Chapter 9
NINE
LIANE
‘We’ve put it off long enough,’ Frederik says to me as we stare at the front door of our house from where we sit inside our car. ‘Let’s just go in and get this over with.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ I reply, still staring at the door. ‘You’re not the one who has to get it over with.’
‘Just go inside and apologise and then we can move on.’
‘Apologise! But why should I?’
‘Because it’s either that or this could get worse, and none of us want that, do we?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then just go inside, say sorry to Joel and Haven, and that’s it,’ Frederik says, annoyingly casual about this.
‘It’s not as easy as that,’ I tell him.
‘It can be. Just explain how you have been under a lot of stress lately with your mother’s death.
You’re grieving and you haven’t been sleeping well.
You’ve not been yourself and that’s perfectly understandable because losing a parent is hard.
I’m sure they will understand and I know that Haven will appreciate an apology. ’
‘You know that, do you? How can you? We barely even know that girl.’
‘We know that she makes our son happy and that counts for a lot.’
Damn my husband and his way with words.
‘Come on. Let’s get this over with and then we can relax and have a nice evening together,’ Frederik says, taking my hand. ‘Maybe open a bottle of wine later. Watch a movie. Just forget about everything that’s been going on lately and try and unwind for the rest of the day. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds good,’ I admit. ‘Impossible, but good.’
Frederik gives me a kiss before getting out of the car and I have no other option but to follow him.
But this all feels so wrong. How can it be that I feel so uncomfortable preparing to go inside my own house?
I have lived here for decades. I raised two children here.
I have slept and showered here countless times.
I have a whole history here. Yet all it has taken is one woman’s arrival in my home to completely disrupt things and make me feel like I am now the one who doesn’t belong.
It’s time to readdress the natural order of things around here.
After going inside, the only signs I see that Joel and Haven are already around are the dirty plates and empty cups by the sink.
Having walked out of the restaurant before lunch was served, it makes sense that they came back here and raided the fridge, helping themselves to whatever food Frederik and I bought in the most recent grocery shop.
I haven’t asked my son for any money since he has been staying here, not just because I know he doesn’t have any, but because I am happy to have him here and don’t need to turn my child’s presence into some kind of financial transaction.
I know some parents want money from their adult offspring with regard to the extra spend on groceries or bills, but it hadn’t even crossed my mind to ask.
But if him and his girlfriend carry on like this, they will leave me with no choice.
Not only are they costing us more money by being here, but they are causing us more stress too.
‘They must be upstairs,’ Frederik assesses after checking the other rooms but not finding anybody. ‘They must be in his bedroom.’
‘I’ll wait until they come back out then,’ I say.
‘Why don’t you go up and see them? Nip any awkwardness in the bud rather than let it linger.’
‘Why should I?’ I snap, and I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of snapping lately.
‘Because you’re older and wiser than they are,’ Frederik says with a gentle expression on his face. ‘Waiting for a couple of kids in their twenties to make the first move is like waiting for the summer to start in England. We’ll be waiting a long time.’
My husband is right and not just about the British summer, or lack of it.
If I don’t go and see Joel and Haven, if I don’t make the first move, they won’t come and see me, meaning we’ll be left to wait for some inevitable and extremely awkward meeting in the hallway at some random point over the next day or so.
I don’t want that, not when I should feel relaxed in my own home, so I better go and get this over with.
Climbing the staircase, my legs feel as heavy as if I was ascending Everest and not just the twelve steps it takes me to reach the upper floor of my house. I could use a base camp halfway up to gather my thoughts, but I dare not stop because my husband will only tell me to keep going.
When I reach Joel’s bedroom door, I take a deep breath and twirl my hair before preparing to knock.
This is the same bedroom door that I would witness my son scampering out of on Christmas morning, my little boy all excited to see if Santa had been and left presents.
The same door beyond which were all his most beloved toys, from action figurines to stuffed bears.
The same door behind which I would have to rouse him when it was time for school and he was going through his tormented teen phase, refusing to do anything for anyone.
And the same door behind which he would play music or video games loudly, requiring either me or Frederik to have to politely request that he lower the volume as it was nearing midnight and the rest of us in the house would like some sleep.
But this feels different. This feels like I don’t belong here anymore.
This feels like me and my son are becoming strangers in our own home.
I tell myself that everything will be fine and then knock. When I don’t get a response, I knock again. But there’s still no answer, so I could just give up and leave.
Or I could push the door ajar and look inside.
I decide to go with the latter option, mostly because I don’t want to go back downstairs and let my husband know that I didn’t accomplish anything by coming up here.
As I open the door, I prepare to be admonished by my son, who never liked me just entering his room after he reached the age of thirteen and decided that privacy from his parents was more valuable than visits from them.
But he’s not in here. Neither is Haven. The bed is empty, and while the duvet is creased and showing signs that a couple of people have been lying on it, they are not there right now.
The TV is on though, playing on a low volume, telling me that they were here not so long ago.
Why would they turn the television off when they could just waste more electricity?
I don’t know where they could be. Have they gone out for a walk? Are they in the back garden?
I step over a few items of discarded clothing that lie on the carpet by the foot of the bed, some of which belong to her, unless my son has suddenly taken to wearing lacy underwear, which I very much doubt.
When I reach the window that overlooks the back garden, I check to see if there is any sign of Joel or Haven out there, but there is none. They must have gone for a walk then.
Figuring I have tried as much as I can, I go to leave my son’s bedroom. But on the way, I see the mobile phone screen light up on the bedside table. I shouldn’t look, but it has my attention and I see that it is Haven’s phone. I also see what the message she has just received says.
75k! You lucky bitch. I guess you don’t need to worry about getting a job for a while now! Damn girl, send some cash my way, please! xx
The message is from somebody called Clarys and I assume she is a friend of Haven’s. But that’s the least of my worries. What troubles me is that Haven has evidently already shared the news from the solicitor’s meeting about my mother’s estate, the one I didn’t want her at in the first place.
How dare she do that. How dare she openly talk about Mum’s money like she’s just found a winning lottery ticket. How dare this friend of hers get all excited at the fact that Haven doesn’t need to get a job now.
I pick up the phone and glare at the words on the screen, furious that Haven has most likely been bragging about the money that will soon be coming her way, via my son.
But picking up the phone was a mistake.
I realise that when Haven asks me what I am doing.