Chapter 23
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
It’s so much easier to understand with hindsight. The evidence was there, our history, in black and white. You, determined to be true to everything you believed in.
After that Christmas, when Ollie went back to uni again, I worried about you.
Worried that alcohol had a grip on you the way it did Ryan, that you’d inherited his sickness.
In the end, I took a trip to the animal shelter, going from stable to stable until I found you sitting in the straw with three tiny piglets that were nestled against you.
‘They’re gorgeous, Lexie. What happened to them?’
‘They’re orphans,’ you said briefly. ‘Their mother gave birth at the slaughterhouse.’
It was a measure of how alien your world was to me – one where slaughterhouses and the rescue of animals were a part of your everyday. ‘How are you?’ But I didn’t need to ask. I could see the toll it was taking on you.
‘Fine.’ But you didn’t meet my eyes. ‘Do you want to come in and cuddle them?’
Tentatively I let myself into the stable with you; crouched on the floor as one of the little piglets shuffled towards me. Climbing onto my lap, it started to suck one of my fingers.
‘We’re bottle feeding,’ you said by way of explanation. ‘In fact, it’s almost time for another feed. Would you like to help?’
‘If you tell me what to do.’ I surveyed the piglets doubtfully. But in reality, it was easy; when you came back with bottles, the piglets knew what to do.
‘What time do you finish tonight?’ I asked you.
‘Late.’ You finished feeding the last piglet. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I was hoping I could take you out for dinner,’ I said. It hadn’t been my plan, but even under the thick sweater, your shapeless jeans, it was obvious that there was nothing of you.
‘You’re worried about me again, aren’t you?’ Your eyes swung around, gazed into mine.
I was wrong-footed by your directness. ‘I thought it would be nice to spend some time together, that’s all.’
You were silent. Then you sighed. ‘Mum, it would be nice. But I’m really busy tonight.’ You paused. ‘How about Friday?’
* * *
There was a sequence of events unravelling in our lives that I did nothing to stop. Before I got to see you again, I had a call from Ryan: he’d found a flat and was moving out. ‘If you’re sure it’s over between us.’
‘You have to be joking.’ I couldn’t believe he was even asking that. ‘Have you signed the paperwork my solicitor sent you?’
‘What paperwork?’ His voice made it obvious he knew what I was talking about; that he was delaying.
But I was done with his game-playing. ‘Just sign it, will you? And let me know when you’ve moved out.’ I hadn’t decided whether to sell it or rent it out. But what happened to the house after he left was nothing to do with him.
On Friday evening, I picked you up from the animal shelter. In clean jeans and a black top, you’d washed your hair and pinned some of it up. ‘How are the piglets?’ I asked you as you got in the car.
‘One of them didn’t make it,’ you said matter-of-factly.
‘Oh!’ I was shocked. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It happens more often than not,’ you told me. ‘They never had any milk from their mother. The odds were always stacked against them.’
Once again, I realised how little I knew about your world. That the animals in the straw-bedded stables at the shelter were a drop in the ocean compared to the suffering of millions of animals that went on in intensive farms.
‘It must be tough,’ I said quietly.
‘It is.’ You paused. ‘But if it wasn’t, it would mean you didn’t care.’
The pub was cosy, a log burning in the enormous fireplace. Finding a table, we ordered a bottle of wine and perused the menu.
‘Mushroom risotto,’ you said when someone came to take our order.
‘Make that two.’
You looked at me suspiciously. ‘Have meat if you want, Mum. It doesn’t bother me.’
But I knew it did; and increasingly it bothered me too. Warily, I brought up the subject of Ryan. ‘Your father’s moved out of the house – or is about to move out.’
‘No way.’ Your eyes widened. ‘How’s that come about?’
‘I bought him out – with the money your grandfather left me,’ I told you.
‘It’s good he’s gone.’ You paused. ‘Mum…’ you started to say. Then you shook your head.
‘What is it?’ I watched your face.
‘It’s just…’ You frowned. ‘Well, I suppose it’s just that you’ve never really talked about your own mum and dad. And for some reason, I’ve never asked you about them.’
I looked at you, slightly shocked. ‘There’s not much to say. I think you know, they both died. And even before that, there was a long time they weren’t in my life.’
‘Why?’ you asked.
I sat there for a moment. This was hard for me. Really hard. ‘I’ve never told you and Ollie this. But my father was an alcoholic, too,’ I said quietly. ‘Only he was worse than Ryan.’ I paused. ‘He abused my mother – she ended up leaving him. But she didn’t take us with her.’
You looked at me, shocked. ‘That’s awful, Mum. Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Because…’ I stalled. ‘I don’t know why, Lex.
’ But only now am I realising that I do know, and it isn’t comfortable.
‘But I think it’s part of the reason I didn’t leave your dad sooner.
In part of my brain, drinking was normal behaviour.
It didn’t have the shock factor it should have had.
It took seeing how he treated you and Ollie to force me to do something. ’
‘So you knew what it was like.’ You stared at me, silent for a moment.
I could imagine what you were thinking. So why did you stay with him? ‘Our home was horrible, Lex. There were never clean clothes or food in the fridge. Then your uncle – my brother – got into drugs. After that, I got out as soon as I could.’
There were tears in your eyes. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘I didn’t want you to know,’ I said. ‘But perhaps you can see that when I looked at our home, after what I grew up with, it was a really nice place that was clean, with home-cooked food. And love.’
You reached out for one of my hands. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum. But I’m glad you’ve told me.’ There was compassion in your eyes. ‘It explains so much.’
‘In what way?’ I frowned.
‘Why you used to defend Dad – and why you worried about how he’d cope without you. At the time, Ollie and I used to feel like you were always putting him first.’
‘I didn’t mean it to seem like that,’ I said hastily. ‘I’m so sorry.’
You frowned. ‘It must have been like watching history repeat itself.’
‘It was and it wasn’t,’ I said quietly.
‘You still worry about Dad, don’t you?’ you said.
‘In a sense.’ I pulled myself together. ‘But these days, less so. I’ve realised I can’t do anything to stop him drinking.’
‘You can’t. It’s up to him.’ Your eyes were suddenly troubled as you picked up your wine glass and put it down again. Then you abruptly changed the subject. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do with the house?’
‘I was thinking of selling it or renting it out.’
‘The housing market is terrible, Mum. One of the guys who volunteers at the shelter has been trying to sell his place for months.’ You paused. ‘Why don’t you move back there? Even if you do it up and sell it once the market picks up?’
I stared at you, flummoxed. ‘Would you and Ollie want to come back there? I know it wasn’t a happy home, Lex.’
You shrugged. ‘It was OK when we were little.’
‘You mean the years you were too young to remember?’ I teased you, pausing as plates of food were placed in front of us. ‘What about as you got older?’
You shrugged. ‘It was shit sometimes. You know what Dad was like. But we survived.’ You sipped your wine – slowly, I noted. ‘Maybe it would be a good thing to go back there – laying ghosts and all that.’
I was astonished. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to go anywhere near the place.’
‘It’s just a house, Mum. It’s Dad I have a problem with. If he’s gone, so has the problem.’ Shrugging, you took another forkful of food. ‘What’s the matter with that? You look really surprised.’
‘I am surprised.’ Were we really on such different pages? ‘Maybe I’ll think about it.’
‘Why don’t you talk to Ollie?’ you suggested. ‘I bet he says exactly the same.’
* * *
You were right. It was Ollie’s view, too, that without Ryan there, it could actually be quite a nice house. After giving notice on the rented house I’d moved the three of us into all those years ago, I had the strangest feeling as I started to pack.
It had been our home, the walls of which, for a while, had kept us safe. And when I thought about leaving it to move back to the house that Ryan and I used to share, I was unsure if it was the right decision or not.
There was only one way I could do this. Before moving back, I set about erasing every trace of Ryan, stripping wallpaper and decorating, room by room, giving it a facelift, determined to create the family home I’d always dreamed it would be.
Meanwhile, time was speeding up, you and Ollie moving on with your lives, home a transient place where you spent little time. Were about to spend less time, as Ollie was offered a job in Canada, a prospect that thrilled me. It also bothered me, for all the wrong and selfish reasons.
‘It’s only for a year, Mum. I will be back. I promise you.’
‘But what if you meet a girl?’ I said. ‘I mean, of course I want you to meet a really lovely girl. But what if she’s Canadian and you don’t come back?’
Ollie hugged me. ‘I will come back. I promise.’
Then shortly after, you were offered a job in the HQ of an animal charity. ‘It’s good money, Mum. I’ll be at the sharp end. In time, I’ll get to have a say in how the money’s spent.’
‘But it’s the other end of the country,’ I said in dismay.
‘You can come and visit.’ You’d already made up your mind.
You paused, thoughtful for a moment. ‘There’s something you’ve said to me and Ollie – about wishing you’d been a better mum.
But I want you to know you were the best.’ Coming over, you hugged me.
Then as you pulled away, your eyes lingered on mine.
‘Ollie and I are so lucky to have you.’ There was a huskiness to your voice.
‘In case you don’t know, you gave us what we needed most. Just saying.
’ You kissed me on the cheek, headed towards the door.
I knew what you were talking about. What every child needs: the gift of wings. Half-smiling, you paused in the doorway, turning to look at me over your shoulder, your pale blue eyes sparkling at me.
Without you both, I was bereft, happy for you, sad for me. Also, I couldn’t deny that I was anxious; worried that alcohol had become your crutch. But I couldn’t stop you going. All I could do was hope that there would be good people around you, who shared your passion; who would look out for you.
* * *
By February that year, I’d closed the door for the last time on the house we’d rented. Moved back to our old family home that had given up any resemblance to how it used to look. Every wall had been painted, old carpets ripped up, floorboards sanded and dressed with a couple of new rugs.
Once I’d unpacked, I invited Lucy to come and view it. My biggest critic, when I’d told her my plan, she’d made her doubts known. But even she was impressed.
‘I thought there’d be too many memories attached to this place,’ she said as she looked around. ‘But it feels completely different. It looks fantastic, Edie.’
‘Thanks.’ It meant the world to have Lucy’s seal of approval.
‘Come and see upstairs.’ I was especially proud of your bedroom – grown-up, yet with a nod to the past; the bed dressed in dusky pink linen, your books arranged on a shelf, Eeyore in the corner of another.
A collage of your old photos mounted on a wall.
I’d even painted the front door a subtle moss green, a touch that felt symbolic. Then added shiny blue pots of sculptural plants. If Ryan did ever come back, though I hoped he wouldn’t, I was pretty sure he would barely recognise it.
Spring came, the cherry tree in the garden festooning itself in its annual coat of the pale pink blossom that, as a child, you used to scoop up and scatter to the wind; a carpet of crocuses splashing the grass with colour.
Ollie’s year in Canada was a resounding success.
But your move was less so, the job not what you’d hoped it would be.
‘It’s so fricking political, Mum. Everyone’s in it for themselves. I mean, for fuck’s sake. It’s an animal welfare charity.’
‘Maybe it’s not the place for you,’ I said tentatively.
‘It isn’t,’ you said quickly. ‘But it doesn’t mean I should walk away. It needs someone like me to make it change.’
I should have known you’d take it on as a personal challenge. If anyone could move a mountain, it was you. But I wasn’t prepared for the toll it would take, for your emotional phone calls.
You shared more with me at that time than you had in years. ‘What do I do, Mum? Loads of people here feel the same as I do. They’re just too gutless to speak their minds.’
‘They probably have rent or mortgages to pay – they’re worried they’ll lose their jobs, Lex,’ I gently pointed out the obvious. ‘I’m sure, like you, they care.’
‘Not all of them, Mum. When I came here, I thought everyone would. But to some of them, it really is just a job.’
It was the reality of how the world worked. The flipside of your passion again, of the energy you had that you needed to channel, that you needed people around you who felt the same. You stuck it out, but as more time passed, you told me you’d started looking at other jobs.
Then out of the blue, you were quiet. I took it to mean that in spite of your earlier doubts, you felt you were in the right place. More time had to pass for me to find out how wrong I was.