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‘You used to bunk off?’
‘All the time.’
I watch her eyes widen.
‘Did Nanny ever find out?’
She wouldn’t have cared, but I don't tell her that, not because I'm embarrassed about my mum, well a bit I guess. Rather, I don’t tell her because there are things Charlotte really doesn't need to know now. Right now, she's dealing with enough.
We stop by the cottage, it’s up for sale again, or maybe it never sold.
‘Dad wanted us to move there.’ I watch her reaction, I watch her eyes look around.
‘It’s nice.’
‘We could ring the estate agency,’ I tell her. ‘Say we want to have a look. At least we’ll get out of the cold.’
‘Won’t you have to buy it?’
‘No!’ I tell her. ‘I used to work at an estate agent’s. Most people aren’t looking to buy, they just come for a nose around.’
‘You used to sell houses?’
‘No,’ I shake my head. ‘I just answered the phone.’
My daughter is starting to get to know me.
A different me.
The real me, that I too, am getting to know.
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
‘She doesn’t want to come.’
I am so disappointed, Jess has asked us to come and stay for a week while we make a decision about her school and we’re all packed and ready, but at the last minute Charlotte has changed her mind.
‘I think she’s worried about the bedwetting,’ I whisper to Jess.
‘Get her to the phone,’ Jess says.
I hate this part.
I hate handing it over, I hate the thought that Jess will say something wrong, something that will make it worse, because Jess doesn’t know her like I do. But I trust Jess too and I watch Charlotte’s surly face break into a smile. Then I hear her start to giggle. I don’t know what Jess said, I don’t know, but I trust her with Charlotte, and with reason, because a couple of hours later we’ve loaded the car and we’re on our way to Wales.
We don’t really talk much.
At first.
Charlotte’s busy on her phone, on Facebook and Twitter and then she dozes off. We stop at a service station and order the pancakes. Only then do I realise that they come with tinned whipped cream but I don’t make a fuss, I just eat them slowly.
I’m more aware of Charlotte than the cream on my tongue.
I know if we’re going to ever properly speak, then it’s time for me to talk.
Just as the first sign for Cardiff comes, I say it.
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte.’
She just looks out of the window.
‘I’m so sorry for what you had to see…’
She thinks I got drunk (which I did) but she’s a clever little thing. She really is, and I know that she’s so confused. I know that that doesn’t make sense to her because, as I told Doctor Patel, I don’t really drink.
Well, not much.
I just know that there are so many questions in her head.
So, I try to answer them.
I juggle the too much information ball with the truth ball. I juggle so many things, but I’m getting better at juggling these days.
I tell her that when I grew up, I had a problem with food and, as I drive, I ask her if she knows what bulimia is and she nods.
She knows so much more than I did at her age.
I wasn’t much older than her when it started. For years I didn’t even know its name.
For all the experts there are, and some will be shaking their heads, I am sure, as to how I tell her but, for all the experts there are, I am the expert on Charlotte. I name the white elephant, I tell her that I had a problem when I was younger, a problem that stayed well away…
‘But, when dad died,’ I tell her, ‘I felt as confused as I did back then.’ She’s not looking out of the window now; she’s watching me as I drive. As the sign posts change from English to English and Welsh, I tell her, I hope not too much, but enough for her to know that she can also talk to me.
‘I still feel like a teenager sometimes.’ That makes her laugh. ‘But, I’m not a teenager.’ I tell her that I love her very much and that her dad did too.
‘Did he know?’ Charlotte asks.
And the air blows out of my nostrils as the signs change from English and Welsh, to just Welsh.
‘Yes.’
It’s ten pm and we’re two hours later than we said we would be but I think they are the two best hours I have ever spent.
‘He found out my terrible secret…’ I glance over and I smile as my GPS tells me that we have reached our destination. I can see Jess coming out, but there’s just a little bit more of this conversation that has to be had. ‘He was never horrible about it.’ I look out of my windscreen, I see Jess coming over and my eyes fill with my first real tears for him.
He was a bastard.
By anyone’s standards, he was an absolute bastard.
Except…
I remember then the day he found me on a bender.
I was so ashamed.
More than ashamed.
I was shame.
He didn’t shout, he didn’t walk out, he didn’t get cross. He washed me, he bathed me and he put me to bed and then, when I woke up later, he was holding my hand.
There is so much to hate about my late husband but as the car door is pulled open by Jess, for the first time since Luke’s eulogy, I remember that there was also so much to love.
And there’s so much to love about Jess!
She just grabs Charlotte in a hug.
She kisses her and she brings her in and she’s bought her favourite chocolate drink and there’s a room all ready for Charlotte and Jess’s old teddy is waiting there on the bed.
They go for a wander.
I hear Jess showing her the washing machine and the cupboard of sheets, and I found out what was said as I drink my tea and eavesdrop. It would seem Jess was still wetting the bed at fourteen.
I don’t know if she’s exaggerating.
I just know I chose well.
Charlotte couldn’t have better godparents, even if I’m not quite sure about God.
I have to try to remember that, six days later.
I really have to force myself to remember that, because we’ve had the best week. Charlotte’s been riding on Jess’s neighbours’ horses, and we’ve spoken about schools and moving house and so many things… and now dusk is all around, Charlotte’s riding a pony as Jess brings up something she doesn’t have to.
‘I’m so sorry for accusing you,’ Jess says. ‘I just thought…’
‘Nothing happened.’ I watch Charlotte ride, I hear her laughter carry through the cool autumn air. I see her being a kid again and we’ve had four dry nights in a row now and I am so grateful to Jess for that.
‘Nothing?’ Jess checks.
I turn to my best friend.
I do my best to be honest.
‘He tried a few days ago…’ I watch the pull on her lips. ‘He’s trying anything now though, but I slapped him.’ I stare out to the fields and should I be honest? Should I tell her that there are times when I think about Luke? Should I admit to my fantasies? I decide no, because fantasies are all that they are Denise and Dr Patel tell me, even if sometimes they seem more than that.
Sometimes I don’t know whose thoughts I’m thinking, whose fantasies I tap into at times.
But I’m on medication and that’s my excuse!
So, I just sit there silent.
‘I should never have accused you,’ Jess says. ‘I had no right to, because…’
I watch the pony step into a canter, she is such a good rider, her back is so straight, yet she looks so relaxed. I watch Charlotte but my brain is busy.
I don’t want to know what Jess is about to tell me.
It’s a very conscious decision.
I’m not in denial.
I just don’t need to hear that it wasn’t Luke she shagged on the night of my daughter’s christening.
I don’t need it confirmed, that the awkwardness that existed for a while afterwards, was because of what she did with my husband.
There’s another curse to once being a mistress.
You don’t get to protest too much when it happens to you.
You don’t get to kick and scream and scratch faces. Well, I guess you can, but what’s the point?
I can hear Jess crying.
I’ve always known.
Not really.
But somewhere in my mind I did.
And I guess I chose not to deal with it.
There’s shit everywhere if you look.
I hear my drunken mother’s words.
I just choose, this evening, not to see it.
I turn to my friend; I stop her, before she reveals all.
I don’t need dates.
Dr Patel was right.
I don’t need another to tell me about my marriage.
And yes, the four of us in Portugal should have come with a government warning.
Can you imagine?!
As you know, I already have.
And so too had my husband. I remember that night, him stroking my arm. I think Jess would have been game for it too.
As for Luke?
I don’t know.
I look at Jess.
I did choose well.
‘I think,’ I stop her before she tells me. I stop her before she spills her guts. You can call it denial if you want to but I need a friend right now, and so too does Charlotte. ‘I really think that our friendship is way stronger than our marriages turned out to be.’
Bloody Hell, Lucy, did you really say that?
Yes, I did.
I stand up and I haul Jess to her feet as Charlotte trots towards us.
I did choose well, because a few hours later, the three of us are painting our nails and then we lounge on the sofa and watch a movie.
