Dad nodded and rose. I let him open the front door and strained to hear a mumbled conversation.
When Christian walked through to the kitchen, I wanted to gasp. His hair was a mess, those dark circles framed eyes reddened with unshed tears. His hand visibly shook. He slumped into a chair opposite me and lowered his head into his hands. Dad stood to his side with his hand on Christian’s back.
“She’s been having an affair for two years. Two fucking years and I didn’t know a thing,” Christian said. He hadn’t looked up, but a tear dripped through his fingers and landed on the kitchen table. My heart broke for him.
“Did she tell you that, Son?” Dad asked.
Christian nodded his head. “I found some things, she had no choice but to confess it all. Dad, I smashed the house to pieces, I was so angry, and now I don’t know what to do.”
“Did you hurt her?” Dad said, his voice had lowered to a whisper.
Christian looked up sharply. “No!”
“How have you left it with her?” Dad asked.
“I can’t go back there. It’s finished. She’s betrayed me in the worst way.”
Christian looked at me with such devastation in his eyes that it startled me.
Christian, what is it? I wrote, sliding the pad across to him.
“I need…I need an hour or two to get over the journey. I have a couple of bags in the boot.” He stood from his chair but wobbled.
“Sit down, Son, I’ll fetch them in,” Dad said.
I’d never seen Christian so distressed. His breathing was heavy, as if he’d just finished a run. I rose to fill a glass of water for him. He drank half of it down without taking a breath. He had kept his head bowed as I took my seat opposite him. I reached forwards to hold his hand. His grip was so tight my skin whitened. Something was very, very wrong.
I heard Dad place a couple of bags, or possibly suitcases, by the bottom of the stairs. Christian released my hand and stood.
“I have such a headache. I need to lay down for a little while,” he said. I nodded and watched him walk out of the kitchen.
It was a few minutes later that Dad came back into the kitchen. He had a stricken look on his face.
Did he say anything more? I wrote.
Dad took the longest breath, exhaling so slowly before closing his eyes.
“Let’s give him tonight, I think he’s going to collapse in that bed. He’s emotionally exhausted right now. Do you think I should ring Helen?”
I don’t know. I guess she’d know he’d come here, wouldn’t she? What do you think he meant when he said he smashed the place up?
Christian didn’t have a violent bone in his body. I remembered as children, I was the one to fight his battles because he wouldn’t. It wasn’t that he wasn’t capable, he was a fit man, a fit child back then, but he had no desire for confrontation, even if that meant taking a beating from the schoolyard bully.
“I think he punched some doors, smashed a few ornaments, or something. He said he threw a vase across the room; it smashed the mirror on the wall. That’s not like him, Dani, not like him at all.”
You need to sit down, let me make you a cup of tea, and we’ll wait until Chris is ready to tell us more.
Dad sat as I stood to make the tea. I thought more about what he said about calling Helen. Once I’d made the tea, I fetched the telephone from the hallway and laid it on the table. I stared at it for a while. Would Christian feel we were not supporting him if we called Helen to ask if she was okay? She hadn’t made any effort with us, and thinking about it, she didn’t call Dad, ever. Christian was the one who would call.
When did Helen last visit you? I wrote.
“I don’t know, long before…you know? Could even have been last year. Why?”
I’m just wondering why she’s kept her distance.
“Because she’s been cheating on my son. Maybe, hopefully, she feels guilty enough not to want to face me,” Dad said with such vehemence in his voice.
I’ll get dinner started, what do you fancy? I wrote, hoping that a change of subject, for the moment, might lessen some of the sadness in his eyes.
“I don’t mind. I don’t think Christian will be up to eating much. How about some of that soup you made the other day?”
I gave him a smile and nodded.
Christian didn’t come down for dinner. I’d taken a tray up to him, but he was sleeping so soundly I decided to leave him alone. If he woke later, he could always reheat the soup. Dad seemed to be on edge for most of the evening, deciding to retire to bed earlier than normal. He gave me a kiss to the top of my head and told me not to stay up too late. I settled on the sofa with the television on low, not really watching a movie that I’d joined halfway through. My mind was on Christian.
I believed Dad was right in his reasoning for Helen keeping her distance. She’d certainly kept that distance from me since Trey and Hannah’s deaths. We’d assumed it was because she hadn’t wanted to upset me with the birth of Alistair, but I wasn’t so sure anymore. I pondered on what Christian would do with regards to Alistair. Being in Cornwall was a long way from London. The more I thought about it, what would he do with regards to work? He’d have to return to London at some point.
I switched off the television and made my way to the kitchen. I let Lucy out for a last pee while I waited for the kettle to boil. A camomile tea would settle my brain from its overactivity.
It was as I crossed the upstairs hallway, heading to my bedroom, that I heard a sob. I paused beside Christian’s door and closed my eyes. My hand hesitated over the handle until eventually, I pulled away. As much as I was longing to comfort him, I knew what it felt like to feel utter devastation and the need to be alone at times. The decision left me very unsettled for the rest of the night, though.
Chapter Thirteen
I was standing at the back door sipping on my tea when I heard the shuffle of feet behind me. I turned to see Christian looking worse than he had when he’d arrived.
I raised my mug in the hopes he’d understand I was offering to make him some tea. He didn’t reply, just simply nodded. He sat at the kitchen table and let his head fall back a little, looking up at the ceiling. His sigh echoed around the quiet room.
“Take a walk with me, when we’ve had our tea,” he said, his voice sounded so pained.
I nodded and gave him a small smile.
I placed his cup in front of him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. With one hand, he held onto me. He didn’t speak while he drank and he didn’t let go of me, either. Once he placed his empty cup back on the table, he stood. I gathered my coat and scarf from the back of the door, and while I waited for him to retrieve his, I checked my pocket for my pad and pencil.
Christian walked back into the kitchen and kept his eyes lowered until he reached the door.
“I guess Lucy doesn't do walks anymore, does she?” he said, looking over at her curled form in front of the boiler.
I shook my head, not knowing if he could see me or not.
Christian opened the back door and we stepped out into the chilly morning. We walked around the side of the garden and through the gate. We turned left. Had we gone the other way, we would have ended up at the bench, and perhaps, we could have sat and talked for a while. Instead we headed towards the church.
Christian didn’t speak for a while, I heard him take in long deep breaths; perhaps he thought the nippy air would clear his thoughts. Eventually we came to the small stone wall that circled the cemetery. Christian stopped walking and rested on the wall.