Oh, the power of our conditioning… But ever since Ryan and I were married, I told myself that wives support their husbands – I’ve observed it in other people, read about it in books. Been programmed up to my eyeballs. Wives support their husbands – for richer or for poorer. Even though we’re not together any more?
I turn to look at the boxes of flowers that have just been delivered from one of my favourite growers in the West Country. ‘Enough about me. We have work to do.’
‘Yes. I’ve filled the buckets.’ Lucy heaves the first box onto the table and opens it. Then, taking out some of the flowers, she starts snipping stems and stripping the lower leaves as the air fills with the scent of eucalyptus and rosemary. ‘If I’m honest, I’ve never understood why Ryan’s had this hold over you, especially after you left him.’
‘I’m not sure I understood it, either.’ In the silence, I listen to the snipping of two sets of florists’ scissors. I know there are many ways it hasn’t made sense. ‘I think it’s knowing he was slowly destroying his life – and that when I did eventually leave him, he had nothing.’
‘Ryan was destroying all your lives,’ Lucy mutters.
But it took me a long time to see that. I lay a bunch of roses on the bench and start removing their thorns. It’s not easy admitting how twisted my thought processes had become; that Ryan didn’t look out for me, hadn’t in years. That my loyalty enabled him to go on self-destructing.
‘He isn’t going to change, is he?’ I say to Lucy.
‘Never say never,’ she declares. ‘But until now, he’s always had you to fall back on.’ She sighs. ‘I don’t mean to sound so bitter. It’s sad he’s become like this. And I could kind of get the part of you that cares for him. But in all this, there were your kids.’ She pauses. ‘I mean, think about Ollie. When it comes to loyalty, he is so much more deserving than Ryan could ever be.’
I know what she’s saying. For years, Ollie hasn’t had any contact with his father, yet I have continued to see Ryan. ‘I should have been able to do something,’ I say guiltily.
‘You are kidding?’ Lucy stares at me. ‘I’m sorry, Edie, but you cannot seriously hold yourself responsible for Ryan’s unforgivable behaviour towards his children.’ Her face is incredulous. ‘Ollie made a choice to cut Ryan out of his life. It’s obvious for him it was the right one. But ever since, he’s had to watch you continue to support the father who used to hit him,’ she says, ever so slightly sarcastically.
My hands start to shake. ‘He lost his temper now and then – he just lashed out. He didn’t mean anything by it.’
But is that how it really was? Shame washes over me. Even to myself, it sounds like I’m making excuses for the inexcusable. The fact is, even at the time, I thought Ryan was harsh. Too harsh.
‘Edie.’ Lucy comes round to the other side of the table so that she’s standing directly opposite me. ‘Look at me for a moment.’ She stares into my eyes. ‘I cannot believe I heard you say that. Ryan hit your son. His son. More than once. Most people do not do that.’
‘Ollie’s always known his father has a temper,’ I say tightly. But I don’t need Lucy or anyone else to remind me it was the point at which I should have left. Yet I didn’t. ‘He’s seen him get angry with me, too.’
‘How does that even begin to make it OK?’ She shakes her head.
‘It isn’t OK. It never was.’ It was beyond hideous when it happened; the memory no less hideous, even now. As I stand here, suddenly it’s all too much. ‘Please, Lucy,’ I say. ‘I know what you think. But I can’t change what’s already happened.’ My head is spinning. I made mistakes. But when your everyday is on an insidious downhill slide, you no longer notice what would shock anyone else. ‘I did the best I could. And don’t forget… it’s one of the reasons I left Ryan.’
‘I know,’ she says quietly.
You saw what was happening more clearly than I did, Lexie.
‘Can’t you see what Dad’s doing? Not just to himself but to all of us?’
‘What am I supposed to do?’ I remember saying to you. ‘He’s sick.’
‘Yeah, and it’s infectious.’ I remember how angry you were. ‘He could get help, Mum. Doesn’t it piss you off that he chooses not to?’
I saw what you were saying. And yes. I agreed. Caught in the middle, I remember telling you that Ryan didn’t choose to be an addict.
‘You’re always making excuses for him. That’s part of the problem. You’re not supporting him, Mum. You’re enabling him.’
I remember how helpless I felt. How family represented everything I believed in, unquestioningly, when I should have been questioning everything. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ I asked you.
‘Leave him. Anything to break this pattern. To remove you and Ollie and me from his toxic behaviour. Families shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around each other.’
I remember the shame that washed over me, shame I can still feel. ‘I encouraged him to go to AA,’ I reminded you. ‘And don’t forget the house we moved to.’
‘I know. And it was good, Mum. For all of us. And then you almost moved us back.’
Almost. But I knew too much damage was already done.
Six months after we moved out, Ryan begged me to move us back, said everything would be different. That our family was everything in the world to him. It was everything I wanted to hear. I remember the mutinous look on your face, Ollie’s silence when I told you both, as I realised in the nick of time, that going back wouldn’t be good for any of us.
As I remember that time, I’m breathless all of a sudden, a tightness gripping my chest. You going away… it’s cast a clarity that’s blinding on the years I’ve spent with Ryan; on everything I’ve held on to, on all the decisions I’ve made. It’s undeniable proof that I got it wrong, that what happened was my fault.
