Sitting back, I watched you walk out, listening as you went upstairs. Yes, you were self-aware in so many ways, but in others, I had the feeling there were emotions inside you that you were powerless over. While you showered, I gathered together some of the left-over food, wrapping it for you to take with you; mothering in a practical sense, the only way right now that I could reach you.
‘Do you need a lift?’ I asked when you came downstairs.
‘Ollie’s taking me,’ you said briefly, your eyes flickering towards the food parcel. ‘You shouldn’t have, Mum.’
‘I want to.’ I looked up as Ollie came in.
Catching my eye briefly, he picked up your bag. ‘Ready?’ he said.
Happy New Year. Only after you’d gone, I realised I hadn’t said it to you. I realised also you’d had nothing to eat, that it wasn’t just your limbs that were slight; your face was gaunt. It would have been easy to tell myself it was because you were on your feet all day every day, mucking out stables and tending to dozens of animals. But my instincts were screaming that it was more than that.
The pattern was horribly familiar to me. But I’d learned the hard way. Was still learning. You can try as hard as you can. But unless someone meets you halfway, you can’t help them.
22
NOW
Dear Lexie,
Oh, the ties that bind us… And you know how hard I find it to turn my back on someone in need. In many ways, you were the same. But when it comes to your father, I question why it isn’t easier.
‘I don’t know what to do about Ryan,’ I say to Lucy after I tell her about his call. ‘I think he’s genuinely sick.’
‘How can you be sure?’ She looks at me uncertainly.
I understand her doubts. A few years back, Ryan fabricated an illness to try to persuade me to move back. It seems unbelievable that if it hadn’t been for you and Ollie, I might have considered it.
‘After last time, I can’t believe you’re even speaking to him,’ she says.
It’s what most people would think – unless they’ve been where I am; know the guilt that comes from being the wife who walked away, leaving a man they knew would struggle. But even now, I’m in denial; reluctant to use the phrase that Caitlin did, however true I know it is. Ryan abused you. ‘Don’t worry. I know the way his mind works.’
He’d still been living in our family home at that point. The fact was, he was running out of money, his illness a ruse to persuade me to move back so that between us, we could afford to keep the house.
‘The house meant more to him than me and the kids.’ But that’s the kind of man Ryan is. And in the context of what was going on in our lives, the house was my lowest priority. Plus sorting it meant dealing with Ryan; I kept putting it off.
‘It was probably pride,’ Lucy says shortly. ‘He didn’t want to be the one to say he couldn’t afford it any more. And he didn’t have to, did he? Thanks to you.’
I’d inherited more money when my estranged father died – about the only good thing he’d ever done for me. Given how damaging our relationship had been, I battled with internal conflict, until deciding it would make a significant difference to my life, When I offered to buy Ryan out, he jumped at the chance. That was when I found out that he wasn’t ill.
‘It’s sad, really,’ I say to Lucy. ‘That he doesn’t want to make more of his life.’
‘He could if he wanted,’ she says unsympathetically. ‘But he just doesn’t seem to have any drive.’
With the money from the house, Ryan had enough for a deposit on a flat. But instead, he’d chosen to rent the place where he still is now. ‘He has a hospital appointment tomorrow,’ I say. ‘For some scans – and a biopsy.’
‘It was inevitable, I suppose,’ Lucy says soberly. ‘Decades of heavy drinking were bound to catch up with him.’
‘He says he’s stopped.’ Standing there, I have a flashback to Ollie saying the same about you when you were drinking. ‘I read somewhere that there can be a genetic predisposition to drink.’ I look at Lucy.
‘You’re thinking of Lexie, aren’t you,’ she says gently. ‘Who knows? I imagine it’s a whole mix of things.’ She breaks off as Mary walks in.
‘I brought you tea, dears.’ Her hands are a little shaky as she puts down the tray she’s carrying.
‘And more cake. You’re spoiling us, Mary,’ Lucy says as she reaches for a bunch of flowers she put together earlier to give her – autumnal dahlias, delicate grasses, a late-season rose. ‘These are for you.’
‘How lovely.’ As she takes them, it’s as though Mary’s smiling to herself. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘We’re so lucky, aren’t we?’ Lucy says when Mary’s out of earshot. ‘Working in this gorgeous place, with these incredible gardens of hers to cut from.’
