The next day I make a point of getting to work late and being constantly surrounded by people so as not to give myself any time alone with Henry. I just can’t speak to him right now. I haven’t got the strength to face him.
But apparently he’s not satisfied with that, as he knocks on my office door just as his mobile is ringing. ‘Excuse me, it’s Orson,’ he says. ‘Hello, buddy boy! Yes, I’ll be home early tonight… Yes, she’s here…’
He holds out his phone. ‘He wants to say hi.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, getting to my feet to move away from Henry, past the threshold and into the foyer.
‘How’s it going, Orson?’
‘I miss you, Faith!’ he cries.
‘Awh, sweetie,’ I coo. ‘I miss you, too!’
‘Can I come and see you at the beach house? With Daddy?’
‘Ah, Orson… I really don’t know—’
‘Please?’
Good luck, with that one. ‘Maybe you could ask your daddy to take you to work when this house is clear of all the rubbish and it’s safer for you?’
‘Just as long as it’s not here. Mummy’s always here now.’
And Orson is not happy about it. The poor, poor boy.
‘Can you please talk to him? Tell him I’m sad?’
Can I? Butt my nose into Henry’s and Linda’s business? Hardly.
‘I’ll tell you what, Orson. You first have a chat with your daddy and then I’ll tell him, too, okay?’
A long silence. He is hurting, because he expects more from me. I can put a plaster on his scrapes, but healing his family is something beyond me. I’m so sorry I can’t do more, Orson. But I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. Please believe that.
‘Okay. Thank you, Faith…’
‘You’re welcome, sweetheart.’
*
‘The kid hates his mum? Oh my God, it’s like bloody Corrie!’ Hope exclaims as I fill her in. ‘How are you?’
‘Me? Never mind me – it’s Orson I’m worried about.’
‘You love that little boy, don’t you?’
I find myself nodding vigorously. ‘I truly do. There’s something about him. He’s so defenceless, so trusting, you know?’
‘Like you,’ Hope says. ‘He reminds me of you when we were little. So hopeful, so desperate to be loved by someone.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m all grown up now,’ I assure her. But still desperate to be loved, apparently. After all these years, I still haven’t learnt my lesson. ‘So what do I do? I have to tell Henry how Orson feels, but I have absolutely no right to do so. He’ll think I’m doing it for… other reasons.’
‘No, he won’t. You have to do it. Get him alone and tell him.’
‘In person? I can’t. I can’t face him. I’ll do it over the phone. Because I can’t just drop in on him and say, Hi, Henry! By the way, did you know that your son is actually afraid of his mother getting back in your life, and that he’s begged me to tell you to not take her back? No, it’s easier like that.’
‘You’re forgetting something, Faith.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Orson asked you for help.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ I agree. ‘At the cost of getting chucked out, I’m going to have to do it in person.’
‘Good girl. You’re doing the right thing.’
‘I hope so…’
‘Do it now.’
‘Now?’
‘Now.’
‘Right. Talk to you later, then.’
‘Good luck, Faith.’
‘Thanks. Something tells me I’m going to need it.’
So I muster all my courage and send Henry a message:
Need to talk to you. Can I come and see you at home?
To which he immediately answers:
Yes.
It takes me longer than usual to drive up there as my heart is in my mouth and I can only think of Orson. I’m so distracted I keep forgetting to look at the satnav and the voice is so irritating I finally snap the volume off.
And then the massive gates of the manor finally appear and with a gasp of relief, I park there and continue down the side path on foot to his hidden home as the kids and I had done the first time, with not only my heart in my mouth, but pretty much all my other organs. My legs, too, feel hollow and I’m surprised I manage to make it to his personal back gate. There, I ring the doorbell and wait, taking deep gulps of air to calm myself down.
The gates buzz and I pull them open just enough to slip through, wondering how on earth I am going to do this.
‘Faith!’ Orson cries, running down the path to meet me, his adorable face aglow as he throws his little arms around my midriff. ‘I missed you so much!’
‘Me, too, Orson,’ I squeak, clinging to him more for my own benefit than his. He smells like his home – clean and citrusy. I get down for a better look. His face is still red from excitement, and his eyes are serene. There is absolutely no trace of sadness in him whatsoever. Could I have misconstrued it all? Made a mountain out of a molehill? Had he exaggerated a little bit, had a bad day? Or maybe he’s just getting used to having her around again?
‘How are you?’ I manage, gently pushing his hair off his face, when instead I would have loved to scoop him up and cover him with raspberries.
‘I’m okay,’ he says, taking my hand. ‘Come – there’s cake!’
‘Oh wow,’ I enthuse, letting him lead me to the back door that is ajar. Just how am I going to justify my visit without putting Orson on the spot?
We glide through the orangery and with every step that takes me closer to Henry, my resolve begins to crumble. But once I’m over the kitchen threshold, it becomes a moot point.
Standing beside him, giggling, is Linda in the flesh. I recognise her from all of Orson’s pictures in his bedroom. Even though she is wearing an apron, she looks like an exotic movie star with her long black hair and huge dark eyes.
She is playfully dotting Henry’s face with chocolate icing and he is looking down at her with eyes full of love. There is no mistake that this is a portrait of domestic bliss. Have I got the wrong end of the stick, in every way? He will never believe that Orson doesn’t like his mother.
‘Hello, Faith,’ he greets me with a barely sufficient amount of amity. ‘This is Linda.’
I cough. ‘Uh, hullo. Nice to meet you.’
‘Hello, Faith. Henry and I have just had a baking contest. Of course, he won. You’re just in time for a slice. Coffee, tea?’
‘Uhm… whatever is easier, thank you,’ I say as I sit on the stool Henry has gestured to somewhat indifferently. It’s hard to believe that only a few hours ago he was making crazy love to me, and now here he is, all prim and proper, the perfect husband. God, if she only knew!
I glance at Orson as he hoists himself up on the stool next to me, his little face flushed with happiness. If I had ever wondered what Henry’s home life was like, here it is, all over the kitchen island. Love, giggles and chocolate cake. Everything looks perfect. And yet, he’s asked me to talk to his daddy, so here I am trapped in the midst of it without any idea of what to say and how to say it.
I have no reason to be here, especially when Henry has his own life, which, it is now more than obvious, he does. I want to make my excuses and leave. But Orson’s words are still haunting me.
Why did Orson say that to me, and how do I get out of this now?
‘Did you, uhm, bring that memory stick?’ Henry asks, turning the kettle on and reaching into a cupboard to avoid looking at me.
It takes me a split second to catch on and when he does look down at me, I can see that his eyes are devoid of that usual sparkle. He is obviously put out by being caught out and doesn’t want Linda to think that there is anything between us besides a professional relationship.
‘Uhm, yes,’ I answer, right on the beat, digging into my bag. It only contains my life’s work, but I have several copies. I’ll get it back from him later.
‘Good, good, thank you,’ he says as he shoves it into his pocket before pulling out a sharp knife and starts cutting the cake into slices, which he puts onto small dessert plates. ‘Our first cake is ready. Linda, if you’ll do the honours.’
‘Love to,’ she says with a smile. ‘We call it Lemon Sunshine with vanilla frosting,’ she explains as she gives Orson a generous slice and an even bigger one to me. ‘But maybe we should call it Orson Sunshine – look at how he loves it. Don’t you, darling?’
‘Hm-hm,’ Orson agrees as he dives into it with his entire face and Henry laughs, ruffling his hair. Then he begins to pour his chocolate cake mixture into a new cake tin, completely intent on his task, careful not to spill a drop – nor to look at me.
I watch him closely, my mind racing. Exactly what part have I misunderstood? How could Orson sit here, all happy, with what he’s told me? I am becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
I watch his son and his ex-wife, who is daintily picking at her own slice of cake, and I realise that somehow, somewhere along the line, I have made a huge mistake. Orson’s plea is the only reason why I’m here. But to the outsider, as I am, they seem perfectly happy. They have probably ironed things out. And are doing very well, indeed.
‘Linda, why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up?’ Henry suggests while wiping his hands on a tea towel. ‘Faith and I have business to discuss anyway.’
Linda looks back and forth between us with a smile. ‘Faith, can you stay for lunch?’ she offers and I stiffen.
‘Oh – thanks, but I can’t.’
‘All right. Maybe next time, then?’
‘Maybe. Thank you.’
And with that, she puts her plate in the sink and leaves us.
Henry looks down at his son. ‘Orson, you can go and eat your cake in the living room if you like.’
With a huge smile, Orson slides off his stool and grabs the cake. ‘Thanks, Daddy! Faith, are you coming?’
‘In a moment, darling,’ I promise.
‘Okay,’ he says, jumping off like a grasshopper.
I push my plate away and rest my elbows on the breakfast bar, piercing him with my stare.
‘Why have you finally decided to contact me?’ he asks, still avoiding my gaze. His lashes are the longest things I’ve ever seen and they hide his eyes all too well.
‘Because Orson asked me to. But don’t worry, I won’t be long.’
His face freezes. ‘Right.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Look, Henry, what you do in your private life is no business of mine. I couldn’t care less.’
He puts his own fork down and looks up at me, straight into my eyes. ‘Then if you don’t care, why are you here, Faith?’
‘Because I know just how important family is, and how not having one as a young child can be soul-destroying. It leaves a scar that never, ever heals.’
Look at me. Years on and I’m still not okay. I will never be okay, and I certainly don’t want Orson to have to suffer all the pain that I went through, the fear and humiliation of not having a family like everybody else. I don’t want that sweet little boy to suffer just because I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
‘What are you talking about?’ he says.
‘Orson told me that he’s not happy.’
His head snaps up, his eyes narrow. ‘He told you that?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see. And of course you catapulted yourself all the way up here to come and gloat about it?’
‘I’m not gloating about anything. I’m merely answering your question – and answering the distress call of an unhappy child.’
‘Don’t you worry about my child. I’ll take care of him. I don’t need you – of all people – to tell me how to raise him.’
The message is clear – bugger off, Faith. I don’t want you in our lives. What else do I need to get it through my head? They are a self-sufficient family, thank you very much, and don’t need me in any way whatsoever. Why on earth would I even think so, just because a little boy has become fond of me?
What else do I need to hear? Henry is just another mistake on my behalf. I had seen the affection in his eyes and had taken it for something else. Maybe there had been something else. I can’t imagine all those moments we have spent together bore no importance to him at all. But as a father, Henry has a duty to his son, first and foremost. Everything else comes, as it most definitely should, last.
‘I – I have to go,’ I whisper, grabbing my bag, and dashing through the back door and down the cobbled path all in one breath.
Once on the grassy side lane, I break into a proper run until I reach my car where I jump in and turn on the radio nice and loud to drown my thoughts.
I don’t even remember how I got home, but when I get in through the door, my mobile rings. It’s a number I don’t recognise. It could be about my request for a mortgage, so I have to answer it.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Faith? It’s Linda. It’s a shame you left so soon. I wanted to thank you for being so good to Orson. He loves coming round there and spending time with you.’
I swallow. ‘It’s my pleasure. He’s a delight.’
‘He is, and I’m truly blessed,’ she says softly. ‘We both are, Henry and I.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘If I may be blunt, Faith?’
Oh God, she doesn’t faff around, does she? ‘Yes?’
‘You must understand what a terrible time our little boy has been through.’
‘Of course.’
‘So I don’t want him to be confused. Whilst I appreciate your kindness, I’d like you to keep in mind that Orson is just a little boy. He thinks that you and Henry have something going on. And I understand that Henry is charming and all, but please do bear in mind that Henry and I are back together again.’
At my lack of a response, she sighs patiently. ‘Look – I know you must be surprised. Henry has always been that soulful, unsuspecting ladies’ man. I don’t blame you. But he may have forgotten to mention that we have been working on our relationship again recently, and we have agreed that it’s what’s best for Orson.’
So Orson was right. They are getting back together again. And, if this is indeed what’s happening in the Turner household, how can I have put my nose where it doesn’t belong? Who am I to presume he would tolerate my butting into his private business with his son?
There have been no binding promises between Henry and I. No agreements. Just sex. Mind-blowing sex, in fact, and all the while he’s getting back with his ex-wife. It doesn’t matter if it’s solely for Orson’s sake. He should have been honest with me. It’s like Gabe and Vanessa all over again.
Perhaps Orson had been exaggerating when he said he didn’t like his mother. And I’d believed him. Probably because I wanted it to be true. I wanted Orson and Henry to need me. But they don’t. No one does, and I have never felt so out of place in my life.