The Heavy Man
Goodness, George! You are such a heavy man! Why is it always so difficult with you? Why cant you just do as I ask?
The young woman chastising her husband was beautiful, but not simply beautiful extravagant. She possessed long legs, navy blue eyes, and a figure of such remarkable proportions that men craned their necks as she strode through the hotels adjoining park.
Her husband, however, was unusually plain. Shorter than her by almost a head, he was barrel-shaped, with long arms and legs too brief for balance, and a thinning patch upon his scalp. The only beauty in him lay in his eyes clever, lively, as if they might see right through you. The contrast between them was striking: a tempestuous beauty and the man who understood her better than anyone.
They resembled Hephaestus and Aphrodite, with one twist: rather than wielding a blacksmiths hammer, the man cradled a little girl in his arms.
The child looked so like her father that none could doubt their kinship. From her mother, shed borrowed only her striking blue eyes and a glorious mane of copper curls. So unruly were they, her mother soon gave up on any attempt at taming them, so this five-year-old streaked through the hotel as an auburn flash, pausing only for her fathers urgent footsteps.
Christine, if youre desperate for this excursion, go on. But I think Katies too small for all that. Its a long trip in the heat. Shell cry, fuss and spoil your fun. You know how she gets.
And what am I supposed to do? George, I came here on holiday with my husband! I can hardly move for admirers at the hotel. You dont mind?!
Christines voice climbed up to breaking point, and Katie squeezed her fathers neck, hiding her face in his collar.
Oh darling, Im so jealous I could burst! George grinned and stroked his daughters hair. Why not do something else? A trip on a yacht? Diving? Whatever you wish.
I want the pyramids, said Christine flatly, turning away. If you two wont come, Ill go alone!
The scene ended as well-practiced performances do, and George merely shrugged as his wife flounced off to the pool, forgetting man and child.
Such things no longer surprised him. They lived as most of their set lived. He busy, comfortable, reliable; she young, admired, indulged.
How had George become a fashionable husband, as they called such men? He couldnt have said. Hed never had much luck with women, and not all because of looks. George managed perfectly with women who were staff, colleagues, or clients: he was wry, gallant, sharp-witted. But as soon as he fell in love, words forsook him, hands fidgeted, and courting was a torment. Eventually, he gave up on love altogether, threw himself into business, and would visit his mum in the Kentish countryside, resigned that perhaps he was simply meant to remain alone.
Only the rare and functional for your health, not your heart, as his mother, Agnes, teased, relieved the monotony.
So it mightve stayed, had Agnes not resolved to see her son wed and settled.
George! Ive admired you quite long enough. Youll never marry on your own. What you need is a matchmaker!
A what?! George nearly choked on his cup of Darjeeling, raspberry jam dripping onto his new jacket as he sat on her sun-warmed garden patio.
Ruined your best jacket, Agnes tutted, eyeing her son. Youre marvellous, darling: clever, decent, successful. But who besides me is better for it? No one! Its a waste. Youve achieved things most men your age dont dare dream, and I can see youre not happy. I see it in how you watch Marinas children my silly niece, but a marvellous mother. I adore her brood, but I dream of holding my own grandchild. More than that, I dream of seeing you hold your own child. Then youll know real joy. Your father and I felt it with you. This she gestured around the old house is all vanity. The home stands, but will one day fall. Only the living endure, because in them is mind, memory, and feeling. That is life, my dear! Do you understand?
Mum, I hear you, but whats this to do with a matchmaker?
Everything! Youll never find anyone on your own. Youve no knack for it! Forgive me, you know Im blunt with you. You cant talk to women, except for business. Thats my fault and I admit it. I didnt teach you. So now I must repair it myself and trusting to the professionals is best. Come now, take this paper and write.
What?
Write what you want! Your ideal wife, every detail.
Mum, honestly. This is nonsense
None of it! Give it here, Ill do it! All right, well begin simply. Eye colour?
They sat talking until dusk. George, knowing shed never let go, answered her questions, wondering as he did whether being an interrogator was ever a womans job. In the end, his secret longings and fears took shape on paper, and he was surprised to read what theyd devised.
Theres no such woman, he said.
Well see, Agnes said, snatching away the list.
She found him a wife. Christine matched Georges description perfectly in all things visible, as if conjured from the page. What lay beneath, though, had to be reasoned out during marriage.
George soon realised their union was as much contract as anything. Over time he discovered such arrangements were common enough. Christine had no intention of cooking stews at home; she was too busy being herself. In the big house George bought after their wedding, they had separate bedrooms she claimed his snoring was intolerable. He didnt know if he snored or not. But for the woman whod become his whole world, George would have done anything.
Christine didnt want children, but acknowledging a child was part of the bargain, she demanded a couple of years grace.
Im young, Ive barely begun living. I want to travel. Youll do that for me, wont you, darling?
He agreed. They travelled, met friends, lived their lives, enduring each other more or less patiently.
Katies arrival brought a fragile peace. George was in bliss, hurrying home each evening to be with his daughter. His only regret was that Christine was a lacklustre mother.
Im not breastfeeding! Ruin my figure just to nurse? Certainly not! Find a nurse or use formula. Loads of babies were brought up that way, you were too, your mother told me and you turned out all right! I see no problem.
No amount of persuasion from mother-in-law or George would sway her. Katie was happy gripping her bottle, and George sought a nanny.
Ill go mad! Stuck inside all day with a crying child, its torture! You leave for work with people around you, but Im alone. Ill crack up if this goes on! Want me to sink into depression? Christine complained.
Christines mother, Mary, upon hearing her son-in-law was searching for help, refused outright.
Why? I know your mother cant help; shes still teaching. But I can be a granny to my only granddaughter. Why bring some stranger into the house?
George was only too happy to agree. This was the first great quarrel with his wife.
Why have my mum here? So she can lecture me? Is this a joke, George? I thought you wanted to help, but you! Why are you so heavy? Dont you even love me?
I do! But I love our daughter too! You barely see her! She deserves someone besides me who loves her!
That was true. Christine took little interest in Katie; her care was limited to providing the finest toys, darling outfits, and a showpiece nursery, into which she conducted friends like she was guiding a house tour. But the nursery was only for show. From the first, Katie slept in her fathers room, among her cot and chest of nightclothes and favourite toys.
I love my child! In my own way! For once, Christine wept bitterly, but George had no sympathy left.
Your mother stays. Shell help with the baby while Im out. If you ever want to do it yourself, say the word. Until then, its my decision.
Christine, weighing things, decided a truce was easier and her mother the lesser of several evils if it returned her some freedom.
Mary moved in, and Katie found a second world after her father. Of course, she knew her mother and would dutifully sit in her lap for the required ten minutes when Christine wished to show her off to friends, but once freed, she was off in pursuit of either her father or grandmother the ones whod always shown her love.
Life went on. Katie grew. She joined a ballet school, then a private nursery, with Mary doing the school run. The little girl was hardly ever home; she was used to travel and hotels, always with someone who welcomed her company.
And this holiday was the same, unremarkable, until Katie developed a fever and complained of headaches.
Brilliant. Thats the whole holiday ruined! Christine paced their hotel suite, waiting for the doctor George had called.
What are you on about, Christine? Our childs ill!
Just a cold! I told you not to give her so much ice cream! You give in to her every whim! And now this! Worlds best dad! So, what now?
Wait for the doctor.
Georges reply was so curt that Christine fell silent.
Fine. Theres no need to shout.
The doctor found nothing amiss Over-tired, he said. Some rest, shell be right as rain.
But as soon as he left, George turned grave.
Pack up. Were going home.
Why? The doctor said
His word isnt gospel. Children shouldnt have headaches like this. Shes old enough to tell us the truth. No arguing. Were flying home!
Tests at a London clinic proved George right. Life stuttered and stalled, reeling from the discovery.
One hospital, then another, then a third. Katie didnt get worse, but didnt get better either. George handed his work to his assistant, sitting by his daughter night and day, going home only to change. Christine kept her place at bedside as well, but doctors soon realised this beautiful, amiable woman was only set-dressing. She knew nothing about her child, nodded, wiped away tears but had nothing to say. Most believed she was grieving, so left her in peace and spoke to George instead.
But the truth was sadder: Christine wasnt so much worried about her daughter as trapped by her lack of freedom; she resented the hospital smell, though their clinics were the best money could buy.
Her patience finally snapped when George announced he was selling their house.
Why, George? Are we really out of money?
Yes.
So plainly did he answer that Christine was struck dumb.
But you you always had plenty. Wasnt that why you stayed so long?
I did. But Katies treatment is expensive. She needs an operation you know that. No one will do it here, so well have to go abroad. That costs money, a lot. So it all goes: house, business whatever it takes. Ill do whatever I must for my childs health!
And what about me? Christine wept softly, already knowing his next words. Shed always been flighty, wilful, but never a fool.
And you? I see how miserable you are. Im giving you freedom. Ill leave you enough your car, the city flat, everything you need. Live as you please. But you must visit Katie in hospital at least twice a week, and come with us to her operation. Whatever else you are, youre her mother, and she needs you, selfish or not! Show a little feeling, if you have any at all. At least pretend she matters.
For the first time, Georges words went right for the heart. Fear wracked him, choking and animal. Everything that meant life to him lay behind that hospital door, while they quarrelled outside. All that was left between him and the woman sobbing mascara into her hands was the child.
Enough! Go wash your face. Dont frighten Katie! She needs to be calm, understand? Youll get everything you want, but youll do your duty first. Now, get on with it, Christine. Dont make me repeat myself.
What had changed in this odd, barrel-shaped little man, whom Christine had always looked down on? She could hardly say except that suddenly, George seemed to fill the corridor, as daunting as a cliff, rock-solid and unmovable. Behind such a wall, surely nothing could harm those sheltered by it.
She turned without a word and went to gather herself, not seeing as George entered the room and a redhead stirred on the pillow.
Daddy
Mary, perched at Katies bedside with a book, rose quietly, beckoned George out into the corridor.
George, if youll let me stay
Why would you ask, Mary? You dont need my permission. He put his arm around his mother-in-law. Thank you. I truly dont know what I would have done without you.
Im so ashamed, George. Its all my fault. I never managed she was always clever, pretty, meek knew what to say, what to do. Now, its as if shes someone else. Or perhaps I was blind How did I let it happen? When did I lose her?
If we knew where wed stumble, wed lay out straw ahead Im no better. I shouldve done more, sooner. But Did Christine never love Katie at all? You were a good mother, a proper example for her. I dont understand any of this. How am I to avoid the same mistakes with Katie? How do I make sure I dont let her down too?
Lay some straw yourself, George. Mary wiped her tears and fixed her hair. Right! No use in gloom now. Katie reads us in a flash shed have us dancing like moon-hares! She cant be upset just now. Ill settle her down for sleep nip out for a treat, will you? She wanted ice cream, only picked at lunch. If anything will cheer her up, ice cream will. And George, please dont be hasty with Christine just yet. Give her a chance. I cant believe it of her, not entirely. I dont want to believe it.
Katie had her surgery in a few months time. Agnes left her job and joined her son and granddaughter for support.
Six months passed, and Katie returned home with her father and grandmothers. Christine remained in Europe.
Two years of recovery Hope flickered in George and within their small family, sometimes bright, sometimes feeble but went never fully dark till the day Katies new doctor at the London hospital took off his glasses, rubbed his brow, and smiled at George:
You did it.
And life, pausing again, gathered itself and set off in a different direction, with a new bounce in its step.
Christine returned to Katies world on her fifteenth birthday. Still beautiful, elegant, almost unchanged; she pecked Mary on the cheek, nodded to George, and wove through the crowd towards Katies classmates chanting congratulations.
Darling
The same blue eyes, half-shut, scrutinised Christines face.
Mum
Christine started to rush, babbling explanations that only she needed, but Katie stopped her with a raised hand.
Dont rush. Relax. Not yet. Well talk later.
But I want
I know. Itll wait. Not now.
Katie, please
All right. Come with me.
Katie nodded to the guests and led her mother to Georges study. There, she swished aside the heavy curtains, climbed up on the window ledge, and shrugged.
Go on, then.
Goodness, you look so much like your dad
What, Mum heavy, like him?
Thats not what I meant.
But I do. And do you know what? The man you thought unworthy, whom you hurt and left, never once said a bad word about you. Ever! He never brought another woman home, because he didnt want to upset me. He hasnt even divorced you. He always insisted I had a mother, even when you were gone. Do you want to know something else, Mum?
What? Christines voice was barely a whisper. The girl perched before her wasnt the child shed left. Her voice rang with steel, like her fathers when hed reached the end, and Christine realised: challenge her and shed lose her daughter forever.
That heavy man taught me one thing: forgiveness. He said you mustnt carry bitterness. I dont know how good I am at it yet. But Im his daughter and if I start something, I finish it. Im not even sure Ill manage this, since I barely remember you and have little desire now to reconnect. I dont need you. I have Dad. I have both my grannies. They taught me all I ever wanted to know, everything I needed as a girl. Theres nothing I want from you, Mum, do you understand? I dont see the point of giving you my time. Still, for Dads sake, Ill give you a chance. Ill let you try to be a person to me, Mum.
And who was I before?
Anyone. A doll, a pretty shell, an empty monster a bit harsh, am I? But what did you expect? I remember sleeping in hospital, holding not your hand but Dads, as Grandma sang lullabies. I remember being shaved bald, Grandma Mary weeping, Grandma Agnes crowning me with a hideous pink sun hat, all of us laughing until I nearly wet myself on the way to the loo. You werent there. I started school late, a year behind the others; my grannies took turns with lessons, because Dad was busy and home late. I remember Mary sewing me a real tutu and crowning me as the Swan Queen, though she knew Id never dance on stage again. I danced at home to their applause and not even Covent Garden had that kind of ovation. Agnes brought me a box of paints, brushes, all sorts we painted nearly till dawn, and I loved it. See, that paintings mine. I gave it to Dad for his birthday. It won first prize in a show. You werent there to see
Darling, but Im here now
Why? Why have you come?
To be close, now.
And why dont I believe it? Katie mused aloud, tracing patterns on the glass. Outside, George stood, gazing up. She waved and turned to her mother. Not sure? Nor am I. So I wont dwell on it now. Prove youre someone I need, and maybe Ill consider whether youre worth forgiving. For now? Welcome. Make yourself at home. Cakes in an hour. I must mingle with my guests. Excuse me.
Katie slid off the ledge, smoothed the curtains, paused in the doorway, and turned.
Whats wrong, Mum, too heavy for you now?
Christine watched her silently, holding her breath, as hope flickered tentatively.
Good. That means I truly take after Dad. Thats wonderful! Thank you it’s the best compliment you could have given me. I think I can start to consider things now. See you about.
The fiery tumble of Katies curls flashed out the door, gone. Christine pressed her hand to the glass where her daughters fingers traced invisible swirls.
