I get three calls from Van during the journey home, and I ignore all of them. Then he texts me, asking if I want a lift from the train station in Applechurch. Then I turn my phone off, and slam it into my bag. I can’t face anyone right now – I need some space to process all of this.
The rest of our visit with Jason and Jo passed well enough. Nobody cried, even me. Saul was happy to see them, but happy to say goodbye as well. Jason bought him a giant stuffed toy gorilla from the gift shop, and it takes up its own seat on the train. Saul drifts in and out of sleep all the way home, tired out from all the excitement and walking. He cuddles up on my lap on the bus for the last part of the journey, and is perfectly content to collapse in a heap on the sofa when we finally get home.
He’s watching The Jungle Book, the old cartoon version. The gorilla next to him, Tinkerbell curled in a ball by the toy’s side. The three musketeers.
Once he’s settled, I wander into the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. It takes a lot longer than it should, due to my impaired mental state. First I put the kettle on to boil without any water in it. Then I put the water in, but forget to switch it on. Then I put both coffee granules and a tea bag in the same mug. Then I add a lovely dollop of mayonnaise to the tea instead of milk. I’m really not feeling like myself.
It’s not that late – just after 8 p.m. – but it’s pitch black outside. The snow is coming down in gentle flurries, and I’m grateful for the warmth and cosiness of our little house. The Christmas tree lights are switched on, a blaze of yellow sparkles, and the sound of the movie fills the house. I’m here. Saul’s here. We’re safe. The bear necessities of life.
I lean back against the kitchen counter, and sip the tea I’ve finally managed to make. I look through to the other room, at Saul with his juice, and the gorilla and the cat, and realise how exhausted I am. Not just by the journey, but by everything.
My parents. Jason and Jo. Van. The trip down memory lane in Bristol. The complications of everybody else’s lives – Lynnie, and Edie, and Laura. Love them as I do, they all add extra layers of mess to my life – a life that used to be much tidier.
It used to be me and Saul. Saul and me. It was straightforward and simple and all very, very manageable. Yes, sometimes I was lonely – but, to use a comparison that would probably fit if I could drive, I was like the only car on a secluded country lane, going at my own pace, never worrying that someone might crash into me if I braked too suddenly.
Now I feel like I’m driving on a crowded multi-lane motorway at rush hour. Everybody seems to want to be part of my life. Everyone seems to want something from me.
Even as I think that, I know it sounds awful. I’ve gained far more than I’ve lost, and usually I like the hustle and bustle of my life here. But right now, when I’m physically and mentally wiped out, it all feels like too much. Too many people. Too many complications. Too many demands. I just need to shut it all down for a while. Get Saul settled in bed, and follow right behind him. Get some sleep. Clear my mind. I’m sure everything will feel different in the morning.
I finish my tea and rinse the cup out in the sink, deciding that there’s no time like the present. So what if I go to bed at 8 p.m.? There’s no one around to judge.
I walk through into the living room, and scratch Tinkerbell behind the ears, making him purr. I scratch the gorilla behind the ears as well, but luckily he doesn’t.
‘Ready for bed, kiddo?’ I say, looking down at Saul. He’s staring at the TV screen as Bagheera and Baloo discuss Mowgli’s future, but his eyes are glassy and tired. He’s basically already asleep, he just doesn’t know it yet.
I can sense an argument coming on, and steel myself for it by putting my hands on my hips – the no-nonsense-mummy stance. He stares at me and rubs his eyes with screwed-up fists, opening his mouth to say no. He doesn’t throw many tantrums, but I can feel this one in the air – mainly because he’s exhausted.
We’re interrupted from escalating our minor disagreement by a knock at the door. I stand there, hands still on my hips, and really want to swear out loud. Saul stares at me, then back at the TV.
‘You’d better answer the door, Mummy,’ he says, grabbing hold of his gorilla and hugging it tight. I have been dismissed, it seems.
The knock comes again, and I roll my eyes in a very mature fashion. Just when I’d really like the whole world to piss right off, it decides to come and visit.
I stomp to the door, trying to get a hold of my bad mood, and swing it open.
Van is outside, leaning against the wall, peering at me as I finally materialise. He’s wearing what looks like nineteen layers of clothing and his beanie, dusted with snow. His breath is gusting into clouds on the cold night air, and he looks freezing. I feel the usual little skitterry-skit when I see him, but even that is overruled by the fact that I don’t want to talk to him. Not that it’s personal – I don’t want to talk to anyone.
‘Hey,’ he says, jamming his hands into the pockets of his body-warmer. ‘You okay? How did today go? I tried calling but I couldn’t get through …’
‘It was fine,’ I say, knowing I should invite him in but not really having the energy to follow through. ‘There was something wrong with my phone.’
He takes in my positioning, the arms I realise I have crossed defensively across my chest, and the fact that I’m not budging, even though I’m letting the cold in. His eye twitches slightly, and his mouth twists into an almost-but-not-quite-amused grin.
‘You’re lying, aren’t you? You never usually lie.’
I sigh, and admit: ‘Yeah. I am. There’s nothing wrong with my phone. Auburn said I needed to start telling fibs so I could be socially acceptable …’
‘Ha!’ he scoffs, looking at me intensely, as though he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. ‘Auburn is in no position to tell anybody how to be more socially acceptable. And you don’t need to lie to me, Katie.’
‘Don’t I, though?’ I ask, letting out a big breath from all the tension. ‘I wouldn’t have done, not so long ago. But now I’m worried about hurting your feelings, or saying the wrong thing. So here I am. Lying.’
‘Well, stop lying. Tell me the truth.’
‘The truth? Okay. Basically, Van, I’m exhausted. It’s been a big day. It’s been a big month. All I want to do is curl up in a ball in bed on my own and hope tomorrow’s different. I can’t deal with … people right now. Any of them.’
He doesn’t reply for a while, and I see him trying to control what may very well be the first flash of anger I’ve ever seen from him. What can I say? I’ve still got the magic.
He backs off a few steps, and holds his hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender.
‘No problem,’ he says, his voice controlled. ‘I understand. I’m sorry to have crowded you. And don’t worry about hurting my feelings, Katie – I’m a big boy. I can handle it. You get some rest, and I’ll see you soon.’
He doesn’t give me the chance to reply, just turns on his heel and jogs over the road to his parked truck.
I feel terrible, as soon as he walks away, and know I should shout him back. Apologise. Explain. Invite him in. I try to, I really do – but all that comes out of my mouth is a whisper, his name murmured so quietly that even I can’t hear it. I go back inside and close the door behind me, leaning back against it and shaking my head.
I listen to the sound of his engine starting up, and hear a slight squeal of tyres as he pulls away a lot faster than he usually does. Shit. I’ve been a complete cow to someone who really didn’t deserve it.
I go back to the kitchen and get my phone out of my bag. I decide I’ll bite the bullet and text him right away. Say I’m sorry and offer to meet him for a drink tomorrow after work. I really do need a night on my own – but there are far nicer ways of saying it. It’s not like he wouldn’t have understood – I just snapped at him without giving him the chance to.
All the fight’s gone out of Saul now, and he’s lying limp and splayed across the sofa, one hand caressing the gorilla’s furry head as he tries to stay awake. I watch him, my precious little boy, as I wait for my phone to switch back on.
When it does, I see that I have three new text messages. I’m ashamed of the way I behaved with Van, and don’t want to read anything that’s going to make me feel even worse.
I’m about to start tapping away on the keys when there’s another knock at the door. I sigh and put the phone down. Maybe he’s come back, I think. Maybe he’s so annoyed with me, he’s come to give me a piece of his mind. Maybe we’ll end up screaming at each other on the doorstep – fast forwarding right past the honeymoon stage and into more familiar relationship territory. For me, at least.
Wearily, I trudge back through the living room and into the hallway. I take a deep breath, and open the door.
Waiting outside, complete with an uncharacteristic suntan and wearing a weird shirt with a mandarin collar, is my dad.
‘Hi, love,’ he says, sounding pretty exhausted himself. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’ve decided you’re right. I need to sort this out. Is your mother in?’