-Sophie–
Dark, so dark, here, with eyes shut. Could just stay, always, in the dark and – But no. Here I am. Fighting for my future again. It is just a blink. Open your eyes. Perform.
“I need him back like I need a hole in the head,” I joke to Alain.
It’s not a very good joke. And I know I don’t deliver it well. My voice is too croaky. My emphasis too weak. But Alain laughs all the same.
What I cannot tell is whether it is real, his laughter. Or whether it is the laughter of a man who, as soon as I get out of hospital, will leave me. I have Will to thank for that.
When I opened up my eyes and saw Alain here, I told him straightaway, “J’ai un fils.”
Alain just shrugged, reminded me he has a son too.
“Je suis désolée de ne pas te l’avoir dit plus tôt,” I tell him. Because I am sorry, I think, that I didn’t tell him earlier. It might have meant he wouldn’t have to contemplate breaking up with me. It might have meant I wouldn’t be lying here. It might have meant I wouldn’t have had to carry all that guilt, alone. Or indeed any guilt. Because if there’s anything Will’s cordial visit tells me, it’s that I was right to leave. The boy is a killer. You cannot ignore two instances of a child trying to kill its parents. One where he succeeds. He has clearly lost his touch. Whatever I may have tried to tell myself over the years, that it was my fault for being a bad parent, or Max’s fault, or that he was just a child having a tantrum that went wrong, I know now that I was wrong. He is guilty. He is a killer. I should have confronted him straightaway! Not respected some failed restorative parenting method Gillian and John had decided on, when I realised they hadn’t told him, protecting him from his guilt! I owe him nothing. It is only by good luck, by the good fortune of Ellie calling, that I am not killed. And I don’t even know yet, I suppose, that this new me I took from England still lives. Because Alain has the power to end me. If he takes away this ring. If he takes away my hope.
And so when Alain asks why I didn’t tell him, I lean in and I whisper my secrets. I whisper as much as I want him to know about my son’s guilt. About Max. About my spiralling descent. About the careful rise again. I’m not sure if I will tell him everything, yet, about this latest episode. But that doesn’t mean that I forgive Will. Or that I’ve done with him yet.
Should I be merciful? I have dim memories of him telling me he has his own son. That I’m a grandmother. Is that an occasion for joy? Maybe if the son takes after the father. In the way he displays filial affection. That would be my own vengeance, by proxy. Or is it an occasion for mercy? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you? No. Will should have thought of that before.
I know what I will do. If Will was seeking closure as he opened my skull, this will not be it. What I have in mind is full disclosure. And it will stay with him for the rest of his life.