Читать книгу The Wish - Alex Brown - Страница 10

Sam devoured Dolly’s delicious cottage pie in record time. Then, after a quick catch-up over a cup of tea with her and Colin (to be polite, but not wanting to wait another minute to see Chrissie and Holly), he had jumped back in his Land Rover. With Dolly’s words of, ‘Please don’t be expecting too much,’ and, ‘It’s going to take time for you and Chrissie to sort out your differences,’ still ringing in his ears, he had driven through the village, the spring bloom much in evidence as he drove past the villagers well-tended front gardens crammed full of buttery lemon daffodils. He was carrying a big bag of presents for Holly as he apprehensively pushed open the gate of The Forstal Farmhouse, a beautiful sixteenth-century, tile-hung cottage, set on the edge of farmland, which he and Chrissie had bought over ten years ago, after saving for ages to get the deposit together.

Holly had been a toddler, all fair wispy hair and big wide smiles, when they had first moved in, living in a caravan in the garden while they renovated the whole house. They had done most of the work themselves. Sam had designed and built the kitchen units from scratch, lovely soft scrubbed pine for the perfect country farmhouse kitchen. He had plastered the walls, painted, decorated, laid the carpet and the tiles, and had even waterproofed the crumbling old cellar to turn it into a cosy family room. A den, with a TV and a big comfy sofa for watching films and football at one end of the room, and a long table for all of Chrissie’s crafting paraphernalia at the other end. The room was also fitted with shelves for her sewing machines; she liked to collect the vintage Singer ones with the brown wooden curved covers and little carrying handles. Sam had even made a special cabinet to house her rolls of wallpaper and fabrics, beads, ribbons, and all kinds of colourful knickknacks that might one day come in handy to decorate a gift, or give their Christmas tree a unique style, perhaps. Chrissie was really thoughtful and generous like that. Sam had thought this was the perfect house for the both of them, Holly too – she had her play area with the replica dolls’ house that he had made for her fifth birthday, and the wooden rocking horse for her sixth. Everything had seemed happy and perfect back then.

Sam paused, smoothed back his unruly brown hair, using the moment to get himself together. A smile. Not flashy, or cocky. No, he didn’t want Chrissie to think he didn’t care about the state of their marriage that – quite frankly – was hanging together by a single thread. He wanted her to know that he now understood the impact of focusing on his job and not on his family. He had to get it right. And, if he did, then maybe, just maybe, she would be pleased that he was back to make an effort to try to sort it all out. To put things right. He’d explain about the new job. The big changes that he was planning. That was another thing she had said during that fateful phone conversation. She’d said it would take something really big to make a difference now. And she was absolutely right. But he was back now, even if he did feel like a guest, a stranger even, as he walked up the path, glimpsing the warm, welcoming lights through the lounge window, to the front door of the house that they had created together, as a family.

So many wonderful memories were wrapped up inside this house. Sam cast his mind back to their first Christmas here. Holly had been a toddler and the three of them had been really happy. On Christmas morning, he had let Holly open every single one of her Christmas presents first thing when she woke up, the two of them running downstairs and ripping open the carefully wrapped gifts under the tree. The entire living room was deluged in piles of wrapping paper and boxes of toys, games and treats. Holly had squealed in excitement and Sam had loved the chaotic fun of it. Chrissie had come downstairs in her dressing gown, perplexed and frowning at the anarchy unravelling in front of her. She’d told Sam off for letting Holly go nuts; now she didn’t know who any of the presents were from and it wasn’t instilling in their daughter the value that the people who had bought the presents placed on them.

‘It’s Christmas Day, you can’t take anything too seriously, love. And look how much fun Holly is having.’ The sight of Holly’s face, lit up in excitement, had allowed them to laugh it off, with chuckles of ‘it’s only once a year’. But with the benefit of hindsight, it was those polar approaches to parenting that highlighted the differences between them, foretelling the cracks in their relationship.

Sam went to retrieve his key from his jeans pocket, and stopped. He wasn’t even sure why he still carried the key to The Forstal Farmhouse around with him … it wasn’t his home any more, not now. Chrissie had also made that quite clear with a reticent, ‘Maybe it would be better if you stayed with Dolly the next time you come home’, a suggestion that was definitely not optional. Followed by something about not wanting to destabilise Holly, as she was used to it being just the two of them now. Sam felt a momentary flash of anger. Chrissie had always tried to drive home to him that he had needed to take his responsibilities seriously – once they’d had Holly – and wasn’t that what he’d been trying to do over the last few years; and now Chrissie wasn’t even going to let him come home? He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. No, Chrissie was right – he hadn’t listened when he should have. But all he wanted now was to see Holly. They were close. They always had been. He knew that Holly had missed him being there, just like he missed her, but surely he would have known if she was unhappy with him, wouldn’t she? Or if she was angry that he hadn’t been home in ages. They spoke all the time, on the phone, on FaceTime, and she’d always been her usual bouncy and happy self. But then Chrissie always did have a tendency to want to control situations. Not in a nasty way … it was just her natural coping mechanism after having experienced no control as a kid. Her childhood had been very chaotic, with her mum an alcoholic and dad seeking solace at the bookie’s until they died within a year of each other when Chrissie was in her twenties, shortly before she and Sam met.

Sam pushed his hand into his pocket again. Having the key there felt comforting, like a talisman of some kind, something to hold on to, something to give him hope that this house he had so lovingly restored for his family would be his home once more.

He pressed the bell on the centre of the black front door, and then it struck him, the door had been yellow before. A gorgeous sunshine yellow. A happy colour; that’s what Chrissie had called it when they had chosen the paint together in the hardware shop in the village. And he had loved every second of preparing and painting the front door for her … their happy home, together. And for some reason this made Sam catch his breath. He folded his arms, as if to warm his body, or was it to comfort himself? Either way, he needed to get a grip. He couldn’t dither here on the doorstop like some kind of idiot. No, he needed to get inside and sort things out.

He rang the bell.

Seconds later, although it felt like an eternity, the door opened.

‘Dad!’ Holly was standing in front of him, her face wreathed in a smile. Gone were the little girl bunches and gappy grin that he always pictured in his mind’s eye when he thought of his daughter, even though bunches hadn’t been a thing for a while now. Her shoulder-length bobbed hair had sophisticated-looking caramel and honey-blonde bits running through it, which accentuated the sparkly shimmer on her eyelids. Her gappy grin was now complemented by a brace on her teeth. Sam felt his forehead crease; the skirt, if you could call it that, was way too short. It was her usual tartan school skirt, but it barely covered her bottom. Surely that wasn’t the regulation uniform? How could she have grown up so fast? And how come he hadn’t noticed these changes during those FaceTime calls? It just went to show that nothing could beat a proper old-fashioned face-to-face conversation.

‘Hello, darling!’ Sam beamed, and Holly threw herself into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around, like he used to when she was little. ‘Ooof, steady on,’ he joked, pretending to be winded as she squeezed him tight.

‘Oh Dad, you’re not that ancient.’ Holly stepped back, giving his arm a playful punch. Sam was aware of Chrissie standing aside, allowing father and daughter their moment together.

‘Hi, Sam,’ Chrissie said. Sam caught his breath as they made eye contact. She looked amazing in a clingy black top and tight jeans. Her blonde hair was a little longer and wavier than it used to be, and she had lipstick on, something she rarely wore. And she smelt gorgeous, like honey and almonds. But it wasn’t her usual perfume. Sam instinctively wanted to reach out and touch her, but managed to resist. He and Chrissie had always been affectionate and touchy-feely with each other. To hover here, with her so close but just out of reach, was almost too much for him to bear.

Chrissie held his gaze and Sam noticed a slight flush on her cheeks, a sure sign that she was struggling to keep her emotions in check too. He took a step towards her, but an almost imperceptible shake of her head stopped him in his tracks. In her eyes, Sam could see resolve, but conflict too. Damn it, how had they got to this point? When he adored her. And he was sure that she … at the very least … still cared.

‘Come on, Dad, come in. I’ve got so much to show you.’ Holly quickly sidestepped around her mum, holding Sam by the arm. ‘You’ll never believe how good I am on the guitar now. Better than you, I bet.’ She laughed, but her smile faltered a little when Chrissie spoke.

‘Dad can’t stay for too long today, Holly. Perhaps you can have tea with him on Saturday at Granny Dolly’s house. Plus, you need to go and finish your homework now … it’s getting late and you have school tomorrow,’ Chrissie said, not looking Sam in the eye.

‘But it’s only Tuesday. I want to see him now. Saturday is like nearly a whole week away.’ Holly folded her arms.

Sam could see, despite feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach, that this wasn’t the moment to challenge Chrissie’s decision and risk starting an argument.

‘Maybe it’s best if you do as Mum says. We’ll have loads of time together just as soon as Mum and I have had a good catch-up,’ he intervened, smiling and keen to keep his cool. ‘Here, these are for you,’ he said giving her the bag of knick-knacks that he’d picked up from the airport – keyrings, a cuddly toy, bath bombs, sticker book; there were no sweets, though: for Holly they were strictly rationed.

‘Oh, thanks, Dad!’ Holly grinned, taking the bag and peeping inside it before turning to Chrissie. ‘Mum, can I just show Dad my room, I want him to see the blanket I knitted.’

Chrissie eyed them both warily. ‘OK, Hol, but just ten minutes, you and Dad can have a proper catch-up at the weekend. I’ll be in the kitchen, Sam, if you want a quick chat before you go.’

Ten minutes later, and Sam was sitting on the chair beside Holly’s desk. She had hurriedly told him absolutely everything that had happened in her life since they had last spoken on the phone. Plus, proudly shown him the blanket which had taken her two weeks to knit. It was a mixture of pansy colours – purple, pink, blue, yellow and white squares all sewn together.

‘This is amazing,’ Sam said, holding up the blanket and keen to show an interest in his daughter’s new hobby, but then inadvertently spoiled the compliment by adding, ‘did you knit it all by yourself?’

‘Of course I did, Dad. I’m not a baby,’ she told him, rolling her eyes dramatically. ‘I learnt how to knit on YouTube. It’s really cool.’ She took the blanket from him and carefully positioned it over the duvet across the bottom of her bed.

‘I see.’ Sam nodded. ‘So it’s not all gangsters demonstrating dodgy dance moves and people telling you what stuff to buy on there, then?’

‘Oh Dad, you’re so lame sometimes,’ Holly laughed, shaking her head at him. ‘But, it is brilliant to have you home.’

‘It’s brilliant to be home,’ he smiled and stood up. ‘But I’m going to pop down and chat to Mum now.’

‘But what about the guitar? I want to show you how good I am?’

‘I know, darling. How about we get the guitar out at Granny Dolly’s when you come over?’ Sam appeased, but thought the whole situation just felt so wrong. And none of it was fair on Holly. She was still just a kid … even if she was dressed up like Taylor Swift.

‘OK.’ Holly sat down on the bed, looking resigned, but just as he bent to give her a kiss goodbye she asked, ‘Everything is going to be all right … isn’t it, Dad?’ And in that moment, she was the little girl with the bunches. The image he always held in his head from when she was about six years old and everything was happy and good. And long before his marriage had started to crack. He hesitated before answering, unsure if Chrissie had explained anything to her.

‘It’s complicated, Holly.’

‘But you will make it right, won’t you, Dad. You’ll sort it out with Mum?’

Sam saw the heartache in his daughter’s eyes and felt a swirl of emotion. ‘I’m going to do everything I can, I promise you.’ Holly gave him a smile, reassured. And he wished he felt as confident as he sounded.

Heading downstairs, Sam sneaked a glance at the master bedroom as he passed by, briefly pausing to take in the familiar soft grey walls with the original black wooden beams and shabby chic furniture that Chrissie had sourced from various country fairs, and then lovingly restored. The handmade crushed velvet curtains. A stack of books on her bedside cabinet, her intoxicating perfume punctuating the air. The neatly arranged hand-crochet-covered cushions on their enormous bed. The bed that he and his wife should be in together.

Sam found Chrissie in the kitchen, standing against the red Aga. She handed him a mug of hot black coffee. ‘Strong and sweet. The way you like it,’ she said, tilting her head to one side.

‘Thanks.’ As he took it, his fingers brushed hers and an electric spark shot up his arm. ‘Strong and sweet … just like you.’ He eyed her over his coffee mug, trying to be playful, but on seeing the look she gave him, a knot of doubt crept in. Did she think he was being patronising? It was hard to be sure. There was a time when he could read her like a book, but not now, it seemed … and that just compounded his feelings about this whole situation. It was almost as if they were two strangers.

‘Hmm, it’s a good job I am strong, Sam. Seeing as I’ve had to manage on my own for the last few years.’ He smarted. Chrissie had gone straight for the jugular.

After gulping down a mouthful of the coffee, he replied.

‘Look … Chris,’ he started, ‘I know that I haven’t got things right. I realise now that I should have seen that you needed me here, but you’ve always been so … capable. And self-sufficient.’

‘Self-sufficient?’ Chrissie’s voice rose an octave. Her cobalt eyes flashed as she quirked an eyebrow. And the uncertainty Sam had felt earlier vanished in an instance – he knew exactly what she was thinking now; her hackles were well and truly up. ‘Is that how it works then? I’m the self-sufficient one, just getting on with it all, while you’re the one who travels around the globe, having only yourself to think about? Like, what gourmet meal you’re going to choose from the restaurant in your luxury hotel-apartment complex, or what film you might enjoy as you kick back and relax on the super-king bed the maid has made for you? While, meanwhile, I look after our daughter – make sure she keeps on top of her diabetes, her homework, friendships, guitar lessons, gymnastics, packed lunches, school uniform, cake sales, netball matches, sleepovers … and all the rest of it.’ Sam watched as Chrissie counted off the list of tasks on her fingers. ‘And I make sure all the bills are paid, the house is kept running, the garden is tidy, the bins are emptied, the hedge is trimmed, the lane isn’t littered with leaves, the monthly parish magazine is paid for, the village charity collections are contributed to, the May Fair cakes are baked, the summer school show costume is made. Honestly, the list is endless! And I do it all. I keep everything going!’ Her voice cracked. ‘But who’s keeping me going?’

Sam immediately wished he could go back out to his car and start this all over again. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind at all. Of course, he knew that Chrissie was going to be hostile, that was her way … their fight pattern, if you like. Whenever they had fallen out in the past, had an argument, she would be super-cool with him afterwards, and as soon as he’d calmed down and invariably realised what an arse he was being, he’d apologise. They’d talk it out, do something nice for each other, and they’d make up. That was the way it was. His dad, Rob, had shown him long ago that it was best to back down and be the appeaser – ‘happy wife, happy life’; that’s what Rob had always said. Sam remembered it clearly – Dad invariably in the back garden, his favourite domain, snipping some roses to take into the house for his mum, Linda, even though she’d been scolding him only moments earlier for not having done something or another exactly the way she liked it. But Rob never seemed to hold a grudge and always let it wash over him. Maybe that was the key to happiness, Sam had surmised, but he wasn’t sure he managed it as well as his dad had. He and Chrissie had different ways of doing things – it wasn’t always possible to keep the peace and maintain a state of continuous calm.

But Sam had tried hard, always apologising, even if he felt he was in the right – Chrissie could be very black and white, not always able to see things from the other person’s perspective. So he’d pull Chrissie in close for a nice cuddle on the sofa, followed by making love as soon as Holly was asleep, and they would wedge the laundry basket behind their bedroom door so she couldn’t barge in unannounced, as had happened one time when she was about three years old. Thankfully, she had still been young enough for them to pass off Chrissie bobbing up and down astride him, naked, as ‘mummy dancing’. And they had giggled silently together like a pair of silly teenagers for ages over that afterwards, whenever Holly had asked to see ‘mummy dancing’ again.

Sam put the coffee mug on the kitchen counter and dropped his hands down by his sides, his heart sinking at the sadness of the current situation. He and Chrissie at loggerheads, no mummy dancing on the immediate horizon and their daughter upstairs bravely hiding her heartache. The feeling was quickly followed by an even greater determination to fix things.

‘Please, Chrissie, I don’t want to fight. Can we talk, properly? I’m back for goo—’

‘It’s too late for that,’ she said quickly, as if instantly throwing up a brick wall to protect herself. Sam wasn’t sure if she even really believed the words herself; it was as if she was saying them on autopilot, without conviction, just to keep him at a distance … or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part. ‘Besides, now isn’t a good time …’ Chrissie’s eyes flicked to the watch on her left wrist.

‘But I’ve just got back. I thought we could try and have some time together …’

‘There have been plenty of opportunities for us to have some time together over the last year. But you didn’t take those chances, Sam.’

‘But I’d like to now … if you’ll let me?’ Sam tried.

They stood in silence momentarily, until Chrissie took a big breath, exhaled and then added, ‘I honestly don’t think there are any chances left.’ She fixed her gaze on the kitchen floor tiles.

‘Come on, Chris, that isn’t fair. You know as well as I do that this job was 24/7. I was doing it for us. It was what we agreed.’

There was sadness in Chrissie’s eyes now, as well as the anger, and her voice was more gentle as she spoke this time. ‘No, Sam, I never agreed not to see you for months and months on end, and that isn’t what you thought either. Why did you stay away so long? Why didn’t you come back months ago when you knew I’d taken as much as I could? I still don’t understand, and you gave me the impossible job of explaining it to Holly.’

Sam scraped his hands through his hair. Trying to find the right words. She was right; he knew that he was avoiding something, but he wasn’t sure he could even explain it to himself, let alone Chrissie.

‘Well?’ Her eyes were full of questions. Ones he couldn’t answer.

‘I don’t know.’ They stared at each other. ‘I just don’t know the answer, Chrissie, but I’m trying to work it out – I want to work it out, you know how much you and Holly mean to me, don’t you – how much I—’

But before he could tell Chrissie how much he loved her and Holly, how he desperately wanted to sort things out, she stepped towards him and placed the tips of her fingers over his mouth. ‘Don’t say it,’ she whispered. ‘Please. I can’t bear it. You need to go back to Dolly’s house now.’

Sam could feel the situation slipping away from him. He reached out to Chrissie but she gently pushed him away.

‘Please don’t send me away, Chris. You know how good we can be together,’ he said, the desperation in his voice impossible to hide.

‘I used to, Sam.’ More silence followed. ‘But now …’ She paused and briefly closed her eyes before carrying on, ‘I’m not so sure.’ Silence swung in the air between them like an enormous pendulum pushing them further and further apart. ‘It’s time to go,’ Chrissie continued. ‘Maybe you should take some time to really work out why you didn’t come home until now.’ She looked away. ‘Because I’m not sure about anything any more.’

As Chrissie followed Sam towards the front door, both of them turned on seeing Holly standing on the stairs. They looked at each other, united briefly in concern in case their daughter had overheard the conversation.

‘I don’t want Dad to go!’ Holly stated, her voice a mixture of petulance and fear.

‘Dad has to go now, Holly. You’ve got your homework to finish.’

‘But that’s not fair. Dad has just come back and I got hardly any time at all with him.’

‘Holly, will you please do as you’ve been asked?’ Chrissie said tightly, fiddling with the crystal drop necklace that he and Holly had chosen together for her fortieth birthday. At least she was still wearing it – that was something, Sam thought, resisting the urge to play peacemaker; he didn’t want to undermine Chrissie. He knew how much she hated that, trying to remember all the rules around bedtime or screen time; he’d always been useless at keeping on top of all the boundaries. But before either he or Chrissie could play their next move, Holly suddenly exploded.

‘Fine! But I HATE you!’ And then, after glaring at Chrissie, she shot back up the stairs to her bedroom, two at a time, and slammed the door, making the mini-chandelier hall light jangle precariously above them. Sam instinctively stepped towards the foot of the stairs and called after her.

‘Come back here and apologise, you mustn’t talk to Mum like that—’

‘Just leave her, Sam.’ Chrissie indicated with her head after Holly, before turning to look him in the eye. ‘She doesn’t mean it … Besides, there’s been a lot of that lately. I’m hoping it’s just a phase and she’ll grow out of it.’

‘But she shouldn’t say stuff like that to you. Or slam doors.’

‘True.’ Chrissie lifted her left shoulder. ‘Maybe not. And having you around to tell her so every now and again might have been quite helpful, don’t you think?’

Sam knew that Chrissie had a point. He hadn’t been around to do his proper share of parenting. And, on top of everything else, this tension between her and Holly was another worrying development.

‘Look, I’m sorry but I really need to get on …’ Chrissie glanced at her watch.

‘Err … OK,’ Sam said, baffled by her distraction now. ‘But we really need to spend some proper time together – tomorrow, the day after, any time,’ he urged, keen to have a plan, however tentative …

‘Yes … we’ll sort something out,’ Chrissie said, quickly glancing at her watch again. Why does she keep doing that? And why does she look so edgy now? Sam followed her line of sight and saw her staring at the door.

And then a weird feeling shrouded him. He inhaled sharply. And then the proverbial penny dropped. He got it.

‘Are you expecting someone?’ he asked, turning to go. Chrissie nodded quickly, as if keen all of a sudden to get rid of him as swiftly as possible. She even darted around him to pull open the front door, standing by it to make it absolutely clear that his time was up. Sam went to leave and then something inside him – a feeling, a hunch in the pit of his stomach, he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was made him stop, abruptly.

Of course! The perfume, the lipstick, the new hairdo.

‘Is it a bloke?’

Sam’s heart lurched as he stared at her, willing the pulse in the side of his neck to stop flicking like an overcharged piston. But it was all too much to take in.

His wife?

Another man?

‘Is that really any of your business?’ Chrissie’s face was hard to read, but Sam could feel a jumpy anger rising inside him, making his own face smart.

‘Are you seeing someone else?’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he hated how pathetic and whiny he sounded. He had to pull it back. Chrissie was never going to give him a second chance if he carried on like some kind of possessive teenage boy. But Sam often felt as if he was muddling through when it came to women and properly understanding them. His mother had always been the boss in their house when he’d been growing up, and sometimes unreasonably so. Yes, his dad had always been the peacemaker, but he had also pandered to her too, almost as if he was overly grateful to be her husband and would do whatever it took to keep her. As if he was punching above his weight. But Chrissie wasn’t like his mum at all.

‘I can’t believe you have the nerve to ask me that question,’ Chrissie said, clearly annoyed now too … but she hadn’t denied it.

Sam suddenly felt a strong urge to run, a feeling he always had when things were going badly. ‘Look, I’ve gotta go. But we really need to talk.’ He backed away before turning on his heel and setting off down the path towards his car.

Chrissie called something after him. But Sam couldn’t really hear any more. He had to get away. Suddenly, he felt like a teenage boy again, out of his depth, making it up as he went along, trying to get it right.

Sam reached his car and, after quickly diving in and pulling the door closed, he sat for a second before letting his emotions spill over. His heart was pounding with panic and anger and fear and sadness … Chrissie with another man. It didn’t bloody bear thinking about. He loved her. And he was almost certain that she still loved him.

Or maybe not.

Maybe she had moved on already.

After willing himself to get a grip, he managed to shove from his mind the thunderous thoughts of hunting the other man down and ripping his arms off. It could happen, the mood he was in now. But Sam wasn’t a violent man, never had been. So he clenched his jaw and drove away, heading back to the five-bar gate that led to the fields behind the station. He knew where he was there. It was his spot, ever since he’d been old enough to cycle to it as a kid.

As he sat there, he tried to figure out how things had gone so catastrophically wrong between him and Chrissie, but the answers wouldn’t come. He had thought things were bad before he came home, but he now realised … they were much, much worse than he could ever have imagined.