The Stranger Within (6 page)

Luke turns to Dillon but neither boy speaks. They edge forward to get a closer look and I notice Luke’s smile emerging as he heads towards the food. I feel elated at this small achievement, but my joy is premature.

Before he can get to his stool, Dillon pulls him back. “Remember it’s breakfast club at school on Fridays? We’ll get a fry-up there.”

              Luke glances at me and I am sure he looks disappointed, but he follows Dillon out of the room. I had forgotten on Fridays they sometimes have breakfast at school. Alone, I stifle the urge to scream at them and drag them back to the kitchen to demand they eat. It surprises me how good it feels to imagine this scene.

Shaking off these thoughts, I scrape the food from the plates into the bin and load the dishwasher. Anything to distract myself from anger. I was so convinced they would appreciate the breakfast, that it might go a small way to mending things, but they will not be won over so easily.

              Fifteen minutes later the boys are back downstairs, fully dressed and sliding their rucksacks onto their backs. I stand in the hallway watching them, summoning the strength for kind words, when all I can hear in my head is Dillon’s revelation the other night.
Sorry you had to do that. I really hoped that would do it.
Luke heads out but Dillon stops in the doorway. Keeping his back to me, he speaks the first words he has said to me since the painting incident. “Dad says it’s okay if Rhys comes back after school.” He doesn’t turn around, and is gone before I can answer, banging the door shut behind him.

              I stay rooted to the spot, wondering if I heard him correctly. I know Rhys is his best friend but I have never met the boy; in eight months Dillon has not invited a single friend to the house. But after what I heard, I cannot hope this might be progress.

Even in the middle of the day, Oxford Street it is a hive of activity and I force my way through bodies, all moving at different speeds, to cross the road. But despite the bustle, I am relaxed; I am far away from home, far away from the boys. Today I am determined to be the old Callie, the one Bridgette and Debbie will be glad to see has re-emerged. I will not speak of my troubles today, but will listen to my friends; I have no idea what’s been going on in their lives lately. I have been slacking as a friend.

              Climbing the stairs to the first floor of Costa Coffee, I immediately see them at a table in the corner, smartly dressed and business-like in their work clothes. Not for the first time lately, I feel out of place in my jeans and tunic top, but tell myself it won’t be long before I’m dressing smartly for my clients, before I have a life.

              Debbie sees me first and lets out a squeal, jumping up and rushing over to wrap me in a hug. Bridgette quickly does the same and I immediately feel stronger. The two of them are proof that I’m not some wicked, evil woman, out to make her stepsons’ lives miserable.

“We’re not letting you leave it this long again,” Debbie says, hugging me a second time. “You look well.”

I open my mouth to tell her that I badly need a haircut and threw on the first clothes I found in the wardrobe, but I let it go. It will only set alarm bells ringing.

              “We’ve got you a cappuccino. Is that okay?” Bridgette grabs my hand and leads me to their table. I nod, allowing their kindness to envelope me. It is a far cry from the boys’ snubs.

              Debbie apologises for meeting here for lunch instead of a restaurant, but she has a work dinner tonight so only wants a cheese sandwich.

              “It’s fine,” I tell her. And it is. Where we are is not important.

              Bridgette asks what we want to eat and, once again, I have trouble deciding. “What are you having?”

              “Not sure, probably a chicken wrap.”

              “That sounds good, I’ll have one of those.” I scramble in my bag for my purse but she grabs it from me. “Don’t even think about it.”

              After she comes back with our food, I bite into my wrap and listen to them both speaking animatedly about their jobs. Bridgette is a human resources manager at Marks and Spencer, and although I have no idea what exactly this involves, I know she thrives on corporate life. Debbie is an estate agent, dealing with high-end sales and I am proud of them both; I never feel inferior around them for being a mature student, which is a credit to them, rather than me.

              Once we’ve caught up on work and my studies, Bridgette announces that she’s met someone.
Interesting
, is how she describes him, but I know that means she likes him a lot, as most men she meets – even those she might decide to have a fling with – don’t merit a mention. She tells us he’s called Aaron and her eyes brighten when she says his name. I am happy for her. She is at the very beginning of something, with all the hope that it will turn out okay.

              Debbie also has news. Her boyfriend, Mark, has asked her to move in with him. “I haven’t agreed yet, though,” she tells us. “Got to keep him hanging a bit.” It is always this way when the three of us meet. They deliver all their exciting news, while I unburden myself.

              They both turn to me, hoping, I’m sure, that today will be different and I will have some good news of my own. But all I can do is tell them my last assignment went well, that I’m still enjoying my counselling course and can’t wait to have my own clients. They smile and nod, trying not to look at each other, but we have all been friends too long to keep up the pretence.

              “Talk to us, Callie,” Bridgette says, her eyes urging me to be forthcoming. Does she want me to say I’ve made a huge mistake? That the boys, the house, my life, everything is making me miserable? But I can’t betray James. None of this is his fault. I knew where I stood when we made our vows. He is not the problem.

              “We’re just worried about you,” Debbie adds, when I don’t answer. “You’re not yourself. It’s those boys, isn’t it?” She looks at Bridgette and I realise they have planned this conversation. That they probably met earlier so they could get it all straight in their heads. But I can’t be angry; they are only worried about me.

              I’ve got to put their minds at rest. I attempt a smile but feel my lips quivering. “I’m fine. Really. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I’ll be okay.” I make a joke about being careful what you wish for, but none of us laugh.

              Bridgette reaches for my hand. “It’s just, you know, you always said you would…get checked out if you felt things were changing. Do you think –”

              “Honestly, I’m fine. Things aren’t that bad. If they do get worse then I’ll tell someone.” I stretch my smile, hoping to persuade them they are worrying needlessly.

              A look passes between them and I know it is a silent agreement not to push me when Debbie quickly changes the subject, once again apologising that we couldn’t eat somewhere else.

              When Bridgette checks her watch and says she needs to get going, I am almost relieved. These two women are more than family to me but I can only take so much of their pity and worry.

              They walk me to the tube station, despite my insistence that they should get going, and we duck into the doorway of a shop to avoid getting bashed by the herds flocking underground. The hugs they give me now are a complete contrast to their greeting, so I once again reassure them I’ll be fine. They make a good show of buying it, but I feel their eyes on me as I walk to the station entrance and head down the steps.

              It is only when I get to the platform that I wonder why I didn’t open up to them when I can usually tell them anything. It’s not as if they don’t know I’m struggling with the boys.

It is fear
,
that’s what it is. Fear of even your best friends knowing who you really are.

I am studying in the living room when Luke gets home. I have given up waiting at the front door for them, but when I hear their keys turning in the lock I rush to greet them.

“Where’s Dillon?” I ask.

              Luke shrugs as he hangs his bag on a coat hook. “Coming.”

And then I remember Dillon is bringing his friend home. The last thing he’ll want is me hovering by the door, embarrassing him. I wonder what he has told this friend about me.
Just don’t call her my mum,
I imagine him saying.

“Come in the kitchen, I’ll get you a drink,” I tell Luke. He hesitates for a moment, eyeing the front door, but then follows me. He is so much easier to handle without his brother around.

I pour him an orange juice and he glugs it down, putting his glass in the dishwasher when he’s finished. He doesn’t say thank you but he half-smiles before grabbing a bag of crisps and disappearing upstairs.

Watching him go, it occurs to me that I have been approaching this all wrong. If I am to have any chance of getting through to the boys, I need to work on them separately. But this is easy to say, putting it into practice will be impossible because neither one of them wants to be in my company, especially not without the other.

When I hear the front door open, I throw my remaining tea in the sink and once again boil the kettle. It is pathetic, I know, but I need to be busy when they come in. Perhaps it is like a security shield; I will feel less vulnerable if I’m doing something. I have heard Dillon talking to James about his friend, Rhys, but I have no idea what to expect. Perhaps he will give me an even harder time than Dillon does.

Dillon comes in first, his tie already loosened around his collar. He doesn’t look at me, but offers his friend a drink. Behind him, Rhys appears, as tall as Dillon but older-looking. It is only now I remember he is in his final year in the sixth form, so is older than Dillon. I shouldn’t feel intimidated – I am the adult here – but I do, almost spilling boiling water on me as I fill my mug.

We all stand for a moment, none of us speaking, but then Rhys walks forward and holds out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Harwell. I’m Rhys.”

For a moment I wonder if this is another prank, a trick to get my defences down, but behind Rhys, Dillon’s frown is unmistakeable.

Despite this, I won’t allow my guard down yet, but I respond to the boy’s politeness. “Nice to meet you too, Rhys. Would you like a drink? Orange juice? Ribena?” I know I must sound stiff and self-conscious but perhaps he is too young to pick up on it.

He asks for a Ribena but before I can move, Dillon pulls the bottle from the cupboard and starts filling two glasses. Seeing this, Rhys offers me a
thanks anyway
smile, but I still don’t know how to take him. Eight months of wariness has flawed my judgement.

It would be normal in this circumstance to make small talk with Dillon’s friend.
How’s school? What do your parents do? What have you boys got planned for this afternoon?
But riling Dillon will not help my cause. So I tell them I’ll leave them to it, feeling both sets of eyes on me as I step into the hallway. “See you, Mrs Harwell,” Rhys calls. I hear the muffled sound of their whispers as I close the door.

In the living room, I pick up my textbook and return to my reading on loss and bereavement. I get lost in the words, sucking up new information, excited that soon I will be helping people deal with all kinds of problems. I wonder if this module will enable me to better understand James and the boys and what they went through losing Lauren. But something tells me it won’t be quite so easy. It is too close to home.

I have just finished the first chapter when James calls to tell me he’ll be late home. “Sorry, Callie, last-minute job.” In the background I hear Tabitha talking to someone on the phone. “I’ll grab something to eat after so don’t worry about dinner.” An image of him sitting with Tabitha in a restaurant flashes into my head. “Everything okay there? Boys being okay?”

I lower my voice. “Everything’s great. Dillon’s friend is here. Rhys.”

“That’s good. I haven’t seen him for a while but he’s a good kid. He’ll be no trouble.” But aren’t they always good until they have a reason to dislike someone?

When I hang up, I realise it’s almost six o’clock and I need to start dinner. After hunting around in the kitchen, I find some fish cakes, potatoes and green beans. I suspect it won’t be anyone’s favourite meal but I can hardly win, whatever I do.

I hear movement in the hallway and am not expecting to see Rhys, pulling on his coat. “Oh, aren’t you staying for dinner?” As I say this I realise I am disappointed. At least with a friend present, Dillon might put on a display of civility.

Rhys shakes his head. “No, sorry, Mrs Harwell. It’s my dad’s birthday today. We’re going for a meal. I just came over to give Dillon a quick lesson.”

“Guitar lesson? I thought he’d given up on that.” I feel like I’m prying but can’t help asking.

Rhys smiles. “Yeah, he did lose interest for a while but he asked me to start teaching him again. I warned him we’d be starting at the beginning.”

I am fully aware that if Dillon appeared at the top of the stairs now and found me talking to his friend, I will have done irreparable damage.

“Anyway, bye Mrs Harwell.”

“Bye, Rhys. See you soon.”

He hesitates at the door for a moment and I wonder if he’s forgotten something, but then he is gone and I am left wishing Dillon were that easy to talk to.