Chapter 5
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
I was thinking of you again this morning – I was walking to work and I passed this young mum with two small kids who were obviously arguing about something.
She looked frazzled – being a mum tests you sometimes.
I think also that it pushes you to find degrees of patience you’ve never uncovered before!
Not that it happened to me that often. I was always grateful that you and Ollie got on so well – mostly, that is.
There were odd spats, as you’d expect from strong-willed individuals!
But I will always be grateful you were strong-willed; the spats never lasted.
One morning in particular sticks in my head. Opening my eyes, I lay in bed drowsily, as the sound of your voices reached me.
‘Mum… Ollie’s being mean…’
I slipped out of bed without disturbing Ryan, glancing at my watch.
It was 8 a.m. – later than it felt. Daylight was filtering through the gap around the curtains, as always, yours and Ollie’s waking hours driven by the rising of the sun.
Slipping through the door, I closed it quietly then padded along to your rooms, pushing the door open into yours where the noise was coming from.
‘Hey, guys. What’s going on?’
You were sitting amidst your duvet, your face screwed up. Across the room, Ollie’s back was to me. ‘Ollie’s taken my Eeyore,’ you said tearfully. ‘He won’t give it back.’
I turned to my son, raising an eyebrow at him. ‘Ollie?’
Turning around, he rolled his eyes, then launched your beloved Eeyore at you.
I gazed at my son. ‘Say sorry, Ollie.’
‘Sor-ry.’ He dragged it out, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
‘Good boy. Now say thank you to your brother,’ I said to you.
‘No.’ Holding Eeyore tightly, you shook your head. ‘He shouldn’t have taken him. I’m not going to say thank you.’
A sigh came from me. Your six-year-old reasoning had its own kind of logic that I couldn’t help but agree with. ‘You were good to give him back. But your sister has a point,’ I said to Ollie, before changing the subject. ‘Right… Why don’t we all get dressed and I’ll make pancakes?’
Remember how on Saturdays, your dad liked a lie-in?
Pancakes were a sure-fire way to get you and Ollie downstairs quickly, to make sure Ryan didn’t get woken up.
I went downstairs ahead of you – I could shower later.
In the kitchen, I put the kettle on and started mixing batter, almost done by the time you intercepted me.
Dressed head to toe in the shades of pink you loved, you were still clutching Eeyore as you looked at the batter I was making, crestfallen. ‘I wanted to help you, Mummy.’
‘You can.’ I pulled up a chair. ‘Come over here. You can give it a stir. Then we’ll pour it into the pan together.’ I glanced at Ollie. ‘Sweetie? Could you get some plates out?’
You climbed up onto the chair beside me and grabbed the whisk. I held my hand over yours, but you pushed it away.
‘I want to do it,’ you said stubbornly.
Reluctantly, I let you. Then the whisk slipped out of your hand and the bowl tipped sideways.
‘Oh, Lexie,’ I said crossly. ‘Look what you’ve done.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’ A tear rolled down your face. ‘Oh, Mummy… Look at Eeyore.’
On the table, Eeyore was sitting in a pool of spilled pancake batter. Picking him up, I cleaned up his threadbare fur and handed him back to you, before clearing up the table and starting again.
‘Are you cross?’ you said in a small voice.
I stopped for a moment. I was irritated, yes.
It seemed that I was forever cleaning up and tidying this house; that I rarely had a minute to myself.
Then I imagined you grown up and gone, always having regrets because I didn’t appreciate what mattered most, which was simply the time we had together.
If batter got spilled or a can of drink tipped over, it didn’t matter.
It wasn’t important. ‘I’m not cross.’ My voice was suddenly husky.
‘These things happen, Lex.’ I paused. ‘It’s only batter.
We can easily make some more. Shall we do it together? ’
Between the three of us we made the pancakes, then sprinkled them with sugar and a few drops of freshly squeezed lemon juice, the tartness of which made you screw up your faces before you devoured them with gusto, then wandered off to watch children’s TV.
It was a couple of hours later by the time Ryan made it downstairs. Looking at him, I tried to conjure an image of the man I married; this morning, he looked bleary-eyed and careworn, so much older.
‘Breakfast?’ I asked.
‘Just coffee,’ he said.
Hearing your dad’s voice, you came running in. ‘I’ll make it, Daddy,’ you said excitedly. ‘Would you like toast? I can do it on my own. If you like, I can put jam on it.’
Seeing Ryan’s look of irritation, I tried to distract you. ‘Lexie? I don’t think Daddy’s hungry. Why don’t you finish watching that programme with Ollie?’
You pursed your lips. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘Do as your mother says,’ Ryan snapped.
I watched the colour drain from your face, as I had so many times before. You knew too well how this went. You were silent, your head down as you crept out of the kitchen.
I waited until you were out of earshot before turning to Ryan. ‘There was no need for that,’ I said quietly. ‘Lexie loves you. She wants to spend time with you.’ I was thinking of the day we’d spent at the animal farm. About my hopes that there was a chance things would change.
A look of guilt crossed his face. ‘Please, Edie. I don’t have the energy.’
‘You don’t have to do much.’ I tried to suppress my frustration. ‘She’d be happy if you sat down and read a book together. Or if you took them to the playground.’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘How about what I want?’
‘You’re her father, Ryan,’ I said, disappointed that he had so little interest in you both. ‘She’s your daughter. Make it up to her.’ I paused. ‘This is important.’
‘It’s been a long week.’ Leaving his coffee half drunk, Ryan opened the fridge and got out a can of beer.
Standing there, I said nothing. But then I thought of you and Ollie; how apart from the Saturday not so long ago, this was how your every weekend was. ‘Isn’t it a bit early?’ I said quietly.
He froze for a moment, then forced a glimmer of a smile. ‘Remember when we used to say the sun is always over the yardarm somewhere?’ His voice was slightly accusing. But he knew as well as I did that the time of day wasn’t the point.
After a couple of glasses, Ryan relaxed and as I made lunch, for a while, funny Daddy was in the room. Too young to understand your father’s change in mood, you climbed on his lap, laboriously read your school book to him. Ollie was more guarded.
It was a pattern that played out on repeat, that I had no choice but to observe.
I managed the routine of our afternoon, knowing that by early evening, Ryan would be drunk, belligerent, bullish.
Judging the point at which I should leave him to watch sport on television, I herded you and Ollie into the kitchen. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘How about pizza?’
‘Takeaway?’ Ollie’s eyes gleamed hopefully.
‘Please, Mummy,’ you said, in that way you had. ‘Please…’
I gazed at your faces. ‘I was going to suggest a frozen one.’ I watched your looks of disappointment. ‘But just for once…’ Glancing in Ryan’s direction, I held a finger to my lips. ‘Let’s order a takeaway.’
Mercifully by the time the pizza arrived, Ryan was snoring; I intercepted the delivery before the doorbell rang.
The pizzas smelled divine, and I slid their deliciousness onto plates, hiding the packaging in the recycling.
Stupid, really, fearing that a takeaway might have elicited anger in Ryan.
But such was the disruption of his perspective by alcohol.
And on this occasion, he continued to sleep; it was avoided.
By the time you and Ollie were in bed, I came downstairs to find Ryan awake again. In the kitchen, he was making inroads into a bottle of whisky.
‘Have a glass with me, Edie,’ he coaxed.
I was tempted. Now and then, I’d have a glass of wine with Lucy. But having seen the effect that alcohol had on Ryan, it wasn’t difficult to push it away. ‘I won’t, thanks.’ I didn’t wish to be seen as I saw him: irrational, drunk, slurring my words. I wanted to be present.
‘Don’t be boring, Edie,’ he said, only half-jokingly. ‘For Christ’s sake. It’s Saturday night. Have a fucking glass.’ There were tell-tale red spots on his cheeks as he pushed it towards me again.
I left it untouched on the table in front of me. ‘Ryan? Why does it bother you that I don’t want this?’
‘I don’t give a fuck.’ He stared at me. ‘I’m just trying to encourage you to let your hair down. You’re getting boring, Edie,’ he goaded. ‘I want my fun wife back. Is there anything wrong with that?’
‘Please don’t raise your voice at me.’ My mouth was suddenly dry.
I hated what he was insinuating, just as I hated these confrontational moments that turned into rows if I questioned him.
But I thought of Ollie and you. Just because it was hard didn’t mean I shouldn’t at least try.
‘The thing is…’ I hesitated again. ‘I love you, Ryan. So do the kids. You’re a great person.
But when you drink…’ I broke off, trying to think how to get through to him.
‘I suppose the truth is, you’re not the same. ’
‘Do you know how many times you’ve said that to me?
’ Resting his head in his hands, he was silent for a moment.
‘We used to enjoy a bottle of wine together, didn’t we?
Back in the day?’ He looked at me for a moment.
‘We used to have a laugh, too.’ He shook his head.
‘Now, I always feel like you’re judging me. ’
‘I’m not, I promise you.’ I reached out to touch his hand. Flinching, he pulled it away. ‘I’m just concerned.’
‘I don’t need you to be concerned.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘I hadn’t realised what the time was. I’m supposed to be at the pub.’ Getting up, he pulled on his jacket, then picked up his phone.
My heart sank. I knew what this meant. A riotous evening with his mates, then Ryan staggering in when the pub closed; another tomorrow that would be dominated by his hangover. ‘Can’t we spend the evening together?’ I tried to persuade him.
‘I’m already late.’ He picked up his keys, then stomped towards the front door, closing it none too quietly behind him.
A minute later, I heard the stairs creak. ‘Mummy?’ Your pinched face appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Where’s Daddy gone?’
Going over to you, I felt my heart twist. ‘To meet up with some friends.’
‘I heard you talking, Mummy,’ you persisted.
‘Yes. And it was about grown-up stuff. Nothing for you to worry about, Lex. It’s time you were in bed.’ Picking you up, I carried you upstairs.
‘I wish he wouldn’t be so cross all the time,’ you said as I tucked you into bed.
‘He doesn’t mean it.’ I sat on the bed and stroked your hair off your face.
‘Then why is he?’ There was confusion in your eyes. In your six-year-old world, it was simple.
But I didn’t know how to explain to you that your father was an addict, that he refused to accept he had a problem.
That he would rather I turned a blind eye, or allowed myself to do as he did; that he found it uncomfortable that I stayed sober.
‘I don’t know.’ Leaning down, I kissed your cheek. ‘Time to sleep, Lex. Night night.’
Getting up, I pushed the door almost closed then went along to Ollie’s room. Under his duvet, he didn’t move. ‘You OK, Ollie?’ I whispered.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, ‘Night, Mum.’
Going downstairs again, I switched the kettle on and made a mug of tea.
Taking it through to the sitting room, I sank into the sofa.
I took in Ryan’s empty glass, still where he’d left it, as I wondered when my life had become a balancing act, juggling the needs of my children versus Ryan’s needs. Needs that no longer seemed compatible.
My entire life seemed dominated by how much Ryan drank, his attempts to gloss over it only adding to my concerns, while I worried more and more about the effect of his behaviour on our children.
I tried to see him through Ollie’s eyes, then through yours – how you never knew whether to expect drunk Daddy, hungover Daddy, funny Daddy.
Then I thought about leaving him. Would that be better, for all of us?
Briefly I allowed myself to imagine a very different life – without Ryan.
But then I dismissed the thought. Relationships have seasons.
It isn’t realistic to expect them to stay the same; there are times you have to work at them, others when it’s easier.
We’d been happy before. There was no reason to think we couldn’t be happy again – if we could just ride this out.
And it was better, wasn’t it? For children to have two parents?
Sitting back, I sighed. The house was quiet, but I was tense, on edge. Rather than savouring the peace, it felt like I was waiting for a storm to break.