstone against a clear blue sky. My phone rings and I pull it from my pocket, expecting it to be Suki, wondering if I’m planning to come. But it’s Dad.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask. He rarely calls me, and these days I know he enjoys a lie-in.
‘Well, it wasn’t books in your rucksack, was it?’ he starts.
My heart seems to clang. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘My pies!’ he announces.
‘What pies?’ Holy fuck.
‘Those steak and kidney pies. You know what I mean. In the cupboard. Where have they gone?’
‘Uh … Dad …’ I exhale, realising someone is waving from the bus stop across the street. Helen, the family tree researcher, one of our regulars at the library. I smile brightly and wave back. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve said something. I just thought I’d clear out some space—’
‘Clear out space? They were my pies, Carly! Where are they?’
In my wheelie bin, Father! ‘I, um … moved them,’ I mutter.
‘You mean you threw them away?’
I take in a deep inhalation as I stride onwards, as if that way I’ll feel strong and purposeful and unafraid of Dad. But it’s not working. Because now, instead of being a fully-grown adult woman heading to work, entrusted with library keys, I’m flung back to being ten years old, and frankly scared of the man who presided over our little family of three.
Yes, I’d deserved it. For some mad reason I’d stuffed a Caramac bar into my pocket in our local corner shop.
I didn’t mean to take it! I was going to pay! Having spotted my despicable act, the shop owner, Mr Blyden had cornered me and phoned my dad. The two men played golf together. I was sent home to face my father; he wasn’t a hitter but, God, he could shout. How I’d wished for brothers and sisters, not just to absorb some of his wrath but to huddle up with, when I’d been sent to my room. That’s why, once we had Eddie, I knew I wanted to have more children, if we possibly could. It’s why I loved Raj, Calum and all of the kids’ friends cramming around our table and filling our kitchen with laughter and noise.
A full nest. How I loved it.
And now, as Dad insists that those ancient pies are perfectly fine, I sort of phase out and let him rant.
Suki’s message. An invitation to a weekend away.
‘… No idea why you decided to do that. What on earth were you thinking? You know I hate waste …’
Someone who actually wants to spend time with me, even though I sat there sweating in the restaurant in a bobbly old sweater I bought off Vinted.
‘… And to not even say anything to me!’
A luxury cabin in the woods. It sounds like a fairy tale.
‘Carly?’ Dad barks.
‘I threw them out.’ I say it quickly, like ripping a plaster off. Better to get it over with.
‘Why?’
‘Because they were old and rusty and—’
‘Tins don’t go out of date.’
‘They do, Dad. They do. Otherwise why would they put dates on them?’
‘That’s a new thing, sell-by dates.’
Not that new, I think, considering the pies expired around the time Take That broke up. ‘No it’s not. They’ve been around as long as I can remember—’
‘It’s all this woke nonsense. The world’s gone mad—’
‘Sell-by dates are woke ?’
‘Tins are fine until they blow!’
Still gripping my phone, I pull out the big bunch of keys from my pocket and unlock the library’s main door. ‘They blow when there’s a gas build-up, Dad. Is that what you want? So the contents are actually fermenting—’
‘You’re trying to take over my life,’ he retorts.
‘No, I’m just trying to stop you getting food poisoning,’ I shoot back. ‘But I didn’t mean to upset you. And okay, I probably overstepped the mark. I realise that now and I’m sorry.’
The door opens and I step inside, inhaling the still, cool air that’s lain undisturbed all night. Heading for the kitchen, I pull off my jacket and fill the kettle and click it on. ‘I’ll replace them,’ I add. ‘How many were there again? Eight?’
I exhale slowly, certain that I can sense the oestrogen leaving my body. No one warns you about this: that sometimes it goes quietly, like a neighbour leaving after a cup of tea. At other times it’s like a crowd surging out after a gig, spilling out onto the pavement and having a brawl.
‘Oh, don’t bother with that.’ Dad’s tone softens.
‘If you’re upset I will. I don’t mind. I’ll bring them next time I come over—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ he mutters, and the silence stretches between us. I do my best, can’t you see that? I bring you groceries and books and your medication, and cook for you and clean your flat. I sit and watch Cash or Crash with you, when you shout at the TV and mock the contestants who get seemingly simple questions wrong.
It feels cruel, when you do that. You can be cruel, and so can Frank, although it’s a different kind of cruelty. Two men, whom I try to keep happy.
Well, fuck that, I decide as the kettle comes to the boil and switches off.
‘Well, I’m sorry anyway,’ I say briskly. ‘But I’m at work now, Dad. I’d better get on.’
‘Are you? All right.’ He clears his throat. ‘So, I’ll see you at the weekend, will I?’
I pour boiling water over the teabag. ‘Actually, not this weekend,’ I reply.
‘Oh.’ He sounds taken aback. ‘Look, Carly, I was just upset,’ he adds gruffly. ‘It was a bit of shock to see everything gone. But I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s not about the tins, Dad,’ I cut in quickly. ‘That’s not why I won’t be over to see you this weekend.’
‘What is it then?’
‘Something’s come up. I’m going away, so I’ll see you next week, okay? Bye, Dad.’
And then I finish the call and reply to Suki’s message: That’s so kind of you! Thank you. I’d really love to come. Cx.