13October
The week has been a strange blur. My parentsinlaw arrived for a threeday visit, but their son, Paul, hasnt lived here for ages. The front door was opened slowly by Emma, our housekeeper, who stood there with a set of keys as if the ringbell were a stranger. Her coat was drenched, an umbrella dripped, and the grocery bag with milk had a torn handle. Evening was winding down, the hallway already smelling of someones dinner and a cats musky perfume.
At the threshold stood Margaret Griffin, my motherinlaw, wrapped in a knitted scarf, polished patent shoes, a rolling suitcase, and a bag steaming with hot tea. Her voice sounded like an actress from an old blackandwhite filmbright, with an undercurrent of drama.
Good heavens, Im here for three days with a cherry piePaul loved it, she announced, already in the hallway while Emma exhaled a sigh of relief. Why didnt you tell me youd changed the building code? I had to drive out, turn the car around, and beg the porter for the new entry number.
Emma stayed silent, nodding as if someone else were standing behind her shoulder, though the flat was eerily quietuncomfortably quiet.
Wheres Paul? Margaret asked, looking around. One coat hook was empty; there was no male jacket, no boots, no hint of his scent, no chaos he usually left behind. Hell be back later, yes? Well all sit down for dinner; Ive brought a big pot of pilau. Peter, Pauls father, will drop by after a quick errand. And little Lucyshe should be in the nursery by now.
Emma forced a brief smile, as if a string had been tugged. His meeting ran over, she replied.
Ah, work, work, Margaret murmured, her eyes darting too fast. She noted the lone cup on the shelf, a halfused bottle of shampoo in the bathroom, childrens drawings tacked to the fridge, and the absence of Pauls photographs.
Margaret set the cherry pie on the table, opened the pilau container with care, and took Emmas hand. Dont worry, love. Breathe out. Well eat, and when Peter arrives youll have a good laugh. Hes a decent chap.
Emma nodded, sat down, lifted a plate but didnt eat. The kettle whistled loudly, sounding almost like a complaint.
A short while later we went to fetch Lucy. Margaret carried mittens and a thermos of spiced fruit punch, while Emma trailed behind, clutching her sleeve. In the lift we bumped into our neighbour, Lena, who burst into her habitual, rapidfire gossip:
Emma, isnt your ex back with that painted lady from the boutique? With a pram? He never looks after the child, does he?
Margaret pressed her lips together, refusing to look at either of us.
Lena, Emma breathed, Im just being honest. Everyone knows already.
That evening, as Margaret pulled a blanket from the wardrobe and folded the couch cushions, she paused, holding a pillow for a long moment before speaking, Hes gone? Wheres my son? What happened?
Emma stood in the kitchen doorway, spine straight, hands on the kettle. Three months ago he said he was going to a meeting and never came back.
Where did he go? Margaret asked, voice trembling.
Emma said nothing, only glanced past her.
Margaret sat, placed the blanket beside her, set a small plasticmoulded cake on the table and whispered, I baked it just for you. He used to say everything was fine that wed all be off to the seaside this summer Her breath hitched, as if shed climbed a long flight of stairs. Emma approached, set a teapot beside her, but didnt touch her.
The room was silent. Outside a classic red doubledeck bus rumbled down the street. Emma lingered at the window, Margaret remained seated, each lost in her own quiet.
The front door slammed with its usual forcePeter always closed it hard, as if to remind the house of his presence. He marched in cheerfully, wearing a coat with a fur collar, a bag of clementines, and a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Hello, ladies! Look what Ive broughtclementines, sweet as my childhood, he boomed, shedding his coat and heading to the kitchen. The silence was broken only by three looks: Emmas weary, Margarets anxious, and Lucys delighted as she sprinted to him, clinging to his trousers like a vine.
Why the hush? Peter asked, baffled. Did I come at a bad time?
Paul Margaret started, but her voice cracked. She glanced at Emma, as if seeking permission.
Paul left, Emma said calmly, as if shed rehearsed it a hundred times. Three months ago.
The clementine bag thumped onto the table, the newspaper followed. Peter sat, stared out the window, searching for some answer.
You three have made a mess of this, he finally shouted. You drove him away, Emma. You nagged, you proddedhe left like a condemned man!
Margaret whispered, Peter
What, Peter? he snapped. Everythings been hidden, and now we hello! You just ruined everything, he gestured wildly.
Emma said nothing, only carried a cup to the sink, then stood there, unsure whether to leave or stay.
Margarets face went pale. She rose, walked over, and squeezed Peters shoulder; he didnt react immediately. He told me everything was fine. Lucy is healthy, youre doing great, were planning a holiday. Did he lie to us? Her voice broke. To me. To my mother.
Peter looked up, at a loss for words.
I thought I thought hed decide for himself. Maybe someone else was? he stammered.
Hes been with someone else for ages, Emma said without turning. He lives with her now. The one from work he used to text in the bathroom.
Peter rose, drifted to the balcony, lit a cigarette in the dusksomething he rarely did in front of the grandkids. He inhaled, the glow a tiny beacon.
Ill call him, Emma announced. Hell have to explain himself.
There was a long pause, then the phone screen lit up with the name Paul. The call rang, a tired voice answered, Yes?
Come home. Now. The parents are here, Lucys here. We need to talk, Emma said.
Silence stretched, then a reluctant Alright came back, followed by the click of the line.
Emma gazed out the window at the snowy street, the night white and still.
Twenty minutes later the lock clicked, and Paul walked in as if hed just stepped into someone elses flat. He wore the same puffer jacket from which Emma once rescued a packet of chewing gum and receipts. His hair was a little rumpled, a faint scent of unfamiliar cologne lingered. He stopped at the doorway, his voice flat, Hello, everyone.
Lucy ran forward, halted a step shy of him. Paul knelt, pulling her close. Hey, buddy. How are you? he asked, his eyes never meeting hers.
You dont live with us, Lucy said matteroffactly.
Paul pressed her tighter but kept his gaze down.
The kitchen fell silent. Peter emerged from the balcony, the smell of smoke trailing him. Margaret looked at her son as if seeing him for the first time. You told me everything was fine, she began. You told me you loved Lucy, that you were happy. Did you lie, Paul?
I didnt want to hurt you, he replied.
And her? Margaret asked, nodding toward Emma. Did you not want to hurt her? Or was it easier to just disappear?
Peters voice came low, Why did you set your own mother up?
Paul sank into a chair, hands on the table as if surrendering. Im not bound to anyone. I left because I couldnt keep lying. I couldnt stay with Emma, and I couldnt stay with you either.
You left because it was weaker to stay and keep pretending to be a man, Margaret shot back. You betrayed her, us, yourself.
Emma sat in the corner, quiet, as if shed already known everything.
Margaret reached out, her hand trembling as it rested on Pauls shoulder. You were better, Paul. I remember you differently.
He closed his eyes, saying nothing.
Lucy peeked into the kitchen again, this time standing still in the doorway, watching.
Paul rose, took a step back, his face hardening like a mask. He turned sharply and left, the door closing with a decisive clicka full stop to the chapter.
Morning arrived with a drab light and fresh snow on the sill. Peter read the paper, Lucy ate porridge, Margaret moved dishes around, and Emma stood by the window.
I straightened, voice steadier than before. I can collect the appliances you leftmicrowave, slow cooker, kettle. Take them if you wish. I was planning renovations anyway; a fresh start wont be hindered by old things.
Margaret snapped, Youve gone mad? Its only morning and youre already talking about possessions. We have nothing to split. Were not vultures. We should apologise, not hoard the metal.
Lucy, playing with her toy cars on the carpet, asked, Grandma, will Daddy come?
Margaret inhaled deeply, leaned down, and patted Lucys head. He will, love, but a little later. Want a cartoon now?
Lucy nodded.
Emma lingered in the doorway, neither tears nor anger, just a hollow quiet, like the moment after a storm when the world is still. She set the kettle on; it hissed, a background score to our silence. The day stretched aheadordinary, new, but feeling like a clean page.
The bathroom filled with the scent of soap and dry air. Margaret was washing the basin slowly, as if in meditation. Emma entered, reached for a towel, paused.
Leave it, Margaret said without turning. Ill get it myself.
Emma didnt answer, took a towel and placed it nearby, then stood.
I wasnt angry at you, Margaret finally said. I was angry at myselffor not seeing, for not wanting to look. I thought you had everythinglove, family, happiness. I told everyone that.
Emma nodded. The two women stood in the cramped bathroom, bound by a son, a house, a past.
Im sorry, Margaret whispered. I thought you couldnt keep us together. Now I see youve been holding us all up, even when we didnt need it.
Emma perched on the edge of the tub, quietly, Ill hold onto myself. No one else.
From the kitchen came Lucys voice, Mum, where are the shark socks? and a crash followed.
And him, Emma added, Ill look after him a little longer.
They both smiled, not bewildered but with a weary, genuine kind of femininity.
Later, at the door, they embraced for a long while. Peter stood nearby, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
I was wrong too, he muttered. Men arent taught to speak, not as kids, not later.
Learn to speak, Emma said. While theres someone to listen.
He nodded.
Lucy bolted up, shuffled into the wrong shoes, and raced up the stairs.
Well call you, Margaret said. Or you call us. Were family now, wherever we end up.
Emma nodded, hugged her.
The flat was almost emptysimple furniture, boxes against the wall, a single mug on the windowsill. Emma placed a spoon in the mug, poured boiling water, opened the window, and a crisp breeze slipped in, fresh and unfamiliar.
Lucy lay on the floor, drawing a sky with a green marker.
Why not blue? she asked.
Because spring will be green, he answered. And spring is green.
Emma watched his hand sweep the paper, then adjusted his collar. Shall we get some bread later?
Yes! And some clementines, but with the leaves! he exclaimed.
She smiled.
Outside a tram groaned by, laughter drifted up from the street below, light fell across the floor. In that light there was pain, forgiveness, and a beginning.
I sat beside Emma, simply. No fear, for the first time.
Lesson:When the walls of a home crumble, its the people inside who decide whether to rebuild or remain scattered. Ive learned that holding onto myself is the only steadfast foundation I can offer.
