Chapter Forty Six
Four for Joy
Chris contacted the police; his lawyer is arguing the case for reckless driving–there has been no more mention of the affair. I know Chris wants to protect Gee because, despite what has gone before, he loves her. As far as I’m concerned, I feel no need to get involved or seek justice for Harrison because what’s done is done. We don’t need a trial to prosecute the guilty ones–my brother-in-law and Gee are serving their sentence on the outside.
Our mother is sharing the childcare of Ben with the other grandparents while Gee is staying at a private clinic in Berkshire, Wiltshire, to work through her “problems.” I don’t ask.
The truth is, I often think about Gee. We are different. We are not so different–whenever you are vulnerable and lonely, you can make the wrong choices. It happens.
Yet, I pulled back from making my wrong choice and she could have done the same: McCarthy wasn’t mine to take, he never was. His life is somewhere else, cracking down on crime and murder. I’ll remember him as chivalrous, honest, handsome. He still exists and this comforts me. I don’t need to make him mine, stake claim to him; it’s just good to know he’s out there in the world.
“I want to do something,” my mother said on the phone a few months later. Out of the blue.
It was strange to hear my mother open a conversation without asking how I was. This was a good thing–I didn’t feel such the victim.
She continued. “Your father worked so hard. We never
did
anything–there was never time to travel.”
“You’re taking a
gap year
?” I joked.
There came the hesitation. “You know, I just might.”
Gracious, I didn’t see this coming. Even my own mother was full of surprises.
“Your father earned money–he didn’t spend it.
We
didn’t spend it. He didn’t even want to buy a new car, heavens.”
We both laughed, thinking about how we used to drive around town in old bangers–scraped, scratched vehicles.
“He just wasn’t interested in shopping.”
“I guess I didn’t inherit that gene.”
“So–well, I have all this money. I want to
do
something.”
When she told me how much she was talking about, I swear I almost dropped the phone. “He really wasn’t interested in shopping, was he?”
“Savings and life insurance adds up.”
“You’re telling me.”
“I’ve done the numbers and I’m not…I won’t be
frittering
. Your money and Gee’s…”
I stopped her short. “
Mum
–no need. Do it. Go…”
“Really?” She sounded apprehensive.
“What do you have in mind?”
“That’s it–I don’t know. I just know it’s time for
me
to do something.
The phone call was a breakthrough: a vote of confidence in me. If my own mother could embark on an adventure on the other side of the world, she must have known I was going to make it. It was good to know that she wasn’t living her life through Gee and me–perhaps she finally realised being there for us all the time couldn’t stop us from making mistakes. And, Chris’s parents were desperate to look after Ben until Gee and Chris sorted out custody arrangements. This was her time now.
I spoke to Ralph who arranged everything. Now she’s off to Ghana to work on an HIV-AIDS programme despite having her husband’s thousands to fall back on.
“Watch out, he’s stupidly handsome,” I warned, waving her off at the airport.
“Never date a doctor,” she whispered, hugging me hard. “I wrote the rule book.”
Three months on and life had turned reassuringly normal. We even convinced Cece that the curse was broken–we’d woken up from a 100-year sleep and realised the world hadn’t moved on that much without us.
We were at Ribbons. It was a Monday night and Christmas was just around the corner. I wanted to tell Cece, Kate and Suzanne my mother’s news.
Cece, Suzanne and Kate soaked up the news and thoroughly approved of my globe-crossing mother.
“So brave,” said Suzanne, eyes popping.
“Good for her,” announced Cece from behind the bar.
“Are you okay with this?” asked Kate.
I smiled and nodded. “Never better.”
Moving on means change–and Cece had her own announcement. She was going to be spending more time in London.
Three days later we were at the Art Bar and morning coffee was threatening to turn into a liquid lunch.
“
Technically
, we’re not four widows anymore,” declared Cece, almost disappointed. “Suzanne’s a divorcee. Or soon will be. Kate’s got her Fraser Davies love affair going on.”
Kate batted this suggestion away with a hand. “Hell, we’ll
always
be four widows–we can dress it up and down however we like but we are who we are. Survivors.”
“True. What could
possibly
follow four widows?” said Suzanne with an impish grin. “Four bridesmaids?”
“Four barmaids,” I chirped, ordering a bottle of wine.
“Four cougars?” said Kate, waving a hand in Cece’s direction.
Cece snorted. “Ha–you wish.”
We seized the moment to tease Cece about her younger lover until she exhaled, theatrical, fine tuning the accent. “Darlins, I’m enjoying him while he lasts.”
“So, London,” I said.
Cece pouted. “I don’t like to think I’ll be there and y’all be
here
.”
“We have planned our first visit,” I said, surprising her.
She brightened. “You have?”
Suzanne and Kate grinned, giving me the nod.
I fluttered the tickets under her nose; geisha’s fan. “Jim has invited us to his first London gig.”
Cece pounced. “Backstage passes?”
“VIP privileges.”
“What’s going on with you and Jim?” she asked too quickly.
“Nothing,” I shrugged. “I’m still wearing those deep-sea apparatus iron boots. He’s still waiting for me to catch up. Or maybe not now he’s moving in rock-stud circles.”
Cece let me off the hook and whooped. We all started talking at once; discussing travels plans, childcare and activities for a mini break in London. This was how I was supposed to return to a place muddied with memories; a whirlwind weekend with three good friends.
I looked around the table and it was a memorable moment; a chattery muddle of voices making plans for the near future–not entrenched in what had gone before. I would hold on to it; take it with me wherever I moved on to from here. This is progress.
“FOUR GROUPIES,” hollered Cece, as inspiration suddenly struck, raising her glass. And someone laughed. We all did.
Epilogue
London, present day
The tea tastes different–sharp undertones from hard water. It makes me miss Edinburgh, something I thought I’d never say.
The woman, Tom Roberts’s wife, seems revived, more colour to her, although this could be to do with the natural light, pinker as the sun slips behind the sofa in the living room. Four hours have passed.
She hasn’t missed a word. Listening intently, quiet and still, as I confess the most intimate details of my life. Baring your soul, I understand the expression now; surgical in its execution.
“Have you spoken to your sister?” she asks.
The shift in conversation, the quietness to the question, blindsides me.
She doesn’t repeat herself but there is a definite air of expectation as she waits for me to answer.
Eventually I speak. “My mother talks to her.”
I object to the silence that follows.
“So,” I say, changing the subject. “Are you going to visit your husband? I can go with you. For the first time.”
I don’t know why I say this. I’ve no intention of returning.
She looks at me levelly. “I hadn’t planned to.”
“You can visit up to three times a week–one hour each visit.” I am persistent.
“Lori, stop.”
“I can’t forgive her,” I whisper. “I
won’t
.”
She nods without a reprimand.
I am a hypocrite, yes, but our situations are different. Her husband acted out of selfless familial love. My husband, my sister, well, that’s another story. Put whatever spin on it you like: mid-life crisis meets postnatal depression and the molecular fusion of emotions, I’m done with excuses. Some lines are not to be crossed.
“Have you spoken to Tom… since,” she swallows, “since…” She can’t bring herself to say the words.
“I’ve been to see him, yes.”
“And?”
“He’s… fine.” The only word that will do.
“I didn’t think it would come to this. He is a good man.”
This woman is holding it together remarkably well. Her daughter gone, her husband jailed for 21 months; the shock outcome of a controversial assisted-suicide case.
I struggle for words. “Perhaps the appeal judges will overturn the custodial sentence?”
She shakes her head. “Thank you for telling me the truth but it is meant to be. I can understand
why
he did it, but he should never have done it. It…it…” She can’t finish.
I nod, knowing there is nothing more to say. It’s time for me to leave.
She senses movement in me. “You would come with me?”
There is a quickness to the question and I wonder if I’ve heard right.
I stare, astonished at the unexpected turnaround.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “This week or next, then I must return to Edinburgh.”
The woman nods, smiles; the transformation is remarkable–such a switch. There is helium lightness to her; so much so, I feel an urge to secure her to the sofa before I lose her to the clouds. In this moment, I think about my own mother about to embark on her first-ever adventure on the other side of the world.
As Rebecca Roberts and I retreat into our own private silence, my thoughts turn to my sister. Maybe, in time, I will forgive her.
You can’t undo love like a shoelace
. I smile. It
is
hard to undo love. It will always be there, somewhere–perhaps not so near the surface as it once was, but it’s always there.
What’s more, this woman sitting opposite gives me hope. She isn’t just Tom Roberts’s wife or Vivienne Roberts’s mother, she is Rebecca Roberts, a good woman who can teach me a thing or two about second chances.
“I liked hearing about your friends,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “I hope it works out for them– you too. You’ve been through so much.”
“Oh, we’re all in a much better place, even me. Although, I’m still not over Harrison,” I confess with an embarrassed smile. “I hate him,
obviously
, but I’d do anything to have him back. Foolish, I know.”
“I don’t think so.” She pauses, giving it some thought. “Foolish only if we have regrets.”
It’s true, despite the heartbreak, I can’t bring myself to unwish Harrison–erase him. Tempting but I can’t do it. You don’t let go of old ghosts. You just learn to live with them.
“No, I don’t have regrets,” I say, feeling much more assured than I have in a long time. “I just have a lot of questions–”
Rebecca Roberts walks me to the door and we arrange a visiting time. I will meet her at the end of the week.
“It’s good of you to do this,” she says, touching my arm, which shows how far we’ve come in a short space of time.
“I
want
to.”
She stands at the open door and watches me walk down the street. I turn and wave a few times; and whenever I look back she’s there, raising her hand when I do.
It could be an unbearably sad moment, I think. Or it could be whatever I want it to be–closure, progress or walking to the underground station with no other purpose than to catch a train. I’ve been gone for so long, I’ve forgotten the vibrant pace of people in London rushing to be somewhere.
Meanwhile, some people are already somewhere. I’m definitely late and Jim is underneath the OXO Tower on the South Bank. I don’t know what will happen when I get there or even if he’s bothered to wait around–but I’ve never been more desperate to find out.
I pick up speed, dashing over cracks on the pavement with a smile on my face, moving faster than the clouds carried on the jet stream directly overhead. I feel my thoughts unravel and come loose in the wind as I overtake everyone, no longer pedestrian but moving forward with the exhilaration and swiftness of interstellar travel, covering vast distance in a short space of time.
About the Author
Helen MacArthur began writing and copy editing for magazine and newspaper publishers DC Thomson on a journalist-training programme when she was 21 years old. She then moved to Sydney to work on magazines
Family Circle
and
NW
(
New Weekly
), and also B2B titles for publishing house Stroudgate. On her return to the UK, she worked on the
Sunday Mail
newspaper in Glasgow for one year before moving to London to join
Woman&Home
. Since going freelance, Helen MacArthur has continued to work on national titles such as
Ideal Home
;
InStyle
;
Now
;
Woman
;
Practical Parenting
;
Blush
;
Sunday Mirror
;
In The Know
;
Sky Magazine
(celebrity and movie news);
Daily Mail
; and almost three years on
SHE
writing news pages, homes and interior trends and foodie stuff. She lives in Surrey with her husband, young daughter and two guinea pigs, Crystal and Sunny.