Chapter Forty
When Eddie dropped his trousers on the way back from Scout camp, pressing his bare bum up against the coach window, of course it wasn’t Frank who was summoned into the meeting hall for a discussion. It was me – shabby mother, hanging her head in shame on a stackable plastic chair.
We can’t have that kind of behaviour, Carly. It brings the whole troop into disrepute. As if I’d been the one flashing my bare arse at drivers on the M8!
I’m beyond accepting responsibility for anything now. Eddie’s situation with Lyla? In a few short weeks the baby will be here. Since her overnight stay, a couple of weeks ago now, I feel that at least we had a few perfectly pleasant – albeit superficial – conversations. Chatting as we waited for the kettle to boil, kind of thing. Updates on her mum and Uncle Oliver. But I didn’t want to grill her about how she’s feeling emotionally, and I still barely know her really.
At least she and Eddie seem to be in contact. Are they a couple? Or just ‘talking’? Who knows how they plan to look after a baby together and bring up their child. But really, that’s for them to figure out. I truly believe that now because, since that day when I found Frank sitting in the door of the food truck, something has switched in me. At nearly fifty years old I have realised that I’m not responsible for everything that other people choose to do.
Whatever’s going on between Eddie and Lyla, the baby’s going to be born. That’s just nature. It’s not going to wait patiently inside the amniotic sac until a time at which my son has properly grown up, and started flossing and eating vegetables. It’s coming, ready or not.
As for Frank, I’ve been over to see him several more times at the truck, taking provisions as if he’s a kid, camping out at the bottom of the garden. I unearthed our spare duvet which, having been rejected by Dad – and used only briefly by Eddie – I’d assumed was as redundant as the high chair that’s still stashed in the attic. Frank seemed grateful for that, at least – and the pillow and fresh clothes I’d also brought him. But still he wouldn’t even talk about coming home.
It was Prish who suggested that perhaps I should leave him be. ‘I know it’s not easy,’ she said, ‘but for whatever reason, he’s made this choice for now. And going there and pleading for him to come home is only making it worse for you.’
Of course she was right. So I go to work, and I look after Dad, and in some ways it’s easier to manage him without Frank being around. I no longer feel torn between catering to my father’s needs, while trying to appease Frank. I still worry about Frank – of course I do – but I’ve accepted now that I can’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do.
I never have been able to really. He’s a stubborn man, as is Eddie. However, recently, I have noticed a slight change in my son. In the kitchen, for instance. ‘You should never stir a paella’ has morphed into Eddie making the paella. ‘Easier to do it myself,’ he announced. Perhaps he can’t bear to witness my ‘terrible knife skills’ any longer. Or maybe it’s an act of compassion on his part, since his father left us.
‘So, you and Dad,’ he ventures one evening, as we clear up together after dinner. ‘D’you know what his plans are at all? I mean …’ His brow furrows. ‘Is this it ?’
‘Honey, I really don’t know,’ I tell him.
He sighs. ‘This can’t be easy for you. Are you all right?’
I look at him, surprised by his concern. ‘D’you know what, Eddie? It’s awful. Of course it is. But you know what your dad’s like. I’ve never been able to change his mind about anything. So I’m just having to get on with things.’
He nods, drying our new pan with a tea towel. Apparently, our existing frying pans were all substandard – as is all of our kitchen equipment! So he made me upgrade to a ‘proper’ paella one; cast iron, eye-wateringly expensive. ‘You’re good at that,’ he murmurs, and I smile. Coming from Eddie, I take that as a glowing compliment.
‘I was thinking of going over to Edinburgh at the weekend,’ he adds.
‘To see Lyla?’
‘Uh-huh.’ A pause as he polishes the knob on the pan’s lid. ‘Don’t fancy driving me over, do you?’
‘Oh, right.’ I laugh. ‘You want a lift—’
‘No, I could get the train,’ he says quickly. ‘I just thought it’d be nice for you to come.’ He’s definitely worried about how I’m doing without his dad.
‘Where are you going now?’ my father asks, appearing in the doorway. As if I’m forever nipping off to places.
‘We’re just talking about a day in Edinburgh,’ I reply. ‘Would you like to come, Dad? We could do the castle, museum, all that?’ I turn to Eddie. ‘I’d like to see Suki. We could take her to lunch maybe? Not at that club—’
‘God, no. We’ll think of somewhere else. I’ll see what Lyla says.’ So I text Suki and we arrange a date, and when the day comes Dad announces that he’d rather stay home, ‘if that’s all right with everyone,’ he says. I look at him. It’s unlike him to be concerned about what anyone else might think.
‘Of course, Dad,’ I say. ‘Is everything okay? Are you feeling—’
‘I’m fine,’ he says quickly. ‘It’s just …’ We’re alone together in the kitchen. His gaze falls to his slippered feet. ‘I’m not really on my own very much these days,’ he adds. ‘I thought … you know. I actually wouldn’t mind staying here in an empty house.’
‘An empty house .’ I make a mock-confused face, as if struggling with the concept.
He nods, and a glimmer of amusement crosses his mouth. Of course, Dad’s flat, a mere few miles along the coast, is empty. Back there, he could enjoy as much solitude as his heart desires. But perhaps there’s a certain pleasure that can be found only in a home that’s temporarily empty. ‘Okay, Dad,’ I say. ‘If you’re certain.’
He assures me that he is, and then he adds, ‘So Frank’s not coming?’
I shake my head. ‘No, Dad.’
‘Hmm.’ I sense him scrutinising me. ‘How long’s he been gone now?’ I glance out at the back garden. On this glorious blue-skied Saturday the border is ablaze with colour.
‘Just over three weeks,’ I reply. In fact I know exactly, to the day. I could call him now. We’re still texting; it’s not as if we’re not in contact. He knows I don’t get every Saturday off, and that we have a rota. So a full weekend together always felt pretty special. And normally, there’s no way Frank wouldn’t join us on a family day out.
I look at Dad, realising that he wants to ask about Frank – and whether I’m okay. ‘And … are you all right?’ is the best he can do. But I appreciate his effort, because I know that concern doesn’t come easily to him.
First Eddie, and now my father, wondering how I’m feeling! It’s all very new and unexpected. Somehow, it’s taken Frank leaving for this to happen.
‘It’s really hard, Dad.’ I shrug.
He nods, seeming to process this. ‘You could ask him along today?’
I hesitate, wondering how to couch it, and deciding to just say it as it is. ‘D’you know what, Dad?’ He looks at me expectantly, and there’s a glimmer there in his sharp blue eyes that might – incredibly – be sympathy. ‘I don’t want to,’ I say, turning away so he can’t see my face. ‘I’m pretty sure he’d say no, and I don’t think I can stand the hurt.’