Edward was working late at the hospital that evening – not an unusual event – so she cooked herself some supper, cleaned up the kitchen and sat down with a book and a glass of red wine. Really, I should cut out the wine, she thought, it’s shocking how much weight I’ve put on since Izzy died. Tonight, however, I definitely need a drink. She forced herself to look down at her book, though without much expectation of being able to read. Christ, this is bad timing, she thought; just when our marriage has regained some form of equilibrium after years of tension over Callum.
It all went back to Izzy. The agony of her death had rocked their marriage; she sensed unspoken criticism from Edward even though she wasn’t sure why. The loss had fired in Marianne an unspeakable grief but also a fierce determination to hold on to Izzy’s child. The problem was Andy – he had started to recover. He had been moved up to Glasgow to be closer to his mother. What else could she have done? Why couldn’t Edward see it her way? She shut her eyes and found herself re-living those impossible months.
Every day she is getting bulletins about Andy’s improved condition and every day she fears that sooner or later he will want to take Callum away from them. Edward infuriates her with his calmness. ‘We must wait,’ he says, ‘talk to him when he is fully recovered. See what he wants to do.’
‘No,’ she insists, ‘we must act.’ Every day the same conversation in different forms.
‘I’ve spoken to the hospital,’ Edward says. ‘They say he is still quite confused and certainly not in a position to make any long-term decisions about his future or Callum’s.’
‘But his brain is not damaged?’
‘They don’t think so, but the accident caused a haemorrhage which has affected the movement of his left side.’
She decides to visit Andy herself. ‘Fine,’ says Edward, ‘but bear in mind he was in a coma for ten days – you’ll need to treat him gently.’
Marianne sits in the train as it rattles its way north towards Glasgow. My husband may be a saint, she thinks, but I am not. Why does this wretched boy deserve to be treated gently when he broke his promise and took her on the back of his bike; rode through an icy December night and killed my precious child – my beautiful Isabelle.
The pain of her loss gnaws at Marianne – a hungry rodent forever feasting on her organs. I will not take any risks with Callum, she vows. I promised it to Izzy – a death-bed promise to care for Callum always. There has hardly been a day when I haven’t held him in my arms. How could I ever contemplate giving him up?
She finds Andy in a rehabilitation room at the hospital – beige walls only partially enlivened by some naïve oil paintings in strong primary colours donated by friends of the hospital. He is sitting in a wheelchair by a window. ‘Hello Andy,’ she says. He looks at her calmly but without emotion, then turns away. His head has been shaved and now the hair is beginning to grow back unevenly. A thick scar is visible from his right ear to the centre of his crown.
‘I am glad to see you are getting better,’ she says. He nods.
‘You know that Izzy is dead?’ She knows that he has been told but she has to say it anyway. She looks for a sign of contrition but again he simply nods. She wonders if he can speak – then it occurs to her she hasn’t yet asked him a real question.
‘How do you feel?’ she asks. ‘Are you in pain?’
He looks at her with a mixture of anger and resignation; a lopsided half smile moves across his face but his eyes are cold. ‘Aam feckin’ brilliant – can ye nae see?’
OK! she thinks. This is more like the Andy I know – except he tended to be a little less Glaswegian when he was in Cambridge. She expresses regret about his injuries. How bad is his paralysis? she wonders. He sits so still it’s difficult to tell. She tells him about Callum – they are looking after him; he is happy and well. Then she broaches the subject of adoption. She and Edward think this would be for the best. Does he agree? She waits nervously for an answer. She has a sackload of arguments ready to deploy if necessary – including financial inducement – but it isn’t necessary.
‘Micht as weel. I’m nae much use tae him noo.’
‘Yes, well…’ She is confused by his ready agreement and not sure how to respond.
‘Noo she’s gone,’ he adds, looking at the floor, and it suddenly occurs to Marianne that Izzy was the focal point of Andy’s existence. She is not the only one who is devastated by Izzy’s death.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Yes, it’s hard for all of us to think of life without her.’
Marianne talks on for a while, then she moves to the second part of her plan – get him to put it in writing. She knows that in the circumstances it has little value but she wants to come home with something tangible.
Andy seems indifferent, and under her slow dictation he writes: ‘Dear Marianne, I agree that it will be best for Callum if he is adopted by you and Edward.’ She gets him to sign and date the note then she tucks it away in her handbag.
For reasons which she can’t fully understand, Edward is furious with her. ‘Don’t you see how wrong it was to put pressure on him when he is still traumatised by the accident?’ he says.
‘I absolutely did not put any pressure on him…’
‘It’s worthless, what you got him to sign – probably counterproductive…’
‘It’s just a start, Ed – don’t you understand? But it’s the right start.’
But he doesn’t understand. He seems wilfully obtuse in his refusal to comprehend that what she is doing is best for them alclass="underline" for Callum, for her and Edward – even for Andy. Andy will be free of any responsibility for the child – free to make a fresh start, she tells Edward, but he doesn’t want to listen.
Under her urging they start the adoption process; social workers visit regularly. Edward cooperates but frequently criticises her: ‘We’re rushing this, Marianne. Andy is getting better – he’ll be a different person in a year or two.’
‘Rushing! More like the proverbial tortoise, if you ask me. It could be another two years before we get the adoption through.’ And all the time Marianne frets that Andy will change his mind. She has been told that he has regained almost complete movement on his left side and mentally seems fully recovered. She knows they will be talking to him. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ they will say. Daily she expects to be told that Andy is coming to visit, or that he is having second thoughts.
She prepares for this eventuality – her counter-attack. No holds will be barred; she will beg, she will bribe, she will threaten – she will blame him for Izzy’s death. She will raise arguments about his fitness to have anything to do with Callum – his past drug taking, his physical and mental state.
She worries that Edward’s misgivings will be detected by the social workers, and so does everything possible to ensure that Edward is out when they come. ‘We really must make an appointment when your husband is here next time,’ they say.
She sighs. ‘You know how it is – marriage to a hardworking and dedicated doctor,’ and they smile in acknowledgement.
She is sure she is fighting this battle both for herself and Edward. She is determined that they won’t share Callum, that it would not be in his best interest to have two fathers. No halfway house will satisfy her – only full adoption with Andy giving up all rights. And in the meantime, she continues to fight with Edward.