A shadow crossed his face. ‘How about what I want?’
‘You’re her father, Ryan,’ I said, disappointed that he had so little interest in you both. ‘She’s your daughter. Make it up to her.’ I paused. ‘This is important.’
‘It’s been a long week.’ Leaving his coffee half drunk, Ryan opened the fridge and got out a can of beer.
Standing there, I said nothing. But then I thought of you and Ollie; how apart from the Saturday not so long ago, this was how your every weekend was. ‘Isn’t it a bit early?’ I said quietly.
He froze for a moment, then forced a glimmer of a smile. ‘Remember when we used to say the sun is always over the yardarm somewhere?’ His voice was slightly accusing. But he knew as well as I did that the time of day wasn’t the point.
After a couple of glasses, Ryan relaxed and as I made lunch, for a while, funny Daddy was in the room. Too young to understand your father’s change in mood, you climbed on his lap, laboriously read your school book to him. Ollie was more guarded.
It was a pattern that played out on repeat, that I had no choice but to observe. I managed the routine of our afternoon, knowing that by early evening, Ryan would be drunk, belligerent, bullish. Judging the point at which I should leave him to watch sport on television, I herded you and Ollie into the kitchen. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘How about pizza?’
‘Takeaway?’ Ollie’s eyes gleamed hopefully.
‘Please, Mummy,’ you said, in that way you had. ‘Please…’
I gazed at your faces. ‘I was going to suggest a frozen one.’ I watched your looks of disappointment. ‘But just for once…’ Glancing in Ryan’s direction, I held a finger to my lips. ‘Let’s order a takeaway.’
Mercifully by the time the pizza arrived, Ryan was snoring; I intercepted the delivery before the doorbell rang. The pizzas smelled divine, and I slid their deliciousness onto plates, hiding the packaging in the recycling. Stupid, really, fearing that a takeaway might have elicited anger in Ryan. But such was the disruption of his perspective by alcohol. And on this occasion, he continued to sleep; it was avoided.
By the time you and Ollie were in bed, I came downstairs to find Ryan awake again. In the kitchen, he was making inroads into a bottle of whisky.
‘Have a glass with me, Edie,’ he coaxed.
I was tempted. Now and then, I’d have a glass of wine with Lucy. But having seen the effect that alcohol had on Ryan, it wasn’t difficult to push it away. ‘I won’t, thanks.’ I didn’t wish to be seen as I saw him: irrational, drunk, slurring my words. I wanted to be present.
‘Don’t be boring, Edie,’ he said, only half-jokingly. ‘For Christ’s sake. It’s Saturday night. Have a fucking glass.’ There were tell-tale red spots on his cheeks as he pushed it towards me again.
I left it untouched on the table in front of me. ‘Ryan? Why does it bother you that I don’t want this?’
‘I don’t give a fuck.’ He stared at me. ‘I’m just trying to encourage you to let your hair down. You’re getting boring, Edie,’ he goaded. ‘I want my fun wife back. Is there anything wrong with that?’
‘Please don’t raise your voice at me.’ My mouth was suddenly dry. I hated what he was insinuating, just as I hated these confrontational moments that turned into rows if I questioned him. But I thought of Ollie and you. Just because it was hard didn’t mean I shouldn’t at least try. ‘The thing is…’ I hesitated again. ‘I love you, Ryan. So do the kids. You’re a great person. But when you drink…’ I broke off, trying to think how to get through to him. ‘I suppose the truth is, you’re not the same.’
‘Do you know how many times you’ve said that to me?’ Resting his head in his hands, he was silent for a moment. ‘We used to enjoy a bottle of wine together, didn’t we? Back in the day?’ He looked at me for a moment. ‘We used to have a laugh, too.’ He shook his head. ‘Now, I always feel like you’re judging me.’
‘I’m not, I promise you.’ I reached out to touch his hand. Flinching, he pulled it away. ‘I’m just concerned.’
‘I don’t need you to be concerned.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘I hadn’t realised what the time was. I’m supposed to be at the pub.’ Getting up, he pulled on his jacket, then picked up his phone.
My heart sank. I knew what this meant. A riotous evening with his mates, then Ryan staggering in when the pub closed; another tomorrow that would be dominated by his hangover. ‘Can’t we spend the evening together?’ I tried to persuade him.
‘I’m already late.’ He picked up his keys, then stomped towards the front door, closing it none too quietly behind him.
A minute later, I heard the stairs creak. ‘Mummy?’ Your pinched face appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Where’s Daddy gone?’
Going over to you, I felt my heart twist. ‘To meet up with some friends.’
‘I heard you talking, Mummy,’ you persisted.
‘Yes. And it was about grown-up stuff. Nothing for you to worry about, Lex. It’s time you were in bed.’ Picking you up, I carried you upstairs.
‘I wish he wouldn’t be so cross all the time,’ you said as I tucked you into bed.
‘He doesn’t mean it.’ I sat on the bed and stroked your hair off your face.
‘Then why is he?’ There was confusion in your eyes. In your six-year-old world, it was simple.
