The Dilemma(24)

The first time he left, I was convinced he’d had an accident or been murdered. I could see his body lying beaten and broken in a ditch, hear the knock at the door, see the policeman, accompanied by a policewoman, standing on the doorstep. He hadn’t said where he was going so I thought he’d gone to the shops. When he didn’t come back that evening, I told myself that he must have gone to see Nelson and had decided to stay the night, and I was angry that he hadn’t phoned to tell me. I was also sick with worry. Neither of us had mobiles – they were expensive back in 1997, too expensive for us, anyway – so I couldn’t contact him to find out where he was.

When he still hadn’t turned up the next day, I went to the police. I could see they thought I was making a fuss about nothing. I think they took one look at our situation – little more than children ourselves with a baby in tow – and I’m sure they presumed he was having an affair. They told me to give it a couple more days, but I couldn’t believe that Adam would leave me to worry about him, that he wouldn’t have tried to contact me if he’d been able to.

Mr Wentworth was more sympathetic than the police. When I burst into tears in his workshop, he told me not to worry, that he was sure Adam was just letting off steam and would eventually turn up. He did, three days later, and when I realised that not only hadn’t he cared enough to let me know he was alright, but that he was also unrepentant, saying that I should have known he was with Nelson, something died in me. When he did it again and again, I vowed I’d never forgive him for the worry he made me go through, because each time, there was always the fear that this time, something really had happened to him.

I know it’s mean, and I only think like this when I remember those bad times, but sometimes, just sometimes, I’d like him to experience what it feels like to not know where somebody you love is, to be out of your mind with worry. To fear the worst.





2 P.M. – 3 P.M.





Adam


I have no memory of how I got home but I’m here, standing by my bike in the garage, the air around me familiar with the smell of oil, cardboard, dust. It’s as if the last two hours never happened. All I can think about is Marnie. She must be alternating between relief that she didn’t make her connection, and horror at what could have happened. How can she not be thinking about the people on the flight, the ones who made it in time to get to their seats? I know Marnie, she’ll be inconsolable with guilt for cursing that she’d missed her flight, guilty that she’ll have a story to tell. Guilty that she has lived, when others have died.

My fingers find my phone, unlock the screen and instinctively check WhatsApp. They’re still there, my two undelivered messages. Come on, Marnie, I just need an ‘I’m ok’. I try to call her again, but get the same as before: silence.

I go into the house. Josh is standing in the hall, a doorstop of a sandwich in his hand.

‘Can I see it?’ he asks eagerly.

Avoiding his eyes, because I don’t want him to realise anything is wrong, I take off my jacket and hang it on the hook in the cupboard.

‘What?’

‘Mum’s ring. Can I see it, or is it wrapped?’

It takes me a while to remember. ‘No, I – it wasn’t ready.’

‘What do you mean, it wasn’t ready? Why not?’

‘The size,’ I invent. ‘They forgot to have it made smaller.’

He sits down on the stairs and takes a bite of his sandwich. ‘You will have it in time for tonight, won’t you?’

I move towards the kitchen, needing to be on my own. ‘Yes, I hope so. They’re going to phone me to tell me when I can pick it up.’

He follows me in. ‘Couldn’t you have taken it as it was? Mum wouldn’t have minded if it was a bit big.’

I want to tell him to please stop talking, that I don’t give a damn about the ring, that all I want is for Marnie to phone.

‘I suppose so. I didn’t think,’ I say instead. ‘I just wanted it to be the right size so that she could wear it as soon as I give it to her.’

‘Are they adjusting it now, then?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘But did they say it would definitely be ready this afternoon?’ he insists, his mouth full. ‘I can go and get it for you, if you like.’

I round on him. ‘Josh, they’re going to phone me. Until they do, I can’t do anything!’

He stops in mid-chew. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Murphy look up, disturbed from his sleep by my raised voice.

‘Are you OK, Dad?’ Josh asks.

I fight to keep calm. ‘Yes, fine. I’m disappointed, that’s all.’

‘You don’t look too good.’

‘I’ve got a bit of a migraine.’

‘That sucks. Have you taken anything?’

‘No.’ The need for space is so strong my skin physically itches. I head for the stairs. ‘I’ll go and see what there is in the bathroom.’

‘Why don’t you go and lie down or something? There’s nothing to do for now, it’s all under control. Max is coming over to help with the lights and stuff.’

The mention of Max throws me. ‘Does Mum know Max is coming?’

‘Yes, why?’