Chapter 9
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
You know how much I loved your birthdays! Like new terms, the start of the school holidays, they herald the passing of time, of being a year older; are one of the markers of childhood.
With Ollie’s birthday falling just two days after Halloween, it always set the theme for our celebrations, didn’t it? It was fun – I used to put heart and soul into planning your parties. You both loved them – or so I thought. Until just before Ollie turned eleven.
When he asked if he could have a fancy-dress party, my mind was already running away with ideas. ‘I don’t see why not.’ Mentally decorating the house with spiders’ webs and pumpkins, I looked at Ollie. ‘Do you think ten friends would be a good number?’
He hesitated for a moment. ‘I was thinking… Only… Could we have it somewhere else, Mum? Like at Auntie Lucy’s?’
Taken aback, I frowned slightly. ‘Usually we have your parties here, Olls.’ I smiled at him. ‘We can make it super-fun and decorate the whole of downstairs. You can find a spooky soundtrack, and I’ll make tons of delicious food…’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ But he didn’t smile.
I watched him closely. ‘What’s the problem, Olls?’ The answer, when it came, stunned me.
His face clouded over. ‘It’s Dad.’
Suddenly, birthdays weren’t fun any more. With hindsight, I should have seen it coming – if not that year, then certainly by the next one. I stood there, trying to think quickly. ‘I wouldn’t worry about Dad. He probably won’t be back from work in time for your party.’
‘My birthday’s on a Saturday.’ Ollie’s eyes glittered with tears.
My heart broke for him; he’d obviously thought this through. ‘We could always have your party on the Friday.’ I pulled out a chair and sat down, pulling out the chair next to me. ‘Come here, Olls.’ I waited as he reluctantly came over and perched on it. ‘Why don’t you want Dad to be there?’
He hung his head. ‘He’s embarrassing,’ he muttered.
My stomach churned with guilt. ‘Is it really that bad?’ I asked quietly.
Unable to speak, he nodded.
‘Oh, Ollie…’ Regret washed over me, that Ollie felt that way.
That he was in the position of having to describe what you’d never wish your child to go through.
I felt guilt, too, that I hadn’t noticed before; that, far from fading, the implications of his father’s alcoholism were growing more complicated. ‘We need a plan.’
He looked up, his face hopeful. ‘You mean Auntie Lucy’s?’
‘Maybe.’ I hesitated. ‘But first, I really should talk to your father.’
* * *
That evening, I was still mulling over what Ollie had said. The honest truth was, I was dreading broaching the subject with Ryan. But I owed it to Ollie to try to resolve this.
That Saturday morning, I drove you and Ollie over to Lucy’s, under the pretext of her inviting you for lunch.
‘I’ll pick you up later.’ Catching Ollie’s eye, I winked at him.
‘Good luck,’ Lucy said quietly as she walked out to the car with me. ‘I hope he listens to you.’
‘So do I. I should have done this years ago,’ I told her.
‘You’re doing it now.’ She hugged me briefly. ‘That’s what matters.’
My plan was to catch Ryan before he’d had more than a couple of drinks. At any other time, it would be pointless. As I drove back, I was rehearsing what I was going to say, arriving home to find him making coffee in the kitchen.
Taking in his mug, my heart lifted. Maybe he hadn’t really got a problem. But then I saw the glass of clear brown liquor on the side.
‘Hey.’ Going over, I kissed him on the cheek. ‘The kids are at Lucy’s for lunch.’ I hesitated. ‘I thought you and I could spend some time together.’
‘That sounds nice.’ He picked up the kettle. ‘Coffee?’
‘Thanks.’ I watched him pour the water into the cafetiere. ‘Do you have any plans today?’
‘Same old. There’s some football on. Then I’m meeting some of the guys at the pub later.’
I knew what I wanted to say to Ryan; I was under no illusions about how he was likely to react. Steeling myself, I thought of Ollie’s worried face. ‘Ryan? There’s something we need to talk about.’ I paused. ‘Shall we go and sit down?’ I nodded towards the sitting room.
We sat down side by side on the faded sofa we’d had for years. As I thought of what I had to say, trepidation filled me.
‘What’s on your mind?’ he said.
Right when I most needed it, I had a flash of inspiration. Getting up, I went to fetch the box of family photos, putting it down on the sofa in between us. ‘We haven’t looked at these in ages.’ I passed Ryan some photos of you and Ollie when you were younger.
He was silent as he studied them. ‘You forget, don’t you?’ he said quietly. ‘How small they used to be.’
‘Remember these?’ I passed him more of the two of us BC. Before Children. ‘Don’t we look young?’
For a moment, he didn’t speak. ‘I barely recognise us.’ His voice was suddenly husky. ‘God. I remember that day. It was Lucy’s engagement party, wasn’t it?’ He sounded more animated. ‘It was hilarious.’
‘You had everyone in stitches.’ I smiled, remembering. ‘You used to make us laugh until we hurt.’
‘Used to,’ he echoed. Then he frowned. ‘You don’t laugh any more, do you?’
But I couldn’t speak. Instead, I wiped away the tear that rolled down my face.
He lifted the box of photos onto the floor, then slid closer to me. ‘What happened, Edie? To us?’ Ryan’s voice was gentle, his eyes piercing as he looked at me.
I shrugged. ‘Somewhere along the line, I think we changed.’ My voice broke.
Moving towards him, I leaned against the familiarity of his shoulder, felt one of his hands reach up and stroke my tears away.
For a moment, I felt a flicker of the way I used to feel, which I hadn’t felt in years. But it was gone just as quickly.
‘I guess we have.’ He sighed. ‘Do you think we could go back to how we used to be?’
As I gazed at him through my tears, I wished so much that it was possible. But as he picked up his glass, I knew it wasn’t. ‘Oh, Ryan…’ I could only be honest. ‘I’m not sure.’
He leaned forward, putting down his glass and resting his elbows on his knees. ‘What if I said I really wanted to try?’ he said slowly. ‘What would it take?’
It was here, the moment I’d dreaded. But for once, we were actually listening to each other.
I knew there would never be a better time.
I took one of his hands. ‘I’ve been wondering if maybe you should talk to someone.
I know you think you don’t drink a lot, but you drink much more than you used to.
’ As I waited for an angry outburst from him, my hands start to shake.
But I forced myself to go on. ‘It’s changed things. Changed us. I don’t know how else we…’
He placed a finger to my lips, as if to silence me.
But I moved away from him. ‘I need to say this, Ryan. It’s important.
This isn’t just about us. It’s about the kids, too.
Your drinking is affecting all of us.’ I paused, then I told him.
When it came to how Ollie felt, he needed to know.
‘Ollie doesn’t want to have his birthday party here. ’
Ryan frowned. ‘What does that have to do with me?’
I stared at him. ‘Firstly, he’s your son. Secondly, it’s all about you. He doesn’t want his friends to see you drunk.’
Getting up, Ryan went over to the window. His body was tight as he stood there. ‘This is madness,’ he said.
‘I agree.’ I stared at his back. ‘Ollie should feel able to invite his friends here.’
‘I mean it’s madness that he thinks I drink that much.’ He turned, anger briefly registering in his eyes.
‘You do, though.’ I watched him. ‘The problem is you don’t see yourself as others see you.’
‘Jesus.’ For a moment he didn’t speak. ‘I have a few drinks. So do most people I know. That doesn’t make me an alcoholic.’ But he didn’t meet my eyes. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Get some help,’ I said. ‘Talk to someone.’ In the silence that followed, I realised just how desperate I was for him to do something.
‘I’ll call the medical practice on Monday,’ he said quietly. ‘Ask if they can recommend someone.’
‘You mean that?’ I hardly dared believe he was saying it.
‘I have to, don’t I?’ he muttered. ‘It’s not like I have a choice. We can’t go on like this.’
To my amazement, Ryan took my concerns on board, starting that evening, when instead of going to the pub, he stayed at home.
After picking you and Ollie up from Lucy’s, when we got home, the four of us watched a movie on TV.
Then on Sunday, we had lunch together, one from which alcohol was noticeably absent, after which we went for a walk.
The change in you and Ollie was palpable.
But there was still a wariness. And I understood; trust was going to take longer.
Monday came. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful about the future. When Ryan came in from work that evening, I looked at him expectantly. ‘How did you get on?’ I asked.
‘I was meant to call the medical practice, wasn’t I?’ But his eyes didn’t meet mine. ‘I forgot,’ he said evasively.
I stared at him. ‘Oh.’ After raising my hopes, I had an overwhelming sense of feeling let down.
‘It was a busy day. I’ll do it tomorrow,’ he said.
Nothing more was said. But when the same happened again on Tuesday night, doubts were setting in. If Ryan didn’t do something, to use his own words: we couldn’t go on like this.
On Wednesday, I was prepared.
‘I’m not going to ask you if you called the doctor.’ I could see from the look on his face that he hadn’t. ‘But I found this.’ I handed him the details I’d printed out about an AA group that met nearby on Thursday nights.
‘That’s tomorrow.’ He looked uneasy. Then he stepped towards me and went to put his arms around me.
But I stepped back. He needed to know I was serious. ‘This is important. Probably the most important thing you can do – for yourself. For us. You gave me your word,’ I said softy. ‘Please don’t go back on it.’
* * *