Dolores sees me come in. She is waiting. She has turned on the light and sat down at the table to wait. She must have wondered what was taking me so long. We’ve not spoken about it yet. My revelation of last night. All day we’ve deliberately not spoken about it.
‘I’ve made you breakfast,’ she said this morning. Not to me. She beamed at Grace when she said it. She never did that. Breakfast or beamed. ‘Daddy didn’t want any,’ she added, although Grace hadn’t asked. When we were getting our coats on she made a point of coming into the hallway to kiss her goodbye and wish her luck for the day.
‘Keep the flag flying,’ she said.
‘What?’ said Grace. ‘Okay. I’ll try.’ I looked at her confused face. She didn’t know about any flag. What flag? So how was she expected to keep it flying? She started to tell her mother about the talk I’d be giving to her class, but stopped just in time. She looked at me, proud as punch that she’d remembered. I winked at her. She didn’t know that I’d spilled the beans already. And other vegetables. That she could’ve said anything at all and not made it any worse. I turned around at the end of the path. Dolores was in the doorway. She was watching us, but blankly, her thoughts had already taken her somewhere else.
‘Go and give your mother another kiss,’ I said. Grace ran up to her and wrapped her arms around her waist. Dolores picked her up and held her. She closed her eyes and put her head close to her daughter’s. She said something in her ear. I saw Grace nod. Dolores put her down again and waved the whole time we were walking away. Not once did she look at me. Not directly. I half expected her to not come home tonight. But she did. She was back before us. With the same brittle cheerfulness as before. I’ve matched it with my own and together we have spent the evening filling the house with how cheerful we both are.
‘Are you and Mummy arguing?’
We adults think we’re so clever. But we’re kidding ourselves if we think we can kid our children.
‘Of course not!’
‘No, dear.’
‘Young imaginations. Hahaha.’
‘It’s just that you’ve not looked at each other. Or said anything to each other.’
But now it is evening. Now Grace is in bed. And Dolores is ready. She has things she wants to say. I knew it was coming. That’s why I lingered in the garden. When I took the bins out. I stopped under the tree and ran the outside of my foot along the ground. It had rained and the earth was soft. I made a shallow furrow in the soil without even pressing hard. I was planning my defence. I’d seen the light go on and knew she’d be there when I returned. Good. It will be good to have it out. To clear the air. We’ll talk about my job. Obviously. My job will be the words we’ll use.
But really we’ll be talking about something else. I thought I’d start by telling her that we are all living things. That we are alive. I couldn’t possibly be expected to grow and flourish in such a stifling atmosphere. I needed natural light. My desk was the furthest from the window. And space. We all need space. Some more than others. I’d remind her softly that I’d tried talking to her about this but she’d not taken me seriously. So really, what did she expect? Surely she couldn’t have expected me to suffer in silence forever. I’d tell her also that I was pleased for her. That she got so much from her job. So much what? Stimulation and excitement. I’d say it so it didn’t sound like a petty innuendo. I’d ask her to try to understand and appreciate how lucky she was, but not everyone was as fortunate. That I was a living thing. Could I repeat that line? I thought I could. For emphasis. And that I was withering and dying there. I had to act. I’d admit I didn’t know what I was doing now. Or next. But that whatever was coming had to be better than whatever had been. And it would be. With her support. We could make it so. Union reformed.
‘Are you kicking me out?’
That is what I actually say. When I sit down opposite her. The mud on my shoe has left muck on the tiles. I see her looking at it.
‘I’ve not decided yet.’
‘Because of the job situation.’
‘Among other things.’
Other things. I don’t ask. I don’t want to know. There are three footprints on the floor. Between me and the back door. They are all from my right foot. The one I scraped in the soil.
‘Grace then, if you’re too afraid to ask. I hate what you’re doing to her. I wasn’t going to say anything. But it seems the right time now. Cards on the table.’
‘Grace? What do you mean?’
‘Oh please. It’s clear as day. How you’re pitting her against me. Turning me into the mean old mum. Making her pick. No. Don’t interrupt. I will finish. I don’t say this with any malice. But I want to warn you. Because I know you love her and she adores you. And I care for you both. But it will backfire. I promise you. You can’t keep her for yourself. One day something will happen, you’ll say something or she’ll remember something, and suddenly everything will become clear to her. She’s young now. But she won’t always be young.’
Dolores should be a barrister. No defendant would stand a chance. I have taken the time to consider and plan my defence. But she has completely broadsided me. How could I have predicted this line of attack? I want to say that I can’t help it if I am her favourite. That if she prefers being with me that is maybe because I am more attentive. Perhaps if she wasn’t at work all the time. Or didn’t have her head in her phone when she wasn’t. Something stops me. I say nothing.
‘That’s the first thing,’ Dolores continues. ‘That’s all I’m saying about it. Just think about it. It’s your bed to lie in otherwise. Right. The job situation. As you call it.’ She crosses her arms and sits back in her chair. She has a twitch. When she is nervous. Or tense. It is a little pulse in her neck. Hardly visible. It usually only comes when she is worried about work. It is there now. She rubs it absently. I have a powerful urge to get up and hold this woman. I suppress it.
‘What have you been doing all this time? During the day, I mean.’
‘Nothing really.’
‘Is that it? Hardly Churchill, is it? I’m giving you a chance here.’
‘Okay. Well, this morning I took Grace to school. I gave that talk to her class–’
‘What talk?’
‘Just something her teacher mentioned to me a few weeks ago.’
‘What talk?’
‘About being the best version of yourself.’ I hear how that must sound to her. I wait. Nothing. She only thinks her comeback. I continue. ‘Then I went out into the country. To look for Reggie again. I got some sunshine on my face. I enjoyed some recreational drug use. Because I’m a grown-up and I can do what I want. I enjoyed that. Then I came home. Fetched Grace. Helped her with her homework. Took the bins out. And now here I am.’
‘And yesterday? And the day before?’
‘Much the same. Apart from the talk.’
I listen for sounds outside the room. I want to make sure Grace hasn’t woken up and crept to the other side of the door. I know how children can be affected when their parents argue. It threatens them. Undermines their security. But there is nothing. Not a creaking stair or sighing floorboard.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘If you believe that, that’s even more worrying.’
‘Why should something be wrong? Just because I resigned? People do it every day.’
‘You didn’t resign. You quit. You walked out. I checked. It’s different. And then you lied to me about it.’
‘I didn’t lie.’
‘Not telling is the same as lying.’
‘I told you yesterday.’
‘You embarrassed me.’
‘Because I told you in front of Joe? You’re always in front of Joe.’
She stops herself saying what she was about to say. She breathes in slowly through her nose then exhales through her mouth. Her cheeks are red though. Either she is angry or she’s been exposed.
‘Secondly, you’re taking drugs again. All the time. And around your child. Our child. That’s unforgivable. If there was nothing else, that alone is unforgivable. And what else? Oh. You’ve lost our dog. You’ve actually lost him. You loved him. What happened to him? He wouldn’t have just run off. And then you sit there and say nothing is wrong? Adrian?’
My name again. In full. I hate when she says it in that tone. It makes me feel like a little boy she is admonishing.
‘Well, when you put it like that.’
‘I’m not putting it like anything. These are just the facts. You know, I was warned against marrying you. They said I needed someone who wanted to change the world and you’d only want to change the channel. Please don’t smirk like that. You know what I said? I said I didn’t care. That you had already changed my world. Can you imagine it? Can you imagine me saying something like that?’
I can’t. And I don’t believe she did. But she is clever like that. Making a point I can neither prove nor disprove.
‘I knew it was a gamble. I knew you could go either way. But I honestly thought you’d latch on to something. That something would inspire you and you’d become… almost great. You had it in you.’ Past tense. I notice that. ‘It’s not going to happen, is it? Instead, you have… you have…’
I see her head turn to the side. She is thinking of a word. I can hear her mind trying out the alternatives. I try to predict which one she’ll choose. Changed. That will be it.
‘Shrunk,’ she says.
Shrunk. Smaller than what was before. Less than. Something that has become a reduced version of itself. I don’t have a dictionary to hand but that is the general meaning. The barrister in her again. Choosing just the right word for maximum effect. Shrunk. It makes sense from where she is sitting. I can see that. I certainly occupy less space in her thoughts. But she is wrong. I’ve only shrunk from her. From the version of myself she thought she was marrying, or wanted to coax out of me. The go-getter. Suits and salaries. I was never him. If she thought I was then the fault was hers. I think of Grace upstairs, tucked up snug and warm in her bed. Dreaming her little girl fairy-tale dreams. Chantal. That was her name. The Queen. I’ve created a whole world for her. She is their favourite human. And I am hers. I’ve not shrunk in her eyes.
‘Grace appreciates me,’ I say.
She looks away. At the mud on the floor. ‘You have shrunk. You have. That’s why you cling to Grace. She’s the only one left who’s your size. The adults have outgrown you.’
‘Are you sleeping with him, Dee?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard.’
‘Jesus. The shit in your head.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘We’re done here,’ she says. She stands up.
‘Yes or no, Dee?’
She starts walking away. I remain where I am, staring at my hands on the table. I listen to her shoes on the tiles. They make a different sound when she reaches the carpet. Softer. But still audible. She is getting away.
‘Yes or no?’ I shout after her. But it’s rhetorical. She won’t answer me and I don’t really care either way. If I had to guess I’d say that she probably is sleeping with Joe, and that I can’t blame her. She can’t help what she wants, and I can’t help not being it. I think we’ve resigned ourselves to this situation. After years of rubbing together like two uneven surfaces. Her urging me to do something. Something big or small. Me sulking until she stops nagging. All that’s left of that friction now is a tut or a roll of the eyes. There is little left to get worked up about. The surface is smooth. What she said about me and Grace. It is all true. It’s my revenge. I’ve known for years. Only I’ve never framed it quite so clearly. Hearing her say it all so simply makes it true and unavoidable. I look up. She is in the doorway. I didn’t hear her come back.
‘Yes,’ she says.
Yes what? It takes me a moment.