A wave of shock hit me. I put Ollie down. ‘Go and wait for Mummy in the kitchen, sweetie,’ I said to him gently. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ I waited until he was out of earshot. ‘Don’t you dare swear in front of the children, Ryan,’ I muttered furiously. ‘And don’t forget either, there are different ways of saying things.’ I glared at my husband. ‘If you don’t want Ollie to grow up feeling scared of you, you need to think about that.’
‘And of course, you never lose your temper,’ he said sarcastically, then cut me short. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m watching this.’
In that moment, I knew I did mind. This mattered. But for the first time I acknowledged that I faced an impossible choice between challenging Ryan, knowing it would develop into a row I didn’t want you and Ollie to hear, or letting it go. Going to the kitchen, I got a cloth, then going back, I threw it at Ryan. ‘The least you can do is clear the beer up.’
Turning my back on him, I pacified Ollie, persuading him that grown-ups, even funny Daddy, were allowed the occasional off day, while across the kitchen, I noticed you watching your brother, your pale blue eyes unblinking, an intensity in them as you turned to me.
It was a moment that, when I later looked back, signified the end of an innocence; an image of you seared into my mind forever. Then, the episode left me with a sick feeling, an underlying sense that there was no spin to put on this; that in the simplest terms, it was wrong. It left me with guilt, too. From the start, all I’d ever wanted was to keep you both safe. In the context of Ryan’s alcohol consumption, I should have foreseen this day coming, should have had steps in place to prevent it. Moments like this: they weren’t what I wanted for you.
But it passed; by the following day, funny Daddy was back. He scooped up Ollie; I watched the wariness change to unbridled joy on my son’s face as Ryan told him a dad-joke. You, even though you didn’t understand the words, could sense the change; your eyes intently taking everything in, clapping your hands in glee.
To anyone looking on, it was a snapshot of a normal happy family. But we were anything but. It felt as though we had stepped onto a rollercoaster; that this was the upside. My feeling was confirmed when Ryan put his carrier bag down and I saw the bottles inside.
Life is all kinds of things, the depth and breadth of our human experience what makes us who we are, defining how we go out into the world, who we are as parents, in turn shaping who our children become.
You and Ollie were so young, but it had already started, this subliminal, unintentional programming of you. And I tried so hard to be conscious that what reached your ears was loving, harmless; nurturing. But too many times it didn’t go like that. Yes, I tried to keep love in my voice, but I was all too aware that now and then, Ryan was argumentative and irrational, while you couldn’t help but hear exchanges that were never meant for you.
I could never pinpoint when Ryan’s drinking became more noticeable – or maybe I simply wasn’t looking before. But suddenly, I was aware. I became the parent who denied, distracted, compensated when it happened. When it came to protecting you and Ollie, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for you.
And of course, it wasn’t like that all the time. There were happy interludes, days when Ryan drank less and engaged more, when he found respite from the invisible demons that haunted him. But as I was starting to learn, they were short-lived as this rollercoaster of our lives became unpredictable, each upslope bathed in sunlight before another descent into darkness. We weathered the fallout as another friendship was sabotaged – never Ryan’s fault, he was always at pains to tell me.
Two more years passed, Ollie becoming a sunny five-year-old starting his first year of primary school; you started preschool. I worked mornings in a café in town, collecting you at lunchtime, so that you and I had afternoons together before we picked Ollie up.
‘I haven’t stopped.’ I’d taken you over to see my friend Lucy, who lived a few miles away and whose life seemed even crazier than mine was.
‘Tell me about it.’ She cut a piece of cake and passed it to you. ‘We’re not designed to be mothers and wives and have jobs all at the same time.’
‘It’s different for you,’ I said. Lucy and her husband had split up when their daughter Mia was two. ‘You have to do everything. At least I have Ryan.’
‘You what?’ Lucy stared at me disbelievingly. ‘You’re not telling me that’s a help?’
I didn’t answer. Of course, she was right – Ryan did little at home. But as far as parenting went, I was better at it than he was.
‘Have you ever thought…’ she started. Then she broke off. ‘It’s flipping raining. I need to get the washing in.’
She darted outside, grabbing things off the line, a flurry of colour as she came back inside. I was helping her fold it all as you stopped us in our tracks. Going to Lucy’s fridge, you got out a beer and tried to open it.
Lucy and I laughed it off. It was an innocent mistake. But another part of me couldn’t help thinking, was it a warning?
Life was hectic. But family life always was. And we could survive, I kept telling myself. I could shield you and Ollie from Ryan’s drinking – it could be so much worse. And I tried – so hard, for so long, determined to get this right; to give you and Ollie everything I wanted for you.
Of course, it would have been easier if Ryan was sober. But more often than not, he wasn’t. Even so, I denied the impact it was having, made the most of the good days, over time, watching my baseline get redrawn. The bar was lowering – there were so many ways I pictured it.
But still I was determined that we were better together; did everything I could to keep us that way. I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge what my heart sensed to be true: that I couldn’t carry all of this alone; that our home was a house of cards that was slowly collapsing around us.
2
NOW
Dear Lexie,
I was in the flower shop with Lucy today. Business is going well. It’s funny that it’s been ten years since we opened Petals. Can you believe that? Today we were doing a wedding. I’m sure you won’t have forgotten how they used to stress me out! Crazy, when you think about it, but every wedding is someone’s special day. This morning we were surrounded by the most stunning blooms – flowers are one of the reasons I love this job.
‘That bouquet was supposed to be red.’ Lucy stares at the flowers I’ve just assembled.
‘Was it?’ I stare at the pink and orange flowers I’m holding, that perfectly, artfully clash. ‘This is much nicer.’
‘It’s gorgeous.’ Lucy takes it from me. ‘Maybe someone else will buy it. Why don’t you make us a cup of tea?’
