Chapter 10 #2
I had the strangest dream that night, one I’d had before, that left me with a very real sense of a different kind of life.
It was a dream that I’d lost you both, my life as I knew it shattered.
On Christmas morning, it hung over me, leaving me wondering if it was some kind of premonition, while I started cooking our lunch and did my best to pin on a smile, determined to make it a happy day.
You shrieked with glee as you unwrapped the guitar you’d been dropping massive hints about. But when I passed Ollie his presents, he glanced anxiously at his father.
‘Open them, Olls,’ I said gently, watching the expression on his face change as he saw what was inside.
He turned to me. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘When I was a child…’ Ryan muttered under his breath.
‘But you’re not now,’ I said quietly, furious inside that he begrudged his children the magic of Christmas; the smile not leaving my face, thankful that it was out of Ollie’s earshot. ‘For fuck’s sake, let them enjoy this.’
Ryan’s mother joined us for lunch, one of her rare visits.
She’d always been gentle with you and Ollie, though a little critical of me, whereas in her eyes, Ryan could do no wrong.
But it was Christmas. A celebration, and the day went as I’d hoped it would, you and Ollie happy; Ryan managing to stay moderately sober – until the evening.
As he opened the whisky his mother had bought him, I rustled you and Ollie into the kitchen. ‘Let’s play Scrabble,’ I said. ‘And somewhere, I think I’ve hidden some chocolates…’
In an ideal world, the four of us would have been playing this together, Ryan making all of us laugh, you and Ollie clamouring for Daddy’s attention. But we were used to doing things just the three of us. And even at Christmas, nothing was perfect.
By the time bedtime came, you could barely keep your eyes open.
‘Night, Mummy.’ You were yawning and your eyes were closing as I pulled your duvet over you and kissed your cheek. ‘It’s been such a lovely day.’
‘I’m glad,’ I whispered. ‘Sleep well.’
When I went into Ollie’s room, he was sitting up in bed. ‘Why does he do it?’ He looked brighter than he had in days.
I assumed he was talking about Ryan’s drinking. ‘Dad, you mean?’ Sitting on the edge of his bed, I sighed. ‘Ollie, I wish I could explain it. But I can’t.’
‘He said all those mean things before.’ Ollie looked at me. ‘He made me feel really bad. Then today, it was like he’d completely forgotten about it.’
‘I think it just shows he didn’t mean it. Anyway, we both know none of those things he said are true. You do know he is quite up and down, don’t you?’ I ruffled his hair gently. ‘Alcohol does strange things to people. It makes them say all kinds of things they wouldn’t usually say.’
‘I don’t understand why he drinks it.’ Ollie looked thoughtful. ‘You don’t.’
I didn’t tell him that I was terrified that if I did, someone might have looked at me the way I looked at Ryan. ‘You know how some people smoke cigarettes? And can’t stop doing it? Alcohol is the same. It’s a drug. It isn’t easy to give it up.’
‘But he did once, didn’t he? I remember when we were in France. It was fun.’
My heart twisted – with gratitude that he remembered it that way; with sadness that it didn’t last. ‘I know he did.’ I paused.
‘I’m going to find the time to talk to your dad about it – and don’t worry.
I won’t mention you’ve said anything. But now, don’t you think it’s time you got some sleep?
We’re going to Lucy’s tomorrow.’ Lucy’s daughter, Mia, was spending this Christmas with her father; we were surrogates.
His face lit up in a half-smile. ‘Cool. Night, Mum.’
‘Night, Olls.’ I leaned down and kissed him. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too,’ he mumbled.
Outside his bedroom, I pulled the door almost closed, standing there for a moment.
I didn’t take any of this for granted. Days like this together, my beloved children who loved me back, who were my world.
But at the same time, I felt a deep resentment inside me that there was a need for a conversation like the one I’d just had with Ollie.
Downstairs, I put away the washed-up pots and pans from lunch, then finished tidying the kitchen, pausing before I cleared Scrabble away, gazing briefly at the words my children had formed before I picked up the board and they were lost. For some reason, I felt a pang.
These childhood days wouldn’t last forever.
And today hadn’t been a bad day, but it worried me more than ever what you and Ollie would take with you into your futures.
Outside the lounge, I paused in the doorway. An eighties comedy show was on the TV and I glanced at Ryan’s Christmas whisky, into which he had already made inroads. Hearing a snore come from him, I thought of the book Lucy had given me, on my bedside table. Leaving him to it, I went upstairs.
But as I lay back in bed, I felt my mind wander as I imagined a window into a very different future.
One where you and Ollie were older, where the four of us were happy.
Where there was kindness, understanding, respect.
The window closed and another one opened onto a scene like today where, even years on, you and Ollie were anxious; where we still walked on tiptoes, even on calmer days; still waited for Ryan’s anger to erupt.
A sigh came from me. Was the choice I had that obvious? Did I have the power to change the rest of our lives?
* * *
Boxing Day brought an unforecast cold snap, a dusting of the finest snow. I awoke to your ear-piercing shriek.
‘Mum! Look! It’s snowing!’
Pulling on jogging bottoms and a sweater, I went downstairs, where you and Ollie were already putting on boots and jackets.
‘We’re going to make a snowman.’ Ollie’s eyes were shining.
I watched you through the window, your faces pink with excitement and cold as you gathered handfuls of snow and moulded them into shape. I didn’t notice Ryan coming into the kitchen.
‘You went to bed early last night,’ he said.
‘You were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you,’ I said. ‘You haven’t forgotten, have you, we’re invited to Lucy’s today?’
He looked annoyed. ‘I could do without it, if I’m honest.’
‘The children are looking forward to it,’ I reminded him. ‘You can’t pull out.’
‘You could go without me.’ He sounded as though he couldn’t care less. ‘We both know Lucy won’t miss me.’
I paused. There were so many things I could say: no, Lucy won’t miss you.
Stay at home and get pissed, like you do every day.
We’ll all have more fun without you. ‘You’re right.
We could go without you, but it would be far nicer to do this together.
We needn’t stay late,’ I said persuasively.
‘It’s Christmas, Ryan. Think of the children. ’ I forced a smile.
It was late morning when we set off for Lucy’s. As we got in the car, Ryan glanced up at the sky. ‘Looks like we have more snow coming.’
‘Yay! I love snow!’ you said excitedly.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t go,’ Ryan said. ‘We don’t want to get stuck.’
‘I want to get stuck at Auntie Lucy’s,’ you started chanting. ‘Ollie does too, don’t you, Ollie?’
‘I think we should still go. It isn’t far, and if the weather takes a turn for the worse, we can always leave early.’ From the driving seat, I turned my head to look at you. ‘Ready?’ I took in your faces. Ollie’s slightly anxious; yours, grinning from ear-to-ear at me.
As I drove, it struck me how unbelievably rare it was that the four of us did anything together these days.
How much effort it took to persuade Ryan to come with us.
Is that how it was with other families? But I was already making excuses: everyone’s lives were busy, dominated by work. Time off together rare.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into Lucy’s drive.
Before we reached it, her husband, Matt, opened their front door.
You probably don’t remember her first husband – and he was nothing like Matt.
Leaning down, Matt hugged an exuberant you, a more reticent Ollie.
When we went inside, the house smelled of home-cooked food and freshly cut fir. Hurrying to greet us, Lucy hugged me.
‘Happy Boxing Day! I’m so glad you’re all here! The house has felt horribly empty this year.’ She was referring to Mia’s absence.
‘Not any more,’ I said as she handed me a glass of champagne.
Lucy’s house was as welcoming as she was, a log fire burning in the grate, the Christmas tree sparkling with fairy lights, a small pile of presents underneath for Ollie and you.
‘Haven’t they had enough presents?’ Ryan said loudly.
Lucy playfully smacked him on the shoulder. ‘Oh, Ryan,’ she said. ‘You can never have too many presents.’ The smack was hard enough to make a point, an unspoken message in her words. None of your shit in this house.
It was a day of jollity – during which, thanks to Lucy, Ryan didn’t dare step a foot out of line; that was cut short when the sky darkened and snow began to fall. Heavier than last night, it quickly settled on trees and covered the garden.
‘We should go home.’ Ryan got up. ‘Come on, kids. Get your things together.’
‘You really don’t have to,’ Lucy said. ‘Why don’t you stay?’
‘Can we, Mummy? Please?’ you pleaded.
‘Thanks,’ Ryan said. ‘But we need to be getting back.’ He looked at me as if expecting me to say something.
As I turned to Lucy, I could see her frustration.
‘It’s been lovely.’ I was torn between you and Ollie wanting to stay; Ryan’s obvious pressure to leave.
I caught her eye. ‘But it’s probably best we go.
’ I paused. ‘Ryan…’ I muttered to her, under my breath, wanting to explain that I didn’t want to start another row between us, that this peace was fragile; breaking off as out of the corner of my eye I caught him watching me.
* * *
As we left Lucy’s, the streets were just about clear.
But the temperature was rapidly dropping and halfway home, I was starting to wonder if we’d done the right thing.
It wasn’t long before the road had disappeared under freshly fallen snow, swirling snowflakes obscuring the way ahead.
What if we get stuck? I couldn’t help thinking, trying not to share my concern, now and then glancing in the rear-view mirror at you and Ollie, your excitement about the snow barely contained.
But somehow we made it home. Ryan went straight inside and poured himself a drink, while you and Ollie went to the garage to find your sledge.
And that’s how we spent the rest of Boxing Day.
Ryan drinking his way into another stupor, Ollie and you playing in the snow that gave everything a magical edge, me trying to mediate, to keep everyone happy.
It wasn’t until later that night as I lay in bed, the realisation came to me that, apart from the most transient of moments, none of us were.