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Something drops through my body. A shot-put off a cliff.
What?Whatdid she just say?Husband?Ex-husband?
‘Before your dad—’
‘Julian?’ is all that manages to come out of my mouth, because – Julian. Julian.Julian.I’ve never heard her speak about a Julian. Not once. The name isn’t even vaguely familiar. And .?.?.ex-husband? ‘I’ve .?.?. You .?.?. what?’
Silence.
‘You – you never told me you were married before. BeforeDad?’
Well. She was right when she said ‘it’s not what you think’ because Mum.My mum.My mum with my dad, her first love. My mum with anex-husband? I feel stuck, like a tripping CD.
‘I know,’ says Mum, her eyes glistening. ‘I know I didn’t.’
‘But – you .?.?.what? This is .?.?. You never told us.’
And then, there is more silence. I could growl with frustration. Do some sort of Heimlich manoeuvre on her, bring up the words she isn’t saying.
‘How .?.?. how long were you married?’
‘Four years.’
‘Four years?’ I sound slightly hysterical now, but – how could she have never mentioned it, in twenty-nine years? Mum isDad’swife. Mum and Dad are two people who justare, as one, as if they just manifested on earth, an adult couple. And to think she was someone else’s wife once?Before me. Before Kieran and this cottage and everything I’ve always, always known. And she’s visiting him?Why?‘Does – does Dad know? About being married before?’
She nods, brings a delicate hand to the owl chain at her freckly chest. ‘Of course he does.’
‘And does he know about .?.?.’ And I look up at her.
She says nothing. Ah. I see. Of course.
Sweet barbecue smoke billows from next door and an Oasis song plays. Someone laughs loudly, and there’s a splash – a paddling pool probably. A simple Saturday, the last days of summer, playing out next to .?.?. whateverthisis.
‘Your dad doesn’t know I was visiting,’ says Mum finally, and my heart shrivels like dried fruit. ‘And I feel awful for lying, Millie, believe me, I do, but, it isn’tanything, and I have not made that decision lightly.’
‘What is it then? I .?.?. I don’t get it, Mum. If you’re not – I don’t know, having some sort of, ugh, I don’t know.Affair,’ oh, God, that word tastes horrible in my mouth, ‘Then why are you lying to Dad? To actualDad—’
‘Millie.’ Mum grabs my hand. Laughter floats over from next door. ‘I amnothaving an affair. I promise. Where you saw me,’ she says, swallowing, ‘that’s a care home. A care home that Julian is in. He’s .?.?. very ill. Dying.’
And now, I just stare at her. Because – how am I even supposed to feel? I didn’t even know this person existed five minutes ago, and now he’s dying and Mum looks heartbroken, but all I can think about is Dad. Mum and Dad. Traditional, solid, simple Mum and Dad who fit like tongue and groove. Mum, a a creative, loves a silent house, the company of her own mind. Dad, restless, someone who never sits still, can never go a day withoutdoing something, needing somewhere to be. A two-person symphony. Dad a strong drum; Mum a soft, subtle melody ribboning the beats. First loves, they always say, ‘And then we got married and had you both,’ as if it was just that easy. As simple as a checklist. A Chandler checklist.
Except apparently, it’s not that simple. It’s never been that simple. And my chest feels empty. Like something deep, with strong roots has been pulled from me, the sting lingering.
‘He has months, if luck is on his side,’ says Mum. ‘And his brother Jimmy reached out to me on Facebook. He said Julian had been .?.?. asking for me.’ Her voice breaks a little then, and tears glisten in tiny blobs, in the corners of her eyes, yet my heart feels suddenly hardened. ‘And – well, he’s always had troubles. Big ones I thought back then that I could fix. Alcohol. He was destructive .?.?.’
I pull my hand from hers, cross my arms across my chest. ‘Dad talks about how obsessed you were with the white dress .?.?.’ I say, trying to hold on to what feels like hundreds of thoughts and memories and anecdotes our family is built upon, before they’re gathered up by the wind. ‘How you’d always been shy, but the massive white dress said otherwise, and .?.?. Did you have a white dress with Julian?’
‘Millie, please.’
‘Sorry, I just .?.?. This is all soweird, Mum. Like,soweird. You’re just sitting in front of me and telling me you’re lying to Dad, that you had another husband and justhappenedto never mention it—’
‘I know—’
‘I bought anM&S chicken,’ I blurt, and Mum stares at me, lips parted. ‘And .?.?. now I’m here, somehow, learning that – I don’t know. Everything you told us wasn’t even real?’
And that seems to get her. I almost see it, that crumple of her heart. ‘Oh, everything was real, Millie. Of course it was real. Itisreal.’
‘And how long? How long have you been seeing him? Visiting. This .?.?. destructive ex.’
