‘I vaguely remember it. I didn’t know I did until I saw it but I can almost picture you with it on your lap holding a pen.’ He stared at the cover.
‘It’s the only time I’ve ever kept one. Ellis thought it might be a good idea, get it all down on paper, help me analyse my thoughts, keep track.’
‘And did it?’
‘Erm ...’ She thought for a moment. ‘Yes. I was quite lonely, very lonely, in fact. Things with Dad were ...’ She let this hang. ‘And I took solace in scribbling away.’ She let her fingers rest on the little book that had been so much more than she could adequately express. ‘I’m a bit nervous, actually.’
‘Nervous?’
‘I can’t remember exactly what I wrote, but I know it was written from the heart and I expect it will perfectly capture that time in my life when I felt everything was spinning out of control. Just seeing it takes me back; I’ve never felt so lost, so scared of what my future might hold.’
‘Oh, Mum.’ He touched her arm. ‘Are you going to read some tonight, or wait until tomorrow when you’re less tired and you’ll have the beautiful view of Capstone Hill to distract you?’
‘That’s the thing, darling, I don’t think I can read it alone.’ Carefully, she lifted it from the box, the weight of it comforting and familiar. ‘Can we read it together?’
‘Really?’ He pulled a face and she understood. He was quite rightly wary of what this book might reveal about his parents’ marriage.
‘It’s up to you entirely, but I think it’ll give you an insight into honesty and love and how to treat the people you want to be with. It’ll give an insight into your dad and me and I hope it has lessons about communication and openness. And I hope it brings me closure. Helps me understand what we went through, so I can finally shut it away for good.’
‘Back in its box.’ He tapped the Tupperware lid.
‘Back in its box.’
‘Well, now I’m nervous!’ He laughed awkwardly.
‘Don’t be, but I want you, Dilly, Louis and Rafe to understand that every choice we make, every decision we settle on is a tiny footprint towards our own destiny, and before you know it, all those tiny footprints have made a path and it’s the one you walk. So make a path that’s honest, sincere and leads to all good things.’
‘Wow!’ Her son sat back in the chair and exhaled. ‘And there was me thinking it would be just pages and pages of Dad getting a good pasting.’
‘There’s probably a bit of that,’ she confessed. ‘Maybe more than he deserves, maybe not! It’s hard not to add hindsight to any life event.’
‘I’m not sure I want to read it, Mum.’
‘And that’s fine too.’ She meant it.
‘It’s just that it’s taken Dad and me quite a while to reach this ledge, where we sit quite comfortably. He knows that one false move and I’ll run all the way down the mountain and I know that if I take him to task on all that irks me, he’ll scamper to the top and block the route.’
‘It sounds precarious.’ She was happy they could talk so candidly, yet sad for the state of the relationship between him andHugo, recognising it as similar to the way she had handled the breakdown of their marriage: avoiding him other than when absolutely necessary and boxing away the whole episode. She hoped the ledge on which Bear rested was firm and steadfast; it would do them both good to rest awhile.
‘It is, really.’ He yawned; the day was catching up with them both.
‘The truth is, I wrote in a state of high emotion so maybe it’s not entirely balanced, but it was authentic for me at the time. I now know that there’s so much more to a marriage than one action, one slip, one lie, or even two. It takes two as they say ...’
‘The other being, “Call me Wendy, not Mum! You already have a mum!” Peterson.’
It felt a little cruel to laugh at his accurate impression. It was also easy now to pity the woman who had been on the receiving end of infidelity when Hugo had taken up with Sherry in a short-lived whirlwind of sex and destruction that had culminated in the birth of Aurelia and had left Wendy emotionally in tatters. Harriet had taken no pleasure in watching their relationship unravel – there was no sense of schadenfreude, no feeling of justice or karma, more worry about what message Hugo’s behaviour would send to her kids, to their kids. This was why the diary was so important. A first-hand life lesson.
‘Your dad has never read it, of course, and I’m quite sure his version of events would be different, but that’s life, right?’
‘Yes, and what is it they say? History is written by the winners?’ Bear held the book up like a prize.
‘I said to Hugo once, and I’ll say it to you, nothing about our split, our divorce, ever felt like winning.’
‘Until you met Dr Charles.’ He smiled with obvious affection for the man.
‘Yes, darling, until I met Dr Charles.’ Her smile matched her son’s. ‘Anyway, it’s nearly midnight. Time to call it a night.’
‘God, is it really?’ Bear held up his phone and she saw his eyes widen. ‘September the fourteenth.’
