14October
The inlaws were due to stay for three nights, but Paul hasnt lived here for ages. Id been standing by the front door, keys in my hand, as if the ring hadnt even registered. My coat was damp, the umbrella dripped onto a milk bag whose handle was already torn. The night was winding down, the hallway smelling of someones supper and a cats scent lingering somewhere.
When the door opened, Margaret Hargreaves stepped in. She wore a handknit scarf, polished patent shoes, a rolling suitcase, and clutched a bag with something steaming. Her voice was that of an actress from a classic British filmbright, with a hint of drama.
Darling, Im here for three days! Brought a cherry pie for Paul, hell love it, she announced, already moving down the corridor while I was still catching my breath. Why didnt you tell me youd changed the gate code? Id already gone out, then came back with the suitcasehad to chase the caretaker for the new code.
I stayed silent, nodding toward something over my shoulder as if someone else were there, though the flat was oddly quiet. Too quiet.
Wheres Paul? Margaret asked, slipping into fresh shoes, glancing at the empty coat rackno mens jacket, no boots, no trace of his smell or his chaos. Hell join us later, right? Ive brought a pot of pilaf for dinner. Peter, Pauls dad, will be here too; he had to dash off to a friends urgent matter. And Sam? He should be at nursery.
I managed a short smile, as if a thread had been tugged.
Hes stuck in a meeting, I replied.
Oh, work, work Margarets eyes flickered, scanning too fast. She noticed only one cup on the shelf, a halfused bottle of shampoo in the bathroom, childrens drawings on the fridge, and Pauls photographs vanished.
She set the pie on the table, opened the pilaf container, and took my hand. Dont worry, love. Breathe out. Well sit down and eat. Peter will be herehell have a laugh with you. Hes a good man.
I nodded and sat. I picked up a plate but didnt eat. The kettle roared, sounding as if it were scolding us.
Later we went to fetch Sam. Margaret carried a pair of mittens and a thermos of compote, while I followed quietly, clutching my sleeve. In the lift, heading back, we ran into our neighbour, Lena. She smiled, then launched into her usual rapid chatter:
Emily, your ex is out again with that paintsplashed lady from the shop? With the pram? He never looks after the child, does he?
Margaret pressed her lips together, avoiding both my and Lenas gaze.
Lena I exhaled.
Its the truth. Everyone knows it anyway.
That evening, as Margaret pulled a blanket from the cupboard and folded the sofa bed, she paused, holding a pillow for a long moment before speaking without looking at me:
Hes gone? Wheres my son? What happened?
I stood in the kitchen doorway, back straight, hands on the kettle.
Three months ago. He said he was going to a meeting and never came back.
Who with?
I said nothing, just stared past her.
Margaret sat, placed the blanket beside her, set a bag on her knees, and produced another small pie in a plastic tin. I baked this especially for you. He told me everything was fine that you four wanted a seaside holiday this summer He
She suddenly lost her breath, as if shed climbed a long flight of stairs. I moved closer but didnt touch her, only set the kettle down.
The room was silent. Outside, an old doubledecker bus rumbled. I stood by the window, Margaret unmoving. Each of us sat in our own quiet.
A sharp click sounded as the front door slammeda habit of Peters, as if reminding everyone of his presence. He swaggered in, coat with a fur collar, a bag of oranges from Spain and a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Good afternoon, ladies! Look what Ive broughtSpanish oranges, as sweet as they were when I was a lad.
He shrugged off his coat, headed to the kitchen, where three sets of eyes met: my tired gaze, Margarets anxious stare, and Sams bright, childlike look as he rushed toward his grandfather, clinging to his trousers like a vine.
Why so silent? Peter asked, puzzled. Am I late?
Paul Margaret began, but her voice cracked. She looked at me, as if seeking permission.
Paul left, I said calmly, as if repeating it a hundred times. Three months ago.
The orange bag thudded onto the table, the newspaper followed. Peter sat, stared out the window as if searching for an answer.
You think youve caused this? he blurted suddenly. You drove him away, Emily. Pressured him, nagged him He sounded like a stranger when he leftlike a man going to the gallows!
Peter, Margaret whispered.
What? he snapped. Everythings hidden, and nowhello! You just ruined him.
I said nothing, only carried a cup to the sink, but stayed rooted in the room, torn between leaving and staying.
Margarets face paled. She rose, walked to Peter, squeezed his shoulder. He didnt react at once.
He told me everything was fine. Sams healthy, youre doing great, the holidays planned. Did you lie to me? Her voice broke. For my mother.
Peter lifted his eyes, unsure what to say.
I I thought he stammered. Hes not a child; he decides for himself. Maybe someone else
Hes been with someone for ages, I said without turning. He lives with herhis work colleague, the one he used to text in the bathroom.
Peter stood, went onto the balcony, shut the door behind him. He lit a cigarette in the dusk, a faint beacon. He never smoked in front of Sam, but now he did.
Ill call him, I said. Let him explain himself.
Margaret stayed silent, closed her eyes.
My phone screen flashed Paul. The call rang, then a weary voice: Yes?
Come over now. Dad and mum are here, Sam. We need to talk.
A long pause, then a reluctant Alright. The line clicked.
I looked out the window; someone was shovelling the driveway, the night white and still.
Twenty minutes later the lock clicked again. Paul walked in as if stepping into someone elses flat, wearing that same puffy jacket from which I once rescued chewing gum wrappers and receipts. His hair was rumpled, a faint scent of foreign cologne lingered. He stopped at the doorway.
Hello, everyone, he said hoarsely.
Sam ran forward, stopped halfway. Paul clumsily sat, pulling the boy close.
Hey, buddy. How are you? he asked.
You dont live with us, Sam replied matteroffactly, not as an accusation but as a statement.
Paul pressed him tighter, but his eyes never met Sams.
Silence hung over the kitchen. Peter emerged from the balcony, the smell of smoke trailing behind him. Margaret stared at her son as if seeing him for the first time.
You told me everything was fine, she began. You told me Paul was happy, Sam was smiling. Did you lie, Paul?
I didnt want to upset you, he said.
And her? Margaret gestured toward me. Did you not want to upset her either? Or was it easier to just vanish?
Peters voice came out low, almost a whisper: What have you done to your own mother?
Paul slumped his hands onto the table, surrendering. Im not obligated to anyonenot you, not her. I left because I couldnt keep lying. I couldnt be with you, Emily, any longer. And I couldnt stay with you either.
You left because it was easier than staying and being a man, Margaret retorted. You betrayed her, us, yourself.
I sat in the corner, silent, as if Id already known everything.
Margaret moved to Paul, touched his shoulder; her hand trembled. You were better, Paul. I remember you differently.
He closed his eyes, saying nothing.
Sam peeked into the kitchen again, this time standing in the doorway, watching.
Paul rose, took a step back, fixed his gaze on everyone. His face hardened like a mask. He turned sharply and walked out, the door closing with a quiet finality, like a period at the end of a chapter.
Morning arrived, grey light spilling over fresh snow on the windowsill. Peter read the newspaper, Sam ate porridge, Margaret shuffled dishes, and I stood by the window.
I straightened, my voice steadier: I can collect the appliances you gave usmicrowave, slow cooker, kettle. Take them if you like. I was planning renovations anyway. Changing things wont stop us. It just feels right to clear everything down to the studs.
Margaret snapped around. Have you lost your mind? Its only morning and youre already talking about property. Were not in a wrecking crew. We should be apologising, not packing up gadgets.
Sam, playing with his toy cars on the carpet, looked up. Grandma, will dad come?
Margaret inhaled deeply, sat beside him, and ruffled his hair. He will, love, but a bit later. Want a cartoon now?
He nodded.
I lingered in the doorway, neither angry nor weeping, just a dull hollowness after the roar of noise has faded. I set the kettle on, and it whistled like background music to our silence. The day ahead was ordinary, yet it felt like a fresh start.
The bathroom smelled of soap and dry air. Margaret was washing the sink slowly, as if in meditation. I entered, reaching for a towel, but froze.
Leave it, Margaret said without turning. Ill get it.
I didnt answer, took the towel and placed it nearby, pausing.
Im not angry with you, I finally said. Im just tired of having to explain that Im not solely to blame.
Margaret leaned against the sink, shaking her head. I was angry at myself. At not seeing what was happening. I thought you had everythinglove, family, happiness. I told everyone that.
I nodded. The cramped bathroom held two women, bound together by a son, a house, a past.
Sorry, Margaret whispered. For everything. I thought you couldnt hold us together, but now I see you were the one keeping us afloat, even when we didnt need it.
I sat on the edge of the tub, quietly: Ill keep holding myself. No one else.
Sams voice floated from the kitchen: Mum, where are the shark socks? A crash sounded.
And him, I added, Ill look after him a little longer.
We smiled, not bewildered but in a weary, genuine way.
Later, we embraced at the doorway for a long while. Peter stood nearby, shifting from foot to foot.
I was wrong too, he muttered. Men arent taught to speak, never as kids, never later.
Learn to talk, I replied. While theres someone to listen.
He nodded.
Sam darted off, put his shoes onoddly the wrong pairand raced up the stairs.
Well call you, Margaret said. Or youll call us. Were family now, wherever we end up.
I nodded, hugged her tight.
The flat was almost empty: modest furniture, boxes against the wall, a single mug on the windowsill. I placed a spoon in a mug, poured boiling water, opened the window and felt a fresh, crisp breeze.
Sam lay on the floor, drawing a sky with a green marker.
Why not blue? I asked.
Because spring will be green, he replied. Spring is green.
I watched his hand sweep the paper, then adjusted his collar. Shall we get some bread later?
Yes! And some orangesjust with the leaves on them!
I smiled.
Outside, a tram clanged past, laughter drifted up from the street, light fell across the floor. In that light lived everythingpain, forgiveness, and the promise of a new beginning.
I sat beside Sam, simply, for the first time without fear.
