‘Of course I did,’ he muttered as he opened the fridge.
As I stood there, it was one of those moments again. I could either let it go, or pick him up on it. ‘Ryan. I was there. And I can tell you, you didn’t.’ I sighed. ‘You’re their father. A role model. Do you want them to grow up thinking it’s OK to ignore people?’
‘I’m a perfectly good role model,’ he snapped, reaching into his pocket as his mobile buzzed. He answered it. ‘Can you hold on a moment?’ he said. Then, turning his back on me, he went into his study and closed the door behind him.
Straining my ears, I tried to make out the conversation that followed. His voice was muffled, but he was clearly arguing with someone. Several minutes passed before the call ended. When he came back to the kitchen, his face was red.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Seeing as you ask, no,’ he said abruptly. ‘The bastards have fired me.’
A feeling of horror filled me; a sense of déjà vu. Not again. ‘Surely they can’t do that. I mean, you were on a course.’ What could possibly have gone wrong?
‘It seems they can.’ Sitting down, the bluster seemed to have gone out of him.
‘What happened?’ Suddenly I was suspicious. No one gets fired without a reason.
‘There was a misunderstanding.’ He tried to make light of it. ‘I was drinking in the bar with some of the other chaps. We had a discussion and I suppose things got a bit heated. But Peter’s an idiot. He was bang out of line.’
I had a bad feeling about this. ‘What did you do, Ryan?’ I stared at my husband.
‘I hit him – well, it was more of a shove.’ He rested his head wearily in his hands. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. And it wasn’t hard. It was a work event, for Christ’s sake. I’m not that stupid.’
But clearly Ryan was that stupid. He went on telling me about the conversation – what he said, what Peter said, while the same words played on repeat in my mind. I hit him.
I spent the night awake, dreading what the morning would bring; wondering how the three of us would get through the days if Ryan was going to be at home all the time.
On Sunday morning, I was up before Ollie and you again. Going along to your bedrooms, I gently woke you.
‘Let’s go out for the day,’ I whispered to Ollie, then you. ‘Quiet as mice. We don’t want to wake Daddy.’
You needed no further encouragement. I gathered a change of clothes, a supply of snacks, before we crept out of the house and into the car. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but we stopped on the way there for breakfast. And the weather made it easy for us. Blessed with sunshine, we spent the day at the beach, climbing rocks and skimming stones, scrutinising rock pools for shrimps and pea crabs, stopping for a lunch of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper, fending off hungry seagulls. I didn’t care that, if Ryan wasn’t working, we maybe wouldn’t be able to afford days like these in the future. I was determined to make the most of what felt like our last day of unrestricted freedom, all too aware that I felt as though time was running out.
It was dark by the time we got home. After tea, both of you tired, you went to bed early. I teased the salty tangles out of your hair, then snuggled you into bed. Kissed an equally tired Ollie goodnight. Ryan didn’t ask where we’d been, nor did I tell him.
I woke up on Monday morning filled with dread, hiding it from you and Ollie as I got you ready for school. But fortunately, by lunchtime, normality was restored. After a phone call to an employment lawyer, Ryan was granted a reprieve and a written warning. More than that, instead of drunk, by the time you came in from school, he’d only had a couple of beers.
‘I thought we’d order a takeaway tonight,’ he said to you both. ‘Pizza? Or fish and chips?’
I was on edge again, waiting for one of you to say that’s what you had yesterday. You’d had too much junk food this weekend, but I couldn’t say anything to Ryan. I didn’t dare. Mercifully, you didn’t, either.
‘Fish and chips, please, Daddy,’ you said cautiously.
‘How about you, Olls? Fish and chips OK with you?’ Ryan attempted to sound jovial, as though he was his mate.
Ollie nodded wordlessly; the worry in his eyes cut to my heart. Ryan was your father by blood. But you had already learned the hardest way that even when he was jovial, you couldn’t trust him.
As Christmas drew closer, I observed the patterns of our lives their interwoven threads; the highs and lows we experienced. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. In my attempts to normalise what went on in our house, Ryan’s mood swings, I tried to explain it to you both.
You looked puzzled. ‘Are you saying it’s normal to be unhappy, Mummy?’
‘Now and then, yes,’ I told you. ‘But if you’re unhappy all the time, it probably means something’s wrong.’
Ollie shook his head. ‘Dad’s unhappy all the time.’
I forced a smile. ‘Maybe that means that very soon, he’s going to be happy all the time.’
Ollie looked at me earnestly. ‘Maybe it just means something’s wrong.’
