‘It’s nothing serious.’ I continue picking up the scattered crumbs with my finger. ‘Teenage stuff. He won’t be the first boy in the world to have a tricky relationship with his dad. It’s normal, isn’t it?’
It surprises me how much the deterioration of Nathan and Alex’s relationship still upsets me. It wasn’t always the same. When Alex was younger Nathan was a good father, engaged and interested most of the time, albeit uptight and unaffectionate. But when Alex was around seven or eight he seemed to draw away from us. He became colder, more distant, as if somebody had flicked a switch off inside him. His temper was short. He was impatient and moody, too quick with caustic asides. It was around this time he had his first affair. Maybe he just got bored of us.
Vicky notices my anxiety and takes my hand. ‘Yes, of course it’s normal. God, do you remember the fights I had with my parents? I was convinced I was adopted.’
I smile.
‘He’s a good boy,’ she says then. ‘He reminds me of you when you were that age.’
Her words unleash snippets of memory from back then. The biting cold and crashing waves. The fear that grabbed hold of me. The dawning realisation that everything was altered.
‘Change of subject.’ Vicky’s voice wrenches me back. ‘Did you talk to him about our night away?’
Her face splits with sudden excitement and my insides cave a little as I recall Nathan’s stony face and the definitive way he said no. There was no question mark, no room for debate, no way he’d let me go. Vicky was a bad influence. A flirt. Common. She’d poison me against him. The more I begged, the more rigid he became. What about Alex? he’d asked, his voice edged with glass. And the dog? You can’t just walk out on them. You have responsibilities, Hannah. Responsibilities.
I give Vicky what I hope is a sheepish smile. ‘Not yet.’ Another lie. ‘But I will. Promise. We’ll get the award ceremony out of the way, then I’ll ask him.’
‘You’ll ask him?’ Her eyes close in an indignant blink. ‘Hannah. He can’t stop you, you know? You’re not a kid. Don’t ask him. Tell him. I mean, for God’s sake, what’s his problem?’
‘He worries I won’t come back. After last time—’
She rolls her eyes. ‘That was years ago. And you’re not the first woman to get postnatal depression and flip out. He’s punished you enough, for God’s sake.’ She shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling. ‘Jesus,’ she whispers. ‘He’s such a bloody child.’
I have a vivid recollection of the stillness of the dark, deserted platform. The way I stood there, staring up at the train timetable. No trains. Too late. My head all over the place. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing there and no idea where I was going. All I could think about was getting away. Then the next thing I knew he was in front of me, eyes burning with seething anger, hands reaching to rip my baby away from me. Words coming in a torrent. Terrifying words. Telling me if I did anything like that again he’d sue for custody. I’d lose my son forever.
Later, when Alex was asleep in his Moses basket, Nathan came into the bedroom, laid his head on my stomach, and sobbed.
‘You have no idea how much you scared me,’ he whispered. ‘You endangered our son. I can’t trust you with him while you’re so unstable.’
The next day he took my bank card and passport.
‘He’s over protective,’ I say to Vicky.
‘Over protective? You mean nuts. Honestly, Han, I don’t know how you put up with him.’
My cheeks flush with warmth as I stare fixedly down at my knotting fingers.
She sighs and when she next speaks her tone has softened. ‘It’s just one night.’
I nod and force a feeble smile. ‘I’ll talk to him.’ I look out of the window and see two seagulls. One is young – new feathers pushing through his brown down – and holds a crust of bread in his beak. The other is older and is intent on stealing the crust. The two birds hop about on the pavement, fluttering and spinning around each other as if dancing and, for a few moments, I’m mesmerised.
‘I just want you there with me, that’s all.’
One night away, the two of us, to celebrate her fortieth birthday. It’s a present from Phil. When he phoned to tell me, I protested. Told him I couldn’t possibly accept such a gift. He insisted. I was part of the present. There was no way Nathan would allow me to have a night away and he certainly wouldn’t let another man pay for me, so I told Phil he should take Vicky and the two of them could have a relaxing night away from the twins. But he said it was already decided. Vicky missed me, he said. This would be the best birthday present she could wish for. And before I could stop the words coming out of my mouth I’d said yes. The thought of it was thrilling. Eventually I’ll have to make my excuses. Phil will end up taking my place. But I can’t face telling her yet.
‘I can’t wait,’ I say with a smile.
‘Booze, fags, no kids, no husbands. It’ll be like the old days.’
The old days.
Before that night. Before the horror of it all. Back to a time so far removed from now I wonder if it was ever even real. Who was that young woman? I remember her vaguely, like one might remember a character in a childhood book, carefree, surrounded by lightness and laughter. Popular and confident. Filled up with joy like an over-inflated balloon, shifting from party to party, pub to beach, living in the moment, working the week with the weekend in sight. Then in the blink of an eye she was gone. The lightness turned dark. The laughter became no more than a distant echo. That young woman, a version of me, trapped in the past like a stranded time traveller.
A new version of me was born that night but not completed. Then, as I followed Nathan numbly into St John’s Hall registry, the transformation continued. My husband took over my deconstruction. One by one he took aim at my friends – unworthy, boring, ill-educated, uncultured – until gradually they were weeded out. I should have fought it but I didn’t. What was the point? It was only a matter of time before they tired of the anaesthetised husk of the girl they once knew. What kind of friend could I be? I was broken. So I let him tell me I needed a fresh start. That it was better to cut ties with my old life. That I deserved more. He spoke with such authority as he pointed out their flaws and failings, I’d find myself agreeing with him. Why was I so dreadful at choosing friends? How had I gravitated to such people? Was it any wonder everything had gone so horribly wrong? It would be convenient to blame my isolation on Nathan but I am complicit. I let this happen. I walked into this life, into this version of me, willingly, and have nobody to blame but myself.
Thank God Vicky was too strong for us. Nathan detested her from the first moment he met her in the pub that night. She was everything he loathed: dressed wrong, loud, uncouth. In the early years of our marriage, we used to meet up as a four, Nathan and I with Vicky and Phil. After an evening out, he would spend hours criticising her, pointing out how crass she was, how opinionated, how her voice cut through him like nails down a blackboard. It was exhausting listening to him go on and on and on. I couldn’t bear it so Vicky and I began to meet in secret. Once a week, on a Tuesday, at this tiny café in Penzance. It’s clandestine and rebellious and for an hour each week I feel free. Like those girls bunking off school. Like I felt in the old days.