Читать книгу Always You - Erin Kaye - Страница 8

On the way home from work, Ian took the short detour to Lough View, the nursing home on Greenbank Road where his mother had lived for the past two years. He found the place depressing and the fact that he’d been unable to secure more salubrious surroundings for his mother’s final home filled him with guilt. It wasn’t for want of trying – or for lack of money. His father, who’d risen to the rank of chief superintendent in the police, had left Evelyn very comfortable. When Ian had set out on the quest to find a suitable nursing home, after the second stroke had left his mother partially paralysed on her right side, this was the best of an unimpressive bunch.As soon as the door opened he steeled himself for the smell that wafted out on stale, overheated air – overcooked vegetables and the unpleasant odour of cheap disinfectant, a game attempt to disguise the faint, sour smell of urine. Though lately confined to bed by yet another persistent chest infection, his mother was not incontinent – not yet – and for that he thanked God. He prayed she would be spared that indignity. ‘How is she today, Jolanta?’

The care assistant thought for a moment and then shook her head. ‘Not good today, Mr Aitken. Not good.’

This news did not disturb Ian unduly. In fact he smiled to himself for this was what Jolanta had said every day he’d visited for the last two years.

Ian nodded, and walked through the door with his hands shoved in his trouser pockets. He avoided touching anything in this place – it felt unclean and shame engulfed him once more. His mother ought to be living with him, her only son, not here in this awful place. If he had married a different sort of woman to Raquel, perhaps it might have been possible. If he’d still been married to Sarah, so kind and compassionate, he was almost certain it would be so …

He found her in bed, her head propped up, staring at the ceiling and clutching a white tissue in her sinewy, liver-spotted hand. She tilted her head to look at him standing in the doorway and gave him a lopsided smile, which made her eyes almost disappear in her crinkly face. Ian had been a late and only baby – a miracle his mother used to say in wonderment, gazing upon him as a small red-haired boy. She was now eighty-one years old.

‘Hello, Ian,’ she said a little slowly. Her speech had been affected by the stroke and, though it sometimes took a little longer to find the words, she was still perfectly intelligible. It was just she sounded different, like an old woman, not the pretty, bright mother with the sing-song voice that he remembered from his youth.

‘Hello, Mum,’ he said and sat on the chair placed on the left side of her bed. ‘I can’t stay too long. Raquel’ll be home soon.’

‘Mmm, Raquel, yes. Tell me, is she still working as a shop assistant?’

Poor Raquel, with her platinum blonde hair and lack of tertiary education, she had never quite lived up to his mother’s exacting standards. ‘No, mother,’ said Ian patiently. He suppressed the more robust retort that sprang to his lips, choosing to ignore her snobbishness and the intended provocation because he was pleased, in spite of both, that she still had all her wits about her. The day these left her, the fight would leave her too. ‘You know perfectly well that she’s been promoted to manageress. Of a very upmarket boutique.’

‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.’ A whisper of a smile played about one corner of her mouth followed by a long pause during which the smile evaporated. ‘Is everything all right between you two? You don’t talk about her very much. And I can’t remember when I last saw her.’

Ian rubbed his hands together and looked at the floor. Part of him wanted to tell her that his four-year-old marriage to Raquel was on the rocks. He couldn’t remember when they’d last slept together, though sex had once been the most important aspect of their relationship. He’d lusted after her, but his old-fashioned, outdated scruples would not allow him to take her outside of marriage. And so they’d wed. What had he been thinking?

He looked at his mother and forced a smile. She’d warned him not to marry Raquel and she’d said some rather unkind things about her. Sadly, they had mostly proved to be true, though at the time, he’d been too seduced by her sexuality to listen. It was difficult now to admit that he’d been wrong, that he’d been blinded by lust (so much more humiliating than being blinded by love). He could not bear to hear his mother say she’d told him so. ‘Everything’s fine, Mum. Raquel’s just very busy at work. She works six days most weeks. She’s so tired come Sunday, she just wants some me time.’

‘Me time,’ she said with a faint raspy snort. ‘We didn’t have that in my day.’

‘Well,’ he said in Raquel’s defence, trying to sound like a loyal husband, ‘times have changed.’

Thankfully, she lost interest then. He heard someone come into the room and his mother’s eyes crinkled up with pleasure when she saw who was there. ‘Oh, look, it’s Sarah!’ she cried out in a small voice. ‘Do come in.’

Ian looked round to find Sarah standing by the door with a battered biscuit tin in her hands. He drew in his breath, for a moment not recognising this glamorous apparition for his rather frumpy former wife. The black dress and matching Jackie Kennedy-style jacket skimmed her curves in all the right places. Glossy tights sheathed her well-shaped legs and black patent heels added several inches to her height. She’d put on a lot of weight after having the kids and she’d struggled with it over the years. But he was aware suddenly, even though he’d seen her only a few days ago, that the excess weight was all gone. She looked once more like the Sarah he had married. Her natural blonde hair was tucked behind one ear; the rest fell like a curtain of gold about her face. And while he was pleased to see her smile, full and warm, directed at Evelyn, he wished she would smile at him like that.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, approaching the bed. When she bent down to kiss his mother on both cheeks, a waft of perfume drifted across the bed; it filled Ian with longing. Evelyn let go of the tissue in her good hand and clasped Sarah’s hand instead. Ian blinked and looked away, the moment of intimacy between the two women making him both uncomfortable and glad. He and Sarah had had their differences, but he would forever be indebted to her for her affection towards his mother.

‘Hello, Ian,’ she smiled when Evelyn had released her, and then looked from Ian to his mother with a little frown between her arched brows. ‘I got home from work early and thought I’d just pop in and see how you were. But,’ she said, her intonation at the end of the sentence turning it into a question, ‘I can come another time?’

‘No,’ said Ian and his mother simultaneously. Ian stood up, smiled, and gestured towards the chair he’d just vacated. ‘Please, come and sit down, Sarah.’ He liked her being here; she’d always made the relationship between him and his mother easier, like oil between two slightly out-of-sync cogs.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back into the chair. ‘You stay right where you are, by your Mum,’ she whispered. She patted his shoulder, then withdrew her hand. This gesture of solidarity conveyed so much – recognition of the perilous state of his mother’s health and the grim, inevitable outcome that lay ahead. And he was grateful. ‘I’ll pull up another chair.’

She sat on the opposite side of the bed and Evelyn said, ‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ She paused to cough. ‘My two favourite people – not counting Molly and Lewis of course – come to see me at the same time.’

Sarah grinned. ‘Like buses. We all come at once.’

‘You should have brought the children,’ said Evelyn, out of one side of her mouth, a little dribble of saliva running down her chin. If she was aware of it, she showed no sign.

While he was wondering if he ought to wipe his mother’s face, Sarah got up and discreetly dabbed the corner of her mouth with a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Her smile never wavered as she carried out the task, but she gave Ian a quick, knowing glance.

‘Maybe next time. When you’re feeling a little better,’ she said.

Evelyn closed her eyes and Ian said, ‘Isn’t your chest any better?’

‘Never mind that now. Tell me about the children, Ian,’ she said holding out her hand.

He took it, cold and frail, in his own. ‘The kids are fine, Mum. What did the doctor say?’

Her voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘Didn’t Lewis have a swim gala this week? You know how much I love to hear all about –’ A coughing fit took hold and the sentence was left unfinished.

‘Mum!’ cried Ian, gripped by sudden fear. The infection wasn’t shifting. If anything it sounded worse! She’d had that cough for over a month now.

The coughing subsided. ‘Shush,’ she commanded, her tone firm in spite of her affliction. ‘What’s in the tin, Sarah?’

‘Have a look.’ She prised the lid off the tin and tipped it so that Evelyn could see the contents.

‘Homemade wheaten bread!’ she exclaimed breathlessly, trying to lift her head off the pillow. ‘My favourite.’

Sarah picked out a piece and held the moist, buttered bread to Evelyn’s lips so that she could take a bite. Her head sank back into the pillow, her gums working slowly, and Sarah said, ‘I know.’

Sarah held out the tin to Ian. ‘Want some?’ He shook his head.

Evelyn chewed and swallowed. ‘That was delicious. The wheatgerm’ll play havoc with my dentures. But what the heck. You only live once.’

Ian smiled, slightly envious of the easiness between Sarah and his mother. Sarah got up, lifted the glass of water from the bedside table and held it to Evelyn’s lips. They’d always been like this together, easy in each other’s company. Even when Sarah was a girl she’d gotten on well with his mum, and their relationship had always operated independently of his marriage.

‘Want some more?’

‘No thanks, love.’

‘You gave me the recipe. Took me ages to get it right.’ Sarah stared doubtfully into the tin. ‘It’s still not as good as yours.’

‘The secret’s in the flour. Got to be Morton’s. And a light touch.’

The first day he’d brought her home as his girlfriend, Sarah and Evelyn had ended up in the kitchen together, where Evelyn revealed the secret of her famous wheaten bread. He’d known then how much his mother approved. He’d always known that he wanted her to be his wife, but that day simply confirmed it. When she’d said yes, he was thrilled, though if truth be told, he’d not expected her to accept.

He cleared his throat and looked about the room. ‘Raquel said she sent you some flowers a few days ago.’

His mother broke eye contact and, picking up the tissue on the bedspread, squeezed it between her fingers. For one awful moment, he thought Raquel might have lied to him.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Evelyn, making eye contact again. ‘Though you’d have thought someone was getting married. There were enough flowers to fill a church.’

Ian laughed nervously. She was not pleased. Why on earth not?

She dropped the tissue, captured it again and Ian said, ‘So where are they?’

His mother looked at him blankly.

‘The flowers, Mum. Where are they?’

She looked away again and said, with studied airiness, ‘Oh, I told the girls to put them in vases in the day room. Let everyone enjoy them.’

‘But those flowers were meant for you, Mum. They cost Raquel a fortune.’

His mother brought her gaze to bear on him and her features hardened. ‘They were lilies, Ian. There must’ve been two dozen of them.’

Ian blushed and looked at his feet. ‘She must’ve forgotten,’ he mumbled. How could Raquel be so thoughtless? She’d been at his father’s funeral five years ago when the church was festooned with the pure white flowers, their musky scent as overpowering as the grief. How many times had Mum said in conversation since then that she’d come to hate lilies? How she could not look upon them, nor catch the faintest whiff of their perfume, without thinking of that day.

‘I’m sure she meant well,’ said Sarah.

‘Hmm.’ Evelyn pressed the hankie to the tip of her nose. ‘Flowers are all very well, but why doesn’t she come to see me?’

‘She’s er … busy,’ said Ian. He glanced at Sarah who lowered her eyes to her lap. The last time Raquel had visited was four weeks ago. She’d been sitting beside an old man in the day room, waiting for the staff to finish attending to Evelyn, when the man soiled himself. She’d been horrified, though not as much as the poor old bugger who, though he’d lost control of his bodily functions, was still compos mentis. Raquel hadn’t been back since.

Sarah stood up and said, ‘Well, I’d better be getting along. I don’t want to be late picking up the children.’

‘Be sure to give them a kiss from me,’ said Evelyn. ‘Tell them I love them very much.’

‘I will,’ said Sarah, her eyes bright and glassy. ‘And we’ll bring them to see you very soon, won’t we, Ian?’ He nodded and swallowed, unable to shift the hard lump in the centre of his chest. She bent over, gave Evelyn a hug and ran the flat of her hand down the side of his mother’s wrinkled face.

‘See you,’ she said. She reached over, touched him lightly on the arm and then was gone, leaving him feeling oddly bereft.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Ian, I must go to the loo.’ Evelyn peeled back the bedcovers and slowly swung her legs over the other side of the bed. Her bare feet made contact with the floor.

‘Do you need some help, Mum?’ he said, standing up.

‘No, I’m fine.’

But she wasn’t fine. As soon as she stood up, her legs buckled beneath her and she crumpled onto the floor.

Ian cursed, slammed the emergency call button on the wall with the flat of his hand and rushed to her aid. She was lying on her side, her knees bent up. ‘Here, let me help you. Are you hurt?’

She wheezed and shook her head, a hand pressed to her chest.

Jolanta came running in and, as soon as she saw what had happened, helped Ian lift his mother back into bed, though he hardly needed her assistance, his mother was so slight.

‘Are you hurt, Mum?’ he said, blinking back tears.

‘No. I don’t know what happened, Ian,’ she said in bewilderment. ‘My legs just gave way.’

‘It’s okay, Mum. Everything’s okay.’

‘She was trying to go to the toilet, Jolanta,’ he said. ‘She’s never fallen like that before, has she?’

Jolanta shook her head and touched his arm. ‘It’s okay, Mr Aitken. You leave this to me. You go outside and wait.’

It was dark by the time he left the nursing home. He stood in the car park, ill at ease and worried. Light drizzle settled on his head and shoulders in glistening, translucent pearls. He needed to talk to someone about his mother, someone he could trust, someone who would understand the fear in his heart and the feeling of impotence that consumed him. He glanced at his watch, pulled out his mobile and called home. There was no answer. He remembered then that Raquel had gone late night shopping followed by a drink with her girlfriends. He left a message saying he would be home late. Then he got in the car and drove to someone who would understand his pain.

Her car was parked outside the house on the leafy street. He turned the engine off and glanced at the clock in the car. They would be in the kitchen at the back of the house having tea around the pine kitchen table, the windows steamed up and the scent of good home cooking in the air. The closest Raquel came to home cooking was opening a packet from Marks and Spencer.

Sarah, Molly and Lewis. The three people he loved most in the entire world. Why had he not been able to hold on to them? He leaned his head on the headrest and closed his eyes. He should not have come. But he could not go home alone to that empty house with its pale carpets and ridiculous white ostrich feathers in a vase on the hall table.

Waiting nervously on the doorstep, Ian stared at his reflection in the glass panelled door. His reddish-blond hair was receding, making him look more like his father every day. He had not expected to keep his hair, of course – his father had been bald by the time he was fifty – but now that the time had come for him, he found it hard to accept. It made the gulf between him and Raquel, ten years his junior and devoted to physical perfection, seem even greater. He’d even toyed with the idea of a hair transplant – until common sense kicked in.

Inside a light came on, his reflection disappeared and the door opened.

Sarah was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her hair tied up in a spiky ponytail, her feet bare. ‘Ian,’ she said, looking past him into the darkness as if looking for an accomplice. ‘What’re you doing here?’

He shuffled awkwardly on the doorstep, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, regretting the decision to come.

‘Is everything all right?’ she said and her eyes widened in alarm. ‘Is it Evelyn?’

He rubbed the end of his nose. ‘No. Yes … she had a fall on the way to the toilet but she’s okay.’

‘Is she hurt?’ gasped Sarah.

‘No, she’s fine, really. Jolanta says they’ll make sure she’s accompanied on trips to the loo in future. I … I was just wondering if you could spare some time for a quick chat. About her care.’

Immediately she stood aside and ushered him in. ‘Of course.’

‘I haven’t come at a bad time?’ he said, nearly falling over the pile of schoolbags, shoes and coats in the hall. Bisto, the brown-and-white cat Sarah had rescued from the cat home, came and circled his legs warily. He bent down to stroke his back, but he immediately scarpered up the stairs.

‘No, not at all,’ said Sarah, brushing crumbs off the front of her hoodie. ‘We’ve just finished eating. The kids will be thrilled to see you.’

Molly and Lewis, drawn by the sound of voices, appeared at the end of the hall. As soon as Molly saw him, her face lit up in a smile and she bounded along the hall like a long-limbed gazelle and latched on to his arm. Lewis barrelled up the hall at full pelt, colliding with his father and wrapping his arms around his waist. In spite of his worries, Ian laughed. Lewis lifted his head to look his father in the face, grinning cheekily. Ian leaned down and planted a kiss on his tomato-sauce-stained cheek. ‘Let me guess? You had spaghetti bolognese for tea.’

‘How did you know?’ said Lewis suspiciously, while Ian kissed the top of Molly’s head, her hair the same colour and texture as Sarah’s. He hadn’t done much right in life, but his children made his heart swell with unfettered pride.

‘That’d be telling,’ he said.

‘How’s Gran?’ said Molly.

‘She’s fine,’ said Ian without missing a beat. ‘Lewis, will you take your swim medal in to show Gran on Sunday? She’d love to see it.’

‘Come on kids,’ said Sarah. ‘Dad and I need to have a little chat. Why don’t you switch the TV on in the lounge?’ She glanced at the clock. 'The Simpsons are just coming on. I’ll bring you through some ice cream.’

‘Ice cream on a Wednesday?’ said Molly with an exaggerated look of surprise on her face. ‘What’s got into you, Mum?’ Sarah, who was a big fan of healthy eating, gave Molly a withering look. Ian was a bit shamed to admit that the children were spoiled when they came to him. Raquel seemed to think that plying them with sweets and sugary treats was the secret to winning their affection. It hadn’t worked.

‘Seeing as your Dad’s here,’ said Sarah with a conspiratorial wink at Ian. ‘Now scram before I change my mind.’ That was enough to send them scarpering into the lounge, slamming the door shut behind them.

In the kitchen, strewn with pots and pans, Ian smiled. Sarah had always been a messy cook, never tidying up as she went along. ‘Take the weight off,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right with you.’

He sat down at the table, pushed a plate out of the way and dabbed ineffectually at the spills on the table with a used napkin. He missed the mess of family life.

‘I don’t know about you but I could use a drink,’ said Sarah, as she came back into the kitchen, taking a half-empty bottle of white wine out of the fridge. ‘Want some?’

He shook his head. ‘No thanks. I’m driving. Some orange juice would be nice.’ He watched her drain the juice from a carton, toss the carton at the bin – and miss. She shrugged and he smiled, feeling himself relax for the first time that day. The homeliness of Sarah’s chaotic kitchen reminded him of happier times.

She handed him a tumbler of juice and half-filled a stubby-stemmed glass with wine for herself. Oblivious to the state of the place, which would’ve had Raquel hyperventilating, she sat down opposite him, the bottle of wine close at hand as if her glass might need replenishment soon. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s just that … well. I wanted to ask your advice.’

She stared at him with grey eyes, steady and clear. ‘About Evelyn?’

‘Yes. I spoke with the staff on the way out. They assured me that she’d finished the antibiotics two days ago but that fall just made me realise how weak she is. That’s the second dose in the last four weeks. She just doesn’t seem able to shift that infection.’

‘Did you speak with Linda?’ Linda was the manager and a trained nurse.

‘No, she wasn’t there.’

‘Hmm,’ said Sarah, took a drink of wine and added, ‘And what have the staff done about it?’

‘Nothing, as far as I can see. They said she was tired and needed a chance to rest.’

There was a long pause. Sarah looked into her glass, held between both hands. ‘I think you should get Dr Glover back to see her tomorrow. If the chest infection’s not cleared, she might need stronger antibiotics. Left untreated, it could turn into pneumonia.’

He nodded glumly and took a swig of juice. She’d not told him anything he had not thought himself, but it was reassuring to hear that she agreed, that his instinct had been right. He swallowed, and emotion – something akin to, but not quite the same as anger – welled up inside him. ‘You know,’ he said, his eyes stinging the way they did when he took the kids to the chlorinated pool, ‘I don’t think the staff in that place know what they’re doing.’

He set the glass down on the table with more force than he intended and some juice slopped out, to mingle with the blob of bolognese sauce he’d smeared across the vinyl tablecloth. ‘How come they didn’t volunteer the information about her antibiotics? How come they haven’t called in a doctor already? They just leave her lying in that bed, hour after hour, all alone.’

Sarah sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Ian. I know how much it hurts you to see her like that. Me too.’

He put his hands over his face and his shoulders shook. ‘I hate to see her in that place.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up over that again, Ian. You had no choice. She needs professional care. And she’s in the best place possible.’

He removed his hands and looked into Sarah’s sympathetic eyes. ‘But they stole her Bible.’

‘I know.’ Sarah paused and added gently, ‘But we don’t know if that was the staff, another resident or a visitor. And from what I can see, they’re kind to her. And professional.’

He blew air out his nose noisily. ‘Professional, huh! That’s a joke. Half of the staff look like they’ve just left school and the other half can hardly speak a word of English.’

Sarah blinked and said carefully, ‘I know you’re upset, Ian, but that’s really not fair. They’re doing their best.’

His shoulders slumped and he suddenly felt desperately tired. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘I feel as though I’ve let her down.’

‘You haven’t,’ she said softly. ‘It wasn’t really practical to have her come and live with you, was it? Not with you and Raquel out at work all day.’

He attempted a smile of gratitude for the kind words, though they did little to assuage his guilt. He ran his hand across the top of his head and thought for a few long moments.

‘Right, we need a plan.’ If he could inject some order into what was happening, maybe he could control things, maybe he could get his mother well again. ‘I think someone should go in and see her at least once a day now until this crisis is over,’ he said, the words that had been swimming around in his head all afternoon tumbling out too fast, one on top of the other. ‘Keep on top of the staff. I can do most days, except Tuesdays. Probably best not to take the kids too often – we don’t want to freak them out, seeing her unwell.’ He focused on the swirly pattern on the oilcloth in an attempt to slow down his thoughts. ‘Maybe we could both take them at the weekend and you could take them away after a few minutes. I think it’d do her good to see them, don’t you? And we could take turns to visit on the days when the other one’s got the kids. And –’

‘Ian,’ said Sarah gently and when he looked up her cheeks were red. ‘You know how much I love Evelyn and I’d do anything for her.’ She paused, stared at the table, and then went on, twisting the stem of the glass between her finger and thumb. ‘I’ll do whatever’s required. But don’t you think you should be having this conversation with Raquel?’

She was right, of course. A cold chill settled in his stomach. He had no right to be here, no right to ask this of her. And yet, who else could he ask? He had no siblings to call on. And Raquel, well, she would visit if he asked her, but it would be done out of a sense of duty, not of love. And there would be little compassion.

He cleared his throat and said disloyally, his cheeks flushing, ‘But there’s no bond, no connection, between Raquel and my mother. No … affection. They’ve never clicked. Whereas you two, well, you’re like mother and daughter. At least that’s how it’s always appeared to me.’ He would’ve married Sarah without his mother’s approval – but it had always pleased him that both his parents liked her so much.

Sarah lifted her eyes, held his gaze and said solemnly, ‘You’re right, that’s how it is. I love your mother as if she were my own. That’s why I’ll do whatever it takes to make what’s left of her life as happy and comfortable as possible.’

‘I knew that I could rely on you, Sarah,’ he said, relief and gratitude flooding through him. ‘Thank you.’ Instinctively, he reached his hand out towards hers, lying on the table, then snatched it back when he saw the look of puzzlement on her face.

‘I’m doing this for Evelyn, Ian,’ she said quietly as her hand slid off the table onto her lap.

‘Yes, of course. And I’ll never forget that, Sarah. I’ll never forget that you make time to visit her, no matter how busy you are.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘After all she’s done for me … for them, it’s nothing. And the divorce didn’t change anything between us. She treated me just the same. Do you know she paid for the kids’ childcare so that I could go back to work?’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know. But it doesn’t surprise me.’

Suddenly, Sarah put her hand over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. ‘She’s always been so good to me,’ she choked. ‘To all of us.’

He let the comment settle between them like a feather drifting slowly to the floor. The silence between them was comfortable, a blanket round their shared grief. And it seemed like the right moment all of a sudden to say what had been on his mind lately. He took a deep breath. ‘I know I’ve said it before, Sarah, but I am sorry for walking out on you and the kids. I’m sorry that I hurt you.’

Her hand fell from her mouth but she said nothing for a few moments. She took a sip of wine, high colour in her cheeks, and said, ‘I appreciate you saying that, Ian, really I do.’

‘I just want you to know, that’s all. Sometimes I feel like a real heel. I just wish … well.’ He looked at the palms of his hands, white and smooth, and left the sentence unfinished. He wondered if he’d stayed, would the marriage have survived?

‘I don’t blame you,’ she said and his head snapped up. She cocked her head to one side the way she did when she had something difficult to say.

He’d walked out before Lewis could even walk and Molly was still in nappies. He’d hated himself for it. But he couldn’t stay. The Sarah he’d loved had simply disappeared, consumed entirely by motherhood. At least that was what he thought had happened. It wasn’t until after Lewis’ birth that he’d realised Sarah did not love him the way he loved her. If she loved him at all.

Her love for him had always been an elusive thing, rarely voiced. She’d maintained that words were cheap and that she preferred to show love rather than constantly declare it. As a new bride she’d been kind and attentive but her interest had waned over the years and towards the end of their marriage, he’d felt nothing but loathing emanating from her like heat from a fire.

‘If you’d been happy you never would’ve left,’ she went on. ‘And I was largely responsible for that unhappiness.’

For some reason he shook his head, though what she said was true.

‘No, I wasn’t a good wife. I pushed you away. I built barriers between us and then I couldn’t seem to pull them down.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’ She looked away and he felt, as he had often done in their marriage, that she wasn’t being entirely straight with him.

‘Once Molly was born, I felt that you lost interest in me, Sarah. And it only got worse when Lewis came along. I couldn’t see a future for us. I couldn’t see how we would ever be happy again. I gave you so much and got so little back in return.’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about the past, Ian,’ she said, rubbing the back of her neck. ‘We both made mistakes and it doesn’t change where we are now.’

‘Yes, let’s look to the future.’ He smiled at her then, resisting the urge to reach out and touch a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. ‘And let’s not be too hard on ourselves. I mean, there aren’t many divorced couples who can sit down and talk to each other like this.’

She smiled weakly. ‘I guess that’s true. I’m glad we’ve remained friends. In spite of everything.’

He stared into her silvery eyes, the pupils wide and black as night. From somewhere deep inside, courage and hope rose in his breast like twin flames, and he blurted out, ‘I loved you the first moment I set eyes on you. All those years ago in Sunday school.’

She looked at him with wide eyes and her mouth opened slightly. Her face paled.

He blushed and smiled. Now that he’d broached the subject of his feelings for her, there was no going back. Nor did he want to. ‘I deeply regret our divorce, Sarah. I wish I’d fought harder to save our marriage.’

She shook her head slowly, a look of bafflement on her face. ‘It wasn’t just down to you –’

‘It’s bound to have affected the children, hasn’t it?’

‘Well, naturally, but the children are fine, really. They’ve grown up with you not living at home. It’s all they’ve ever known, in Lewis’ case anyway. In that respect they’re much luckier than other kids of divorced parents.’

‘Still,’ he said, steering her gently back to the topic that had lately come to preoccupy his thoughts. ‘Wouldn’t it be so much better for them if their parents were together?’

She lifted her shoulders and looked away. ‘Well, yes, in theory that’s what everyone wants for their children.’ Her shoulders dropped and the corners of her mouth turned down. ‘But life doesn’t always deliver dreams.’

‘Why did you never marry again?’

Colour rose to her cheeks once more and his heart leapt in his chest. He’d thought long and hard about it and he’d come to the conclusion that she must still have feelings for him. ‘You do care for me, Sarah, don’t you?’

She frowned, her expression deeply troubled. ‘I’m fond of you, Ian, of course. But you’re married to Raquel.’

He broke eye contact then and looked at the floor. Raquel. The thorn in his side. And then, as if on cue, the phone rang and Sarah jumped to her feet. ‘I’d better get it, in case it’s the nursing home.’

Ian stood up and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. The battery was dead. Damn! What if the staff had been trying to contact him? His mother was asleep when he’d left, but what if she’d taken a turn for the worse?

Sarah snatched up the phone, listened for a moment and frowned. ‘Yes, he’s here,’ she said rather coolly, then thrust the receiver into his hand.

He took the phone from her hand, as cold dread settled in his stomach.

‘What are you doing over there?’ said a sharp, ill-tempered woman’s voice and, while the dread evaporated instantly, his heart sank. Why did Raquel have to ring now when he and Sarah were having the most important conversation of the last eight years?

‘Raquel,’ he said, and sat down abruptly on the nearest chair. ‘Thank God it’s you. I thought it was the nursing home.’

‘I’ve been home for over half an hour. I tried calling you on your mobile.’

‘You got my message?’ he said, watching Sarah wipe splashes of tomato sauce off the cream tiles behind the cooker. Tiles he’d spent an entire weekend putting up. He’d done a good job and Sarah had been so thrilled.

‘Yes, but you didn’t say where you were going. What are you doing over at Sarah’s?’

‘I’ll explain when I get home.’

‘It had better be good,’ she said meanly and hung up.

Ian sighed. ‘Sorry ’bout that,’ he said apologetically. He put the phone in its cradle and Sarah yawned.

‘Tired?’

She nodded. ‘Late night last night. Work thing.’

‘Well,’ he said, fumbling in his jacket pocket for the car keys. ‘I guess I’d better go. I’ll just pop into the lounge and say goodbye to the kids. Give me five minutes.’

He sat between them on the sofa, an arm round each of them, marvelling at how big they’d grown, how two unpromising scraps of life had turned into the most beautiful children he’d ever seen. Molly placed her head on his shoulder and Lewis cuddled up in the crook of his arm. Oh, what he would give to be back here, on this sofa every night, with his children in his arms.

His hand was on the front door latch when Sarah called his name. He turned and she padded noiselessly up the hall, the now empty wine glass pressed to her chest, her hair fallen from the ponytail. ‘Between us, we’ll take care of her, Ian. And everything’s going to be all right. Try not to worry.’

Her blonde hair, back-lit by the lamp on the hall table, was like a halo. Goodness shone from her, pure and bright. Why hadn’t he fought harder to save his marriage?