The house was so quiet, so empty. Even if Drew wasn’t home, his presence was always felt. The piles of dirty clothes dropped on the floor of the utility room because he never could remember which front-loading machine was the washer and which the dryer; his trainers kicked off in whichever room he was relaxing in; half-empty mugs left in various places. She’d complained about it all, and now she’d be delighted to see a pile of stinky gym gear on the floor or a mug leaving a ring mark on the polished, walnut sideboard. Instead, she slouched around the house, feeling lost. Worse, she sat in his room, on his bed, clutching his pillow like a lovelorn teenager.
Drew had finally succeeded in escaping her over-enthusiastic mothering. He might return for the holidays, for the first year anyway, but he was never going to come home permanently.
‘Why don’t you look for a job?’ Mark asked over dinner a week later. ‘You’re an intelligent woman; you could find something. Or perhaps volunteer in one of the charity shops in the town. They’re always looking for staff. Now that you don’t have to worry about Drew, you should find something for yourself.’
Don’t have to worry about Drew! He had no clue. She dropped her cutlery on her plate and pushed it away. ‘I’ll never stop worrying about our son,’ she said, getting to her feet. She scraped the uneaten food into the bin and dropped the plate into the dishwasher.
When she turned, Mark was also on his feet, a concerned expression twisting his face. ‘You know what I mean, Sue. You were worrying about what he was going to do when he finished school, whether he’d settle down at university. Now he has, and he sounds like he’s doing well.’
Drew had rung every night and she had to admit, he sounded happy. Relaxed. As if he wasn’t missing home in the slightest. She tried to stop worry from colouring her words, to be subtle as she quizzed him about his accommodation, if he was eating properly… what he was eating, wanting an inventory of every morsel that passed his lips. The first few calls, she’d managed to sound unconcerned, but as his conversations became briefer, anxiety crept in, unbidden, unwanted, certainly by him, his responses getting shorter, the pauses longer. Once, he’d hung up on her as she was asking if he’d done his laundry at the right temperature.
It was a few seconds before she’d realised she’d been cut off and she’d looked at the phone in confusion before the truth slapped her so hard, it brought tears to her eyes. Already, he was changing from the polite boy she’d known to this stranger who would hang up on his mother. Not even the text message that pinged seconds later to explain that Drew had walked into a notorious signal black spot, did anything to assuage her grief, her belief that she was losing him.
When Mark arrived home to find her sitting at the kitchen table, the mobile clutched in one hand, her eyes red from crying, he rushed to her side, dropping to his knees on the floor beside her chair. ‘My God, what’s happened?’
She told him, blubbering her misery, ending on a wail, ‘We’ve lost him.’
He got to his feet, pulled out a chair and sat, then scraped the feet of the chair on the tiled floor as he shuffled closer to her. ‘You’re being daft, Susan. He’s just finding his feet, enjoying the taste of freedom. He’ll soon be home for holidays and causing his particular blend of chaos, and you’ll be back to complaining about him being under your feet.’ He laid a hand on her knee and rocked it gently. ‘You need to stop moping around the house. Get your life back.’
Her life? She wanted her son back. ‘I need more time to adjust.’ Brushing his hand away, she got to her feet and crossed the room to the window. The garden was her pride and joy; she should spend more time tending to it. She rested a hand on the window, the cool glass grounding her. When she heard movement behind, she wasn’t surprised to feel Mark’s arms wrapping around her, pulling her back against him.
‘I just want you to be happy, that’s all,’ he said quietly.
‘I am happy.’ It was a lie, she wasn’t but she should be; she had everything: a beautiful home, a loving, attentive husband, a son they’d raised so well that he was confidently going off to make a good life for himself. Without her. She should be happy for him, pleased that she and Mark had done such a marvellous job, but she just couldn’t shake off the sense of loss. Empty nest syndrome. That there was a name for what she was feeling didn’t help. She rested her head back, sighing as Mark rested his chin on it. ‘It’s a matter of adjusting,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine in a few days.’
‘You should meet up more regularly with your sisters. Or your friends. You were always saying you would if you had the time. Now you do. Make the most of it.’
‘I will.’ She turned in his arms, planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘I’m meeting Jan and Emma tomorrow, in fact. We’re having lunch.’
‘Perfect.’ He kissed her on the lips, then stood back. ‘Now, how about we go out for dinner?’
Although he wasn’t being critical, Susan felt colour racing to her cheeks. He’d been at work all day, probably had a quick lunch at his desk, and here he was, home for dinner, and there was nothing ready. It wasn’t the first time either. The night before, she’d managed to scramble something together from what she had in stock, but supplies had run low. Normally, she’d have done a big shop once a week on a Thursday afternoon. But when she’d gone to the supermarket the previous day, she’d walked the aisles seeing all the food that Drew had loved and had piled it into the trolley. When she got to the checkout, she’d looked down in horror and abandoned it there, leaving it for some poor, hard-working assistant to unpack. She’d walked unsteadily from the shop and sat in her car in the busy car park, her eyes fixed and staring ahead.
Unwilling to venture back into the store for the items she really did need, she left and stopped at a petrol station on the way home for bread and milk. Apart from that, the cupboards were bare.
‘Dinner would be good,’ she said. She nodded towards the kitchen. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll do a big shop and maybe I’ll cook your favourite meal.’
* * *
Susan made an effort as they sat in their favourite local restaurant. Her best smile, her most cheerful voice as she babbled away. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing Jan and Emma tomorrow.’
‘Give them my love,’ Mark said.
‘I will.’ She cut into her steak, wishing she’d ordered something else. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting them.’ The steak was good, tender. Drew would have liked it. She wondered what he was eating. Who he was eating with. She hoped he wasn’t alone. No, she couldn’t let her thoughts drift there. ‘Hasn’t the weather been so mild?’ she said, wishing she could come up with something more interesting to say. I’m so lost, Mark.
‘What did you say?’
Susan looked at him, horrified. Had she said that aloud? Surely not. But Mark looked vaguely puzzled, not irritated. For the first time, she realised how quiet he’d been all evening. As if his mind was elsewhere. ‘I was just saying how mild it was,’ she said with a smile.
‘Oh right, yes. It is, isn’t it?’ He picked up his wine glass and swirled the contents around before gulping it down and reaching for the bottle to refill his glass and top up her almost untouched one.
He was drinking more than usual. And wasn’t he unusually quiet? If she hadn’t been hungry before, now even the pretence was too much for her and she lined her cutlery up side by side on the plate. She expected Mark to comment, wanted him to, suddenly very afraid what it meant if he didn’t.
And when he didn’t, she felt a slice of anguish cut through her.
If she was lost without her son, what would she be without her son and her husband?
She couldn’t let that happen.
She wouldn’t.