ROBERT

Mum saw me to the door

‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered as she opened it for me, ‘they’ll come around.’ She nodded her head towards the room where we had left Dad and Tom.

I wished that I could share her confidence. Tom was a chip off Dad’s shoulder and they were as stubborn as each other.

‘Oh, son,’ she said stroking the side of my face. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘You too, Mum.’ I put my hand on her face too. We hugged.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked. ‘You could stay here if you want.’

I had to laugh at that one. ‘I don’t think so, Mum,’ I said. ‘I’m going to drive home, I’ll be there in a couple of hours.’

We hugged again before I left and I could tell that she was reluctant to let me go. I told her that I’d be back soon. I took a step away from the door, just one, and then I turned around.

‘Mum,’ I said cautiously, not really knowing if I wanted her to answer my question. ‘Michelle...?’ I didn’t really know what it was that I wanted to know, but Mum did and she answered my question without saying a word. I just had to look at her eyes.

I needed Angie. I called her after I left my parents’ house and said that I was on my way home. She said that she’d be waiting up for me. I played music loud on the drive home, anything to stop me thinking about what had happened.

True to her word Angie was still up when I got home. She was sitting on the sofa with a bottle of wine open on the table in front of her. I took my jacket off and threw it on the back of a chair as she filled a glass and slid it along the coffee table until it was in front of the seat next to her. She poured herself a glass too and waited for me to join her. She didn’t say anything, she just sat and sipped until I could put my thoughts into words.

Do you know what I said first? It’s funny really.

‘Dad’s not dead.’

That made her smile and she said that she was pleased to hear it.

However, I followed it up with, ‘but I think I’m dead to him.’ And that wasn’t quite so funny.

Angie watched and waited for me to explain.

‘He could barely look at me.’

‘Give him time, Rob. He’ll come around,’ she said but that was easy for her to say. She hadn’t seen the look on his face or heard the pain in his voice.

‘Maybe,’ I conceded but I wasn’t sure. I’m going to say that I laughed when I told her that Tom and I had had a stand-off in the street but it wasn’t a real laugh, it was more a nervous reaction. ‘I thought he’d be pleased to see me...’ I said pathetically, ‘but he wasn’t... he said as much.’ I strung my words out with pauses between them. ‘Dad dragged us into the house... Mum was waiting for me. At least she seemed happy that I was there.’ I took a large slug of the wine that Angie had poured me. It was a bottle of what we called ‘the good stuff’, a two-year-old cabernet sauvignon. ‘Tom’s changed,’ I said and emptied my drink. I reached for the bottle and refilled my glass.

‘In what way?’ Angie drained her glass too and held it out for a top-up.

‘He’s settled down,’ I said. ‘I’d half expected him to be spending his time drinking lager shandies and scraping a living painting pictures of dogs, but instead I found that he wears a suit and drives a sensible car. He’s not the free spirit I thought he’d be; he’s a family man.’

Angie raised an eyebrow and I nodded, confirming that she had heard me right.

‘He’s married with children. They were in a picture hanging in pride of place over the mantle-piece. Three boys, all teeth and blond hair smiling for the camera.’ I knew my words had a sour note to them. I hadn’t meant it to come out that way. I know that Angie detected it too but she ignored it.

‘So, three nephews. How old are they?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I admitted. ‘I think he said that the younger ones were eleven and fourteen.’

‘Younger ones?’ She’d been about to take a drink but she held the glass a good few inches short of her mouth and asked, ‘So how old is the eldest?’

I lowered my eyes and said, ‘He’s sixteen.’ I couldn’t look at her. When I think back on it now, I realise it was because I feared that even though she didn’t know everything yet, she would somehow work out what I thought I had.

I found myself yet again staring at a drink. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds and neither did I. A growing feeling of something momentous hung between us.

‘Sixteen...?’ she said eventually, stretching the word out so that it sounded like a question.

‘Yes,’ I said, forcing my head up to look into her eyes. ‘And guess what?’ I waited a second or two to see if she was going to have a pop at guessing. She didn’t. ‘Tom’s wife is called Michelle.’

‘Wow! Is...?’ She didn’t know quite how to put the question but I knew what it was.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I could hardly ask “is that the same Michelle that I used to go out with?” could I? “Is that the same Michelle that I got pregnant?”’ I immediately wished I hadn’t said it because Angie visibly flinched.

She began to digest what I’d told her. ‘So, do you think it is the same Michelle?’ she asked, but I knew that what she really wanted to know was, is that eldest lad yours?

I took a deep breath. ‘You know me Angie,’ I said, ‘I’m not big on coincidences and all I know is that Tom wasn’t seeing anyone called Michelle when I left and I’m willing to bet my life that he wasn’t sleeping with anyone back then either. And now he has a sixteen-year-old son. What do you think?’

‘He might have been seeing someone that you didn’t know about and, come on, it’s not like Michelle is a rare name.’

I shook my head. I knew what she was saying was possible, in theory, but I knew she wasn’t right. The look in Mum’s eyes when I’d almost asked the question had been all the confirmation that I’d needed. ‘She didn’t come after me for money,’ I said, ‘because my brother married her. Why would he do that? I never asked him to marry her. I asked him to look out for her if he got the chance, that’s all... “look out for her”, I said.’

Angie stared at me – right at me – like she was trying to look into my mind or something.

I hated myself as soon as I’d done it but I snapped, ‘What?’ at her. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘I don’t want you to say anything,’ she said. She didn’t try too hard to hide the anger from her voice and I didn’t blame her.

‘Sorry, Angie,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t take it out on you.’ ‘No, you shouldn’t,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not the one you’re angry with.’ She knew me so well and I admitted to her that she was right. She let me think on that for a second or two and then she asked. ‘Who are you angry with?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, rubbing the palms of my hands over my face.

She was determined to get a better answer out of me. ‘ Are you angry at Michelle because she got married?’ she asked, letting it rest a second or two before saying, ‘or are you angry at Tom because he married her?’

‘We don’t actually know yet that she married my brother.’

When she looked at me I thought I saw pity in her eyes and I didn’t like that. The last thing I wanted was her pity – or anyone’s, come to that.

‘No, we don’t,’ she said, ‘which is why you need to find out for sure.’

I knew she was right.

The next day I rang Mum.

‘Oh, it’s lovely to hear from you,’ she said and I could just tell that she was smiling as she spoke.

‘Mum,’ I said, unsure of how to broach the subject, ‘will you ring Tom for me?’

‘Tom?’ she sounded surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Because he’s my brother,’ I said, ‘and I need to build bridges.’ I suggested that she ask him to meet me in a pub on Saturday afternoon. Judging by the suit and the car I thought he was a Monday to Friday sort of bloke so would be free on a Saturday afternoon. She said that she would call me back after she had spoken to him.

Tom agreed to meet me. We had arranged to meet at three but I was there just after half two. I parked under a tree and looked around at the other cars. I couldn’t see Tom’s. I gave it five or ten minutes and then went in, ordered a pint and waited.