The waiter led Peter to our table. We held each other’s gaze as he wove through the tables, just as we had when I walked down the aisle towards him, the rest of the room blurring into nothingness.
We were shy with one another, more so than on that first date.
‘You were so angry with me this morning.’
‘No,’ he said, shaking out his napkin onto his lap before we had ordered.
‘The photo album idea backfired rather spectacularly.’
‘I know, I spoke to Helen.’
‘Mum called you?’
‘I called the house to check on you.’
‘Oh,’ I said, feeling the shame burning away the words I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him my side of the story, explain how foul Rosie had been, how intransigent, what a brat, how she’d ruined our photo album.
‘What are we going to do?’ he asked.
I laughed without smiling. At least he still believed in me enough to ask me for solutions.
‘That’s why I wanted to meet you here,’ I said, leaning forward on my elbows, trying to be confident about this particular solution. ‘I think it’s best I take myself out of the equation for a bit and spend a few days in London.’
‘Where will you stay?’ There was a hint of panic in his voice.
‘At Mum’s.’
‘Have you asked her?’
‘She won’t mind.’
‘It’s quite drastic.’
‘Honestly, I can’t be around Rosie right now, Peter. Surely you see it’s getting out of hand?’
‘Have you spoken to Philippa Letwin about it?’
‘She says we have to do what’s right for the family as a whole.’
‘How do we know what that is?’
‘As long as we put the children first.’
I wanted him to say that they needed their mother; that I was the one they needed first and foremost. I held my breath, hoping to hear it.
‘It’ll be a clean break from all the fighting I suppose.’
My heart sank. Yes, a clean break. Nice and clean. Just how we liked it.
I sighed. ‘Philippa said the courts won’t look on the move unfavourably at least. If it comes to it.’
‘Will it come to it?’
‘That depends on Rosie.’
We paused. A never-ending reel of worry to unravel every time I thought of what could happen to me, to the baby, to us, if she didn’t change her statement. The unutterable public humiliation of standing in a Magistrate’s Court on 4 December pleading not guilty to the prosecutor’s charges of child abuse; the financial ruin of the legal fees if it went to the Crown Court; and, of course, prison. All of these horror stories flickered through my mind, obscuring the most terrifying of them all: losing Rosie and Noah and the baby. That was literally unimaginable.
As though reading my mind, Peter moved on. ‘Your mum has been amazing with her.’
‘Who’d have thought?’
‘I was staggered by how well she took it all.’
‘Yes,’ I said vaguely, unsure.
‘We can’t make any decisions about what we tell Rosie now anyhow,’ he said.
‘When I’m back home we’ll talk about it.’
I had a panicky flash of never going back home, of weeks away from them. They were everything to me and I was walking away from them, for who knows how long. For their own good, I told myself. I suddenly understood how suicidal women justified driving into a lake to leave their children orphans. If you truly believed they were better off without you, then what else was there to do?
‘Look after Noah, won’t you? He’s getting lost in all this.’
Peter grasped on to my forearms across the linen tablecloth, as though pinning me down. ‘I’ll miss you.’ Tears shone from his eyelashes, framing bloodshot eyes. He looked as frightened as I felt.
‘I’ll miss you too,’ I whispered, recharged by the strength of his hands on my wrists, wondering if I’d care if the whole world crumbled around us, as long as I still had Peter and the children. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You can get help, you know.’
‘With what?’
‘There are groups you can go to.’
I whipped back my arms from under his and wrung my fingers under the table. I wanted to tie them in knots to stem the fury. I couldn’t believe it. Ten years of sharing the burden of Rosie, gone. All my hope drained away.
‘It was an accident,’ I hissed.
His eyes had deadened, dried as though never wet, and he looked to the waiter to order the bill.
‘Helen said she’s still got a bad headache.’
‘That’s rubbish. She told me it had gone this morning,’ I scoffed.
Peter looked at me coldly. ‘I have to get back.’
‘But we haven’t eaten?’
‘I said I’d take her to the after-hours doctor if she wasn’t better.’
There was no way I could tell him not to worry about Rosie. It would seem callous or irresponsible.
‘Call me to let me know how she is,’ I conceded.
He dropped forty pounds cash on the table and he left me there, alone. For the first time in our marriage.
Just as a drunken kiss or a punch to a stranger’s jaw had the power to destroy lives overnight, my incautious, despairing shove of Rosie had injured her and destroyed us. The terrible thing, the worst thing, was that I could do nothing to take back that split-second switch to rage. Every second since was too late. I didn’t know how I would live with the guilt.
Chapter Fourty-Nine
Dear Rosie Rabbit,
I would like to say sorry for my funny turn the other day. You were very caring and brave.
I spoke of my baby boy, who has been a big secret in my life. You are the only soul in the world who knows (apart from my family of course). Not even my dear darling Barry knows. If I told him, he would think I was a terrible person.
On 7 May 1982, when I was only fifteen years old – not that much older than you! – I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy whom I had to give up for adoption. He would be 34 years old now. There is not a day that goes by when I don’t think of him. Sometimes I wonder if I see him on the street or in the supermarket! Imagine that!
I try ever so hard to be strong about it, but when his birthdays come up or when something reminds me of him, I am afraid I go to pieces. You see, I was forced to sign the papers by my mother. I thought I would die from heartbreak. I certainly never imagined how I could go on living. It is hard to describe how wild I went when the two ladies took him away from me in the hospital when he was only fifteen days old. There has never been a more devastating moment. I didn’t even care what the nurses and doctors thought of me! It was like having my heart and soul ripped from my chest and honestly, my dear Rosie, I think I still have that hole where my heart was. If I didn’t hear it beating, I don’t think I would know for sure it was still there. They say time is a healer. What a load of codswallop!
He was poorly when he was born. I always wondered whether it was his way of staying with me a little bit longer in the hospital. He needed his mummy’s milk, you see. I still remember every tiny detail of his face because I used to stare at him when he was feeding from me. He had a rather large nose – a bit like mine! – and thick glossy black hair – a bit like his useless father (who was terribly vain about his hair)! His mouth had a dip in the middle, which lined up symmetrically with the deep groove in his chin. I imagine he is a handsome fellow now. But I would say that, wouldn’t I? Every parent is a little biased about their children.
So, it’s not surprising I can be a little strange sometimes. Please forgive me for scaring you. I feel very well again now. And maybe I can show you some photographs of me when I was pregnant, to make you laugh! I was not a pretty sight, let me tell you.
Please don’t be sad when you read of my loss. About sixteen years ago, he would have turned eighteen years old, which means he could have contacted me if he wished. I spent his eighteenth year hiding the post from Barry to check for a letter from him, but I gave up in the end. Deep down, I have always known that he is probably too happy to bother with me.
Please do come by to see me again soon. I very much hope things are easier at home for you.
With much love,
Mrs E (I won’t spell it. I like Mrs E!)
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