It was only when we brought Will back home, once the annexe was adapted and ready, that I could see a point in making it beautiful again. I needed to give my son something to look at. I needed to tell him, silently, that things might change, grow or fail, but that life did go on. That we were all part of some great cycle, some pattern that it was only God’s purpose to understand. I couldn’t say that to him, of course – Will and I have never been able to say much to each other – but I wanted to show him. A silent promise, if you like, that there was a bigger picture, a brighter future.
Steven was poking at the log fire. He manoeuvred the remaining half-burnt logs expertly with a poker, sending glowing sparks up the chimney, then dropped a new log on to the middle. He stood back, as he always did, watching with quiet satisfaction as the flames took hold, and dusted his hands on his corduroy trousers. He turned as I entered the room. I held out a glass.
‘Thank you. Is George coming down?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘What’s she doing?
‘Watching television upstairs. She doesn’t want company. I did ask.’
‘She’ll come round. She’s probably jet-lagged.’
‘I hope so, Steven. She’s not very happy with us at the moment.’
We stood in silence, watching the fire. Around us the room was dark and still, the windowpanes rattling gently as they were buffeted by the wind and rain.
‘Filthy night.’
‘Yes.’
The dog padded into the room and, with a sigh, flopped down in front of the fire, gazing up adoringly at us both from her prone position.
‘So what do you think?’ he said. ‘This haircut business.’
‘I don’t know. I’d like to think it’s a good sign.’
‘This Louisa’s a bit of a character, isn’t she?’
I saw the way my husband smiled to himself. Not her too, I found myself thinking, and then squashed the thought.
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose she is.’
‘Do you think she’s the right one?’
I took a sip of my drink before answering. Two fingers of gin, a slice of lemon and a lot of tonic. ‘Who knows?’ I said. ‘I don’t think I have the faintest idea what is right and wrong any more.’
‘He likes her. I’m sure he likes her. We were talking while watching the news the other night, and he mentioned her twice. He hasn’t done that before.’
‘Yes. Well. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.’
‘Do you have to?’
Steven turned from the fire. I could see him studying me, perhaps conscious of the new lines around my eyes, the way my mouth seemed set these days into a thin line of anxiety. He looked at the little gold cross, now ever present around my neck. I didn’t like it when he looked at me like that. I could never escape the feeling that I was being compared to someone else.
‘I’m just being realistic.’
‘You sound … you sound like you’re already expecting it to happen.’
‘I know my son.’
‘Our son.’
‘Yes. Our son.’ More my son, I found myself thinking. You were never really there for him. Not emotionally. You were just the absence he was always striving to impress.
‘He’ll change his mind,’ Steven said. ‘There’s still a long way to go.’
We stood there. I took a long sip of my drink, the ice cold against the warmth given out by the fire.
‘I keep thinking … ’ I said, staring into the hearth. ‘I still keep thinking that I’m missing something.’
My husband was still watching me. I could feel his gaze on me, but I couldn’t meet it. Perhaps he might have reached out to me then. But I think we had probably gone too far for that.
He took a sip of his drink. ‘You can only do what you can do, darling.’
‘I’m well aware of that. But it’s not really enough, is it?’
He turned back to the fire, poking unnecessarily at a log until I turned and quietly left the room.
As he had known I would.
When Will first told me what he wanted, he had to tell me twice, as I was quite sure I could not have heard him correctly the first time. I stayed quite calm when I realized what it was he was proposing, and then I told him he was being ridiculous and I walked straight out of the room. It’s an unfair advantage, being able to walk away from a man in a wheelchair. There are two steps between the annexe and the main house, and without Nathan’s help he could not traverse them. I shut the door of the annexe and I stood in my own hallway with the calmly spoken words of my son still ringing in my ears.
I’m not sure I moved for half an hour.
He refused to let it go. Being Will, he always had to have the last word. He repeated his request every time I went in to see him until I almost had to persuade myself to go in each day. I don’t want to live like this, Mother. This is not the life I chose. There is no prospect of my recovery, hence it is a perfectly reasonable request to ask to end it in a manner I see fit. I heard him and could well imagine what he had been like in those business meetings, the career that had made him rich and arrogant. He was a man who was used to being heard, after all. He couldn’t bear it that in some way I had the power to dictate his future, that I had somehow become mother again.
It took his attempt to make me agree. It’s not that my religion forbade it – although the prospect of Will being consigned to hell through his own desperation was a terrible one. (I chose to believe that God, a benign God, would understand our sufferings and forgive us our trespasses.)
Steven was poking at the log fire. He manoeuvred the remaining half-burnt logs expertly with a poker, sending glowing sparks up the chimney, then dropped a new log on to the middle. He stood back, as he always did, watching with quiet satisfaction as the flames took hold, and dusted his hands on his corduroy trousers. He turned as I entered the room. I held out a glass.
‘Thank you. Is George coming down?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘What’s she doing?
‘Watching television upstairs. She doesn’t want company. I did ask.’
‘She’ll come round. She’s probably jet-lagged.’
‘I hope so, Steven. She’s not very happy with us at the moment.’
We stood in silence, watching the fire. Around us the room was dark and still, the windowpanes rattling gently as they were buffeted by the wind and rain.
‘Filthy night.’
‘Yes.’
The dog padded into the room and, with a sigh, flopped down in front of the fire, gazing up adoringly at us both from her prone position.
‘So what do you think?’ he said. ‘This haircut business.’
‘I don’t know. I’d like to think it’s a good sign.’
‘This Louisa’s a bit of a character, isn’t she?’
I saw the way my husband smiled to himself. Not her too, I found myself thinking, and then squashed the thought.
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose she is.’
‘Do you think she’s the right one?’
I took a sip of my drink before answering. Two fingers of gin, a slice of lemon and a lot of tonic. ‘Who knows?’ I said. ‘I don’t think I have the faintest idea what is right and wrong any more.’
‘He likes her. I’m sure he likes her. We were talking while watching the news the other night, and he mentioned her twice. He hasn’t done that before.’
‘Yes. Well. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.’
‘Do you have to?’
Steven turned from the fire. I could see him studying me, perhaps conscious of the new lines around my eyes, the way my mouth seemed set these days into a thin line of anxiety. He looked at the little gold cross, now ever present around my neck. I didn’t like it when he looked at me like that. I could never escape the feeling that I was being compared to someone else.
‘I’m just being realistic.’
‘You sound … you sound like you’re already expecting it to happen.’
‘I know my son.’
‘Our son.’
‘Yes. Our son.’ More my son, I found myself thinking. You were never really there for him. Not emotionally. You were just the absence he was always striving to impress.
‘He’ll change his mind,’ Steven said. ‘There’s still a long way to go.’
We stood there. I took a long sip of my drink, the ice cold against the warmth given out by the fire.
‘I keep thinking … ’ I said, staring into the hearth. ‘I still keep thinking that I’m missing something.’
My husband was still watching me. I could feel his gaze on me, but I couldn’t meet it. Perhaps he might have reached out to me then. But I think we had probably gone too far for that.
He took a sip of his drink. ‘You can only do what you can do, darling.’
‘I’m well aware of that. But it’s not really enough, is it?’
He turned back to the fire, poking unnecessarily at a log until I turned and quietly left the room.
As he had known I would.
When Will first told me what he wanted, he had to tell me twice, as I was quite sure I could not have heard him correctly the first time. I stayed quite calm when I realized what it was he was proposing, and then I told him he was being ridiculous and I walked straight out of the room. It’s an unfair advantage, being able to walk away from a man in a wheelchair. There are two steps between the annexe and the main house, and without Nathan’s help he could not traverse them. I shut the door of the annexe and I stood in my own hallway with the calmly spoken words of my son still ringing in my ears.
I’m not sure I moved for half an hour.
He refused to let it go. Being Will, he always had to have the last word. He repeated his request every time I went in to see him until I almost had to persuade myself to go in each day. I don’t want to live like this, Mother. This is not the life I chose. There is no prospect of my recovery, hence it is a perfectly reasonable request to ask to end it in a manner I see fit. I heard him and could well imagine what he had been like in those business meetings, the career that had made him rich and arrogant. He was a man who was used to being heard, after all. He couldn’t bear it that in some way I had the power to dictate his future, that I had somehow become mother again.
It took his attempt to make me agree. It’s not that my religion forbade it – although the prospect of Will being consigned to hell through his own desperation was a terrible one. (I chose to believe that God, a benign God, would understand our sufferings and forgive us our trespasses.)
