Page 40 of The Man Who Didn't Call
From behind us there was a quiet eruption of laughter. Tommy cringed deeply into himself; I turned round to see a girl, maybe a couple of years older than me, laughing quite openly. ‘Sorry,’ she said, in a London accent. ‘But I couldn’t help overhearing. You, mate’ – she pointed at me, still laughing – ‘you need to work on your bedside manner.’
Tommy agreed.
So did I.
An hour at a rickety table eating tacos led to a lifelong friendship. The girl, Jo, was working as a mobile beauty therapist and living in a crummy apartment share nearby. Over the next few months, before she ran out of money and was forced to go back to England, she bullied us back to a semblance of happiness and functionality with which we could move forward. She made us talk – something we were failing at quite miserably – and she forced us relentlessly out to parties, to the beach, to free concerts. She’s as spiky as a porcupine, Jo Monk, but she’s a woman of infinite kindness and courage. I miss her terribly when I’m not in England.
September came and I had to go back to England to finish my A levels. Only I couldn’t go. Whenever I phoned my parents and they talked about my return, I’d start crying. Mum would fallsilent and eventually Dad would have to pick up the extension outside the downstairs loo and crack jokes. Mum did her best to seem resilient – cheerful, even – but it slipped out one day, as if she had turned her back on her voice just for a moment: ‘I miss you so much it hurts,’ she whispered. ‘I want my family back.’ Self-loathing blocked my throat and I couldn’t even manage a reply.
In the end they agreed I should postpone my A levels for a year to stay a while longer. They came to visit me, and although it was a relief to see them, it was acutely painful that Hannah wasn’t there. They kept wanting to talk about her, which I found almost unendurable. I was relieved when they left.
Then I met Reuben, and got a job, and decided it was time to become someone I could respect. I’ll tell you about that next time.
Sarah
P.S. I’m going home to see my parents tomorrow. Granddad is staying with them for a bit. If you’re in Gloucestershire and you’re ready to talk, call me.
Chapter Twenty
‘Sarah!’ Dad, who looked exhausted, hugged me tightly. ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘Thank God you’re here. Our still, small voice of calm.’
He offered me some wine, which I refused. After my meeting on the South Bank yesterday with Kaia and Reuben, and the text message warning me off Eddie, I’d gone to Jo’s and drunk far too much. My body had told me this morning that it would not tolerate an alcoholic drink for some time.
‘Oh, Sarah.’ Mum hugged me. ‘I feel awful about the last few weeks. I really am so sorry.’ My mother spent a lot of time apologizing for her failings, in spite of having done nothing but love and look after me from the day I was born.
‘Stop saying that. I had a lovely time. You saw me in Leicester. Was I not happy?’
‘Happy enough, I suppose.’
I still wasn’t sure why I hadn’t told them about Eddie. Perhaps because I was supposed to be home for the anniversary of the accident, not having sex with a handsome stranger. Or perhaps because, by the time I had arrived in Leicester, I was beginning to worry.
Or perhaps, I thought now, handing some flowers to Mum, it was because a part of me already knew it wouldn’t work out. The same part of me that had stood facing Reubenon our wedding day and thought,He’ll be taken away from me eventually. Just like Hannah.
Mum put my flowers in one vase and then swapped it for a different one. And then a different one still. ‘Mind your own business,’ she said, when she caught me watching her. ‘I’m a retiree now, Sarah. I’ve earned the right to opinions on flower arranging.’
I smiled, quietly relieved. Last time I’d seen Mum, she had seemed diminished somehow, squashed, like a carton flattened for recycling. Which didn’t feel at all right, because, save for the odd lapse, she had seemed so splendidly robust in the years following the accident. In fact, her fortitude was the only thing that assuaged my guilt at having just cleared off and left them in all that pain and chaos.
Today she – and Dad, for that matter – were how I’d always held them in my mind’s eye: kind, solid, assured.And mildly alcoholic, I reminded myself, as Mum poured herself some wine, even though we were soon to leave for the pub.Don’t put them on a pedestal. They’ve just dealt with things in a different way.
I glanced up at the ceiling and lowered my voice. ‘How’s it been? How is he?’
‘He’s a rotten old bastard,’ Mum said squarely. ‘And I’m allowed to say that because he’s my father and I love him and I know what a rough time he’s had. But there’s no denying it – he’s a rotten old bastard.’
‘He is,’ Dad admitted. ‘We’ve been keeping tally of the number of complaints he’s made today. So far we’re at thirty-three, and it’s only a quarter to one. Why aren’t you drinking?’
‘I’ve a hangover.’
Mum slumped. ‘Oh, I feel terrible when I’m mean about him,’ she said. ‘He’s impossible to be with, Sarah, drives us mad. But underneath it all I feel very bad for him. He’s beenon his own so long now. His quality of life is awful, cooped up in that house on his own, nobody to talk to.’ My grandmother, a woman so round she had seemed almost spherical in the photographs, had died of a heart attack when she was forty-four. I had never met her.
‘Well, at least he’s got you two. I’m sure he appreciates the company, even if it might seem otherwise.’
‘He behaves as if he’s been kidnapped by terrorists,’ Mum sighed. ‘He actually said this morning, when I gave him his pills, “I can’t believe you dragged me down to this godforsaken place.” I was very close to putting an end to his suffering.’
Dad laughed. ‘You’re an angel with him,’ he said, and gave her a tender kiss. I looked away, mildly disgusted, very touched and, actually, a little bit jealous. They were still so happy together, my parents. Dad had taken Mum out every day until she’d agreed to marry him; he’d telephoned her, written to her, sent her gifts. He’d taken her to concerts and let her sit at the sound desk with him. He had never left her hanging. He had never not called.
I asked if I should go up and say hello before we left for lunch at the pub.
‘Luckily for you, he’s asleep,’ Mum said. ‘But he’ll definitely want to see you.’
