Chapter 10
LENA
I stare at Charlie in shock. ‘Sell the house! Why?’
‘Mortgage rates have gone up.’ He throws up his arms. ‘Everything has gone up. I’m not making that much money from gigging any more.
Royalties from What Will We Do? are drying up.
’ It was their first and most successful album, named after the hit single.
‘My dad pays me a pittance, as you know. And,’ he says softly, ‘we did say when we split up that you could keep this house until Rufus turns eighteen. That’s next year. ’
‘We did, I know, but …’ A dark feeling of despair grows in the pit of my stomach.
I love this house. The memories of Rufus as a child still echo around its rooms. And maybe, on some level, I’d hoped Charlie and I might have reconciled by then.
That Charlie would tell me all the things I wanted to hear.
‘It’s a big house for just one person.’ For just one person. His words are like a sucker punch to the stomach. No doubt he’ll be shacked up with Rosie before long. ‘You don’t need a three-bedroom house.’
‘The third bedroom is tiny. It’s not a particularly big house.’ My voice wobbles and I bite back my tears. He stares at me patiently without speaking. It’s such a familiar gesture that I feel a lurch of anger mixed with regret. ‘Okay,’ I concede. ‘I know I don’t need three bedrooms.’
‘If you earned more …’
‘I work three days a week.’ I used to supplement my income by working shifts at Collette’s café on Gloucester Road.
I’d loved the job. Getting to chat to customers and hearing all the local gossip was perfect for me, but I left last year after all the trouble with Rufus.
Collette’s son, Jackson, was the ringleader in the bullying.
It was only when I noticed the bruises on Rufus’s back that he confessed to a ‘falling-out’ with Jackson and some of his other mates, though he tried to brush it off.
When I brought it up with Collette she defended him, saying it was between the boys and we should keep out of it.
I was furious with her and ended up telling her just what I thought of her son, then I resigned.
Rufus begged me not to complain to the school, said I’d make it worse, so I didn’t.
I still don’t know if I did the right thing.
I told myself it was only a few more weeks before he went on study leave and then he’d never have to see those horrible kids again.
I’ve boycotted Collette’s coffee shop ever since.
And Rufus is happy now. The bruises are long gone and he’s finally coming out of his shell.
During this whole time Charlie left me to deal with it while he mucked about with his band like an unencumbered teenager.
It had been one unravelling thread too many in the fabric of our marriage, impossible to mend, and leading to the conversation that ended it.
Charlie raises an eyebrow. ‘Yes, but it’s not well paid. If you worked full-time we could maybe keep the house longer.’
‘I’ve tried to increase my hours,’ I say, ‘but there weren’t any available the last time I asked.
’ I love being an adviser at Citizens Advice.
I started off volunteering and when a part-time job came up two years ago I applied and got it.
I’d put my own career on the back-burner so that Charlie could follow his music.
One of us had to be the parent who made sure we were there for our son.
Charlie could hardly do that when he was flitting up and down the country gigging.
‘I’m not trying to be an arsehole, Lena.
’ I’ve always loved the way he says my name in his soft Essex accent.
Laynah. He’s not an arsehole. I know that.
‘Look. I’ve got enough money for things to stay as they are for the next few months.
Gives you time to sort something out. But if we sold it you’d have more money.
We’ve got equity in the house and you can have it. I’ve got the flat.’
It all feels so final. I bet he’s saying all this now because of Rosie.
He clears his throat. His hands are still thrust in his pockets, and he can’t quite look at me as he says, ‘We probably should talk about sorting out a divorce.’
I reel. ‘Divorce?’
‘That’s what you wanted. Isn’t it?’ His gaze is challenging. Is it what I wanted? What I want?
‘It was mutual,’ I mutter, looking at my feet.
It was more of a stance than anything else.
I wanted him to take stock. To understand what he was losing by never being here, by being emotionally detached, by living his life through his music instead of facing the challenges we were going through as a family.
I wanted it to kickstart him into changing. Instead, he just went ahead and left.
A muscle throbs in his jaw. ‘We can’t be in limbo for ever, can we?’
‘I … No, I suppose not.’
He looks annoyed, like I’ve said the wrong thing.
I clear my throat, the weight on my chest intensifying. ‘I’ll ask again at Citizens Advice for more hours,’ I say, my voice sounding thick.
He gives a curt nod, and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed.
I don’t want a divorce.
But pride won’t let me admit it to him. Instead I leave him standing there and head back into the kitchen without another word.
Mum and Rufus are sitting at the table. I can see she’s made him a cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off, just like she used to do for him when he was little.
He’s telling her about a media ethics module he’s doing on his course, and they turn when I walk in. ‘Everything okay?’ Mum asks.
‘Yep. All good.’ I’ve never bad-mouthed Charlie in front of Rufus and I’m not about to start now.
Charlie pops his head around the door to say goodbye.
He avoids looking at me. ‘Before I forget,’ he says to Rufus, ‘I’ve shared Kit’s number with you.
He’ll do mates rates. A tenner for half an hour.
He’s happy to come to the house, if it’s okay with Mum. ’ He’s acting like I’m not in the room.
‘Cool. Thanks, Dad.’
‘What’s this?’ I ask.
‘Guitar teacher,’ says Rufus, through a mouthful of sandwich.
‘The band know the guy,’ adds Charlie, finally meeting my eye. ‘He comes to a lot of our gigs.’
I remember Rufus mentioning it on Thursday. ‘Oh. Right, okay.’
‘I said I’ll pay for Rufus’s lessons,’ he says.
‘You don’t need to do that …’ I begin.
He holds up a hand. ‘It’s no bother. It’s my fault he needs lessons in the first place. If I could play better …’ He smiles ruefully.
‘Okay, well, thanks.’
His eyes soften as he looks at me. ‘We can speak again … about the house.’
I nod, aware my mother’s gaze is boring into me. He waves goodbye and leaves.
Mum turns to me. ‘What did he mean about the house?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ I say, my voice breaking a little. I cough to disguise it. I don’t want to discuss it in front of Rufus. Selling the house, divorce, it’s all too final.
That evening we watch The Third Man, with Mum asking questions every ten minutes because she can’t distinguish between the male characters or keep up with all the differing accounts surrounding Harry Lime’s death.
At one point I look across at Rufus, who has paused the TV yet again while Mum makes another cup of tea, and roll my eyes, making him laugh.
As a result it takes way longer than usual to get through a film.
I can’t really concentrate anyway: my mind is too full of Charlie.
We always planned to go to Vienna, where the film is set, but that’s another thing we never got around to doing.
When Rufus goes up to bed I drag the sound monitor and microphone into the spare room, where Mum will be sleeping, and prop it against the window. Harrison was supposed to come and pick it up this afternoon but he cancelled and said he’ll swing by tomorrow lunchtime instead.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed in her cotton nightdress, her hair pulled away from her face by a stretchy headband as she applies Nivea Creme to her skin. The smell instantly transports me back to my childhood.
‘Do you mind if I leave this running? Background sound for Rufus’s project.
’ I haven’t told her about the Morgans’ conversation, so I don’t mention that I’m actually doing this in the hope I’ll catch them talking again.
She might go over there and ask them outright.
Either that or she’ll say I’m over-thinking it all and it means nothing.
‘Hasn’t Rufus got enough sound now?’
‘Might as well use up the rest of the tape,’ I say.
‘Please don’t press anything. I’ve got it all set up.
’ Earlier I’d replayed the Morgans’ conversation and recorded it onto my phone.
It’s not as clear as the tape, but I wanted a copy of it.
I’m not sure why … it’s not as if there’s much, but I also didn’t like the idea of not having proof somewhere in case their conversation turned out to mean they’re involved in something murky.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ she mutters, lightly tapping Nivea onto her cheeks.
I glance out of the window at the ink-stained sky, never fully dark due to the pollution.
I made sure to bolt the garden gate earlier.
Jo promised Paul would find me a camera, and I’ll sleep a lot easier once it’s installed, although I feel safer knowing my mum and Rufus are in the house with me tonight.
The night air is warm and sweet-scented: heat-soaked grass and jasmine.
I close the curtains and turn to Mum. ‘Are you sure you can’t stay tomorrow night as well? It’s a long way to come just for one night.’
She glances up at me, her face shiny. Without make-up she looks paradoxically older and younger. ‘You know I can’t stay long – the dogs …’
‘Yes, the dogs, I know.’ Mick looks after them when she’s away, so it’s just an excuse.
She reaches for my hand as I pass. ‘Is everything okay, sweetheart?’