‘Anytime you like. I just think it’s time for us to start living again. You especially. You’re young. You need to get out and meet people. I’ve got my church sessions but it occurred to me that you’re stuck at home on your own.’ He smiles, hoping he hasn’t overstepped the mark and inadvertently insulted her. That isn’t his intention at all. They are both treading water here. It’s time to build up their strength and confidence and get back in the deep end.
‘Are you going to continue going to church, Dad?’
Peter can see her concerned expression in his peripheral vision. She thinks he’s had some sort of epiphany and has had a complete about-turn in his thinking. He hasn’t. It’s just that he doesn’t want to reveal to her the real reason why he attends. Initially a recommendation, it’s now something he is compelled to do for reasons he cannot or will not explain. Even to himself. That’s the hardest part – coming to terms with it, having to listen to that small, still voice in his head that tells him daily how he needs to attend to assuage his guilt. Maybe he should start believing. If only he could. It might just silence that voice.
‘Maybe. Maybe not. This isn’t about me. It’s you I’m worried about. I’d like to see you getting out and about, meeting people. Having fun.’
Having fun. What a phrase. Easy, light. Relaxed. It feels like an age since they have had any fun in their tiny little family. There is a great big hole where their smiles and laughter used to be. Lauren deserves to have fun and so much more. She deserves the happiness and closure that he himself is searching for.
‘There’s a party at Lacey’s next weekend. I wasn’t going to go but maybe…’
‘Please go, sweetheart.’ He sounds desperate. He doesn’t mean to. It’s just that he doesn’t want his girl to become lonely and isolated. No more sitting in her room texting. No more brooding and solitude. He thinks Sophia would agree that it’s time they both started living again. She certainly did plenty of it before she died. Now it’s their turn. Maybe there is a form of life after death after all.
By the time the weekend arrives, he is worn out. Work is hectic, the travelling up and down the A1 to meetings in Birmingham, an exhausting trudge. One of these days, he will look for another position, one that doesn’t involve so many needless journeys. One that is more fulfilling, less gruelling. Travelling from home on the outskirts of York, to Birmingham two, sometimes three times a week is enough for any man. More than enough.
‘So, what do you think?’ Lauren is standing in front of him, hands on hips, expectancy on her face. She has curled her long, dark hair into thick ringlets and is wearing a pair of jeans and a green, floaty top that matches her eyes. She looks so much like her mother, it pains him. So many memories. So much hurt.
‘Sensational.’
‘Sensational? Dad, you sound like an ageing rock star. Since when do people say something or somebody looked sensational?’ She laughs, her eyes glistening as she points her finger at him, a playful expression on her face. ‘You really need to up your game, you know. Get to grips with everyday language and terminology. You’re stuck in a time-warp, old man.’
‘I don’t want to. Quite happy as I am, thank you, being stuck in this time-warp. It’s nice in here. Familiar and comforting.’
‘It must be. Look at you, all alone in your own special, antiquated little world.’ She is laughing even harder and shaking her head at him.
‘I’m not alone. There are loads of us here. It’s a great place. People are pleasant to one another. They still have manners and use words like sensational.’
‘Well,’ she says, looking more relaxed and happier than he has seen her in a long while, ‘you’re welcome to it. Would somebody as quaint and polite as you fancy giving me a lift to the party?’
The place is bouncing as they pull up outside. A sliver of anticipation pushes through him, darting through his veins, nestling under his skin. ‘Be careful, yes?’
She rolls her eyes. This is something she used to do a lot, something that irked him but he managed to ignore. This time, he doesn’t dismiss it. He thinks of drugs and alcohol and young men and their capabilities. He thinks of the food.
‘Have you got your—’
She opens her bag and inside is her EpiPen, lying at the bottom amongst the detritus – bits of old tissues, lipsticks, discarded tampon wrappers, something else he has had to learn to deal with as a single dad. Every day brought a new challenge. He had no idea how much Sophia did for them both until she was no longer around to do it. And then he recalls the other side of his wife: her furtive ways, her indiscretions. He shuts his eyes, opens them again and turns to face Lauren.
‘Please tell me it hasn’t expired?’
She looks at him from under her lashes, dark and silky, just like Sophia’s. Jesus Christ, she is everywhere. Everywhere and nowhere. Will this ever end?
‘Dad, it hasn’t expired. Now you will stop worrying. Go home and pour yourself a glass of wine?’
‘I can pick you up later if you like?’
She sighs and leans over to give him a kiss. ‘I’ve got friends in there. We’ll get a taxi together.’
‘Right,’ he replies dolefully. ‘Make sure you’re not the last one in the cab.’
She lands a punch on his arm and widens her eyes. ‘Stop it! Go home old man and get drunk. Watch a film on TV. Ring a chatline. Anything! Now begone before I slap you again.’
She steps out of the car, blows him a kiss and saunters up the path. This was his idea, this party. His idea for Lauren to start socialising again. This is another part of single parenting he hadn’t accounted for – worrying for both of them with nobody at home to talk to, nobody to listen to his fears and anxieties. Nobody to tell him to go to hell when he asked the question he never thought he would ever have to ask about whether or not his wife was sleeping with another man.
But that’s over now. A thing of the past. He can move on without having to monitor her movements, without checking her phone. She’s gone. Her lover is in prison for her murder. What more is there to be said?
9ALICE
He’s not coming. I feel sure of it. I cornered him last Sunday, forced him into this. He’s had a full week to mull it over and now he’s not going to turn up. I missed the counselling session at church. I couldn’t face it, sitting there opposite him as he tried to catch my eye, watching and waiting for him to subliminally tell me that he no longer wants to be associated with me. I don’t blame him. He doesn’t know me. Not really. He doesn’t know why I’m here, what my intentions are. I’m not even sure I know that myself, not the full endpoint of it all. I just know that I need to strike up a relationship with him, become a part of his life. And then it will all fall into place.
My phone buzzes. I lift it out of my pocket and stare at the screen. Another missed call from Sandra and two texts. I turn it off and slip it back into my pocket. I don’t have time for her or anybody else from that period of my life. It’s in the past. I’ve moved on.
The door opens behind me, warm air wafting my way. I don’t turn around. I don’t want to be disappointed when I’m faced with somebody who isn’t Peter. I’ve waited a long time for this moment and it seems it may not happen after all.
‘Another latte? I see you beat me to it.’ And there he is, standing looking down at me, his eyes shining. And he’s smiling. I haven’t scared him off. I haven’t sent him running in the opposite direction. He’s here. With me.
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’ My chest tightens as he goes to the counter and orders our drinks then comes back and slips effortlessly into his chair.
‘You made it.’
‘I made it.’
‘I thought perhaps you weren’t coming. Thought maybe I’d scared you off.’ I smile at him and he smiles back. This is easier than I anticipated.
‘I didn’t see you at the grieving session.’
