The Optician's Wife (18 page)

Stretching out on the sofa I realised I’d lost a bit of weight as a result of the op. It seemed that every cloud did have a silver lining. At least something good had come of the last week. I was still quite heavy but any extra baby weight I’d put on had been quickly lost.

As I toyed with the idea of going on a diet I heard the lounge door creak open and looked over to see Larry’s face peering round the corner.

‘Peace offering?’ He was standing in the nude waving his white boxer shorts like a flag before throwing them at me. With my laugh any resentment I’d felt melted away.

‘Come in here and sit down, you silly bugger.’ I pulled my feet up and made room for him on the couch, removed his pants from my head and dropped them on the floor.

‘I’ve been a miserable git haven’t I?’ He put his hand on my cold knee.

‘Yes, you have.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s OK. This last week has been tough,’ I rested my hand on top of his, ‘but it’s over now.’

‘I’m just really angry.’ He spoke through gritted teeth.

‘I know you are. But you shouldn’t take it out on me. It’s not fair.’

‘I need to take it out on someone.’ His large naked frame was lit by gentle moonlight.

‘Then do something about it. Be the Larry I married. Don’t sit here and wallow.’

He sat looking at the floor silently for a while and thought about what I’d said.

‘You’re right,’ he turned to me, ‘something needs to be done.’

The kids had spent their first night back at home. It was so odd being in the house while officers dug in our garden and the press gathered at the end of the road. We were prisoners in our own house.

Sue-Ann asked a few questions about her father but none of them pushed it. They knew I didn’t want to talk about it and that the subject should be avoided. What they actually thought was going on I didn’t know. I was still in the dark. Information came through slowly from the police and Larry’s solicitor was useless at keeping me up to date with any developments.

I told the kids they needn’t go to school. It wasn’t fair on them to have to face questions and listen to the wicked things other children were saying. Apart from wanting to protect them I also hated the idea of being alone. Since they’d grown up and become able to do things for themselves I found I enjoyed being around them more.

Sue-Ann had grown into a typical teenager. She looked a lot like the feminine version of her father with her dark curly hair and brown eyes. People told me she was pretty. Larry favoured her over the others even though she spent most of her spare time out and about with her friends. She spent so little time at home that he got her a mobile – for emergencies only. They were close in a way I couldn’t understand.

Robbie was either found playing computer games or out somewhere kicking a ball. He was always in trouble at school for fighting with other kids. He had his father’s temper but my complexion and colouring. It was as if Larry and I had produced little versions of us as the opposite sex.

Owen, who was still very much the baby of the family, was different from the others. He didn’t look like either Larry or me. Owen was good as gold and clever with it. It was a mystery where his brains came from. Over the years it got easier and easier to think of him as Larry’s son. I never knew otherwise for certain. He was never any trouble. The others looked out for him, we made sure of that. Owen was soft and an easy target for other kids. Sue-Ann and Robbie protected him from the bullies. It made me proud of them in a way I never imagined I would be.

The phone rang again for the tenth time that morning. The press just wouldn’t leave us alone. I told the kids not to answer and just keep ignoring it. In the end I unplugged it. Every time it rang it acted as a reminder of the situation we were in.

It had been a while since I thought about dad and although he had been a useless father and a worse granddad I wished he were around. I could have done with some support.

Dad passed away in 1994 after battling with liver cancer. The booze had the last laugh. Despite being told by the hospital that if he gave up the drink he would have longer to live, he carried on not caring. He’d been slowing killing himself ever since mum died. He didn’t want to live any more. None of us tried to stop him drinking himself to death. It was too late and our objections would have only fallen on deaf ears.

In the end, even Dawn had given up on him. She used to try. For so long she carried on going over there and cooking him meals, tidying up his place and although she was his favourite not even her disapproval made a difference to him. He was too far gone by then.

When she disappeared that year in June it marked the final nail in his coffin. He just gave up living and let the cancer win. He went into hospital in July. Before his death, I did my best to be a loyal and loving daughter. I visited him every day and spent time by his bedside. He didn’t talk much so I took books in and read to him. I’ll never know if he listened or appreciated it but I hoped my company meant something to him. He died a few weeks later in August.

His funeral was a tragic affair. He’d lost touch with all his friends over the years and the few that had remained kept their distance in the end. His drinking was too much for people.

Larry and I paid for the service and arranged everything. The funeral was held at Cambridge City Crematorium, outside the town off Huntingdon Road. It was a grey day.

Despite being situated off a large road, the site was quite peaceful and set in gardens and woodland. We picked the smaller of the two chapels for the brief secular ceremony. The room was painfully empty during the service. It could seat up to fifty-five mourners, but our entire congregation failed to fill half the room.

At the end of the service we all gathered outside. Aunt Mary came over, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, and thanked me for taking care of the funeral. He would have been proud of me, she said. But we both knew that was a lie. I gave her a hug and I asked her to come and visit me and the children soon.

After leaving the chapel I wandered around the grounds on my own for a while, looking at the ornamental shrubs, roses and trees that landscaped the gardens. Every now and then I spotted a bench dedicated to the memory of someone passed. Still walking alone, lost in my thoughts, I passed two large granite books of remembrance that were placed either side of the entrance to the woodland. I couldn’t get the image of his coffin out of my mind. It had appeared strangely small. For all of my life I had thought of my dad as a big man. In death, that illusion was shattered.

After leaving the crematorium we drove his ashes back to Harlow and scattered them on Mum’s grave in the churchyard. It seemed like the right thing to do. It was sad, though. I hadn’t visited Mum’s resting place for years. It was all overgrown and shabby. Larry helped me tidy it up before emptying the contents of the urn. Then it really stuck me. All my family had gone, and I was the last one left.

Leaving the churchyard, I should have felt sad. I suppose I did, a bit, but I had Larry by my side. He was the only family I needed. Him and the kids.

Now I had to face the prospect of living life without him. It seemed loss, one way or another, had always blighted my life. I couldn’t stand the idea of living without Larry – but that was what I was facing.

From the lounge I heard the television blasting and went up to investigate. Sue-Ann was sat on the couch with her legs tucked up and her shoes on the upholstery watching the news. I batted her feet off and scowled at her before I realised what was being reported.

A cocky looking ginger bitch with a nasal voice was speaking into the camera. She stood under an umbrella trying to hide from the rain. In the background I could see our street.

‘…Mr Larry Miller of Alpha Terrace was charged with the murder of Mark McCarthy, a local man who had been missing since 1986. A neighbour of Mr Miller’s discovered human remains in their garden and contacted the police last week. The investigation is still on-going…’

I picked up the remote control that was lying on the coffee table and hurled it across the room towards the TV.

‘Vultures! Bloody vultures.’ I stood up, not knowing where to focus my fury.

‘Calm down, Mum.’ Sue-Ann sat huddled against the arm of the couch.

‘Don’t ever tell me what to do.’ I swung around and without thinking slapped her hard across the face. Her dark brown eyes filled with fear and hurt as her left cheek flooded with colour. She remained silent, too shocked to speak. The palm of my right hand was stinging and I looked down at it and noticed I was shaking. When I looked back at her I saw the tears falling noiselessly down her face.

‘Mum?’ I turned to see Robbie standing in the doorway looking at me. He had witnessed the whole thing.

‘Get out!’ I screamed at them both. ‘Get out of my fucking sight!’ Sue-Ann tripped over her long legs trying to escape the room before I struck out again. ‘Get out!’ I picked up a cushion and threw it at the door just as it was closing behind them.

Sitting down on the sofa, still shaking all over, I tried to calm myself down. They say that losing your temper never helps a situation, but it sure made me feel better, if only for a moment.

I listened to the sound of the kids’ footsteps creeping up the stairs and collapsed into a fit of hysterical tears. By the time the tidal wave of emotion had subsided the children appeared in the doorway holding their bags.

‘We are going to stay with Aunt Mary.’ Robbie stepped forward to announce their departure.

‘You can’t!’ but my pleading was too late.

‘Yes we can. We don’t want to be here any more. We don’t want to stay here with you.’

I looked to Sue-Ann, who stood behind her younger brother clutching her rucksack. Her face was bright pink where I’d hit her.

‘I’m sorry. I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment. It’s not been easy.’

‘Save it mum.’ Sue-Ann finally spoke. ‘We are leaving.’

As both my children headed towards the front door I scrambled out of my seat.

‘You can’t. How will this look for your father?’

‘That’s all you ever think about.’ She was quivering with adrenaline. ‘You never put us first. Never.’ Her eyes were brimming with tears again.

‘You are both such a disappointment. What did I do to deserve this?’ Every word I spoke was soaked in bitterness.

‘Fuck you,’ Sue-Ann had her hand on the door knob, ‘and fuck him, too.’

I felt the rage rise inside me again and Robbie placed himself between us.

‘Leave it, Mum,’ he warned. ‘Let us go. Don’t make this worse.’

‘Where’s Owen?’ I suddenly dawned on me that he wasn’t with them and I felt a surge of panic.

‘We left him upstairs doing homework.’ Robbie nodded towards the first floor and I felt my shoulders relax. At least they weren’t taking him.

‘Well, go on then. What are you waiting for? You know where the door is.’ I turned my back on them and started to walk towards the kitchen. The last thing I heard was the door shut loudly as my two eldest children walked out of my life.

That evening when the rain had sent most of the journalist running for cover I ducked out of the house and went to the shop to buy some supplies. I told Owen that his brother and sister had gone to stay with friends for the night and that he had to stay put in the house. He was under strict instructions not to answer the door.

I walked through the cold evening rain getting soaked, despite my so-called waterproof jacket. Shaking myself off outside the door I went in, trying to hide my face from the man behind the till in the Esso garage and the only other customer in there. If felt as if the whole world was against me but they didn’t look at me twice, for which I was extremely grateful. My trainers were wet and squelched as I made my way down the narrow aisle in search of something to eat. I went straight to the frozen section and picked up a couple of pizzas. Owen liked pizza and it was easy. I never was much of a cook.

The only other item on my list was cider. I wasn’t a big drinker but it had been a very difficult day and I didn’t think there was much chance I’d sleep. Cider was to be my short cut to the Land of Nod.

As I approached the till I saw the newspaper stand on my left hand side. Curious to know what the local press, was reporting, I picked up a copy of the
Cambridge Evening News
and put it down on the counter. Pulling a damp ten-pound note out of my pocket I paid for the goods and left the shop.

On my walk home the newspaper grew heavy as it absorbed the rain. I tried not to think about the ink running down the pages. It only reminded me of Sue-Ann’s face after I hit her. It had been a rubbish day but I told myself that tomorrow would be better. It certainly couldn’t get any worse.

I was standing in the kitchen warming some milk for Owen when the news came on the radio. Stirring the formula into the warm water I listened to the local headlines. There had been a crash on the A14 and the road was partially closed heading east. Nothing new there. It was lethal. People were always having accidents on that road.

As the smell from the milk drifted up with the steam I turned my face away. I hated the sickly sweet odour of it. It reminded me of the nasty rice pudding that used to be served at the school canteen.

Owen was gurgling in his pram by the back door, eagerly anticipating his next meal, as I tested the temperature of the milk by placing a few drops on my wrist. Still too warm. He would have to wait for five minutes.

‘…In other news, a healthcare worker was left in a critical condition by an attacker who struck as she left Addenbrooke’s Hospital at the end of her shift. Police are linking the incident to the so-called Eye-Sight Killer. And now over to Angela for the weather…’

Checking the temperature of the milk again I finally deemed it suitable for Owen. I wheeled his pram over and pulled a chair up close to it. He lay on his back, his little feet kicking the air as I guided the rubber teat into his mouth and I watched as his blue eyes rolled back into his head with pleasure. He was a happy little soul.