The Love of My Life(72)

‘As I understand it,’ he says, ‘Emma made a bargain with herself after the abduction incident. She promised she’d never enter Charlie’s life uninvited again, no matter what. She knew how much the business in the park had traumatised us, and therefore, by extension, him – she was extremely remorseful about that. Anxious she’d ruined the peaceful childhood she dreamed he’d have. So she decided she’d only get in touch with him through one of us, rather than putting him on the spot. Janice was never going to agree to anything, so it’s always me she’s come begging to.’

I frown. ‘You mean – you mean you’ve never told him Emma wants to meet him? You’ve kept him in the dark?’

Jeremy gives me a patient look – a sympathetic look – and I realise, with an extra sting of humiliation, that he knows about my own adoption. My question was far too loaded.

‘Of course I haven’t kept him in the dark,’ he says. ‘He’s always known he was adopted.’ He shifts in his chair. ‘When Emma got cancer I had a conversation with Charlie. I didn’t say his birth mother had asked to meet him, as such, but I did say that if he ever wanted to know more about her, or even to meet her, I’d help. He said thanks, and that was that – he’s never said anything since. I won’t force the issue.’

I try to imagine a lifetime of separation from Ruby and panic tightens my chest: what Emma’s gone through is unimaginable. How deeply she must love this boy, to hold off writing to him. Even now, as an adult.

Neither of us say anything for a long time. It’s so quiet in here that I can even hear the faint tick of Janice’s watch, coiled on the kitchen island behind us. Our crooked old house is alive with creaks and loud sighs, banging pipes and ticking radiators. Everything is so beautiful here, so well-plumbed and fitted and streamlined. Why would Janice want to walk out of this sanctuary and not come back?

‘Where’s Charlie?’ I ask, suddenly. It seems far too tidy for an eighteen-year-old boy to be living here. ‘I thought you said you were looking after him?’

Jeremy looks over his shoulder. ‘He’s in his room. This whole business has been very hard for him.’

For a moment I’m quite floored by this. I am under the same roof as Emma’s son. I want to race upstairs to look at him, talk to him, check that it’s really true, that my wife really does have a grown-up child.

‘He’s at home from university,’ Jeremy says. ‘MIT, in the States,’ he adds, and he can’t keep the pride out of his voice. ‘He had a great first year, then Janice walked out, only a few days after he got back for the summer. He’s really suffering.’

Eventually, my thoughts return to Emma. To Janice, and these years of mess and misery that lie between them.

‘Did Janice ever forgive Emma?’ I ask, eventually. ‘Did you?’

Jeremy thinks about his answer. Outside the alliums bob and sway under the fairy lights. I almost envy the Rothschilds the straightforwardness of their relationship with Emma. She harassed and stalked them; they’ll probably never forgive her. But she’s my wife, and I’ve loved her deeply, tenderly, for ten years. I have no idea how to feel.

‘We were very supportive of Emma,’ Jeremy says, eventually. ‘Both in her pregnancy and the terrible time she had postnatally, but that doesn’t excuse her later actions, Leo. Giving a parent reason to believe that their child is unsafe is a terrible thing.’

I have no option but to agree.

‘It changed Janice. Quite fundamentally, I think. She lost her confidence, her spontaneity, her resilience – she came out of it so much more anxious, and angry. She doesn’t trust people. Over the years she’s gradually withdrawn from her social life; it’s quite hard to get her out these days.’

I believe him, even though there’s no hint of this in the Janice Rothschild we see on our screens. But what I’m really struck by is the absence of obvious damage in Emma. She’s had a few Times, over the years, and the postnatal depression, but none of these have lasted long. She’s not withdrawn, she’s not angry. She’s confident and trusting, and above all, she’s always so energetic and happy. Has it all been an act? Is that even possible? Surely nobody could spend ten years acting.

Another thought emerges.

‘Look,’ I say, slowly. ‘Forgive me for asking. But I don’t suppose you think . . . I don’t suppose you think there’s any way Janice has anything to do with Emma’s disa—?’

‘Stop,’ Jeremy says. ‘Stop there.’

‘I’m sorry. But you told me yourself that Janice threatened Emma after her court appearance. And I know that was years ago, but perhaps—’

‘No, Leo.’

‘I’m not suggesting Janice has done anything bad, or harmful to her, I just—’

‘Leo. Did you hear me tell you how fragile Janice is at the moment? Did you hear me say that – from the very beginning – it’s Emma who has been behind all the acts of aggression, of threatening behaviour? Janice hasn’t retaliated once. Nothing, not even in the face of unforgivable provocation.’

‘I accept that. But I—’

Jeremy carries on. ‘May I also remind you that you did not know until last night that your wife was born Emily Peel? That she has a child you knew nothing of? Leo, you are not sufficiently informed to be casting any aspersions about Janice, who, God knows, has suffered enough at Emma’s hands.’